#MIT Lectures

[rewwwwww]

shoutout to Professor Norvin W. Richards whose very entertaining (to me) intro to linguistics course is available for FREE in it's entirety online

amazing resources, i've watched about 13 hours of his lectures in the last week

[poly-yuri-train]

are there actual fun things that people do during spring break that don't involve downloading lecture slides and doing homework for a class I'm not in at a uni I don't even go to? or skateboarding?

[yunzyoi]

𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 (n.rk)

[NSFW] Chrome Hearts Rings - ni-ki x f!reader

𓂃۶ৎ [니키] Booking a flight on a random night just because you had a fight with your boyfriend is totally normal right? Traveling across the world just because you don't wanna see him it's totally normal, right? Getting drunk in another country and dancing with a total stranger, is beyond normal, right?

٠࣪⭑ cw/tags: smut, dom!ni-ki and sub f!reader student. porn with plot, unprotected sex, alcohol, smoking, exhibitionism, dirty talk, rough sex, drunk sex, fingering, squirting, public, car sex, cheating, jake, sunghoon and jay cameo, mdni. don't read if uncomfortable.

٠࣪⭑wc: 4k

٠࣪⭑ tags: @woniesbae @nicholaslefthand @littlesweettea-aine @puppiesfolder

Maybe having that fight with your boyfriend wasn't so bad. You wouldn't have met this cute stranger if it wasn't because of it after all ᯓᡣ𐭩

୨ৎ

First year of college had been close to hell. The huge change from High School to college was almost unbearable. Your A+ grades from High School were equal to a C in college and your need for academic validation was killing you. It was messy, the dorms, and campus, and the lectures. You were a mess as well, trying to just pass your classes. But what was making it really a living hell, was your boyfriend, Jay.

Jay was your boyfriend since sophomore year in High School, he used to be sweet and romantic. However, during senior year he became colder, yet so possessive. When you graduated, both ended up going to different colleges. You went to MIT and he went to NYU. You're still dating him, but he has become more and more controlling and toxic throughout the year. To the point where he will call you every time you get off campus.

It gets to a point, right? You couldn't bear it. He came to visit you in campus, you acted normal. But once you mentioned his controlling behavior he got defensive. It escalated into a huge fight, yelling, and insulting until your roomate stepped in and kicked him out.

Your fingers move quickly through the phone, tears in your eyes while you deal your best friend's number. Sunghoon picks up after a couple of minutes. He's sleepy, sounds like you just woke him up. You feel a pang of guilt in your chest. Sunghoon was in Japan right now, so it was probably really early for him.

"Hey, sweetheart" He says. "It's 6 a.m you know—" Sunghoon's heart drops when he hears you sob. He sits in his bed in one quick motion. "Hey, hey, what happened, tell me" He knew the reason you were sobbing, he knew the idiot who was making you cry. He tightens his fist on the sheets. "What did he do"

You break into tears, nonstop, just crying on Sunghoon like you always do. Every time Jay did something you'd just go to your comfort place: Sunghoon, your best friend since you were in Middle School. You tell Sunghoon everything through the phone as he tries to calm you down.

"I just wish you were here" you sob, sniffing a little and he chuckles.

Both staying silent for a little longer before Sunghoon speaks again.

"What classes do you have tomorrow?" He asks, something in his voice tells you he's got something in mind.

"Tomorrow's Friday, just one economy lecture" You say softly, your throat feeling rough from crying. "Why?"

"You up to book a flight right now and come to Japan with me for the weekend?" Your heart skips a beat. You can hear the excitement in his voice. "I'll pay it for you, a little treat, you'd stay with me, forget about Jay for a couple of days, clear your mind, yeah?"

"Sunghoon...I—" You knew Sunghoon was rich as hell but it was still hard for you to accept things like this, especially when it's so sudden. Yet your heart is almost breaking right now. "Yes, yes, thank you, Hoon"

You depart from LGA Airport at 10 p.m and arrive in Tokyo around 1 a.m on Saturday. Sunghoon recieves you with open arms and you just crash in them for a hug, a needed one. He takes you to his hotel, lets you take a shower and then you just fall asleep in his bed. He wakes you up around 8 p.m of the same day and chuckles at your state.

"Do you wanna hang out?" He asks. "I just got invited to a place"

You agree with Sunghoon to hang out and get dressed quickly, doing a simple makeup and spending more time than you should on your hair. The place where Sunghoon takes you is not exactly your type of place but you didn't care since you were with him. It was kinda like a bar, drinks, food, music, people dancing. Sunghoon guides you to a specific place where two guys are having a drink. One of them stands up waving, black hair, sharp features. He greets Sunghoon with so much excitement, perfect english and a thick aussie accent.

"Yo man! So long— That's your girl?" The guy lands his eyes on you, big smile, so happy.

"Nah, that's my best friend" Sunghoon chuckles as he introduces you both. "This is Jake, he's the guy that invited me" I nod and smile at Jake.

"Your best friend's so beautiful, huh" He laughs and you all glance at the other guy. Sharp eyes, a cigarrette between his fingers, hands full of Chrome Hearts. He's hot. "This is Riki, High School friend"

Riki nods and extends his hand to Sunghoon and then to you, giving you a nod, lips curling up in a smirk. You guys sit, Sunghoon next to Jake, and you next to Riki. Sunghoon and Jake quickly start catching up, Riki occasionally participating in their conversation. You feel a little akward. Suddenly Riki offers you a cigarrette.

"You smoke?" He asks. Oh. His voice was deep. You quickly shake your heard and he chuckles. "No smoke? damn"

"Nah I don't like that" You say softly while you see him take the cigarrete to his lips, following it with your eyes.

"You drink?" He asks next as he takes a drink to his lips as well.

"A little..." You say. It was true, you didn't really like it that much. He chuckles again, irritating you a little bit. He drinks a little while you get lost in your thoughts.

Somehow your mind flying back to America, to New York, where your boyfriend was. Your boyfriend that hasn't even tried to contact you yet. You chuckle and Riki looks at you as he exhales the smoke off his lungs. You grab his drink from the table and take it to your lips swallowing it all. When you stop, Riki is just looking at you with a smirk, he's not impressed, much less worried, he's excited.

"Damn" Jake says and you both look at him. "You okay?" He asks and you nod.

You look at Sunghoon but he isn't looking at you. You follow his eyes and they're set on a girl, blonde, good curves, at the bar. You tap his leg with your feet under the table and he looks at you. You smirk, doing a motion with your eyebrows. "Go" He bites his lips, indecisive and then leans closer to you.

"Will you be alright?" He asks, still worried about you and you just nod smiling. "Fine, don't drink too much" And with that Sunghoon disappears from the table.

"Oh that bastard" Jake says and stands up looking down at his phone. "I gotta go, it'll be quick" He glances at Riki and warns "Don't do anything stupid"

Riki lifts his arms like he's offended as Jake leaves. His eyes settle on you once you're both alone.

"So...rough day?" He asks looking down at his empty cup. You nod, not really wanting to talk about it. "You're good" He said. "That one was a strong one"

"The fact that I don't drink that much doesn't mean I'm bad at it" You say, loosening a bit with him. You've been akward and seating like a statue for about 20 minutes. He smirks at your response.

"Should we get another round? Two cups this time"

You don't even hesitate. You were totally down for more. Your mind just kept reminding you about your boyfriend, and how heartbroken you felt yesterday when he yelled at you. It's okay to sit down with this handsome stranger and have a drink, right?

About half a bottle later, you lean your head against Riki's shoulder, in a tipsy state. Riki chuckles. "Giving up already, princess?" You giggle biting your lip at the petname and then sit up straight.

"Did I tell you my boyfriend is a toxic bastard?" You murmur looking at him, honesty coming pureley from the effects of the alcohol in your system. Riki doesn't seem surprised or tuned in, he drinks a bit more and smirks.

"Yeah? Why don't you leave him?" He asks leaning back. You take in his appearance for a second, longer than you should. His fit was extravagant, baggy jeans way too baggy, tank top, jacket and a lot of Chrome Hearts accessories. Dude was a Chrome Hearts freak. You blush a little when you look up and realize he was staring at you the same way you were staring at him. "So?"

"What?" You ask, blushy and giggly.

"Your boyfriend"

You bite your lower lip and sigh. "I love him, I can't just..."

Riki turns around a little, irritated, not by you but by your stupid argument. He serves another drink for himself and one more for you. You grab it, no hesitation. Music sounds in the background, Champaign & Sunshine, one of your favorites. The new song makes you excited. You stand up. "Oh my god, I love this song. Riki looks up at you with a smirk on his face. You swallow the rest of your drink and start moving to the music.

Riki presses his cheek against his hand, looking at you while biting his lip. He had to recognize you were probably the most attractive woman he had ever seen. You were smily, and blushy, and adorable, but his heart rate went up whenever you moved slightly towards him and the V line of your top moved lower. He wanted to be decent but every time you laughed softly and he looked down at you, you're breast were on his face. He watches you dance, as you move your hands down your body. The little set you're wearing making your curves more pronounced, Easier for him to imagine how'd be like to hold your waist while you dance.

You laugh when you look down at him and see him just staring. "What are you doing!" You say, yelling over the music. "Dance!" That's all you say before climbing on the table and starting to dabce up there. Riki moves quick, leaning back, finally a little surprised but quick to adopt his teasing demeanor. He smirks looking up. He has a good view of your ass from this angle and if he just moves a little he can actually see your panties. God, he was fighting demonds, he really wanted to be decent.

You look down at him, your heart skipping a beat at how attractive he suddenly looks. I mean, you already thought he was hot but now, now that he's leaning back, now that he's manspreading, legs taking more place than they should, looking up at you with that smirk and those hunter eyes, now he looks extremely attractive. Something in you just snaps, you start moving, slower, seductive, sexy. You wanna impress him, because you like the way he's looking at you. Because no matter what you do, he won't stop, and it's driving you crazy.

Your body heats up, you're not sure if it's the alcohol or how hard you're blushing right now. He takes that damn cigarrette in his mouth, eyes glued on your body as you put up a show for him. Your hands slide up your body, tugging on the edge of your top and you do it, what you never thought you'd do. You remove your top, right there, on the table. No one notices, everyone is past drunk, in their own worlds. And you don't care, you only care about the pair of eyes burning beneath you right now. You look down, Riki shifts in his position, bothered, he's feeling the heat too.

You're wearing a little lacy bra, small, tits pushing out, causing Riki to almost choke on his cigarrette. He knows you're doing it on purpose, he knows the show it's exclusively for him and that he has the VIP access. He bites his lips leaning his head back, groaning softly. He's getting worked up fast. You wave your hand at him, inviting him and that's it, something snaps inside him too and he climbs that table before his brain processed the invitation.

His body glues to yours from behind, hands on your exposed waist, his Chrome Hearts rings colder than ice making contrast with the heat of your skin. His face on your neck, lips against your skin. You can feel his breath tingling next to you ear and it makes you shiver, pushing yourself back against him to feel him. And you dance, moving your ass against his half- hardness. You arch a little, feeling him up, lifting your arms and leaning back against his shoulder as his hands roam your body.

"You're so beautiful, you know?" He murmurs in a low voice that makes you want to take off your panties too.

"Yeah, I get that a lot" You say playfully and he chuckles.

His hands slide up, easily wrapping around each of your breasts and you gasp but don't pull away. His lips press againat the crook of your neck and you shiver gasping again, making him chuckle.

"You're so sensitive" He whispers. "I'm not really doing much"

୨ৎ

You stumble against Riki's body as both of you exit the place from behind, he holds your wasit, kissing your neck while walking. He devours your neck, wet kisses mixed with bites. You moan softly, the alcohol getting the worst out of both of you. Riki slides down his hands, gripping your ass. You moan softly as he presses you against the brick wall of the parking lot.

"Fuck" He whispers.

You moan softly, wrapping your arms around his neck while holding your top in one of your hands. He chuckles while he continues to taste your neck. He pulls back smirking, admiring your flushed face and then leans down for a kiss. His lips crash with yours in a passionate kiss. Intensity of a huracane. He bites down on your lower lip, his tongue eager to explore your mouth. You moan softly and pull back. Suddenly feeling aware of your actions.

"No— No, I have a boyfriend" You say worriedly but Riki buries his face in your neck, kissing it deliciously, making your knees weak.

"Is he here?" He asks between kisses. "I don't see him"

His hand slides under you shorts, quickly reaching your pussy, feeling your wetness through the fabric of your panties.

"You're so wet" He whispers. "And I bet it's not for him?"

You moan softly, fisting Riki's jacket. His fingers move quick, pulling your panties to the side. Once you feel his fingers and the cold of his rings directly on your skin it's like you lose yourself. You moan again, his fingers teasing your entrance. Riki's breath becomes heavier, and he rests his face on his arm against the wall behind you.

"That's it, see? I'm making you feel so good, aren't I?" He says and chuckles seeing how you clinge to him while he fingers you slowly. "Want me to stop?"

"No– Please" You say leaning back your head. "Don't stop"

Riki's fingers tease your entrance a little, tips sliding in and out before finally shoving his fingers entirely in. You moan clinging to his jacket and he buries his face in your neck again, resting it there. His fingers move with precision, he knows what he's doing. He curls his fingers inside hitting your sweet spot and you hold onto him like your life depends on it.

From afar you two look like a couple having a cute moment, hugging each other. But no one can see his hand shoved in your shorts and his fingers working you like you've never been worked before.

Riki can feel your walls squeezing his fingers and the wetness spreading to the palm of his hand.

"Fuck, you're so wet" He says in a husky voice. "Come for me, princess"

You shake in his arms and he presses you against the wall a little while covering your mouth when you finally come undone. He works you through your orgasm until you've calmed down, then he removes his hand and holds you for a little longer whike kissing your neck.

"You okay?" He asks, licking your shoulder and you nod, too satisfied to even talk.

୨ৎ

Oh that bricks wall wasn't the end of it, once you two got in his car and Riki started driving, things just got even more heated and messier. You're next to him, legs open, panties gone, squirming and whining while his fingers sink in your pussy over and over again in every red light.

"Riki" You moan softly and he chuckles removing his hand again once the light turns green. You protest and he bites his lips.

"You really cannot wait" He says turning right and driving into a building's parking.

"What?" You protest again at his words but he's already leaning for a kiss.

His lips collide with yours with more intensity. Something about Riki is that he gets more and more excited and every new kiss becomes more dirty. His tongue licks your lower lip while grabbing your waist and pulling you into his lap. You can smell the alcohol and cigarrettes in his breathe and it somehow just turns you on in a nasty way. He buries his face in your neck, hands on your waist. You're only wearing your bra by now.

"You look so pretty like this" He says in a husky voice. "All naked in my lap"

You moan softly leaning your head back. This man hasn't stopped giving you compliments since you two escaped from that bar without telling Sunghoon or Jake. His compliments sound sweet, he isn't trying to be nasty yet.

"Where are we?" You ask softly and he pulls back smirking at you with messy hair.

"My building" He says breathy.

You tilt your head, leaning for a short kiss. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you flush against him and groaning into the kiss. You bury your face in his neck and start nibbling and licking. Riki groans again, shifting in his seat and you can feel his cock straning against the fabric of his pants. Your hands slide down his body and up again only so you can remove his jacket.

Riki groans, rolling up his hips. You moan softly sliding down your hands until your fingers reach his belt. Your hands move quick. Riki smirks, seeing the change in your demeanor. You were holding back until now, torn between your loyalty to Jay and your attraction towards Riki, whose last name you don't even know but thinking of Jay only makes you want to throw up every time. Riki helps you with his pants, his hard cock springing free right in front of you.

Riki gasps, looking down and hisses when your hand wraps around it. You smirk biting your lip and squeeze it a bit before moving your hand slowly. It's already leaking pre-cum so it's easy for you to move your hand. Riki holds your hips and leans back his head groaning and gasping.

"Oh fuck— Oh don't stop" He says between moans.

You increase the speed of your hand and lean forward to attack his neck with bites and hickeys. Riki moans, his fingers digging in your hips.

"That's it, Oh– don't stop, you're doing so good" He whispers looking at you with hooded eyes. You bite your lip feeling his hands move to your back to finally unhook your bra, removing the last piece of clothing on your body. You moan softly when his hands wrap around your breasts and aqueeze them.

"God, you're so perfect" He whispers and you moan again. "Fuck, I want you to ride me"

You stop for a second looking at him and he smirks pulling your hips towards him. It's quick, one second your hands were on him and in a blink his cock was on your entrance. He pushes you down slowly and you just moan hiding in his shoulder.

"You're so wet" He whispers breathy. "So tight"

You moan sharply when he bottoms up an lean against his chest. He doesn't give you time to adjust, his hips snap, moving upwards at a fast rythm while you hold onto him. You're sure your moans are heard in the entire parking lot and you don't really care right now. You're only thinking of the way Riki's cock is filling you up. He thrusts up into you, making you moan harder with each one.

He stops for a second and you take over, moving your hips in circles, Riki groans letting you move by yourself. You moan again bouncing a little until he starts moving again, pressing you against the wheel and thursting up into you again at a diabolical rythm.

