#second semester of college down and i think i did even worse than the first one

[graciousdragon]

*walks in, covered in ash and emanating smoke, like a Looney Tunes character after surviving an explosion* hey guys i'm back

[oddinary4bts]

Chasing Cars | ch 15.5 (jjk)

☆summary: when your brother goes to study on a semester abroad, your life collides with his best friend Jeon Jungkook, who's coincidentally your roommate. Will you survive the collision, or will you crumble into dust?

☆pairings: brother's best friend!Jungkook x younger sister!female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, this chapter contains mature content)

☆genre: forbidden love?au, college!au, slice of life!au, smut, angst (as usual a lot of it), fluff

☆warnings: curses, mentions of jk's unaliving attempt, explicit content: hickeys, fingering, they are so in love and can't stop saying it, unprotected sex, creampie

☆word count: 2.6k

☆a/n: i love them, and my bad if there are any typos this is heavily unedited haha let me know if you see any!

☆series masterpost

☆☆☆☆☆

If I lay here If I just lay here Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Chasing Cars, Snow Patrol

☆☆☆☆☆

Jungkook feels anxious. Ever since Taehyung asked him to meet up to talk, he’s been feeling incredibly anxious, like his heart might explode in his chest. Even worse - he’s afraid he’ll run into you when he gets to the apartment, and after what you said on Thursday, he thinks he might break with no way to heal if he sees you.

He’s scheduled an appointment with his therapist later today. All he can do is hope that it’ll help. And that his conversation with Taehyung will help, too.

Taehyung is in the living room when Jungkook gets home, playing on the Switch. He pauses his game the second Jungkook walks in, and they both stare at each other for a time, an uneasy silence filling the apartment.

Taehyung breaks it first. “Hey.”

Jungkook takes off his shoes but keeps his coat on as he heads towards the living room. “Hey.”

“How have you been?” Taehyung asks.

It’s awkward, and Jungkook hates it. He’s been hating way too much stuff in his life lately.

“Fine,” Jungkook replies. 

He can’t bring himself to return the question, and he sits at the other extremity of the couch, as far away from Taehyung as he possibly can.

“Listen…” Taehyung says when he realizes Jungkook won’t say anything else. “I’m sorry I punched you.” He winces as his eyes go over the bruise and wound Jungkook knows adorn his cheek. “Shit, I actually got you good.”

“You did,” Jungkook coldly replies.

Taehyung eyes his knuckles, which have also turned red and purple from the blow. “I really am sorry for that. I don’t know why I punched you, and I’m a little disgusted with myself that I did.”

“You were mad. It makes sense.”

Taehyung shakes his head no. “It doesn’t make sense. But… man, why didn���t you tell me about her?”

“Because you told me you’d kill me if I did touch her?” Jungkook chuckles bitterly. “I didn’t want to ruin our friendship.”

“Yet you still went behind my back and fucked her,” Taehyung states, a hint of anger flashing behind the words.

“I didn’t fuck your sister,” Jungkook spits. “It’s never been like that with her.”

Taehyung remains silent for a few seconds and then sighs deeply. “Then how is it?”

His tone is cool, composed, and a lot nicer than Jungkook expected it to be. It calms down the anger that was starting to simmer in his blood better than a cold shower would have.

“Wha - what?” Jungkook lets out.

Taehyung offers him a smile that seems forced, yet Jungkook sees it for what it is - he’s trying to make an effort.

“How is it with Y/n?”

Jungkook gulps, gaze widening. “Huh… well…” he trails off, eyes falling to his hands, where he’s been mindlessly pulling at the calluses he gets from working out. “It’s… great. I know she’s your sister but fuck… she’s amazing.”

“She is,” Taehyung agrees.

“But I fucked everything up in Paris when I kissed Gabrielle.”

The silence that follows is heavy, interrupted by Taehyung’s sigh what feels like an eternity later.

“Were you guys together then?” Taehyung asks.

Jungkook shrugs. “We weren’t together together. But yes we were.” He pauses, and his throat is so dry it feels like sandpaper when he tries to swallow. “We started on Valentine’s Day.”

Taehyung’s nose is scrunched up, much like you sometimes do, when Jungkook looks at him. “That’s… a long time ago.”

“We ended in Paris, though,” Jungkook adds. “Except last Thursday.”

“I thought you and Lisa…” Taehyung trails off.

“It happened once last month,” Jungkook immediately explains, probably far more defensive than necessary. “And Y/n actually caught us together so… I ended things with Lisa right away.”

“I remember Lisa being pissed about it,” Taehyung admits. “But then she said that it was because of another girl, and looking back I was stupid to think it was Gaby.”

Jungkook purses his lips. “I haven’t spoken to Gaby in person since Paris. We only texted a couple of times.”

Including that one time she’d given him shit for not telling you about his promise to her.

“Right…” Taehyung trails off. He sighs, sitting back on the couch, throwing Jungkook a look. “What do you want with my sister?”

Jungkook gulps around a sudden lump in his throat. What does he want with you? He already knows, but can he tell Taehyung? Can he tell your brother that he’s so irreversibly in love with you he thinks he’s been dying since you said it was a lapse of judgment on Thursday?

That he almost died in July after he lost you?

“You want the truth?” Jungkook asks, his heart rate spiking. “I’m in love with her. I just want her to be happy, and of course I wish she’d want to be happy with me, but I don’t think that’ll happen after last Thursday.”

“You’re in love with her?” Taehyung repeats.

Jungkook gulps. “Yes.”

Taehyung nods and, to Jungkook’s surprise, taps Jungkook’s shoulder. “Noted. Come home, Jungkook. You should talk to her.”

