#Data science definition | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lowrisemiller · 1 month ago

Text

ꜰɪᴇʟᴅ ᴛᴇꜱᴛ

you can imagine whichever Reed you want ;)

reed richards x assistant!fem!reader

you're reed richards’ long-suffering lab assistant. brilliant in your own right, you handle everything from data entry to inter-dimensional rift control. you’ve been nursing a hopeless crush on him for months. the man can design a quantum field stabilizer in his sleep, but he’s absolutely blind to the way you touch his shoulder a beat too long or always bring him his favorite coffee without asking. how could someone so brilliant be so stupid when it came to people?

masterlist | 4.7k words | MDNI SMUT | reed neglecting basic things bc scientist duh, reader(me) is DOWN BAD, reed is oblivious to everything that isn’t science, finger & oral f!receiving, reed stretching things, him being a nerd while eating ur pussy😍 unprotected piv sex DONT DO THAT ! aftercare:)

The lab was quiet, except for the soft scribble of pen on paper and the low, constant hum of equipment Reed swore was essential, even if it sounded like white noise to everyone else. You sat perched at your workstation, chin resting in your palm, eyes drifting from your screen to the man pacing ten feet away—muttering under his breath, brow furrowed, fingers twitching.

You’d seen that look a hundred times.

It meant he was close to a breakthrough.

It also meant you could scream I want you in morse code and he wouldn’t register it.

You sighed, clicking your pen against your notebook. He didn’t glance up. Not even when you shifted in your seat and stretched in a way that was definitely for his benefit.

Ten months.

That’s how long you’d worked beside him—helping with calculations, organizing lab notes, fending off media inquiries, even stopping one of his machines from literally catching fire last Tuesday. You’d poured yourself into this job. You knew his schedule better than he did. You brought him his coffee the exact way he liked it. You wear that plum lipstick because he’d once said it was a “pleasing wavelength” for visual stimulation.

He hadn’t looked twice.

You weren’t just harboring a crush at this point. No, this had evolved into something much more volatile—an emotional chemical reaction waiting for a catalyst.

And Reed? Reed was… oblivious.

Gorgeous, brilliant, maddeningly unbothered Reed Richards. With his rolled-up sleeves and distracted glances, the way he chewed on pens when deep in thought, the offhand compliments he gave without realizing they were compliments—“Your spatial reasoning is exceptional,” he’d said once, looking at your notes. You’d practically melted.

Now he stood a few feet away, talking to himself like always. You watched the way his hands gestured mid-air, sketching invisible shapes.

“Frustrated with the equations?” you asked, keeping your tone light.

“No, no. Just… considering variable Y’s response under quantum fluctuation,” he murmured, barely registering your voice. “Though I suppose an extra set of eyes wouldn’t hurt.”

He handed you the clipboard and your fingers brushed. He didn’t even flinch. Your heart did.

You took it wordlessly, biting the inside of your cheek. How could someone so brilliant be so stupid when it came to people?

Maybe that was unfair. Reed wasn’t cruel, or cold. He was kind in his own absent-minded way. But he had tunnel vision—for science, for discovery. He didn’t notice the things that didn’t present themselves in a neat, testable format.

Like how you lingered in his orbit.

Or how your eyes followed him when he wasn't looking.

Or how sometimes, after long days, you fantasized about climbing into his lap right in that damn desk chair and making him pay attention.

Your pen scratched against the clipboard now, pretending to read the data while you watched him from the corner of your eye. He was back to pacing, lips moving silently. His sleeves were pushed up again, exposing strong forearms, veins prominent, hands twitching like he needed to do something with them.

God, you were losing it.

You placed the clipboard down. “You ever think maybe the problem isn’t quantum fluctuation, Reed? Maybe it’s just human error.”

He blinked and turned. “Are you suggesting I made a mistake?”

“I’m saying maybe if you took your head out of the wormhole generator long enough to eat or sleep or…” You paused. Look at me.

“…notice things, you’d think clearer.”

He looked like he might ask what “things” you meant. But instead, he turned back to his calculations, nodding. “Duly noted.”

You stared at his back, silent for a moment. And that’s when the thought struck you: He’s never going to see it unless you make him.

He would go the rest of his life chasing black holes and entropy and would never realize the way you burned for him—not unless you showed him.

Your pulse skipped.

Your patience is snapping.

You were going to be an anomaly he couldn’t ignore.

It was a new day, but nothing had changed.

Reed was still buried in data, half-dressed in a rumpled button-down he probably hadn’t noticed had two buttons mismatched. His hair was slightly damp, like he'd showered ten minutes before walking into the lab and immediately got lost in thought again. You stood at your usual station, sipping lukewarm coffee and pretending not to glance over at him every thirty seconds.

You weren’t pretending very well.

This was your fourth twelve-hour day this week, and you’d long since passed the phase where your crush felt cute. It was heavier now—dense, loaded with tension you had nowhere to put. Not when he kept looking right through you, offering praise only when it was tied to data points or completed tasks.

Today, he barely looked up when you walked in, just said, “Morning,” like you were air and math and all the other constants in his life.

You sat your coffee down a little too hard.

“Sleep okay?” you asked, typing with one hand as you glanced toward him. His back was to you as he scribbled across the whiteboard.

“Didn’t,” he replied casually. “The formula’s been looping in my head since 2 a.m.”

Of course it had.

You nodded to yourself, refocusing on your notes—but your brain wasn't on line graphs. It was on how his voice sounded deeper in the mornings. Rough. Scraped thin. It was on how he'd rolled his sleeves again, unconsciously, like he was giving you just enough to fantasize about but never enough to touch. It was on how he’d leaned over your shoulder the day before, close enough to make you forget your own name, then pulled away without even noticing how stiffly you sat for five minutes after.

You were starting to feel stupid.

Or worse—transparent.

You tugged at the edge of your shirt, adjusting it subtly, then pushed your chair back.

“Reed,” you said after a moment, tone careful.

He glanced up.

You hesitated. You could say it. “Do you ever think about me when we’re not in this lab?” Or even just “Do you notice when I’m trying to get your attention?” But all that left your mouth was:

“…Do you want lunch?”

He blinked. “No, thanks.”

You smiled tightly and nodded. “Okay.”

A long beat passed before he added, “You should eat, though. Your concentration dips if you skip meals.”

That nearly made you laugh. He didn’t notice your new lipstick or the way you leaned closer when talking, but he noticed a dip in your concentration?

“Noted,” you muttered, turning away. Your heart was starting to feel like an overworked computer—on the verge of burnout.

Still, you stayed.

He asked you to help calibrate a device and you did, even though his hands grazed yours and he didn’t seem to feel it. You reorganized his notes for the hundredth time and he said, “I’d lose my head without you.” Your stomach flipped, and you cursed yourself for letting it.

Eventually, the day wore on. The lights buzzed overhead. He worked in silence. And you sat across from him, eyes on your computer screen but brain nowhere near it.

You weren’t going to say anything today. You weren’t ready. But you were closer.

You were watching him more intentionally now. Watching how he moved. Noticing when he forgot to eat, when his jaw clenched at a miscalculation, when he sighed like the weight of the universe had settled into his spine.

And more importantly… you were starting to plan.

Because if Reed Richards wasn’t going to notice you on his own, maybe it was time you made it impossible for him not to.

You started small.

A hand on his shoulder when you passed behind him—just a light touch, fingers lingering a little longer than necessary. A compliment you slid in while reviewing his data aloud. Your tone didn’t change, but your eyes watched his face this time, looking for any flicker of reaction.

Still, nothing overt.

But you were a scientist too, in your own way. You knew not all reactions happened in the open.

So you adjusted variables.

Today, you wore something just a touch more fitted under your lab coat. Nothing flashy. Just subtle. Intentional. Your lips were glossed in a soft cherry sheen and you had your hair tucked behind one ear, leaving your neck bare when you leaned over your notes.

You didn’t say much when you came in. Just a soft, “Morning, Reed,” as you brushed past him to your desk. He looked up. Briefly. His eyes caught on your profile, then flicked back to his screen. But there was… a beat. Just long enough to file away.

You smirked, barely.

He worked for hours, absorbed as usual. But today, you noticed something.

His eyes flicked to you more than once.

Quick glances. Measured. Like he was calculating a change in the room’s atmosphere. Like he felt something different but hadn’t yet assigned it meaning.

When he handed you a tablet to review notes, your fingers touched—warm, steady. This time, he paused.

Just for a second.

Not long enough to be certain of anything. But long enough to make your heart thud against your ribs.

You gave him a slow smile. “Thanks.”

He blinked and muttered, “Of course,” then turned away like he needed to recalibrate.

You kept working. Quiet. Focused.

But later—when you reached for a beaker on the shelf above his head—he stood behind you, offering, “Let me.”

You turned, close enough that your chest brushed his arm as you stepped aside.

He stilled.

You looked up at him, wide-eyed, like it wasn’t completely on purpose. “Thanks.”

His gaze flicked down. A flicker of something behind those eyes. He handed you the beaker wordlessly, but his jaw was set. Not tight. Just… aware.

There it is.

It wasn’t much. A subtle shift in the lab’s atmosphere. But it was enough to keep your spine humming, your thoughts racing.

You’d pushed the threshold.

And Reed felt it.

It happened again.

Reed forgot what he was saying mid-sentence. You were across the room, head bent over your tablet, pencil in your mouth, lab coat slipping slightly off your shoulder. His sentence just… stopped. Hung in the air unfinished.

And for once, he noticed you noticing.

You looked up slowly, eyebrows raised like well?

“I—” he cleared his throat, adjusting his collar. “Never mind.”

You bit back a smile.

Another day in the lab. Another carefully applied variable. You weren’t loud about it. Just present. Vivid. A little perfume on your wrist. Lip gloss again. A comment here and there, perfectly timed to stick in his head.

“Careful,” you murmured when he bumped into the desk beside you. Your voice was soft. A little amused. “You almost ran me over.”

He looked down at you, flustered. “Sorry. I didn’t see you there.”

Liar.

You knew he had near-total environmental awareness. Reed Richards didn’t miss anything. But lately, he missed a lot—because he was looking at you and then pretending he hadn’t.

You kept it casual. Calculated.

You’d brush past him with a hand on his back, stand just a little too close while looking at the same screen, ask questions in that tone you saved for only him.

He was unraveling slowly. Quietly.

You caught him watching once—when you walked away to grab a coffee. His gaze dropped to your hips and stayed for three full seconds before jerking back to the screen like he'd been slapped.

You pretended not to see. But your grin behind your coffee cup was downright smug.

Later that day, he dropped a tool and you crouched down to grab it first. When you stood and handed it back to him, your fingers touched. He held on a little too long.

You tilted your head, teasing. “Forget what you needed it for?”

He blinked down at your joined hands and pulled back sharply. “No. Sorry. I—”

He coughed. “I’m distracted.”

You didn’t say anything.

You didn’t need to.

By now, you knew the exact cadence of his footsteps when he was deep in thought. The slow, uneven rhythm that meant he was pacing without realizing it, caught in his own mental spiral.

You could hear them behind you now—soft thuds on the concrete floor of the lab. Reed Richards, brilliant, infuriating man, walking through formulas with half his shirt untucked and his fingers twitching at his sides. His muttering was barely audible over the hum of the machines, but you caught bits of it:

“Non-linear increase… No, that’s not right. Unless…”

You didn’t look up. Not yet.

Instead, you sat at your workstation, half-focused on the screen in front of you, legs crossed slowly under the table—exposed just enough to draw the eye if someone were finally looking.

And he was.

Reed had been distracted for days now. You saw it in the way his gaze lingered when you bent forward to check wiring. The way his voice wavered slightly when you spoke too close to his ear. The way he’d started pausing in his work like something had thrown off the trajectory of his thought process—and that something was you.

It was working.

He still hadn’t named the tension, but it was eating at him.

So today, you’d decided: no more hints. No more tests.

You were going to prove it to him in a way he couldn’t ignore.

You stood slowly, walked to the central console where he was now bent over a string of data projections, brows furrowed. He didn’t notice you at first—not until you placed a hand lightly on the edge of the table next to his.

His voice faltered. “The waveform collapse pattern could still—”

You leaned in just enough that your shoulder brushed his. “Still what?”

He straightened slightly, blinking at the screen like it had betrayed him.

Your voice was quieter this time. “You’ve been off lately, Reed.”

He turned his head, barely. “Off?”

You tilted your head. “Distracted.”

He opened his mouth, closed it. “I’ve had a lot on my mind.”

You hummed. “I know. But I’m starting to think the problem isn’t in your equations.”

That got his attention. His eyes flicked to yours, guarded. “What do you mean?”

You let the silence hang for a moment. Then:

“I think the thing disrupting your work… is me.”

Reed went still. His lips parted slightly, but no words came out. He was computing. Processing. Trying to refute it. But his body betrayed him—his hand clenched on the table, his gaze briefly darting to your mouth before jerking away.

“I’m not—” he started. “You’re not a disruption.”

You smiled softly. “Then why do you keep looking at me like you’re afraid of what happens if you do it too long?”

He looked stunned. Then—guilty.

You took a breath, slow and steady. This was it.

“I’ve tried everything,” you said. “The lipstick. The touching. Standing so close you could feel my breath.” You leaned in, lower now, voice like silk. “And still, nothing.”

Reed was frozen in place.

“I think,” you continued, “that you’re just waiting for someone to spell it out.”

You stepped back, slowly, and hopped up onto the edge of the table in front of him—knees parted, one leg brushing his thigh. You leaned back on your hands, tilting your head like a challenge.

“Well, Reed?” you asked softly. “Do you need a demonstration?”

His pupils were blown wide. His breath caught. And his hands—god, his hands—hovered like he didn’t know where to touch first.

“You…” he said hoarsely. “You’re serious.”

You nodded, lips curled into a smile. “You want to calculate the pattern? Fine. Let’s start with some field data.”

You reached forward and took his hand—placed it firmly on your thigh.

He made a strangled sound. His fingers flexed. “This is… highly inadvisable.”

“Why?” you whispered, leaning forward so your lips nearly brushed his. “Because you’ve thought about it?”

His jaw clenched. “Yes.”

Your breath hitched.

“Every day this week,” he rasped, voice low now, broken open. “I’ve tried to ignore it. Tried to focus. But I’m… I’m failing. Every time you walk by me. Every time you touch me. I—” He shook his head. “I can’t think when you’re near.”