He grabs your breasts again, squeezing them and then leans to take one of your nipples into his mouth. The moans and the sound of his cock going in and out of you echo inside the car. You can feel your orgasm building up and he can feel your walls squeezing his cock impossibly.

"Oh, fuck—" He groans against your chest, his thrust becoming erratic.

You moan louder, your head leaning back as you feel it coming. It's hard, almost leaving you with no breath, your legs shake violently and your nails dig in his shoulders. You coming on his cock was his last straw. He thrusts up two or three more times before pulling you up, grabbing his cock and fisting it quickly until every drop of his cum has splashed over his own clothes and your bare stomach and chest.

୨ৎ

The night didn't end in the car, once you two managed to get to his penthouse—yes, gis penthouse—without getting caught, Riki probably fucked your soul out. He fucked you against the kitchen counter first, then you two somehow fell on the couch, where he ate you out. His tongue moved so perfectly that you came undone in seconds. Then, you ended up in his room, fucking again like there's no tomorrow. He probably made you diacover new positions because the way this man found a new angle every time to deatroy your insides was insane.

Something is for sure, you've never had such a crazy night in your life. No, Jay does not fuck like this.

You sigh against the pillow. Not a single inch of guilt in your body. Riki groans next to you, his arm covering his eyes. It's been about 30 minutes since the last round. You stir in his bed and manage to speak.

"Are you tired?" You ask, very innocent question.

Riki chuckles. "You wanna go again?"

"Oh– That's not what I meant"

"I can go again if you want to, princess" He affirms and smirks looking at you.

"Where do you get that energy from, oh my god" You laugh softly. By now, you're both sober.

"Uhm...I'm young?" He laughs too and turns to his side.

"Young and rich, I see" You say looking around. "Fancy place."

He chuckles pulling closer to you, his fingers on your chin while leaning for a kiss. "You're welcomed whenever you wanna forget about that asshole"

You bite your lip rolling your eyes. "I'm gonna break up with him when I get back to America"

Riki smirks. "Yeah?" You nod looking at his lips shortly. "That's good" He whispers. "He doesn't deserve those skills of yours"

You chuckle as he buries his face in your neck, kissing and nibbling.

"I can't believe I'm in a stranger's penthouse right now" You laugh softly. "I don't even know your last name"

"Nishimura." Riki says pulling back. "Nishimura Riki"

Gosh, even his last name is perfectly moanable.

"Nishimura? Like the clothing brand?" You say tilting your head and he chuckles.

"Where do you think the penthouse came from?"

"No way" You say but you're not really that interested, just shocked that you're really in Nishimura's bed right now. "Damn"

Riki kisses your collarbones. "Impressed?"

"A little" You respond.

"Enough to make you wanna stay 'til morning?" He asks, his kisses getting a little hungrier.

"Mmh is that an invitation?" You ask tangling your fingers in his hair. "I'll have to accept it, would be rude to say no"

Riki smirks as he settles between your legs and continues to devour you whole.

© yunzyoi 2025. all rights reserved.

[topoillogical]

Girl math 😍

[youthguk]

Entropy | jjk (m) | one-shot

College AU | Fuckboy Jungkook x Physics Student Y/N 

“The universe tends toward chaos.” You thought that only applied to black holes and entropy equations — not boys with lip rings and midnight eyes. You were wrong. 

genre: smut, one-shot, college AU, fuckboy!jungkook, explicit sexual content, strong language, alcohol consumption, casual hookup, reader is sexually inexperienced but very willing, Jungkook is fully feral and obsessed

Wc: 10k

author's note: your feedback means the world to me. 🖤

The second law of thermodynamics states that the universe naturally tends toward disorder. That every system, left to its own devices, will eventually fall apart.

You never thought it would apply to people, but by the third week of finals season, everything begins to decay.

Not in any spectacular, cinematic way—no dramatic breakdowns in the hallway or rain-soaked monologues—but in smaller, quieter disintegrations. You begin to lose the will to care whether your iced coffee is more milk than caffeine. Your drawers become a graveyard of crumpled hoodies and socks that don’t match. Your planner, once color-coded with obsessive devotion, now lies somewhere under your bed, abandoned and blank.

Entropy, you think. The tendency of systems to slide into disorder. You remember the diagram from second-year thermodynamics: the universe’s cruel, inevitable drift toward chaos. You’d once found peace in it. A kind of comfort, knowing it wasn’t your fault when things fell apart. It was just nature.

These days, you’re not so sure. You stand in front of the mirror in your dorm’s bathroom, toothbrush hanging from the corner of your mouth, hair piled into a loose, too-honest bun that makes your ears look uneven. You’ve been wearing the same oversized MIT hoodie for three days straight. Not because it means anything to you—you didn’t even apply there—but because it smells like clean laundry and covers the fact that your bra is somewhere inside a laundry basket you no longer have the energy to dig through.

You look exhausted. Not dramatically so, but in the way that makes people hesitate before asking you for anything. You’ve started getting that look in the lab, in lectures, even from your professors: the quiet, pitying glance that says, You’re doing too much, and it’s starting to show. And still, you keep doing it.

Physics doesn’t reward soft emotions. It rewards answers. You know how to calculate momentum, how to model projectile motion, how to explain wave-particle duality to a room full of distracted undergrads—but you don’t know how to mourn something that was never truly yours. You don’t know how to feel cleanly. You only know how to function.

You open the bathroom cabinet, close it again, stare blankly at your own reflection. Your eyes are ringed in fatigue. Your lips are chapped. Your last kiss was over a month ago and didn’t even taste like goodbye.

You don’t miss him. Not really. He was nice. Predictable. Gentle. He always held your hand like he was asking permission. But the moment he ended it—voice calm, like he was discussing his meal plan—you didn’t feel heartbreak. You felt relief.

And maybe that’s worse. Your phone buzzes on the sink. You glance down and see Hyeri’s name.

Hyeri: *I swear to god if you ghost me I’m breaking into your room.*Hyeri: *Put on a dress. He’s throwing a party.*You: *Who.*Hyeri: *Jeon fucking Jungkook.*You: No thanks.

Your thumb hovers over the keyboard.

There it is—that name again. A name that lives in the background of your life like ambient noise. Jeon Jungkook: a boy you’ve never actually spoken to, but whose existence seems to follow you in ways you can’t explain. Shared classes. Group projects. Dorm parties where he arrived shirtless and left with a girl on his arm. Mutual friends who describe him with exasperated fondness. A smirk that belongs on someone far less academically average.

You’ve never had a reason to care about him. Not really. Except for that one night at the start of second year, when you sat across from him at a friend-of-a-friend’s birthday and watched him lick whipped cream off his thumb while explaining something about SEO strategy. You’d gone home that night and googled what the hell SEO actually was.

You’d forgotten about him after that. Or tried to.

Until your best friend started playing matchmaker in group chats you weren’t in. Until the campus gossip pages kept posting blurry photos of his arms. Until his name started appearing in conversations he wasn’t even part of, and every girl said the same thing:

Jeon Jungkook fucks like it’s a contact sport.

For a brief moment, you let yourself imagine what it would feel like to be tackled by him, but quickly buried that thought beneath a mountain of coursework, equations, and meticulously organized lab notes - all those neat, contained systems that made sense.

Hyeri: Come. Please. One drink. One dance. You’re not allowed to rot in that hoodie forever.

Chewing your lip, you glance from the worn hoodie to your reflection, then finally to the door. Maybe this isn't about Jungkook, or even your ex - maybe it's simply time to feel something real before summer consumes what's left of you. With a quiet sigh, you make your decision.

You: Fine. But if it’s weird, I’m faking a panic attack and leaving.

✧.*✧.*✧.*✧.*✧.✧.

You don’t know when the universe started to unravel.Maybe it was the breakup. Maybe it was that lab partner who kept messing up your simulations. Maybe it was all the times you sat through lectures with tears threatening at the corners of your eyes and no one noticing, not even once. But tonight, it feels like something bigger. Like the universe itself has decided to press its thumb against your spine and push.

Entropy unfolds around you like a slow dance. The universe's natural descent into disorder feels inevitable tonight as you stand before the mirror, half-heartedly curling your lashes. Mascara won't fix the exhaustion in your eyes, won't erase the weeks you've spent hiding from your reflection. You barely recognize the person staring back at you anymore.

Hyeri’s outside your door, already half-drunk, yelling through the crack like she owns the world. “If you’re not out in five minutes, I’m breaking in and dressing you myself!”

You shout back a profanity, then drop your towel and step into the dress she brought you. It wasn’t made for physics students. That much is clear. It’s navy satin, too short to be safe and too tight to be responsible. The neckline dips like a threat, the fabric clings like it knows something you don’t. You smooth it down your sides, catching your reflection by accident — and then not looking away.

Your hair’s still wet from the world’s fastest shower. You didn’t bother with foundation. Just a bit of liner, a swipe of something sheer on your lips. You look like someone you don’t quite know. Someone who might dance. Someone who might say yes to something reckless. The zipper sticks halfway up your back, and when you reach to fix it, a strand of hair slips free and falls across your face. You look messy. Unpolished. A little chaotic.

A laugh escapes your lips as you realize that in your disheveled state, you've finally aligned with the universe's natural tendency toward chaos.

There’s a knock at the door. “I swear to god, Y/N—”

You open it before she can finish, and Hyeri shuts up mid-rant.

“Holy shit,” she breathes.

You grab your bag. “Don’t say anything.”

“Okay,” she says, eyes wide, “but if Jungkook doesn’t try to kiss you tonight, I’m checking him for a concussion.”

You roll your eyes, but your stomach flutters with a newfound awareness - the whisper of satin against skin, the cool night air dancing across your thighs.

Following Hyeri through the dimly lit stairwell and into the waiting Uber, you can't help but notice how different the city feels tonight. Summer lingers in the air, heavy with possibility, as if the universe itself is contemplating what kind of chaos to unleash. For once, you're ready to embrace whatever comes.

✧.*✧.*✧.*✧.*✧.✧.

You smell the party before you hear it. It’s not unpleasant — not the kind of sour, suffocating stink of undergrad dorm parties you’ve long since grown out of. No, this one smells like summer. Like too-sweet alcohol and chlorine and night air that clings to bare shoulders. There’s music, loud enough to rattle the pavement beneath your heels, bass bleeding through windows too big to hide the chaos inside.

Jungkook’s house is exactly what you’d expect from a rich boy with too many friends and too little restraint. Modern, massive, perched on a hill just far enough from campus to feel forbidden. The front door’s already wide open. People flow in and out like blood through a vein. Someone’s laughing on the porch. Someone else is making out against the railing. You pause before going in.

Hyeri’s already halfway up the steps, turning back when she notices you hesitate. “Don’t look like you’re here to study. Shoulders back. Chin up. You look hot as hell.”

You follow her inside. The temperature rises immediately. The music hits your chest in waves, something fast and rhythmic that people pretend they know the words to. There’s a sheen of sweat on everyone’s skin, cups half-empty and already sticky with fingerprints. Lights pulse in warm golds and deep reds, designed to make everyone look better than they are.

You keep your eyes low at first, weaving through bodies, careful not to bump into anyone. You’re not used to being seen. Not like this. Not in something this tight, this short. You feel the way the fabric pulls across your hips, how it shifts with each step. You’re suddenly aware of the line of your thighs, the exposed stretch of your back.

The weight of someone's stare draws your attention upward, and there he stands: Jeon Jungkook, watching you with deliberate intensity.

Slouched on the arm of an expensive couch, drink in one hand, tattooed fingers curled around plastic like they’ve never had to hold anything heavier. He’s wearing a black button-up — open halfway down his chest, sleeves rolled to his elbows — and a pair of dark jeans that might as well be a crime. His lip ring catches the light when he smirks at something one of his friends says, and his head tilts just slightly — because he’s looking at you.

You almost miss it, the way the smirk dies and reforms into something slower. Sharper. His gaze lingers, dips — not in a crude, hungry way, but in a way that makes you feel scanned. Like he’s logging every inch of skin, every tilt of your body, every second you hold eye contact.

His expression remains neutral as his gaze lingers, drinking in every detail of your presence. The intensity of his stare follows you across the room as Hyeri pulls you toward the kitchen, chattering about shots and mixers while reminding you to "hydrate between drinks, you nerd." Even through the press of bodies and pulsing music, you can feel the weight of his attention like a physical touch.

The kitchen is a chaotic display of solo cups and liquor bottles, with fruit swimming in something that promises tomorrow's regret. You grab a drink more for something to occupy your hands than anything else, the cold plastic a flimsy shield as cherry and vodka touch your lips.

When Hyeri tugs at your hand with an excited "Come dance!", you pause. The familiar heat of his gaze draws your attention back across the room. He's standing now, drink still in hand, and when your eyes meet, his lips curve into a smile that's neither cocky nor practiced. It's something more dangerous - slow, curious, possessive - as if he's already seen how this night ends. As if the universe itself has chosen its preferred form of chaos.

✧.*✧.*✧.*✧.*✧.✧.

You lose Hyeri somewhere between the kitchen and the music.

She disappears into the haze of bodies with the kind of confidence you’ve never been able to fake—throwing her arms around someone you don’t recognize, laughing too loudly, swaying like she’s part of the beat itself. The living room’s been cleared just enough to form a makeshift dance floor, though calling it that feels generous. It’s a swarm. Sweaty, uncoordinated, pulsing with bass and alcohol.

You hover at the edge for a moment, half-expecting yourself to turn back. But your feet don’t move. You feel warm. Lightheaded. A little less real with every second. And you know, before you even look again, that he’s still there.

He doesn’t approach like he’s chasing something. He approaches like he’s already caught it.

You feel him before you see him—something magnetic pulling at the corner of your awareness. Then you turn your head, and he’s suddenly beside you, crowding your space without brushing you once. His shirt clings to the lines of his chest. His breath smells faintly of whiskey and mint.

“Didn’t know physics majors danced,” he murmurs, not loud but close enough that the words slide against your neck.

You don’t flinch. “Didn’t know business majors could form full sentences.”

That earns a laugh. Low. A little sharp. He doesn’t look away. The song shifts, something slower, bass-heavy, almost liquid in the way it pours over the crowd. His hand doesn’t touch you—not yet—but you feel his presence pressing in, daring you to move first.

“You wanna?” he asks, a single word softened by the tilt of his mouth. It’s not polite. Not romantic. But his tone says he already knows the answer.

You shouldn't dance with him, but nothing about tonight has followed any semblance of reason. When you nod, he steps behind you, eliminating all space between your bodies. His hands find your hips with casual precision, thumbs brushing the exposed skin between your dress and thighs - not quite inappropriate, but enough to make your breath catch and spine straighten.

You let the music guide your movements, following pure instinct rather than practiced steps. The weight of his hands sets your rhythm, his grip subtle yet firm as heat radiates from his chest against your back. He stays silent, letting his touch speak volumes - possessive, intentional, marking.

When his lips graze your ear, he murmurs, "You're not what I expected."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Your voice emerges unfamiliar - soft, low, wrapped in heat.

“I don’t know,” he says. “You just… move like you’ve been pretending not to want this.”

You lean back—not into him, not quite. Just enough to let your head fall against his shoulder, enough for your cheek to brush the edge of his jaw.

“Maybe I have,” you whisper.

That makes him exhale through his nose, a near-silent sound of disbelief.One of his hands slides lower, fingers dragging down the side of your thigh through your dress, subtle under the colored lights. You don’t stop him. Don’t even flinch. You’re past that now—past logic, past caution. You gave up control the second you walked through the door. Your hips roll against his, slow, testing. He curses under his breath.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he mutters.

You smile, dizzy with the rush of power you didn’t know you had. “Good.”

The beat slows again. He doesn’t move. Neither do you. You're suspended there, in the strobe-flecked dark, wrapped in the tension of something neither of you is ready to name. You can feel the way his body hardens against yours. The restraint in the way he keeps his hands from wandering farther. The storm gathering behind his eyes.

And then someone spills a drink, somewhere close, and the moment fractures just enough for you to step away.

You walk toward the back door without a word. Toward the warm night air, toward the sound of water, toward the next inevitable collapse in this universe gone fully to chaos.

Behind you, Jungkook follows.

The patio is cooler, but it doesn’t help. Not really.

You step out into the night air with your plastic cup still clutched in your hand, the condensation sliding between your fingers. The hem of your dress clings to the backs of your thighs, slick with sweat and static, and your pulse hasn’t slowed since the dance floor. You try to blame it on the alcohol. On the heat. On the music still throbbing behind you.

Not on him. You don’t dare glance behind you. You don’t have to. You already know he’s there. The pool glows in blue and gold, lights flickering beneath the surface like someone bottled the stars and poured them into water. A few people are floating lazily, limbs draped over inflatable chairs, laughter drifting up like smoke. The jacuzzi hums beside it, steam rising from its surface, soft and almost cinematic. Someone’s speaker plays a slower song now—trance-like, sensual, too low to sing along to.