Jungkook is stunned silent, and he just stares at Taehyung, just stares at his best friend unblinkingly, not understanding where the conversation went.

“What?”

“Come home,” Taehyung repeats. “I’m not mad at you. I was mostly mad that you both hid it from me for months, but clearly I was wrong.” He pauses, chuckles lightly. “At least that’s what Ari said. She quite literally beat some sense into me.”

So… this is it? The biggest obstacle to you and him… wasn’t even an obstacle?

“She did?”

“Yeah.” Taehyung tilts his head to the side, gaze widening as if he’s reminiscing about what happened with Ariane. “She said that I was a dick for not letting you guys figure your shit out. I think Gaby told her about the two of you.”

That would make sense, considering that the two girls are best friends. 

“Oh,” is all Jungkook manages to say.

Taehyung surveys him for a few seconds, as Jungkook’s world crumbles down around him. It’s like the floor disappeared, and he’s plummeting towards the ground with no parachute to save him.

Taehyung is not opposed to your relationship.

If you want it, Jungkook can be with you.

“So come home,” Taehyung repeats. “Talk to Y/n. Fix shit with her.” Taehyung smiles, and this time it’s fully genuine. “I just want you both to be happy.”

Jungkook nods, and he has to take a deep breath to refrain from crying then and there. “Okay.” He nods again. “Okay, I will talk to her.”

There’s a moment of silence as Taehyung just carefully observes Jungkook. Jungkook wonders, can Taehyung hear the wild beats of his heart at the perspective of talking to you?

“Can I…” Taehyung starts, and then his eyes drop to his hands in his lap. “Can I ask you something?”

Jungkook’s heart seems to come to a full halt in his chest. “Yeah?”

“What happened last summer…” Taehyung trails off. “Is it related to Y/n?”

A bottle of wine crashing on the pavement comes to Jungkook’s mind. But he never told Taehyung - how would he know?

“What do you mean?” Jungkook replies, pulling on his piercings.

“In July.” Taehyung sighs, meeting Jungkook’s gaze for a few seconds. “Lisa told Sera, and she told me and Jimin.”

Jungkook hates it. He hates it so much, hating the vulnerability that it imposes him.

“Ah.” He gulps, and he thinks about you for a moment.

Thinks about the fact that you were the only thing on his mind when he was so close to ending it.

“It was partly caused by losing her, yes,” Jungkook finally answers, and he’s suddenly blinking back tears.

“Fuck, JK…” Taehyung trails off. “You really should have told me about her…”

“I didn’t think you’d be… open-minded,” Jungkook says, shrugging his shoulders. “And she’d already ended things with me then.”

Taehyung nods once, and then sighs again. “Please don’t keep everything to yourself now, okay? I really don’t want you to think you’re alone. And I really don’t want you to ever feel like… that is a solution. So please talk to me, talk to Jimin whenever you need help, okay?”

Jungkook can’t speak around the lump in his throat, so all he does is nod. Taehyung understands - they’re best friends after all.

“I love you, bro,” Taehyung adds. “Please talk to Y/n.”

“I will,” Jungkook answers, his voice choked up with emotion.

All he can hope for is for you to be open to the conversation, whenever it comes. 

*****

For the first time in months, Jungkook feels at peace.

You’re here with him, and for the first time, he knows he won’t have to let go. Maybe that’s why he’s kissing you slowly, softly - you have all of eternity stretched ahead of you. Yet it seems you want more. Your kisses grow deeper, and soon his blood is pulsing at his ears, shooting down to his dick, and Jungkook pushes his tongue in your mouth.

It’s like he’s discovering you for the first time. He marvels at your sight, at your taste, at the way you moan softly against his lips. He swallows your sounds, inhales your inebriating scent, and he climbs on top of you, gently parting your legs with his knee so that he can be as close to you as possible.

He has half a thought that Taehyung is somewhere in the apartment, but the way you wrap your legs around his waist makes him forget everything until there’s just you and him.

He leaves your mouth to find your neck, his tongue darting out to taste you. A second later he’s sucking a hickey on your skin, and you moan softly, hand pulling at his hair.

“Kook,” you breathe out.

He pauses, just content with being close to you. “I love you, peach.”

Your arms wrap tightly around him, and though you have to be aware of his erection pressing against you, you both just stay there for a moment. 

“Love you too, Kook. So, so much.”

It’s the way you say the words. Jungkook immediately feels the need to be inside you, to be surrounded by you, and he kneels between your legs so that he can take off his shirt. You run a hand on his body, awe in your eyes like you, too, can’t believe you made it in the end. He takes a moment to look at you, to take in the way your eyes sparkle with emotion - with love, lust and yearning.

He loves you. And the best part about it is, you love him too.

“Fuck, peach,” he whispers. “You’re so beautiful.”

You sit up, taking off your shirt in one swift motion that reveals so much skin - you weren’t wearing a bra - and Jungkook thinks he’ll go insane. It’s like he forgot what you looked like despite seeing you just a few days ago - it feels like a whole lifetime ago.

You’ve gained muscles over the months apart. You’re leaner, and there’s a strength to your curves that makes Jungkook’s dick twitch in his pants. The tattoo on your ribs is all too attractive too, and Jungkook takes a moment to trace it as you lie back down under his watchful gaze.

The art is beautiful. Delicate, with fine lines that have sunk perfectly in your skin. Jungkook wonders who your artist is, if they’d be able to tattoo something on him too, something to remind him of you. But then you’re whining from lack of attention, and Jungkook leans down, kissing you deeply.

You run your hands on the skin of his back, nails lightly digging in his skin, and when he grunts softly, you whisper, “I’m so happy to be here with you.”

He goes fully insane. