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gyuswhore · 2 months ago

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Statistically Speaking...

part of the svt TA collab

kim mingyu x reader

word count: 21k

contains: TA! mingyu, fluff, smut [minors DNI], angst, statistics, ur honour they're stupid for one another, descriptions of stress exhaustion and burnout, academic burden, disagreements, mingyu is smart as hell, shitting on bad professors, smut but its a surprise [gyu gets his soul sucked while he's reciting statistical models I mean what]

words of conviction from @highvern: Kim Mingyu, total asshole , 1-800-HOT N DUMB , THEYRE IN LOVE MINGYU SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU LOSER , sick fucking freak , i know when you wrote this you put your head in your hands , OHHHM YW GOD

synopsis: In all your years of academic endurance, you’ve never failed. A 100% success rate, despite you cutting it close at times. However, the line graph that is your life starts tanking somewhere around the time you began taking this hellsent Statistics in Psychological Research class. With a professor that wouldn’t know his ass from his head, and an overworked, overenthusiastic, and overcaptivating TA, it couldn't possibly get any worse than this. However, statistically speaking,…it could.

[a/n]: this fic is set in the same universe as @highvern's wonu fic endpoint [read here!!!], some insight for wonu's pov is included here as is some of Mingyu's pov in cam's fic if you'd like to see more about what happens in the gaps!!

I want to start by thanking everyone who chose to be part of this collab fic and for being the reason cam and I were able to open up @camandemstudios in the first place. everyone's been so kind and cooperative and I still cant believe we managed to convince such amazing writers to join us on this collab journey 🥹 I love u guys

Thanking my wife camothy @highvern for brainstorming with me since day one and for betaing for me. @seokgyuu and @miabebe for also looking over the doc and reassuring me. I'm for sure forgetting someone and I'm really sorry about that, know that I appreciate you just as much 🤍

on that note, I hope you guys enjoy this fic, im HELLA nervous for some reason so plsplspls remember to reblog and send me feedback on how you liked it, I will love you forever <333

masterlist

Monday

A normal person would’ve cried. Perhaps even sued the entire institution for all it was worth. Burn down the world, if it came to it.

But as you stare at the tiny 37/100 on your screen, you feel…nothing.

You could’ve said you saw it coming, which you did, but something about blaming someone else for an exam you took was beginning to feel a little manipulative.

Clicking off the student portal, you huff loudly, five in the morning too early for you to begin breaking down over a grade that was completely unreflective of what you were taught.

Or maybe it was, because as you count one, two, three hours till your dreaded Statistics in Psychological Research class, you can only hope you’ll hold back from spitting in your professor’s coffee. But alas, you can only shut your laptop harder than necessary for what it costs and push the grade out of your mind.

You were tired enough to sleep for a couple more hours, and you take it as an opportunity to spite the entire course by giving just as many fucks as your professor did.

Which was little to none.

That was a lie—on your part anyway. Because you continue to show up, and probably will until you can put this course and all of its trauma behind you. Even now as you feel the inclining beat of your pulse sitting in the white lecture hall, you know this is all but you versus the universe.

Dr. Cho might as well have wheeled himself into the room on a skateboard with the way he struts into the room.

He’s wearing a denim jacket with the sleeves cut off and jeans of a matching finish that do not fit him properly. There’s pins in every last colour on this earth, littering the front of his jacket with sayings that toe the silver controversial lining. There was one that said Vote for John F. Kennedy, another plain black one with I Eat Kids, and of course, the blaring Cunt written in cursive, pink sparkly letters.

This man that’s pushing into his 60s stands before his slightly wilted class in his crocs, hands on his hips as he heaves a long breath.

“I have to say, not the turn out I was expecting on that last report.”

He’s talking about the report you coincidentally failed, the same one you were pushed into with little to no direction and a deadline tighter than any you’ve had to bully yourself through.

“All I can say is to read through the feedback I’ve given and try a little harder next time.” His voice is somewhere bordering comical exasperation. Feedback that consisted of sparing ‘?’’s and ‘no’’s with zero further explanation. He could say more, but you’ve learned that he simply chooses to not.

Besides the man that drones in the front of the room, there’s another person in the other corner of the lecture hall. He’s hunched over a giant pile of papers, sifting through each and every one with a pen in his other hand.

The TA doing a mundane task is somehow more interesting than whatever seminars of disappointment your professor was giving. He’s crossing something out on every single leaf of paper that he flicks through, and you vaguely wonder if those were today’s worksheets.

“...and post hoc tests last week, we can start on Bayesian today. Mingyu will be handing out the tutorial papers.”

The poor TA looks like he thought he’d have more time, snapping his head up to look at the professor with an expression of pure incredulousness. He staggers for a moment before he’s flicking past the pages even faster somehow, striking out what seems like the same instruction in the giant pile of papers meant for an entire lecture hall. There’s a rustle as about a hundred laptops are being pulled out and booted up, waiting for the worksheets to land on the desks.

You hear the familiar warble of papers being passed out and you watch as the TA pulls chunks of sheets out of the giant stack in his arms to slam down onto the front tables.

“Pass it down, please… pass it down, please…”

There’s a voice that calls from one of the front seats, “What formula is the sheet talking about?”

Mingyu looks startled as he snaps back to look at the blaring empty whiteboard. In the midst of passing papers, you watch him sprint to the rolling whiteboards, pulling one of the giant flats of white over to the other side, the mechanism slamming into place with a louder than comfortable slam. It reveals another whiteboard underneath with the detestably long formula already written (and the one you’d have to figure out yourself).

The professor remains with his chin in his hands behind his laptop, unphased.

By the time you’ve registered the foreign symbols on the board, one of the tutorial papers has made it into your hands.

Sure enough, there’s a quick line across one of the steps with a thick black marker.

Blinking hard, you attempt to pull yourself into the zone, staring at the white sheet with words that are barely stringing themselves together. Nothing out of the ordinary, especially as you lift your head to find hunched shoulders and furrowed brows all around.

There’s one person that’s zipping back and forth, just like there always is.

You watch as Mingyu hunches over certain laptops and whispers in rapid explanation before moving on to the next, a looming sense of dizziness that trails behind him as he shoots up the stairs to the back rows to help someone else.

There’s a brief consideration to raise your own hand to ask for help, but one look at his disoriented gaze and the amount of hands that shoot up by the second, you guess it wasn’t going to help.

Back you go, hunched over the same wretched paper as everyone else, and praying for some divine revelation.

Tuesday

Divine revelation did not come to you, but the good sense to make use of office hours did.

So here you are, a printed copy of your supposedly horrid assignment and a pack of multicolour pens in your tote, and determination in your stride, you make your way to the department building.

You’ve double, triple, quadruple checked the times to ensure you don’t dip in at the wrong moment, swiping open your phone to re-check the room number yet again.

Standing outside the door, you knock with mustered confidence, waiting for something akin to an affirmative from the other side of the door.

Nothing.

You knock again.

Silence.

You glance around the empty hall before grasping onto the cool brass handle of the door, wrenching it open just a peep. Poking your head in, you find the room…empty.

The chairs and tables that usually buzz with discussing students lay barren as you step into the room. Moving to look at the front of the room, you inhale sharply as you realise the professor’s desk has been occupied this entire time.

Except he’s asleep.

No, that’s not the professor.

Moving closer, you watch the way his back rises and falls ever so slowly, head resting on his arm as his hand hangs limp off the table. Whipping your head around with more attention this time, you attempt to find an explanation written on the walls. But there’s none, even in the papers that litter the table he rests his head on.

You don’t need to see his face to know it’s the TA. But as you stand in the empty room, clutching the straps of your tote, you aren’t quite sure what to do.

Another glance around the table and you realise his laptop remains on, the screen yet to sleep. Before the obvious issue of a blatant invasion of privacy can befall you, you take a step forward to take a peek.

It’s his schedule, a million colours blaring on the screen in a colour coded regard with barely any white spaces. It doesn’t take long to find his time slot for right now, red with importance.

Glancing down, the man remains fast asleep, pen still in hand as it inks a faint line on the page. You look around the room for the nth time, taking constant glances back at his laptop that tells you he’s actively missing something right now. Clearing your throat, you hunch over a tad bit.

“Um, excuse me.” He hardly moves. So you try a little louder, hunching over his sleeping form even further. “Excuse me.”

You could’ve sworn you heard a snore.

Out of instinct, you bring a hand forward to his shoulder, shaking ever so slightly as you call for him again. “Excuse me!”

There’s a sharp inhale and he shoots up quicker than you can back away, ensuring you get an entire back’s worth of force as he bumps into you, hard.

“Wh–ow!” The noise is collective, yelps and thuds as you both back away from each other.

“W–what’re you doing here?” he asks, hair still ruffled and eyes barely open as he stands at the table. There’s a bright yellow sticky note on his right cheek, ink scribbled on in something you can’t decipher.

“Um, it’s office—”

His eyes land on the same screen you were peering into just before and it looks like his life flashes before his eyes, widening at the sight as he slams around the table looking for something.

“I have to go,” he announces, gripping onto an unstrapped watch as he registers the time, his other hand shoving his laptop and a few papers into a dark messenger bag.

“Wait, isn’t it still office hours?” you call out as he whizzes past you.

He’s swinging his bag over his shoulder and half tripping to the door as he calls out, “Wednesdays and Thursdays.”

“But—”

“It’s on the portal.”

“No it’s not.”

“Yes it—” he pauses as he exhales loudly, closing his eyes and bringing a hand to rub across his tired face. “I’ll double check. But it’s Wednesdays and Thursdays from now on. You can wait till I get back if you really want help.”

“How—”

A loud slam! of the door.

“—long…”

You’re left draped in silence yet again, the echoes of the slammed door ringing in your startled ears. It all happened too fast for you to process, blinking rapidly as you registered that you were now alone in the room.

He said he’d be back, but left you with no indication as to when. By the looks of his god awful schedule, it looked like he had something else to attend to right after whatever it was he buggered off to right now.

Fingers clenched into a fist, you consider your options. You could wait, sit on one of the desks and try to get some work done until he gets back.

The universe gives you your answer as the door opens with a loud creak in the empty lecture hall. It’s another professor who looks quite startled to find an overenthusiastic student already present for class.

She stares before craning to look at the room number outside the door, “Am I in the right room?”

“Uh, yes! I was just leaving,” you buffer out, moving to shuffle out immediately.

You’re halfway out the door when you hear another call of an “Excuse me!”

“Are these your papers?” The professor’s full arms are up as she gestures to the still littered table.

The No is ready on your lips. Until it isn’t.

Later on, you’d consider how you left that room with an armful of papers that did not belong to you. How you’d ducked under the table to ensure you’d gotten everything, down to the leather strap watch with the cracked clock face.

But as you stare at the stack of files and sheets that lay on your desk at home, you only know of the decent act that you’d committed.

And nothing of the hourglass you’d just turned over.

Wednesday

In your Sent box are three emails sent on three separate days, all asking the same recurring question, all responding with the same recurring reply.

I wanted to confirm the days and times for office hours. I’m aware it’s on the portal but I’d like to reconfirm.

Regards, YN

Dear YN,

Wednesdays and Thursdays. 4 to 6 PM.

Kim Mingyu, T.A.

So there you were on a Wednesday afternoon, 3:59 PM sharp, outside the lecture hall where office hours have always been. With the same tote hung on your shoulders, with the same printed assignment and pack of multicolour pens, and a separated stack of files and folders, you wrench the door open with bated breath.

The blended murmur of the usual hustle and bustle of the appointment reassures you first, the sight of scattered students of familiar faces reassures you second. And most of all, a conscious TA that sits at the professor’s desk, speaking to another student over a laptop screen.

The man does nothing to acknowledge your arrival, continuing above the babble of students that occupy the chairs and the discussion. It isn’t too full, but considerably busy nonetheless despite how early you’ve swooped in.

There’s a brief consideration whether this was in the TA’s job description at all, craning your neck to take a full sweep of the room to find a sparing glimpse of the man who should be here. The professor and his loud fashion choices are nowhere to be found.

The sigh you let out is heavy and full of an emotion you cannot possibly begin to unpack, taking a seat on one of the unoccupied chairs to slump against. Shoulders sagging, you feel every fibre of your being screaming against your better judgement to pull out some work and to be productive while you wait. Reading over your failed assignment for the nth time, the same one that seemed to be some sick form of rage bait.

You pull a couple things out so as to not look awkward sitting and staring into nothing on an empty desk, uncapping your pen and pulling up your sleeves like there was business to be done. Which there was, but none of which you wished to entertain.

People watching, you realise, is a lot easier when most of the room is preoccupied with whatever it is they’re doing, too busy to notice your blank stares.

The faces are familiar, none of which are people you’ve interacted with before but classmates nonetheless. The room is full of shaking legs, spinning pens and hunched backs, not an un-scrunched brow in sight. There’s a particular gaggle of girls somewhere around the front, their tables suggesting a work environment but between the whispers, giggles and glances to the front of the room, you assume there’s one thing in common the both of you weren’t doing.

Speaking of the front of the room, your matched glance finds you face to face with the student at the main table in the middle of pushing himself off his seat. Your reaction is immediate, hand coming over to slam against the flat of your bag to find the lost straps, moving out of your seat as you keep your eyes on the front of the room.

Bad luck must be a lover, because you realise quickly that somebody’s already beat you to it. Before you even noticed the first’s intentions to. The student stands beside the chair ready to keep it warm as the previous occupant leaves.

Slamming back down on your own seat, you realise very quickly that trying to get an audience with this TA was going to be harder than you anticipated. There’s multiple other sounds of frustration around the room, and you doubt the slowly increasing pool of students was going to help anyone’s time management.

Realising you needed to be a little more tactical if you didn’t want to sit here for the next month and half, you find an empty spot near the gaggle of girls you’d noticed before. It was right up front, just enough for you to hear when the conversation would begin to conclude at the main table.

Once again, the TA doesn’t seem to notice any of the hustle and bustle of the room as his mouth continues to move rapidly, eyes on the question as he invests himself in his explanation.

It was unfortunate that the only remaining seat was right next to the louder than necessary group, but you take it as a blessing anyway. It’s then that the one right next to you turns to stage-whisper to you.

“Are you here to see him?”

You don’t expect a conversation, ears straining to eavesdrop on the other conversation in front of you to find your cue. You snap to look at her in surprise. “Pardon?”

“Are you here to see him? Mingyu?”

“Uh—” Wasn’t everybody? “Yeah, I had a couple things I wanted to clear out.”

The revelation makes her shoulders drop as she lets out a loud sigh, “God, I can never get anything this professor says. I've been here nearly every week trying to figure it all out.”

“Yeah he’s a bit…unorthodox.”

“He’s unorthodox too.” She looks over to the main table towards the TA, chin in her hands as she gazes. “A face like that is rare.”

It wasn’t that she was wrong, it didn’t take more than a glance to convince yourself that Mingyu was possibly one of the more attractive people you’d meet in your lifetime. But the appeal lasted for all of five minutes for you, flitting away when you noticed that he dragged along a very…overwrought… suggestion wherever he went.

It was clear he was stressed seemingly all year round, nearly just as relaxed as your professor seemed to be.

But Mingyu was attractive. And you realise how much of a fool you’d sound if you admitted to anything other than such.

“It is. His willpower’s somehow even rarer,” you add. “Don’t know how he does it.”

“God, tell me about it. Forget getting his number, trying to have more than a three sentence exchange with him without some statistical nonsense involved is near impossible.” Her face has fallen, a tight little frown on her face as she irritates herself with some other memory.

Taking a glance down at her notes, you find the printed sheet littered with glitter gel pen ink lining the edges, doodles of stars and hearts and small anime characters next to p values and z scores.

There’s a distinct sound of a chair screeching, and it’s like a large GAME OVER sign is hanging above your head.

You jerk in your seat, like you could jump over the table and land in the emptying seat with some god-given stroke of luck, like the person already standing next to the chair wouldn’t hold a lifelong grudge against the insane girl with an unnatural acclimation to statistics.

Although, nothing was more unnatural than the way this TA seemed to know more than the professor. Or you were just really behind.

Alas, you don’t tumble over the table or kick back your chair, merely making a forceful motion in your seat, palms itching terribly as you watch the girl with her open laptop balanced in her arms move to take a seat.

You were preoccupied, hence you do not notice that the TA has also noticed you.

Suddenly, the girl looks startled as she’s told to wait.

“She’s been waiting nearly a week, I really hope you don’t mind,” you hear him say, voice strained as you turn to look at him. His hands are outstretched to motion towards you a few feet across from him.

For whatever reason, you had no thought that he might’ve remembered you. Something about his half asleep state when he’d spoken to you, perhaps he might’ve thought he dreamt it. Or he’d just forgotten it altogether.

The girl glances at you, and her shoulders sag a little as she nods in formality.

“Thank you.”

It comes out of both of you, snapping to look at each other hardly a moment as you go back to smiling at the retreating student.

“You can come right after her,” he reassures, his own upturned mouth tired and fading.

Never have you felt more awkward trying to come around the elongated student tables.

You pause at first, staring at the table in front of you like it was worth trying to climb over or even crawl under it to get to the desk. Another moment of eye contact as he stares at your unmoving form with a blank look, and the heat pools your skin.

Staggering for a moment, you end up moving past your chair and walking the way round anyway, the screeching of the chairs only nurturing the existing budding humiliation for no apparent reason.

It only gets worse when you sit across from him finally, backside barely touching the plastic before realising you’d forgotten your bag in your seat.

Mid smile in a timid greeting when you make a sound resembling something of an “Oh!” as you spring back up immediately. It’s easier to reach for your bag over the table you were sitting on, reaching across to grab it off your vacated seat.

The girl you were sitting next to just before makes a motion like she’s trying to help and you have to remind yourself to smile at her as you retreat.

Mingyu has the very beginnings of an amused expression on his face once you’ve finally made yourself comfortable across from him, clearing your throat just for something to do.

“Right. How can I help you?”

Pulling out your printed assignment, you bring out the sheets of stapled paper to the centre of the table, writing facing him.

One look at the sparse format of the cover page, he blows a full mouth of air at the sight of recognition. Without you having to say a thing, he flicks to the very last page, finding the rubric printed on a separate page.

“It’s a 37,” you inform him like he couldn’t see the bold 37/100 in the bottom Total cell.

“Do you think you deserved a better grade?” he asks. It would have sounded direct, an accusation even. But he asks with an intonation of genuinity, like he actually wanted to know.

It stumps you regardless.

“Well…I know I can do better, at least,” you decide to answer.

“You’re here, which means you’re at least willing to try. That’s a start,” he murmurs. His eyes are laser focused on the sheet beneath him, holding it open as his eyes move faster across the page than you can keep up with. Somehow talking to you while taking in the words on the paper.

“I remember marking this,” he says, looking up to address you. “Your concepts are nearly there, but your structure and presentation was off.”

“You marked them?”

He raises his brow, “I hope that wasn’t an accusation. I need to stick to the rubric.”

“I thought the professor marked the lab reports.”

“He’s…supposed to.” There’s a forced reservedness in his voice. “I mark them and he puts in his comments if he has any. But I’m not sure you’d fare any better than this if it was him behind that pen either.”

Every question that floated in memorisation, from the form and structure, to the nitty gritties of the data presentation, all evaporate as you realise you’re at a loss for words.

Even more embarrassingly, you feel tears prick the back of your eyes. You don’t have an explanation, but it’s somehow easier to feel helpless in front of the man that’s meant to help you. “I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“That’s alright,” he says as reassurance, though it sounds awfully rehearsed. Like he has to say it everyday. “We’ll work through it.”

He lets out a big sigh, adjusting in his chair and running a hand through his hair. The motion has you noticing the dishevelled nature of the mop on his head, un-uniformed and sticking out at certain places, yet still somehow cohesive with his look. His shoulders are straight and taut, fingers working as they fiddle and flick the pen in his hand.

Despite it all, his shirt is ruffled and creased, unbuttoned at the first couple steps. The buttons are misaligned, one side of his collar higher on his neck than the other. It takes an effort to not reach over and fix it for him.

“Lab reports can be quite tricky if you aren’t sure what you’re doing. Did you refer to the tutorial?”

You mean the one that did nothing to help? “Yes.”

“You got those bits right, format and whatnot. But—”

“It was a lump of writing about subheadings and word counts,” you say plainly.

Mingyu lips are in a tight line. “Well, yes, but it helps—”

“I know the results are supposed to go in the results section. I don’t need a PDF to tell me that,” you cut him off. Your voice is reserved, and you hope it comes off as a point across and not a complaint. Although it was a complaint. “I want to know why the entire section was ruled off as incorrect when we were never properly taught how to write it in the first place.”

“Dr. Cho—”

“Is no help.”

“I understand—”

“He can’t even mark his own papers. I’m quite sure that’s not in your job description. It’s supposed to be him here. Not you.”

It’s silent. There was nothing in your voice that suggested you wished to pick a fight, on the contrary, quite calm and matter of fact. Mingyu’s fingernails are going white as his grip on his pen and paper grow stronger.

“And yet, we continue to show up. Because we do what we must.” He raises his head in control, a small smile on his face, eyebrows unnaturally raised. “And, better that I’m here rather than no one at all. I can help you too.”

Help, he did.

Mingyu had made it quite clear his time with you was limited, but by the end of the near 25 minute session, nearly every inch of your printed assignment was covered in a rainbow of notes and corrections, additional papers and post-it notes pasted on the back as you remain careful to not lose them as you slip the stack in your bag.

You only remember when you spot the segregated file of papers in your bag.

“I almost forgot,” you say, slipping the files and tidbits out and in front of him.

“Where did you find this?” he asks sharply, eyes widening as sees the familiar blue.

“You left them at the desk of the lecture hall last week,” you say, before quickly adding, “There was a class right after you left. I took them off the professor’s hands before they got lost. Thought it might be important.”

“I’ve been looking all over for these,” he says as he goes through the pages and files. Random sticky tabs and highlighted regions across the pages. The leather strap watch with the broken clock face remains on top, and he picks it up. He looks up to you with wide, sparkling eyes and a smile that feels genuine. “Thank you.”

You flush for some reason, “O–of course, couldn’t just leave them there.”

Pausing, you wonder if you should make the next comment, the words tumbling out before you can make a decision. “Maybe don’t run out of rooms still half asleep.”

By the grace of God, he laughs, “No, you’re right. I should be careful.”

It isn’t till you’re pushing yourself out of your chair that he continues. “You can come in at 3:30 tomorrow.”

“Pardon?”

He’s stood up as well. “I have a free thirty minutes before office hours formally start. I can help you out a little more without the crowd.”

Feet planted on the ground, there’s not much you can do but stare. “Um, sure. I can come in a little early.”

He nods casually, “Thanks again for the papers. And the watch.”

You smile, “No problem.”

Thursday

True to your punctual nature, you make yourself known at exactly 3:29 PM.

Mingyu is at the desk, conscious and on the phone, eyes closed as he rests his face on his fist.

“I don’t know if I can make time for that—no, I understand, sir,”

Another pause as the noise from his speakers fill his ears, his rubbing over his face a little harsher than you doubt he’s entirely comfortable with.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

His phone hits the table with a heartbreaking thud, both hands covering his face as he presses the heels of his hands to his eyes.

“Light on your feet or something? I can never tell when you come in,” he startles when he notices you.

Sheepish smile on your face, you move to sit down. “Sorry.”

You know it’s invasive, and you also know you might be asking him to break some unknown university code of conduct, but curiosity takes charge as you ask a casual question. “Important call?”

“Uh, yeah, um, just work stuff,” he states, shaking his head swiftly like he’s trying to shake the thought out of his mind.

There’s a pause while you're slipping your papers and laptop out of your bag, during which he seems to have decided to divulge a little more.

“It was Dr. Cho. More stuff for me to do,” he says. “As always.”

“Does he do anything other than show up to class?” you ask through a snort.

“Of course he does. He cusses out every article he doesn’t agree with, is anything but objective and…the occasional relay of blatant misinformation.”

For the record, you’d never really heard Mingyu speak at all for the months he’d been TA-ing for the semester. It was small whispers of choice words in a vague voice, the distant murmur as he exchanged with the professor too far for you to hear.

The voice of the seemingly quiet and diligent TA was never known to you, not until yesterday as he explained statistical models and the flaws of your data presentation.

Passionately too. Incredulous for a discipline so dry and unapproachable.

That being said, something about the grit in his voice as he positively sneered through his teeth, badmouthing his professor—it was something you couldn’t quite believe he was capable of.

“I’m sorry you have to put up with him.”

Once again, by whatever stone of tolerance the universe bestowed in his heart, you watch him sigh and smile, “Anything for that recommendation. And the pay too, I suppose. Besides, he’s done a lot for the area, can’t discredit him entirely.”

With your eyebrows raised, he seems to catch your expression. He pants out a laugh, and your stomach lurches as you watch it reach his eyes, teeth on display, a lurch in his chest; a true laugh.

Raising his hands in surrender, he responds, “I’m stuck.”

There’s nothing you can do to stop the smile that reaches your own face, turning your laptop screen towards him with the JASP software display. “I am too. Help.”

Help, he does.

Monday

Mingyu ended up giving you an entire hour on that Thursday.

The thirty minutes before office hours began soared by like they were nothing, and you were ready to take your leave the minute students began to scatter in as the clock hit a swift four. Except he kept going, another 30 minutes in deep concentration as he retaught you nearly everything from scratch.

Perhaps his proven determination to ensure you don’t tragically fail is what prompted you to do this, standing at the till of your regular coffee shop as you ask, “Make that two, please.”

It might also be important to mention the 7:30 AM on the dial on a bright Monday morning as you walked into your slightly less dreaded Statistics in Psychological Research class, knowing there would only be one other person insane enough to get to the lecture hall this early.

Something isn’t right.

Mingyu is in a position all too familiar to you and everyone else who shares this class, hunched over something or the other in deep focus. The sun pours in through the lifted blinds, the lights of the class turned off as natural light does more than enough of the job.

It also shows you a blaring hot pink post-it note on his face, all too familiar to a previous interaction you’ve had with him.

He notices you before you need to announce yourself, brows separating as he recognises you in the doorway. “‘Morning!”

“...Morning.”

“You’re early,” he comments, straightening his back with a hand behind him for support as you approach.

“Figured we both needed this,” you hand him a tray with his cup of coffee, eyes still trained on his lower cheek with the paper stuck to it. “It’s a latte with no sugar, but I added a couple packets on the side anyway. Just in case.”

“O–oh, thank you. And you’re right I did need this.”

Now that you’re closer, the scrawled writing on the post-it note is clearer.

To Do:

Call mom

Shoot myself

“You, um—” It’s alarmingly difficult for you to say it, despite the words being so simple. Hey! You got a lil’ something on your face.

But all you do is dumbly point to your own cheek, eyes trained on the loud piece of paper that tells more than he might like the world to know.

There’s a loud slap of his hand on his own cheek as he crumples the paper in his hands, bringing it forward to see. “For fuck’s sake.”

“It’s okay! I wanna…shoot myself too sometimes.”

What the fuck?

“I mean!” you correct louder than you anticipated, before covering with a laugh. “It’s okay, it happens. Good thing I caught it before someone else did.”

It’s all the more petrifying when your voice echoes across the blatantly empty lecture hall, reverberating like it was a punishment for you and your horrid lack of volume control. Meeting his eyes feels like a sin right now, so you keep them downcast and pray he doesn’t try to sabotage your education.

“Good thing it was just you. Yeah.”

Just you.

“Anyways, I think I’m done with prepping for class. Do you wanna squeeze in twenty minutes of ANOVA?”

“Have you seen the time?”

“Not a morning person?”

“Nope!”

“And yet it’s 7:40 on a Monday morning and you’re absurdly early.” His brows are raised as he pulls around the professor's chair to bring it to you.