And there he is again. He emerges from the shadows like the night belongs to him. Still shirtless, only now his skin shines with a sheen of sweat. His boxers ride low on his hips, exposing just enough to make your mouth dry. His chest is cut, stomach taut, tattoos black against golden skin. A towel slung over one shoulder. That stupid, crooked grin.

“You look hot,” he says. His tone is casual, but his eyes aren’t. They’re scanning every inch of you, unhurried. “You should cool off.”

You take a slow sip from your drink. “What, in there?”

He nods toward the jacuzzi. “It’s basically mandatory.”

You raise a brow. “I don’t have a swimsuit.”

Neither does he, clearly. He steps closer anyway. “Neither do I.”

Before you can respond, Hyeri appears beside you with a shriek, nearly stumbling as she tugs off her dress in one motion. Her red bra and matching lace panties flash under the porch lights like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Come onnnn,” she whines, laughing, already halfway into the water. “It’s just underwear! No one cares!”

“I care,” you mutter, gripping the hem of your dress like it’s the last thing tethering you to reality.

“Then stop being so uptight,” she says—and with no warning, she shoves you forward.

You stumble with a yelp. The cup flies from your hand. Your knees buckle as hot water surrounds you, silk dragging against your skin, heavy and clinging. You surface gasping, soaked from head to toe, hair plastered to your forehead.

“Hyeri!” you snap, voice shrill, but she’s laughing too hard to answer.

Someone whistles. Someone else claps. Jungkook’s smirking as he lowers himself in across from you, water sloshing up over his chest. He leans back, spreads his arms wide across the edge, like this is his throne and you’ve just been delivered to it.

And your dress—god, your dress. The satin is ruined. It sticks to your stomach, your thighs, your chest. The neckline’s slipped almost indecently low, and you know without looking that the fabric is nearly see-through now, the curve of your bra showing underneath. You tug at it beneath the surface, cheeks flaming.

“It’s not that kind of party,” you mutter, voice tight.

But he’s already watching you like it is. “You’re overdressed.”

You shoot him a look. “Not anymore.”

He smiles, slow and lazy, and leans closer. “Then lose it.”

You hesitate. But the water is warm, the music hazy, the alcohol swimming in your bloodstream like a tide. And your dress is clinging like second skin, dragging with every breath. You sigh. Slide the straps off your shoulders. Shimmy out of the fabric under the surface until it floats around you like a drowning petal. You drape it over the side without ceremony.

Now it’s just you in your bra and underwear. Bare legs. Wet skin. Nothing left to hide behind. And he’s watching you like he wants to ruin you with just his eyes.

Conversation rises around you—someone retells a wild hookup story, someone else splashes a drink over the jets—but none of it registers. You can feel Jungkook's thigh brushing yours beneath the water. His hand finds your knee. Slides just above it.

You breathe in. Let it happen. The moment holds like that. Suspended. Like a physics problem with no solution—just two bodies and friction and heat, variables with too much potential energy, waiting to snap.

Then someone splashes. Water flies up into your face, and you blink hard, flinching.

“Shit,” you mumble, rubbing your eye. Your contact is out of place—stinging, burning, blurring your vision.

"Everything okay?" Jungkook's voice softens with concern as he moves closer.

"Just got something in my eye," you manage, blinking rapidly.

He pulls himself out of the water in one fluid motion, muscles glistening as he reaches for a towel. "Bathroom's inside - I've got eyedrops upstairs. Plus something dry you can change into."

The offer hangs between you. Water drips from his hair down his neck, his soaked boxers clinging to his frame as he extends his hand. You pause, just for a moment, before accepting both his help and what it implies.

The hallway is quiet—eerily so after the chaos of the party below. The music becomes nothing but a muffled hum, thudding through the floorboards as if the house is holding its breath with you. Water drips from your hair to your bare shoulders, your bra clinging uncomfortably to your skin beneath the oversized towel Jungkook threw over you. The soaked fabric of your underwear sticks between your thighs as you walk, your steps squelching against the hardwood.

He walks just ahead, shirtless and dripping, his boxers clinging to every muscle of his thighs. His back is broad, his tattooed arm flexing as he opens a door on the left, pushing it open with casual ease.

“Bathroom,” he says, flicking on the light. “Eyedrops are in the cabinet.”

You step inside. The air is cool, the tile colder beneath your feet. A dim light above the mirror flickers before settling into a soft glow. You avoid looking at yourself in the mirror—you already know you look like something undone. Makeup smudged. Hair clumped into wet strands. Skin flushed from heat and embarrassment and him.

You open the cabinet, find the eyedrops instantly. Your fingers tremble as you tip your chin back, blinking the liquid in. The sting fades slowly.

When you lower your gaze, he’s leaning in the doorway, shoulder against the frame, arms crossed over his chest. He doesn’t speak. Just watches. Like he’s cataloging every movement, every breath, every second you give him.

You clear your throat. “Thanks.”

He nods. “Didn’t want your eye falling out on my watch.”

You laugh, quiet. “So thoughtful.”

“I am,” he says, straightening. He steps toward you, slow. Measured. “You should let me show you.”

Your pulse skips. “Show me what?”

His eyes dip. “How thoughtful I can be.”

You roll your eyes, but it’s weak. Your body’s already reacting, legs stiffening slightly, breath catching when he stops in front of you, close enough that the heat of his skin warms yours. The water still dripping from his hair catches the light.

“You’re wet,” he murmurs, glancing down.

“Sharp observation.”

He hums. “Not just from the jacuzzi, I think.”

Your eyes snap up. His are burning now—darker, lower, slow-burning coal beneath thick lashes. His voice dips.

“You gonna let me dry you off?”

You don’t answer.

He leans in, lips brushing your ear. “Or should I make you wetter first?”

Your knees threaten to give out.

He steps back before you can respond, smirking like he already knows he’s winning. “Come on,” he says, holding out his hand. “I’ll give you something dry to wear.”

You hesitate. You shouldn’t. You know what this is. But you take his hand anyway.

The bedroom is dim, lit only by a lamp in the corner and the moonlight spilling through half-closed blinds. The air is warmer here. Softer. And everything smells like him—spice, skin, shampoo. The bed is rumpled. There’s a hoodie thrown over a chair, a single black ring on the nightstand, and a half-empty glass of water.

You stand awkwardly at the edge of the room, arms crossed tightly over the towel. He crosses to a dresser, pulls out a black T-shirt and a pair of soft-looking sweatpants, both oversized. He tosses them to the bed and turns to face you.

“You can change here,” he says. “I’ll be good.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You don’t even believe that.”

He grins. “No. But I like hearing you say it.”

You glance at the clothes, then at him—and slowly, deliberately, your fingers move. The towel slips from your grasp, pooling at your feet. The air changes, caught between breath and silence—suspended, reverent.

His eyes drag down your body in a slow, devastating sweep. Your wet bra clings to your chest, nipples clearly visible beneath the sheer fabric. Your underwear is nearly transparent, stretched taut across your hips, the waistband twisted from the way you shifted under the water. Your skin is flushed, dotted with goosebumps. You don’t cover yourself.

He doesn’t move. For a moment, he just stares—mouth parted, throat working as he swallows hard. His cock twitches in his boxers, and the fabric can no longer hide it.

You speak first.“Thought you were gonna be good.”

His gaze lifts—slow, hungry. His voice is hoarse when he answers. “I lied.”

He sits on the bed, legs spread wide, his cock hard and obvious beneath the wet fabric. He leans back on his hands and looks at you like he already owns you. “Come here.”

You move towards him with slow, measured steps, each movement drawing his gaze along the curves of your body. Your soaked bra clings to your skin as you approach, and when you finally stop before him, his exhale is strained with barely contained desire.

He tilts his head. “Can I touch you now?”

You nod. It’s barely a breath.

He reaches forward, hands sliding up the backs of your thighs, then over your hips, thumbs brushing the waistband of your underwear.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he murmurs, eyes flicking up. “You don’t even know.”

“I think I do,” you whisper.

And he grins, wild and crooked and starved. “Good girl.”

His eyes are on your mouth when you breathe.

“Come here,” he says again, voice husky, deeper than it was downstairs. There’s no playfulness in it anymore. Just want.

You step forward, letting your knees brush the outside of his. He doesn’t move. Then, slowly, deliberately, you lift one leg over his thigh, then the other, and lower yourself into his lap.

The second your hips meet his, you feel it — the hard line of his cock pressing against the thin cotton of your panties. You both freeze. His breath stutters, jaw flexing as his fingers curl into the sheets beside him. He looks up at you like you’ve just ruined him.

“You feel that?” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. “That’s what you do to me.”

Your cheeks burn, but you don’t look away.

He reaches for your waist, fingers spreading wide as he guides you gently — forward, then back. The friction is slow. Torturous. His cock slides along the soaked crotch of your panties with every pass, dragging over your clit in a way that makes your thighs twitch.

“You’re soaked,” he whispers, like it’s a confession. “You’ve been wet since the dance, haven’t you?”

You open your mouth to argue, but it comes out a moan instead.

His hands roam. Over your waist, your ribs, thumbs grazing the undercurve of your breasts. He doesn’t touch your nipples — not yet. He’s savoring. Mapping you like something rare and sacred. Your fingers dig into his shoulders for balance, and he lets his head fall forward, lips grazing the slope of your neck.

“You smell like heat,” he murmurs, mouth brushing your pulse. “Like you’re meant to be fucked.”

The air leaves your lungs in one sharp exhale. He sucks at your throat once — soft, then harder — enough to leave a mark. Your hips grind down harder by accident, and he groans into your skin.

“God, baby,” he breathes, voice crumbling, “I want you to ride me just like this. Slow. Fuck—just like that.”

You drag your hips again, letting your soaked panties rub over his cock, and his fingers dig into your hips hard enough to bruise.

“You like that?” you whisper, breath shaking.

He looks up at you, hair falling into his eyes, and smiles like the devil.

“You have no idea.”

He rolls his hips up into yours once, sharply. You gasp.

“Wanna feel you come on me like this,” he mutters, pressing a kiss beneath your jaw. “Make a mess all over my lap. Let me ruin these pretty little panties you wore just for me.”

You whimper. His cock pulses beneath you, hot and thick and aching against your soaked center.

“Say you want it,” he whispers. “Say you want me to fuck you.”

“I want it,” you gasp, breathless. “Jungkook—please…”

And he groans, deep and raw.

“I’m gonna take my fucking time with you.”

You don’t realize how hard you’re breathing until he stills you.

His hands slide beneath your thighs, gripping them firmly, and with a strength that shouldn’t feel as gentle as it does, he lifts you. You gasp as he lays you back across the bed, your legs draped over the edge, your hair fanning against the pillows like you were made to be framed like this—bare and gasping beneath his stare.

He follows you down slowly. Drops to his knees like it's instinct. Not cocky. Not rushed. Like he’s been waiting to kneel here since the second he saw you. Your thighs tremble as he presses them open, fingers leaving faint imprints against your skin. He slides his palms under your knees, pushing them farther apart, and for a second, he just looks at you. At the damp curve of your panties, the way the fabric clings, the way you shift slightly under his stare like the heat between your legs has turned unbearable.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he breathes.

His hands grip the waistband of your panties, and you lift your hips without thinking. He peels them down slowly, watching them drag over your skin like he wants to memorize every inch. When they reach your ankles, he tosses them somewhere behind him—but his eyes never leave you. Then he leans in.

The first touch of his tongue is almost too soft to process. Just the tip, a teasing flick across your clit that makes your entire body jolt. You clutch at the sheets, your back arching when he does it again—firmer this time. He groans the second he tastes you.

“God, you taste so fucking good,” he murmurs, dragging his tongue from your entrance all the way up. “How the fuck do you taste like this?”

Your thighs twitch. He presses his palms against them to keep you open, steady, and lowers his mouth again.

This time, it’s not soft. His tongue laps at you with purpose, flattening against your clit in slow, deliberate strokes that make your legs tense and your fingers curl. He moans against you like he’s the one being pleasured, and the vibrations send shocks through your entire body.

You cry out. It’s instinctual—your hips trying to buck, your hand flying to his hair. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t let you run. He wraps an arm around your thigh, holds you down, and slips two fingers inside you without warning. Your moan is wrecked.

The stretch, the heat, the way his tongue moves faster now—circling, pressing, teasing just to the edge of pain. It’s too much. Not enough. Everything. Your head falls back against the mattress.

“Jungkook—” It’s a whimper, broken. “Oh my god…”

He groans again, tongue working faster, fingers curling inside you like he knows exactly where to find you, exactly how to press until you’re gasping like you’re drowning.

“That’s it,” he rasps against you. “Fuck, baby… let me feel you come on my mouth. Right here. Come for me.”

The pressure builds with each movement of his tongue, your body trembling on the edge as pleasure coils tight and hot within you. When release finally comes, it hits you like a wave — back arching, thighs shaking, lips parting in a cry you can’t control. You feel yourself pulse around his fingers, your orgasm ripping through you in hot, wet pulses that make you sob his name.

He groans low against you and keeps going, tongue flicking as your body shudders, milking every second out of it, chasing every last twitch of pleasure until your hips collapse and your legs fall open. He finally pulls back, face glistening, lips swollen, pupils blown. You’re panting and he stares at you like he’s just won a war. And then—without giving you a second to recover—he grips your thighs and says, voice rough, “Get up.”

You blink, dizzy. “Wha—”

“Mirror,” he says. “Now.”

You’re still catching your breath when he grabs your wrist. Not harshly. Not with force. Just enough pressure to tell you you’re not going anywhere. Your skin is hot, oversensitive, your thighs still twitching, and he’s already pulling you upright like he hasn’t just made you come with nothing but his mouth and two fingers. You follow, unsteady on your feet, your knees weak. Your bra is twisted around your chest, half-askew. Your hair’s stuck to your neck. You feel undone.

And he’s still hard. You catch a glimpse of it as he steps in behind you — the thick outline of his cock straining against the wet cotton of his boxers. You must’ve soaked through his lap earlier, because the front of them is completely dark, clinging to every inch of him. Your throat goes dry.

“Come here,” he murmurs, breath hot against your ear, already steering you toward the mirror in the corner of his room. Full-length. Gold-rimmed. Slightly fogged at the edges from the humidity of your bodies.

“I can’t—” you start, still dazed, and his hand cups your jaw from behind.

“You can,” he says, soft but firm. “You’re not done. Not yet.”

He stops you just a step in front of the mirror.

“Look,” he tells you. His voice is low, breathless now. “Look at yourself.”

You do and the girl in the reflection is… not you. Her lips are swollen. Her bra half-off. Her thighs gleaming. Her chest rising and falling like she’s been running for hours. You can see Jungkook’s frame behind you—tall, shirtless, flushed—his arm reaching around your waist, the other pressing flat against your lower back.

Then his hand slides down. Over your stomach. Your panties are gone. You’re bare for him, wet and pulsing and still aching from before. His fingers dip between your legs again.

You gasp. Your head drops forward—but his voice sharpens, right against your ear.

“No. Eyes up. Watch.”

You do. You watch the way your mouth falls open when two fingers slip back inside you, slow and deep. Watch the way your body rocks forward slightly, forced to brace against the glass as he curls them perfectly, his palm dragging over your clit just enough to make your knees buckle.

He wraps his other arm around your waist to keep you upright.

“Good girl,” he whispers, lips brushing your neck.

Your hips twitch. The angle is too perfect. Too much. Every thrust of his fingers sends you crashing forward against your reflection, breath fogging the glass, lips parting with every ragged moan.

“Look how pretty you are when you fall apart,” he murmurs. “You see that?”

You nod, barely. He pumps his fingers harder. Deeper. You feel them hit that spot again, and your entire body shudders. His hips are pressed to your ass now, his cock grinding against your skin with every movement, leaking through his boxers as he fingers you mercilessly.

“You like being watched?” he growls, voice breaking. “Like seeing yourself like this?”

You whimper. “Yes…”

“You wanna come again, don’t you?” His fingers slam into you harder now, knuckles wet, your slick echoing obscenely in the quiet. “You wanna do it while you’re looking me in the eye?”

You lift your head and meet his gaze in the mirror.

And that’s what breaks you. You cry out, loud and raw, body shaking against his, pressed full-length to the glass as your orgasm rips through you again — messier this time, faster, overwhelming. Your legs quake. His fingers never stop. He holds you through it, one arm locking you in place as you fall apart a second time in front of yourself, because of him.

Your breath fogs the mirror in quick, shallow pants. He finally pulls back, wet fingers sliding free with a low, satisfied groan. He looks at you in the mirror—flushed, panting, nearly gone—and leans in to press a slow kiss to your shoulder.

“I could watch you come all night.”

And somehow, you believe him. He pulls back just enough to let you breathe. The mirror’s cooled now, the glass smeared with your fingerprints and fog, the reflection a blur of tangled hair and sweat and wrecked pleasure. Your thighs are shaking. Your skin is damp. You feel like you’ve melted and there’s no putting yourself back together.

Jungkook turns you gently, hand on your waist, guiding you like he’s still not done claiming you.

The backs of your knees hit the mattress, and you let him push you down until you’re flat on your back. Your arms fall limp beside you, and for a moment all you can do is stare up at him. His chest is heaving. His skin is flushed. His cock — thick, red, twitching — strains beneath the cling of his boxers, soaked and sticking to every outline.

Then he hooks his thumbs in the waistband. You can’t look away. The cotton peels down slowly, catching on the head of his cock. He frees it with one hand, and it slaps up against his stomach, flushed and dripping. Your breath catches.

You’ve seen porn. You’ve read things. You’ve imagined. But nothing could’ve prepared you for the sight of him — him— standing between your knees, eyes dark, cock hard, and so clearly turned on by you. Your thighs press together instinctively. He sees it and smirks then climbs onto the bed. He doesn’t ask. He just leans over you, one hand sliding beneath your back, the other tugging the straps of your bra off your shoulders. You lift your arms without thinking, too far gone to hesitate, and he slides it down and off, tossing it carelessly to the floor.

Your breasts spill free, heavy and flushed and still damp from sweat.

He freezes. Just for a second. “Jesus fuck,” he breathes.

His hand comes up, fingers splayed, and he cups one breast gently, reverently, like it’s something sacred. His thumb grazes your nipple. You shudder.

“You’re unreal,” he murmurs. “So fucking soft… I’ve been staring at these all night.”

You laugh breathlessly. “You haven’t even seen them until now.”

He leans down, presses a kiss between them. “Didn’t have to. I just knew.”

And then he’s straddling your hips, cock in his hand, eyes dark as sin.

You watch, completely still, as he spits into his palm, slicks it over his length, and nestles the head of his cock between your breasts.

Your stomach tightens. He reaches down, gently lifts your hands, guiding them to your own body. “Hold them together for me.”

You obey. Press your breasts around him, the weight of them closing snug around his cock. His breath stutters.

“Just like that,” he whispers. “Fuck—just like that.”

And then he starts to move. It’s slow at first. The head of his cock slides up, nudging under your chin, wet with pre-come. You gasp as it drags back down, gliding slick between your breasts, your skin burning with friction and arousal and humiliation, but god, it turns you on more than you thought possible. You’ve never done this before. Never even thought about it.

But the way he moans? The way his eyes fall half-lidded, hips starting to stutter as he watches his cock disappear between your breasts? It wrecks you. Your thighs press together again. You can feel the wetness leaking out of you — fresh, sticky, proof that even after everything, your body’s still begging.

“Fuck, baby,” Jungkook groans, one hand gripping the headboard for balance, the other fisting your hair. “You have no idea what this does to me.”You whimper.

“Look at you,” he pants. “Tits so fucking perfect. Taking all of me. You’re so good—so fucking good—”

The head of his cock taps your chin again, your lips, your throat. You open your mouth on instinct, and he moans loudly.

“You wanna taste it?” he growls. “Wanna suck the tip while I fuck your tits?”

You nod, breathless, and tilt your head just enough to catch him on your tongue the next time he thrusts up. The sound he makes is filthy. His hips falter. His jaw clenches. The hand in your hair tightens.

“Fuck—fuck, I’m not gonna last like this,” he chokes out. “You feel too good. You’re so fucking hot like this. I could come all over these perfect tits and still not be done.”

You whine while he pulls back.

Not because he’s finished — but because he’s holding on. Barely. And because he hasn’t even been inside you yet. He’s panting above you, knees sunk into the mattress on either side of your waist, sweat beading down his chest as his cock pulses between your breasts. The tip is slick, flushed red, twitching with restraint. His eyes are locked on the mess he’s made of your body — your breasts shining, lips parted, your entire body still trembling beneath him.

But you’re not done. You should be. You’ve come twice, your legs are jelly, your skin is hypersensitive — but none of that matters. Because the longer you stare at him, the more you realize that this isn’t enough. Not yet. Not until you’ve had all of him. Not until you’ve tasted the way he’s falling apart.

Your voice is gone. Your mind’s gone too. All you can feel is heat — liquid and pulsing, low in your belly and behind your knees. You want to be good for him. You want to be filthy for him. You want to know what he tastes like. You want to feel his cock on your tongue.

So you shift beneath him. Lift your hands to his thighs, fingers sliding up slowly, dragging over the thick muscle until you reach his hips. He watches you with hooded eyes, breathless, lips wet and parted. You look up at him. And then — without a single word — you stick out your tongue. The way his expression breaks…

“Holy fuck,” he whispers.

His hand comes down, cradling your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek as he stares like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.

“You want to suck me off that bad?” he asks, voice rough. “After everything I’ve done to you?”

You nod. Keep your tongue out. Your eyes never leave his. He growls.

“Say it,” he whispers, thumb pressing into your chin. “Be a good girl. Tell me what you want.”

Your voice is hoarse. Desperate. “I want your cock in my mouth, Jungkook… I want to suck you until you lose it. I want to feel you on my tongue, in my throat. I want to taste all of you. Please…”

His jaw clenches. His hips jerk forward instinctively, the tip of his cock brushing your bottom lip.

“Fuck, you’re gonna kill me,” he mutters. “Open your mouth.”

You do and he guides himself in slowly, head pressing past your lips, the taste of salt and musk blooming over your tongue. You groan softly, and he shudders.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, hand slipping into your hair, wrapping it around his fingers like reins. “Fuck, baby. Look so pretty like this.”

You hollow your cheeks, take him deeper. Inch by inch, tongue curled beneath the shaft, your lips stretched wide. His cock slides in heavy, hot, and you let it, eyes fluttering closed as he presses against the back of your throat.

He hisses through his teeth. “God—fuck, your mouth…”

You moan around him. The vibration makes him groan, hips rolling forward just slightly — enough to make you gag softly around him. Your eyes water. You don’t stop.

Your fingers curl around his thighs. You suck him hard, wet and steady, letting spit drip down your chin, letting it get messy, wanting it to get messy. You want him undone. You want him to lose control.

“Fuck, just like that,” he pants, voice cracking. “You’re so good. You’re fucking perfect.”

He begins to move. Not roughly. Just slow thrusts of his hips, sliding his cock deeper with every pass, using your mouth like he’s been dreaming about it for months. His hand holds your hair tight. His stomach flexes. You can feel him trembling. You flatten your tongue. Let him fuck into your mouth. He starts muttering now — barely coherent.

“Shit… you’re gonna make me come—your fucking mouth—baby, I’m gonna—”

But then he pulls out. You gasp, mouth open, spit trailing from your lips to the head of his cock. He’s shaking.

“I can’t,” he breathes. “Not yet. I need to be inside you.”

You’re still panting when he leans down to kiss you. It’s not gentle. He licks into your mouth, like he can’t bear the space between you anymore. Then he reaches for the drawer.

Pulls out a condom and looks down at you like you’re the only thing in the universe.

“Lie back,” he says. “Let me fuck you right.”

You’re already open for him when he returns. Laid bare, legs parted, lips swollen, chin still shining from spit. Your body aches in the best way — used, touched, ruined — but it’s nothing compared to what you feel when you watch him roll the condom on. His chest is heaving. His thighs are flexed. And his cock, flushed and twitching in his grip, looks almost angry with need.

He climbs between your legs slowly. Like he’s in control. But you can see it now — the tension behind his smirk. The tremble in his breath. He’s been on the edge since you got on your knees, and he’s barely holding on.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice rough and low. “All spread out for me. Wet as fuck. And you still want more?”

You nod, breathless and he grins. Then lowers himself, his cock brushing against your folds — not pushing in yet, just slapping it lightly across your entrance.

Once. Twice. A third time, with a wet sound that makes you twitch.

You gasp, hips jerking. “Jungkook…”

He groans. “You hear that? That’s how wet you are for me. All this for my cock, baby?”

You whimper. “Yes. All for you.”

He drags the head of his cock through your folds, slow and filthy, coating himself in your slick. Then he holds himself there — right at your entrance — and still doesn’t move.

“Tell me you want it.”

“I want it,” you breathe.

He growls. “Nah. Say it right.”

You whimper again, voice breaking. “Please, Jungkook… I want your cock. I want you to fuck me. I want to feel you inside.”

He exhales like you’ve punched the air from his lungs. “Good girl.”

And then he pushes in.

It’s slow. Torturous. You feel every inch — the stretch, the pressure, the way your walls cling to him. You gasp, head falling back against the pillows, thighs trembling as he slides deeper.

“Fuck,” he groans, his voice guttural. “You’re so tight. So warm… shit—like you were made for me.”

Your mouth falls open. “You feel so good, Jungkook… so fucking big…”

He growls at that — hips pressing all the way in until he’s bottomed out.

“Yeah? You like this?”

“Yes,” you pant. “You fill me so good, I—I can’t think—”

“You don’t need to think,” he breathes. “Just feel.”

Then he starts to move. Slow thrusts at first — deep and deliberate. His hips rock into yours with precision, dragging his cock against every sensitive spot inside you. His body presses into yours with heat and weight and intent, chest nearly touching yours, forearms braced on either side of your head.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he murmurs. “Tight little pussy taking all of me like that.”

You moan — helpless, wrecked, desperate.

“Say it,” he whispers. “Say it’s mine.”

“It’s yours,” you breathe, voice trembling. “It’s all yours, Jungkook…”

“Say no one else fucks you like this.”

“No one. Just you—only you—”

He groans loud at that, pace faltering for a beat before he starts pounding harder. He fucks you like he’s trying to leave a mark. Every thrust hits deeper, sharper, hips slapping against your ass. His hand slides up to your chest, gripping one breast, squeezing until you gasp. His other hand tangles in your hair, pulling just enough to tilt your head back.

“You wanna come for me, baby?”

“Yes,” you gasp. “Please…”

“You gonna let me watch you fall apart again?”

“Yes—fuck, please, Jungkook—”

He shifts, changes the angle, and suddenly every thrust is grinding against your clit just right. You cry out, back arching, thighs trembling. You’re so close. So fucking close.

“Come for me,” he growls. “Come all over my cock, baby. I wanna feel you tighten around me—come like you fucking mean it.”

And you do.

Your orgasm hits like a supernova — legs locking around his waist, mouth falling open in a scream. Your body pulses around him, walls clenching so hard he nearly loses it with you. He fucks you through it, whispering filth in your ear the whole time, praising you, owning you. When you finally come down, panting and wrecked, he kisses you like he’s starving but he’s not done yet.

You’re still pulsing around him when he pulls out. You gasp, empty in an instant, your body twitching from aftershocks. He kneels back for a breath, staring down at you like he’s trying to burn the image into memory — your legs splayed, your skin flushed, your mouth swollen and wet with the ghost of his name.

And then he flips you fast. You land on your stomach with a surprised moan, face sinking into the pillow, arms collapsing beneath you. Before you can breathe, he’s behind you again, spreading your thighs with greedy hands, pressing his cock between your folds.

“Fuck,” he growls, dragging himself through your slick. “You look so good like this.”

He grabs your hips, lifts you slightly, and pushes back in with one rough thrust. You cry out. Your fingers clutch the sheets. He doesn’t give you time to adjust. He just fucks into you—deep, fast, like he’s finally letting go. The sound of skin against skin fills the room, wet and sharp, paired with his ragged moans and your helpless gasps.

“Oh my god,” you whimper, spine arching. “Fuck—Jungkook—yes—”

“You like this?” he snarls. “You like getting fucked like this? Bent over like a toy?”

“Yes,” you pant, no shame left. “I love it—I love your cock—don’t stop—”

He laughs, breathless, feral. His hand slides up your back, tangles in your hair, and pulls. Your back arches instinctively. The burn in your scalp shoots straight to your cunt. You moan like it’s oxygen.

“Good girl,” he growls. “Take it. Take all of it.”

He thrusts harder, faster. Every stroke knocks a sound out of your throat. Your body jolts forward with the force of it, and he only pulls you back harder. And then suddenly his palm lands on your ass, hard and hot. You jerk. Whine. Grind back against him.

“Oh, you like that?” he grits out. “You want me to spank you while I fuck you?”

“Yes—yes, please, Jungkook—”

Smack. Again. Your ass stings, skin heating under each slap, but it just makes everything worse — your walls clamp around him, another orgasm building before you can even prepare for it.

“You’re gonna come again, aren’t you?” His voice is sharp now, breathless. “Fucking dripping. So messy. You love being used like this.”

“I love it,” you sob. “I love it—I love being fucked by you—please—please, Jungkook—”

He grabs both your wrists and pulls them behind your back, holding you open while he slams into you, deep and fast, until your vision goes white.

“Come again,” he orders. “Come for me. Let me feel it.”

And when you do, it hits harder than before — your body convulsing, vision tunneling, mouth dropping open in a silent scream as your pussy clenches tight around him.

“Fuck—fuck—I’m gonna—”

He groans loud, one final thrust punching deep into you and then he’s coming. Hard. You feel it — the way his whole body tightens behind you, the heat spilling into the condom as he presses as deep as he can go, panting against your spine, voice raw. He holds there for a long moment. Breathing. Trembling. Then slowly, gently, he loosens his grip on your wrists. Brushes a soft kiss over your shoulder. Collapses beside you.

The room is silent now. Just two bodies, sweat-drenched and sore, trembling from everything they weren’t supposed to feel. Your body’s gone heavy. Limbs lax. Muscles aching in the best way. You’re still on your stomach, hair matted to the back of your neck, thighs sticky, lungs slow to catch up. The sheets are wrinkled beneath you. The whole room smells like sweat and sex and the kind of satisfaction that seeps into the bones.

And then he touches you again. A hand slides along your hip — warm, calloused — trailing over the curve of your ass and down your thigh. Then it shifts. Moves up. His thumb grazes the underside of your breast, and his mouth follows a heartbeat later.

“Jungkook,” you murmur, voice soft, half-dazed.

He doesn’t answer. He just mouths at your nipple, lazy and slow, tongue swirling in wet circles while his hand cups the other breast and gives it a greedy squeeze. You gasp. Your back arches instinctively. He hums low in his throat like you're dessert.

“Thought you were done,” you whisper, eyes fluttering.

He pulls off your nipple with a wet pop. “I’m never done with you.”

You whimper. Laugh. Try to turn your face away — but he follows. Crawls up your body, kisses you deep and messy, his hand still palming your breast while his tongue slides into your mouth like he owns it. His lips are sticky, hot. You taste yourself on them.

And you melt all over again. His fingers dig into your ass next. Squeezing. Spreading. Possessive.

“You know,” he rasps, breath fanning over your ear, “I could fuck you like this every day.”

You laugh again — breathless, flushed. “Yeah?”

“Every fucking day.” He groans. “You’d let me, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes,” you breathe, turning your head slightly, kissing his jaw. “You fuck so good…”

He moans. “You make it easy. Being inside you is like… holy fuck, it’s unreal.”

You roll onto your back, too lazy to fully fight him off. He’s still kissing your chest, dragging his mouth from one nipple to the other, circling slow. His tongue’s warm. Wet. Wicked. Every touch makes you twitch. And your voice—when it comes—is low and teasing.

“You gonna get off on my tits again, or let me put some clothes on?”

“Don’t you dare,” he mutters, pulling back only slightly, eyes dropping to the mess of your ruined panties on the floor. He picks them up with two fingers, holds them hostage. “I’m keeping these.”

You blink at him in shock. “Jungkook.”

He grins. “For science.”

You snort, still breathless. “That was…” You exhale hard, letting your head fall back. “So fucking needed.”

He grins. “Anytime. I’m very committed to supporting women in STEM.”

You laugh — fully this time. He tosses you his hoodie, then shimmies into his boxers like he isn’t still half-hard just watching you move. You stretch slowly, aching all over, before sitting up and tugging on your dress without underwear. His eyes darken. And then, before you leave, you do it — that final little flick of power he never sees coming. You hook your finger in your mouth. Suck it slowly. Loudly. Let it pop free. Then glance back at him over your shoulder with a sweet, filthy smile.

His jaw drops. He groans. “Oh my fucking god.”

You smirk. “See you around, Jeon.”

And just before you slip out the door, he mutters under his breath, half-wrecked:

“…I’m so fucking in trouble.”

.

.

.

part 2

your feedback means the world to me. 🖤

[rwpohl]

india song, marguerite duras 1975

[icryyoumercy]

so a lot of the things that catch my hyperfocus/special interest/weird curse/attention are things that 1) i have no or only the barest basic education in and 2) are aimed at people who have a solid or even advanced understanding of the subject

which means while i do learn a lot, mostly what i learn isn't what the thing is intended to be about, but how to extrapolate from incomplete information, how to research things with incredibly insufficient starting points, and how to make sense of things very much not intended for my frame of understanding

also, i get to enjoy people passionately lecturing about things they love, which is always a delight

[ari-ana-bel-la]

Hi lovely, I absolutely love your stories. I was wondering if you could write one for Lewis, he has a daughter who is 16-17 and is absolutely smart, like Einstein smart and it's her first time in the Ferrari garage since Lewis moved and she saw a fault in some engineering work and helped fixing it and shocked her father and the whole garage. Thank you

The Future of Ferrari

Ferrari’s Maranello garage was a symphony of whirring drills, clanking tools, and intense Italian chatter. The team was hard at work preparing for the weekend’s qualifying session, red and black suits moving in well-practiced rhythm. Amid the organized chaos, one presence stood out—not because of noise, but because of the absolute silence and awe she left in her wake.

A girl with thick curls pulled into a loose bun and wide, observant brown eyes stood at the edge of the garage. She wore an oversized red hoodie with the Ferrari emblem on the chest, and a lanyard hung from her neck, swinging gently with her movements. Her expression was sharp, analyzing every corner of the room like she was mentally dissecting the internal combustion engine of the SF-24 just by looking at it.

“Daaaad,” she called out, trying not to sound impatient. “Where do you keep the drinks around here? I’m thirsty.”

Lewis turned around, helmet under his arm, his eyes immediately softening at the sight of his daughter. “Over there, near the data screens. Just don’t unplug anything or they’ll have a meltdown,” he teased, pointing her toward the crew’s refreshment corner.

She smirked. “Please, I could rewire this place blindfolded.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “That’s the confidence of a teenager with three physics awards.”

“Five,” she corrected, walking off.

As she moved across the garage, a few of the engineers took notice, recognizing her as Lewis’s daughter. Most had heard rumors of her intellect. She had attended MIT lectures for fun while vacationing in the States and was known for winning national-level science competitions in Europe. But seeing her in the flesh, in their sacred garage? That was new.

She sipped a bottle of water and leaned casually against a pillar, eyes drifting over the open rear of the car. Something wasn’t sitting right. She tilted her head, stepped forward a bit, and squinted at the gearbox housing.

A technician walked past her, carrying a tablet. “Excuse me,” she said, stepping closer to the car. “Is that the final mount design for the differential casing?”

The man blinked at her. “Uh… yes?”

She pointed to a specific joint just behind the casing. “That’s going to cause micro-vibrations under torque load. The fastener's alignment is 1.3 degrees off. It’s subtle, but enough to affect the car's handling mid-corner. Especially if it's hot.”

The tech frowned, unsure if he should laugh or worry.

“Sorry, who are you again?”

“Just his daughter,” she replied, nodding toward Lewis, who was now talking with his race engineer.

“Do you want to… maybe sit down?” he asked awkwardly.

But she stepped past him, crouched slightly, and gestured at a younger engineer who was watching curiously.

“Can I borrow your torque data? Just real quick.”

The engineer hesitated, then handed her the tablet.

She began typing, pulling up schematics, calculations appearing rapidly on the screen. Her thumbs moved like lightning, her brow furrowed in concentration. A few other engineers were gathering now, whispering among themselves.

“I recalculated the stress vector. See?” she turned the tablet toward them. “It looks fine in theory, but under compound load—especially with the way the aero package is set up—it’ll shift. You’ll get slight inconsistencies in traction, which is bad news during qualifying laps.”

The older technician who’d first questioned her stepped forward again. “Are you saying we need to rework this section?”

“I’m saying you need to adjust the mounting bracket by 1.3 degrees, shift the load path just slightly to the left, and reinforce it with carbon-composite washers. If you do that, you’ll stabilize the torque vector and improve rear-end consistency in Sector 3.”

There was a beat of stunned silence.

Then—

“Where did you learn that?” one of the senior mechanics asked, blinking.

She shrugged. “I read a paper about torque distribution in high-speed cornering last week. Got bored on the flight here.”

Someone stifled a laugh. Another said under his breath, “Bloody hell…”

“Oi!” Lewis called, finally noticing the growing crowd. “What’s going on?”

The head of engineering, a stern Italian named Matteo, stepped forward and gestured for Lewis to come over.

“Your daughter,” he began slowly, still sounding amazed, “just found a design flaw we didn’t catch. One that would’ve possibly cost you two-tenths per lap. Maybe more.”

Lewis stared. “Wait. What?”

Matteo pointed at her. “She’s… she’s like a walking CFD simulator. She even pulled up our own torque data.”

Lewis turned to her, his face a mixture of disbelief and fatherly pride. “Sweetheart, what did you do?”

She looked up innocently. “I fixed your car. You’re welcome.”

A round of laughter broke out, but it was warm, appreciative. The crew clapped her on the back, some shaking their heads in awe.

“She’s incredible,” Matteo said to Lewis. “You sure she’s not secretly part of Red Bull’s spy program?”

Lewis laughed. “Trust me, if she were, we’d all be in trouble. She’s probably smarter than half the grid already.”

“I’m smarter than you,” she teased.

“Absolutely no doubt about that,” he replied with a grin, ruffling her hair.

She smoothed it down with a roll of her eyes. “So dramatic.”

The engineers quickly got to work implementing her suggestions. Matteo kept glancing back at her like she was some kind of wizard. Lewis watched with arms folded, his heart swelling.

After a while, she stood beside him, watching the updated component go onto the car.

“So… what did you think?” he asked gently.

She tilted her head. “It’s loud. Smells like oil. Half the men here don’t know how to hold a tablet properly.”

Lewis laughed. “Welcome to Formula One.”

She smiled. “It’s cool, though. I like it.”

He nudged her shoulder. “You ever think about working in this world someday? Engineering, maybe?”

She glanced at him, then back at the car. “Maybe. If they can keep up.”

He chuckled again. “No pressure, but… you made me proud today.”

She looked at him seriously. “You’re always proud.”

“True. But today, I’m blown away. You just walked into one of the most elite garages on the planet and made a critical engineering correction before lunch.”

She gave a shy smile, shrugging. “Just saw something wrong and fixed it.”

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “You’ve always done that. In your own way.”

As the car roared to life for testing, the modified part holding firm, Lewis and his daughter stood side by side, two Hamiltons—one a living legend of the track, the other a rising genius who might just change the sport in her own quiet, brilliant way.

And somewhere behind them, Matteo whispered to a fellow engineer, “Keep an eye on her. She’s the future.”

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you!

-♡○♡

[sunarryn]

DP X Marvel #24

When Danny Fenton got into MIT, he thought the biggest challenge would be balancing ghost hunting with college coursework. What he didn’t expect was to impress Dr. Jane Freaking Foster—renowned astrophysicist, literal genius, the mind behind the Foster Theory, and, unbeknownst to her, his idol since age thirteen—during a campus science expo when he presented his thesis on interdimensional ectoplasmic lattice fluctuations as a potential fuel source for wormhole stabilization. He thought she’d walk by his booth with a polite smile. Instead, she paused, squinted at his equations, asked three rapid-fire questions, then turned to the MIT faculty and said, “Is this kid legally allowed to work in a government lab yet?”

That’s how he became her apprentice.

Danny thought it would be, you know, an internship. Fetch coffee, carry papers, maybe input data if he got lucky. What he didn’t expect was to be living in New Mexico three months later, standing on a roof beside Jane Foster while she casually pointed at the sky and said, “If this gravitational anomaly maintains its trajectory, we’ll have a Yggdrasil branch brush up against the heliopause by Tuesday. That’s new.”

Danny nodded, mostly pretending he understood.

What neither of them anticipated was Thor crashing into their lives again like a golden retriever with a god complex and a hammer. He landed dramatically during a research presentation, lightning still fizzing off his cape, and made such eye contact with Jane that the projector screen behind them shorted out.

And then he saw Danny.

“Young one!” Thor bellowed, eyes wide, blond hair tousled by divine winds, “You must be her son.”

Danny blinked. “I—what?”

“Of course!” Thor clasped his shoulder. “You have her radiant intellect and tenacity. Truly, you are worthy of Midgard’s finest mother.”

“I—she’s not—” Danny tried.

Thor turned to Jane, face alight. “You did not tell me you had borne a child! And one so strong in spirit! A scholar of the stars!”

Jane rubbed her temples. “Thor. He’s nineteen. I met him last month. He’s my apprentice. He is not my son.”

Thor shook his head gravely. “Say no more, Jane. I understand. You wished to protect him from the dangers of our past. But I vow upon Mjolnir’s handle, I shall be a father to him.”

“What the hell,” Danny muttered.

Over the next few days, things escalated fast.

Danny woke up one morning to find a goat outside the lab. A live goat. Wearing a ribbon. The tag read: For my brave son, may his mornings be strong of milk and noble of beard. Jane nearly choked on her cereal. Darcy screamed and immediately named the goat “Spacey.”

Thor showed up during Danny’s lecture on cosmic radiation and brought a sack of Asgardian textbooks written in glowing runes, which promptly caused two lab interns to faint and one professor to file a complaint.

Danny begged Jane to tell him this would stop.

“No,” Jane said, sipping her coffee without looking up. “You’re his emotional support stepson now.”

“I don’t want to be anyone’s emotional support anything!” Danny cried. “I have ectoplasmic trauma and insomnia!”

But Thor persisted.

He invited Danny to spar in the desert, claiming it would “toughen his warrior instincts.” Danny blasted a crater in the sand when a ghost startled him mid-match, and Thor wept with pride. “Such fire! Truly, a son worthy of thunder.”

Jane sighed. “You’re going to give him a complex.”

“I already have a complex!” Danny yelled from where he was half-buried in sand.

Then came the night Thor pulled Danny aside with intense solemnity.

“Daniel,” he said, kneeling, “I seek your blessing.”

Danny froze, halfway through a sandwich. “I—what—blessing for what?”

“To court your mother.”

“She’s NOT my—!”

Thor raised a hand. “Please. I know you wish to protect her. But my heart is true. I have spent long hours learning Midgardian courtship. Observe.”

He pulled out a guitar. A guitar. From nowhere. And began strumming aggressively while singing off-key.

“Oh Jane, fairest in the stars, your eyes burn like a neutron quasaaaaaar—”

Danny screamed into his sandwich.

Jane screamed into her coffee.

Darcy recorded the entire thing.

By the time the Avengers got wind of what was happening, it was too late. Tony Stark showed up purely out of pettiness.

“So this is the ‘son,’ huh?” he said, looking Danny up and down like he was a new model of iPhone. “You do look like Jane. Same ‘don’t talk to me before coffee’ vibe. But with a sprinkle of sleep-deprived raccoon.”

Danny glared. “You must be the one Jane threatens to launch into orbit when she’s annoyed.”

“See? Family resemblance,” Tony muttered.

Then Steve Rogers took Thor aside and whispered, “Are you sure he’s her kid? Jane would’ve told us if she had a child.”

Thor nodded gravely. “It is the only explanation. He speaks with passion, has knowledge of the stars, and I saw him summon green fire from his hands!”

“It was a ghost, Thor,” Danny shouted from across the lab. “It was literally a ghost trying to possess a vending machine!”

“Exactly!” Thor beamed.

“Thor. I’m nineteen. Jane is thirty-seven.”

“She is a goddess among mortals. Perhaps she birthed you when she was five.”

“That’s not how—YOU KNOW WHAT, NEVER MIND.”

Soon, even Loki showed up, slinking into the lab with a smirk like a serpent in silk.

“I had to see for myself,” he purred, circling Danny like a shark. “The mortal child who ensnared my brother’s affections.”

Danny just blinked. “I’m not his kid. Or Jane’s. I’m not even sure I’m awake right now.”

Loki chuckled. “You’ll make an excellent prince. Do you have any interest in necromancy?”

“I’m a ghost half the time,” Danny deadpanned. “Define interest.”

Loki grinned wider.

Eventually, S.H.I.E.L.D. got involved. Fury showed up, took one look at the scene—the goat eating research notes, Thor trying to build Danny a golden throne, Jane yelling about radiation levels, and Danny levitating out of sheer stress—and muttered, “Nope,” before turning around and leaving.

But beneath all the chaos, Danny… didn’t hate it.

Jane never treated him like a kid. She taught him everything, from solar flares to Bifrost trajectories. She let him make mistakes, then helped him fix them. She told him he was brilliant, and for once, he kind of believed it. And Thor, for all his thunderous confusion, brought him starfruit from Alfheim and carved him a wooden Mjolnir as a “coming-of-age” gift.

Danny didn’t even mind the goat anymore.

He still insisted, every day, that Jane was not his mom.

But when Thor presented him with a massive, hand-forged broadsword inscribed with: To my noble son, may your ghosts be vanquished and your GPA ever high, he kind of teared up.

A little.

One evening, as they watched the stars from the roof, Jane handed Danny a cup of tea.

“He really does think you’re my kid,” she said.

Danny took a sip. “Yeah. I gave up trying to convince him.”

“Is it weird?”

“Kinda. But… not bad.” He hesitated. “Do you… mind?”

Jane looked at him, surprised. “No. I mean—you’re not. But if you were, I’d be proud.”

Danny stared at the stars until they blurred.

Later, Thor appeared beside them, cape fluttering dramatically despite the lack of wind.

“I have returned with tales of valor,” he declared, “and also cheesecake.”

Danny took the box.

“Son!” Thor beamed.

Danny sighed.

“Fine. You can have my blessing.”

Thor dropped Mjolnir in joy.

Jane looked horrified. “Danny, what the hell?!”

“I didn’t say I wanted it to happen,” Danny muttered. “I just figured he’d stop bringing me swords if I gave in.”

“He won’t,” she said flatly.

He didn’t.

The next morning, Danny woke up to find a full set of Asgardian armor beside his bed and a note that read: For my beloved heir. P.S. I have begun planning the wedding. Do you think your mother would prefer swans or flaming eels as decoration?

He screamed into his pillow.

The goat screamed with him.

[hederasgarden]

Like Oil and Water

Summary: Your office power struggle with Scott comes to a head. Paring: Scott (Twisters) x F!Scientist!Reader Word Count: 2.1K Rating: Mature, 18+ only. Enemies to lovers trope, PIV sex, fingering, and dirty talk. Slight angst.  A/N: The story is based on this ask I received. I know there are like…five Scott fans out there besides me so I hope y’all like this. I have no explanation for this fic except I’m horny for Scott. I had an alternative ending to this story but whoops feelings crept in. Thank you to @ryebecca, @whatblogisthis216 and @a-reader-and-a-writer for looking this over. The snazzy summary is courtesy of @writercole.

Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day. 

David Corenswet Characters Masterlist

“I’m never picking up your coffee order again,” Javi swears, handing the Starbucks cup to you. “Whatever happened to coffee with a little bit of cream?”

“Capitalism,” you reply, taking a sip. It wasn’t exactly how you liked it, missing that deep caramel flavor, but you appreciate Javi’s effort. “Thanks again.”

He nods, drinking from his cup as you make your way down to the labs, discussing the results from the latest test. 

“We will need to adjust the relays, but other than that, I think we’re in good shape,” you tell him. “I’ll let the techs know we need those changes made this week.”

“Sounds good. I gotta make a quick call, but I’ll join you after,” Javi promises, disappearing into his office while you make your way down the hall.

You hear the low timber of Scott's voice before you spot him in conversation with one of the female techs. You loathe to admit it but he looks good, his tanned forearms on display with the sleeves of his white company shirt rolled up. The baseball cap tucked into his back pocket and dusty boots let you know he probably came straight from the field. 

"We need to fix the relays. They failed the test. Again. That's unacceptable," he begins, gearing up for another one of his infamous lectures. "Back when I was at MIT, this type of calibration was the first thing we were taught."

Scott may have been one of the smartest guys on Javi’s team but he was also a smug asshole. From the moment you met him, he irritated you, reminding you of every man who thought he was smarter and better than you just because of his gender. Everyone expected engineers to be difficult to work with, but Scott took it to another level. Who could blame you for taking him down a peg or two when you had the chance?

"So you went to MIT. Big whoop," you begin, delighted to see Scott tense up at the sound of your voice. When he turns to face you, the tech is quick to scurry away. "Call me when you have a PhD from a real school, like Caltech, Scotty."

He hates it when you call him that but today it's your jab about MIT that strikes a nerve. A muscle in his jaw jumps, and he exhales harshly. God, that angry look in his eye really did something for you. Too bad his looks couldn’t make up for how much of a dick he could be. 

Scott practically spits your first name out, stepping into your space to loom over you. His broad shoulders and muscular build block your view of the lab. You tilt your head to look at him, fighting the urge to smile. "You really should address me as ‘doctor,’" you calmly remind him, tapping your name badge. 

You arch a brow, waiting for his response but his mouth snaps shut, attention moving to something behind you. 

It’s Javi.

"Come on guys," he sighs. "Play nice."

You glance over your shoulder, smiling sweetly. "I'm always nice.”

"Why are you even in the labs today?" Scott questions, glancing down at your heels. 

You smooth a hand down your dress and smile. "I'm the Vice President of R&D for Storm Par. These are my labs. I belong here.”

"Dressed like that?" He scoffs. 

"What, you don't like it?" You ask, turning in a slow circle. 

"We had a meeting with some new investors," Javi supplies, trying to cut off the start of another fight between the two of you. 

Scott turns away and you can practically hear his teeth grinding together. He still hasn’t forgiven you for talking Javi out of letting his uncle invest in the company. It would have been easy money but you never liked the business plan. It was best to stick with government grants and investors without any personal connections. 

Javi touches your arm. “Come on, we gotta finish that grant.”

You hum in agreement, trailing behind him to the doorway. Pausing, you glance back and catch Scott watching you, his lips pressed into a thin line. With a grin, you wiggle your fingers at him, amused to see the furrow in his brow deepen even further.

The rest of your day is blessedly Scott-free and you spend your time buried in meetings and wading through needlessly complicated grant submissions. Javi employed some of the smartest people you’ve ever had the privilege of working with but they were terrible when it came to making the science digestible to investors. You sigh, rubbing your temples. It was going to be a long night.

You work uninterrupted, buried in the complexities of the grant, until Scott storms into your office, slamming the door behind him. “Did you tell the techs they could go home early?” he demands.

“Please, do come in,” you deadpan, setting aside the papers you’re holding.

“Did you send them home?” He repeats, rounding your desk and invading your personal space. At his side, his hands are clenched into fists, the veins in his neck standing out.

“I did.” You rise to your full height but even in heels, he dwarfs you. 

“That wasn’t your call.”

“You do remember my job title, right?”

“I’m VP of Operations,” he reminds you. “I say when they go home, especially when we’re on a deadline.”

“They report to me, and you’ve had them working long hours,” you fire back.

He shakes his head, crossing his arms tightly across his chest, as he gives you an unimpressed look. “You’re too soft on them. I told Javi you weren’t right for this job. This isn’t academia. We work hard here.” 

You bristle at his words, clenching your fist so tightly that your nails dig into the soft skin of your palm. He has no idea what it took for you to get here, the challenges you faced, or the men like him you had to prove yourself to.

“Go fuck yourself, Scott.” 

You glare up at him, chest rising and falling rapidly. You wait, ready for whatever asshole comment is sure to come but he just stares at you. Then, to your surprise, his gaze drops to your mouth. You freeze, electricity zipping up your spine when you realize you’re close enough for your chest to brush his as you exhale. Looking back, you won't remember the impulse that led you to tilt your head and press your lips to his, only that you did.

The kiss only lasts a second before you pull away, heart pounding in your chest. For a moment, neither of you moves, but then suddenly he surges forward, his large hand grasping the side of your face. His lips crash into yours roughly. A hand at your hip urges you back until you bump your desk but he doesn’t stop until he’s practically dragged you on top of it. He presses in close, eating up what little space remains. You groan, grasping at his shirt as you push your hips into his. 

“Fuck,” he pants, resting his forehead against yours as his warm breath fans across your face. For one terrible second, you think he might stop or say something stupid to ruin the moment but then he’s kissing you again. He forces a hand between your bodies and roughly pulls your underwear aside so his fingers can drag through your folds. You’d be shocked by how fast it’s all happening but any higher thought fizzles out once his thumb circles your clit and his tongue breaks the seam of your lips to taste you. 

You’re breathless when he pulls away, back arching in response to his talented fingers. Through your lashes you see him smirk down at you. “No smart comebacks now?” He questions.

Before you can retort he adds a second finger. You moan, rolling your hips to seek more of him. “Knew you’d be fucking greedy,” he whispers.

He watches you fuck yourself on his hand with a hungry glint in his eyes until your pace slows. He glanced at your face. You rise up on your elbows, brow raised. “Am I going to do all the work here?” 

“Shut up,” he growls, withdrawing his fingers.

A witty comeback is on the tip of your tongue but it dies when Scott brings his fingers to his mouth. He stares down at you while he sucks them clean, his Adam's apple bobbing. Your stomach clenches hard at the sight. 

“That’s better,” he comments, unbuckling his belt. “Nice and quiet.” 

He takes a condom from his wallet and rolls it on his thick length. If there was ever a time to stop, it’s now. You look at Scott, his dark gaze swimming with desire and push the thought away, rising up to kiss him. The blunt head of his cock nudges your entrance and you lift your hips. You relish the way he looks, dark hair curling over his sweaty forehead and his body straining for you. Knowing you’ve done this to him sends a rush of want through you. 

Scott pushes inside slowly, hissing as your wet heat envelopes him until he’s halfway in and then he snaps his hips forward unexpectedly. Your breath leaves your lungs in a rush. He falls forward and the weight of him is electrifying. You’d be embarrassed at the desperate little sounds his mouth swallows up if he didn’t feel so damn good. 

He fucks with an intense kind of precision you’ve seen him bring to his work, reaching deep inside you to hit all the right places. You bury your fingers in his dark hair and pull, eliciting a needy moan from the irritatingly talented man above you. 

“You gonna come for me?” He asks, breathless. 

A desperate little, please, slips past your lips without your permission, spurring him on. He hooks a hand under your knee and forces your leg into your chest as he keeps up his frantic pace. The new angle takes him even deeper and pleasure ripples through your stomach. He feels unbelievably good and you practically sob when he pulls back and rises to his full height, afraid he’s going to stop. But he doesn’t, grasping your hips with both hands and forcing you to meet his thrusts. 

You’re tantalizing close and, without thinking, you reach down to help yourself along but Scott is quick to slap your hand away, replacing it with his own. 

“That’s mine,” he growls, the rough pad of his thumb catching on the sensitive skin. He watches with rapt attention as his cock and fingers work in tandem to drive you over the edge. You come with his name on your lips. 

“Fuck, just like that,” he gasps. 

Before you can recover your breath, he leans down and kisses you, his weight pressing you into the desk as his hips move relentlessly. Then he shoves himself deep inside and stills, groaning. Your ears ring and your body buzzes with the aftershocks of your own orgasm. The two of you stay like that, intertwined and panting until, finally, Scott moves. 

Cool air rushes between your bodies and you stare up at him. You can see him thinking in real time, his clever gaze searching your face as he continues to process what happened. What could either of you possibly say after this? Nothing good you realize. 

“Don’t,” you whisper, finger pressed to his lips. “Don’t ruin it.” 

Scott closes his eyes and swallows hard. Then he's moving, slipping out of you with a grunt. He turns away from you, redressing. The clink of his belt buckle is loud in the quiet office. Pressing your fingers to your swollen lips, you take a moment to let yourself feel everything before pushing it aside and standing on unsteady legs.

You fix your appearance the best you can and busy yourself with shuffling the mess of papers strewn everywhere. It might be cowardly, but you keep your gaze fixed on your desk when you hear the door creak open. You wait, the minutes dragging by until you know it’s safe to look up, only to find Scott still there.

He lingers in the doorway, his gaze fixed on you. 

Then you blink and he’s gone. 

♡

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[artsy-hobbitses]

First of all I definitely have to thank @elfdragon12 for selling me on the G1 humans and the potential they have for good storytelling!

So here are Spartacus 'Spike' Witwicki, Carlita 'Carly' Castellano and Charles 'Chip' Chase as they appear in TTB! Spike mainly works off-base with his father Stanislaw 'Sparkplug' Witwicki as mechanics on Autobot missions, while Carly and Chip are mainly on-base working in R&D and tech respectively. Witwicky is a name that exists IRL, and it's specifically an Americanised version of Witwicki, which is Polish, so Spike is a second-generation immigrant to the US with Polish---specifically as a member of the Lipka Tatar minority---ties through Stanislaw, and Turkish ties through his mother. Lipka Tatars are predominantly also Muslims who usually keep to a Polish naming convention/don't usually sport Arabic names, so Spike here also joins the the rising ranks of Muslims on the Autobot side!

Mexican-Italian Carly is a bottle blond who goes back to her original brown tresses near the end of the war. She runs on coffee and Monster Energy, and is what one might call a Type A personality. And for good reason—she’s a scholarship kid from an impoverished barrio, the first to ever get into MIT, and she’s determined to make a name for herself to bring back support and funding for her community so other kids like her have that opportunity too. She was a student in Dr. Harding’s lecture classes, and interned under Harding before graduation—the two still keep in contact with each other across the Atlantic. And Chip. We gotta talk about Chip (and the other two) under the cut.

Chip got the bad end of the deal here and his background is as messed up as his general health is on any given day. Energon hotspots exist in TTB and they’re still being studied and often irradiate local wildlife and extremely unlucky scientists conducting field research; one of them was Chip’s mother, while she was very early into her pregnancy (she believed she was properly kitted out, but this hotspot was more potent than the others).

He grew up sickly, but still relatively active and as Spike’s childhood friend, would still be able to play football with Spike. Spike and Chip’s relationship was extremely tight when they were children (Spike protected Chip from bullies and played with him since other boys avoided involving him in their games as he had problems keeping up due to his health issues, while Chip would help Spike with schoolwork and stood up for him if someone decided it’s pick-on-the-immigrant-kid day). It was to the point that, when Sparkplug was imprisoned for a short stint after being charged with inciting a riot (he was spearheading a workers' protest), Chip's residence was a second home to Spike, while his mother picked up extra shifts to make ends meet. However, when Chip was around 10, the radiation flared up/became aggressive in both him and his mother, and while his mother's condition deteriorated faster than his, it still wreaked havoc on his body and caused paraplegia through spinal metastasis. When his mother died, he had no blood family willing to take him in (as a child born out of wedlock who was piling up medical bills and was not expected to see his 18th birthday). The Witwickis, who saw him as family now, wanted to adopt him but could not pay for the care he needed as lower class blue collar immigrants.... at which point Zeta Prime stepped in as a benefactor who wanted to sponsor the child prodigy. This however, meant Chip had to be moved to New York, ostensibly for better treatment, and he and Spike last saw each other as children when they were 12.

They’d promise to write to each other, but Spike never received anything from Chip no matter how many letters he sent (Zeta had been intercepting them since he wanted Chip to be fully dependent on him/cut all ties to his past, and to focus on his tutelage under Dr Alcazar) The two reunited as adults when Spike and Sparkplug were enlisted as part of the team working on a top secret government project (Metroplex) on which Chip was the lead programmer and Carly was head of the R&D division. Chip however, started having doubts about Zeta Prime's motives for Metroplex's creation, and feeling both helpless and terrified for what he'd gotten himself into, confided his concerns to Spike that what they were building was not a space research titan, but a weapon and the US' largest mobile base capable of levelling small countries--which is exactly what Zeta plans to do with it. Carly eavesdrops, and is drawn into the situation.

All three of them struggled with breaking off their relationship with Zeta Prime, whose project brought the, together:

Chip knows that going against Zeta means he likely loses all access to the medical aid and experimental treatments keeping him alive. (He is lucky that he kept notes and an extensive medical record of himself, and that them fleeing across the Atlantic brought them right to Ratchet and Co.),

Spike knows going against Zeta means burning the olive branch of government acceptance Zeta held out to his father and their diaspora after their lifelong struggle to get the same compensation for their work as native-born workers, and better/safer projects.,

Carly knows going against Zeta means a stain on her record as a ‘model minority’ , and it will destroy Zeta’s promise of a scholarship fund for her community as well as government goodwill for them.

All three decide that they have to take a stand against him regardless, and they managed to sabotage Zeta’s control over Metroplex and allowed Metro to escape into the Pacific. Fleeing Zeta’s wrath across the Atlantic put them on the collision course with the Autobots via an SOS signal from Prowl which Chip decoded and answered, and this set have been stalwart allies since Chip still has a close relationship with Prowl here over many similar aspects of their life, quiet companionship and a love for strategy games. He is also rebuilding the relationship he had with Spike and Sparkplug, and Spike and Chip see each other more as brothers than friends these days.

[shortnspidey]

CHAPTER ONE: ECHOS OF THE PAST

Bucky Barnes x Fem!Stark!reader || WC: 3.7K

SUMMARY: Bucky Barnes, caught in a political storm and haunted by his past as the Winter Soldier, battles internal guilt and fragmented memories while finding solace in someone who sees beyond his trauma, intensifying his struggle between seeking connection and fearing the harm he might cause.

WARNINGS: Tony being a shitty father, cursing, self-depicting thoughts, talks of anxiety

A/N: In honor of Sebastian getting his first Golden Globe (which was long overdue), I present to you all the first chapter for this series! Thank you for all the love on this series before it was even published! This first chapter is really angsty, BUT there is certainly more to come! Dividers by @sister-lucifer <3

➩ next chapter

➩ main masterlist

➩ series masterlist

The familiar hum of New York City quickly faded as you stepped into the quiet sanctuary of your apartment. It was a stark contrast to the bustling campus of MIT, a place that had once held so much promise. The weight of the past few months hung heavy on your shoulders as you let out a long, weary sigh. You had returned home, defeated and disillusioned.

The keys in your right hand felt heavy, almost like an invisible weight was pushing you down. You shook your head, trying to clear the fog of disappointment and frustration. The sense of relief from being back home was met with the bitter taste of unmet expectations. You had dreamed of making a mark, of proving to yourself and to everyone else that you belonged at one of the most prestigious institutions in the world.

Instead, you found yourself constantly questioning your place, your purpose, and your abilities. As you finally turned the key and stepped inside, the familiar surroundings offered a small comfort. However, that relief was short lived. What you didn't expect was to see your father, in the flesh, sitting in your living room. His presence felt like an additional weight on your already burdened shoulders, amplifying the emotions swirling inside you.

Choosing to ignore him, you walked past the living room and into your room. You could bet that he would be following close behind you not even a second later. Sure enough, as you settled to unpack the little clothes that lay in your suitcase, you heard his footsteps approaching. "F.R.I.D.A.Y told me you were back in New York," The stern voice of Tony Stark, genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist or as you knew him, your father, interrupted behind you.

Letting out a sigh, you could practically feel the disappointment radiating off of him from your doorway. "Which I find very odd since it's nowhere near your winter break." You avoided eye contact as you fiddled with the items on your desk. "Funny enough, I gave a lecture at MIT and to my surprise my daughter was nowhere to be found. Especially since the academic advisor stopped me to inform me you haven't been attending classes for almost a month." God you wished he'd just get right to the point.

"Care to explain?" Not bothering to hide the nonchalance in your voice, you simply shrugged and mumbled, "Dropped out." The tension in the room was palpable, his silence spoke volumes, a mixture of disbelief and frustration hanging in the air. "Dropped out? What do you mean, you dropped out? You were doing so well." You could hear the strain in his voice, the effort it took to keep his emotions in check. “MIT was your dream, not mine.” His eyes widened, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of hurt cross his face.

You almost felt bad. Almost. "But you had everything going for you," He insisted, crossing his arms over his chest and looking down at you with what you could only assume was utter disappointment. "The scholarships, internships, the many opportunities they offered… Why would you throw all that away?" You sighed, feeling the weight of his disappointment. "Because it wasn't making me happy," You replied, your voice barely above a whisper. "I finally realized that I was living someone else's dream, not mine."

You had finally admitted it.

As you finally mustered the courage to confront him, a bruise blooming on his right eye suddenly stole your attention. The conversation about MIT, now seemed like the last thing on your mind. After what seemed like an eternity, you tried to gauge his expression, but came up short. "Well in that case," He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You're grounded." Clenching your jaw you scoffed in disdain. "What the hell do you mean I'm grounded?" You spat, crossing you arms over your chest. "I don't think I stuttered." Tony rolled his eyes which only fueled your anger.

"I'm not five dad, I'm almost twenty-five, you can't ground me." You growled, digging your freshly manicured nails into your palm in frustration. "As your father, I believe that is one of the many privileges I still hold. You're clearly not thinking straight. You need time to reflect on your choices and figure out what you truly want." He looked at you with a mixture of worry and disappointment, his eyes searching for a way to reach you. "This isn't about punishment, it's about helping you." The more he talked, the angrier you became.

Of course, he was making this about him, as he somehow always seemed to do. Completely disregarding what you wanted, he continued to impose his will. The familiar feeling of being trapped under his expectations washed over you, instantly making your blood boil. "Helping me?" You echoed, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "You do realize that I just confessed that I don't want to go back to MIT, and instead of asking me why, you ground me instead. Real mature." You could feel the tears of frustration welling up, but you refused to let them fall.

You weren't going to give him the satisfaction of seeing that he had affected you. This was your life, your decision, and you were growing tired of being treated like a child. He opened his mouth to respond, but you cut him off, the words spilling out before you could find will to stop them. "You don't get it, do you? It's like you only hear what you want to hear. I’m not some kid who needs to be sheltered from the world. I need you to listen for once!" His expression hardened, and you could see the frustration creeping into his demeanor.

Taking his silence as a sign to continue, you pushed back your nerves and tears, and decided a different approach to somehow get your point across. "Can’t you see that I’m trying to figure things out on my own? Grounding me isn’t going to help me in any way." He sighed, and you could tell he was struggling to find the right words. Tony Stark may be the smartest and most successful man in the world, but he sure as hell didn't know how to express himself. In words, at least. "I just want what’s best for you," His voice softer now, was almost pleading.

It almost made you feel bad for yelling. "Then try trusting me for once," Your voice trembled with a mix of anger and desperation. "I'm tired of people not knowing my name, and only knowing me as 'Tony Stark's daughter'. You have to understand that, dad." The silence hung heavy between you, both of you staring at each other, the weight of unspoken words filling the room. You could feel the tension shifting, and for a brief moment, you wondered if he finally understood. After a pregnant pause, he suddenly found the words, just not the ones you were expecting.

"Well, I'm off, there's cheeseburgers in the kitchen." The casualness in his voice, as if the conversation hadn't happened made your frustration and anger resurface. "Just like that you're leaving," You scoffed in disbelief, but never the less expected it. This was typical of him, avoiding the deeper issues with a quick exit. "You really think cheeseburgers is going to make up for this?" You added, hoping for once in his life he was joking. Oh how wrong you were. “Settle in, watch movies, but do not leave this apartment under any circumstances.” He instructed, his tone firm as he moved toward the door.

"And if I leave?" You challenged, standing your ground as his hand hovered over the front door knob. He paused, his back to you. "Just remember I have eyes everywhere," Without so much as a final glance in your direction, he shut the door behind him. The thud echoed through the apartment, leaving you alone with your thoughts. As if on cue, your phone which laid abandoned in your bedroom went off startling you. Looking at the door one last time, you let out a huff, the frustration and disappointment evident in your breath. It was clear your father wasn't coming back.

With a resigned sigh, you turned and made your way to your bedroom. As soon as you picked up your phone, your heart dropped. Notifications filled the screen, each one more alarming than the last. You had been tagged in numerous social media posts, not to mention the messages from colleagues and acquaintances at MIT. Even Pepper had sent you a text regarding something called the Sokovia Accords. Your fingers trembled as you scrolled through the posts, the images and videos of chaos and destruction filling the screen. Your mind raced, trying to piece together what had happened while you were unaware.

Among the thread of messages, Pepper's stood out the most. "We need to talk. This is serious. Call me as soon as you can," it read. You could almost hear the urgency in her voice, and it made your stomach churn. You quickly dialed her number, your heart pounding in your chest as you waited for her to pick up. The phone rang twice before she answered. "Hey sweetheart, are you okay?" She asked, her voice filled with concern. "I don't know," You admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "What even are the Sokovia Accords?" You heard Pepper sighed on the other end of the line.

"It's a long story, but to put it in the simplest terms, it's a set of legal documents that will regulate the activities of enhanced individuals." You felt a cold chill run down your spine as Pepper explained the implications. The weight of the situation pressed down on you, and you couldn't help but feel overwhelmed. "Just be careful, okay?" You nodded even if she couldn't see you. "I will, I love you." As she echoed those words back, you hung up. The world seemed to be against you today, because not even seconds after you set your phone down, there was a knock present at your door.

It made your heart drop, especially since no one knew you were back in New York. Slowly, you reached for the knife hidden by your bedside table, adrenaline coursing through your body as you slowly inched toward the front door. Your heart pounded in your chest as you approached the door. Taking a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. Peering through the peephole, you saw a shadowy figure standing just beyond the threshold, their features obscured by the dim hallway light. With your hand gripping the knife tightly, you cautiously unlocked the door, ready to defend yourself if necessary.

As the door creaked open, the figure stepped forward into the light, revealing a familiar face. "Uncle Clint," You breathed out immediately tackling the man in a hug. He instantly reciprocated, tightening his hold on you. “You ready to get the hell out of here, kid?” You couldn’t contain your smile, immediately nodding. Not needing anything else but your phone and keys, you locked your door following Clint down the steps. "Where are we going?" You asked, your curiosity piqued. "Germany," He replied nonchalantly making you stiffen momentarily.

Turning back as if sensing your unease, he gave you a reassuring smile. "I'm assuming you've heard the news about the Accords." You nodded, climbing into the passenger seat of his van as he unlocked it. "We just have to make a quick pitstop first." As you settled into the seat and the van roared to life, your thoughts instantly started racing. "What's the pitstop for?" You asked, trying to keep your voice steady. Clint glanced over at you, a smirk playing on his lips. "Just picking up some... backup." He muttered cryptically as the sense of anticipation grew as you wondered what lay ahead.

Arriving in Germany at the Leipzig-Halle Airport, it was safe to say you were a nervous wreck. Especially since the 'backup' Clint had meant was breaking Wanda Maximoff out of the Avengers Compound and picking up someone named Scott Lang. Thankfully, the witch had promised to stay out of your head so she couldn't read your inner turmoil. However, just by your body language, anyone could tell you were not 'okay'. "You okay, kid?" Clint's voice asked softly, his paternal instincts kicking in.

You managed a weak smile. "Yeah, just… thinking." The van's engine hummed softly as it entered the airport car garage, the dim lighting casting long shadows on the concrete walls. Clint raised a brow in your direction as the van entered the airport car garage, his eyes searching yours. "About what?" You hesitated, unsure of how to answer. "Everything," You finally admitted. "The Accords, my dad…" Clint nodded understandingly. "Yeah, it's a lot to take in." He paused, then added, "You don't have to do this, you know. You can still walk away." His words echoed in your head.

He was right, there was nothing stopping you from walking away, especially since your father was in support of the Accords. However, something about how he was willing to start a divide within his closest friends made you angry. Maybe it was because he had failed to hear you out, just as he had failed to hear Steve’s side of the argument. The memory of your father’s dismissive tone and the way he brushed off your concerns played over and over in your mind, fueling your decision. It was safe to say you had already made up your mind.

Turning in your seat, you gave Clint a smirk, a spark of defiance lighting up your eyes. "No chance in hell." His smile widened at your words, and he reached over to squeeze your hand. The van came to a sudden halt, jolting you slightly. Only then did you realize that Steve Rogers was a few feet away, his broad shoulders and familiar stance unmistakable. He had his back turned to you, deep in conversation with two other figures. "Does Steve know I'm here?" You asked, a mix of anticipation and apprehension threading through your voice.

"He does now," Clint shrugged, his tone casual but reassuring. "Here goes nothing" You mumbled to yourself as you unbuckled your seatbelt. "You know I wouldn't have called if I had any other choice," You heard Steve say to Clint as he extended his hand in a firm handshake. His voice was steady, but you could detect the underlying strain. Only then did his blue eyes find yours over Clint's shoulder. They widened slightly, a mix of surprise and relief washing over his features. "Y/N?" Steve breathed out, almost as if trying to decipher if you were real or not.

You lifted your hand in an awkward wave, finding the courage to step forward. Only, the super solider beat you to it. In two strides he was at your side, scooping you up into a much needed hug. His embrace was strong and warm, enveloping you in a sense of security you hadn't felt in a long time. You squeezed him back just as eagerly, hoping that through the hug you could tell him you were on his side. "It's so good to see you," He murmured into your ear, his breath warm against your skin. "I just wish it was under different circumstances." You nodded, pulling back your eyes searching his face for any signs of the unease you knew he must be feeling.

"You know I've always got your back." You smiled, giving him a mock salute which made him laugh. "Nice to see you again, kid." You turned locking eyes with Sam Wilson who was giving you a teasing smile. "Hi Sam." You grinned, eyes landing on the figure standing beside him. Dressed in a red Henley, his posture was rigid, and his expression was guarded. "Y/N, this is Bucky." Steve introduced him, almost as if reading your mind. Bucky's intense gaze met yours, and for a moment, you felt a shiver run down your spine.

His eyes were a stormy blue, filled with a depth of experiences that seemed to weigh heavily on his shoulders. Despite his tough exterior, there was something about him that intrigued you, a vulnerability that was almost palpable. Here it comes. Bucky thought to himself watching as your eyes flickered with recognition. "You're Sergeant James Barnes," You couldn't help but feel a mix of awe and empathy for the man standing before you. Bucky nodded slowly, his expression softening just a fraction. "Just Bucky," He corrected gently, as if trying to distance himself from the past that still clung to him.

You offered a small, understanding smile. "It's an honor to meet you, Bucky. I've heard a lot about you." You could have sworn you saw his lip twitch into a faint smile, almost as if for a brief moment the walls he had built around himself seemed to lower. Steve cleared his throat, breaking the moment. "Thanks for having my back." He nodded towards Wanda who stood behind you with her arms crossed. "It was time to get off my ass." Her expression was one of casual indifference, but her eyes held a spark of determination. "It was time to get off my ass," She shrugged nonchalantly, her tone light but her commitment evident.

The corner of your mouth lifted into a smile at her straightforwardness. "How about our other recruit?" Steve questioned, turning his attention to Clint. His eyes met Steve's with a knowing look, and he gave a slight nod, signaling his readiness. "He's ready to go," He coaxed turning to open the sliding door of the van. "I had to put a little coffee in him, but he should be good." As Scott slowly blinked the sleep from his eyes, Wanda stepped in front of you, her stance protective, almost as if shielding you from his gaze. "What time zone is this?" You heard him huff, his voice gravelly and tinged with sleep as he climbed out of the van with Clint's encouragement.

You watched as his eyes widened when they landed on Steve, almost as if not believing Captain America himself was standing in front of him. His expression shifted from confusion to awe, his mouth slightly agape. "C-Captain America," He breathed out, the words barely more than a whisper. "Mr. Lang." Steve nodded politely, extending his hand out for him to shake. The gesture was calm and composed, a stark contrast to Scott's jittery excitement. "It's an honor," Scott beamed, his face lighting up with a wide grin as he proceeded to shake Steve’s hand longer than was deemed normal.

"Wow, this is awesome," You heard him mumble to himself. The awe in his voice was infectious, and you had to stifle a laugh as Steve and Sam shared a knowing look. "I know you too, you're great," He praised, turning to Wanda with an earnest smile. You saw her eyes light up, a genuine smile spreading across her face as she acknowledged his compliment. "Y/N Stark," His attention now shifted to you. "I'm a huge fan, your Mind-Weaver pitch was compelling. Should help a lot of people too." His words were sincere, and you could see the genuine appreciation in his eyes.

That was the first time you had heard someone acknowledge you as well as your work outside of being Tony Stark's daughter. It was a refreshing change, and you had to admit it felt good. A sense of pride swelled within you, and you couldn't help but smile back at him. Turning back to Steve, Scott nervously fiddled with his hands, his fingers twitching as he tried to gather his thoughts. "Uh, look, I want to say, I know you know a lot of super people, so thanks for thinking of me." He smiled appreciatively. "They tell you what we're up against?" Steve asked, his voice steady and calm.

"Something about some psycho assassins," Scott replied, his tone a mix of curiosity and concern. Steve nodded, his expression grim. "We're outside the law on this one, so if you come with us you're a wanted man," Steve warned, his eyes locking onto Scott's, ensuring he understood the full implications of joining their cause. "Yeah well, what else is new," Scott shrugged. "We should get moving." Bucky suggested, speaking up for the first time in a while. His voice was low but carried a sense of urgency. Clint nodded in agreement, his eyes scanning the room as if already planning their next move.

"Thanks to Y/N's help, we got a chopper lined up," He added, acknowledging the crucial role you played. Suddenly, a buzz emitted from the intercom, sharp and insistent, cutting through the tense atmosphere like a knife. It sounded urgent. "They're evacuating the airport." Bucky translated, his eyes narrowing as he processed the information. "Dad," You breathed out, your voice barely above a whisper. You picked at your nail polish, trying to distract yourself from the anxiety that was building up inside you, avoiding everyone's piercing gaze that seemed to bore into you, seeking answers.

After a moment of heavy silence, Steve seemed to mull over his options, his jaw clenched tightly. The tension in the room was almost palpable, each second stretching into an eternity. Finally, he made his decision. "Suit up," He commanded, his voice firm and resolute. You held your breath, suddenly feeling the realness of the situation wash over you like a cold wave. The gravity of what lay ahead settled in, and the room seemed to shrink as your heart pounded in your chest. This was it. You were officially going to face your dad in what very well might be the endgame.

Thanks for reading! likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated! Feeling generous? Leave a tip!

[zvaigzdelasas]

Academics and scholars have vowed to boycott Columbia University over its repressive policies against protesting students in shocking scenes that have sparked a wider student movement for Palestine across the US.

Over the past 24 hours, student encampments have mushroomed in colleges - on the east coast, in particular - with more anticipated to begin over the next few days. Middle East Eye is aware of at least two other universities that are planning similar encampments which have not been announced yet.

Student encampments demanding divestment from companies involved in Israel's occupation of Palestinian land and "genocide" in Gaza have popped up at the Massachusetts Insitute of Technology (MIT); Tufts and Emerson in Boston; New York University and The New School in New York City; Vanderbilt in Nashville, Tennessee; Yale University in Connecticut; University of California-Berkeley; The University of Michigan; Washington University in St Louis; and The University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill.[...]

The targeting of students, the attacks on academic freedom and the policing of speech at the university from administrators has also drawn condemnation from several academics and scholars with ties with Columbia.

On Monday, academic Marc Lamont Hill, presidential professor at CUNY, said he would be pulling out of his scheduled lecture from Columbia over the ongoing repression at the university.

Faculty at Columbia and Barnard College on Monday staged a walkout in support of students.

Hours earlier, the Graduate Center Program in English announced a full academic boycott of Columbia and Barnard College "until they reinstate suspended students and respond to their demands: transparency, divestment, liberation".

Several others have released public statements cutting ties with the prestigious university.

22 Apr 24

[h0efor2ho]

Quantum Shift : From Friction To Fusion

Yunho X Reader

WC : 3.1k

TW : Enemies to ???, Brothers best friend Yuhno, Teasing, nickname (Sunshine) masterbation, fingering, mind games,

You could pin point the exact moment, you decided you hated Jeong Yunho. It wasn't when you were 4 and he stole your butterfly net, or when you were 7 and and he used all the slides for your microscope without asking. It wasn't when he copied your science fair project or when he removed all the labels from the bottles in your micro-chem kit. No the moment you felt pure, unbridled hatred for Jeong Yunho was when you were 13 years old and he announced that he would be going to MIT for physics when he graduated high school. That wouldn't have been a problem if that wasn't your exact plan as well. And how did Yunho know your plans, well you could thank your big mouth twin brother, and Yunho's best friend, Mingi, for telling him every aspect of your life. 

You learned from an early age you would be stuck with Yunho in some compacity of life with how close him and Mingi were. But you thought it would end after high school. You thought college was going to be a fresh start for you. No longer competing with him, no longer trying to be one step ahead of him. All through high school you pushed yourself. You didn't party, you studied like it was your life force. In the end it was all for not. Sure you graduate with a 4.0 but Yunho beat you by 1 point for valedictorian. When acceptance letters go out, Yunho gets his first and of course he got into MIT. Your's comes three days later, along with Mingi's. All three of you getting accepted. 

Sure MIT wasn't huge but you thought you could at least avoid Yunho durning the day. It didn't help that you knew he would be at the apartment you shared with your brother 90% of the time. So your anger was justified when Yunho's dumb face showed up in more than half your classes that first day. His face breaking into a smug smile as he sat behind you, leaning forward as he did to say "Its just like old times" knowing it would get to you.

That was two months ago, and you haven't said one word to him since. Not a single word spoken in class, not one hello muttered when you leave your bedroom and find his lengthy frame on your couch with Mingi. Not even a look back at him now as you'r sitting in a stuffy lecture hall in a Modern Astrophysics class with Yunho's foot tapping the back of your chair. You refuse to acknowledge that the action is getting under your skin, doing so would give him the satisfaction he is looking for and you will not give that to him. He has been doing these little things over the last two months to try and get you to break, to talk to him.  

When your professor is done explaining a new paper you have to write and ends class you quickly make your way to the library, checking out the books you need and finding yourself a table to spread out on with your laptop. It's a Friday evening after 6pm, it's practically empty so it's noticeable when Yunho's 6 foot frame makes its way across the rows of book shelves and to a table two rows across from you. You try your best to ignore him, even thought you can feel his eyes on you. Finally looking up and meeting his gaze you watch as he holds your stare, eye brow hitching up and a small smirk playing on his lips. The site of him infuriating you to your core. 

You throw yourself into your paper, determined to finish it tonight. You had but in your headphones, allowing Franz Gordon's piano melodies to take over your subconscious and focus. Before long you have finished typing the last sentence of your paper. Looking at your watch you realize it's past 1am. You groan as you start to gather the books you were using to put them back. You allow your eyes to shift up for half a second to notice Yunho is no longer there. The table he was occupying now sits empty. You don't spend to much time thinking about when he left or where he went. If he finished his paper or not. 

After putting all the books back you quickly gather your things and make your way to the apartment you share with your brother. Quietly making your way inside as it's almost 2am now and you know how cranky Mingi gets if he's woken up. You quickly wash up and get yourself ready for bed. You can feel the exhaustion deep in your bones as you crawl into bed. Setting your alarm for 7am and turning on your white noise machine to help drown out any snoring that is garunteed to come from Mingi's room at some point in the night, your sound asleep before a minute even passes. 

You'r first thought when you jerk awake in the morning is that someone in your apartment is working with machinery. The loud whine-grinding noice coming from down the hall is obnoxiously loud. The second think you notice is the sun isn't even all the way in the sky yet. You reach for your phone to check the time and notice 1) it's only 5:15am on a Saturday morning. 2) You have about 5 missed calls from Mingi and 2 from a number you dont have saved in your phone around 2-2:30am. You think how that's odd since Mingi was home in bed with you. The whining grinding noise cuts through your thoughts again. You'r going to kill your brother for waking you up this early on a weekend.

You kick off your covers and stomp your way out of your room. It was too early for your brother to be making all this kind of noise. Rounding the corner, rubbing the sleep from your eyes you start your beratement of him "Mingi, its Saturday at 5am, its way t-" the words die in on your tongue when you take in the site before you. It in fact is not your twin brother, but his best friend, all 6'1" of him. Your mouth gape's open like a fish out of water before you snap it shut. He's shirtless, grey sweatpants hung low on his hips, his hair tussled from sleep. 'Why are his arms so big' you silently question as your eyes take him in. You would never admit it out loud, but Yunho had your ideal body type. You knew Mingi dragged him to the gym with him every so often and it showed. His biceps corded in muscle as he leans on the counter, his chest defined and leading down to his stomach that you know if you rested your head on would not be to hard or to soft. 

"Oh hey" he says to you as he opens the coffee grinder, your realize that is the source of the noise that woke you. "What are you doing here?" you blurt out "And where is my brother?" you tear your eyes from his long delicate fingers and the veins that run along his hands and back up to his eyes. Those big chocolate brown eyes that are now studying you carefully. "Oh she speaks" he says with a lazy half smile. "I was starting to worry you may have gone mute there sunshine" You hate the way your eyes track his stupid mouth and the way it quirks up. "I can speak just fine. I just chose to not speak to you. Now where is Mingi?" You watch as Yunho fills the french press with the fresh coffee grinds before adding the hot water from the kettle next to him before turning back to you. 

You suddenly are very aware that you are only in an oversized t-shirt and underwear. You had rushed out to the kitchen to yell at who you thought was your brother, you didn't bother with pants. Now you wish you kinda did with the way his gaze falls to the hem of your shirt that hits mid thigh. "Your brother sunshine, decided it would be a great idea for him and his math buddies to go to one of those uni parties" he lets the words hang between you as he pushed the pump down on the press. "Okay so that means he's where?" you question back. 

"He is currently passed out in his bed, and will be nursing a hang over today since they all got shit faced last night and he called me at 2am to come pick him up after he couldn't get a hold of you" You watch as his large hand reaches up and loops his finger through the handle of two mugs, pulling them from the cabinet. "Thanks for answering my call too by the way" He glances over at you "It was fun trying to figure out where his keys were while he was drunk at 2:30 in the morning" he turns and opens the fridge looking before his brows furrow. He looks over at you "Where is the 'sugar free sweet and creamy' creamer" he asks. "In the back, in the black glass bottle. Mingi will use it all if I don't switch the container" he bends down again and looks harder. "Ugh Y/N there are like 5 of those bottles back here." 

You roll your eyes, and stomp over to the fridge, lightly pushing his shoulder out of the way so you can look. "Yunho those are grey bottles, there is only one black frosted bottle back here" you say as you reach in and grab the bottle. "Seriously, for someone who is sooooo smart you sure ar-" the words die in your throat and your breath hitches as you feel a hand land on your hip. The back's of your thighs brush against the warm fabric that you realize is Yunhos sweat pants. You quickly turn and your face is inline with Yunhos bare chest. Only about 3 inches separate the two of you. You try and take a step back, but your back meets the cold surface of the refrigerator. He has you pinned, hand still on your waist.

You tilt your head back to look up at him, finding him already looking down at you. You hold your breath as he leans down, his breath fanning across your face as his hand wraps around the bottle of creamer in your's "Thanks sunshine" leaning in closer, he drops his voice. "By the way, the blue suites you" Your face must morph into the horrific embarrassment you felt on the inside because when he pulls back to look at you he lets out a small laugh while tracking your face. You can feel the blush sweeping across your face as he takes you in. Gaze sweeping from your eyes to your mouth, your neck. He watches the rapid rise and fall of your chest as your heart speeds up. 

"Ughhh my head" you nearly jump out of your skin when you hear your brothers voice come from behind Yunho. You automatically shrink back against the refrigerator as Yunho studies you. "Yea you're gonna feel like shit all day buddy" he says to your brother without taking his eyes, or his hand, off of you. "Why don't you go shower and I'll make you a cup of coffee" Your brother lets out a groan as he enters the kitchen, stopping in his tracks when you see's Yunho looming over you. "Ugh am I interrupting something?" his eyes shift from Yunho to you and back. Thankfully the way you are angled he cant see Yunhos hand gripping your hip like his life depends on it.

"Nope" Yunho says still without looking at you "Y/N here was just showing me where the coffee creamer was as she was telling me how blind and stupid I am. Isn't that right sunshine?" Neither of you look away as you shake your head yes. Mingi just looks at you for another minute "Well I'm happy you two can be in close proximity without trying to kill each other now" he smiles at you as you look at him "I'm going to take that shower. Maybe we can have breakfast after" you watch as he turns and walks out of the kitchen. You and Yunho stay where you are. Eyes locked, his large hand still gripping your hip, your shirt bunching up higher on your thigh from it. 

Neither of you move, not as Mingi pads down the hall way. Not when you hear the door to the bathroom click close. Not when you hear the shower turn on. Neither of you move until you hear Mingi let out a loud sigh and the sound of water splashing on the shower floor. Signaling he is indeed in the shower now. Two things happen, they happen so fast it takes a moment for your mind to wrap around them. Yunho pries the bottle of creamer out of your hand, placing it on the counter next to you. His hand then comes back to you, gripping your other hip. He steps into you, pushing you back up against the refrigerator more. His large, thick thigh sloping between yours. 

"Why do you insist on doing this to me?" he whispers. "Why do you keep putting me though this?" His eyes searching yours. You don't know what he is referring to. Your breath hitches as his thigh connects with your body. "I...I don't..." your mind cant form words. You can't think. You hate Yunho.. but you can't deny the feeling growing low in your stomach. You have to get away from him you think. 'He's trying to get me to embarrass myself' your mind is racing now. You slowly bring your hands to his chest. Your palms burn as they connect with his bare skin. "Let me go" you say, voice not as strong as you want it to be. His grip on you falters for a second. "I..  I dont know what game you're playing at Yunho, but leave me alone." You push slightly, he allows you to remove himself from you as you make your way around him. "Y/n im not-"

"Enough Yunho. I know we hate each other and are always trying to out do each other but please don't try and lie and tell me your not trying to get in my head and mess me up" You quickly flee back to your room, your blood rushing in your ears you barley hear him calling your name as he follows you. You quickly shut your door behind you, blocking him out his voice dies in the hallway. Your heart is racing, breathing coming in small pants. 'What the fuck was that' you think to yourself. You never thought in a million years Yunho would use those kind of tactics on you to try and mess with your head. 

He must have heard how flustered you get when it comes to anything intimate. You weren't a prude but your list of experiences were quite small. You had, had sex before with a ex boyfriend but it was nothing extravagant. In fact it was a little disappointing, and then when he broke up with you after stating that it wasn't exciting enough for him well you just went back to focusing on your education. You knew he told people you weren't that great in bed, mean while it was him that didn't seem to know what he was doing. You knew Yunho had been friends with him before that, he must have told him how flustered you got and decided to use that against you. You should be mad, furious even.. But you cant deny the feeling pooling low in your stomach. 

A feeling you haven't felt in a long time. You shake your head. It's Yunho, Jeong Yunho for god sakes. Your academic rival. You hate each other! So why are you so turned on by the memory of him pinning you to the refrigerator? You quickly strip out of your underwear and crawl into bed. You know you have to take care of this or it will consume you. Slowly you allow your hand to travel down your body till you reach your core. You were wet.. 'god I hope he didn't notice' you think. It wasn't because of him per-say you tell yourself, it was just the action its self. Your fingers quickly glide through your wet folds, finding your entrance with ease. You quickly insert two of your fingers in and work yourself up.It doesn't take long. Thoughts of Yunhos long fingers replacing yours. You think of the veins that run along the back of his hand and up his forearm. You're punching your fingers in and out of you at a fast pace, the heel of your hand coming down to put pressure against your clit.

 You quickly slap your other hand over your mouth as you approach the edge. Your pants turning into uncontrollable moans, the squashing sound of how wet you are filling the room. All while thinking about your brothers best friend and the man who is the cause of 90% of your troubles. It doesn't take long  before your back is arching off the bed and your core is clenching around your fingers. You come down in a hazy realization your just fingered yourself to Yunho. If he knew he would make fun of you to no end. Getting off to someone who hate you and you hate.You quickly clean yourself up before opening your text book and dive into studying, determined to never thing about what you just did ever again. Shame burns you from the inside out... How are you ever going to look at him again...

You successfully avoided Yunho over the next three week. You don't leave your room when he's over, you get to class right before it starts and run out as soon as it's over. You haven't gone to the library in three weeks for fear of seeing him. It was all going great till your advanced physics teacher announced you would be doing a partnered research paper. You hated group or partnered work but you saw how working with others is crucial in the science world so you always sucked it up. You were mentally preparing yourself to have to work with a stranger when you opened the roster he had e-mailed out along with the topic you had to cover. You found your name, next to it the subject "The Law Of Attraction and how it can be applied to science" but your stomach dropped when you saw who you were partnered with. Because next to your name was none other then...

...Jeong Yuhno...

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Tag list ; @tunaasan

If you'd like to be tagged in pt 2 please let me know :)

[izzysink]

𝐰𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬

𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎! 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 𝟷𝟽𝟺𝟿 ✎ 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑡𝑢𝑠: 𝑢𝑛𝑒𝑑𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑑 ✎ 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ✎ 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝟷 ✎ 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝟸 ✎ 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝟹

𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑝𝑜 = @lanalosty0uu - you should totally check out their steve x reader time travel fic here on Tumblr!

I'm currently undecided on who to pair the reader with atm lol 🌝 but that means that it's kinda up to you 🫵 :0 if you have a character you'd like for the pairing, drop a comment and if I like them or feel it fits with the story I'll use them!! but!!! I won't write poly so you've gotta pick one 😔 ik ik it's a hard choice babes I know you can do it!! can you tell I like exclamation points

“I’m heading out! I’ll be back after my comp-sci class!” you call to your friend Hannah from the door of your dorm at Hawkins Community College, waiting a moment for a sleepy response from the pile of blankets at the end of your roommate’s bed. You shut the door, not bothering to lock it because you knew Hannah had a class pretty soon anyway. You whistle down the small corridor of the singular dormitory for HCC, checking your bag for the essentials; laptop, phone, charger, wallet, keys. 

You’d never expected to end up in Hawkins. Your parents had envisioned you going to an ivy league since you were little, enrolling you in extracurriculars and tutoring as soon as you could read and write; but you didn’t really want that for yourself, you weren’t the best at school - not the worst, but you weren’t yale level, like your parents wanted. After your parents insisted you only apply for places like Harvard and MIT, it didn’t surprise you that by the end of senior year you had no college to drive off to like so many of your friends. You had scrambled to find a place at any college that would take you, scraping the barrel for empty spaces, until a college from the middle-of-nowhere-Indiana, Hawkins, accepted you and your average test scores for a computer science course.

Walking to the campus, you check your phone, giggling at the bickering of your friends on the group chat and the tiktoks Hannah sent you last night. Hawkins Community College has its own campus, but it uses the old high school building as well (a new building was made for Hawkins High in the 2000s, and the old one went out of use until the community college picked it up and refurbished it for the Arts building).

You didn’t have any arts classes, but there was a little known shortcut through the old high school building to the main college campus, and you had made the route your little ritual of the week. It calmed you to walk through the old halls and be saturated in that old school smell and oil paints, getting to see unfinished paintings hung on the walls to dry or works in progress sat against the wall. There was a corridor on the way to the shortcut that was lined with shelving units, all stuffed full with bowles and sculptures and mugs. Your favourite little ritual was to see which ceramics had been kilned, picked up, or painted each week you had your comp-sci 101 class. 

This week, the swirling set of green plates you’d been eyeing for yourself had disappeared, whisked away by their creator. In their place sat an array of little figurines, you guessed they were for a board game of some sort with their angry poses and weapons, axes and magic wands held delicately in their hands. You were entranced in the precision and detail of the mini figures, quiet admiration floating in your mind as you continued on to your class.

The shortcut was just through a door on the left, it led into a small, little used drama room that had a back entrance door to the yard of the lecture building of Hawkins College. Checking your bun in the glass of the old classroom door, you made sure your claw clip was still in place as you opened the door and–

A chorus of sound burst from the dimly lit room, a small group of high school boys sat around a table in matching black and white shirts, a boy your age with a mop of curly hair sat at the head of the table on a plush armchair. The table was filled with dice and figurines and pens and paper, you guessed it was DnD, you had a couple of friends back home who played, and you’d even sat in on a couple of sessions with them before deciding it wasn’t for you.

As soon as you were noticed, all sound stopped, their faces turning to you in surprise. “Oh my god I’m so sorry,” you said, inching past the table towards the back door, “I didn’t realise this room was being used, I’ll be out in a moment don’t worry,” you flash a sheepish grin to the hoard of teenage boys gaping at you. Insecurity bubbled in your stomach a bit, they’re like 12, you thought, snap out of it, you’re in college now! 

Nobody replied, which you thought was a bit rude, but oh well, you had a degree to earn, and you probably wouldn’t see them again anyway. You opened the back door to head to the IT building, but when you stepped outside, it felt like you were sucked into an 80s time capsule, neons and shoulder pads and straight leg jeans assaulted your eyes from every corner. Also, why were there so many teenagers? The high school was a 20 minute walk away from the college. You got a couple of odd looks from some seniors, all decked out with massive hair and even bigger earrings, you could tell some cheerleaders were judging your outfit, which, rude, you thought you looked pretty cute today. You were wearing some baggy low waist jeans with the mini Ugg boots you’d gotten for Christmas a few months earlier, as well as a baby tee with a cute cat graphic on the front. To top it all off, you’d worn your favorite jacket and some little hoop earrings.

Walking backwards, you went back into the minor safety of the inside, at least the drama room had less kids having an 80s phase. You paused once the door shut with a click, looking around confusedly at the room you hadn’t noticed when you walked through seconds prior. You were pretty sure that whiteboard wasn’t there before, the same with that rack of costumes and those desks piled in the corner. The thing that caught you off guard the most was the writing on the whiteboard. There, marked in neat red pen, was the date 10/03/1986.

The hell? 

You tried to ignore the boys sitting around the table who were obviously staring at you as you fished your phone out of your bag, checking the date, yeah, 10/03/2025. You looked up and down from your phone to the whiteboard a couple times before awkwardly walking back to the other door. You’d take the long way then. 

You opened the door before immediately closing it again. 

Hell. No. 

“You okay there, princess?” your head snapped up to meet the eyes of the guy at the head of the table. Looking at him more closely, he looked like a total 80s metal head, crazy hair and rings on each finger. You mouthed a response, not really knowing what to say, I’m stuck in an 80s revival high school, surrounded by teenagers with big hair and all of the dates on the walls say it's 1986 when last time I checked it was 2025 and I’m late to my comp-sci class and-, you get the point.

Since you figured you didn’t have anything else to lose you asked, “sorry, um- where am I?” A younger boy, you guessed a freshman, with baby fat and a mess of curls made a face at your response, “Hawkins High?” he answered with a lisp blinking at you confusedly as you panicked over the new information. How could you have gotten from your college to a building 20 minutes away?

Scratch that, what the hell was going on?

“Okay, thanks,” you say distractedly as you think of what to do next, you look back to the eldest boy, you really needed to catch his name, “Do–” you were cut off by the bell, a lethargic pickup of footsteps outside the door telling you that it was lesson time next, not the end of school.

A chorus of groans rang out in the room as the boys got up dejectedly to get to their next class. You were swept up in the wave of kids exiting the room before you could get another word in edgewise and you found yourself back in the middle of an 80s tornado as the boys dispersed to their respective classes.

The one who had sat at the head of the table leant against the wall as you stood in the middle of the corridor, marveling at the disappearance of your favorite pottery shelves, instead replaced by school lockers and wall decals with various Hawkins High memorabilia. Students swerved around you, giving you odd looks and confused faces, you were clearly in the wrong place.

When the corridor emptied and the halls quietened, the boy spoke up, “I take it you’re not from around here? I’m Eddie,” you spared him a glance before introducing yourself. Don’t get you wrong, he seemed sweet and all, but your mind was a little preoccupied to engage in small-talk.

You decided to at least leave the school, it would be really awkward if a teacher found a college student just wandering the halls, but then again, looks like we’re in the 80s now, and from what your parents had told you about growing up in the 80s, most people wouldn’t care that much about some rando in the school.

You thought it better not to test your luck. “I’m… gonna go,” you tell Eddie, not waiting for a response before beelining it back the way you came. Navigating the hallways, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of wonder at how different everything looked, how there was still art on the walls, but done by different people, there were club posters smattered around the school, basketball tryouts were next week apparently, and the walls were almost pristine compared to the paint and grime smudged college block it had become almost 40 years in the future.

You sped-walked through the front office, trying to make it seem like you weren’t not supposed to be there, and burst into the midday sun, tension melting out of your muscles immediately once you escaped the high school.

You stood there for a few minutes, wondering what to do. You didn’t want to even think the utterly stupid idea that kept prodding at your mind. Worried that if you allow yourself to question it that you’d go insane. Not that this situation wasn’t already insane.

You heard your stomach rumble. Well, food didn’t seem like such a bad start.

𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑑 𝑟𝑒𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑠! 🤍