You dragged his hand a little higher, slow, teasing. “Good. Don’t think.”

And that’s when Reed snapped.

He surged forward, kissing you hard, like he’d been starving for air and only just found it. His hands were everywhere—gripping your waist, sliding up your sides, tugging your lab coat open like it was a barrier to understanding.

You moaned against his mouth, arms around his shoulders, legs parting instinctively as he stepped between them. He kissed like a man undone—like every theory he’d ever held was shattering under your touch.

“You have no idea,” he breathed against your neck. “How long I’ve been holding back.”

“Show me,” you whispered. “All of it.”

He groaned, low and guttural, and then his hands turned curious. Focused. Scientific. One settled at your throat, not squeezing, just holding—fingers spread like he was feeling your pulse, measuring your response. The other slid under your skirt, over the curve of your thigh, then—

“Oh,” you gasped, spine arching.

“I need to know,” he murmured, almost to himself, “what makes you tremble like that.”

Another touch. Another gasp. “That’s a reaction. Fascinating…”

“Reed—”

“I’m cataloging,” he said, voice filthy and analytical. “You’re the most compelling data set I’ve ever encountered.”

And then his fingers stretched.

Not just in confidence. Literally.

You whimpered as two elongated fingers traced up your inner thigh while another hand—normal-sized—cupped your breast through your shirt, thumb teasing slowly. The other hand remained at your throat, grounding you, steadying you.

He was everywhere.

“Can you feel what you’re doing to me?” he whispered, pressing forward until you felt the thick, hard line of his cock against your core through layers of fabric. “You’ve disrupted every model. You’ve introduced chaos.”

You pulled him closer, panting. “Then let it consume you.”

“Consider this your field test,” he whispered against your lips.

And then he kissed you like he was sealing a pact—hands spanning your body, holding you like something he’d discovered and didn’t intend to release. His mouth was hot and searching, lips sliding down your jaw, teeth grazing your neck. You gasped, clutching his shirt, and that one sound made him groan hard, hips bucking against you without thinking.

“You make that noise again,” he muttered, “and I swear I’ll never let you leave this table.”

You did.

Just to see.

A breathy, needy gasp as he licked a slow stripe up your throat—and his hands tightened on your thighs, dragging you closer to the edge of the table until your hips tilted forward and your clothed core was flush against the bulge straining in his pants.

He cursed under his breath, forehead pressed to yours. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

“Then study me,” you whispered, breath hitching. “Make sense of it.”

He did.

God, he did.

He dropped to his knees between your legs, hands spreading your thighs open as he looked up at you like you were divine—something to worship, something to break open and understand. His fingers pushed your skirt higher, until it was bunched around your hips. When he reached your panties, he paused.

“Wet already,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Stimuli, minimal. Response, immediate.”

You shivered.

Then—he pressed a kiss right to the center of the damp fabric. Slow. Gentle. Reverent.

Your hips jolted, and he smiled.

He peeled your underwear down your legs, lips brushing your inner thigh as he murmured, “I’ve never wanted anything this badly.”

Then he finally—finally—tasted you.

His tongue was hot and slow, dragging a firm, wet stripe from your entrance to your clit. You cried out, and he groaned like he could feel it in his bones.

And then the muttering started.

Low. Incoherent. So Reed.

“God—taste is sharper than expected… pressure response is increasing…” His tongue flicked faster, and your head fell back. “Sensitivity peak here—yes, that’s it, I knew it—”

“Reed,” you gasped, fingers burying in his hair. “You’re talking—”

“I’m studying,” he said against your clit, tongue relentlessly. “Don’t interrupt the process.”

You moaned.

He grinned. “Good girl.”

That made your whole body jolt.

Reed caught it instantly. “Huh. New variable: verbal praise. Noted.”

His tongue circled tighter, and then—another hand slid up your torso, not the one braced on your thigh. It was soft, gentle, and a little too synchronized.

You looked down.

Another finger. Stretching from the hand holding your hip. Long and curved and perfect.

“Multi-point stimulation,” he murmured between licks. “Let’s test your threshold.”

You whimpered as his tongue lapped at your clit while that second hand slipped beneath your shirt, under your bra, pinching your nipple softly. Another elongated finger curled between your legs, circling your entrance, teasing—but never pushing in.

“I need to see you come apart,” he said. “I need to feel it.”

And then he did it all at once.

Tongue flicking. Finger pressing deep inside you, curling like he knew. Fuck, was that another?—spanning your lower back to hold you down as you arched off the table.

“Oh my god—Reed—”

“Give it to me,” he whispered. “Let me feel what I’ve done to you.”

You shattered.

Your orgasm hit like a burst of static—crackling down your spine, clenching around his fingers, your legs trembling on either side of his head.

You cried out his name, again and again, and he ate it up, moaning like it was his reward.

When you came back to yourself, he was standing again—his hands all back where they belonged, his mouth slick and shining. He looked wrecked.

And then—his belt hit the floor.

“You think I’m done?” he rasped. “You think I’d stop at one data point?”

He pulled you forward—off the table, into his arms—and turned you around until your back hit the cool surface. His cock, thick and flushed, pressed against your slick entrance.

“I’m going to learn you,” he said, voice low, dangerous. “Every reaction. Every tremble. Every time you scream my name—I’ll know why.”

And then he pushed in.

All the way.

Slow and deep and perfect.

You sobbed into his shoulder as he bottomed out, his hips flush against yours, cock twitching inside you like even he was shocked how good it felt.

His breath hitched. “Oh… oh, fuck. You’re…”

He couldn’t even finish the sentence.

He started to move.

Slow strokes at first—grinding in, pulling out halfway, pushing deeper again. His hands explored every inch of you—mouth on your neck, chest, shoulder. He whispered your name like it was a formula. He muttered observations even as he fucked you harder.

“You clench when I say your name—tight around me, just like that—fuck—”

“Your back arches when I hit here—god, you’re perfect—”

“You feel like you want me to lose control—so I will.”

And he did.

He lost it.

His pace stuttered, then snapped—hips slamming into you with brutal precision, every thrust angle to hit that perfect spot. You clung to him, moaning shamelessly, barely coherent as he fucked you like he’d been waiting years.

You came again—harder this time—and he groaned so loud it echoed in the lab.

“Gonna come inside you,” he warned, wild-eyed. “You want it?”

“Yes, yes, Reed, please—”

He slammed deep and stilled, cock pulsing as he filled you, one last ragged cry falling from his lips as he buried his face in your neck.

You held him as he trembled through it, panting, hands tangled in your hair.

It took a full minute before either of you spoke.

Then, voice hoarse, he whispered:

“…I think I need to run a full repeat trial.”

After.

The lab was quiet, heavy with the scent of sweat and sex. You were still sprawled across the console table, legs shaking, chest heaving. Reed leaned over you, both hands braced on either side of your hips. His head was bowed, forehead pressed to your shoulder, breath hot against your skin.

Neither of you moved.

Finally, he let out a shaky laugh.

“...I think I blacked out for a second.”

You let out a breathless huff. “Welcome back.”

He looked up. His hair was a mess—curling wildly at the edges, gray hairs damp with sweat. His eyes were wide and stunned and so soft, like he couldn’t believe you were real.

And then he leaned in again, slower this time, and kissed you like he meant it.

Not a theory. Not a test. Just feeling.

When he pulled back, he looked at the mess between your thighs and the growing stickiness on his abs. When did his shirt come off? His brows pulled together, equal parts concern and fascination.

“I, uh—there’s a shower down the hall. Private. It's not… state-of-the-art, but…” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’d like to take care of you.”

You nodded, still dazed. “Okay.”

He helped you up with this heartbreaking gentleness, hands steady at your waist like you might vanish if he let go too fast. He gathered your clothes in silence, cradled your hand in his, and led you barefoot down the corridor to a sealed side room.

The lab shower was built for function—stark white tiles, a metal bench, one glass wall—but it felt almost sacred now. Reed adjusted the water temp with clinical precision before motioning for you to step in first.

Then he joined you.

And just… looked at you.

Not with lust, not yet. With wonder.

His hands were slow as he lathered soap across your shoulders, over your back, down your arms. He was quiet now, like something had settled deep in him. His thumbs traced gentle circles into your hips, his forehead brushing yours beneath the spray.

“I didn’t mean for that to happen today,” he said quietly. “Not like that.”

You met his eyes, searching. “You regret it?”

“No,” he said instantly. Then, softer: “I regret how long I ignored it.”

You swallowed.

He washed your thighs carefully, then cupped between them—not to tease, just to clean you, slow and reverent. You bit your lip and let him.

He kissed your forehead, your jaw, the corner of your mouth.

Then you reached for him.

His cock was half-hard again—because of course it was—and when you wrapped your hand around him, his eyes fluttered. He leaned back against the wall, mouth parted, not stopping you.

“I want to try again,” he breathed. “When we’re not losing our minds.”

You smiled. “You want another trial?”

His head tipped back against the tile, a low groan leaving his chest. “God, yes. Multiple. Longitudinal.”

dividers by @cyberbeat @cursed-carmine 🏷️ @zevrra @bleed-4-bey @littlemillersbaby @millersdoll @pandapetals @kellielovesmovies @rafeysgirl5 @dearstcupid @ivuravix @worhols @hoeforsirius @axshadows @aj0elap0l0gist @ladyshrike

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dark-l-angel · 3 months ago

Note

may I please request batfam x reader where they randomly find out the reader has Omnilingualism? the reader just randomly drops lore then the batfam is like "HUH?" me pleading:

A/N: Sure luv ❤️ sorry it took a little while.. but here you go 😺

Omnilingualism is the ability to understand all languages.. spoken, written, or otherwise.. instantly and fluently, without having to learn them first.

Batfam x Omnilingual reader + onshot bonus "wait- YOU CAN SPEAK EVERY LANGUAGE?!"

Bruce Wayne:

He pretends he isn’t impressed. He really tries. But the moment you casually correct a mistranslation in one of his case files from an obscure dialect in the Amazon, his eye twitches.

Definitely runs tests in the Batcave. "For data" he claims. Lies. He just wants an excuse to hear you switch flawlessly between Ancient Sumerian and Icelandic.

Low-key starts trusting you with delicate negotiations at Wayne Enterprises. "Accidentally" leaves confidential contracts in languages no one in the room understands except you.

Oh, and you catch him brushing up on his French. He'll never admit it, but he’s trying to catch up to you.

You once whispered something scandalous to him in flawless Latin during a gala. His hand on your lower back tightened just slightly. Dangerous man, but you’re worse.

Dick grayson:

Immediately obsessed. No chill whatsoever.

"Say something in Italian!" "Now Portuguese! Oh oh.. Tagalog!"

Thinks it’s the sexiest thing he’s ever heard. Genuinely struggles to focus if you speak in another language, especially something romantic-sounding. (You catch him blushing like a schoolboy, every time.)

Tries to flirt back in another language but completely butchers it. You gently correct him, and it turns into an unintentional couples language lesson.

You catch him Googling "How to propose in 20 languages." Cute idiot.

Teases you with fake words in gibberish, just to see if you catch on. You always do.

Jason Todd :

Oh, this man loves it. Filthy mouth, wicked grin, and a brain full of bad ideas.

Purposely swears in different languages to see if you catch him. You do. Every. Single. Time.

One time you threw back a sharp insult in flawless Russian, and he damn near swooned.

Has you read his favorite banned books in their original languages. "I just wanna hear you say it, babe." No you don’t, Jason. You want to hear them moaned, don’t you?

Will 100% ask you to dirty talk in languages no one else understands in public settings. "What? I like living dangerously."

Bonus: If you tease him in French, it destroys him. He can’t fight it. French + your voice = his personal kryptonite.

Tim Drake :

Immediately runs to his laptop. He needs answers.

"Omnilingualism is a hyper rare meta-ability.. there are fewer than seven confirmed cases worldwide.. wait- does this mean you can read codes in programming languages like they’re actual languages?!"

Makes you his official decryption buddy. His Batcomputer just became 500% more efficient.

Low-key fascinated, high-key turned on.

Asks you to record audio lessons for him in various languages. You catch him listening to them at 2am with a suspiciously dazed smile.

Will absolutely text you random phrases in dead languages at ungodly hours of the night. "For science."

Damian Wayne :

Instantly annoyed that he’s no longer the most linguistically gifted person in the room.

Challenges you constantly. "Recite this ancient Arabic proverb." You do, flawlessly, and throw in the correct accent for good measure.

He respects you deeply but refuses to admit it directly.

Secretly asks you to teach him rare dialects to communicate with his animals better.

The moment you start speaking to Titus in perfect, gentle Arabic, his eyes go wide. You’ve officially earned his permanent admiration.

Bonus: You tease him by complimenting him in languages he doesn’t know yet. He storms off to study them immediately.

Alfred Pennyworth

Unbothered king. He knew from the start.

Smiles softly when you casually slip into old, classical British idioms even Bruce doesn’t understand.

Occasionally tests you with the oddest phrases from obscure Commonwealth colonies. You pass every time.

"I dare say, Miss, you have a talent most remarkable."

Secretly keeps a list of the rarest languages to see if there’s anything you don’t know.

Family game nights? Forget it. You dominate every round of “Guess That Language.”

You become their favorite asset in undercover ops. Fake passports? Check. Local slang? You’re a walking encyclopedia.

They jokingly call you their “Batbabel.” (Yes, even Bruce lets that nickname slip once.)

Jason is convinced you must have alien blood. "Bet you could sweet talk the Martians, too."

You like to randomly mess with them by switching languages mid-conversation. Pure chaos.

And they all fall a little harder every time you do.

Oneshot bonus : Wait- YOU CAN SPEAK EVERY LANGUAGE?!

It started, as many things in Wayne Manor do, in the most stupidly casual way possible.

You were seated at the long dining table, lazily flipping through your phone while Alfred served brunch. Tim was half-asleep beside you, his forehead dangerously close to his waffles. Jason was reading War and Peace in Russian, because of course he was. Damian was arguing with Dick over the proper form for his new kata routine, while Bruce pretended to read the paper but was very obviously just eavesdropping like the rest of them.

Then, Alfred, with his calm British cadence, said something softly under his breath. In French.

"Mon dieu, cette confiture est un désastre…" (this jam is a disaster...)

Without thinking, without even looking up from your phone, you mumbled back, perfect pronunciation and all,

"Pas nécessairement. C’est la confiture d’orange, elle est censée être comme ça." (Not necessarily. It's orange marmalade, it's supposed to be like that.)

Silence.

Dead silence.

Tim lifted his head slowly, eyes bleary but confused.

Jason lowered his book.

Damian squinted at you like you’d just sprouted a second head.

Bruce folded his newspaper with a quiet, deliberate finality.

Dick? Dick’s eyes were sparkling with mischief.

"Since when do you speak French?" he asked, grinning like the cat who caught the canary.

You blinked, confused by the attention. "Huh? Oh, I don’t."

Wrong answer.

"You just did" Tim said flatly, blinking the sleep out of his eyes.

Jason leaned forward on his elbows, sharp smirk spreading. "Care to explain, mon ami?"

Your brain, still not connecting the dots, offered the most unhelpful thing possible: a shrug. "I don’t know. He just said the jam was a disaster. I just... knew."

“Wait.” Damian’s eyes narrowed into slits, laser-focused. "What did Alfred say, exactly?"

You repeated it, casually.

He tried to hide it, but his brows twitched upward. "That’s correct."

Now Jason was grinning like he knew something juicy. "Try Russian."

"What?"

"Say something in Russian," Jason pressed, eyes alight with curiosity.

You hesitated, then shrugged. "Что ты хочешь, чтобы я сказал?" (What do you want me to say?)

Jason’s chair screeched back from the table as he stood, hands in his hair. “NO. No, no, no, what the hell is this?!”

"That was perfect," Tim said, his voice pitching higher, caffeinated brain now fully awake.

"You said you don’t speak these languages?" Bruce asked, a suspicious tilt to his head like he was running seventeen background checks in his mind at once.

You frowned, getting a little defensive now. "I don’t! I never studied Russian, or French, or whatever else. I just... get it, I guess?"

Dick gasped, like someone hit him with a Batarang of Realization. "Wait wait wait.. omnilingualism."

Jason’s mouth dropped open. "No freaking way."

Tim’s eyes went huge behind his glasses. "That’s an actual thing, you know. Hyper rare meta ability. The brain automatically understands and reproduces any language it’s exposed to."

Damian narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms. "Prove it."

"Say something in Ancient Latin," Bruce instructed, his detective mode fully activated.

You tilted your head, focusing, and then fluently responded,

"Memento mori, pater. Etiam noctes detectivi requiem merentur" (Remember death, father. Even detectives of the night deserve rest.)

Pin-drop silence.

Jason cackled so hard he nearly fell out of his chair.

Dick was clapping like you’d won an Olympic gold medal.

Tim, meanwhile, frantically pulled out his phone, already Googling ‘omnilingual reader discovered at brunch’.

Bruce, stoic as ever, gave you a single nod of respect. "We’ll need to run tests."

"You mean interviews," Dick corrected, leaning closer with a grin. "Because I, for one, have a thousand questions."

"Congratulations" Jason said dryly, raising his glass of orange juice in your direction. "You’re officially our walking, talking, sexy Google Translate."

You rolled your eyes with a crooked smile. "Glad I can be of service."

"And you will be," Bruce added, already making plans in his head. Oh, you were never getting out of this one.

2K notes · View notes

motionpicturesforcarrie · 2 years ago

Text

trying to talk to my mom abt college and shes kinda giving me advice but i dont think she gets my problem…

#i wanna study like. something in math or data science or biomedical engineering #or not want to its like.. im good at it and ik i could get a well paying job in those fields #and when i look at these majors in colleges all i do is see what they offer and how theyre ranked statewide/nationwide #but when i look at music production and music technology programs i look at all the courses they offer #but i dont want to sacrifice a comfortable life where i can support myself and family just to do something i want #i would feel selfish bc im really big on being able to support my family and give back to them #more than the rest of my friends are #and like. i can definitely handle the rigor and difficultly level of those other fields i mentioned. thats not the problem at all

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goldenhourology · 3 days ago

Text

IRL.

pairing: jeong yunho x f!reader

genre: smut, friends to lovers, coworkers to lovers-ish

summary: using a video game to release your daily frustrations had to be a new low for you. but without it, you wouldn't have met your team leader, yunho. when an embarrassing voice chat leads you both to meeting at a conference for work, it ends in a night neither of you ever saw coming. not even in your imaginations.

warnings: dom!yunho, mutual masturbation, masturbating over a (probably discord) call, fingering, handjobs, unprotected sex, missionary position, belly bulge, praise, forced proximity, a little bit of miscommunication, yunho is kinda mean but it's ok!!, mutual pining. nsfw (minors / ageless blogs dni).

word count: 8.3k

note: soooooooo. how do I explain myself here lol. I've had a million other fics running in my head and yet this was the first piece of writing I actually finished in weeks. go figure. basically I went to go see ateez on tour and was hit smack in the face (I wish, literally) with these feelings for yunho that can simply not be contained 🙂‍↕️☝️ and in fact, I might write MORE for him. also, this fic hardly has a plot, as you can see from the word count lol. just kinda pure smut. enjoy!!! (taglist posted at the bottom.)

in rotation: fantasize, the boyz / slide to me, ateez / more than friends, isabel larosa / we don’t talk anymore, charlie puth ft. selena gomez / make you mine, madison beer

You started playing Valorant as a means of relaxation. Forever exhausted from your grueling 9 to 5 and needing an outlet for your anger management, your therapist suggested to either take up a recreational sport or try video games. Typically, she wouldn’t recommend the latter, but she figured it was better than nothing. The thing was, though, you were definitely not athletic, so what other choice did you have? The last time you let your frustration from work bubble up, you ended up digging your nails so far into your palm that you drew blood.

That wasn’t going to happen again.

You had first seen an ad for Valorant online, and then heard your coworkers talking about it. Back in high school, you had been pretty good at RPGs – probably the best out of your friend group – so you decided it was time to take up the hobby again. You cracked open your years-old PC one night, set up an account, and hit download. Within minutes, you were immersed in the world and quickly learning how to find the best team to join. It was a lot to absorb at once, but it was such a good distraction from all the worries that come with being an adult. Before you knew it, the clock was hitting 1 AM and you hadn’t even done your skincare for the night.

Suffice to say, this was how you met Yuhno, your team leader.

Gamertag: YunhoGizer99.

Being around the same age, you two formed a friendship rather swiftly. Everyone else on your team was either just hitting 21 besides you two, who were on the cusp of hitting your late 20s with “real, adult jobs,” as your team member, Wooyoung, liked to put it. Yunho had taken a chance on adding you to his team, but your skills improved so fast it felt like whiplash. You could rival him in the game … someday. Not today. As time went on, you both began to talk outside of the game, frequently sending messages during working hours about what you both did for jobs and relationships. This was how you found out that both of you worked in data science and played Valorant as a distraction from everyday life.

Using a video game to solve your anger issues and discontentment with work was probably the cringiest thing you could ever do. However … it was helping. Even your therapist noticed a difference. And despite it all, you liked Yunho. Over the past 6 months, he’d become someone you talked to everyday.

Your friends didn’t exactly understand it – talking to this guy you met in a video game. You could admit how nutty it sounded, but they wouldn’t get it until they experienced something similar. It was so easy to form a friendship to someone without a face, so easy to share things you’d normally keep to yourself. Alexa, your roommate, was convinced he was your boyfriend that you were trying to keep secret, while your other friend, Laura, said you two were having phone sex. “You’re both so ridiculous,” you had said before rolling your eyes and changing the topic.

And then came that rainy night in July.

Your apartment was so hot when you came back from your ice cream date with some guy you met on Hinge. Or at least, it was supposed to be an ice cream date before the rain started. Jared – or was his name, Jacob? – had decided to take you to frozen yogurt instead, but the shop was full of families and you both decided to shared your large cup of strawberry froyo in his car while the rain battered against the windshield. And, to be honest, there was nothing romantic about that. Not that you were particularly looking for anything at the moment, but you would’ve given anything for him to at least take you back to his place. But the mood had been ruined and he dropped you off at your building before the clock hit 9 PM. Unmatched. Unbothered. Undone.

Turning on the air-conditioning, you put on your favorite sleep shorts and big t-shirt before opening up Valorant on your PC. Alexa was staying with their boyfriend for the night, so it was just you, all alone, in the apartment. You fiddled with a few keys on your computer as the game booted up, noticing that you received a message as soon as you logged on.

YunhoGizer99 [9:27 PM]: why are you online? thought you had plans You [9:28 PM]: I did. I just got back earlier than I assumed YunhoGizer99 [9:28 PM]: bad date?

You called him immediately and it only took him a second to pick up. Before he could say a word, you replied, “Horrible date. I probably could’ve sucked it up and gone to bed early, but I logged on for the distraction.”

Yunho chuckled on the other end. You were always so surprised by how deep his voice was. Alexa once walked in while you two were on a call and remarked that they were surprised someone named YunhoGizer99 had a “bedroom voice.” You simply called them a pervert.

“What happened this time?” He said through your headphones, his voice amplified more than before.

“Why do you say it like that?” Your eyes narrowed, even though he couldn’t see them. “It was just bad. I don’t want to explain it. The guy is automatically an asshole for dropping me off before 9 o’clock. And it’s humid and my apartment is fucking muggy because Alexa didn’t leave the air conditioner on –” You stopped yourself with a huff.

At this point, you were just staring at the home screen of the game. You didn’t even want to put in the effort to play, given the state of your mood. When Yunho realized you were done, he said, “You know that you don’t have to go on dates, right?”

You scoffed, “Of course, I know that. It’s just –”

“Because in the short time I’ve known you, you come back from them with no good news.”

“Yes, I get that. But –” You spun around in your desk chair. “You’re one to talk. You told me once that you haven’t been on a date since college.”

You heard him blow a raspberry through your headphones. “Hey, now. Don’t use my unwillingness to put myself out there as a defense mechanism.”

“I just –” You sighed, going silent for a moment. Licking your lips, you toyed with the idea of being honest with not only him, but yourself. “This is so embarrassing.”

“I’m sure it’s fine.”

“And maybe I’m being too subtle with the way I approach this –”

“Maybe you are.” He let out a frustrated groan, which sent a shiver down your spine that you didn’t expect. Your fingers fidgeted in your lap. “Oh, come on, just say it –”

“I just really need to be fucked.”

The line went completely silent. So silent that you thought Yunho dropped from the call. You checked your computer and despite it all, his icon of a golden retriever with glasses was still on screen. His mic was just completely silent. You were pretty sure he could hear you gulp on his end. “Yunho?” You called out, voice surprisingly quiet.

“Sorry,” he finally said. “I just … didn’t expect that.”

Your cheeks were heating up. You considered dropping the call, closing the laptop – anything to get you out of this situation. He couldn’t even see you, but you already felt so vulnerable, almost naked. Your chair spun away from the screen, as if that could do anything.

“I shouldn’t have said that –”

“No, no, it’s fine. Seriously.” He exhaled, and you felt like your lungs were burning as you held your breath. “You could just … message a guy on some dating app and tell him that you want him to fuck you.”

Your brow immediately furrowed. Turning around in your chair, you saw your frown reflected in screen of your laptop. Maybe you should’ve guessed that he would say something outrageously stupid like that. “Oh, like it’s that easy. Big help, Yunho,” you sneered.

“Guys don’t like subtlety. I thought you knew that at your big age,” he laughed softly.

“You’re a fucking comedian,” you replied with a shake of your head. “My therapist said that video games can’t be my only distraction in life, but I hate being so upfront with guys about what I want. I try to avoid awkward situations at all costs.”

“If a woman was that upfront with me … it would work.”

You paused, noticing a shift in his tone. You bit into your cheek, trying to stop the word vomit, but you simply couldn’t help yourself – “I shouldn’t have to try so hard to get a dick inside me. My fingers can only do so much.”

“God, you can’t just …” You heard rustling on the other end, as if he was running a hand down his face. Suddenly, you were thinking about what your friend’s hands looked like. How big they were, if his fingers were really that long. You’d seen them once – in a photo he sent you a couple months back – and you couldn’t help but notice how slender his digits were, the veins that were etched between his knuckles.

“You can’t just say things like that to me,” he finished.

You traced your bottom lip with your fingernail. “And why’s that?”

He took a moment. You froze, and it felt like years until he spoke again.

“You know why.”

Your mouth curved slightly. “Women don’t like subtlety either, Yunho.”

“I think I’m done talking about this now. I –” He huffed suddenly. “Fuck.”

His voice had taken on a tone you had never heard before. It was deeper, more of a groan than anything. The kind of tone that you might have fantasized about once or twice on a really lonely night. It wasn’t hard to guess why he sounded like that, and you struggled with sinking your nails into your palm. But it wasn’t out of anger this time; it was far, far different.

Your voice was like a mere croak when you said his name, “Yunho.”

“I’m gonna log off for the night –”

“I can help you, if that’s what you need.” Your fingers were now tugging at the hem of your oversized tee. The one that you bought on clearance because it had off-brand Hello Kitty on the front. “Maybe we can help each other.”

His lips smacked, making you rub your thighs together instinctively. “That would ruin our friendship.”

“It would.”

“But I think I would rather ruin you more.”

Your breath hitched, and the line was so silent that you knew he could hear it. You could almost hear the smirk on his lips when he spoke next. How was that even possible when you’ve never even seen his face?

“I think I’ve always wanted to, as stupid as it sounds,” he admitted, and you could hear him playing with something on the other end. A cable? Drawstring? “Whenever you would come back from these dates all pent up, I couldn’t help but think … what I could …” He trailed off, a sigh escaped his lips as you heard him grip something. “God, fuck.”

This was such a bad idea. It was crossing a line that you never thought was there. A line that all your friends had already assumed you crossed, and you hated to prove them right. But you were just so frustrated with … well, everything, and god forbid you finally give into your desire to hear your friend masturbate over a voice chat.

You should hang up. But your hand was already creeping up under your shirt.

“Do you want me to end the call?” You breathed out, your palm squeezing your breast.

“No,” and the soft laugh he let out sounded so cocky. “I want you to touch yourself and imagine it’s me.”

Just his words had a gasp slipping from your mouth. “Okay,” you rasped, fingers playing with one nipple. His voice was enough to turn them into pebbles, but you started to envision your fingers were his, how they would feel as they toyed with you in person rather than over a call. You rolled your nipple between your fingers, teeth sinking into your bottom lip. “Yunho –”

More rustling on the other side, and you heard him grunt. “You haven’t started fingering yourself, right?”

You looked down at your other hand, still playing with the end of your shorts. “No,” you replied, and it was the quietest you ever heard yourself. “Not yet.”

“Good girl,” he groaned, and you heard him start to slowly stroke himself. “Can you get those fingers wet for me with your mouth, princess?”

This felt absurd. You were practically debasing yourself for your Valorant team leader over a call, all because you were pent up with so much sexual frustration that it felt like you couldn’t breathe sometimes. If anyone found out about this, you’d be eaten alive. But now you were slipping two fingers into your mouth, swirling your tongue around them, and he let out another groan when he heard how sloppy it all sounded.

“Just like that,” he muttered, his grin practically audible through your headphones. “Do you think they’re wet enough now?”

“Mmhmm,” you said around your fingers.

“Are you wet enough?”

You took your fingers out of your mouth and nearly screamed, “God, yes.”

He chuckled, and it was just about evil the way he sounded. “I want those fingers to play with that pretty pussy while I fuck my hand. Can you do that for me?”

You didn’t care that he was commanding you. All you cared about in this moment was getting off as you whispered, “Yes, Yunho.”

Trailing down your torso, you slipped your hand underneath the waistband of your shorts, not even bothering to take your panties off either. Your fingers, wet and warm with saliva, parted your folds so easily, just barely brushing your clit and yet, your hips jumped anyway. You pressed down on it, before starting to rub slow circles, imagining this is how he’d be. Clearly, he was into teasing. Perhaps you should’ve known this from all the times he called you names between rounds, as if you were students at recess.

You moaned out his name and it sounded like heaven through his headphones. He muttered curses under his breath, and you hoped he was squeezing himself at the tip, like you would do for him. You wondered how much precum was coating his hand now; all you could hear was a faint tacky sound in your ear. You wondered if his cock curved to the right or left, if the same veins that ran along his hands were also carved on his shaft.

“I know you’re just playing with your clit, princess,” he said breathlessly. “I don’t wanna fuck my hand faster until I know those fingers are inside you.”

“But it’s not the same as if you were here,” you whined.

“I need you to imagine their mine,” he commanded. The seriousness in his tone was like a shock to your system, making your toes curl. “And then, I’ll let you put three fingers inside and you’ll know what it would feel like if I were there.”

Your eyes opened, staring at the voice chat screen, not believing that your friend behind the golden retriever icon was saying such dirty words to you. Without processing it, your legs curled up to your chest and you leaned all the way back in your desk chair, praying you wouldn’t fall over. Your thighs spread and you could feel your arousal dripping between them, soaking your favorite pair of panties. You sunk two wet fingers inside, and the way you whimpered, “Fuck, Yunho,” had him fisting his cock so fast he almost forgot to breathe.

You struggled to play with your clit at the same time, too focused on Yunho’s hard breathing pouring through your headphones as you pumped your fingers inside your sopping wet hole again and again. If you didn’t think too hard, this almost felt like he was here, and you imagined your hand on your breast was larger as you squeezed and toyed with it.

“Keep going, princess,” he breathed out, voice fighting to remain level. “Shit, I wish I was there … you’ve seen my hands before. My fingers would stuff that pussy so nicely … fuck, wish I was touching you. Wish it was your mouth on my cock instead of my own hand.”

Drool was spilling from your pursed lips just from the thought of his dick in your mouth. You didn’t care if he pulled your hair or shoved your face into his groin – you would kill for just a taste. “Please.” The word slipped from your mouth before turning into a plea. “Pleasepleaseplease.”

He chuckled darkly, and then let out a deep grunt, the kind of sound you liked to hear when you cupped a guy’s balls while he was inside you. You imagined Yunho would like that too. “At some point,” he huffed, slowing his strokes. “For now, I want you to put three fingers inside of you, and then we can cum together. You think you can cum for me, princess?”

“Mmhmm,” you hummed, too lost in the pleasure to utter a real word. You hardly waited for his go ahead, shoving a third finger inside your pussy so quick that you almost orgasmed on the spot. Now, this was what being full felt like, but you knew, somehow, that this was nothing to what his cock would feel like. Your jaw unhinged as you fucked three fingers inside of you, your hips bucking to grind against the heel of your palm. Through your headphones, you heard him fist his cock faster, all wet and sticky and damn near sloppy. His deep breathing had to be the hottest thing you’d ever heard in your life, next to how his voice vibrated when he got angry while in game. You wondered if his voice trembled like that in real life while fucking into you deep from behind.

Jeez. Had you always been this much of a pervert?

Before you could come to terms with that assumption, Yunho was groaning in your ear, “Fuck, I’m gonna cum. Are you close?”

“Yeah,” you muttered, already on the precipice of shattering, “I’m cl–”

It happened before you could even comprehend what was happening. Your hips stuttered, and it felt like a dam breaking as your fingers curled at your g-spot, soaking them with your own cum. You cried out his name, which was all that he needed to finish, ropes of hot, white seed probably blanketing his chest. God, you wished you could see it. You wished he could see you, cumming all over your fingers while thinking about him. There was something so depraved, yet embarrassingly hot about all of this, but you couldn’t stop your cheeks from heating up when your heart rate settled and you realized what you both had done.

Your eyes snapped open and you sat up in your chair, staring at laptop screen. Both of you were as silent as ghosts. Your mouth opened, then closed, unsure of what to say. “I –”

“Goodnight,” he said abruptly, ending the call before you had the chance.

YunhoGizer99 [10:49 AM]: we shouldn’t do that again

You [10:55 AM]: agreed

YunhoGizer99 [10:56 AM]: not that I didn’t like it

You [10:56 AM]: I didn’t assume that at all

YunhoGizer99 [10:59 AM]: it’s just not a good idea

You [11:01 AM]: again agreed

YunhoGizer99 [11:03 AM]: oh, okay. great. so we’re both on the same page

You [11:04 AM]: definitely

You [11:12 AM]: things are gonna be weird now between us, right? [UNSENT]

Days turned into weeks, and then months. You couldn’t remember the last time you opened your PC, let alone talked to Yunho. As dumb as it sounded in your head, you couldn’t bring yourself to play your favorite game, the best outlet you ever found to pour all the rage from the day into. You tried to find something else to play, but nothing was suiting your fancy.

You felt silly. It was silly – not doing a hobby you enjoyed just because you were avoiding Yunho of all people. Even worse that this was over a stupid video game.

So you did what you always did: throw yourself into work, even though that was the very thing you needed to be distracted from in the first place. You came home most nights exhausted, frustrated with yourself over your lack of productivity. There was just so much to be done and so little time to do it. Your mind was racing again most nights, leaving you tossing and turning, or even worse: scrolling through dating apps. Not that you were actually going on dates right now. Not that you were actually talking to any men, left to your own devices on lonely nights with the memory of Yunho’s voice in your ear.

Your therapist told you that you needed to find another outlet. And you were trying. But you were still so embarrassed over what happened with – ugh. If you thought his name again, you might implode.

In a strange turn of events, your company extended an offer to all the data analysts to attend a conference out of state next weekend, and you thought this was the perfect opportunity to get yourself out of your usual routine. You had absolutely no clue why there could be a conference about your chosen field, but hey, a free trip was a free trip. So you packed up your carry-on suitcase the day before, and headed off to the airport after about only 4 hours of sleep. You prayed that no one would be able to tell.

The conference was being held in a swanky hotel just off LAX. You were greeted by the sight of palm trees and trash on the ground, pollution heavy in the air. But still, the weather was nicer than you imagined. The hotel was all plush carpets and expensive furniture, and after checking, you realized they were using Egyptian cotton sheets. A small card was placed on your bed that listed all the events happening this weekend. There was a cocktail hour and dinner tonight, even an arcade being hosted just off from the ballroom.

You got yourself ready, sliding into the most work-appropriate dress you owned: a high-neck, black dress that showed just enough of your legs to be a little sultry, but still suitable for a conference. After slipping on your comfiest pair of heels, you headed down to the cocktail hour, hoping to find some man that would talk your ear off so you wouldn’t have to speak a word tonight.

Unfortunately, you might’ve arrived too early. There were only a few groups of people grabbing drinks, and the solitude of it all made you want to die. Everyone was so engaged in conversation, it was hard to even introduce yourself. You sipped your lemon drop martini in a corner, fighting the urge to scratch your nails against your palm. Maybe the arcade they’re hosting is open, you assumed. Everyone could be there.

There were a significant amount of people in the arcade being held next to the ballroom. As you passed, you could already see that every table was decorated for dinner. This might be the fanciest event you ever been to. No wedding had an arcade like this either. The room was filled with vintage games, even some from your childhood. You remembered playing Street Fighter with your friends at a local pizza shop after school, before it was replaced by an oversized fish tank. Everyone was yelling at the screens in front of them, or mingling by the Dance Dance Revolution booth. The bright Street Fighter visuals reflected in your eyes, and you smiled at the memories of years past.

“I used to play this too at a penny arcade,” a voice said beside you. “Hard to imagine that this is still around.”

You never thought your blood could run cold until now. Your body froze, the grip on your martini glass tight. Because you knew that voice. You knew what he sounded like when he was annoyed, his laughter, even how he moaned while cumming in his hand.

Turning your head, you realized you had to look up at the man beside you. He had tufts of wavy, dark brown hair on his forehead, with a straight nose and eyes so dark they reminded you of a night sky. His lips looked like they were constantly graced with a smirk, slightly wet from dragging his tongue at the corners. He was lanky in all the right places, yet toned, with wide set shoulders, stuffed into a pressed white button-up and well-fitting dress pants. His shirt was just open enough at the top to show the tiny chain sitting on his collarbones, a small pearl pendant in the middle.

You almost didn’t want to say anything. Maybe you could pretend to be mute, anything to survive these next couple of days without him finding out who you were. But your mouth was opening before you could stop it, your voice loud enough even over the volume in the arcade.

“Yunho?” You said, eyes growing wide.

His smirk dropped. He would’ve dropped the glass of beer in his hand if it wasn’t so heavy. Both of you stayed eerily silent, the vivid lights of the arcade room flashing around you. All the people in this room had absolutely no clue what went down between you two during a voice chat months ago.

He grabbed your arm, his grip firm as he pulled you out of the arcade and into the main hall hosting the cocktail hour. Sending a soft smile to anyone who passed by, he let go of you once you reached a corner, and you looked up at him again. Jesus, he was taller than you ever expected.

“Yunho?” You said again, tilting your head to get a good look at his eyes. “YunhoGizer99?”

“Okay, well, don’t say it out loud and remind me how ridiculous it is,” he remarked, setting his glass down on a nearby end table. He then called out your old username, which you confirmed with a nod.

You arched a brow. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I was invited here,” he argued, “through work.”

It was then that you were reminded that you both worked in the same field. “So was I.”

Yunho lifted a hand, pinching the bridge of his nose, and you were able to study his fingers in real life. You had only seen them in a photo that one time, and they were … longer than you assumed. Nails only slightly manicured, especially for a man his age, with tiny wisps of hair at the knuckles. You had to swallow hard to stop yourself from drooling.

“This is a mess,” he finally said.

“You’re telling me.” You gulped down the last of your lemon drop, placing the empty glass on a waiter’s tray as he walked by.

He lowered his eyes on you again, and you never expected that they could have such an edge to them. “What happened to you?” He asked, even though he knew the answer. His lip curled slightly to one side. “We stopped talking. I never saw you online again.”

“I …” Your eyes darted around the room, looking for just about anyone to grab and get out of this conversation. But there was no one close enough. Besides Yunho. “I found something else to do with my time.”

He snickered, “Bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

Yunho rolled his eyes, and it was so cocky that you weren’t sure if you were pissed off or turned on. He had so much confidence for a guy who worked in data science and spent most of his time in his apartment playing Valorant.

Your eyes narrowed. “What do you want me to say?”

“Preferably, the truth.”

“Yunho –”

They were called into the ballroom then for dinner, and you shuffled off in your heels before he had the chance to grab you. You meandered through the crowd of analysts, trying to find your name card printed on a table, when it finally appeared near the middle of the room. You looked around at the people gathering at your table and – just your fucking luck.

Yunho plopped down in the seat beside you, both of your backs as stiff as boards as you fought to make eye contact. Waiters were already starting to hand out the first course as a speaker got up on the stand to introduce what seminars would be included this weekend. You could hardly hear anything but the ringing in your eyes, desperate to find a way out of this.

“You’re really not gonna talk to me, huh?” Yunho muttered, trying not to draw attention to the two of you.

You shook your head. “Not now.”

“Why not?” His tone was almost pleading. “It’s not like I could’ve done this months ago with the way you were avoiding me.”

Your head snapped in his direction, and your voice was low as you whispered, “Because I’m done with this conversation.”

His hand was on your thigh then, his palm hot against your skin and the hem of your skirt hiking just a little. You paused, both looking at each other, no one else knowing that he was touching you like this underneath the table. His eyes were slightly dangerous, studying you, despite his innocent demeanor. Then his mouth were curling again, especially when he noticed the way your teeth sunk into your bottom lip.

“You sure about that?”

Without a second thought, you stood up, walking out of the room and leaving your seat abandoned. You didn’t care that people were watching you. You just needed to get out of here. Only a minute after, you could hear footsteps following you. It wasn’t hard to guess who it was, and maybe … just maybe … you secretly wanted him to do this. Yunho followed you to an empty coat closet near the kitchens, locking the door from the inside as soon as you both stepped inside. Empty racks were littered amongst the room, an old couch that looked like it had once been in the main lobby now deserted to the corner of a closet.

You stepped around him, back pressing against the locked door, as if that could get you away from the situation that you made. Hands laid flat against the wooden surface, you fought the urge to fist them, to let out the frustration bubbling inside you. But you remained collected – somehow – even with Yunho’s simmering gaze following your every move.

“What is your problem with me?” You damn near barked.

“My problem?” He mocked, and his voice suddenly made your thighs squeeze together more. “I just want to know why you started avoiding me.”