“Do you want the coffee or not?” you ask, watching as he drags another chair for himself.

The both of you sit away from the professors table, coffees in hand as you watch Mingyu run a hand through his hair.

He gives you a crooked grin,“I apologise.”

“To be fair,” he continues. “I’m not much of a morning person either.”

You narrow your eyes the slightest bit as Mingyu takes a sip of his unsweetened coffee, “I’m starting to think no money’s worth this job.”

Mingyu snorts, coffee suspended in his full cheeks. He swallows with much difficulty before answering, “You’re right. Not sure why I’m still here either. I could get an offer from another professor.”

“And that isn’t happening because…?”

Elbows on his knees, Mingyu swirls his capless coffee cup, the beige liquid moving in a growing tornado. “I like Dr. Cho.”

“You—”

“I know,” he laughs loud, a deep, echoing sound that shakes in your ears. “I know. I sound like a lunatic.”

“I don’t know about lunacy, but insanity can have its reasons.”

“Another would argue that insanity was the very absence of reason.”

“Don’t get smart with me.”

“Excuse me for doing my job.”

He takes another sip of his coffee, and you ask again, “No, but really. I can’t imagine this man having too many redeeming qualities as an educator.”

Mingyu lifts his chin as he presses his lips together. “When I was in my first year, there was this other class I had where we had to write a lab report for the first time.”

“PSYCH101?”

“That’s the one. I’d never written one before, but I liked statistics enough to do a little more digging than what the assignment called for. I ended up finding one of Dr. Cho’s studies, read the entire thing, word for word. I was up all night reading nearly everything he’d published, some of ‘em before any of us were even born.”

“Oh. So you’re a fan.”

“Everyone tells you to never meet your idols,” he snickers. “He’s done amazing things, but I guess he pays for it with his flawed personality.”

“I’m sorry it had to be you,” you half joke.

Mingyu looks at you sheepishly, “That might also be my own fault.”

“Don’t tell me you offered.”

“I might as well have. All my assignments referenced his work the most. I was always talking to him about upcoming research after class, and it was like he was a different person. Forget differing opinions, some of what he was saying was just…plain incorrect. He welcomed the argument though, and I couldn’t—can’t—stand listening to someone spew nonsense when I know it’s not true. He was always emailing me extra resources which…I’m pretty sure he isn’t supposed to do. Only reason I did so well in his class was because I taught myself.”

He sighs a loud sigh, straightening his back, “I guess he liked me more than I thought, because next thing I know I’m getting a call over the summer telling me I have a job.”

“Did he…have a TA when you were in his class?”

“Four.”

“Four?!”

“Two at a time. All of ‘em quit at some point. Said they didn’t want the recommendation or the pay.”

“Would he…not give you a recommendation anyway? You said he liked you.”

Mingyu shakes his head solemnly, “He’s a tough cookie, everyone in the field knows that. If you’ve impressed him, you’ve impressed everyone.”

You take a moment to really absorb everything you’ve just learned. “That’s a sucky position you’re in.”

“Tell me about it. But it’s okay. Three—three and a half more months to go? This isn’t even the worst of it, I’m just dreading study week when I’m gonna have to handle all the crying.”

You wince as he mentions something even remotely close to exam season, still barely at a stage where you can accept you’d be alright with this class.

“I know you’re not nearly as qualified or experienced as him, but I think you could take over his class.”

“Ever heard of barriers to entry? I’d be ruined if I wanted a career in this.”

You roll your eyes playfully, “All I’m saying is I’ve learned more from you in barely a couple hours combined than the last two months I’ve spent cursing this very lecture hall.”

If you weren’t lying to yourself, you could’ve sworn you saw a blush creep up his face, and paired with his shy laugh and hand at the back of his neck, you can’t help but bite back your own smile.

“If I can help you then it’s worth losing myself.”

Your heart is in your fucking throat.

“I’m glad when students tell me that,” he continues, utterly oblivious to the landslide happening in your digestive tract. “Makes me feel like I’m doing something right.”

“You’re—” you swallow thickly because you sound like a toad. “You’re doing more than just something right. You’re saving us therapy and an extra semester.”

He laughs at that, and you wish he’d let you breathe.

“Feels like I’m doing something wrong sometimes,” he huffs. “My friend’s a TA too and he’s got himself a girlfriend on top of everything else he’s got going on.”

He goes on, “Do you know how many times I need to ask people to quit twirling their hair? To look at the page and not my face? Asking for my number, I have an email for a reason, for fuck’s sake—”

Mingyu is cut off because you’re laughing, hand to mouth as your shoulders shake through your sniggering. “W–what?”

“I’m sorry,” you hiccup. “It’s just…It sounds like you don’t know what you look like.”

“What’s wrong with how I look?” he frowns.

“Nothing!” you exclaim. “But that’s the problem isn’t it.”

Mingyu doesn’t seem to buy it, even through your coaxing as you attempt to explain to him that he is, in fact, desirable.

“Can’t possibly be enough to distract people,” he huffs in earnest, still hung up on the students he can’t get through to.

“Majority of the class would beg to differ.”

There’s a pause as he registers what you imply.

After a few moments, he drops his head, opening his mouth, “Would… you also—”

There’s a loud creak of the door as you hear the immediate noises of shuffling feet and chattering mouths, as low and tired as they sounded. Turning back to look at Mingyu, he’s already jumped out of his seat, wrist to face as he checks the time on the same leather strap watch you returned.

“That’s our cue,” you breathe, pushing your chair back behind the professor’s desk as you manoeuvre around Mingyu who’s suddenly frantic.

Of course you realise there’s people other than just the two of you in the room, heightened in seats that are designed to ensure they can absorb every detail that goes on right where you stand in the front of the room.

But you feel the soft of Mingyu’s shirt over his wrist as you give him a gentle squeeze despite it all, barely enough pressure. Half your index finger brushes the skin of his hand, just enough to register how cold your fingertips are and how warm his body is.

“Relax,” you whisper. “You’ll be better off without all the panic.”

You don’t see his face as you brush past him and up to your seat, looking up to see him disappear somewhere in the corner hunched over another stack of papers. The next time you see Mingyu’s face is when the professor arrives and has begun his regularly scheduled tomfoolery, and realise all the age that can accumulate in the span of five minutes.

Thursday

Midterm season is nothing you’ve ever really had to worry about.

Something about the halfway point did make it obvious that the clock was ticking, but danger was far enough away to prevent the ultimate breakdowns reserved for the peak seasons.

Except this class isn’t ordinary, and it’s all you’re able to worry about all semester. And as Dr. Cho in his Thrasher vest announces the date for the in class midterm, the glass once half empty, suddenly looks very half full.

“I’m not ready.”

“You’re more ready than anyone else in class.”

“How do you know that?”

Mingyu stares at you blankly, “If I don’t know that, then who else does?”

You have tears in your eyes, which is embarrassing enough since this is the second time you’ve teared up in front of him, but also because you’re in a library following Mingyu around like a lost duck because he insists on putting the books he borrowed back onto the shelves himself after registering the return.

“But I don’t feel like I’m ready,” you whine, turning the corner as he searches for the last spot to place his final book.

“You’ll realise just how ready you are when all those hieroglyphs on the page start to make sense to you,” he grunts the last bit out as he reaches on his tippy toes to shove the book back up.

Dusting his hands off, he adjusts his shirt before turning to you, “You only feel that way because I’ve been giving you harder problems to work on. You’re past the level you need to be at right now. Trust me, you’re more than prepared.”

“But—”

“Listen,” he waves to the librarian as you both leave the library, your eyes still glistening as you fiddle with your sleeves. “It’s only the midterm—”

“Only the—”

“If this goes wrong, I’m just gonna have to work you harder for the real thing. Even though I know it won’t go wrong because I said so.”

You fall into silence as he walks you towards the coffee shop across the courtyard.

“I’m assuming…” you start.

“Hm?” he looks over to you.

“I’m assuming you can’t hint at what’s on the paper.”

Mingyu barks out a laugh of disbelief, “You assume correct. I’m not going through hell with this job just to lose it because of a paper leak.”

“But it’s just the midterm,” you mumble, not even close to remotely audible.

“What did you say?” Mingyu smirks.

“Nothing,” you huff.

“You know, I’m a little offended you don’t trust me.”

“Who said I didn’t.”

“Well then, stop being such a worrywart.”

There must be something written on your face, because as you pass Mingyu standing at the door he keeps open for you, entering into the coffee shop with fallen shoulders, he seems to change his mind.

He brings you a coffee, sits you down, and gives you something else you need. “I made the paper. Every question. And I taught you. Every concept. So I definitely know you’re gonna be fine.”

In that moment, with the large glass walls of the warm coffee shop, the afternoon sun comfortably resting on every last object of the room, you don’t see it illuminate anything other than the man before you.

Perhaps you're being dramatic at the revelation, but you don’t take anything into account as you note Mingyu’s eyes and how they sparkle like they were gifted from the centre of a flaming volcano, brown and polished more than any jewel or stone you’d ever seen. Reaching out to touch him, you know you’d feel nothing but smooth stone, the indentations only possible by a being beyond what you could comprehend.

He’d given you more than just reassurance, and at times, his timing makes it feel like he was sent from the heavens itself, just for you.

You sniffle.

His hands brush over yours as he hands you a napkin, and even more so, cover your own as he takes your freezing fingertips into his own palm, the contact burning you like hot coal.

You know he’s real. And you don’t know why quite just yet, but that reassurance is enough to give you calm.

Monday

You were alright, but it seems that Mingyu seemed to disintegrate right after he was done reassuring you to the moon and Saturn and Jupiter and back.

It’s midterm day, and as always on every Monday morning, you enter the empty lecture hall with two warm coffees in your hand, ready for whatever shitshow you’d have to perform for today.

It seems Mingyu must defect from at least one regular string of behaviour to remain as Mingyu, who on this occasion, stands before you in a baby blue polo sweater.

Except you only know that because you can see the unique collar, but it might also be important that his back is turned towards you.

“Morning, champ,” he gruffs, nothing encouraging about his voice in the slightest.

Your breath hitches when you finally see his face, eyes sunken in and face pale. His lips are chapped and peeling, eyes half closed.

“Why’re you looking at me like that, why has everyone been looking at me like that?” he huffs in one long, rapid question.

“Um, I mean,” you stare at his shirt that’s backwards. And inside out. “I can’t tell if that’s a choice or a mistake.”

Looking down at his front, he looks back up, “What?”

“Your collar is…not at your collar, Mingyu. And your shirt’s inside out.”

Hand at his nape, he reaches his fingers down and finds the unmistakable starched planes of his collar, eyes closing at the realisation. He’s immediately pulling his arms out of the shirt with his eyes still closed like it’d all disappear if he keeps them like that.

“Wait!” you exclaim before he strips entirely, scrambling to put your coffees down to push him out of the room towards the restrooms. “Do you wanna strip for the CCTVs?”

You only hear him sigh as he moves out and into the hall, doors closed behind him.

You’ve nearly forgotten about the midterm at this point, your concern now growing in a completely different direction. By the time Mingyu returns, he’s blabbing about wondering why everyone he ran into since he left home was giving him the strangest looks, and then something about you always swooping in to save him before the real bout of disaster strikes.

It’s hard for you to listen to him when you’re more worried about him passing out, his face doing him no favours to reassure you that he wasn’t a breathing corpse.

“Mingyu…did you sleep at all?”

“Hm?” His eyes are glazed over and unfocused.

“Sleep? Rest?”

“Oh,” he frowns. “Not really. I had emails coming in all night.”

“And you were replying?”

“It's the midterm today,” he responds flatly, like it should’ve been enough explanation.

You almost don’t believe him. “Doesn’t mean you stay up to answer something that should’ve been cleared out beforehand!”

“Couldn’t just leave them to fend for themselves,” he dramatises.

“Yes, you could!” Your voice comes out louder than you expected, eyes wide as you realise what he’s doing to himself. “You barely look human and it’s only the midterm.”

“What’re you trying to say?”

“I don’t know if this job is really worth as much as you think it is.”

Mingyu’s jaw is clenched, fists tight as he releases them to grip paper weight on the desk, knuckles white. “I can’t get anywhere if I don’t—”

“Mingyu, please. This isn’t good for you.”

He says your name. Declarative, almost like a warning. “If you think this job isn’t worth it then you just don’t know.”

“Mingyu—”

“No, you don’t, because I’ve seen how good of a job I’ve been doing.”

“You have, you’ve been amazing but—”

Mingyu’s own voice is raised, a hard impenetrable floor to the words he spills. “Then what’s the problem?”

“Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately? You look like a corpse!”

And then he’s getting out of his chair with so much force it almost knocks it backwards, “Why on earth do you care so much? So what if I look like a corpse, if I‘m doing my job?”

It might’ve been better if he knocked the chair right into you, your breath dissipating in your chest like it never existed. His face is morphed in an expression of exasperation your anxieties fear the most, every line on his face committed to irritation and anger.

Why on earth do you care so much?

Right. Why do you?

“Are you asking me that?”

“What?”

“Are you asking me why I care?”

Mingyu only sighs, shoulders dropping and eyes closed. Like so many times before, you watch run a hand through his hair, except this time he yanks on the strands harder than ever before.

His eyes are bloodshot.

“I have to get the exam pack.”

Marching out the door in front of your own eyes, you’re left with a feeling that’s right in the back of your throat, curling and whirling into something you wish you could hack and gag out. Gripping the corner of the professor’s desk, you feel the peeling wood cut into your skin.

There’s a draft, the delayed slam of the door has only hit its wind now, a delayed reaction. It’s like it registers in your mind as you feel strands of your hair shift, the clarity that comes with it.

Delusive. Chimeric. Cruel.

Everything you’d subjected upon yourself. A whimsical fantasy between pages of logic and numbers, a story that simply didn’t fit where the laws wouldn’t allow it.

The null hypothesis of your most elaborate nightmares.

Monday

Your favourite commonplace box, where your mother once placed all her most prized jewels, had a finicky latch.

It wasn’t broken, simply worn in from years of opening and closing. It took a few tries to get it shut. Simply pressing down with pressure didn’t work; you had to open it again, press down on the individual elements of the latch and then try again.

You were never satisfied until you heard the distinct click of the latch fixing itself, the box closed and ready for you to hook your lock through.

Earlier on in your undergraduate career, you remember a professor talking about the effects of external factors on the mind, how they can sometimes cause it to ‘shut down’ when overwhelmed or stressed.

It’s happened to you on many a occasion; like when you stayed up too late on a school night to watch a documentary about the Stanford prison experiment, or when you’d neglect food or water on busier days, or when you’d stop paying attention in class because you were too preoccupied thinking about Taco Tuesday.

Regardless, you’d found a way to recognise when your brain would fall into some strange kahoots with daydreams, or whatever was bothering you, and learned ways to give yourself a reset.

Pressuring and forcing the attention wouldn’t work, just like how the latch wouldn’t fit when you’d do the same with your beloved old box. So you’d take a walk, drink something cold, spray yourself with a garden hose, or even take a nap altogether. Opening yourself up, so the latch can finally click.

On the morning of your midterm, when you’d ensured your brain was in optimal condition for the exam you knew would be one of the worse ones you’ll have to take, you were sure the only external force that could ruin your vibe was from God himself.

Having been so preoccupied with your mind and its functions, you’d seemed to have forgotten where your heart had wandered off to.

Somebody else might consider it a minor disagreement; an anxious squabble if you will. But your breakfast in your throat was enough reason to deem what happened that morning much more than that. At least for you.

“Pass it on, please…pass it on, please.”

The sound of his voice is tectonic. Rattling in your head like a superior force had slammed into your skull like a padded hammer to a gong.

You hated it. You hated everything. You hated yourself. And as the midterm paper reaches you with your pen in your clawed fingers, the first three questions already making perfect sense, you realise you hated Kim Mingyu the most.

That was a lie. You were lying to yourself, yet again.

Because it was quite the opposite. You couldn’t hate him.

As you drift past every question of conditional experiments and screenshots of data and tables on a software, you hardly remember what you circle and what you don’t. Hardly remember what words you picked for the short answers and labels. You hardly remember taking the steps down from your seat to the front of the room, where the professor sat scrolling through his Skateboarders [!MEN ONLY!] facebook group, placing your paper down and leaving the classroom.

Throughout your years of living, you’d learned what you needed to get your brain out of its clouded muffle, to refocus when you needed it.

Everything. You tried everything.

But on that day, when it mattered most, your latch never clicked.

It’s Wednesday.

You order lunch from the Italian place a few streets down. Ravioli; it’s safe and you know you’ll like it.

Savouring it is easy in front of another true crime show. You pull a lone soft drink from your fridge, one that your friend left weeks ago. It tastes just as bad as the last time you tasted it from someone else’s cup, but you drink it anyway, the empty can now in your trash.

It’s 3:30 PM, and you sit at your desk. It’s strange. It feels like you’re missing something, which in ways, you are. But as you pull your laptop from your nightstand instead of out of your bag, you slow your movements.

The papers are the same. But you read them anyway.

Parameter estimation: Make inferences on characteristics of the population, including distributions of the variables and the effect of one variable over another.

It’s accursed the way the universe won’t let you live.

There’s a scribble in the corner in a dark blue, estimation cannot be perfect.

Estimation cannot be perfect.

[_]

It’s Thursday

Class. Eat. Drink. Work.

Hypothesis testing: Determine whether null hypothesis is rejected or not after data observation.

There’s a scribble in the corner in a dark blue, no null hypothesis in bayesian approach!!

[_]

It’s Friday

Eat. Drink. Work.

Latent means to have meaning but is yet to be manifested. The greek letters are placeholder values for values yet unknown.

There’s a scribble in the corner in a dark blue; values that you will find out

[_]

It’s Saturday

Eat. Drink. Work.

P(A|B) = [P(B|A)P(A)

——————

P(B)

There’s a scribble in the corner in a dark blue;

it gets less complicated

promise :/

[_]

It’s Sunday.

Eat. Drink. Work.

The page is blurry. Your eyes hurt.

There’s a scribble in the corner in a dark blue;

you’ve got this!!! < 3

You give up.

It’s Monday.

8:14 AM.

You barely glance at the front of the room; swift turn to the left and right up the steps. Dr. Cho’s outfit almost goes unnoticed by you, tamer than most. Bright Barbie pink with large polka dots, untucked into too tight white jeans. His crocs are sparkly, at least that’s what the twinkle from up here looks like.

He’s insulting another author, the man’s ProQuest journal article open for the world to see like a mediaeval scandal.

There’s another person next to the whiteboards, back to the wall, hands clasped in front of him. His hair is messy, shooting lasers into the carpet as he rocks the slightest bit, listening to the professor rip this author to shreds.

An hour later, you’re staring into the JASP software like it was written in a different language.

Glancing next to you, the boy in the spongebob hoodie is playing sharkboy and lavagirl by himself. On your other side, the girl has the same thing as you open on her laptop, her pen occupied with drawing about a hundred tiny gojos on a bright pink sticky note.

Bright pink sticky note.

You snap your gaze back to your screen quickly after that.

9:58 AM. You start packing up, shoving everything into your bag.

Dr. Cho doesn’t even notice you slip out of the room, hardly a minute to the end of the lecture.

In the hallway, you take your first real breath in two hours.

It’s Tuesday.

You’ve come down with something, head heavy as you feel yourself burn up. Skipping class is easy when you sleep through your alarm and every phone call from a friend asking where you are.

They drop by, armed with medicine and soup. You almost feel better.

It’s silent after they leave, and you realise in that moment how much you hate it.

Opening your laptop for the first time in over 24 hours, you turn on a random podcast to play in the background, needing something to fill the air before you lose it entirely.

The screen lands right where you left on the incredulous data presentation, unsolved tutorial paper crumpled between the screen and keyboard like a wilted leaf.

Hot, scalding tears sting your eyeballs when you realise there was nowhere to turn to.

It’s Wednesday.

After a long day of doing nothing, still sick from whatever plagued your body, you go to bed earlier than usual.

It’s Thursday.

Walking out of class, your mind is empty. You’re still sniffling, still achey, but better than you were. The shawl wrapped around you is warm, and your hood covers the cold tips of your ears.

This other class makes you feel better about yourself, especially when the content is digestible and so is the professor. The TA feels like a mere accessory in the room, something you’ve learned to appreciate.

With your gaze lowered, you only see midriffs as you walk out the classroom into the busy hallway.

It happens in an instant, the flash of a clenched hand as the owner walks by in quick stride. An unmistakable leather strap watch with a broken clock face on the wrist.

You freeze like you’ve been caught.

The hard bump of someone coming out the room behind you is welcomed, the annoyed “Hey!” knocking you back to earth before you could even exit the dimension.

You’re off centre. But it’s fine.

It’s Monday.

“Midterm results are out Tuesday morning. If you have any questions I’ll be sitting at office hours on Wednesday and Thursday, four to six in the evening. Or you could send me an email, either’s fine.”

Dr. Cho isn’t here. Something you only found out when the pitt sank in your stomach as Mingyu cleared his throat at the full hour.

You want to leave, not caring about how strange it’d look if you did. Not caring about how he would definitely notice if you did. You want him to shut up, to stop talking, for anything to halt the way his voice infiltrates your entire being, talking about things you don’t understand but more familiar than anything else.

Mingyu’s voice is hoarse, and you loathe the way you can tell the difference.

It’s Tuesday.

Midterm Results for Statistics in Psychological Research.

— 92/100

It’s Wednesday.

4:10 PM. It’s almost too much for you. Almost.

The screech of the door is loud, the slam of the handle’s rebound even more so. The room doesn’t so much as glance at you at the door, the half full seats preoccupied with more important things.

The front desk perks up immediately, eyes shooting towards the door for the nth time that day, like he was expecting someone that never seemed to show up.

It’s ironic, you think, how Mingyu never seemed to notice you walk into the room for the many months you’ve walked in just for him. And now, as you walk in fists clenched and jaw set, eyes wild and burning, he’s breaking away from a student to look at the door before you even come into view.

“Did you feel bad?” you spit.

“What?” he whispers. He seems to come around, glancing back before continuing, “Can we talk? Please.”

“Answer the question, Mingyu,” you snap. You don’t care there’s a confused student sitting right across from the both of you, his slot interrupted by your barge. “Did you feel so bad you had to give me something I didn’t earn?”

He’s stood up now, half confused. “Is this about the midterm—”

“I did not get a ninety two, I know I didn’t,” you grit. “Whatever happened before that stupid paper made sure I wouldn’t.”

Mingyu says your name and the sound makes you want to vomit. “What makes you think I’d do something like that?”

“I don’t know, maybe because I fucked up because of you?” you announce, louder than before.

The world disappeared, your tunnel vision pointed at Mingyu’s face that wears an expression you cannot even begin to read. The unbecoming tears in your eyes are of a type of unadulterated rage you’ve felt only a few times before. Your heart is going about a million miles a breath, everything else only triggering an added bout of infuriated tremble in the forefront of your emotions. Nothing makes sense.

Mingyu pushes back his chair in silence, stalking over to a large cupboard in the corner of the room. He shuffles around for a minute before returning.

There’s a packet being thrust into your fists when he reaches you. He does not meet your eyes.

A bright red 92/100 marks the front page.

“Here. It was all you, if you can’t believe me.”

It’s a careful mark, unmistakable lines and curves of the nine and the two.

Reality is slow to sink in, but for some reason it’s only making you angrier. The paper curls under the pressure of your fingertips. You don’t open the packet. You refuse to flick through the pages.

Because you know you’ve lost.

It’s Thursday. And it’s full of regret.

There’s a sickness in you, from that dreaded day, something beyond what affects your body temperature and your energy. It’s in your mind, flooding the nerves that swim through every crevice and cave of your brain, a physical venom that does the opposite of kill but also the opposite of letting you live.

There’s a feeling in you, that even if you were to open your mouth, unhinge your jaw, try to scream as loud as your throat would allow, there would be no sound. Something like a horrible dream, that you need to screw your eyes tight shut to fall out of. Except you aren’t waking up from this one.

In a coffee shop, where Mingyu held your hand in a reassurance you now bleed for, you were sure he was real. Real like some deiform image; too good to be true.

In your bed, dry tears on your face, midterm packet sifted through that showed you absolutely everything that you did right, thanks to him. He feels too real. Real like a cloud of obsidian that follows you everywhere, like the sad that’s been sleeping with you every night.

If there was a way to hate someone more than a human limit, you’ve crossed it with the resentment you’ve now fostered for yourself.

Barging into office hours like that, accusing him on a basis of nothing but your own dangerously stewed thoughts. If there was a hope of salvaged parts, you took a hammer to it in disregard; tearing it to ribbons that lay at your feet.

It’s Friday.

At least it was. It bled into Saturday before you realised the 3:23 AM on the dial.

Two weeks of no help and you already feel lightyears behind. The hour is getting to you, and you feel the frustration pool into tears, that turn into full fledged sobs. You’re crying over Bayesian inference and it’s somehow more pressing than any other emotion you’ve ever felt.

Impossible numbers on your data sheets taunt you, not a single reference to if it was a button you clicked wrong or if you were playing a fool’s game altogether.

Ding! You pick up your phone, the weight of it is enough gravity to pull you back to earth.

[Mingyu]: switch to bF10

[Mingyu]: you’ve been pulling numbers from bF01

It’s immediate the way your eyes dart towards your lit screen, clicking off tables to get to the drop down menu you need. And there on the left, two tiny buttons, one clicked on bF01.

With shaking fingers, you move your cursor to hover over the tiny bF10, anticipating. You click. It takes a moment for the numbers to change, but they do. The nominal values turn into something you can actually work with.

Something akin to a tut leaves you, hidden in the breath of another sob. It’s stupid, unreasonable, absurd. Your fingers hover over your phone, shaking as tears drop onto the screen, faster than before.

Do you not miss me?

Do you not want me around?

Talk to me

I miss you

Please talk to me

“I couldn’t—can’t—stand listening to someone spew nonsense when I know it’s not true.”

Mingyu is a product of his personality. You can only imagine he’s helped because he saw you struggling in class, heard from someone else, or perhaps, he just knew the very thing you’d make blunders out of.

The reasons come to you, that Mingyu is a product of his personality. Then why does it hurt? Why does it feel like the knife’s twisted a full 360, that despite the way you accused him of the thing that would strip him of everything he’s bruised himself for, he helps you. The very thing that caused this rift in the first place.

There’s a reason for that, and it is again, that Mingyu is a product of his personality.

It’s Saturday.

Perhaps you relied on your olfactory senses to remain calm, because you always knew you could count on a coffee shop to forever and always smell the same.

The universe seems to want to ruin that for you too.

“Latte, please,” you voice. “Iced.”

“We have a one plus one for the week! Would you like to receive another latte?” The lady taking your order looks no older than 17, a pep in her voice.

“Um, no thank you. Just one, please.”

She looks taken aback, a reasonable reaction to anyone turning down a free drink. But you couldn’t bring yourself to walk home with two cups in hand.

You’re plucking a napkin from the pickup counter when you hear his name.

“...that he manipulated her grade because they were hooking up.”

“He has time to hook up?”

“I remember hearing about that! She barged in during office hours and asked why he fixed her grade or something.”

“A ninety two? In that class? Oh, they were definitely fooling around with each other.”

“Whatever, at least we know he’ll entertain you if he likes you enough. I’m just glad those two are over so I can swoop in.”

There’s an eruption of giggles. You press your head down further.

“Unless he flirts in variables.”

“All is forgiven when you’re born with a face like that.”

Another explosion of giddy laughter, through which your drink is slid across the counter towards you, like it was waiting for you to hear the damning evidence before you could leave. You grab it anyway, grip tighter than usual.

Turning around, your eyes search, finding a group of people that sit in smiles and in various states of trust-falls.

There she is, the girl you sat with on the first day you attended office hours, the one with the glitter gel pen doodles on her notes and her blatant fawns over the TA you slipped under just as easily.

She locks eyes with you and her face falls, eyes widening the slightest bit in recognition.

Pressing your lips into a smile, you hope it doesn’t look as menacing as you feel. You don’t wait for a response before you walk out the large glass doors.

It’s Sunday.

It seems every sip of water you’ve taken during the week has been used up in all the tears you’ve seemed to be shedding. By the bucketload.

Alas, even blurry and puffy eyed, you pour over statistical formulas anyway, running on no energy and all antagonism. It’s another tutorial sheet left incomplete, a single question taking a pour that lasts in at least an hour of struggle.

Reading the same question for the nth time, your palms press into your temples as you stare lasers into the paper, like the revelation would come to you if you stared it down hard enough. It doesn’t make sense, the commands you’ve toggled on and off identical to the instructions on the page.

Hence the question begs why the data was coming out like someone pressed the ultimate on a number generator.

With a heat of unreasonable embarrassment, you find yourself checking your selection in one of the drop down menus, switching to bF01 and back just to see the difference. It does nothing to help, and you can’t help but feel a little relieved it wasn’t that particular snag.

The library is as silent as it could possibly be on a Sunday morning, near empty as you occupy the mostly vacant seats. The librarian is having her own day off, as you could swear she’s playing computer games behind the counter instead of actual work.

The only noise in the room is your own breathing, and that seems to be enough to mess with your concentration. You’re going cross eyed staring at the page for so long, the words doubling and disappearing before going back to normal.

Bayesian inference…z scores…null hypothesis…

Wait.

It’s like you can see it in front of your eyes right now, the scribble of someone else’s dark blue on your notes.

no null hypothesis in bayesian approach

Bayesian approaches don’t use null hypotheses. And z scores are in…

“Oh my god, this is a t test,” you whisper to yourself in disbelief. Immediately, you’re scrambling to shake your laptop out of its sleep, switching over to a t test to redo everything, following the instructions on the same data set.

And there it was…a clear 0.067 under the p value.

In a moment of questioning, you laugh out a breathy sound, the absurdity of it all becoming too real. T tests were the first thing you learned, the foundation to all your statistical knowledge. Coming so far, and it took you days to realise the instructions under a Bayesian approach were for a different realm entirely.

It was stupid of you. But in this difficult aftermath you can’t help but feel victorious. Laughing to yourself quietly in this empty library.

When the initial adrenaline fades and you’ve double, triple checked to ensure you were right, you can only stare at the tiny mail button in your shortcuts on the screen. It was clearly an error, one that was given out to nearly a hundred students.

The first step was clicking, your inbox coming to life as you drift towards the big blue button with the readily available NEW MAIL. So you click.

There’s an attached file in the email you draft.

The tutorial paper has titled t test instructions as a Bayesian approach. Just wanted to point it out and ask if I could receive a corrected version.

Regards, YN

It’s almost like you’re trying to remember how it feels like when you type an experimental m in the To bar. His name pops up immediately, email address typed out in full, full name clear on top as a regular contact.

You don’t need a suggestion to remember, his email came easier to you than your own.

But you don’t email him, backspacing till it’s empty once again.

Dr. Cho’s email sits in that place instead, a first for you.

SEND.

You don’t expect him to reply on a Sunday, in fact, you aren’t sure if he’s going to respond at all. You’ve already shut your laptop, half out of your seat in an attempt to pack up. You’re forced to consider.

Would it be terrible to go back and cc him as well?

A spiteful part of you might find joy in correcting him for a change. The rational part of you wants to actually finish the tutorial before tomorrow’s class when you’d have to tackle another beast for the rest of the week.

Sitting back down, you move without thinking. Your mind is still cooking up possibilities as you swing your screen open once again, still weighing as you click back into your inbox.

There’s a new email in your sent box after you’re done, a copy of the one you sent your professor, the same attachment and the same question; word for word. The only difference, a more familiar name in the address bar.

Before you can chicken out, you slam your laptop shut for the actual last time, shoving everything into your bag before the speeding thoughts can infiltrate your mind's barrier. You’re out the door before you know it, ready to be done with this.

You’re afraid if you put a hand to your stomach it’d be met with kicks and punches, especially with the way you feel the aggressive cartwheels slashing away at your insides. The butterflies are making it to the end of your food pipe, and you briefly wonder if you need to break into a sprint to make it to a safe throwing up zone. Your entire being jolts as you feel a buzz in your hands, a loud click that signifies a new email in your inbox.

Right there, in the middle of the sidewalk, you stop.

The grip you have on your phone is unyielding, your fingers beginning to hurt from the pressure. There’s no way to tell if you’re shaking or not, but you bring your phone to your face anyway. The screen flips on, a lone notification on the screen.

RE: Tutorial Error from Kim Mingyu

It couldn’t have been more than ten minutes since you sent that email, the library still in sight from where you stand. At the same time, it’s almost funny you expected any different from him.

The kicks and punches in your stomach halt, the cartwheels have calmed, the butterflies have fallen asleep. The grip on your phone has loosened, and it’s like every nerve in your body went from on fire to serenity in a whiplash inducing shift.

Clicking on the notification, the email opens.

Noted. I have another tutorial sheet for you if you want it. I’ll be in the room where office hours are held for the rest of the morning.

Kim Mingyu, T.A.

There was no way he didn’t have a softcopy he could send you in less than a minute, and you’re sure he knew you’d realise that too. You should scoff, be upset, roll your eyes.

But instead, you find your feet making a 180, turning around to go right back to where you came from. You walk, eyes still half trained on the email, reading and rereading as you walk back onto campus, towards the building you’d once considered a second home.

You walk, and walk and walk, in through the doors, up the stairs and then another set of them, you take a left and look up. The hallway is empty, the door on the right coming into view as you slow your steps significantly.

Closer and closer, you realise the light surrounding it is brighter than usual. The door is open, and you can see the empty rows of tables and chairs, set neatly against one another. It’s strange, you’ve never seen it wide open before.

Walking even closer, you can see the beginnings of the professor’s desk come into view, and it only takes you one more step forward.

Standing in the doorway now, you find yourself in the direct path of the sun that pours in through the open windows. It’s warm, but just enough to combat the cooling weather.

The desk up front is occupied, as it always is.

Mingyu is only in a t-shirt and trousers, glasses perched on his nose as he scrawls away on the paper in front of him. His laptop is turned on, screen facing the door where you stand, his inbox open and available even on the weekend.

It wasn’t that you were waiting for him to notice, but you found yourself inadvertently taking your time looking at him. Every other situation, you’d done your absolute best to avoid your eyes grazing over him at all costs, hardly drifting over his form before flitting away. You never did it on purpose, but it was more like you were unconsciously protecting yourself.

Like looking at him would only make the ache in your heart worse.

If that was the case, you would’ve been right. There’s a tug in your chest, and in that moment, it all comes flooding in like a gate destroyed.

Mingyu looks up and sees you in the doorway, standing immobile. He sets his pen down, taking his glasses off. There’s the smallest hint of a smile on his face as he greets you, “‘Morning.”

You take it as your cue to move forward, stepping foot into the patch of sun slowly. “‘Morning.”

You reach the desk, standing in front of him, the only thing blocking you being the littered table with files, papers and stationary; the trench between you both.

It’s so silent it tears at your insides, gripping the strap of your bag to have something to do.

“I, uh, double checked when I saw the email. You were right, nobody noticed in class either.” There’s an airiness in his voice, like he might be struggling just as much as you are right now.

He clears his throat when you don’t respond, looking back down at his workspace like he was looking for something. He finds a paper from some stack, handing it over to you.

“Thanks,” you hoarse. It’s the same tutorial you had, except the instructions had been crossed out, replaced by a list of handwritten instructions instead, detailed in their annotation. You recognise it, because of course you’d recognise his handwriting.

“I didn’t have time to print one out right now. I’ll probably send a corrected copy to everyone tonight,” he explains.

“That’s alright.” You look up, lips pressed together, eyebrows forced into a regular position on your face. Nodding, you thank him once again. “Thanks again. I’ll…get going.”

Every fibre in your body screams at you to turn back around, hollering profanities at your inability to deal with this. You’re already halfway to the door though, and your pride’s already deemed it too late.

Please stop me, please stop me, please stop me, please just say something and stop me—

There it is. Your name, from his mouth, in his beautiful voice.

Turning back around is the easiest thing you’ve ever done.

Mingyu has stood up from his seat, out from behind the desk. He looks like he wasn’t expecting you to turn back. “Can we talk?”

And then he’s pulling out the chair he was sitting on, presenting it like a piece offering. If you heard correctly, you could’ve sworn you heard his voice break the slightest bit when he pressed, “Please?”

So there you were, in a position all too familiar as you sit across from the man that’s haunted you for the past weeks, trying to keep your chest from falling in.

“I guess I should start with an apology,” he’s fidgeting with his own fingers. “I don’t need to give you excuses about stress or exhaustion because…”

He closes his eyes, trying to find the words. “I didn’t mean to lash out at you. You were only trying to help and I was too preoccupied with myself to notice. I’m sorry I spoke to you like that when you didn’t deserve it.”

For about the millionth time, you realise you’re tearing up again. He continues. “And then…right before the midterm too. You were right, I did feel horrible. But I swear that grade was all you, I didn’t touch those numbers.”

He really didn’t, because the papers he had thrust into your hands on that fateful day in this very room proved that you earned that mark. You wince regardless.

“I thought I could apologise before the exam started but I couldn’t find you, and then you were gone right after. I didn’t text or call because I was sure I’d fucked it all up.”

“I’m sorry too. For barging in in front of everyone and basically accusing you. I wasn’t thinking straight.” You look up from your lap, wet lashes and all. “I really hope you didn’t get into any trouble.”

“I–no, I didn’t.”

“Are you sure? Because—”

“I promise I didn’t.” He locked eyes with you when he said that, hoping you’d believe him. You nod slowly.

“It wasn’t even that bad, what you said,” you sniffled.

He scoffs at that, “I’d beg to differ.”

“I would’ve gotten over it,” you continue, bracing yourself to admit to something you’ve had trouble admitting to yourself. “I should’ve gotten over it. I don’t know why it hurt so much, why watching you walk out felt so horrible. But I haven’t been acting like normal ever since, and I’m sorry for stretching this whole fiasco out into something that didn’t need to turn into…this!”

“You were hurt because I hurt you.”

“People have said worse things to me. And you were practically a zombie, I should’ve just left it for another time. It was a little bit my fault too. But…yeah.”

There’s a silence as you try to remind yourself to breathe. You speak up again. “I just want us to go back to normal. I’ve missed you. Alot.”

“Me too. The go back to normal bit. And the…missed you bit.”

Mingyu’s half smiling when you look up, biting your lip hard as you try to keep a smile of your own at bay. “I’d thought if I gave up and admitted I was struggling that day, that’d be admitting defeat. That you’d think I…couldn’t do it.”

Why on earth do you care so much? It rings in your ears.

You sound light when you say it though, knowing now it wasn’t what he meant.“Since when are we on caring terms?”

Mingyu cringes. "We are. I am, at least, if you aren't anymore, which is fine. I care about you. A lot."

It’s hard to not let out a laugh. He looks half constipated as he tries to navigate his words.

“Oh well I’d hope you’d care, since you’re my TA and all.”

“Not in a TA way.”

“Tutor way.”

“Um.”

“Friend way? A human way?”

“No.”

You both know you’re being obtuse on purpose, and you aren’t sure why. Maybe you just like to watch him squirm.

“You know what?” he rasps.

“What?”

Your answer comes in the form of Mingyu lurching to grab the legs of your chair, pulling the wheels to crash into him where he sits. You’re not expecting it, the clashing legs causing you to swerve forward, hands on Mingyu’s lap.

And then his hand is on the back of your neck, and his lips placed on your own.

You’re stiff as a board, brain computing the fact that Mingyu is kissing you in a classroom.

It’s short, hardly a few moments before he pulls away. “Does that clear things up?”

There’s nothing you can do but blink at him, the reality of it all settles in. “Hm.”

He laughs at your half dazed state. It’s a purely instinctual part of you that speaks after this. “Maybe one more time. To make sure.”

Mingyu doesn’t even wait to laugh again as he wastes no time, putting his mouth on yours properly this time. There’s more of a drive in you this time, moving your mouth against his and he keeps your head close.

The ecstasy is slow but sure to build in your stomach. Mingyu is kissing you. Mingyu is sitting with you and kissing you so good you’re already half faint.

His mouth tastes like coffee and remnants of berry, a combination you can’t believe you could enjoy this much. Licking into his mouth, you let your tongue drag over his, like the tactile would convince you this wasn’t some too vivid fever dream.

He pulls away for a moment, but hardly so as his lips remain pressed onto yours.

“For the record,” he pants. “I love that you care. And I hope you’ll keep caring. Because I don’t think I can handle it if you walk away after this.”

Mouth back on his own, you decide there’s only one way to convince him you weren’t going anywhere without dragging him with you.

MINGYU'S APARTMENT IS CLEANER than you expected. You aren’t sure what you were expecting, perhaps more mad scientist than anything else. But the most you find is a mug and plate in the sink, and a moderately crowded study desk, which is to be expected.

Mingyu decided to abandon his work for the day to spend it with you, to which you contest that it was Sunday anyway. His response is making you change into something comfortable of his so you could laze on his couch.

Like you would run away if he didn’t, Mingyu keeps his arms around you in a tight hold, fingers curling around your shoulders as you lay on top of him. Your head rests directly over his heart, his cheek and lips taking turns to occupy the top of your head.

You fill him in on everything, and realise the most eventful weeks you’ve spent were actually quite uneventful in hindsight. He feels up your cheek and forehead when you tell him you got sick at one point, to which you have to reassure him it was either something going around or stress that you subjected on yourself.

“I went to a frat party,” Mingyu mumbles into your forehead. “For Halloween.”

The information has you shifting to look up at him in bewilderment, “You went to a frat party?”

He snorts, “Dressed up for it too.”

“Oh my god,” you voice in mild horror. “Do I wanna know?”

“Wonwoo and I matched,” he hums as he pulls out his phone, scrolling his gallery to look for pictures. “I was Mario, he was Luigi.”

“How adorable.”

He only gives you a look and shoves the phone in your face. By some grace of god they aren’t wearing moustaches, but the distinct red and green outfits are enough to give you enough recognition.

“Thing 1 and Thing 2 were also possible contenders,” he informs.

“That might’ve been a little better.”

“What’s wrong with Mario?” he asks sharply.

“Nothing. But I do hope you weren’t sporting an Italian accent throughout that.”

“I was,” he pushes. “A horrible one too.”

You give him the satisfaction of an eye roll.

“You could’ve gone as Peach. We could’ve matched.”

“I don’t know if I’d wanna wear any available Peach costumes during Halloween time.” You crinkle your nose as you think of all the racy costumes that unearth every October.

“Maybe in private,” he says with an insufferable smile on his face.

Placing your hands flat on his chest, you rest your chin and look up at him. “I’m not sure I want to interrupt whatever you two have going on.”

“Who?”

“You and Wonwoo, you’re practically married.”

Mingyu laughs out loud, and you can feel the rumble in his chest against your hands, his body moving against your own that’s stuck to him. “Not with whatever he has going on with his girl.”

“Oh right,” you frown in remembrance. “What happened to not understanding how he does it?”

“Hm?”

“He’s a TA too. Probably just as busy as you. You said you didn’t know how he could juggle a relationship and his job at the same time.”

His eyes spark in remembrance, pausing for a moment. “I may owe him an apology.”

“Do you?”

Mingyu frowns, “Actually no I don’t. I don’t think he and his lady are doing too well right now. He’s been insufferable lately.”

“Is it because of the TA-ing?”

“I never know with those two,” he sighs.

There’s silence once again, in the midst of which Mingyu leans over to kiss you a few times, soft and lingering. Like he’s trying to familiarise himself with the shape of your mouth, the tactile feeling of kissing you.

“Do you…know about us?” There’s hesitancy in the way you ask. But you can’t help but ask anyway.

Mingyu thinks for a moment, and it has your heart beating out of your chest. “I know that I want us to be concrete. That I wanna work around whatever life throws at us. You can decide what to call it, but I know I’m in it for the long run.”

“I’m glad you’re smarter than your husband,” you smile.

He only rolls his eyes, “He’s only good at one kind of chemistry.”

“D’you think they’ll be okay?”

“Oh yeah,” he assures. “They’re just going through a…rough patch.”

“Like we did?”

“If you’re asking me, I’d say they’re being a little more stupid about it.”

The snort that leaves you is unanimous with his own. He continues, “They’ll be okay though.”

“I hope so. I’d like to go on double dates with my boyfriend’s husband’s girlfriend.” You start giggling in the middle of your sentence, too ridiculous even for you to voice.

“This is getting weird,” Mingyu breathes.

You only hum against his mouth, “Do I have to take your husband's blessing before we can move forward?”

“For fuck’s sake.”

You’re both laughing again, a sound that comes from your stomachs, true and uncontrollable. For a moment, you can’t help but be conscious of how light you feel, how happy you feel with his scent infiltrating your nostrils, his presence known where his fingertips touch you.

“I did the sticky note thing again too,” Mingyu says into the silence, and there’s nothing you can do to stop the fit of giggles that erupt all over again.

“Said something worse this time,” he continues as you laugh into his chest. “Accept that you’ll die alone or some other shit like that.”

There’s comfort in this moment. In your giggles and in your tears, in his voice and in his affection. His lips are another sanctuary you’ve found, and perhaps even another way to make your dreaded latch click.

Nose nuzzled in his cheek, the feeling of his skin so soft against yours, fingers at his chin where a slight stubble grows, you relax in ways you cannot comprehend.

MINGYU'S LIPS BECOME A feeling you’ve grown dangerously accustomed to.

It isn’t that he has them on you too much, regardless of what an outsider might suggest; to you they simply aren’t on you enough.

The following Monday went as usual, for you anyway. You weren’t avoiding Mingyu this time, and you were grateful for it. It was two hours of following him with your eyes as he darted around the room. You could hardly constitute it as not paying attention when Dr. Cho was preoccupied with explaining every reason he hates JASP over SPSS, but also ultimately, hates them both.

You don’t even notice his loud outfit (overalls and a neon green sweater underneath), happy to watch Mingyu flit about and whisper incoherent explanations to students.

The tutorial paper is barely looked at by you, because you know your boyfriend will be happy to help you out later at his place.

You’re barely through the door that night when he gets a hold of you, tight grip across your waist as you’re catapulted into his arms, door slammed shut behind you.

Bag still on your shoulders and your shoes still on, Mingyu’s slammed his mouth onto yours before you can take a proper breath. You stumble, squealing through the kiss as you realise you aren’t escaping the iron grip he’s got on your face.

Somehow between it all, you manage to slip your bag off to let it drop to the floor of his doorway, shoes kicked off one after the other as he leads you inside, littering the way.

“You aren’t actually paying attention in class anyway,” he breathes against your mouth before kissing you again. “So why don’t you sit in the back where you don’t distract me.”

“Who says I’m not paying attention.” You open your as your back lands on the couch, looking at him as he looms overhead.

“You’re paying attention to me.”

“It was in my job description when I signed up for the girlfriend position.”

He’s all over you now, hands at your sides, mouth underneath your earlobes as he husks, “Was letting me take you in front of the entire class also a clause? Because if this goes on I might have to take up on that.”

If you didn’t know any better you would’ve assumed he’d been possessed, everything about his behaviour screaming the opposite of the well behaved, restrained man you’ve been accustomed to. The fact that he’s whispering directly into your ears isn’t helping either, a conspicuous shiver dragging across your spine.

It lands with precision, right at your core. You’re too hot to tell, but there isn’t a doubt you’ve begun to pool.

There’s a ding in the background.

He’s suckling underneath your ear, his hands roaming in ways that would smear your reputation altogether.

Another ding.

He’s reached your mouth once again, groping your right breast lightly. Like he’s testing the waters.

Ding.

Mingyu makes a noise of annoyance, the other hand trailing underneath your shirt.

His ringtone blares throughout the room, whoever the caller was having reached wit’s end.

“Gyu…” you whisper.

“Ignore it,” he growls. The ringing has stopped.

He ducks underneath to kiss at your stomach, lifting your shirt oh so slowly. He goes higher, and higher and higher, leaving a trail of kisses at the skin, taking deep breaths as he drags his mouth over your torso.

His phone begins to ring again.

Your head is spinning, your senses overcome. If you weren’t sure before, the air of wetness between your legs is definitely obvious now.

He brings a hand to your centre, pushing inwards at your jean clad core. You exhale sharply yet shakily.

The ringing stops.

Mingyu makes a gumbled sound that you can’t quite make out, too preoccupied with the way your shirt is now up past your bra, at which Mingyu has taken to leaving open mouthed kisses to your cleavage.

There’s a ding.

“Mingyu, I really think—”

His phone begins to ring again.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” he curses, rearing his head like an interrupted animal, wet mouthed and bleary eyed. He looks at his buzzing phone on the floor in an accusatory glare, like he wants to chuck it out the window and go right back to burrowing into your chest.

“You should answer.”

He looks irritated as he takes his phone in his hands, and you find a flash of Dr. Cho’s name on the screen. “It’s eleven O’clock.”

“It might be important.”

“The last time he did this he asked where his peacock feather pen was,” he grunts as he silences his phone.

You laugh, running a soothing hand through Mingyu’s hair, a tiny attempt to calm him down. Pulling your shirt down, you attempt to sit up.

Mingyu makes a noise of denial, attempting to stick his face into your now clothed chest, knocking you back down, “Nooooo, I’m gonna ignore him.”

“He’s not going to leave you alone,” you sing quietly, running your nails across his scalp lightly, holding his head to your chest. You place your cheek on his head, playing with his ear.

As if to prove your point, Mingyu’s phone begins to ring again, and he groans at the prospect.

“Go on.”

He swipes to answer it. A loud sigh and then a tired, “Hello?”

His volume is bumped up enough for you to make out what’s being said on the other line. “Where have you been?”

“It’s nearly eleven, sir. I was in bed.”

“My flash drive won’t open up on my computer.”

You have to stifle a snort.

“Is it…plugged in?”

“Of course it is, I’m not an idiot.”

“Is it showing up on your files?”

“Disk…is not…formatted.”

“Erm, it might be corrupted.”

“How did that happen?”

“Did you download something off the internet onto it?”

“Hardly matters, I need the attendance sheet on it!”

Your fingers are massaging Mingyu’s temples as you feel him tense on top of you.

“Your attendance sheet is on the teacher’s portal,” Mingyu grits before adding, “sir.”

“...I have other things on there too.”

Mingyu exhales ever so quietly and you tighten your hold on him a smidge. “This sounds like something tech support could help with.”

“Why can’t you help?” he asks sharply.

“I…I don’t know how, sir.”

There’s a noise of indignation from the other end, and you can’t help but keep from laughing.

Mingyu sighs into the phone, this time doing nothing to hide it. “I’ll take it to tech support for you tomorrow. And I’ll send you a direct link for the attendance sheet for Monday and Tuesday’s classes.”

The line beeps shut. Mingyu brings the phone for you both to see the professor’s hung up as soon as the words left Mingyu’s mouth.

“Wow,” you whisper into the silence, the weight of Mingyu’s head heavier on your chest. “Not even a thank you.”

“Absent father behaviour,” Mingyu grumbles as he moves his face to burrow into your shirt.

It’s a bad joke, but you laugh anyway.

“Will I be an asshole if I say I’m not in the mood anymore?” he murmurs.

“Absolutely not. Everything sucked right back in the minute I heard his voice on the line.”

“Gross,” he comments, but he’s laughing too.

“Should we call it a night?” he asks, rearing his head.

Nodding, you rise with him. By the time you’ve reached the bedroom, you’ve already begun taking off your accessories, fiddling with your bracelet as you voice.

“I need a shower.”

Mingyu throws you a towel and a t-shirt, which you catch and move towards the bathroom. Halfway through the door, you sneak a look at him fiddling with his belt.

“Do you wanna come in too?”

Mingyu looks at you peering through the door frame. You’ve never seen anyone leap across the room as quickly as in that moment.

THE FOLLOWING DAYS WERE just as eventful as that phone call, Mingyu running around as the midterm low passed and the line creeped up towards finals season.

Perhaps it was better that you stopped attending office hours, because the room seems to become increasingly packed as the days progressed.

You only ever saw Mingyu in the wee hours of the night at his place, where he begged you to camp out till the end of the semester so he “doesn’t move to insanity”. It might even be better for you, going about your day as usual, without the usual added distraction of a partner.

Coming home to him was easier, where he could clear up your doubts while in ratty pyjamas and starfished across the bed, where you could find solace in Mingyu’s chest without prying eyes when the information became like filling an already stuffed junk drawer.

It was a Friday night, you’re alone at Mingyu’s place sitting cross legged on the floor. The table in front of you is pouring over the final question of this week’s tutorial paper, everything seemingly whizzing right past the top of your head.

Despite that, as Mingyu stumbles inside past eleven, you know you shouldn’t ask him for a thing.

Tired was a look on Mingyu you’d gotten quite used to, so you’ve learned to not comment and simply let him fall into the couch cushions with all his weight.

His face is parallel to yours as he closes his eyes with a light groan in greeting. Moving forward, you kiss the flutter of his eyelids softly, down to the apple of his cheeks, the tip of his nose, the corner of his mouth.

Your fingers run through his tangled and distressed hair as he mumbles against your mouth. “Did you finish the tutorial paper?”

You huff in mild annoyance, that despite his state he still thinks about work. “Not yet. One last question and I’m done.”

He hums and waits a moment before reopening his eyes. With a loud groan he’s pushing himself off the couch, sliding off of it to sit with you on the uncomfortable floor. “Alright, let’s get this over with.”

“I can figure it out myself, Gyu.”

“You would’ve been done by now if you could,” he answers. It’s annoying that he says it but he’s also right.

Mingyu holds the paper a mere inch from his eyes, the sight almost comical if he also didn’t look an inch from passing out.

He mumbles the question as he reads, “It’s nothing, just worded weird. Toggle this off and move this to mixed factors and you’re done.”

The toggles are done for you, and Mingyu takes the liberty crossing he question off with a pen he finds on the table.

“Did you get everything else?” he asks in earnest.

“Hm? I think so.”

“Good.” And then he’s throwing his head back to rest it on the couch cushions behind him, breathing slowly.

He’s in a navy sweater, collar of his undershirt peeking through the top. Your gaze leads up further, to the exposed area of his throat—clean, tan and naked. You realise this might not be a good time, but it’s only natural your mind cooks up other ways to translate your helplessness as you watch your boyfriend push himself to the brink. Release is never a bad idea.

Besides, it’s a Friday night. No reason to not.

“Gyu,” you shuffle closer.

Lolling his head to look over at you, he answers in a small voice, “Yeah?”

You put on the guiltiest face you can muster, complete with darting eyes and fidgeting fingers. “D’you think…d’you think you can go over post hoc tests again?”

“Post hoc?” He furrowed his eyebrows. You bite the inside of your cheek, having blurted the first plausible model you could think of to ask him. It’s an older bit of the syllabus, something you should already be well versed in.

Not that you care what he thinks right now, he’d figure out why you were asking anyway.

“Post hoc, um,” he rubs a hand over his face as if to jog his memory.

Shifting forward, you plaster you front onto his side. He thinks nothing of it.

“Analysis tool after you’ve already run the data,” he begins.

Placing your chin on his shoulder, you let your nose nuzzle against his cheek. Trailing up, your lips find the shell of his ear.

“Results have to be…they have to be…” He falters when your hand reaches his front, running across the expanse of his clothes stomach, nails digging ever so slightly as you reach his abdomen. You continue to place open mouthed kisses at the space of neck you can reach.

“Hm? Has to be what?”

“Statistically significant,” he breathes when your palms reach the tops of his thighs. “To run a post hoc test.”

His trousers are less barrier inducing than regular jeans, something you’re both grateful for as you begin to palm his clothed bulge. “Results of what, baby?”

“For the love of—”

“Go on,” you whisper in his ear. “Please.”

One flick and his trousers are unbutton, pulling them aside as the zipper pulls open. You're pushing down his boxers when he answers you. “ANOVA.”

“What’s that again?”

“You little shit.”

You move your mouth forward to kiss him.

“Analysis of variance.”

You hum against the column of his throat at that, his half hard member in your hands. Light touches, that’s all they are, running the pads of your fingers across the pulsing length, coaxing him into full length.

“What’s it for though? We already got our results.” Bending forward, you stick your tongue to kitten lick at his tip. Mingyu hisses, hips shifting. Your tongue swirls around the tip, pushing into the skin on the head where he’s most sensitive.

“Ugh, fuck, for um,” he falters as you begin to suck at his head, tongue running over each hollow of your cheeks.

“For…for…” His chest is moving up and down in quick breathes, every sound from his mouth coming from a deep rumble in his stomach.

Letting go of his cock, you continue to pump him with your hand as you gaze up at him from your position. “For? Keep talking, baby.”

“For…To identify groups,” he grunts out. He lets out a louder moan when you place your mouth back on him, going past his tip and taking as much as you can of him into your mouth. “Identify…the differences, shit, hmph.”

He takes a loud breath before speeding through it again, “Identify which groups actually differ, oh my god.”

The bit of him that you can’t fit on your mouth is being pumped by your hands, fingers pushing into him like you were trying to indent them on the base of his cock. A glance upwards and you find his head thrown back, hands coming to tangle in your hair. His thumb caresses the side of your cheek.

“How many groups?” you ask, before diving back in.

“Three,” he chokes out. “Three or more, oh I’m gonna cum, fuck don’t stop, holy shit.”

Both of his hands are at your head, guiding you as you suck him harder, faster, more tongue digging into his slit. You hum against his dick on purpose, making sure it’s coarse enough to get the reaction you want.

You succeed, because immediately after you hear Mingyu rip out the loudest moan you’ve ever heard, his grip on your strands harder than ever. He cums into your mouth, hips stuttering as you place your entire weight on him to keep him in place.

You let some of it dribble out your mouth and back over his softening dick like a hot coating, sucking him through shooting spurts of cum that land on your tongue.

When you emerge from underneath, Mingyu looks like he got the soul sucked out of him; eyes closed, stuttered breaths raking through his entire body, a light sheen of the beginnings of sweat that glisten in the low light of the room.

Reaching for the tissue box and water bottle on the table, you soak the napkins and bring them to clean him up. He whines when the cold tissues touch him where he’s most sensitive right now, you want to kiss him but account for the cum that is actively stuck to the walls of your mouth.

You leave for a few minutes, much to Mingyu’s hoarse protests. He’s almost on all fours, hands on the floors as you promise to be back. By the time you’ve hauled his tired ass into bed, you’re just as ready to knock out as the half asleep man beside you.

Mingyu’s face is plastered into your neck, arms and legs thrown over your form as he hugs you close to him.

“I might love you,” he says into the darkness. A secret, just for you and the walls to hear.

You hide the way your heart absolutely leaps, conceal the way your hands tighten around his form into an affectionate caress, hold your breath to prevent the inevitable hitch.

I might love you too.

You hide that as well. For now.

Smiling into the skin of his temples, you sigh.

“Feel free.”

[Mingyu]: class ended early

[Mingyu]: be there in 5

[You]: ???

[You]: wdym ended early

[You]: kim did u end class early to come home

Your response comes in the form of the front door lock jiggling loudly. You’d stayed the night at his place, knowing you didn’t have anything to do but study by yourself. Sickly as you were, you doubt you could sit through two hours of even more statistics.

He’d left you in bed with a kiss, needing to be extra early since Dr. Cho decided to dump the last crucial few weeks leading up to finals season entirely on his TA. As much as there was on Mingyu’s already overflowing plate now, you couldn’t deny the elated feeling of your attendance being taken care of regardless of whether you show up to class or not.

A very real violation, but no one truly notes one skipped student in the midst of hundreds. Besides, the bag under Mingyu’s pretty eyes might be enough for anyone to have mercy and let the supposed mistake slide.

As Mingyu walks into the room, shoes flying and back dumped on the floor, he finds you still half clothed with leftover sleep in your eyes, standing in the middle of the living space like you were lost.

He drops his things to come and drown you in his arms, loud kisses all over your face as you talk. “You’re getting too comfortable with this job.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

“Can’t possibly expect me to teach a bunch of half asleep idiots when my woman is all alone at home, sickly and cold without me.”

You grumble wordlessly as you feel him check your temperature with the back of his hand. “How’s the congestion?”

“Bad,” you respond nasally. “I can’t find my Afrin.”

“It’s on the bedside table, baby.”

“No, it’s not.”

Still wrapped in his hold, Mingyu begins to take steps forward that lead towards the bed, pushing you to walk backwards.

“I’m not awake enough to navigate,” you sniff.

“I’ve got you,” he lowtones, pushing backwards slowly.

The back of your knees hit the bed and you let yourself fall back into the unmade sheets. You crawl back under the covers as Mingyu navigates between used tissues, water bottles and pills on the bedside table. But no sign of your nasal spray.

You have to breathe through your mouth and you hate it, but you send a remark his way anyway. “Told you.”

Mingyu bends down and emerges with a familiar red capped bottle. He stares at you while you stare at it, choosing to simply snatch it from his presenting hands and be done with it.

“Good thing I came back early, hm?”

“Shut up.”

He leaps over your form to claim the spot in bed right next to you, still fully clothed as he burrows under the covers next to you.

There’s nothing flattering about the way you stick the nozzle up your nostrils and sniff hard, but the gleam in your boyfriend’s eyes might as well suggest you were trying to get him to look at you like that.

“Are you gonna keep doing this till finals?” you ask throatily, shifting under the covers.

“Teaching during class time is just extended office hours, I’m gonna go insane if I keep going like this. Probably just today. Or…once more if I feel it.”

“Didn’t you say you were gonna extend office hours to Fridays too?”

Mingyu moulded himself against you, giving warmth to your shivering body even under thick blankets.

It seems throughout the course of your relationship, your time with Mingyu is either spent laying down or in the process of doing so. Not that you mind, you’ve found that remaining horizontal was what worked best for someone like Mingyu who seemed to want to fuse with your very being whenever you were together.

“Ugh, not this week. Do not have the patience.”

“I’m proud of you,” you say, eyes closed, already on the highway to dreamland.

“Thank you, I do think I’ve been very brave.” Even while slipping into dreamland, you find the good sense to find his nipple through his sweater and give it a hard pinch. He jerks away in a yelp, clutching his chest.

“What’s that for?!”

You ignore him and simply run your hand over the area you just attacked. “You’ve gotten better at knowing when to slow down. I’m proud of you.”

You’re too far gone to make out what he answers you with, but with the hot breath against your already warm forehead, you decide it's more than enough for you.

MINGYU DOES IT FOR the fourth time, but this time round he’s smart enough to not tell you.

It’s the Friday before finals week officially begins, and you remain in your own place for once to crack down on the last bits of syllabus you want to go over, away from your extremely distracting boyfriend.

There’s a text when you check your phone after a couple hours of hyperfocus, and you narrow your eyes at the notification.

It’s Wonwoo’s (actual) girlfriend, and she’s sent you nothing but a picture of both of your men on Wonwoo’s living room floor, thoroughly occupied with the floored expanse of sheets, pillows and cushions.

It’s a pillow fort.

Your boyfriend is building a pillow fort in his not-husband’s living room mere days before the final exam for the most dreaded course of the semester. All while he’s actively meant to be available for office hours.

You want to laugh. The man that stayed up multiple nights to answer stupid questions in emails, is now less than concerned about the pandemonium that is probably ensuing in the department building. It isn’t that you’re upset, because this was what you wanted from him. To learn to take a break when it was needed. But you would also prefer he’d time them a little better.

Inevitably, you text him, but not before sending an encouraging text to your girlfriend-in-law for putting up with the both of them all by herself.

[You]: where are you

[Mingyu]: where im meant to be?

[You]: office hours?

[Mingyu]: mhm

[You]: are u and ur husband conducting them under a pillow fort in his house

You imagine him sending Wonwoo’s girlfriend a betrayed look. Perhaps even throw a frilled throw pillow in her unassuming direction.

[Mingyu]: DONT KILL ME

You let him suffer in your silence, clicking your phone off and leaving it somewhere you won’t be tempted to look.

Besides, it wasn’t long before there was an incessant banging at your door that you ended up needing to get up to open. He looks so timid, the face of an innocent perpetrator that waltzes into your space.

“I’m sorry,” he begins, following you to your desk like a lost duckling.

“Whatever for?”

“For lying.”

You snort as you sift through tutorial sheets, “Might wanna take that up to the poor hopeless student that thought you were their last hope.”

Mingyu’s head sinks to your shoulder where you sit at your desk. “God.”

“Him too.”

In another few moments, his arms have come around to cage you into your desk where you’re sat, hands placed on the table as he towers over the top of your head, mouth to crown.

“Rumour has it,” he starts.

You make a face. “Now you’ve joined in on gossip? Maybe I have steered you wrong.”

He ignores you valiantly as his mouth drops lower, down to the beginnings of the tips of your ears. You can smell him. He smells good.

“That a textbook recitation is all it takes to get you all bothered down there.”

Lifting your head from its craned position over your papers, you stare straight ahead. Blank and unassuming.

“Take a hike, Kim.”

“...Sorry.”

NO MATTER HOW FAKE annoyed you were at your boyfriend, you cannot possibly credit anyone else for how smooth your finals had gone.

Not a single tear, hack or whine. Your meals were on time, your sleep schedule the healthiest it’s been for months. You even managed a movie night break in the midst of it all. A record for you.

The very first thing you do after walking out of the exam hall, stretching and sighing, you find Mingyu waiting with nervous eyes.

“Well?” he asks, eyes wide and lips pulled into his teeth.

You merely grab for his hand and pull him out of the crowded hall and past a few familiar turns.

“For the record I didn’t want some of the questions on there,” he yaps as he follows behind your stalks. “Hard ones weren’t mine. I promise I’m not a sadist.”

Then, in an un-CCTV’d corner, marked by the broken, empty vending machine, you round up on him. In seconds you’ve pulled him down to meet your lips in an eager, full kiss.

In the moments your lips remain intact, you can feel all the horrid statistical knowledge you’d gathered over the months slip out the cracks and crevices, relieving you.

Mingyu is careful to let you pull away first, eyes sticky to open when you do. There’s a smile on your face. “It went great.”

A strong tug against your waist and you’re suddenly pressed into Mingyu’s all too familiar hold, so everloving tight you can hardly breathe. His lips are smacking and pressing into your skin, all over your face, neck and hands. Anywhere he could possibly reach.

There wasn’t much he could do standing in a huddled corner at nine in the morning on a Tuesday, where anyone could pass by and question what in the high school was going on. But there was more than enough Mingyu could do behind closed doors.

In true Mingyu fashion, he’s begun to grope in every way you love the minute the lock clicks shut of his apartment, every fibre of both of your beings giddy and jumpy, giggles erupting from your tired mouths. You haven’t been touched in ages, always too tired to do anything even when you would find the time.

It isn’t remotely strange that you're wet from only a few kisses and hot breaths against your neck. Although Mingyu’s hands haven’t been modest either, already reaching your clothed cunt as you fall into bed.

He says it was your reward, for doing so good, his illustrious mouth suctioned onto your naked core, moving and grinding in ways you can more than just appreciate.

His tongue is nothing below made for you, like he knows exactly when to flick his tongue, graze his teeth and all but suck the daylights out of you. It’s marvellous, even more so as you realise he won’t stop. One, two, three mind blowing orgasms later, your legs still shake around his head as you cry out for him to stop.

Not that he was going to listen, as he did not the last fifteen times you tried, simply pushing a finger into your abused hole to chuck you into yet another climax. You’re sobbing, trembling, sweating; but also half hearted in your attempts to stop him.

By the time he’s relented, you’re sure you won’t feel a thing down there for at least a week. If Mingyu will even let you go untouched for that long.

But as you’re finally able to catch your long lost breath in bed, and Mingyu has curled up right beside you, like he always does, you let the finality of it all sink in. You were done. And so was he. And you could now begin to experience a Mingyu that wasn’t exhausted, stressed or tired. Even now, the long indented layers of fatigue begin to melt away, revealing a less strained man.

Mingyu was beautiful either way.

“Are you okay?” he asks you, his fingers tracing your features.

The pads of his fingers glide across your eyelids, down the slope of your nose, tracing the outline of your lips. You kiss his fingers as they reach you there, hand coming up to hold his wrists. You kiss the tips of his fingers, down to the palm of his hand. Eyes closed, you keep your lips there.

“More than okay,” you mumble.

“Good. Thought I lost you there.”

Stretching unceremoniously, you drape yourself over his naked form, head on his shoulder. “You’re not losing me. Not after being the sole reason I pass this devil’s module.”

“Is that all it takes? Make sure you don’t fail?”

“And give head like that.” It’s a half joke. “But also be Kim Mingyu comma TA.”

He mimics you between a breathy laugh, “Comma TA. Not anymore, I guess.”

“How happy are you?”

“Still have to grade the last set of papers. But I got what I wanted.”

“The recommendation? You deserve it.”

“That, and not having to be in Dr. Cho’s presence every other day. And you.”

You kiss his shoulder. “Look at you. All grown up with your big boy grad school on the horizon.”

“Not just yet.”

“You’ll get there too. If you can power through this hellsent semester, you can power through anything grad school applications throw.”

Mingyu shifts where he lays, taking a turn to lie on his side to face you. The afternoon sun peeks from behind his form, his outline made of pure gold. His breath is in your face as he talks, and there’s comfort in the air it penetrates.

“I only powered through this because of you. I hope you know that.” He’s smiling.

“Girlfriend duties,” you quote solemnly.

“I mean it. I knew I was walking into disaster with how this stupid job was going, all that work was just a distraction. I didn’t wanna believe this was a bad idea. And then you walked in.”

You cup his face and pout, “Oh, my damsel in distress.”

“Hm, my knight in shining armour,” he giggles. “Galloped in and saved me from myself.”

“You saved me too. From the world and its horrible creations.”

“I’ll start talking in formulas if this keeps up.”

You can only grumble in mild annoyance.

“I’m glad I asked you to come in early that day,” he says.

“I’m glad I was a good samaritan and gathered all your stuff that day.” You grin.

Mingyu leans in and kisses you. It’s soft, slow, and drips of the romance he’s trying to bring into the conversation. His lips are bliss, the feeling of him is bliss.

It’s almost scary how easily you’ve been able to give yourself to him. How quickly he’s placed himself in every nook and cranny of your heart. With his tired eyes and stronger than himself smile, the hand he extended in ways beyond you could ever explain to him. It’s terrifying when you realise what remains on the tip of your tongue, ready and bursting.

But it’s true, and you can only pray it remains that way. Because in that moment, naked and tangled between Mingyu’s limbs, his heart in your ears, your hands on his being, you just know.

“I think I might love you too.”

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tteokdoroki · 9 months ago

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⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚⟡. — SATORU GOJO. a woman in uniform.

about. satoru let’s you try his uniform on in the bedroom and loses his fucking mind. not even the strongest sorcerer can resist a woman in uniform.

warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact ! nsfw, smut, power play, pussy jobs, oral sex ( m!receiving ), clothed sex, blind folds, some slight sub/dom dynamics, fem!reader. i wrote this with my clit tbh.

i think that gojo goes feral for you wearing his uniform. the whole get up, the blind fold and the jujutsu tech jacket. he’ll try to fight it, the feeling of power slipping away, as you crawl up the bed and between his thighs — your tongue dragging over your lips.

“oh, you shakin’ satoru?” he can see the excitement dancing around in your eyes even through the fabric covering them. he can sense the flare in your energy as you loom over him, ranking your nails down creamy washboard abs while his infinity fizzles away. “poor you. it’s not fun to be on the receiving end, is it?”

if satoru really wanted to, he would flip the situation in an instant — have you pinned to the bed with your clothes askew and your mouth hanging open in breathy whines as you beg for him to touch you. but he doesn’t. he can’t. you have so much power over him when you’re dressed like that and you act like you’re the strongest one in the room. you both know that he has the power to end your free rein over his body.

he is the strongest after all.

your mouth is quick to follow your nails, teeth and tongue trailing a wet path from gojo’s prominent collar bones, between his firm pecs and down his tense stomach. you suck hickies into the bone of his slender hips, shades of mauve and navy-ish blue blooming against pale skin like adding water colours to a blank canvas. satoru inhales sharply, losing control of his invisible barrier just so he can savour the feeling of you ravishing his body with nips and sucks and kisses.

you haven’t even gotten to the good part yet.

“lift your hips, satoru, let me see what you’ve got under all this,” you coo sweetly and it’s as if you’re drizzling honey in his ears. the white haired man follows your command like it’s the law, instinctively bucking up and away from the bed so you can pull down his boxers. “how sweet, you’re so hard.” satoru’s cock springs free from its restraints, sticky and bright red at the tip, pulsing and thick at the shaft. when you touch him and take hold of his length in your tiny hand, kitten licking the entirety of him while you look up at him hungrily through your blindfold… the man is sure he might die. you could kill him like this, with his infinity down…and you’re fully aware of it.

teasingly, you ease his cockhead past the seam of your kiss swollen lips and let it nudge the soft epithelium on the inside of your cheek — lubing him up, getting him ready for more of your torture. “should i suck you off? or should i ride you?” you manage, even though your mouth is full of dick…the next, your nose is buried in a trail of soft white pubic hair.

“don’t do that… please…” satoru whines, chest flushed and heaving, brilliant blue eyes boring deep into your soul. his fists form balls at the sides of his shaky legs, he could reach out and touch you — coax you into giving him more. it’s not like he has any restraints on…except for the metaphorical ones of your will and your control. you let go of him with a lewd pop, a trail of your saliva mixed with milky precum tying you to his sensitive erection. “f-fuck…”

cocking your head to the side, you use a soiled thumb and forefinger to lift the black hand over one of your dangerously pretty and mirth-filled eyes. “do what?” you respond with an inquisitive purr, licking your lips and moaning at the taste of the six eyes on them.

“s-shit,” satoru curses, blood curdling and boiling hot lust spreading through all four of his limbs at the sight. “don’t act like you don’t know what you’re doing to me…don’t act like you don’t know how feral i am for you…” saliva pools on the pallets of his tongue, slipping in between the sorcerer’s words as you move like a vixen in the woods above him — sliding yourself into gojo’s lap to position yourself perfectly above his aching cock. “don’t—“

gojo chokes on a moan as you begin circling your hips, plush and puffy pussy lips sucking in the length of his cock whilst it lays flat against his tummy. if he focuses his mind enough, pushes through the dark veil of lust you’ve pulled over his mind that works in overdrive, he can just about see his bulbous, leaky tip peeking out from underneath the folds of his dark uniform — the uniform that’s draped so perfectly over the curve of your mouth-watering body. a deep groan anchors itself in gojo’s chest like the roots of a sturdy oak tree and his hands leap up from the bedsheets to grip your peachy ass barely hidden by his clothes.

“don’t this, don’t that,” you hum condescendingly, as you alternate the movement of your hips — dragging them back and forth, back and forth over your lover’s pathetically wet dick. you make sure to clench your slick hole every time it meets his tip, glazing him in a small stream of your arousal. “don’t you know how to shut up ‘n take it, satoru?”

the dominance in your voice has the white haired man in shambles, twitching beneath the weight of your body on his. for christs sake, he’s the strongest, he brings curses and sorcerer alike to their knees just by mention of his name. so why is he so weakened by the sight of you above him? by the sight of you in his clothes, grinding sloppily on his wet cock? gojo doesn’t want infinity projecting him, not when he occasionally slips inside of your welcoming, tight cunt when you thrust yourself down on him.

“g-god…baby, please!” he hiccups, fighting the urge to force you down onto him fully — bully his way into your squishy insides. satoru could do anything he wanted to you, in a single moment he could have you sniffling against the sheets and crying as much as your cunt does…but the way you rein him in just by wearing his clothes stops him.

“what’s the matter, handsome? you cryin’?”

at your teasing, the cream that oozes from his sensitive tip paints your clit adds to your gathering arousal as it soaks through satoru’s uniform. nastily, he doesn’t think he’ll wash it, he wants the memories of tonight to stay with him forever. he wants to remember how you took over him and took his every capability in using his power — reducing the satoru gojo to a pussy drunk fool.

the scent of your sex is the only way he can think to immortalise this moment.

“i can… i can take it. give it t’me, want everythin’ you’ve got,” satoru simpers eagerly over the lewd, sticky pap, pap, pap of your sexes meeting in a salacious bump and grind. he has no idea where to look — intimidated by the control that oozes off of you, the control that he gives you. if he stares at your bouncing breasts beneath his jujutsu tech jacket or your clenching cunt for too long, he might just bust all over you and his inform before he even has the chance to be inside of you.

light laughter escapes you at gojo’s babyish bleats and whimpers — so you lift the blindfold once more, lips spreading into a slow and sexy smirk, much like the kind he would tease you with. “i don’t think you can handle my everything, baby.”

and you’d be right. not even the strongest sorcerer in japan could handle his woman in his uniform.

#tteokdoroki #gojo x reader #gojo smut #jjk smut #gojo x you #satoru gojo smut #jjk x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo #satoru gojo x you #jjk x you #gojo x y/n #jjk x y/n #gojo satoru x reader #✧ ₊˚੭ — writing

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reredaydreams · 6 months ago

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A Pierce through the Heart || Jeon Jungkook

When you go to get your nipple pierced, but something else gets pierced too (it’s a metaphor, if you know what I mean).

Paring: tattoo artist (& piercer) jk x reader

Warning: this story contains mature content, 18+

Content: smut, fluff, oral!f receiving, tit sucking, fingering, doggy style, missionary, squirting, love at first sight?, nipple piercing, unprotected sex, light dirty talk, eating out, after care, edging

Wc: 6k

It was past seven in the evening by the time you entered the tattoo shop, the cool ventilation of the air conditioner giving you relief from the hot summer weather, welcoming your way into the shop. The chilled environment sent tiny shivers down your body, a result of wearing a white tank top, accompanied by a flowy, black skirt with a red lace ribbon tied around your waist as a belt, and a tote bag hanging off your shoulder. All clothes that equipped you for the weather outside.

You glanced around the empty space, it was different from the typical tattoo shop. It felt more artistic than edgy as you would expect from a place like this. Pictures of tattoos done in different colours were hung on the walls accompanied by abstract paintings. Most odd of all, little bonsai trees, a lot of them decorated the brown and white interior alongside the casual furniture expected in a tattoo shop.

“Welcome. I’ll be right there with you in a moment,” an oddly familiar, low, melodious voice made its way to your ears. Turning your gaze to the source, you saw a man wearing a tank top, with washed denim jeans standing with his back to you, doing something on a table further into the shop. He was the only other person here.

Your eyebrows arched up, pupils enlarging as the man turned towards you, his face coming into view, a similar expression masking his face once he glanced upon you.

“Y/n,” a low whisper left his mouth, as he made his way to you, a shine displayed in his eyes. “A, hey! We met at the bar last week, I don’t know if you rem—,”

“I remember, Jungkook?” You cut him off, confirming that the memory of the encounter was still in your thoughts, before taking a pause and uttering his name in a way of looking for confirmation that you recalled correctly. He nodded with a small smile on his lips, having been glad to know you still remembered him.

Oh, you knew it was jungkook, a name of a person who had occupied your brain since the moment you met him last week. His voice still lingering in your ears while his pretty face became a beautiful scenery for your closed eyes.

It was a Friday evening, following a long and hectic week at work when you, along with your best friend, had decided to go to a jazz bar to relax and enjoy the day going into the weekend.

The bar was lit with rich and warm lighting, giving it a cosy environment, accompanied by a local band playing some tunes on the small stage. Some people danced, swaying to the music, letting go of the stresses of the week, while others enjoyed the delicious food and drinks offered at the place.

You and Yeri, your best friend, sat on the high stool tables placed along the border of the bar, as you both sipped away at your drinks, talking about all the random topics that came to mind.

“So basically, he allows them to take his brain cells and send them to space, in the trajectory of the coming aliens, so that they would seek out to capture the spaceship, and we will be closer to the aliens, and learn stuff about them,” you sloppily explain the plot of a recent sci-fi series you have been watching.

“But are a single clump of cells really a human, though?” Yeri asked, taking a sip of her drink. “Right, I don’t think so, but the aliens probably have some technology to rebuild the human, and maybe retain some information,” you tried to make the objective of this move clearer.

“That makes me wonder, though, the concept of having a soul, does it really exist? Or, for the fact where? Is it in your body?” You thought out loud to your friend, swirling the glass of wine in your hand, as your mind delved further on the concept. “I’m not sure, that’s a deep question,” Yeri acknowledged.

“Ya. It’s just that, a ‘soul’ just feels celestial, like the concepts of magic, or a god, rather than something so humanly connected to the body,” you completed your thought, receiving another hum in response, followed by a comfortable silenced engulfing the air around you both, as your minds swam in the ocean of your thoughts.

After a few minutes, Yeri’s voice broke you out of your trance, “wanna go dance, to loosen up a bit?” She suggested. “It’s okay, you go ahead, I’ll rest here for a bit,” you assured her with a small smile.

“Okay! I’ll be back in a while,” Yeri conveyed as she quickly gulped down her glass of alcohol and eagerly made her way to where others were enjoying the music.

You shook your head at your friends' actions, as a small laugh left your mouth. You knew exactly why she wanted to go dance; something or perhaps someone had caught her eyes.

You went back to playing with your glass, as your mind was ready to set forth on a journey of thoughts, but as soon as Yeri set out on her way, a melodious voice cut through the air, making its way to your ears.

“I agree with you. It truly does feel something celestial, something so magical,” the person voiced out their thought turning to lock their eyes with yours, confirming that they were, in fact talking to you. “The ‘soul,’ that is.”

Your breath almost hitched, as your eyes laid upon the man in front of you; god, he was gorgeous. The cute plump lips, where a small smile casted upon them, the bread like cheeks, that looked so soft, and those chocolatey brown eyes that shone as they gaze upon you behind those black, clear glasses, were just so captivating.

His soft wavy hair fell just below his jaw, slight hints of an undercut peeking through, while a few strands of hair strayed to his forehead. Your eyes travelled down his body; he was wearing a black leather jacket, opened to give a glimpse at the white compression shirt underneath that highlighted his muscular body even more. The trails of ink that travelled from beneath his jacket, caressing the skin of his slender hands, and the piercings that marked his body, the ones on his ears, and especially the one that traced under his shirt, just added to his already breathtaking beauty.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. It’s just that the topic you were discussing was so intriguing, I couldn’t help but to overhear,” he said, breaking you out of your trance of gawking at him. A worried smile masked his lips but yet a hopefulness sparked in his eyes.

“Oh, it’s all good. I love having conversations on such topics, and you said you found it intriguing, so, why don’t you tell me more of your thoughts on it?” You assured him invitingly, placing your elbow on the counter, leaning your head into the palm, giving him your undivided attention.

“Well…”

You didn’t know when an hour and half passed, as you got lost in the rhythm of his words, and the ocean of thought as you both bounced off of each other’s questions, travelling through topics, from space to philosophy, sharing your own intellects.

His way of words was so enchanting, continuing the conversation in a way that never let your attention deviate away from him. His presence was comfortable, as if talking to a friend you haven’t seen in a long time. His eyes were calm, making a safe space for you to share your opinions. In this small time you spent with him, you knew one thing for sure, you wanted to keep talking to him.

As you finished a passage to a point he had brought up, you laid your arm out on the table, causally in his direction, resting your head on your biceps, letting a soothing silence engulf the space, while the voices and music blurred in the background.

He took a sip of his drink to hydrate his throat that had become dry from all the talking, as he observed your movements from his peripheral vision. Once settling down his glass, he followed suit, resting his head on his arms on the counter.

You saw his hand gradually travelling to your hand, as his fingers intervened with yours, playing with them gently, caressing them in between. All the while his gaze remained deep into your eyes, displaying unsaid emotions clearly.

You closed your eyes, feeling his soft touches on your skin, his warmth feeling as if you were laying under the sun on a breezy summer day, his perfume adding to the image, as the citrusy, yet fresh smell painted a picture of a serene ocean in your mind with every deep breath you took.

As you were lost in the solace of the moment, another thought struck your mind; you didn’t know the name of this beautiful man in front of you.

“I’m sorry, all the while we were talking, I didn’t even bother asking your name,” you spoke out, opening your eyes to meet those that were still looking at you in the same manner as before. He observed the tiny frown tugging at the corner of your lips. “Jungkook, Jeon Jungkook,” he relayed with a tender smile. “And don’t be sorry, I didn’t have the courtesy to ask the name of such a beautiful woman either,” he conveyed with a small pout.

A small laugh escaped your lips, before you informed him of your name. “Y/n,” he repeated with such familiarity, as if the name was made specifically for his mouth. He parted his lips once more to say something, but was interrupted by Yeri’s voice, making you both sit up straight.

“Y/nie,” she cooed, circling her arms around your shoulders, resting her head against your back. She was drunk. You held on to her arms, worried about your friend, you inquired, “are you okay Yeri? Is everything alright?”

“Hmm, yess, yess, I just wanna go home,” she whined. You were used to this, as you were like the mother of your friend group, always taking care of everyone out of your love for them.

You guided her arms to unwrap around you, standing up, holding on to her arm to keep her steady. You turned to look at Jungkook, who was already gazing at you warmly, admiring the way you took care of your friend.

“I’m sorry, I’ll have to head out now,” you spoke out, your eyebrows creasing in slight displeasure as you still wanted to continue to talk to him. “Oh, it’s alright, but before you go, could I get—,” as jungkook was about to complete his sentence, Yeri began to drag you outside, and all you could do was look back at him with an apologetic expression, as he did his best to assure you with his smile, waving you bye.

You couldn’t help but smile at the memories of that night, and how Yeri kept apologising to you for her behaviour that night, and accidentally preventing you from getting his number. She felt so guilty, even trying to find him for you on social media platforms, but it was no use. However, you guaranteed her that it wasn’t her fault, and maybe that connection you felt with Jungkook that night wasn’t meant to be anything more, but who knew, you would run into him again like this.

You looked up to meet his eyes, that were busy admiring your look, travelling down your body, respectfully of course. You observed that he wasn’t wearing any pair of glasses today.

“I’m sorry, for leaving so abruptly that day,” you said, bringing his attention back to your face. “Oh, no no, I totally understand,” he shook his head to make his point, while a small blush crept on his cheeks, having been caught in the act of checking you out.

“So, how can I help you today?” He questioned, clearing his throat. “Oh, right, I had booked an appointment for a piercing,” you explained.

“Yes yes, you are my last appointment for the day. So, what type of piercing are you planning to get today?” He asked, recalling his schedule.

“A nipple piercing,” you said nonchalantly, tilting your head to the side a bit, as you gazed upon him.

His eyebrows slightly raised, pupils enlarging, as he visibly gulped, a slight red hue appeared on cheeks. He looked so cute with the nervous expression that masked his face, causing a mischievous look to play in your eyes.

“You do those, right?” you playfully inquired, acting as if you weren't fully sure, but you had already confirmed with a person on the phone earlier. “We do. Follow me this way,” he guided, slowly picking up on your teasing.

He led you to a back room, in which there was a tattooing chair situated beside a table with some tools, and a couch on the other side. The space still aligned with the overall warm and brown theme of the shop, while there were once again, small bonsai plants decorating the room.

You walked over to a table that stood beside the couch, adorned with the plant on top, observing it closely while you waited for Jungkook to come back from washing his hands.

“My business partner really loves nature, so he decorated the whole studio with these plants,” Jungkook explained, having seen you looking keenly at the plant while walking in. You hummed in response, turning to meet his eyes, which held eye contact with you for a moment, before turning to the equipment on the table.

“Please, take off your upper garments and lay comfortably on this chair,” he instructed, motioning towards the chair next to the table where he was standing, his eyes still directed towards the tools in his hands.

You began lifting up your tank top ever so slowly to tease him, knowing that he could see you from his peripheral vision. Unhooking your bar, you left it on the couch, along with your tank top. Following his instructions you got into a comfortable position on the chair. He made his way to you, taking a seat on the stool beside the tattooing chair.

“So, you want one piercing on the left side?” he questioned, to confirm once again, looking directly into your eyes. You gave him a small nod, his eyes travelling down to your chest, lingering there for a moment, before meeting your eyes once again.

“Hmm, the nipple needs to be erect when it is pierced, usually we use a clamp, which can be a bit painful, however, I have another method to make it erect,” jungkook informed, maintaining eye contact with you, while a small smirk rested on his lips. “You want to try that, y/n?” He asked, with a till of the head.

“Yes,” a low whisper left your lips, followed by his hand tracing down your neck to your left nipple, his index finger tracing circles around the areola. His face came closer to your chest, his breath fanning your upper boob, lips just inches from touching your skin.

His eyes turned up to meet yours, asking for permission with an arch of the eyebrow. With a small grin you indicate your interest, your hand travelling to the back of his neck, gently wrapping around it as he peeked out his tongue, licking from its bottom to top. He kept circling it around the nipple, licking it in between, causing a small whine to leave your mouth due to his teasing.

He finally latched his lips onto the now already hard nipple, sucking on it enticingly, rolling it around in between his teeth. His one hand went to the other one, gently rubbing it with his thumb. It felt good, low moans leaving your mouth. After a while, he pulled away, a string of saliva connected his lips to your boob.

He grabbed a tissue, cleaning the liquid, before grabbing an alcohol wipe to clean the nipple that was now prominent. He marked it as you had asked, grabbing a sterilized needle, and quickly piercing it, and inserting a small rod with a ball on one side through the hole, connecting another one on the other end.

“There you go, all done,” he declared, putting the supplies back on the table before turning back to you. Your eyes were on him, looking at him with intent and lust, indicating that you wanted something more, just like he did. He brought his face just inches away from yours, looking deep into your eyes, while a small, playful smile rested on his lips.

“Y/n, do you want this?” He questioned. You knew what he was insinuating, it made you a little annoyed that he was asking you such a question when he clearly knew the answer.

Your hand makes its way to his torso, feeling his toned abs hiding under his top, before walking your fingers to his chest, just above his heart. You probed around the area, playing with the piercing that was there for a moment, and then continuing your way to his shoulder. You gently wrapped your fingers around his neck, pulling him in closer as if to kiss him, but instead you glided your lips to his ears, leaving him a bit disappointed.

“I do, but do you?” You whisper into his ear. He snaked his arm around your waist, his grip tight as if he was scared that you would back out. “Oh, you don’t know,” his voice came out in a low whisper, a desperation lacing it. “I have wanted this since I first laid my eyes on you,” and as those words left his mouth, his lips were on your jaw, trailing sloppy kisses along the bone, exploring down to your neck and sucking on it passionately.

He guided your legs to wrap around his waist, picking you up and bringing you to the couch that was in the corner of the room, while being careful of your new piercing. Laying your body on the couch, he backed away from your neck, his hand going the waistband of your skirt, gliding them off your body, along with your panties and discarding them on the floor.

He made his way between your legs, taking a moment to admire your body that just looked so divine to his eyes. He wanted a taste so bad, he just couldn’t hold himself back anymore. He pinned your one arm above your head, going in to suck on your nipple that remained unpierced, while his free hand made its way to your clit, rubbing between the pussy lips in an up and down motion. A sound of satisfaction left your mouth, having gotten him where you needed the most.

He continued to make out with your tit in greed, before trailing warm kisses to your stomach, down to your pelvis. He pulled away, spreading your lips to look at your needy pussy. “So pretty, baby,” he commented, admiring it with a lustful gaze. “So wet for me already,” he teased, going in to devour all of you, causing a whine to leave your mouth.

His tongue rubbed circles around your clit, flicking the nerve in between, before his lips wrapped around it, sucking on it in hunger. He iterated on these motions, sending you into a bliss, and ohh, when he inserted his fingers into you, pumping them in and out, it drove you over the edge as your thighs squirmed around his head riding out the orgasm on his mouth.

He pulled away, sitting on his knees, in between your legs, gazing down at your body in adoration, satisfaction masking his face at the observation of the effects he had on you. Your chest raised up and down assisting the flow of your quick breaths, as you catched a breath after your high, while a tiny layer of sweat coated your forehead.

Your eyes remained fixed on him, as he brought his fingers, covered in your cum, to your lips, sticking his fingers in and exploring your mouth, pushing down on your tongue hitting the back of your throat. You gagged at the motion, sucking his fingers obediently not breaking eye contact. He pulled away and licked the rest up, devouring it clean. A hum of content left his mouth at the delicious taste produced by the both of you, all the while his eyes remained locked with yours, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

He brought his hand to the sides of his tank top, pulling it above his head and discarding them on the floor, along with your clothes. Your eyes now came in view of the Calvin Klein underwear that peeked from under his jeans, and that nipple piercing that had been teasing you for the longest, looked even better on him than you imagined. It was so vulgar, in the best way possible. You bit your lower lip, as the view made your insides feel even more warm.

He quickly followed by removing his lower garments, leaving you with the perfect view of his naked body. God damn— it was so hot and big…

“On your knees, babe,” Jungkook commanded, guiding you to your front with a hand on the hip. “I want to take you from the back,” he expressed, the words sounding so lewd as they came out of his mouth, causing a whimper to leave your mouth as his hand gripped your ass. His chest pressed against your back, as he left kisses on the base of your neck, before tracing his hand along your figure to your ass. He placed a playful slap against it, as your whine made its way to his ears, feeling you press your butt to his crotch. “Getting needy, aren’t we?” he teased, as he delivered another slap.

He’s acting as if he just didn’t eat you out like his life depended on it moments ago, you thought. “Why? Aren't you needy for me too?” you questioned, looking back at him with a pout, giving him the doe eyes. “If you don’t want this, then–” you teased him back, pretending to crawl away, but he didn’t let you as he gripped onto your hip, pulling you against him once more, bringing his face next to yours, over the shoulder. “Hey! You’re not going anywhere,” he groaned into your ear.

His fingers pushed your hair aside from your face, tucking them behind your ear and giving him a clear view of your gorgeous face. “Do you feel that?” he questioned, pressing his erect cock against your pussy, rubbing it against your slit, lubricating with your wetness. “Do you feel how hard it is?” he elaborated, placing a kiss on your jaw. “This is all your fault, you make me like this. You will help me with my problem, right babe?” he asked, giving you a curated pair of puppy eyes, as his lips protruded out, forming a small out pout.

You hum in response, a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth, feeling the effect that you had on him. He trails a string of kisses along your neck, to your shoulder blade, leaving a soft bit mark against it. He guided his cock to align with your entrance, causing a hiss to leave your mouth at the burn of the stretch. “It's okay, darling. You can take it,” he encouraged, rubbing circles on your back in a soothing motion.

It was a tight fit. You hadn’t had such a stretch before, but it felt good, and full. “Is it better? Should I start moving now?” he asked, once his cock was fully nestled within you. You let out low ‘yes’, as he began to glide inside your walls.

At first the movements were more slow, and passionate, but they soon became more intense, aggressive, and lustfull, as his mind clouded with a hunger for you. But that wasn’t enough, you needed him even deeper than he was, causing you to push back onto his cock as he pounded into you. These movements added to the pleasure for both of you, not shying away from vocalising it, and neither did he, as your voices blended together, echoing through the room.

It became too much to handle, and soon enough you released the built up tension in your stomach. The walls of your pussy contracted around his cock, a low, moan of pleasure leaving his lips, sending him to a bliss, causing him to pull out, as you felt a warm, and moist liquid spray against your lower back.

Your legs give out, as you let your body fall on to the couch, trying to catch your breath after your second orgasm of the day. You felt him lay his body against your back, the sounds of his fastened breaths making their way to your ears. Just the feeling of the pulses of your pussy on his cock that pressed against your clit was so arousing to him that it didn’t take him long to become erect once again.

He pushed his body away from yours, pulling you to your front by your waist, gripping on to your thighs, spreading your legs apart, situating himself between your legs once again. “Round two?” he questioned, with an arch of a brow, while a sly grin played on his lips, causing a small laugh to leave your mouth.

He again aligned himself with your entrance, pushing in more easily, as he began moving into you, this time with a sloppish movement. Your hand drawed up his tattooed arm, gliding your way over his collarbone, and onto his piercing. You rubbed it between your fingers, before giving it a pinch, causing a groan to leave his mouth.

“Sensitive here, aren’t we?” you teased, as he gave you a narrowed look, causing a smirk to appear upon your lips. However, it didn’t remain there for long, as you moaned out in pleasure, as he picked up pace, his movements becoming more intense, fervent, and delightful.

You were getting close, close to your release. The in and out motion of his thrusts, his balls slapping against your skin, his cock grazing against the wet and silky walls of your pussy, his fingers rubbing circles on your clit, all these actions combined to serve you pleasure, sending you into ecstasy. Your body didn’t shy away from vocalising this, as the sound of satisfaction left your mouth ringing through the room, travelling to his ears, making him want to keep on hearing more.

The fingers that were on your clit, now glided up your stomach, the patterning of his cold fingertips sending shivers through your figure, yet your body burned from warmth. A faint, dewy trail of your juices was left behind, fading into the skin as his fingers reached your non-pierced tit. He circled his finger around the nipple, before pinching it and then twisting the bud around, causing a cry due to the arousement leaving your mouth, as your body squirmed to the side, though the grope of his hand on your boob prevented you from moving any further, forcing you to recline back to your original place.

“Relax, Babe,” Jungkook encouraged, rubbing patterns on your stomach, pressing on it gently. “I got you,” he cooed, gazing into your half open, dazy eyes, as he lowered the intensity of his thrusts, earning a whine of disapproval from you. However, he ignored it, and continued to deliver delightfull pressure to your pussy through a slow and passionate gliding motion.

Your hair was scattered on the surface of the couch around your head, while a few strands strayed to your forehead and cheek. Jungkook reached his hand forward and moved the pieces of hair away from your face and tucked them behind your ear. His fingers pursue to trace the side of your face, along your jawline, coming to a stop at the corner of your lips. His fingertip caressed your lips, feeling the soft texture, while the movements of his lower body gradually came to a stop, leaving himself buried inside of you.

A whiny cry left your throat at his tactic for getting what he desired. It was simple: you give him what he wants, and you get what you want. He wanted to kiss you, kiss those juicy lips of yours, feeling the softness against his own, while devouring you whole. You wanted him to please you more, to go harder, to let you have your release, and send you into a bliss. You knew that he wasn't going to fulfil your wish until you let him fulfil his need.

Jungkook rubbed his thumb against your lower lip, while his fingers caressed the sides of your cheek. His thumb came to a rest, as he looked into your eyes with burning intensity, asking permission to carry on with what he was thinking. In a swift motion, you pulled on his arm, bringing his face just inches away from yours. You cupped his face in your hands, fingers stretching to the sides of his neck, while your thumb pressed against his cheeks.

“Jungkook,” you whispered in a seductive tone, meeting his eyes with a craving, your breath fanning his skin, “please, fuck me. Fuck me harder.”

Just as those words left your mouth, Jungkook’s lips were locked with yours in a lustful kiss, tongues tangling together in the moist environment. There was hunger behind the kiss, an aggression to feel one another as close as possible.

Jungkook’s hand travelled to the nape of your neck, grabbing a hold of it and pulling you closer, as if you both weren’t already moulded together. Your arms snaked around his neck, pressing your bodies up to one another, as he began to drive into you once again, but this time with a much greater intensity. His speed continued to increase as you moaned into his mouth. He trailed kissing along your jaw and down your neck, leaving marks he will adore later.

“Mhm, you feel so good,” the words flowed out of your mouth in ecstasy, followed by a sting of moans. “Then cum for me, Darling. Show me how good I am making you feel,” he commanded, moving back to admire your disoriented state, in his eyes you were the most gorgeous being he had ever seen.

Soon enough you came, clenching around his cock, as your insides pulsed against his skin. However, he didn’t stop, he continued to pound your pussy, making loud sounds of pleasure leave your mouth. His eyes travelled down your body, to the place where your bodies connected. A few dribbles of squirt rained out of you due to the overstimulation.

“Fuck, you're so beautiful,” he declared, feeling himself close to his climax. With a few more strokes he pulled out, releasing over your stomach, leaving it a mess in his liquid.

He let his body relax, laying half of his body beside you, while the other half rested against you, as he laid his head on your chests, hugging your body close to him. Your arms wrapped around his shoulder, to feel his warmth around you, while you both regained your breathing. You both remained in this position, feeling a sense of calm in each other's presence, after that exhilarating session.

After a few minutes, Jungkook lifted up his body, his arms straight as he rested his palms on either side of your body, caging you within. He gave you a tender smile, before leaning in to kiss your cheek, whispering a ‘I’ll be right back into your ear. You gave him a lazy smile as he pulled out, getting off the couch, and leaving the room.

A while later, he walked back in, having cleaned himself up of the sticky substances. He made his way to where you were laying, and cleaned you up with a wet towel he had brought, before disposing of it.

“Here, put this on,” he said, while handing you a big white shirt. “Your tank top will rub on your piercing, causing irritation, so wear this to prevent it,” he explained. You already knew this information, that’s why you had carried a loose t-shirt in your bag when making your way here, but you didn’t tell him this and just took the piece of clothing from him.

Jungkook moved to collect his discarded clothes from earlier, as your eyes followed his every movement, while you sat up on the couch. He could feel your stares on him, so he made sure to look extra sexy for you, when putting his clothes back on.

Once finished, he moved back towards you, spreading your thighs apart slightly, before intervening his legs in between them. He gently grabbed the shirt from your hands, which you had done no effort to put on, and helped you wear it himself.

Once the fabric was settled on your body, he placed his arms around your neck, leaning in slightly to look into your eyes with an emotion that you couldn’t quite discern. You both remained in silence, just looking into the depths of each other's eyes, before you decided to speak up.

“So,” you began. “Do you give this special treatment to all your customers?” you teasingly inquired, keenly looking forward to his response.

“No,” he said bluntly, looking you dead in the eye. “It’s only for my future special someone,” he informed, as there was a shine in his eyes as the statement left his mouth.

His words left you confused, and a bit shocked, as you didn’t think he would think of this anything more than a hookup after how fast things progressed today.

“Y/n” he called, breaking you away from thinking further. “I want you. I want something more, and I’m not just saying this to get in bed with you again. I truly mean it. After meeting you at the bar last week, I couldn’t stop thinking about you, and the conversation we shared. I want to have more deep talks like that, in the comfort of our own peace,” he explained, expressing his feeling.

You weren’t going to lie, you also held a similar feeling. After that meeting with him, you couldn’t stop thinking about him and the conversation you had with him. He listened to you, sharing his experiences and intellect along the way. You found a calm in his company, at the most odd place. You felt upset all this week at not having gotten his number, and at the possibility of never meeting him again, but seeing him today when you entered the shop gave you hope. A hope to get to know him better, but where today had led to made you think that your connection wasn’t meant to be something more. However, after hearing him now, a smile grew on your face. You hadn’t been the biggest believer of love at first sight before, now you just might be.

“I don’t want to put any pressure on you, I’m just saying that maybe we could try dating, go on a few dates,” he clarified, shyly averting his eyes from you, the same man that just fucked you with such intensity a while ago. Wow, the duality.

You wrapped your arms around his waist, resting your head on his torso. “Lets try it out” you replied, bringing his attention back to you. “I mean, who would be a fool enough to let go of the opportunity to potentially have such a handsome boyfriend,” you teased, looking up at him with a toothy smile, which he returned with his big bunny smile upon hearing your words.

“Then, since it's already late outside, do you want to get dinner together?” He asked.

“Let’s go,” you replied, giving a genuine smile, as you looked forward to possibilities of what lies ahead.

A/n: hey there! Hehe, I hope you enjoyed this! Your thoughts and feedback are always appreciated

#bangtan #bts #bts army #bts fanfic #fluff #jungkook #smut #story #fanfic #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook imagine #bts x y/n #bts x you

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shyjuns · 2 years ago

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i really just don’t understand why they gave it that blue strap like it don’t match at all

#caratbong was the most beautiful 😞#what happened #but I do think I understand the reasoning behind the colour as the previous two were white and holo so maybe they wanted black and holo??#ugh whatever it sucks this might be our last light stick 😭

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evilgwrl · 29 days ago

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Neighbour!Simon Riley x Reader

Girl Next Door (Ten)

CW: PIV (no protection, use it irl), cream pies, angst, brief description of oral (f receiving), drama time!!!

P.S. this is kinda dooky my bad

Previous Chapter, Next Chapter

Everything was white-hot, a strum of fulfilment working through every muscle, scorching blood pumping through your veins, constricting your breath with every knock against your cervix. Teeth indented your neck, crescent moons scarring the flesh with every breath that rang against your throat.

Simon was everywhere.

Whether it was hands gripping at your ass, kneading the flesh between over-worked palms, or his tongue licking at your neck, cleaning the peppered wounds he flourished into your skin, he was there.

Black face paint stained your chest, stygian stains tearing down your breasts with every drop of water, his eyes seizing all colour as his pupils dilated, lapping in the sight of you with every dip of his crusted lashes. He was almost feral, grunting with every deep thrust, enjoying the way you drew him in with every suck of your creamy cunt, every stutter of a breath that whispered against his ear, every splutter of your lungs that filled with water as your mouth held open over the spurting faucet.

His chest was swollen with pride, a sick sense of satisfaction running through him at your expression, your body docile against his grip as your eyes squeezed into crinkled slits. You were utterly fucked on his sheath, his hips pistoling into yours like it was his duty to pleasure you, to bring you to that high he was desperately chasing to feel.

Dark curls brushed against your crotch with every drive of his cock, your tender nipples against his aggravated skin, the skin that was torn from his preposterous labour. His fingers were cruel, toying at your clit with ease as you dug your fingernails into the chisel of his back, coarse muscles reacting to the touch.

You felt fuzzy; your mouth jutted open with a whine as your body succumbed to him, torturous rolls of pressure building in your stomach.

“I’ve missed feeling you around me,” he rasped, his voice splintered with frustration. Frustration that he hadn’t had a proper release since his departure, frustration that he was away from you, frustration that the man was catching feelings faster than he believed he should.

“Missed you,” you mewled, squeezing him coherently with your words, a guttural groan sounding from the man.

Your bodies melted into the water, colliding with each other’s limbs as Simon came inside you, hot spurts of come plugging your cunt with a grunt as he pulled out, a stutter of a breath sounding from you as your legs wobbled onto the ground, muscles spasming in retaliation.

Simon’s fingers were gentle, working the loofah over your relaxed state as your neck cocked. You were so supine around him. Why? Don’t you know what kind of person he is? How many people he’s killed?

“Simon?”

The Lieutenant cleared his throat, staring at you as you pushed his hand away from the same spot he had been rubbing for the last minute.

“Sorry, got lost in thought.”

You offered him a polite smile, pressing a kiss on the corner of his mouth before sudsing the sponge back up, your touch delicate as you ran over his bruises. Simon’s eyes slacked, consumed by nothing as he drifted into thought, enthralled in his work.

Gunpowder skinned his nose, staining his nostrils with the thickness of burnt flesh and stolen lives, the sound of begging and retaliation engorging his brain as he shoved you away, a harsh grunt leaving his lips as he shook off his head, stepping out of the steam.

“Simon? What – are you ok?”

“I have to go, Y/N.”

Autumn had consumed your garden, the green rotting into a moulded brown, a dead stream of leaves scattered like a path to your front door. The air was thick with wet dirt and burnt coffee, a flurry of frogs making a home in one of your unused watering cans. The sky was angrier, often lashing out on the planet in the form of rain and thunder.

Time was going by quicker, the end of September reaching up to you as you crossed an ‘X’ over your calendar. It had been almost 3 weeks since you had spoken to Simon.

You had tried.

It began as chasing him out of the shower in nothing but a towel, your head dripping wet, which turned to you knocking on his door a day later with cookies again, availed by no answer. That turned into you sitting outside the front more in hopes of seeing him.

You didn’t.

You were confused at first, your heart aching slightly at the sudden switch between the man. You had taken it out on your garden, aggravated fists pummelling at the soil like a child throwing a tantrum. It wasn’t long until you summed it down to him not wanting anything serious and left it at that.

You were disappointed, hushing yourself to sleep on your satin pillow as you attempted to listen to any sound of him on the other side. You were also a big girl.

If he was that easy to lose, you never had him in the first place.

The fall air was heavy with familiarity as you piled into the busy parking lot, a swarm of pine trees greeting you, their leaves a vibrant display of orange and yellow, pointed outwards with desperation.

It was a little tradition you had kept for yourself: carving pumpkins.

Everything was crisp. There was an over-ripe stench of cinnamon consuming you from passing cider stalls with the sound of families bustling around with candied apples and hot drinks.

You spotted Tamara in the distance, her boyfriend Max next to her, hugging himself in an attempt for warmth as she tapped him on the shoulder, her hand waving frantically at you.

“Hello!” She cooed, pulling you into a needed hug. She smelt like pumpkin and vanilla, almost gagging you at how much she had drowned herself in perfume. Her hair matched the Autumn air, an earthy red catching your attention as you ran your fingers through the heated curls.

“New hair?” You asked, smiling brightly as you adjusted the scarf around your neck.

“Needed a change,” she said, wrapping her arm into Max’s, who began rambling about how he was going to make the best Jack-o-Lantern.

“Oh! I forgot to tell you; Louis is coming. Is that ok?”

The pit in your stomach coiled for a minute, a remembrance of the last time you saw him in that café with Simon before you nodded.

“Of course!”

Louis stepped out of his car, the bristle of a chill in the air reminding him of where he grew up as he tugged at his cashmere jumper, the blue colour leading him to stand out like a sore thumb until he saw you, a familiar shade adorning you.

His voice was soft as he greeted you, Max and Tamara immediately walking off to pick out their pumpkins.

“How have you been?”

“I’ve been well,” you say, gazing at the row of orange surrounding you, children running in between passing couples as you pointed to the fattest vegetables surrounding you.

“I didn’t mean to intrude when you were out with your boyfriend-“

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you correct, taking in how harsh your tone was before placing your hand on his shoulder, “You didn’t intrude on anything. I would – I would love to go out with you.”

It felt wrong to get all dolled up for someone else. Red stained your lips, and your teeth, as you rubbed at them aggressively in the mirror, a black silk dress falling from your skin elegantly. Your eyes were shaded with a fine liner, a smoky hue of brown on your lash line as you spritz your more expensive perfume for the occasion.

Louis was different, fancier, you suppose. His Jaguar skidded against the gravel, an irritated scowl on his face before he watched you peek through the window, an amused look on your face as you opened the front door.

“You look beautiful,” the man said, holding a bouquet of red roses in his hand, tied with a pearl string. You shared dinner over a bottle of Cabernet and ended it with his hand on your thigh, his engine roaring down your cul-de-sac with glee as you kissed him on the cheek.

“Thank you for tonight, I enjoyed it.”

It should have ended there. But it didn’t.

It felt wrong to get undressed for someone else. It felt wrong to feel someone else kiss against your pudgy clit and lap at your slick. It felt wrong to buck your hips to meet his, your chest groped with a layer of sweat from another man’s mouth.

Could he hear you? Did he care?

He did.

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sturnsdarling · 24 days ago

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beast boy and raven

smartand'mean'!reader convinces fratboy!matt to dress up with her for halloween

vibe check: fluffy good vibes all round

500 words

A/N: i wrote this sooooooo long ago and forgot that it existed. anyways i love them

love and cigs, merc

The party downstairs had already started, music blaring from every corner of the house. Chris and Matt were in their rooms, getting ready for their first Halloween party of the week. By a string of cruel fate, they stepped out their bedroom doors at the same time, locking eyes as Matt took a swig of his pregame drink and Chris placed his canon joint between his lips. The sight of Matt, in a purple shirt and grey cargos with green hair made Chris erupt into laughter.

“What the fuck are you supposed to be kid? Why is your hair green?” Chris couldn’t contain his laughter.

Matt smacked the dangling joint from Chris lips’ and pushed him by the shoulder.

“y/n wanted to be raven and beast boy, y’know the green kid and the witch chick from teen titans?” Matt said, not able to contain his chuckles at the sight of Chris keeled over in hysterics.

“What are you? A divorced dad of three?” Matt questioned, referring to Chis’ blue Hawaiian shirt.

Chris picked his joint up off the floor and shook his head, his laughter still lingering, “nah dude, m’fuckin Romeo” He says, pulling a fake gold gun from his belt and brandishing it in-front of Matts face.

“Romeo in what century? I swear that’s old as fuck” Matt snickers.

S!r/n came out from Chris’ room, wearing a white dress and angel wings with her hair pulled back in a half up half down. “From the 1996 movie, Matt, duh” She says, pointing between her and Chris.

“Wait, hang on, you’re Romeo and Juliet?” Matt questions, folding his arms over his chest with raised brows.

“Its cute right?” Your voice comes from behind Matt as you loop your arm through his, looking up at him, the dark makeup around your eyes accentuating their beautiful colour.

"You guys look go good” s!r/n says at you and Matt.

Matt grins down and you and puckers his lips. You kiss him quickly, trying not to get your black lipstick on his mouth.

“You two make me sick” Chris says, shaking his head and sparking his joint.

He turns to walk down the stairs and holds his hand out behind him, squeezing his fingers together a couples times, gesturing for his girl to take his hand. She complies, and follows him tightly down the winding staircase towards the music.

Matt turns to face you, tracing delicate fingers over the purple velvet cape that’s draped over your shoulders. He scans your figure, taking in how your black, shiny hot pants hug the tops of your fishnet covered thighs.

“You look so sexy, angel” he murmurs, not taking his eyes off your frame “Thanks Matthew” you smile, cheesing at his compliment. “This makeup too” he sucks air into his pursed lips and shakes his head slightly. “You like it?” You say, leaning up into him, pressing your body against his. “Mhm, I like it a lot” He nods, bringing a firm hand to the side of your face, smiling as he pulls you up into a kiss.

His other hand sneaks down of your backside and squeezes the plump flesh of your ass, followed by a slap that makes you squeal into his mouth. His chuckle breaks the kiss, and he continues to kneed at the flesh of your ass.

“Lets go get drunk” He says “Yes!” You grin up at him, “tequila!” You chant, taking his hand and leading him down the staircase towards the party.

taglist: @sturniozalt@mattslolita@shaquilles-0atmeal@blahbel668@sleepysturniolo@le4hsblog @sarosfilms @joemamaaa42069 @2muchofaslvt @seluky10 @cherib3lla @jetaimevous @witchofthehour @sofieeeeex @ncm9696 @lovesturni0l0s @pepsicola-pussy @ifwdominicfike @dani-sturn @stupendousjellyfishpost @aesthetixhoe @sturn-rose @mattsnronebitch @chriscorqutte @elizasturn @ribread03 @st7rnioioss @maggieflms

#©sturnsdarling #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matt x reader #matt sturniolo imagine #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo fluff #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo #Spotify

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a-ikuoliver · 6 months ago

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hiring you after a particularly tense night could either be the best decision endeavor ever made, or the worst.

pairing: enji todoroki x f!reader w/c: 2.7k warning/s:fem!reader, escort!reader, cheating, reader has hair out, finger sucking notes: sorry not sorry i just wanna be a rich mans toy; dialogue is a lil clunky my bad lmao

crossposted to ao3 • masterlist • wip updates & voting • kofi • askbox

“so, what’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?” despite the firepower of his quirk, the ice is thick between you, your teasing words hardly making a crack in the frigid surface. undeterred by it’s solidity, you make your way over to the hero, still seated at the desk on a chair that makes him seem more imposing than he is, his shoulders flaring past the edges of the high back, the only thing in the room that towers over his seated frame.

the expansive office isn’t enough for the both of you, the air already thick when you take another step closer, the heavy mahogany swinging shut behind you, latching into place with an echoing thud. still without a word, endeavor stares you down like he would a villain, watching your every move, every rise of your chest, the slow sway of your hips. his ears tingle hearing your sleek heels click along the hardwood floor, slow, calculated steps across the ice, no fear of falling when you venture further into the icy depths of the office.

crystal blue eyes trail over your body with every click, drinking in the sight of your tight, white blouse, the top three buttons undone to expose a sliver of your lacy bra, the skirt with a slit far too high on your thigh to be appropriate, your sheer black stay-ups that stop at your mid thigh, a peek of your garter poking from beneath your skirt to keep them up. his ears are ringing when his glare reaches your heels, unsure if it’s his blood rushing to his head, or the sound of you stepping over the rug echoing in his head.

the hero’s heart pumps in his chest incessantly, he can already see the headlines now, top hero hospitalised for cardiac event after inviting escort to his agency. your proximity might be a fate worse than death.

drawing his eyebrows down, he averts his eyes; it shouldn’t be this easy to work him up, you’ve just walked into his office and his mind is already wandering. and yet, when he slouches in the leather, he spots the dark red lace beneath your skirt, the minute layer of fabric doing nothing to hide your dizzying cunt. enji’s sure he’s pale as his head rolls back, the blood rushing from his head, swallowing hard, he wills himself to just relax. you weren’t a threat, you were a woman. so, why was his skin burning so damn hot?

slinking around the corner of his desk like a cat readying for a nap in the sunlight, your non-existent tail curls around his throat, bringing his attention back solely to you. perching yourself on the edge of his desk, shuffling back just enough until the bare skin of your thighs squishes against the cool surface, your position hiking your skirt higher on your limbs, even more so when you cross one leg over the other, pushing the fabric to your hips. he’d never admit it, but his cock jumps just watching you move, gliding over the slowly melting ice with a confidence that made his head feel like static the longer he stared.

your allure makes his head fuzzy, your little office getup flattering every curve and plain of your body; the cliche glasses perched on your nose working better for him than he’d thought. it only gets fuzzier taking you in, your exposed thighs, squishing around the elastic of your garter, the curve of your throat, the shape of your tits when you leaned closer, the colour of your lips. you study him through the glass, licking your lips just to watch him squirm, nearly drooling yourself at the flex of his thighs as he adjusts in the seat, his bulge more than enough evidence of everything he refused to say aloud.

despite calling you after a late patrol, heaving and panting down the line with his fat cock grasped in his hand, he never quite expected the follow through.

“i’ve never been inside the number ones office before,” his gaze is still glued to your thighs listening to you speak, the weight of your sultry gaze making him shift side to side again. quirking your head, your voice is low and even when you lean closer to question him, “what are you so nervous about, endeavor?”

it takes every ounce of his self control to keep his eyes from rolling into the back of his head at the sound of your purring voice, instead, he keeps his blue eyes trained on your sparkling, mischievous ones. even with his attempt to remain stoic, the glimmer in your eyes makes it abundantly clear you remember the low, gravelly tone of his voice when he’d called you, the addictive rumble in his throat as he’d all but groaned down the line, asking to see you. you didn’t bother to respond with your rates, you knew he’d pay from how fucked out he sounded.

“i’m not.” enji wordlessly thanks any god above that his voice is even, that he doesn’t choke on the words, even when you drift closer. your scent clouds his mind, he doesn’t know if it’s your perfume, or a quirk, but the smell sticks to the inside of his nose, melting into every wrinkle and ridge of his brain with every slow breath in. shaking his head doesn't quite clear his head. countless villains defeated by him, but a gorgeous escort clad in a tiny skirt was making him tremble, the pure lewdity of you draped on his desk dressed like that had his blood rushing to places it hadn’t been in years.

growing closer to the hero,his dick twitched like it did the night he called you, the fat tip of his cock starting to stick to his boxers when your lips brushed against the stubbled skin of his jaw in an addictive, barely-there touch, marring the skin with a line of dark lipstick from the corner of his lips to his ear.

“let’s get you more comfortable,” you purr in his ear, the sound waves sending jolts of electricity down his jaw, through the jugular in his throat, down his oesophagus into the depths of his stomach with a deep shudder. your head is just as foggy as his when you drop to your knees in front of him, the wet dream of the hulking hero falling apart at the seams when you’d hardly touched him, hadn’t done a thing to make him so clammy, to get him so worked up, to have his fists clenching at his sides. you hadn’t even looked at his fat cock yet, let alone touched it.

kneeling between his thighs, each wider than your head, you lift a heavy foot that’s nearly as long as your torso, setting his heel in your lap as he studies you like you’re alien; dark red eyebrows furrowing, wrinkling in the centre when you unzip the side of the boot, tugging the moulded lather off his foot. he can see down your thin shirt at this angle, his stormy eyes locked on the charm at the centre, hypnotised by the way it catches the light like a crystal sun catcher in the middle of july, his attention only drawn away from your chest when you tugged his other foot into your lap.

the longer you fiddled with his shoes, the more strung out he got, his tendons feeling like they were about to rip under his skin, his knuckles itching to reach for you, to tug at the flimsy buttons holding your shirt together until the stitches split, growing more and more desperate to bury his cock in your cunt. fuck, he nearly forgot how a warm, wet pussy felt gliding up and down his cock. his eyes fluttered shut, the relief of his boots slipping off his feet doing little to relax his wired body, especially the more he thought about how you’d look bouncing in his lap, still in that short, tight skirt, your pretty manicured fingers rubbing at your clit, your mascara smudging under your eyes when you came, how you’d moan his name when you ride him. would you shudder feeling him dip his head into your weeping cunt? would you ask him to go slow, shiver atop him sinking down his length? would you let him spill his seed in your cunt? or swallow all his cum while you lick him clean of your juices. biting his lip, he stifles a groan at the fantasy of your cheeks full of his cum, of it spilling over your perfect lips, dripping down your chin onto your chest, tainting your thin shirt.

—his eyes squeeze shut with a groan, a heavy hand rubbing at his lidded eyes, the pressure of his knuckles in the socket forcing the picture of you from his mind. he shouldn’t be doing this. he can’t do this. his cock is aching, he can’t be doing this, but fuck, he needs it.

“i can hear you thinking,” you study his face, taking in the bright topaz of his eyes, the indecision swirling in them, the jagged scar tearing through the left side of his face, leaving a gap in the hair on his jaw, the stubble spattered around the clear skin surrounding it, the start of a beard a red only a shade darker than the hair on his head. enji’s hand drops to his thigh, his bright aquamarine gaze meeting yours, the blue a deep navy in the shadows stretching over his face, somehow still glowing an electric blue despite the darkness beneath them, the weary lines that come with the job, and age. propping your chin on his knee, his head rolls back, the front of his boxers nearly wet from staring at you, the glittering of your eyes that looked like you were starstruck, the dark eyeliner smudged around your lash line that he desperately wanted to make run down your face, the creamy lipstick already starting to smear around your lip line, half of it still left on his cheek.

“i don’t know if i can do this…” running a hand through dark red hair, leaving it in spikes. even with his apprehension, he doesn’t stop you from dragging your fingertips over the hard muscle of his thighs, doesn’t jostle your chin from his knee, allowing you to slide your hand under the hem of his shirt to feel the heat of his bare abdomen.

“i..i’m married.”

there’s a flash across his face, a guilt, a worry. you we’re used to clients having… commitments, someone to go home to after you, although, this was the first time you’d seen a man so concerned about it, the morals of betraying his family, the morals of just thinking of you laid bare for him to lick, nip and suck as he pleased, to make your spine arch into him. he’s itching to have you melt on his tongue, on his fingers, fuck, the longer he ogles you, the more he thinks tarnishing his reputation might be worth it. your posture straightens, the hero doesn’t miss a single twitch in your muscles, waiting for you to stand, to storm out. instead, you hum, an amused sound from low in your throat, your hands sliding from beneath his shirt back down the length of his thighs.

light as a feather, your touch grazes his aching cock, his blood running hot through his veins to his crotch, like it was his own hellfire ablaze beneath your touch. it doesn’t cool when you reach for his left hand, tugging the limb easily into his lap, not a single one of his bulging muscles straining to stop your light touches on his skin. sparing a glance at him, you gently trace your fingertips over the cold gold of his ring, the metal dinged, scratched and worn smooth at the edges from years of marriage, decades even.

“i’m not trying to be your wife, endeavor,” your eyes shine looking up at him, “it’s cliche, but i’m anything you want; a lover, a girlfriend, a date— if you don’t wanna touch me,”

your pink tongue pokes out from between your lips when you trail off, slowly licking down the length of his finger. the digit’s calloused, thick from years of hero work, his skin hot in your mouth like a cookie was right out of the oven, when you were too impatient to let them cool, instead savouring the dough melting in your mouth. wrapping your lips around his finger, your eyes are still locked on his, hardly sucking at the digit when he breaks the eye contact, heavy eyelids fluttering shut with a deep groan at the sensation of your tongue and lips around the third knuckle. he sounded even better than he did down the phone; so gravelly, like the noise was alien to his vocal chords.

“then, you don’t have to touch me,”

neither of you have shed a single piece of clothing, he hasn’t even touched you, you’ve barely touched him, yet, his head rolls back when you moan around his finger, licking at his hand like you were trying to taste his leaking cock, your ministrations hardly helping the pre steadily dribbling from his tip. enji’s hips jump when your tongue dips in the webbing between his fingers, any apprehension melting inside him with every pulse of his echoing heartbeat, desperation thrumming in his veins, the need to feel your drool dripping down his cock, to feel the heat of your cunt beneath the red lace of your panties. he throbs with the need to sink into you, he’d fuck you on the floor of his office right now if it meant he could see your pretty pussy dripping with his cum. unfortunately, instead of your creamy slick gathering in his palm, sliding down to his wrist, it’s your saliva, drooling from your bottom lip onto his thick skin, dripping onto the front of his trousers to make a patch on the front mirroring the ever-growing one on his boxers.

“i won’t touch you unless you decide it,” your voice is like an angels chorus, even as devilishly sultry as it was.

“huh-i’m—” breathing heavily, enji’s voice is garbled, his mouth drawing into a tight line, every muscle in his body tensing when you bob your head, sucking his fingers deeper into your throat like you were trying to milk his dick. your hair falls onto your face when his hips jolt off the chair, his hips pushing his palm into your face, his ring finger pressing against the back of your tongue. his resolve is melting, his hips grinding shakily into the air the longer you sucked at his hand in his lap, your soft lips wrapping around the ring beneath his last knuckle, the sensation of your teeth against his skin forcing a rumbling groan from his chest. gold ring between your teeth, you sensually drag your tongue along the underside of his finger, setting every nerve on fire with the tip of your wet muscle fluttering against every ridge of his knuckles.

he’s fucking ruined above you, bulky thighs raising off of the office chair in search of your wet, hot mouth to release into, his hair sticking up in every direction from his fingers constantly tugging on the ends, the veins in his throat shining with sweat at every heavy thrum of his blood. with white knuckles, his abdomen tenses, every muscle in his body fighting against the urge to cum, to wait until he had you beneath him, on top of him, on his face would be less fucking shameful than making a mess of his boxers from a little pseudo-blowjob.

enji mumbles something, his tongue too heavy in his mouth to make any discernible words, especially not over the sound of your slurping at his fingers, he sounded more like he was huffing and grunting than speaking, the sound clawing itself out of his throat when his eyes screw shut, his muscles losing the fight to restrain himself.

shuddering, every solid muscle relaxes at once, the tension ebbing, melting from his veins into pleasure when his cum spits from his hot tip, sticking the front of his boxers to his cock.

his head drops back when you sit back up on your knees, his ring looped around the tip of your tongue, his finger falling from your mouth with an audible pop in the quiet room, the only sound his heavy breathing and the shuffle of your clothes as you adjust your position.

he can fucking hear the grin in your voice spotting the dark stain at the top hero’s crotch, “still worried about your marriage, endeavor?”

© all works belong to @a-ikuoliver, @gwen0m, and dlirious on archive of our own, do not plagiarise, translate, repost, feed my works into ai or recommend my work on other platforms, or bind my fanworks for sale.

#dividers/banners by me #「endeavor」#「mercury writes」#k-atsukibakugou #endeavor x reader #enji todoroki x reader #todoroki enji x reader #endeavor x you #enji todoroki x you #todoroki enji x you #endeavor smut #enji todoroki smut #todoroki enji smut

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dr-spectre · 3 months ago

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Hey all, so i wanted to discuss something a little bit different compared to my usual Splatoon ramblings because i have something that's been floating in my brain for a while now and I really wanna talk about it! But don't worry, I'll tie it back to Splatoon in this blog post!

So i have been seeing a lot of criticisms towards the new "hit game" Concord and a lot of it is very VERY well deserved. And one of the MANY criticisms is aimed towards the character designs and mostly on these characters who have become punching bags for the entire gaming community.

NOW! Let me come and say it, i am NOT going to be defending these designs at all, i am NOT a professional character designer but, these designs are flat-out dogshit and it's not for the reasons you think. I am not saying these character designs are bad because "WAHH!!!! FAT PEOPLE!!! WAHH!!! I HATE BLACK PEOPLE!! WAHH!! I CAN'T GOON TO THIS CHARACTER NOOO!!! WAHHH!!! I ONLY WANT STRAIGHT WHITE BARBIE DOLLS TO JERK OFF TO!! WAHH!!" If you're someone like... ahem.... asmondgold. And whine about how you can't goon to these characters and you're scared of fat and black people. Then you need to fuck off and genuinely go outside. And like... Idk, jump into a pit of lava.

The reasons why these designs suck is because they have terrible silhouettes, poor balancing, too many random colours that have no harmony whatsoever, lack of strong shapes and a lack of any clear cut qualities to tell us who the fuck these characters are. A good character design will tell you who a character is based on looks alone.

Let's take a look at how to properly do character design in a video game, shall we?

We will first start off with an iconic tank character, Heavy from TF2.

Heavy has a strong use of squares on his body, arms and hands, showing us that he is a strong and meaty character. Squares are used in larger characters to show that they are durable and strong. Heavy also has appropriate accessories on his body to show us what kind of character he is, like his bandolier, pouch, fingerless gloves and tactical looking vest. His legs are also small compared to the rest of his body which tells us that he probably isn't the fastest runner out there.

All of these simple design decisions the characters designers chose to include add up to create an iconic character who you can gather that he is a large and in charge weapons expert from the design alone.

Tell me something, what the FUCK do you get from this character?

He's a big person... That's it. I can barely gather any sort of character traits from this character. There's nothing. THEIR GUN IS FUCKING BORING TOO! AT LEAST HEAVY HAS A BIG ASS GUN! THAT'S JUST A BASIC BITCH ASSUALT RIFILE!

Now let's look at another iconic tank character. Reinhardt from Overwatch.

Reinhardt has a VERY strong silhouette, with his iconic helmet with the 3 spikes/horns, his giant shoulder pads, the pointy tips on his boots, his... groan... flap? thingy? idfk what that is but anyways, Reinhardt is an iconic tank character because his design is super well balanced, his concept of a futuristic knight is dope, and the lion emblem on arm showcase Rein's personality and origins.

I genuinely get nothing from this design. Like... Fuck all, i get NOTHING!!!

They are a tank character with a big gun... Okay? Is there... any cool details? Uh... there's a tiny flag.... What the fuck is that supposed to tell me about the character? The silhouette is boring, the character looks like a Fallout knock off. It's just... BORING!!

I could talk about the other tanks in Overwatch and how incredibly well designed they are compared to Concord's "anchors" and other classes but i don't wanna be here all day. Just know that D.VA slaps, Doomfist slaps, Ramattra slaps, ALL OF THEM SLAP HARD AND HAVE SUPER GOOD SILHOUETTES AND COLOURS!!

Now for our final "tanky" design, let's roll it back to Splatoon and talk about a character who is bigger compared to the rest of the cast.

BIG MAN!

His silhouette is actually so well done and is a masterpiece in character design, it is so incredibly distinctive and unique from other characters. He has a unique headpiece too, he has these droopy eyes that give him a relaxed look. He has some cool patterns, he's just a really well designed character that you can gather his personality from really well.

The reason why Concord's character designs fail is because it feels like Sony brought in a novice fashion designer to make characters in an hour and call it a day. The only designs from that game i can say with my full chest are okay are these guys, and even then they have ISSUES!

Haymar is supposed to be this fire user yet nothing tells me that they use fire. It's so easy to... oh i don't know... USE MORE RED?!?!? ADD FIERY PATTERNS?!?! WHY IS SHE COVERED IN FUCKING ANAL BEADS?!??! HELLO?!?!??

Roka is just.. fine, her colours suck but... I guess i like the helmet?

When the best looking characters out of your fucking 5V5 HERO SHOOTER are just... eh? You know got a massive problem. If we take a game like TF2 you can see just how well the designs are at showing the player what kind of personality and traits they have.

Scout has rolled up pants with tight socks on, bandages on his hands and a cap on his head, showing us that Scout is a fast and somewhat reckless character who gets into trouble but can get out due to his speed and wit. Medic has a simple pallet of white and red which are common colours used in hospitals and doctors. I could go on but you get the point.

If you're going to create a new hero shooter with a large roster, for the love of god, actually have characters with better silhouettes, colour balancing, accessories, etc.

Take a page out of their books and come back with a better fucking game. Or not. Sony... You piece of shit. You ain't beating the "PS5 has no games" allegations with these wack ass games. (This is coming from someone who has a PS5.)

219 notes · View notes

exoticbvnni · 6 months ago

Text

cvte_bunny04 | C.Y.

Emo boy!Choi Yeonjun x kinderwhore camgirl!reader

Plot:Yeonjun loves watching his favourite streamer until,one day,a nice surprise comes his way

Warnings:Yeonjun has a lip piercing,masturbation,sex talk,cyber sex,prise kink but also a lil bit of degradation,daddy kink,thigh riding,finger sucking,dom!possessive!Yeonjun,pussy eating,unprotected sex (don’t do it!),smut

With a sigh,Yeonjun unzipped his black hoodie,throwing it on the bed:what a nerve wrecking day.

First,he had to attend the rehearsal of his rock band;then,as if he wasn’t tired enough,and his social battery wasn’t completely dead,he had to meet up with his tinder date.

How much he hated it,the worst two hours of his life:he didn’t have serious intentions, nor the girl he met had, however he wasn’t even able to kiss her.

From her Tinder and Instagram accounts she indeed seemed his type:long hair,big eyes,angelic features in contrast with her alternative look; however,in real life,she wasn’t that alternative. All she did was wearing black and going around saying she liked Nirvana. Besides that,she probably had photoshopped her pictures to highlight her almost non-existent cute features. How frustrating:he hoped that, for once,he may had found someone that actually attracted him,but, again, as soon as he met her, all his feelings had turned off.

He didn’t know why being interested in someone was so hard for him: maybe he was an idealistic? Maybe he was picky? Maybe he had high standards? Or, maybe, he had only one standard:cvte_bunny04.

It was stupid, he knew it, but he couldn’t avoid comparing every girl to his favourite streamer. She was,indeed,the stereotype of the woman of his dreams.

Right in that moment, a notification popped on the monitor of his computer:

cvte_bunny04 is going live now!

Yeonjun walked to his desk,sitting on his gaming chair and clicking on the notification banner. Immediately, he was directed to your account and the frame of your bedroom appeared in front of his eyes.

He had seen it a million times already, but he loved analysing every single detail of that small space:it gave him a glimpse of your personality.

He was sure you liked purple, since that was the colour of the lighting. It was sexy, as sexy as you.

Furthermore, hint by the posters on the wall facing your bedroom, he could tell you were into The Cure, The 69 eyes and Hole. Hole were,probably, your favourite band considering that you dressed following Courtney Love’s kinderwhore aesthetic.

He was smirking, thinking how much he would’ve loved talking about music with you while smoking; and then fuck you in that pretty bed of yours covered in stuffed bunnies. Bunnies, surely your favourite animals.

Yeonjun licked his lips, the cold of his piercing hitting his senses as you appeared on the screen:

“Good evening babes -you talked with that silky voice of yours. So smooth. So soft. So pure. -I’m a little bit late today, so I think I’ll stream a little longer to forgive myself” you smiled, adjusting your bunny mask.

The comment section started flooding:

hvjk88:gotta change my schedule then

m1k67:stream all night angel~

dedee344:can’t fucking wait😈

On this round, Yeonjun didn’t comment:he was too busy admiring you.

Every night you looked more and more gorgeous in your signature dress:the white corset highlighted your small waist,while the short, ruined tulle skirt, showed your pretty thighs, sending shivers along Yeonjun’s spine who couldn’t stop thinking how much he would’ve loved biting that skin.

“How’s everyone tonight? How we feeling?” you asked, sliding your chair a little further from the the desk, so you could bring your legs on your sitting, showing your lace knee socks.

m_mmi00:so horny now that you showed us how pretty you look in those socks🥵

You giggled:

“Do I? Really?” you asked. You knew your viewers would’ve gone crazy over them. You left nothing to chance.

Yeonjun smirked, typing his first comment of the night:

yeo.nj99:naughty princess knows how to do it

As soon as you read his comment, you bit your lips:

“Princess? Am your princess,babes?” you demanded

yeo.nj99:gotta say ours,but I’ll say mine.

“Yours? Okay Yeo,I’ll be yours” you giggled. You didn’t mind giving special attention to him:he had been flooding you with the most interesting comments, the ones that worked you up the most. He, indeed, was your favourite follower.

hvjk88:I’m jealous now ehehe

dedee344:want you to be my princess as well😭

“I’m everyone’s,don’t worry guys. Yeo, you’re making them jealous,you should apologise” you teased him, curious to see what he would’ve answered.

Yeonjun laughed,immediately typing his answer. If you wanted to play, he would’ve played along. What a turn on.

yeo.nj99:if you don’t apologise for being so likeable I won’t apologise for liking you

A little laugh escaped your mouth:

“Am I? Oh -you paused, faking hesitation- then…what do you like the most about me?” you asked, your hands wandering upon your chest,making the chains on your neck swing, hitting one another. It was time to start the show.

“Do you like my hair? -you kept on,swinging your long strands- my lips? -you sent a kiss to the camera- or -your voice lightened- my legs?” you spoke, sliding your fingers up,following your socks until you touched the skin of your inner thighs.

Yeonjun rested his back against the chair,playing with his lip piercing as he was admiring you:how much he loved when you teased your viewers. You were so good at it:you would start slowly,showing the boner to your dogs,making it look like the best thing they could have,and from there a climax of nice meals would follow until it was time for the dessert. He was so eager to enjoy every second of it…every second of you.

The comment section was already flooding,and the views increasing:

nmxxx06:I’m already so turned on

dedee344:hot🥵🥵🥵

Yeonjun stretched his arm out to type:

yeo.nj99:show us how pretty you are,princess

You bit your lips again,lifting your short skirt up to let them see how you were slowly caressing your intimacy through your lace panties.

“Fuck” Yeonjun mumbled,his legs spread to mirror you and a bulge already appearing from underneath his trousers. The white sleeve of his shirt fell,revealing his collarbone and shoulder;however he didn’t notice:he was too busy admiring you.

yeo.nj99:so freaking pretty

yeo.nj99:our favourite girl

yeo.nj99:don’t stop princess,our eyes are on all you;mine,especially

Your comment section was exploding,but all you were focused on were Yeo’s words. He was so good at talking,or better,typing, you through it, so good that you were already completely wet.

“I want your eyes on me” you replied,marking the third word to let him understand that you were now talking directly to him,even if you couldn’t do it openly.

Yeonjun gasped as soon as the realisation hit him:he would’ve never imagined that he could get to that point, to you feeling so good at the idea of being watched by him. Shit,he was more worked up than ever.

yeo.nj99:all eyes on you,princess

He typed,while his free hand slipped on his crotch,palming it through his trousers. He wanted to take it slow,to enjoy the whole thing and cum only when you did. It wasn’t a random live anymore,it was HIS live now.

You closed your legs for a second, not only to tease Yeo,but also to loosen a little bit the laces of the corset. The cloth slid down, revealing your breast line.

Yeonjun hand started moving faster:he was so hard,so needy;but you were so pretty teasing him,so pretty that,for how much he wanted to get to the point,he also didn’t want you to stop your thing

yeo.nj99:never see someone like you

yeo.nj99:such a pretty whore

yeo.nj99:don’t stop I -he cancelled the words- we wanna see more

“You will” you replied,sliding your hand back in between your thighs. You stimulated yourself a little longer, stroking your wetness; the first few moans filled the room as your cheeks started getting red and your mind foggy. You didn’t dare to shift your eyes away from the monitor, though, you didn’t want to miss a single comment of Yeo.

“I want you so bad,I wanna fuck you so so bad…” the boy talked to himself, unbuckling his belt to let his trousers fall. Then, he slid his hand into his boxers,which he lowered. He was so freaking hard,it almost hurt. He needed to get off fast, he had never felt like that before.

yeo.nj99:come on bunny…

yeo.nj99:…and let us hear your pretty moans

yeo.nj99:lots of pretty moans

At those words a new whimper left your mouth:

“Fuck, I’m so so horny tonight,babe…babes” you corrected yourself immediately, moving your panties aside to slid one of your fingers inside you.

Yeonjun sighed in relief for a second, staring to move his hand, and jerking off at the same tempo as yours.

“Fuck…fuck this feels so good” he moaned, head thrown back and eyes shut while your grunts echoed in his mind, making him imagine the most unholy scenarios.

He could picture himself in your bed, above you, watching as you squirmed and twitched while he fucked you numb. He knew you would’ve been so good at taking him, your walls clenching around his hardness. He would’ve shown you what heaven was:he would’ve gone so deep, he would’ve been so buried inside of you that you would’ve screamed his name so loud that all your neighbours would’ve heard it.

He would’ve showered you with those prises that you seemed to love so much, but, at the same time, he would’ve made sure to remind you what a whore you were…his whore. His pretty, little, amazing whore.

yeo.nj99:so good princess

yeo.nj99:feeling so good

Then an idea crossed his mind:it could’ve been risky,but he knew you would’ve loved it. He would’ve loved it.

He watched as your lips parted, your head was thrown back, just like his, but, as soon as your eyes were back on the monitor he shot his shot:

yeo.nj99:those chains are so pretty

yeo.nj99:would love to see you play with them

“Gonna-gonna do it if you ask me so nicely…” you gasped, dragging your free hand to your neck.

You wrapped your fingers around the chains, tightening them. You were using so much strength that a bruise would’ve popped out the next day, but it felt too good to stop…especially if Yeo was the one asking you to do it.

Yeonjun’s eyes widened as he was watching, and a smile of lust appeared on his face. He was grunting and sweaty as he stroke himself; the breath was irregular,fast. He knew he was close:the more he heard your squirm, the more he saw you holding onto those chains for dear life just because he had told you, it sent him to the edge of his orgasm.

yeo.nj99:so close

yeo.nj99:cum and I’ll give you a reward baby

yeo.nj99:be a good girl

yeo.nj99:be a good whore

As you read, your head felt dizzy and your legs shook:you were close, so close, and nothing else but his name was filling your mind. How frustrating it was for you not being able to openly moan his name, tell him how good he was making you feel. Tell him how you were pretending that the soaked fingers hitting your g spot so well were his. How much you wanted it.

You bit your lips, pushing back the need do scream his name, replacing those three letters with a loud, high-pitched whimper as you cum all over your hand.

Immediately, you let the chains go; your head fell against the back of the chair. You were panting, completely gone.

In the meantime, Yeonjun’s breathing got stuck in his throat as, with a deep grunt, he cum all over his lap.

“F-fuck” he was trembling, but collected the strength to send you one hundred coins and leave one more commet

yeo.nj99 has sent +100 coins

yeo.nj99:good girls always get rewarded

he smirked, watching while your eyes lit up at those notifications. You loved that so much, he knew:you were an open book to him,now.

Since things were now getting too blatant, and you didn’t want to break your followers’ fantasy focusing only on one of them, you recomposed yourself and greeted them, ending the live.

Yeonjun’s breath had just gotten back to normal and he had just cleaned himself, when, ready to turn off the computer,a notification of a private message popped on his screen:

cvte_bunny04:hi Yeo, do you wanna meet up?

His eyes widened:what the fuck was that? A joke? A scam? It couldn’t be you!

The boy immediately opened the chat, checking your account:shit,it was you. He was astonished. He was about to type the most condescending and desperate message, but, thanks to a glimpse of common sense, he held back,playing it cool.

yeo.nj99:do you always hit up your fav viewers like this?

What a prick, you thought, he seemed even more interesting now.

cvte_bunny04:getting two special treatments in a row,you should be happy

cvte_bunny04:but if you aren’t, it doesn’t matter. I won’t text you again☺️

Yeonjun laughed

yeo.nj99:so touchy for nothing, I didn’t say that I don’t wanna meet you

cvte_bunny04:ofc you didn’t babe

cvte_bunny04:I guess I made you cum all over the place ehehe

yeo.nj99:just like I did with you…

cvte_bunny04:touché

cvte_bunny04:here’s my address,you deserve it. Good at sex and also really funny. You must be a one of a kind guy,Yeo😉

Said so, you sent in one more text containing your address.

As soon as Yeonjun read it, his heart skipped a bit:you used to live in the same building as him! Just a few floors above him!

yeo.nj99:can I come over right now?

cvte_bunny04:you ain’t tired yet?👀

yeo.nj99:that’s not the point

yeo.nj99:just wait a second

He sent the text, leaving his apartment to get to the elevator and reach your floor,the fourth. He then knocked at your door.

Confused,you quickly changed your clothes and hid your bunny mask in the drawer of your desk, then you opened the door.

A boy with faded pink hair and dark eyes was now standing in front of you,playing with his lip piercing as his hands were hidden in the pockets of his black,baggy jeans.

“You are?” you asked

“Yeo” he replied, smirking.

“Holy shit! -you laughed- this is absurd! Get in man. Can’t believe we live in the same building!”

You closed the door, letting him sit on the couch of your living room:your flat was extremely small, Yeonjun had to admit it,but it was really pretty. It reminded him of a vintage apartment,one of those you see in those movie released in the 90s.

The two of you chatted for a bit, getting to know each other; then, you showed him your very famous bedroom.

“It’s smaller than what I imagined” Yeonjun commented, fixing his leather bracelets

“I can’t afford a huge flat right now, after all I’m just a broken art students”

“Who gains money by cumming in front of a bunch of perverts” he pointed out, stepping closer. The tip of his nose was almost touching yours.

The attraction between the two of you was undeniable:even there, even after having jerked off the whole evening, you would’ve jumped on each other just to get another round.

“Shut up. You’re one of the perverts, which is worse” you bit back

“Touché…princess” he caressed your lips with his thumb

“I’m surprised you don’t have a pretty girlfriend to fuck numb everyday” you commented, sitting on your bed, Yeonjun followed you.

“Can I smoke in here?” he asked

“Yes, just open the window when you’re done”

The boy nodded, lighting up a cig. You stole one for yourself, smoking with him.

“So, what about your pretty girlfriend? Why you don’t have one?” you asked again

“Cuz I can’t find women I’m drawn to”

“How’s that possible?”

“You tell me, since you must be in the same situation as mine…aren’t you? Nothing makes me think that you’re in a relationship”

“I’m not looking for one, I just want to have fun” you shrugged your shoulders, the smoke left your mouth to fly to the ceiling

“Let’s have fun together, then” he smirked.

You laughed, nodding

“Of course, you can come over tomorrow night -you looked at your PC- I wonder if…” a little smile appeared on your lips

“You wonder if your viewers would be jealous if you fucked a man in front of them? -he looked at cigarette in his hand, shifting his eyes on your direction immediately after- we can find out” he giggled

“Are you really available to stream with me??” you were surprised:every guy watches porn, but not all of them are willing to stream one themselves

“Sounds so much like one of my wet dreams. Can you imagine it? Fucking your favourite streamer while thousands of people are watching, cursing because they aren’t you. Damn, yes, that would be so funny” he turned off the cigarette

“Kinky bitch -you commented,leaning in- I like it” you bit your lips, giving a fast kiss to the boy. He tasted of cigarettes and beer. Lovely.

“See you tomorrow then. Don’t be late to our streaming. Same hour, same place”

The next day Yeonjun showed up at your flat as promised:he was wearing a black tank top, low waisted black baggy jeans, his usual leather bracelets and a studded choker with a few longer chains.

“Welcome back” you smirked, tilting your head:you were already wearing your signature dress.

Yeonjun squared you from head to toe, smiling at how much prettier you were in real life while wearing those clothes. He couldn’t wait to lift that skirt and make you see the stars.

He stepped closer, grabbing your chin as his thumb rubbed the soft skin of your cheek. Shivers crossed your spine.

“Even better than on my pc” the boy commented, walking to your bedroom. You didn’t reply,you just bit your lip and followed him. Yeonjun’s attitude made you dizzy:he wasn’t the regular boy who worshiped the ground you walked on, he wasn’t the usual idiot who would stare at you with his mouth drooling; he was straightforward and masculine. He had that attitude of a leader that you loved in men. You would’ve a lot of fun with him.

“Have you thought how to settle the workstation?” he demanded, staring at your desk. You could see he was in deep reflection.

“Isn’t my chair enough? -you demanded-it’s a gamer one, it’s bigger than regular chairs,we’ll fit in” you crossed your arms

“I’ve got something else in my mind” Yeonjun looked at the bed. You giggled.

“Baby boy wants to get laid in my pretty bed with my pretty bunnies” you taunted him, he licked his lip:

“What makes you think that I won’t be the one getting you laid in your pretty bed with your pretty bunnies,bunny?” he snapped

“We’ll see-you kept on teasing him;then you opened a drawer of yours-for now choose your steamer identity”.

Yeonjun walked closer, analysing the animal masks you were hiding

“What kind of collection is this?” he asked, surprised

“Stuff from the old days in which I used to play dress up…so,what animal are you gonna choose?”

“I’ll take this one-the boy looked at you-the foxy and the bunny…it’s exciting,isn’t it?” he put the mask on.

You didn’t reply, you just fixed the workstation and turned the live on.

“Welcome back,babies -you purred- today there are a few news” you nodded to Yeonjun, telling him to sit on the bed. He followed, looking straight to the camera with his head tilted and a satisfied smirk on his lips.

“We’ve got a new set and…-you turned around-a special guest”

“Sit here,baby” the boy immediately talked, his voice suddenly deepened, giving you shivers as you followed his words.

As soon as you placed yourself on his lap,Yeonjun’s hands started wandering all over your legs and thighs:in and out,left and right,teasing every inch of your skin.

You were so soft, so dreamy, the boy thought, his little candy to unwrap and eat. Suck and bite, lick and twist in his mouth.

His lips immediately rested on your neck, leaving wet kissing all over it. Eyes focused on the screen,dark, behind the foxy mask he was wearing. He didn’t want to lose a single curse of those idiots that wanted to replace him…and damn if there were many of them.

“He’s-he’s not my boyfriend -you tried to explain as viewers were curious,tipping on Yeonjun’s cheek to tell him to let you talk;but he ignored you:his game had already started- he’s just a guest to…-you hesitated for a second:not only because you didn’t really know how to justify his presence there,but also because his mouth was disconcerting you…”

“To make tonight’s stream funnier” Yeonjun spoke on your behalf, saving you from a complicated story

“Y-yea…that…” you leaned onto his chest, meeting his eyes. He admired you for a second, then his lips met yours. The coldness of his piercing arose a fire in your tummy,a fire which burned hotter when his hand held onto your neck.

A whimper escaped your mouth as you arched your back

“Already wet,princess? I’m just kissing you” he whispered, sucking behind your right ear. You closed your eyes, shaking your head

“Make me” you bit back, dragging his face closer so you could kiss him again. Your movements were harsh, your tongue eager to taste his as you bit and sucked on his pinky lips.

Yeonjun didn’t make you wait:he moved your weight on his right leg, holding you by the waist

“Ride my thigh and I’ll make you pour” he talked to your hear,biting your lobe.

Like in a trans, you grabbed the cloth of his jeans and started swinging your hips; however Yeonjun stopped you by grabbing your hips.

“Not like this. Turn around, I wanna see your pretty face”

You nodded, turning your body in order to face him. Breath stuck in your throat.

“Now,move” he whispered, kissing your lips.

Immediately,you started swinging your hips again:

back and forth

fingers deep dung in the cloth of the boy’s jeans as you started to feel your lower abdomen tingle.

Yeonjun lead you, tensing his muscles and pressing your core against his thigh as much as he could.

You started panting and sweating,a wet spot appeared on Yeonjun’s trousers as you had begun to soak.

“Faster” he ordered you, controlling your peace through his hands,which were still holding your hips. His grip was firm, strong.

Moans started filling the air while Yeonjun watched your beautiful,contracted expression.

He was grateful you were facing him and not the camera, he was a jealous man and would’ve never shared that beautiful scenario with anyone else.

Your cheeks were red and flushed,your hips plumb due to the harsh kisses the two of you had shared before; and your head was slightly thrown back in pleasure. He knew you were already close to your orgasm, so he started whispering prises to your hear:

“Good girl riding daddy’s thigh so well. Don’t stop princess” he sucked your exposed neck, leaving a dark hickey on its side

“Need-need to cum…” you mumbled, you slowed your pace to better rub your intimacy against his thigh.

“Then cum” he replied, kissing your shoulder as he untied your corset, revealing your chest.

His hand rested on your breast, massaging it while his lips sucked on your collarbone

“Cum princess,cum for me” he talked again, watching as your release hit you.

Your lingerie was soaking, and so were Yeonjun’s jeans; however you weren’t tired yet, you couldn’t be when the boy’s hands were playing with your breast.

“I need more” you whimpered, tightening his grip on your chest

“Don’t worry angel, it’s just the beginning -he grunted, grabbing your hand to let you feel the bulge in his trousers- good girl,making daddy so happy. Say it” his thumb tugged on your lips, ordering you to let it slip in. You opened your mouth, sucking on it.

“Who am I? Say it,angel. Say it” he spoke

“D-daddy…” you mumbled

“Louder, they didn’t hear you”

“D-daddy” you repeated, your voice pitch came out higher than usual

“Good girl” he praised you, moving your body weight to let you lay down on the bed and tower you.

Yeonjun admired you from above; then he unbuckle his jeans and let them fall to the side of the bed together with a bunch of plushies.

“You’ve been good,so I’ll let you choose:tongue or fingers?”

You didn’t answer, you just grabbed the boy’s face to kiss him one more time. Yeonjun smirked, biting your lower lip:

“I’ll take this as an answer” he replied,giving a glance to the camera. He couldn’t see the precise number of viewers and comments,but he could tell the live was imploding.

“Yeo…” you whispered, demanding his attention. Thank god your viewers didn’t hear you:you couldn’t reveal his name, but your train of thought was so far gone that you weren’t even able to control your own words.

Yeonjun turned around, lifting your skirt up to kiss your inner thighs. They were exactly as he had imagined:the sweetest,most satisfying place he had ever leaned his lips on after your pretty mouth.

He sucked and licked, sending shivers along your spine as you arched your back, holding the sheets with one hand, and Yeonjun’s strands with the other.

His mouth went up,up until he was close to your wetness. He moved your panties aside, sucking on your clit.

“Fuck!” you moaned, shaking, the guy blocked you with his strong hands. Fingers dug in the flesh of your thighs, almost scratching them. What a good feeling.

Yeonjun grunted, he was getting harder every time he tasted you; every time his tongue twisted around your intimacy. Damn if he wanted to fuck you, to hear you squirm as he pounded inside of you.

He fasted his movements, you were so close to come once again when he distanced his lips.

“Come on!” you protested, tightening your fingers around his hair. Yeonjun laughed, sliding your body closer before lowering his boxers.

“No more time to play -he blocked your wrists above your head- gonna make you feel good, don’t worry, princess” he kissed the angle of your mouth, sliding himself in.

Loud moans followed one another as you adjusted to his side:fuck, how good he felt inside of you; even Yeonjun’s breath got stuck in his throat when he realised your walls were perfectly welcoming him in.

Immediately, his minds started racing as fast as a horse:he had gotten there, he was living his wet dream. An electric discharge crossed his body from head to toe; adrenaline begun to frizz his blood as he started pounding inside of you.

He went deeper at every thrust. No hesitation in his movements:as always,he knew what he was doing and would’ve never stopped until both of you cum.

Grunts filled the air, your sweaty skin slamming against the boy’s whose breaths were irregular.

“So fucking good. Taking me so well -he looked down to you, enjoying once again your pornographic expression- v’been dreaming of this for so long and now look at you, look at you folding for me. Fuck” he hit your g spot, making you whine both in pain and pleasure.

“God, it’s good! Don’t stop” you shut your eyes, tears wetting your cheeks.

“Never gonna stop until you cum for me princess. Come on,make daddy happy again” he grunted. His movements got sloppier as he was close, just like you.

You moaned, fingers sliding beneath his tank top, scratching his back; then, a few thrusts later, you cum all over the place, followed by Yeonjun.

“Damn” he let his body fall on yours, resting his head in the crook of your neck. He kissed you, leaving a few more hickeys here and there.

You were panting, drying your sweaty forehead before exchanging one last needy, but tired, kiss.

Yeonjun slowly collected the strength to dress up and walk towards the pc:

500k viewers

220k likes

140k comments

+50k coins gained

The boy smirked:

“See you next time, whores, and remember:she’s mine”

cvte_bunny04 has ended the livestream

#choi yeonjun #yeonjun #yeonjun txt #yeonjun tomorrow x together #yeonjun smut #yeonjun scenarios #yeonjun x reader #yeonjun x you #yeonjun x y/n #txt #txt smut #txt scenarios #txt oneshots #yeonjun oneshot #kpop oneshots #kpop smut #txt fanfic #yeonjun fanfic #kpop fanfic

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the-winter-spider · 3 months ago

Text

Timeless | B.Barnes

Word Count: 7.7k

Warnings: None

A/N: I was listening to Timeless By Taylor Swift and was clearly inspired.

Masterlist

——

2024

The night sky was ablaze with flashes of light and the crackle of energy blasts as you and the Avengers fought your way through the remnants of a fortified enemy base. The mission had been straightforward—take down a group of rogue mercenaries who had been experimenting with dangerous, uncharted technology. But like most things in your line of work, nothing stayed straightforward for long.

You dodged a barrage of gunfire, returning fire with precision, while Steve and Bucky fought side by side, taking down enemies with practiced ease. Natasha was up ahead, taking out a sniper nest, while Tony soared above, providing aerial support with his repulsors. You could feel the heat of the battle on your skin, your senses heightened by adrenaline.

“Stay sharp, everyone!” Steve’s voice crackled through your earpiece. “Something’s not right about these guys.”

You didn’t need him to tell you twice. There was an eerie, unnatural energy surrounding the mercenaries. They were moving too fast, their reflexes too sharp for ordinary humans. And then you saw it—a strange device in the center of the base, pulsating with a sickly yellow glow.

“Tony, what the hell is that?” you called out, your eyes fixed on the device.

“Not sure, but it’s giving off some seriously weird readings,” Tony responded, his suit’s HUD lighting up with unfamiliar data.

Before you could react, one of the mercenaries—his eyes glowing with the same yellow hue—turned his attention toward you. He raised his hand, and suddenly, you felt a force tugging at you, pulling you off balance. The ground beneath your feet seemed to shift and warp.

“Y/N, get out of there!” Bucky shouted, his voice desperate sprinting toward you, but it was too late.

The world around you exploded in a kaleidoscope of colours as the force yanked you from your place in reality. Your vision blurred, and your body felt like it was being stretched and compressed at the same time. You could hear the panicked shouts of your teammates growing distant as you were sucked into a swirling vortex of light and sound.

“Bucky!” you cried out, reaching for him, but your hand grasped nothing but air.

And then, everything went black.

1930s

You landed on your feet with a thud, slightly stumbling back into a large tree.

“Y/N? What the hell are you doing? And what are you wearing?” Peggy Carter scowled at you.

Your mouth fell open. This wasn’t just another time—this was a different universe. You could feel it in the air, something distinctly off. The timeline wasn’t your own.

Peggy grabbed your hand, her grip firm. “I hope you had enough time alone because you’re going to be late!” she scolded, pulling you along. She was dressed in a stunning pink gown, her hair styled perfectly, as always. Peggy was gorgeous, no matter the universe.

“Late for what?” you asked, allowing her to drag you along. You knew you could trust Peggy, even in a world that wasn’t your own. You had to play along, to avoid disrupting whatever timeline you’d landed in.

She spun around to face you, her hands on your shoulders as she inspected you. “What are you doing, Pegs?” you asked, the nickname slipping out naturally, even though it felt foreign on your tongue. You hadn’t called her that in seventy years, and the thought brought tears to your eyes.

“I’m checking to see if you hit your head, because there’s no way you’d forget that today is your wedding. You’ve been talking about it since we were little!”

Little? You didn’t meet Peggy until 1943, when you were twenty-five. So things were really different here. “My wedding?”

“Oh my gosh! We do not have time for this!” Her hands flew up in exasperation as she yanked you towards the cutest little house. You noticed the green front door, the white picket fence, and the blooming sunflowers. It was beautiful. You could see an archway decorated with flowers, undoubtedly for your wedding. The wedding that was apparently yours.

Peggy peeked her head inside the house. “Is he still upstairs?” she called out. A voice responded affirmatively, and she hurried you inside, not giving you a chance to take in your surroundings. The house looked as though someone had just moved in—or was planning to. You could hear voices from upstairs, your heart skipping a beat when you recognized a laugh. His laugh.

Before you could fully process it, Peggy pulled you into a room just off the foyer.

Inside, you saw a garment bag, likely containing your wedding dress. Another woman was setting up curlers and makeup. When she turned, you nearly gasped. “Becca?”

“Finally! Oh my gosh, what are you wearing? Where did she run off to, Peggy?”

“That’s what I said!” Peggy replied, starting to take down your ponytail and brush your hair. “She was by the pond.”

“The pond? What were you doing over there? Did you fall in? You’re a mess,” Rebecca scolded.

A few tears slid down your cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

Rebecca’s eyes widened as she wiped away your tears. “Whoa, okay, hey. We’re not mad, just worried. And we only have,” she glanced at the clock, “two hours until showtime.”

They worked on your hair and makeup while you sat there, trying to absorb it all. This was a moment you never got in your own timeline, one you should have had. Anxiety gnawed at you. What year was it? Who were you marrying? Was Bucky here? Surely he was if Rebecca was, but what if this was after the train incident? What if you had moved on in this timeline in a way you never did—or never would? Was Steve here? Was he finally with Peggy? What was your Bucky thinking? Did he know you were gone? How long had you been missing from your universe? Did they miss you?

Peggy and Rebecca squealed in delight, snapping you out of your thoughts. They spun you around to face the mirror. You gasped softly. The woman staring back at you wasn’t who you expected to see again. Your hair was styled beautifully, parted and curled. Your makeup was flawless, enhancing your features. Your lips were painted your favourite red, a shade you hadn’t worn since before everything changed. They didn’t even make this shade anymore in 2024. Even though you had your boys back in your universe, you weren’t that girl anymore, no matter how much you wished you could be.

Rebecca and Peggy guided you to stand. “Okay, time to take whatever this… is off,” Rebecca said, motioning to your Avengers uniform. To anyone else, it might look like a tight, all-black tracksuit. Thankfully, you had used all your weapons during the mission, so you didn’t have any on you. Your last hidden knife was thrown just before you were tossed into what you could only assume was the multiverse.

Peggy opened the garment bag, handing you a smaller one. “Go put these on first,” she winked, shoving you towards the small attached bathroom.

“And please, for the love of God, don’t mess up your hair or makeup!” Rebecca shouted after you.

You stripped off your uniform, folding it neatly and placing it on the toilet. A small gash on your side caught your eye, and you winced as you cleaned it as best you could. Opening the bag, you couldn’t help but smile. Of course, it was lingerie.

You put everything on, marvelling at how it made you feel. It had been so long since you’d worn anything like this—or even worn the colour white. It felt wrong. You weren’t some innocent, naive girl anymore. You were a killer. You sighed, shoving your Avengers clothes into the bag the lingerie had come in. You felt exposed, the gash on your side still visible. Luckily, when Peggy found you, you were out of it. You could say you fell and didn’t notice.

Your hand hovered over the bathroom door handle when you heard a knock on the bedroom door. Thanks to your enhanced abilities, you could hear everything.

“It’s almost time. Is she ready?” Your heart did backflips. Steve. You’d recognize his voice anywhere, even underwater.

“Just have to do the dress,” Peggy responded firmly.

“She’s acting a little weird,” Rebecca added.

You could picture Steve’s brows furrowing in concern. “Nerves? I mean, she’s about to marry the love of her life. I’d be full of them if I were in her shoes.”

“She went for a walk. I think she hit her head. She was a little out of it.”

“Should we call a doctor? Maybe a concussion?” Steve asked, panicked.

Peggy laughed. “Steve, did you forget? I’m a nurse. I checked her over. Let’s just say it’s definitely nerves.”

A nurse? you thought. What the hell?

“Now get out of here! We’ll be ready in five minutes,” Rebecca said loudly, no doubt shoving Steve out.

You sighed, opening the bathroom door. Both their heads turned toward you. Peggy’s eyes immediately went to the red, angry cut on your side.

“Oh my gosh!” they both exclaimed, though with different meanings and tones.

“You look hot! Definitely making me some nieces or nephews tonight,” Rebecca said happily before her face scrunched up. “Ew, I forgot you’re marrying my brother.”

You felt like you could faint. It was confirmed. The you in this timeline still ended up with Bucky.

Peggy rushed forward, her focus on your cut. “I knew you fell!”

Rebecca gasped. “Bucky’s gonna be so mad I let you get hurt!”

“It’s fine, I promise. It doesn’t even hurt. I already cleaned it, Pegs.” You smiled sweetly at her. “Do you have any gauze? I don’t want to get any blood on the dress.”

She scoffed, looking offended before a small smile broke across her face. “Do I have gauze? Gosh, you and Steve really are two peas in a pod, both of you offending me within minutes!”

Peggy bandaged your side with practised ease, her hands steady as she worked. “There, good as new,” she said, standing back to admire her handiwork. She looked into your eyes, her expression softening. “You’re going to be okay… nerves or not, you’ve got this.”

Rebecca nodded enthusiastically, “Yeah, and Bucky—he’s going to lose it when he sees you. He’s been head over heels for you since… well, forever.”

You forced a smile, your heart heavy with something you couldn’t quite place “Thank you, i-i don’t know what I’d ever do without either of you” This moment felt surreal, which of course it was because it never happened for you, but you took in every moment no matter what because you would never get this again.

Peggy grinned, handing you the wedding dress. “Let’s get you into this, shall we? Can’t keep your groom waiting.”

As you slipped into the dress, the weight of the moment pressed down on you. You were about to walk down the aisle in a universe that wasn’t your own, to marry Bucky, the mixed emotions had you feeling like a child again. You were trained to be an assassin and you were letting everything get to you. Maybe because your heart was still tethered to your own timeline, to your Bucky, and the life you had left behind…the life that was taken from you by Hydra.

Once you were dressed, Peggy and Rebecca stood back, their eyes shining with pride. “You look perfect,” Peggy said, her voice full of emotion.

Rebecca’s eyes misted over. “Bucky’s going to cry when he sees you…we're finally going to be sisters!” She squealed, pulling you into a hug.

Peggy’s eyebrows shot up. “I almost forgot! We got you something.” She turned away, digging through her bag. “And don’t say we didn’t have to, because of course we did.”

Before you could respond, she turned back, holding a tiny white box tied with a little red ribbon. Your hands trembled as you took it from her and carefully untied the ribbon. Inside was a delicate gold bracelet, adorned with two stones—your birthstone and Bucky’s.

“Look on the inside,” Rebecca whispered, her excitement palpable.

You lifted the bracelet, inspecting the engraving on the inner band: Mr. & Mrs. Barnes, June 8th, 1930 - A timeless love.

Your breath hitched. 1930. This timeline was so wrong from yours, everything was different.

“I… I…” you stuttered, overwhelmed.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Peggy said softly, her voice full of warmth. “May I?” she gestured toward the bracelet. You nodded, holding out your wrist as she fastened it around you. “Now you’re ready,” she winked, stepping back.

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Let’s do this.”

As you made your way downstairs, the sounds of the wedding day grew louder—music playing softly, the murmur of guests waiting for the ceremony to begin. When you reached the bottom step, you saw Steve waiting for you. But not just any Steve—pre-serum Steve, the version of him you hadn’t seen in what felt like a lifetime. You couldn’t help but tear up at the sight of him, your Stevie.

His breath caught as he took in your appearance. “You look… stunning,” he said, his voice filled with awe.

You managed a small smile, your eyes welling with tears. “Thanks, Stevie.”

He laughed, a familiar sound that tugged at your heart. “Haven’t heard you call me that in forever. I’ll let it slide because it’s your wedding day.” He offered you his arm. “Ready?”

Of course, he was the one walking you down the aisle. Your parents must be gone in this universe too. “Yeah,” you lied, taking his arm. As you walked toward the backyard, where the ceremony was set to take place, you tried to calm the storm of emotions swirling inside you. You had to keep it together, to play your part until you could figure out how to get back to your own universe.

When you stepped outside, your breath caught. The yard had been transformed into a picturesque wedding venue. Flowers adorned every surface, fairy lights twinkled in the early evening light, and the guests—all familiar faces, people you hadn’t seen in almost a hundred years, people who were gone in your time—turned to watch you. These were slightly different versions of them, but the sight was overwhelming.

But it was the sight of Bucky that nearly undid you. He stood at the end of the aisle, dressed in a sharp suit, his eyes locked on you. There was so much love and admiration in his gaze that it made your heart ache. This moment was everything you ever wanted, everything you dreamed of the day you met Bucky.

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to take the first step down the aisle. With each step, the reality of what you were about to do weighed heavier on your heart. By the time you reached Bucky, your emotions were a tangled mess.

He reached out, taking your hand with both of his. “You look beautiful,” he whispered, his voice full of emotion.

You smiled up at him, trying to ignore the tears that threatened to spill over at the sight of him having both warm, flesh hands. “So do you.”

The officiant began speaking, but his words were a blur in your ears. All you could focus on was Bucky, standing before you, so close yet so far from the man you knew and loved in your timeline. He looked so peaceful, no war behind his eyes, no shadows lurking over him. There was no trauma here.

When it came time to say your vows, Bucky squeezed your hands, his voice steady as he spoke. “Doll, from the moment I met you, I knew you were gonna be my best girl.” He winked, causing you to chuckle. “I’ve loved you since the moment I first laid eyes on you, and I’ll continue to love you for the rest of my life. I can’t tell you how long I’ve waited for this day. I’ll remember it forever and cherish every moment we have together.”

His words made your heart clench. How could you possibly say your vows when your heart belonged to another version of this man? But you had to, for the sake of this universe, this timeline. You couldn’t disrupt it any more than you already had. It made your heart ache.

Taking a shaky breath, you began. “Bucky, I… I promise to love you for as long as you’ll let me. I’ll love you in every universe possible. It was always you, it will always be you. I cannot wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”

The words felt hollow but carried so much meaning. Bucky’s eyes filled with love and joy, oblivious to your inner turmoil. When the officiant pronounced you husband and wife, Bucky leaned down, capturing your lips in a gentle, tender kiss. The guests cheered, and for a moment, you let yourself get lost in the kiss, in the love this version of Bucky had for you.

But as the kiss ended, and you pulled back, reality came crashing down around you. You had to find a way back to your own timeline, to your Bucky. You couldn’t live this lie; this wasn’t the life you were meant for, not anymore. You wondered where the you from this timeline was? Where did she go? Would she come back once you were gone? Would it all make sense to her? Would she know everything that happened, or would she just get tossed in? Would the day restart for her? You sure hoped it would because this was her day, not yours. And you knew if it were your day, it would have been the best day of your life. She deserved it.

As the reception began, you excused yourself, slipping away from the crowd. You needed time to think, to figure out how to return to where you belonged. You paced at the front step, the door light flickering on.

“Doll?” Bucky’s voice cut through the silence.

You spun around. “Yeah, Buck?”

He placed his glass down, concern etched on his features. “Are you okay?” His left hand grabbed yours, the warmth of his touch startling you. Not feeling the coldness you were used to was breaking your heart. It felt wrong.

You glanced up at him, those same beautiful blue eyes and perfect pink lips. “Of course, I’m with you.”

He smiled the same smile, his eyes twinkling the same. Nose crinkling the same. He started to lean in. Your heart skipped a beat; this felt wrong. He stopped right before your lips. “Mrs. Y/N Barnes,” he whispered, his voice low. “I can’t tell ya how long I’ve wanted to call you that.”

“You have no idea,” you whispered, the weight of your words almost crushing you.

Then the door burst open. “There you are!” Peggy shouted, holding a very old but likely new-for-this-time camera. She shoved past you down the front steps. “This is perfect, the beautiful couple on their wedding day in their brand-new house!”

This was your house? Jealousy gnawed at you, seeing everything this version of you had. It was so peaceful—everything you had ever wanted but never got, and never would.

Bucky pulled you close to him, his right arm wrapping tightly around your waist, while his left hand reached out to hold your left hand, intertwining your fingers.

“Okay, smile in, 3…2…1!” A giant flash went off, and you heard the mechanism of the camera working before the film popped out. “One more for good measure,” Peggy said before taking another. “This one’s for you two, and this one’s for me.” She handed you the picture before skipping off, clearly tipsy.

Bucky rested his head on your shoulder. “Beautiful…” His voice was low as he kissed your bare shoulder. “Our future kids will love to see this one day.”

“Yeah, they will,” you whispered, barely holding it together.

“Well, wife,” he said, his voice filled with a smile, “we should get back to the party. Don’t wanna keep our guests waiting.”

You turned to face him, forcing a smile. “I’ll meet you back there? I just need to use the restroom.”

“Of course, sweetheart.” He kissed your forehead before walking off.

You went back to the room where you had originally prepared, locking the door behind you. You sighed, letting a tear fall. The enormity of what had just happened hit you full force. You were married, in a timeline that wasn’t your own, to a man who wasn’t your Bucky. You took the wedding rings off placing them safely on the vanity.

Frantically, you searched for the bag with your Avengers uniform, hoping for something—anything—that could help you get back. That’s when you felt it—thanks to your heightened senses, the faint crackle of static in the air. Panic surged through you as you fumbled with the bag, grabbing your uniform and shoving the wedding picture inside. Anything you were holding should come with you.

Suddenly, the static electricity surged, pulling you into its grip. You were flung through time and space, the world spinning around you.

1958

The disorienting feeling subsided as you landed on solid ground, gasping for air. The sounds of music surrounded you, and the smell of smoke filled your lungs. You looked down at yourself—you were still in the white dress, the bracelet from Becca and Peggy still in a bag clutched in your hand along with your gear and the photo, all still there. You stared at the picture, the image of you and Bucky smiling on your wedding day in that alternate timeline.

But this still wasn’t your timeline. You could tell by the dated cars and the subtle differences in the surroundings. At least something was happening, something that made you feel a bit more at ease. Your friends, your teammates—your Bucky—must be doing something, trying to get you back. Why else would you be in another timeline?

You stopped when you saw a newspaper on the ground, picking it up fast. The date read July 4th, 1958. At least you were moving ahead in time and not backward. You didn’t remember much about 1958 in your timeline; you were either in cryo or being experimented on, just like Bucky. The only thing you knew for sure was that today was Steve’s birthday.

As you walked through the familiar yet different streets, you noticed some stores were still here from when you last remembered, at least in your universe. One, a secondhand shop, caught your eye—a store you didn’t recall existing before. You slipped inside, knowing you had to blend in.

Rummaging through the clothing racks, you found a dress that would have to do. You didn’t have any money, and the thought of stealing made your stomach churn, but you needed to blend in until you were pulled from this timeline, just in case you ran into someone you knew. You didn’t understand much about the multiverse, but you knew enough to avoid tampering with it.

You sighed, grabbing a few more dresses and walking toward the changing room. The man at the counter called out, “How many do you have, Miss?”

You smiled sweetly, holding up three dresses. “Just three, sir!”

He nodded, satisfied, as you entered the changing room. Once inside, you used the moment to breathe. You had to take your time as if you were trying on the other dresses. You slipped the fourth dress on under your wedding dress, checking in the mirror to make sure it wasn’t noticeable. Satisfied, you stepped out, returning the other dresses to the rack.

“No luck?” the man asked.

You shook your head. “Sorry.”

“No worries, ma’am. You have a wonderful day!” he replied cheerfully.

You quickly made your way into an alley, taking off the wedding dress to reveal the more appropriate attire beneath. “Sorry, Y/N,” you whispered to yourself, tossing the wedding dress into a dumpster before stepping back out onto the street.

“Y/N?” Steve’s voice called softly.

You froze, turning around. “Steve?” How was he still alive? You didn’t know exactly how the multiverse worked, and clearly, any insight you had was completely wrong. The only thing you were sure of was that you weren’t supposed to tamper with anything—or was that time travel? You were so out of your depth.

He looked the same as he did the last time you saw him in the 40s in your timeline. Fashion hadn’t changed drastically, and the Super Soldier Serum had kept him looking youthful. He definitely had seen war, but maybe the jet didn’t go down in this timeline, sparing him from the fate he faced in your own.

“Why do you sound surprised to see me?” He laughed, reaching out to pull you into a side hug, his left arm holding a brown bag. “Doing some shopping?” he asked, nodding toward the bag you were carrying.

You nodded, trying to keep your composure. “You know me,” you shrugged, forcing a smile. Your heart raced, knowing he could likely hear it with his enhanced senses, just as you could hear his.

“Oh! Happy Birthday!” you exclaimed, trying to shift the focus. “How old are you now? Sixty?”

He chuckled, nudging your shoulder playfully. “Oh, ha ha! I’ll have you know I’m not a day over forty!” But his eyes betrayed a sadness before he cleared his throat. “Ready to go?”

You nodded, letting him lead the way. The silence between you was comfortable, as it always was. It didn’t matter what timeline you were in—Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes would always be constants in your life, and vice versa.

As you approached your destination, you froze. A graveyard. There were so many possibilities of who you could be visiting here with Steve—his mother, someone from the war, or… Bucky. The pang in your chest was familiar, the same one you felt all those years ago when you saw Steve walking up to you and Peggy after that fateful day that took your Bucky from you.

Steve gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “It’s gonna be okay.”

You nodded solemnly, gesturing for him to lead the way.

When you reached the grave, your breath caught in your throat.

‘James Buchanan Barnes

March 10, 1917 - January 10, 1945

Beloved son, brother, friend, fiancé, hero.’

The sight of Bucky’s name on the gravestone hit you like a punch to the gut. This timeline was too close to what might have been if only Bucky had been taken and not all of you. You never even got to see the headstone of your Bucky. This felt surreal, like a cruel echo of a life you could have lived but never did.

Steve sat down first, patting the ground beside him, signalling you to join him. You placed your bag down and lowered yourself to the ground, your legs feeling heavy. The weight of the moment pressed down on you as Steve pulled out a small box from the bag he was carrying. When he opened it, you gasped softly at the sight of photos, letters, and a ring pinned to a small cushion, kept safe all these years.

Carefully, Steve unhooked the ring and handed it to you. “I know you only like to wear it when we visit him,” he said, his voice gentle, laced with a sadness that matched your own. “When I saw you left it at home today, I grabbed it. I hope that was okay?”

His eyes held such deep emotion that it almost broke you. It was the kind of look that spoke of shared loss, of knowing all too well the pain of losing someone who was a part of your soul.

“Of course, Stevie,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. Your hands shook as you slipped the ring onto your finger, its familiar weight both comforting and heartbreaking. Another timeline where you didn’t get what you should have. Another reminder of the love that was taken from you, that you were once so close to having.

You stared at the ring, the symbol of a love that transcended time and space. It was a small, simple thing, but it held the weight of all the what-ifs and could-have-beens. You sat there in silence, mourning a life that never was, when Steve pulled out the photographs, laying them carefully between you.

There were pictures of Bucky and you, of Steve and Bucky, and some of all three of you together. As you looked through them, you let Steve retell the memories behind each one. His voice was soft and steady, grounding you as he recounted moments that felt as if they had happened only yesterday. The photographs were almost identical to the ones you had actually created with the boys in your own timeline, each one a snapshot of a life lived together in friendship and love.

One photo caught your eye, and you reached into the box to pick it up. It was a picture of you and Bucky dressed for prom. You inspected it closely, your eyes tracing every detail. It was exactly how you remembered, right down to the dress you wore, the smile on Bucky’s face, the way his arm was wrapped protectively around your waist.

“He couldn’t believe you actually agreed to go with him,” Steve said, a small smile tugging at his lips as he looked at the photo over your shoulder.

You smiled back, the memory warming your heart despite the sadness that lingered. “We had our first kiss that night,” you said, your voice soft with nostalgia.

“And the rest is history,” Steve replied, his tone light but tinged with the same bittersweetness you felt. He smiled, but his eyes were distant, lost in the memory of that night, of a time when everything seemed so much simpler, so full of promise.

“You have no idea,” you whispered, more to yourself than to Steve, as the weight of everything you’d been through settled over you like a shroud. The love you shared with Bucky was more than history—it was a bond that spanned timelines, a connection that not even the chaos of the multiverse could sever.

The two of you sat there in quiet companionship, the silence between you filled with the unspoken understanding of what you had lost and what you had found in each other. The world around you seemed to fade away, leaving only the memories and the unbreakable bond you shared with Bucky—a bond that would endure, no matter what timeline you found yourself in.

Then you felt it. The electricity, the unease of what was about to happen , you know Steve felt it as he stood right up. His protectiveness of you taking over “Stay here” his voice switching over to his Captain America tone, leaking with authority you nodded. You watched him walk off, you grabbed onto your bag with your belongings, putting the photo of Bucky and you before prom in it before dragging you away from the grave, from Steve, from Bucky’s final resting place.

1500s

You landed with a jolt, gasping for air, your heart pounding in your chest. The world around you slowly came into focus— a garden, a fountain, and a castle? What the hell. The ring was still on your finger, the bag still clutched in your hand, but your surroundings were starkly different.

You were no longer in 1958. You had been pulled into yet another timeline.

But this time, something felt different. This time, you weren’t alone.

A voice behind you, low and familiar, sent chills down your spine.

“What are you doing out here?”

You turned slowly, your breath catching in your throat.

There he stood—Bucky. But there was something different in his eyes, something darker, more intense.

“Bucky?” you whispered, unsure.

He moved swiftly, grabbing you by the arms and hoisting you to your feet. “You shouldn’t be out here, love. They could find you.”

“W-who?”

He stopped pulling you once you were concealed by the dense trees, your back pressed against the rough bark. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you again?”

“N-no? Bucky, what’s going on?” You didn’t like this timeline; everything felt too unfamiliar, too dark, too off.

His hands cradled your face, his thumbs stroking your cheeks in a way that was both tender and desperate. This Bucky reminded you more of your Bucky than the others you had encountered—the darkness in his eyes, the shadows that told stories of things seen and done, of battles fought and lost. “Our plan is still set for dawn. If you still want to run away with me… if you’ll still have me.” His voice was laced with urgency and vulnerability. “Steve and Sam have everything ready. We just meet here at dawn, and the boys and I will handle the rest.”

His eyes bore into yours, pleading silently, worried that your hesitation was a sign you had changed your mind. He continued, his voice breaking slightly, “I know I can’t give you a castle or the fancy poofy dresses you hate so much.” You smiled at that— even though this wasn’t exactly you he was talking about, it still sounded like you. “But I promise I’ll love you with everything I have. No one will ever hurt you or lay a finger on you again. I love you… please, doll.”

“Bucky,” you whispered, reaching up to place your hand over his, “of course I’m still with you. It’s always you. There’s no me without you.” Literally, you thought. If only he knew the true extent of what you meant.

He let out the breath he had been holding, his shoulders relaxing. “Okay, okay.” He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Go back to your room. One small bag with your must-haves, remember? Leave the rest behind. We’ll start over together. Try not to talk to anyone. We meet back here at dawn.”

You nodded, and he smiled—that familiar smile that had followed you through so many timelines. “Okay, Bucky, I’ll see you soon.”

He grabbed your hands, pressing a kiss to each of your knuckles. “I’ll see you soon.” Then he turned, disappearing back into the trees.

You sighed, turning to make your way back to what you assumed was where you lived—a castle, no less. You had to be way back in time. You moved stealthily through the hallways, avoiding anyone you saw, making your way up the stairs. Your enhanced abilities made it easy to hear if people were coming or if a room was occupied, until you found one that seemed like yours. The confirmation came when you stepped inside and noticed a slightly off-looking floorboard. You smiled—of course, you would have a secret hiding spot.

Locking the door behind you, you added extra precaution by wedging a chair under the handle. You knelt by the floorboard and used a letter opener to pry it up, revealing a small bag tucked inside. Opening it, you found mementos, trinkets, but mostly letters.

You carefully unfolded one of the letters, your heart racing as you recognized Bucky’s handwriting. The words were filled with love and hope, speaking of a future you both dreamed of, away from the dangers and the darkness that surrounded you:

My Dearest Love,

Each day apart from you feels like an eternity. My heart aches for you, and every moment without you is a moment lost. When I close my eyes, I see your face, so beautiful and full of light, and when I gaze up at the stars, I find solace in knowing that we are both under the same sky. I see your eyes in every twinkle, as if the heavens themselves reflect the love we share.

Steve has brought troubling news—rumours that your father is pushing you towards marriage with that wretched George. The mere thought of you in his arms is unbearable to me. But hear me now, my love: I will not allow this fate to befall you. You are mine, as I am yours, and nothing in this world will keep us apart.

I have devised a plan, one that will bring us together once and for all. In three weeks’ time, we will be free. Meet me at our secret place, where the willow bends by the riverbank. I will be waiting for you there, ready to take you far from this place, where we can live the life we have dreamed of—together, without fear, without chains.

Until that moment, hold on to the thought of us, of the life we will soon share. Let it give you strength, as your love gives me mine. We will be together, my sweet girl, I swear it to you with all that I am.

Yours, now and forever,

With all the love in my heart,

B.B.

This bag was filled with letters from Bucky to you—hundreds of them. Each one was a testament to the love you shared, a forbidden love that defied the rules of time and space. It was fate. In every timeline, it was fate.

Each letter was a promise, a piece of the life you both yearned for, a life you were determined to reach if you could just make it to dawn.

As you placed the letters back into the bag, your resolve strengthened. The version of you here wasn’t just running away with Bucky—you were running toward the life you both deserved, a life free from the chains of expectations and the weight of secrecy.

You packed a few essentials into the small bag, knowing you couldn’t take much, but also knowing that what truly mattered wasn’t what you left behind, but who you were moving forward with. As you finished, you took one last look around the room—this life, and the person you had been here—aware that in just a few hours, you would be leaving it all behind.

Steeling yourself, you clutched the bag close and whispered to the empty room, “We’ll make it, Bucky. She’ll see you at dawn.”

With that, you slipped out of the room and into the shadows, ready for whatever the future—whatever this timeline—had in store for you.

Once outside, you carefully placed the bag by the tree, hoping that when you were inevitably pulled back through the multiverse, the you from this timeline would replace you in this spot. She would see the bag and know—because she would just know. You couldn’t leave everything behind, though. You slipped one of the letters into the bag you were still hauling around, the one with your Avengers gear, along with the photo of you and Bucky on your wedding day, and the one of the two of you on the way to the dance—the night of your first kiss.

You held the bag tight, feeling the surge of energy building around you. The air crackled with electricity, the atmosphere growing thick with anticipation. You braced yourself as the vortex of yellow and blue hues began to swirl around you, pulling you back into the multiverse.

As the world spun and twisted, you closed your eyes, clutching the letter and photos close to your heart. You didn’t know where you would land next, but one thing was certain—you would find him again. No matter how many timelines you had to traverse, no matter how many obstacles stood in your way, you would always find Bucky. But you wanted your Bucky

So as you were being tossed around you did something different this time, you thought of memories from your timeline. You kept picturing your Bucky. His long hair, his vibranium arm, his eye crinkles, the nose scrunch. His haunting blue eyes, the way his arms feel around you. The way you felt when you were reunited, the way his lips felt on yours.

2024

You crashed into the glass table at the compound, landing with a loud, painful thud. The impact knocked the wind out of you, and black spots danced across your vision. Voices filled the air, overlapping with the ringing in your ears and the pounding in your head. This was different—much worse than any landing in the other timelines. But then again, you hadn’t smashed into a glass table before.

Propping yourself up on your elbows, you squinted through the blurriness. The compound slowly came into focus—familiar, yet surreal after everything you’d been through. You tried to gauge how this timeline felt, but your senses were overloaded. Through the haze, you recognized a voice.

“Tony?” you croaked.

His eyes were wide with shock and something you couldn’t quite place—relief? “Holy shit! It worked!” He looked at you, disbelief melting into excitement. “Is this…?” he gestured at you.

Strange stepped forward, his expression calm but with a faint smile. “The timelines are at peace. It’s her,” he confirmed, nodding at Tony before turning to you. “You’re back.”

Tears welled in your eyes. “I’m back,” you whispered, the reality settling in. “I’m really back.” You pushed yourself up, but the dizziness hit you hard. Tony reached out to steady you.

“Your senses might be slightly off as your body readjusts to its proper timeline,” Strange explained, his tone reassuring. “But with your enhanced capabilities, it shouldn’t take long.” He gave Tony a final nod before stepping back into one of his magical yellow portals—what you and Bucky had always called them.

Bucky. The thought of him hit you like a freight train. You turned to Tony, panic rising in your chest. “W-where is he?”

“He’s on his way,” Tony replied quickly. “FRIDAY alerted him. Cap had to get him out of the compound—he was getting hostile. They went for a run.”

You nodded, trying to process everything. “How long have I been gone?”

“Two months,” Tony said gently. “We should get you to medical, get you checked out. You fell through my table, for Christ’s sake.”

“To me, it felt like a few hours,” you muttered, the enormity of it all weighing down on you. No wonder you felt so disoriented—what had been mere hours for you had been two long months here.

“Mr. Rogers, Mr. Wilson, and Mr. Barnes are back,” FRIDAY announced.

“I need to see him first,” you insisted, tears spilling down your cheeks as you pushed past Tony and sprinted toward the direction where you knew Bucky would be coming from.

You could hear all three sets of footsteps. Sam’s were slower, lighter, trailing behind. Steve’s were steady and precise, not far behind. But Bucky’s—Bucky’s were frantic, almost desperate, pounding toward you with an urgency that made your heart race.

When you rounded the corner, you saw them. The sight of Bucky made you stop in your tracks, your bag slipping from your fingers to the ground. Your hands flew to your face as a sob of pure relief escaped your lips. “Bucky.”

They all halted at the sight of you—except Bucky. He didn’t hesitate. He closed the distance between you in a heartbeat, pulling you firmly into his arms. His grip was tight, almost as if he was afraid you’d slip away again.

You clung to him just as fiercely, burying your face in his chest, inhaling the scent that was so uniquely him. “I’m here, Bucky. I’m here,” you whispered, your voice breaking.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m not letting you go again.”

You stood there in Bucky’s arms for what felt like hours—maybe even an eternity—and you wouldn’t have minded. It was as if time itself had slowed down, letting you savor the moment. When you finally pulled back slightly, your hands traveled up his arms, over the familiar contrast of flesh and vibranium, before resting gently on his face. He held onto your waist firmly, grounding you both in the reality of this moment.

“I can’t believe it’s you,” you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion. “It’s really you.”

Behind you, Tony’s footsteps approached, a reminder of the world outside your reunion. “Barnes, we need her in medical. She literally fell through my table,” he said, his tone half-joking but mostly concerned.

Bucky nodded, his gaze never leaving yours. He gently took your hand off his face, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles before lacing his fingers with yours. Together, you began to walk toward the medbay.

“Wait!” You suddenly stopped, turning back to retrieve your bag.

“What’s in that?” Steve’s voice came from beside you, his hand resting warmly on your shoulder.

You smiled up at him, reaching into the bag to pull out two photographs and a letter. Handing them to Steve, you watched as he stared at the images in shock before passing them to Bucky, your Bucky. Steve unfolded the letter, his eyes scanning the words that transcended time.

Then, you lifted your left hand, sliding off the ring that had been a symbol across lifetimes. You placed it in Steve’s palm, then removed a bracelet, handing it to Bucky. “There our birthstones,” you said softly, noticing how Bucky’s eyes began to water. “Look inside.”

Bucky’s voice was thick with emotion as he read the inscription aloud: “Mr. & Mrs. Barnes, June 8th, 1930 - A timeless love.”

“Holy shit,” Sam finally spoke, breaking the reverent silence.

You nodded, feeling the weight of all the timelines you had traversed. You glanced at Steve, then back at Bucky, your heart full of certainty. “In every timeline I was in,” you said, your voice steady, “you both were always there.”

Turning fully to Bucky, you let a tear slip down your cheek as you continued, “It’s always been you. Every time, in every world, it was always us.”

Bucky pulled you close again, his arms wrapping around you as if he could merge the fractured pieces of time that had kept you apart. “And it always will be,” he whispered into your hair, his voice filled with unshakeable conviction.

In that moment, surrounded by the people who had been with you in every timeline, every reality, you knew that your journey through the multiverse had finally led you home. There was no more running, no more searching. You were where you were meant to be—with the person you were always meant to be with.

It was a love that had defied time, space, and every obstacle the universe had thrown your way. And now, standing in the place where it all began, you knew it would last forever.

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