Your brows furrowed. “Are you oblivious?” The last thing you wanted to do was spell it out for him, but unfortunately, that might be the case. “I was embarrassed, Yunho. And the way you reacted the day after didn’t help. I didn’t want to face you after that.”

“You could’ve just told me that months ago,” he said, so nonchalantly, walking close until your feet were touching. “We were friends.”

“Were,” you repeated, as if trying to taste it on your tongue.

He smirked a little, head leaning down until you both were eye level. You swallowed hard. “It’s difficult to imagine us as friends after admitting that I wanted to ruin you.” His tongue dragged over his bottom lip, and you were hypnotized. You had wondered what that tongue could do to you for months. “Can I tell you something? Since you obviously don’t want to talk to me again after this.”

You nodded dumbly. Words were beginning to fail you.

“I tend to think about that call between us at least once a day,” he continued, his voice deep, even. “It never fails to make me hard.”

Your pupils widened.

“Sometimes I’ll remember the way you moaned my name while I jerk off.” His eyes flickered to your lips, watching your teeth sink into them once again. You could feel his growing hardness against your thigh now. “But nothing will ever compare to how it sounded in the moment.”

He then sighed, so out of the blue, and straightened his back. Just when his lips were inches from yours, he pulled away. You were like a fish and he was dangling the bait. “Too bad you’re done with me now. We have closure and can go our separate ways. If you’ll excuse me …” He reached out to unlock the door, but you slammed your hand on it so fast you almost yelped.

Your eyes never left his, and he grinned, knowing he had you exactly where he wanted you. And honestly, you didn’t care. Your legs were shaking now, desperate. “You’re not going anywhere,” you said, palm slowly sliding off the lock to play with the loose thread on your dress. “I want …”

His brow raised. “What do you want?”

“I want you to ruin our friendship again.”

“What is there to ruin?” He chuckled, leaning down once more, his mouth so close to yours that his hot breath was making your cheeks heat. “We stopped being friends months ago, princess.”

Your hands locked around his collar, tugging him the short distance to smash his mouth onto yours. The kiss felt like a bruise, aching and swollen, but you decided then that any mark by him would be a blessing. He didn’t touch you yet. Instead, he kept his large hands on the door, shaking the surface and caging your body into his. Slotting his knee between your legs, your skirt hiked up and you didn’t bother to tug it back down. It was like your hips had a mind of their own, rubbing up and down the meat of his thigh, and you sighed into his mouth. Your lips tried to move away – wanting him to hear you, since he loved those sounds so much – but he wouldn’t let you. He needed to taste you from the inside out.

If your mouth was this sweet, the arousal seeping into his pants must taste like candy.

You didn’t know how it happened, but suddenly, your ass was hitting the cushion of the vintage couch. How did he move you without touching you? You were sure that if he had his hands on you, you would’ve felt it. His touch practically burned your skin when his hand met your inner thigh under the table earlier. But he was sitting you down now, detaching his lips from yours and standing up to his full height. You felt so small then: sitting there in front of him, cheeks flushed red and pupils blown wide. Your skirt was hitched so far up he could almost see your panties, the whole dress feeling so constricting now.

He wiped away the trail of spit that seemed to connect you two, and he kicked one of your legs more open. “I want you to show me,” he said breathily, adjusting his pants.

Jesus, you thought, staring at the prominent bulge, is that a third leg?

“Show you what exactly?” You finally replied.

His smile was like a threat. “Show me how you made yourself cum all those months ago.”

You just stared at him, not believing what he was asking. Minutes ago, you told him how embarrassed you’d been after the voice chat situation, and now he wanted you to masturbate in front of him? You wanted to say no, call him a sick, perverted freak and walk out the door before finding the next flight home. But … oh, god, but he’d hardly even touched you and it felt like you were dripping between your legs. You were so soaked that your panties were clinging to you, uncomfortable and sticky. You needed him to touch you, but if your own fingers had to suffice, then you would do it. God knows that’s all you’ve been getting off with for a while.

He put his hands up in mock surrender, stepping back slightly and leaning against one of the empty coat racks, giving you some room. Your legs pried apart, your skirt bunched up around your waist now, before bringing them up to your chest. He saw all of you then, and you could feel your heart batter against your ribcage, practically visible through the tight fabric of your dress. You pulled your panties to the side, and you noticed his hand flex for the first time at the sight of your exposed folds, weeping with arousal for him.

He watched you. And you watched him. Despite the fact that you wanted to fucking die at putting yourself in this scenario, you used two fingers to open yourself up and started rubbing tight circles on your clit. Heat pooled in your stomach, a tight coil bunching in your abdomen, as you worked yourself. Your teeth clenched as he grazed a single finger over his top lip, and you finally let out a soft cry of his name when you sunk one digit inside yourself.

“I think you could take two,” he commented.

Your breath hitched, fucking a single finger inside of yourself as your thumb flicked at your clit. You swallowed hard before muttering in short breaths, “Or you could … do it … for me.”

“Nuh-uh,” he snickered. “I fuck you when I want to fuck you. Now, two fingers.”

You didn’t think twice. Two fingers curled inside of you, stretching your walls for his eyes only. You whimpered, still in disbelief at what was happening. What was it about Yunho that made you turn into putty, that made you demean yourself so easily? Maybe it was the way he held himself. Even in something as silly as a video game, he commanded a room. He was intimidating – even when he didn’t want to be, even when he was friendly.

He was certainly not being friendly right now, watching you fuck yourself dumb on your fingers. “Yunho,” you whined, “please. I want to cum on your fingers, not mine. I … I’ve thought about it since that call. Come on, please don’t be an asshole. Pleeeeeeease.”

“Well,” he said evenly, “are you about to cum?”

You felt that coil in your stomach tighten even more. You were so close to release that if you rubbed your clit even faster, you’d tumble into the same ecstasy that you brought yourself to every night in the comfort of your own bed. Head nodding, you couldn’t even form the words to express how you felt. Your body felt like it was on fire and the only thing that could extinguish it was cumming all over his fingers. Or wherever he wanted, for that matter.

Yunho nodded, quickly closing the distance between you two once again and smacking your wrist out of the way. “You don’t get to cum yet,” he said, nearly dragging your hand out from between your legs. You gasped and your mouth dropped in surprise. You had just been on the precipice and it was just … stolen from you. By Yunho.

“What the hell?!” You whispered loudly, instantly aware that this coatroom might not be soundproof. “I was doing everything you asked of me.”

“Just like how I decide when I want to fuck you,” he smiled, “I also decide when you cum.”

You fingers twitched as he held your wrist. His gaze softened slightly, and then he asked, “That okay?”

You saw a flicker of the Yunho you’d always known, the flicker of the innocent man behind the alarming demeanor. It was enough to make your heartbeat skyrocket again, and you nodded at his question.

He tipped his head, finally looking at your hand that was locked in his grip. Your slick dripped down your fingers – warm, inviting. Yunho had to stop himself from taking them in his mouth and sucking them dry. He’d taste you eventually. Maybe not tonight, but someday, he’d bury his face between your thighs for hours.

Using one hand, he tugged off his belt and let it clatter around his hips. He pushed down his pants a bit, pulling his cock out from his soaked boxers. Precum beaded at the tip, leaking onto the musty carpet below you. With one hand holding his cock and the other clutching your wrist, he commanded, “I want you to take these wet fingers and paint my cock with them.”

He let go your wrist, and you didn’t hesitate. You sat up, reaching out and tracing his pretty pink tip with your slick fingers. Veins ran down his shaft, which was darker than his pale skin tone, and you grazed them, coating him with your essence. He was longer than you ever expected; you could probably cover his entire length in your two hands. You looked up at him when you gripped him at the base, silently asking permission, and he nodded. “I wanna be covered in you,” he whispered.

You stroked him slowly, feeling his cock twitch in your grasp, his precum slipping down your knuckles and mixing with your own essence. He threw his head back and grunted, “Oh, fuck.” His eyes closed, and when you viewed up at him while you squeezed him at the head, you wondered if this was exactly how he looked when he jerked off on the phone with you. Had he been in just some sweatpants, the waistband pushed down to accommodate his length, and a cheap t-shirt? Something so simple as he threw his head back and fucked his hand while asking you to finger yourself. You were kicking yourself now for not asking him to turn his camera on because this … this was a sight.

Your hand was moving faster and the other cupped one of his aching balls, wishing he had asked you to put one in your mouth. Drool might be slipping down your chin now; you weren’t exactly sure. You just needed something in your mouth or you might just combust –

It was like he could sense you were about to moan his name and ask, because he placed a hand over your mouth. Your eyes went wide, and you squeezing his other ball, making his hips jump. “Shit, fuck, I might –” His eyes snapped open, and before you could even blink, he pushed your hand off his cock.

When his palm moved off your mouth to shove his pants and boxers to his knees, you frantically asked, “Did I do something wrong –”

“I’ll be damned if I cum in your hand and not inside of you,” he replied, turning you so that your back was hitting the cushion and yanking you to the armrest of the couch. He peeled your panties off with precision. Swiping a single finger in the air, he said, “Open your legs more.”

The back of your thighs were resting on the armrest, your feet angling off, and you did your best to spread yourself for him. You just wished he took your dress off. You wanted his hands all over you, squeezing and marking wherever he pleased. The temperature in this closet was sweltering, and your dress wasn’t helping. But everything about this was quick, dirty, raw. You weren’t going to get your way no matter how much you begged.

He tapped your weeping slit with the head of his cock. Your hips bucked and you gripped the sides of the couch to stop yourself from falling off. “You like that, princess?” He smirked, repeating the action. “Are you sure you can fit me inside you?”

You nodded, too cock drunk and he hadn't even fucked you yet.

“Hmm … I’m not so sure.” He made his point by pushing just the tip in, and you felt the stretch immediately. He loomed over you, tilting his head as he looked down. “It’s gonna be a tight fit, princess,” he chastised, shoving another inch inside and making you choke, “but I think you can take it.”

It felt like the wind was being knocked out of you with each brutal push of his long cock. But when he was seated fully, leaning down over you so you could feel his teeth grazing your jaw, you finally felt like you could breathe again. “Look at you,” he cooed, one hand snaking up to capture your own, pinning your wrists above your head. “Such a good girl.”

He still wasn’t moving. He was reminding you how full this felt, how all the guys you had complained about to him over voice chat were always going to be nothing compared to this. Compared to him. You were made to fit him and he was made to take you. You felt him deep, so deep you could hardly move your hips. His lips dragged down your jugular, nipping, as his free hand pressed down on your stomach, feeling how far he was nestled inside. He practically snarled against your skin.

“I’m gonna fuck you now and you’re gonna cum all over my cock before I fill you up,” he said, almost casually. “Understood?”

“Yes, Yunho,” you breathed.

He pulled out until only the head remained, and then slammed right back into you. Your back arched off the old cushion, jerking as he held your wrists down. His thrusts were ruthless, each one feeling different than the next, as he tried to find that place that would make you see stars. It was only when he curved his hips to the left that he got a choked moan to fall from your lips, and he grinned big, like he just won a brutal 5 on 5 tournament. He hit it again, making you scream, “Fuck, Yunho, oh my god –”

He latched his mouth onto yours, swallowing your moans as he fucked into you hard. You felt exactly how he imagined, tight and warm and just for him. He wouldn’t tell you this until later, but you had the prettiest pussy he ever seen, the best one he ever felt. Like every shit date and all your frustrations had led up to this moment where you two could meet in person at a stupid conference and he could fuck you in an abandoned coat closet.

You let out another desperate whimper when he leaned back, tugging your lip between his teeth. Your mouth was swollen from his kiss, but he wasn’t done with you yet. Not until he filled this perfect pussy with his seed, not until you were dripping with him like he always imagined. “Can’t have you too loud, princess,” he chuckled, slamming into you again. Your response was in an anguished plea. “Wanna cum?”

You nodded, lips pursed slightly. Spit dribbled from the corner. Lipgloss smeared onto your chin.

Yunho’s lips spread wide. “Beg me.”

Tears pricked at your eyes and you struggled to lift your hips, trying to meet his to get yourself over that peak again. It was no use. You were too full of him and he was too heavy on top of you. This was torture, and he was playing you like a controller.

A sick part of you loved this far too much.

“Princess,” he said calmly, oh so carefully, “use your words and beg me to let you cum.”

You let out the loudest sigh, eyes snapping open as you met his dark gaze. You bit your lip for a moment longer before whispering, “Please, let me cum.”

He bobbed his head, trying to decide if that was good enough as he nudged your g-spot once again.

“Fuck, oh my god, okay, please –” You let in a sharp intake as he filled you again and again with his thick cock, making sure your pussy was molded to fit him. “Yunho, please, let me cum. Pleasepleaseplease. I need you. I need to cum on your cock so bad. Pleeeeeeease.”

You could feel his smile as his lips ghosted over your ear. “That’s what I like to hear.” His hand slipped off your wrists finally, reaching between your bodies so he could rub your clit while fucking into you. “Now, cum on my cock like a good girl.”

And he made it so easy to. His long, slender fingers rubbed you just right while his cock pistoned into you had you hurtling towards an orgasm so fast that you forgot how to exhale. Your arms locked around his neck, anchoring yourself to his broad body, as you clenched around him and cried his name into the crook. Your walls milked his cock, cumming for what felt like forever and making him groan into your shoulder. He didn’t realize when, but at some point, he stopped fucking you and released. He felt his vision go bright, his brain short circuiting as he moaned and actually whined for you. His hot seed painted your insides white, marking you as his, letting your pussy take all he had to give. And when it felt like he was finally done, he held himself above you, breathing heavy against your earlobe. Your body shivered when you felt him press a ghost of a kiss at the shell.

He moved his head, wanting to look at your eyes, how fucked-out you looked underneath him. His cock softened, but still twitched slightly inside you. Distracting you from his release dripping down your thighs, he traced a single finger over your top lip, like he had done to himself minutes ago. Or had it been an hour at this point? You weren’t so sure.

“So,” he laughed, his smile warm and innocent, “you think we can play nice for the rest of the weekend?”

tag list: @taz-97 @bumbleteas @healingmv @skzbangchanniee @koliki @novawon @cherryhwa-02 @moxhi7 @yvnhoos @lalataitai @bloomyroses @ackermansass @soupbinlily

#fic: irl #my fics #goldenhourology #the k fic collection #ksmutsociety #yunho #jeong yunho #yunho x reader #yunho smut #jeong yunho smut #ateez #ateez fic #ateez smut #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #yunho x you #atz smut

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kingkruell · 19 days ago

Text

MIDNIGHT ALGORITHMS (DATA SCIENCE AND…DICK)

SUMMARY — you were supposed to be studying for your data science retake. instead, you ended up riding the university’s biggest nerd until he came in his jeans and begged to stay inside. gojo satoru is a virgin, a computer science major, and apparently completely obsessed with you…and your pussy.

CONTENT — nerdjo! x f!reader, p in v, university au, exhibitionism, cunnilingus, overstimulation, sub gojo, virgin gojo, bimbo reader, academic corruption lol, first time (gojo), mean reader, cumming untouched, pussy-drunk gojo, filthy smut with little plot.

[WC 5.164]

gojo fanart credits to @/lemiruu on x

the library at 12:32 a.m is quiet. nevermind the fact that it’s summer, you happen to be one of the unlucky dwindling population of students staying behind during break. still, the dorms are nearly empty now, the halls so quiet you swear you could hear the building itself breathing with lights faintly buzzing overhead and that weird flicker of static in the walls.

this wasn’t how you imagined your summer. you were supposed to be in okinawa, sunkissed and full of grilled squid and mango shaved ice. but that fantasy had dissolved as fast as the email that tanked your plans. failed. you didn’t even clear the minimum requirement for your data science class.

and sure, maybe that was on you. you’d chosen your major on a whim, thinking “business” sounded safe. you figured you’d learn a thing or two about money and come out the other side with a degree and a vague sense of superiority. you hadn’t accounted for things like statistical modeling or working with python. you hadn’t even googled the course description, let alone the syllabus. you assumed, stupidly, that business school meant learning how to make money and definitely not how to interpret scatterplots and write shitty codes. you just signed up because it sounded useful. future-proof or…whatever.

it all came down to this: a midnight lecture from none other than gojo satoru himself.

stuck on campus. in the middle of july. retaking a class you hated.

he was… peculiar. he always sat behind you in class. always with those big, square glasses so out of style that sometimes you had to stop yourself from scoffing because—really, those glasses? is it some weird proclamation that he’s smart? and he is, to be fair, but it somehow annoys you to the bone. and always in the same kind of too-large hoodies (just in different colors), chewed raw at the hem. he’s so aggressively unfashionable you almost thought it was ironic. and he’s fidgety, you noticed. always had the time to raise his hand in class, only to stumble through answers in stutters and incoherent babble, pushing up his stupid glasses with one finger. and yet, he always got a nod of approval from the professor. smart, but weird.

weirder were the random instagram likes—one on a post from months ago, something you’d forgotten you even uploaded. and then, a few minutes later, it’d vanish. like he got caught and unliked it. like it was never supposed to be there in the first place.

by the last day of finals, an email from your data science professor landed in your inbox like a final nail in the coffin.

please meet me in my office. urgent regarding your final standing.

you already knew what it meant.

turns out, you were officially at risk of failing the class. and with it, your chance of graduating on time. the professor didn’t mince words. he offered you a single chance to retake the exam over the summer, provided you stayed on campus.

“but—i have plans!” you blurted, cheeks flushing hot as he raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

“well,” he said, voice flat, “that’s on you. and your priorities.”

and just like that, your summer was over before it began.

“to help with your review,” he added, already shuffling through papers, “i suggest reaching out to gojo satoru. i assume you know him. he’s a computer science major. i’ve already contacted him to ask if he’d be open to tutoring. so that much is settled.”

gojo satoru was your only shot.

when you first met up to study, he short-circuited.

“w-what? teach you? i mean—i could, yeah, but like—wow, i mean—not wow like that, i just—yeah.”

‘wow’? seriously?

now you were both here, slouched at the farthest end of the library under a dying desk lamp. the only other people still around in the same miserable predicament were just packing up their tote bags and heading out. it hadn’t even been ten minutes and you were already sighing like this was your last breath.

gojo froze, then turned slightly toward you, hand awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. “sorry? am i boring you?”

you blinked. “no. i mean, yes. but it’s not you. it’s the material.” you jabbed your pen at his screen, frowning at the words bayesian inference like they personally insulted you.

“oh—yeah, i mean, totally fair,” he muttered, pushing up his glasses again. “but i’m trying to help you not get held back, so… maybe if you try to—”

you rolled your eyes. “what, you think i’m stupid?”

he sat bolt upright. “no! no, no, no! i just—you asked for help, and i’m just—”

you grinned suddenly, cutting him off. “i’m kidding. relax.”

he let out a strangled laugh, eyes darting to your mouth too quickly before looking away. the poor guy’s ears were turning red. that kind of red you only get when you’re really flustered or freshly slapped.

you leaned back in your seat. “can we take a break? my brain is going to ooze out through my nose.”

gojo hesitated, glancing down at his hands. he was still fidgeting with the drawstrings of his hoodie. “y-yeah. sure. you want coffee or… i have matcha pocky?”

“you brought snacks?” you raised an eyebrow. “you didn’t even bring a charger.”

“i thought sugar helps with cognitive performance,” he mumbled.

you bit back a smile. “you’re such a nerd.”

he opened his mouth to defend himself, but nothing came out.

you inched closer while you look at him struggle to open the box of matcha pocky like it might explode.

“you okay?” you ask

he nods quickly, “y-yeah, just it’s late.”

i raised an eyebrow, biting back a laugh, “am i making you nervous?”

“no.” he swallows. “i mean. maybe a little. but not from—i’m good.”

“mhmm.” you smirk, reaching forward and plucking a stick from the box. you let it hang lazily from your lips, watching him watch your mouth.

you snap it between your teeth.

“so,” he stammers, eyes flicking back to his screen, “when you look at the—”

you laugh. “you’re joking.”

he blinks. “what?”

“you were two seconds from spontaneously combusting and now you’re back with this coding shit?”

he shifts awkwardly in his chair. “i’m just… trying to focus.”

“hmm.” you cock your head, pretend to consider that.“you ever think about me when you’re alone?” the words slip out of your mouth before you even had time to fully register it, but with the look on his face right now, you don’t regret it.

he chokes on absolutely nothing. “what—what do you mean—”

“like… at night.” you lean forward just slightly, elbows on your knees. your voice drops into something almost bored. “you ever jerk off to my pictures?”

he goes rigid.

“i—what—no—i mean—i would never—”

“you would never?” you echo, raising an eyebrow, eyelash battling up so deliberately, “so you haven’t?”

he looks wrecked. completely cornered. cheeks flushed, breath stuttering, hands visibly shaking now.

“i—i didn’t think you noticed me.”

“well…i did.”

his eyes snap up to yours… almost desperately

you smile, lazy and cruel.

“that bikini post? you liked it four times. you probably saved it. pretty sure i saw your username on my views list at two a.m.”

he opens his mouth, closes it, then mutters, “fuck.”

you lean in, just close enough to smell his skin; cheap detergent, matcha?

“you’re cute when you panic,” you murmur. “kinda makes me want to see how messy you get when you’re desperate.”

his whole body stiffens.

your hand moves, slowly resting on his thigh. not too high. not low enough to be innocent either.

“you want me to stop?” you ask

he doesn’t answer.

“gojo.”

his breath hitches. his eyes flick to your hand, then to your mouth, then back to your hand.

“no,” he says. it comes out rough.

“don’t stop.”

you squeeze, just a little.

he’s going to come in his jeans before i even kiss him.

his thigh twitches under your hand. tense, trembling. like he’s trying so fucking hard to stay still, to be good, to not grind up into your palm like a pathetic thing.

and he’s failing. you can feel the heat through his jeans and the he obvious ache he’s trying to hide.

“you seriously never touched yourself thinking about me?” you ask again, quieter this time.

he squeezes his eyes shut.

your thumb drags up the inside of his thigh, just shy of where he’s aching. you can practically see the pulse in his neck.

“don’t lie,” you murmur. “you seem like the type who’d come just from scrolling.”

he swallows. his adam’s apple bobs like he’s choking on the truth.

“i—i didn’t mean to,” he croaks. voice raw.

your lips curl.

“you accidentally came to my bikini photos?”

“fuck,” he whispers.

“how many times?” you press. “once? twice? how often do you stroke your pathetic little cock to pictures of me smiling with a cocktail?”

he looks like he’s going to die. or beg. maybe both.

“i don’t know,” he says. “a lot. too much. i can’t—fuck, i couldn’t help it.”

you climb into his lap slowy and he jolts.

his hands hover in the air like he doesn’t trust himself to touch. you roll your hips forward, drag your cunt over the hard line in his jeans, and the sound he makes is obscene.

“shit—wait, please—”

“you’re hard already?” you coo. “you came in your pants to my stories and now you can’t last two minutes with me on top of you?”

his hands finally land on your waist, gripping tight. too tight. like he’s holding on for dear life.

you grind down again. slower this time.

he gasps— actually gasps, like he’s drowning, his pupils dilates before he throws his head back.

“you gonna cum, satoru?” you whisper, licking into the corner of his mouth without kissing him. “you gonna soak your boxers like a good little virgin?”

he whines.

“fuck, fuck—please—”

“please what?”

“let me—i need to cum, i’m sorry, i can’t—”

“you’re humping me like a dog, baby.”

“not yet,” you murmured, tilting his chin up with a firm grip, fingers pressing into the soft give of his cheeks. “open your mouth.”

his breath caught. “wait—wait, what are you— I, ngh—”

despite the confused protest, he obeyed. flustered and still fucking obedient with his lips parted and tongue out.

then with a filthy ptfffhh—a thick, wet string landed square on his tongue, and the obsecenesound of it filled the space between you. his lips twitched like he didn’t know whether to close them or moan.

and when you kiss him all wet, deep, and filthy, he completely falls apart. his hips jerk up. his entire body shudders. and he cums. in his jeans. like a boy who’s never been touched properly and just had his favorite fantasy spit in his mouth and ride his thigh. because that did happen.

his mouth is open, eyes dazed, and his glasses are fogged now. wetness spreading between you.

you lick your lips.

“pathetic,” you whisper.

“i know,” he pants. “fuck—i’m sorry—”

“don’t be.”

you drag your fingers up his chest, to his neck. squeeze. not tight. just enough to make him stop rambling.

“you wanna make it up to me?” you ask, tilting your head.

he nods, instantly. desperate.

“get on your knees.”

yeah… you didn’t know how a study session turned into this, let alone with him. gojo satoru, the biggest nerd you knew. now he was on his knees, flushed to the tip of his ears, breath hot against your inner thigh, fingers twitching like he didn’t know whether to hold your hips or fold them into an apology.

“didn’t think you’d actually do it,” you muttered, fingers threading into the soft mess of white hair, tilting his head back just enough to see the desperate flicker in his eyes.

gojo swallows hard. his throat bobs under your grip like a silent apology, lips parted as if waiting for permission to breathe. he’s panting already, like just being this close to your cunt is doing something to him. knees planted to the cold tile, thighs trembling, pupils blown wide.

this is what he dreamt of, this is what he shamefully jerk off to. thinking of bending you over in class and ripping away every inch of your clothes— and now your dripping cunt is mere inches away from his face, its slick clinging to the thin fabric of your panties.

“I—I want to be good,” he says, voice low, breaking like a fault line. “please.”

the way he says it, you almost almost moan. fuck.

you shift forward in the chair, spread your knees just wider for him to see the wet line of your underwear, soaked through from grinding on his lap ten minutes ago. he stares like it’s proof that god is real. his eyes licker back up to yours frantically

tongue out, already panting, his hands trembling as they settle on your thighs like he’s trying not to squeeze too hard. his tongue drags up your slit through the soaked fabric and he moans, like you’re doing him a favor.

god, he’s starving. licking through cotton like he’s grateful just to have it in his mouth. you let him mouth at you like that, messy and soaking the fabric further, his nose pressed against your heat like he wants to drown in it.

“is this what you think about in your little dorm bed?” you ask, tone llazy. onehand settles in his hair. “this exact moment?”

he groans in response, and it vibrates against you in a way that makes your thighs twitch.

“i bet you do,” you whisper. “every night. jerk off with your hand wrapped tight, thinking about me sitting on your face.”

his hips jerk against the floor. pathetic.

he adjusts, and fuck, he learns fast. he licks you with slow, deliberate drags now. eye fluttering shut as he lets your taste melt into him. you grind against his face with purpose, shamelessly, slick dripping down his chin, and it’s obscene—he’s obscene. on his knees under you in a university library, face soaked, hands digging crescent moons into your thighs.

and he’s hard again. so hard it must hurt, his cock straining against jeans soaked in his own cum. He’s rutting against the floor now. fucking grinding like it’ll give him relief.

“you gonna come again just from eating me out?” you whisper, breath catching as your orgasm starts to bloom behind your ribs.

he nods frantically, moaning into your cunt like it’s a prayer.

“fucking loser,” you gasp when he hits the spot that makes you squirm. “you’re not even touching yourself.”

“i don’t— i don’t need to,” he pants, lips dragging over your clit in a clumsy, worshipful kiss. “you taste so good—fuck—I wanna stay here—please—”

of course, you obliged, and you pulled his head impossibly closer, grinding into his face harder.

“say it,” you gasp. “say you’re addicted.”

“I’m—fuck—I’m addicted,” he sobs. “I love your pussy—please—please come, I need it—need to taste it—”

and you do.

with a sharp cry, hips bucking into his mouth, thighs clamping around his head like you want to crush the air out of him.

and gojo comes untouched. again. soaking his pants all over again like a high school virgin who just discovered the word “thighs.”

“nghh—satoru—“ you gasped as he suddenly picks you up with such ease just to place you on the table. his hands are already on your thighs, spreading them open with a force that’s barely controlled before you could even catch your breath.

laid out across the library table, the edge cool beneath your hips, legs parted just enough to show him everything. your panties are caught halfway down your thighs, damp and useless, and your cunt’s already shining in the low, sterile light. his spit and your slick still wet on your skin. there’s a mess between your legs and it’s his fault. he knows it. you know it. the air smells like it.

satoru’s breathing like he just ran here.

his hoodie’s rucked halfway up, hair a wreck, glasses crooked on his nose. he’s standing between your thighs like he doesn’t know what to do with himself, fingers twitching at his sides, eyes locked on the place between your legs like it’s gravity.

“i’ve never—” he starts, but his voice breaks off into static. he swallows thickly, still staring, like he’s scared if he blinks you’ll disappear. “i mean, i’ve thought about it. with you. so many times i—fuck.”

you tilt your head, a slow smile pulling at your lips. “stop thinking then,” you murmur, breath warm. “do it.”

and he does.

his hands fumble at his waistband—nervous, fast, like he’s scared of waking up. and when he gets his jeans open and pushes them down, his breath catches. a sharp, startled sound. he drags his boxers lower, and—

oh.

his cock bounces free, flushed dark pink at the head, already leaking, the tip smeared wet with precum that’s dribbling down the length in slow, heavy beads. thick and aching. there’s a soft tuft of white hair at the base, and he’s so hard it curves slightly up toward his belly. his hand hovers near it, like he doesn’t even know whether he’s allowed to touch it now. like it doesn’t belong to him anymore. like it belongs to you.

you stare.

lips parting on instinct, breath caught in your throat. your thighs twitch open wider on reflex.

“…jesus christ,” you whisper. “how the fuck is that gonna fit?”

he blinks at you like he’s never heard you speak before. he follows your gaze and lets out a broken, whining sound, like he’s embarrassed to be seen like this, like being this hard in front of you is humiliating.

“i’m sorry,” he breathes. “i didn’t—i didn’t mean to be this—fuck, it won’t stop—”

you lick your lips slowly, “what? hard? leaking all over yourself?” you drag your gaze down, voice thick with heat. “your cock’s throbbing, satoru.”

he moans and grabs himself at the base with a shaky hand and nearly doubles over. ”f-fuck, don’t say that, i’ll—i’ll fucking cum,” the second his palm closes around his cock, his hips jerk forward like he couldn’t stop himself if he tried.

he groans and rubs his cock through your folds, just once, dragging the head against your soaked slit, back and forth, back and forth—and it punches a sound out of both of you at the same time.

holy shit,” he breathes. “you’re—fuck—you’re so wet it’s all over me—look at it—fuck, fuck, i’m gonna cum just from this.”

he keeps rutting through your slick like he’s lost his mind, his tip catching on your clit, making your hips jerk every time. you feel it smear between your thighs—sticky, hot, messy.

“you like that?” you whisper. “humping my pussy like it’s your pillow at home?”

his hand falters, and his hips stutter.

you laugh, breathless. “you do. you’ve done this before, huh? jerked off to pictures of me and pressed your dick between your sheets thinking it felt close enough.”

he whines—actually whines into your neck—and kisses you like he’s trying to crawl inside your mouth. his lips are hot and wet and frantic, teeth knocking into yours, tongue licking into you with the same rhythm his hips grind against your cunt.

he pulls back, dazed. pupils blown. cock still rubbing sloppily through your folds.

“can i—” he chokes on it, eyes wild. “can i put it in? please. i can’t—I need to—I have to—”

“beg,” you breathe, dizzy with it.

“please, please let me fuck you,” he gasps. “i’ll be good, i swear, i’ll—I’ll do anything—just let me feel it—fuck—please—”

you nod, slow. “do it.”

he grips your thighs like handles and pushes in.

just the tip.

your breath leaves your lungs in a moan so sharp it cuts the silence in half. he sinks into you inch by inch and it’s so hot, so tight, so wet—he starts to tremble.

“oh my god,” he gasps. “you’re gonna fucking ruin me—i can’t—i can’t—fuck, you’re clenching so hard, i’m gonna cum, i’m gonna—”

you lock your legs around his waist, drag him deeper.

“do it,” you whisper. “cum inside me like a loser.”

and he does.

you feel it, the stutter of his hips, the thick, hot spill of it flooding you, the way he groans so loud it echoes down the rows of bookshelves.

but he doesn’t stop.

he keeps going. cock twitching inside you, fucked dumb, mind blank, still grinding into your cunt like he’s chasing the next high.

oh my god.

he’s tucking into you again, cock buried deep, and he swears he’s never felt anything like this. never imagined anything could feel this good. you’re so warm. so wet. squeezing around him like you don’t want to let go. like your body wants him deeper, even when he’s already pressed as far in as he can go.

he groans, forehead pressed to your shoulder, hips rocking just to stay sane. you moan under him and it makes his knees buckle.

what the fuck are we doing.

this is crazy. this is so, so fucking crazy. you’re in the damn library. it’s open. it’s the middle of the night but not locked. anyone could walk in. some poor TA could be returning a textbook. someone could hear you. the soft slap of skin. the way the table creaks every time he ruts into you. you—breathless and high off it, telling him not to stop.

and he won’t. he can’t.

he’s losing it. actually losing it.

she let me fuck her. she’s letting me fuck her. i’m inside her. right now. my cock is inside her and she’s moaning for more—holy shit—

he bites his lip, trying not to cum again too fast. his glasses are fogged, probably crooked, and he doesn’t even care. all he knows is the tight slick heat of you pulsing around him and the way your nails dig into his back like you’re clinging for life.

“fuckfuckfuck—y/n, i can’t stop—i need to stay in you—feels so good—so fucking good—you’re mine now, right? you have to be—”

“mhhmm—“ you pulled him by the neck and clashes your lips onto his. you’ve broken him. you know it the second he gasps your name like a prayer, or a curse, and drags his cock through the mess he made inside you, still hard, still leaking, like he doesn’t understand what it means to be finished. his hips twitch, rhythm sloppy, hands gripping your thighs so tight it hurts. he’s not even trying to hold back anymore.

he’s still hard.

you feel it inside you, thick and flushed and too much already. twitching like it doesn’t know what just happened. and the way he moans—god—the way he moans, it’s almost unbearable. soft, choked, high in his throat, like he’s been split open by something he doesn’t have a name for yet.

“satoru—” you try, but your voice splinters around the edges. “you—fuck, you already—”

“i know,” he gasps. “i know—but i can’t stop, it feels so good, it’s too much—”

“i-i came,” he stammers, breathless. “i already—I came and i’m still—fuck, i can’t stop—”

he sounds guilty. confused. like he’s doing something wrong. like he thinks you’ll tell him to stop but he can’t make himself do it unless you say the words.

your only answer was the filthy sounds of AH! AH! AH! from your mouth and the way your tongue lols out.

and he keeps moving.

wet, slow thrusts, dragging the head of his cock through the thick mix of cum and slick that’s pooling between your thighs, and he whimpers at the sound of it.

SCHLAP! SCHLAP! SCHLAP!

“is it always like this?” he pants, voice wrecked. “this warm—this wet—it’s so—i-i can’t—fuck, it’s too good—”

his hips twitch, involuntary.

he’s still rutting into you like he doesn’t know any better. like instinct’s got him by the throat. like he thinks he’ll stop breathing if he pulls out. and maybe he would, the way he’s grabbing at your waist, palms pressing so hard into your skin they leave imprints.

“y/n, you’re so tight,” he gasps. “you’re sucking me in like you want more—like you want to keep me—do you? do you want me to stay inside?”

you clench, and he cries.

he actually lets out a sound, desperate and high, mouth falling open in shock, like he’s short-circuiting.

“holy—fuck—you’re doing it on purpose—oh my god—”

he’s rambling. babbling. you don’t think he even knows what he’s saying anymore.

and he just keeps going.

“i didn’t know,” he whispers. “i didn’t know it would feel like this. i didn’t think i’d get to have it—have you—you’re so soft—so hot—i can feel you everywhere—i’m gonna lose my fucking mind—”

he’s shaking now. trembling over you, mouth pressed against your jaw, like he’s trying to ground himself in your skin.

your legs twitch around his waist, overstimulation crackling along your spine, and he feels it.

“wait—are you—? oh my god,” he moans. “are you gonna come again?”

you nod, breath catching, and that’s it.

he breaks.

“fuck—fuck—do it, please—cum on me—use me—i don’t care what you do—just don’t stop—please—please let me make you feel good—”

his hips stutter again, frantic, and your body arches into his, hands scrabbling at his back as the pressure finally snaps inside you again—hot and sharp and clenching hard around him.

“satoru.” you moan out and his eyes rolled back at the way you say his name, “say it again.” he pulls back and pushes in harder.

“satoru.”

you cum.

loud.

clenching down on his cock, tighter than before, and he loses it.

you clench down around him. all tight, fluttering, spasming in waves, and that sets him off.

he gasps like he’s been punched in the chest. like his heart just stopped and kicked back to life. you feel the shift in his body, the way his hips jerk forward, no rhythm left, no restraint—just pure, frantic instinct.

“fuck—fuck—oh god—i’m gonna—i’m—”

he moans into your mouth, loud and cracked open. and then he’s cumming again, deep inside you, hips stuttering as he spills into you all over again, thick and hot and endless. you feel it flood you—heat pooling inside your cunt, filling you up all over again. it’s so much more than the first time. more desperate. more raw. he stays buried as it hits him, jaw slack, eyes squeezed shut, whispering things he probably doesn’t even realize he’s saying.

“so warm—fuck—fuckfuck, i’m sorry—it’s so much—i couldn’t stop—i couldn’t—”

his whole body’s trembling, fingers gripping your waist like he’s holding onto the edge of the world. and when the last twitch of his cock pulses inside you, he lets out a sound so soft, so wrecked, it makes your chest ache.

his forehead rests against yours. you’re both gasping for air. his lips find yours again, slow this time, dragging across your mouth like he’s trying to memorize the taste of you. it’s messy. wet. you both keep moaning into it like it’s the only way you know how to breathe now.

his hand brushes your cheek, trembling. “you okay?” he whispers, breath ragged.

you nod, still clinging to him. “so good.”

he kisses you again. deeper this time. slower. like a thank you he doesn’t know how to say out loud. his hips give a soft, involuntary roll forward, just enough to make both of you hiss at the oversensitivity. and he groans.

“…fuck. i should pull out.”

you nod, legs loose around him now, and he gives one last kiss—wet and sticky—before he slowly, carefully draws his cock back.

you both moan at the drag. it’s too warm, too sensitive, too full.

and when he slips free—soft and still twitching—you both stare.

his cum leaks out of you in thick, creamy strings, dripping from your swollen cunt down to the table. it’s obscene. wet. ruined. a mess of his first orgasm and his second spilling from your folds like you were made to be filled.

satoru sucks in a shaky breath.

“holy shit,” he whispers.

you look up at him through your lashes, dazed, lazy, spread open and dripping. your cunt clenches instinctively, twitching from the exposure.

“you’re leaking,” he says softly. and then, like something snaps in his mind: “fuck—wait—i can’t leave you like that, i made a mess, i have to—”

your chest is still rising in stutters. your thighs ache from how wide he spread you, still twitching from the aftershocks. your cunt’s messy, flooded—his cum dripping thick down your folds and pooling between your legs. everything around you is still: the quiet hum of the library lights, the flicker of a dying bulb overhead, the late hour heavy in the air.

you’re still laid out over the table.

used. ruined. wrecked.

and warm.

so fucking warm.

from the inside out.

you blink slowly, dazed, like you’re surfacing from water you didn’t know you were drowning in.

this wasn’t supposed to happen.

you didn’t mean for this to happen.

you were supposed to review a couple chapters, complain about your professor, maybe tease him a little if he blushed too much. not this. not grinding yourself raw on his cock until he came twice inside you. not the way your body feels now; sore and open, humming with overstimulation, and filled with something heavy you’re trying not to name.

“holy shit,” you breathe, voice barely above a whisper. your limbs feel loose. like you’ve melted into the table. “i just… we really…”

you trail off.

there’s cum on your thighs. on the inside of your calves. your panties are still rucked halfway down your legs and your bra’s shifted, barely covering anything.

you cover your face with one hand. not in even in an embarrassed way, just… stunned.

you feel him shift

and then he’s dropping to his knees between your legs.

“satoru—?”

“let me clean it,” he breathes, already nosing between your thighs. “please. let me.”

and then he licks.

long, slow, and filthy, his tongue dragging through your overstimulated, used cunt like it’s the best meal he’s ever tasted. and when he groans, deep and guttural, it vibrates against you.

“you taste like me,” he moans, tongue pushing deep inside, lapping at the mixture he spilled into you like he’s starving for it. “so fucking sweet—fuck—i made this mess—i have to get all of it—”

his tongue is everywhere. cleaning the slick from your folds, nudging your clit, slurping up the mix of your cum and his with noises so obscene your thighs twitch around his head.

“satoru—fuck—please—”

he keeps going. tongue soft and messy, mouth hot and wet, arms wrapped tight around your thighs like he’s never letting go. your back arches. hands scramble against the table edge, trying to ground yourself, but he wraps his arms around your thighs and holds you there. not rough. desperate. worshipful.

“gonna keep eating you until you stop leaking,” he murmurs, voice muffled against your cunt. “i’ll clean every drop. i’ll be so good. let me be good.”

he’s going to make a mess just to clean you up again.

again. and again. and again.

#jjk fanfic #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru fic #gojo satoru #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x reader smut #jjk smut #jjk x you smut #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x you #nerdjo x reader #nerdjo #gojo smut #smut #x reader #fem reader #satoru gojo

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pucksandpower · 1 year ago

Text

Racing Hearts

Lando Norris x cardiopulmonary technician!Reader

Summary: you’ve had a way of making Lando’s heart race since the moment he met you

You glance down at your clipboard as your next patient walks into the exercise physiology lab. “Lando Norris?” You ask, looking up with a smile.

The young British man grins back at you. “That’s me!”

“Excellent! I’m Y/N, I’ll be your technician today. We’re just going to do a simple cardiopulmonary exercise test to get some baseline numbers before the start of the season.”

Lando nods, looking around the lab curiously. “No problem, happy to be poked and prodded in the name of science and fast cars.”

You laugh as you gesture for him to take a seat. “Don’t worry, I promise to be gentle,” you joke. “I’m just going to put some electrodes on your chest to monitor your heart rate, then we’ll get you on the treadmill for the test.”

“Sounds good,” Lando says, settling onto the exam table.

You start placing the sticky electrode pads across his chest and ribs, trying not to blush at his shirtless state. Formula 1 drivers really are fit underneath those racing suits.

“So how’s preseason training going?” You ask conversationally as you work. “Think McLaren has a chance this year?”

Lando grins. “I’m feeling good! Me and the team have been putting in a lot of hard work over the winter. I’m definitely aiming higher than 6th in the championship.”

You smile as you finish placing the electrodes and motion for him to stand. “That’s the spirit. Alright, hop up on the treadmill and we’ll get you moving.”

Lando steps up onto the machine and you start it up slowly, increasing the speed in measured increments. “I’ll take you up to a brisk jog, then we’ll keep you there for about 10 minutes while I monitor your heart rate, breathing, and oxygen levels,” you explain.

“Sounds gucci,” Lando replies with a thumbs up, his breath starting to quicken as the treadmill pace increases.

You make sure the electrode leads are secure, then step back to observe the incoming data on the computer screen. Lando’s lean legs stride smoothly along the treadmill belt as you keep a close watch on his vitals, making notes on your clipboard. After a few minutes, you frown slightly at the heart rate readout. It seems unusually elevated for an elite athlete like Lando, even at this moderate jogging pace.

“How are you feeling Lando?” You call out. “Everything okay?”

“All … good,” he huffs out, face flushed from the exertion.

You hesitate, glancing between him and the concerning heart rate values on the screen. “It’s just that your heart rate is a bit higher than I would expect,” you say slowly. “Are you feeling any chest pain or tightness?”

Lando shakes his head. “No, no, nothing like that. I feel fine!” He insists breathlessly.

You bite your lip, still frowning. “Your heart rate is quite high though, over 85% of estimated max. For an experienced athlete I would expect values closer to 70-80% at this pace.”

“Oh … yeah, maybe it’s a bit high,” Lando acknowledges, starting to breathe harder. “But don’t worry about me, I’m fit as a fiddle!”

You reach over to slow the treadmill slightly. “Let’s bring the pace down a bit. I’m concerned about these heart rate readings. We should really have you checked out by a cardiologist before the season starts.”

Lando grabs the front handrails, shaking his head stubbornly. “No, no that’s not necessary, really! I’m fine, just maybe didn’t warm up enough.”

You give him a skeptical look. “Lando, as your technician I have to advise getting this looked at. Your heart rate is elevated beyond normal parameters.”

Lando chews his lip, glancing away evasively. “Um, well … maybe there’s a reason for that.”

You raise your eyebrows at him. “What do you mean? Like a medical condition you haven’t told me about?”

“No, no nothing like that!” Lando says quickly. He mumbles something under his breath you can’t quite make out over the whir of the treadmill.

“Sorry, what was that?” You ask, leaning closer. “I couldn’t hear you.”

“Oh, uh … it was nothing,” Lando mutters, face reddening further.

You stop the treadmill completely so you can hear him better, folding your arms over your clipboard. “Lando, if there’s something I should know that’s affecting your test results, you need to tell me. As your technician, I really think we should get your heart looked at just to be safe.”

Lando locks eyes with you for a moment, hesitation written across his features. He mumbles again under his breath, so quietly you can’t discern the words.

You hold his gaze firmly. “One more time, please. It’s really important that I understand what’s going on so I can interpret these results accurately.”

Lando breaks eye contact, looking down at his feet. He kicks lightly at the motionless treadmill belt, before finally whispering. “It’s you, alright?”

You blink in surprise. “Me? What do you mean?”

Lando glances up at you briefly, his face now tomato-red. “You’re … the reason my heart rate is high,” he mumbles.

You stare at him in confusion. “I don’t understand. What are you talking about?”

Lando groans, covering his face with his hands. “Because … I really fancy you, okay?” He admits, the words muffled into his palms. “You’re just … totally gorgeous and sweet and it makes me nervous and … my heart rate goes mad around pretty girls I like.”

Your eyes widen in understanding, feeling your own cheeks flush bright pink. “Oh! Oh ...”

Lando peeks out at you between splayed fingers. “Yeah, so that’s why it’s high. Not because I have some underlying heart condition.” He gives you a sheepish smile. “Just because my technician is really fit.”

You let out an awkward laugh, suddenly feeling shy. “Wow, uh … I’m flattered, Lando. I didn’t realize ...”

Lando drops his hands from his face, looking at you earnestly. “Sorry, is that weird? I know we just met and you’re doing your job.” He fidgets with the electrode wires across his chest. “Don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything.”

You smile warmly back at him, feeling butterflies in your own stomach. “Don’t be silly. It’s not weird at all. Honestly, I, uh … also think you’re really cute,” you admit with bashful grin.

Lando’s eyes light up. “Yeah?” A wide, delighted smile spreads across his face.

You nod, laughing softly. “Yeah, I may have been trying not to blush myself with you shirtless here in my lab.”

“Well I’m certainly not complaining about the view either,” Lando says cheekily.

You smack his arm playfully. “I’m being professional here!”

“And doing a great job,” Lando says, smile softening. “But maybe once we’re done with all this boring medical stuff … we could get dinner? If you want?” He looks at you hopefully.

Your heart flutters with excitement. “I’d really like that.” You smile at each other giddily for a moment before you clear your throat. “But first, we really should finish your assessment properly.”

Lando laughs, nodding. “Of course, you’re the boss!”

You roll your eyes affectionately. “Alright, hop back on the treadmill. And this time just focus on your breathing and try not to make eyes at the pretty technician,” you tease.

“No promises there,” Lando quips with a grin as he steps back onto the belt.

You just smile and shake your head as you start up the machine once more, unable to keep your own heart rate from quickening in anticipation of what promises to be a very special dinner date after the test is complete.

***

Several Months Later

You glance down nervously at your paddock pass as you make your way through the crowded paddock. As an unofficial member of Lando’s training team now, you have full access to the exclusive behind-the-scenes world of Formula 1. But despite months of dating the British driver, the glamorous circus still feels surreal.

Dodging golf carts and important looking people with headsets, you head for the McLaren garage. Lando had told you to meet him there before the start of the race. Your heart flutters, as it always does at the thought of seeing him again.

“Y/N!” Lando greets you brightly as you enter the garage. Engine roars echo around you as mechanics make final tweaks to the cars before wheeling them to the grid.

“Good luck today!” You tell Lando, leaning up on your toes to kiss him sweetly.

“With you here, how can I lose?” He grins down at you. His energy is infectious.

You chat together as the cars are lined up on the starting grid, Lando bouncing excitedly in his race suit. You squeeze his gloved hand. “Be safe out there.”

“Always am, love.” He winks before pulling on his helmet and climbing into the cockpit.

You make your way back to the McLaren hospitality suite to watch the start of the race. Your heart pounds as the lights go out and the F1 cars launch forward in a roar of engines. Lando makes a clean getaway, slotting into P5 heading into the first turn.

The race unfolds smoothly, Lando maintaining his position in the top five. You watch tensely on the monitors, hands clenched.

But on lap 38, disaster strikes. Heading into a fast sweeper, the Red Bull of Sergio Perez attempts a risky overtake maneuver on Lando’s inside. They collide in a shower of carbon fiber and a plume of smoke.

You gasp sharply as Lando’s car spins off into the gravel trap, coming to rest against the barrier at an abrupt stop. The McLaren crew monitor the radio channels anxiously.

“Lando, are you okay mate?” His engineer asks urgently.

“Yeh … I’m okay ...” Lando’s labored voice comes back. “Bit winded but I’m alright.”

You breathe a deep sigh of relief along with the crew. The medical car is quickly dispatched to the scene. Lando climbs unsteadily from the battered car, sitting down in the gravel trap as he awaits assistance.

Your adrenaline surging, you take off from the garage the moment you see Lando is out of the car safely. Jogging through the paddock, you make your way swiftly to the medical center.

As you rush in, Lando is just being helped onto an examination table by two medics. He’s dusty and sweaty, his hair sticking up at all angles from where he pulled off his helmet. But otherwise he seems intact.

“Lando!” You hurry over, emotions welling up at seeing him battered but in one piece.

“Y/N, hey ...” Lando greets you with a weary but reassuring smile. He reaches for your hand which you clutch tightly.

One medic cuts away the top of Lando’s racing suit, placing electrodes on his chest to monitor his heart rhythm. You hover anxiously as they check him over.

“Heart rate is quite elevated,” the doctor frowns as he reads the monitor. He glances between you and Lando with concern. “Any chest pain or tightness?”

Lando huffs a small laugh, shaking his head. He looks up at you, his green eyes glinting. “Nah, doc. She’s the reason for the fast heartbeat.”

You feel your cheeks flush as Lando grins. The medic looks confused.

“See, ever since Y/N came into my life, she’s made my heart race a mile a minute,” Lando explains cheekily.

You smack his arm but can’t help laughing too. Trust Lando to still be flirting from a hospital bed.

“Ah, young love,” the doctor chuckles. “Well, your heart may beat for her, but let’s still do a full check to be safe.”

Lando nods agreeably, though his gaze stays fixed on you. He winces slightly as they palpate his ribs and abdomen, checking for injuries.

You cling to his hand, emotionally drained from the scare but overwhelmed with relief that he seems okay. Lando keeps stealing glances at you through the examination.

Finally the doctor steps back. “All done. Amazingly, you’ve escaped with just some bruising. No breaks or internal injuries. You were lucky today.”

The medic packs up his equipment. “Get some rest and ice those sore spots. But overall good news. No reason you can’t race in two weeks’ time.”

“Phew, that’s a relief!” Lando says. He thanks the doctors as you help him down from the table.

Arm wrapped supportively around him, you make your slow way out of the medical center towards the McLaren motorhome.

“Thank you for being here,” Lando murmurs, leaning his head on your shoulder as you walk.

You kiss his dusty hair. “I’m just glad you’re okay. You scared me to death out there!”

“I know, sorry about that, love. It happened so fast.” He lifts his head to look at you sincerely. “But I’m alright. Just grateful to have you by my side.”

You stop, turning to face him fully. Reaching up, you caress his cheek gently. “I’ll always be right here by your side.”

Lando’s eyes shine. “Is it cheesy to say you make my heart race in the best way?”

Laughing softly, you pull him into a tender kiss. For this brief moment, nothing else matters but the two of you.

Lando sighs contentedly when you eventually pull back. “I’m so lucky to have you.”

You squeeze his hand, smiling up at him. “The feeling’s mutual. Now let’s get you rested up. I want my favorite driver back to full fitness ASAP.”

With his arm wrapped warmly around your shoulders, you’re reminded that no matter what challenges life brings, your hearts will keep racing together as one.

***

It’s a quiet night and you and Lando are cuddling in bed together after a long day. Lando’s arms are wrapped securely around you, your head resting comfortably on his chest. His fingers idly trace delicate patterns along your back as you lay pressed close, breathing in sync.

Though it’s late, you can tell Lando’s mind is still wide awake, trailing far from the coziness of your shared bed. His pensive silence prompts you to prop yourself up on one elbow, looking down at him with a curious smile.

“Penny for your thoughts, love?”

Lando blinks up at you before giving a small, distracted smile. “Oh, it’s nothing really ...”

You raise a knowing eyebrow. “Lando, I can always tell when something’s on your mind.” You brush a lock of hair back from his forehead tenderly. “Talk to me?”

Lando chews his lip, eyes darting away evasively. Finally he lets out a long breath, arms tightening around your waist. “I guess … I’ve just been thinking about when I picked you up earlier today.”

You think back to the afternoon when Lando swung by your lab after work like usual. “What about it?”

“Well, when I pulled up out front, I saw one of your patients leaving the exercise center,” Lando explains. His brow furrows slightly. “Some tall, muscular bloke in running shorts.”

“Oh, that was probably Brandon — he’s a sprinter I had in for VO2 max testing,” you reply casually before pausing. “Wait … you’re not jealous, are you?”

“No! No, of course not,” Lando says quickly. But the way his eyes shift away makes you think otherwise.

You frown slightly, snuggling closer against his chest. “Lando, you know you have absolutely no reason to be jealous. I only have eyes for you,” you murmur reassuringly.

Lando sighs, arms tightening around your back. “I know, I know. It’s stupid ...” He trails off, looking conflicted.

You lay a comforting hand along his jaw. “Talk to me, love. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Lando meets your earnest gaze, emotions swirling in his eyes. “I just … I wonder sometimes why you picked me, you know? You meet guys like that every day. And I’m just ...” he shrugs self-consciously.

Your heart squeezes at the vulnerable admission. You tenderly stroke Lando’s cheek. “Hey … you listen to me. You’re the only one I want. All those other athletes are just patients to me. But you ...” You smile down at him adoringly. “You’re the one who makes my heart race with just a look. The one I want to spend all my time with. The one I love with my entire heart.”

The corner of Lando’s mouth lifts in a faint, tentative smile at your words. “Yeah?”

“Absolutely,” you whisper fervently. Leaning down, you capture his lips in a sweet, loving kiss. “You’re my once in a lifetime, Lando. My soulmate. Meeting you was destiny.”

Lando’s arms wrap tightly around you again, the last of the tension fading from his frame. “I’m sorry I got all insecure like that. I know I’m being silly.” He presses an apologetic kiss to your hair. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

You nuzzle your face lovingly against his neck. “You were just yourself — that funny, charming, incredible guy I fell for the moment we met.” You lift your head to meet his eyes again. “I never stood a chance. My heart was yours from the start.”

A smile breaks across Lando’s face at last. “I really am the luckiest bloke in the world, aren’t I?”

“Damn right you are,” you say teasingly, making him laugh. Your expression softens. “But truly, you have absolutely nothing to worry about. My heart only races for you. It always will.”

Lando’s eyes gleam with renewed confidence and adoration as he rolls you both over so he’s hovering above you. “Well in that case, what do you say we get your heart racing again?” He murmurs playfully, brushing his nose against yours.

You grin up at him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “I’d say you’re on.”

Lando’s smile widens as he dips his head to meet your lips in a passionate kiss. Your pulse immediately quickens at his touch, heart thrumming as you arch up into him.

When Lando finally pulls back for air, his eyes are dancing. “Yep, definitely racing,” he laughs breathlessly, lifting your hand to his lips to kiss your pulse point.

You shake your head in amusement, heart overflowing with love for this man. “You’re the only one for me. Today, tomorrow, and always.”

Lando’s smile softens to something tender and reverent. “And you’re my once in a lifetime, Y/N.” He brushes his thumb along your cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you whisper. And as his lips find yours again, you let yourself get lost in his kiss, your racing hearts beating as one.

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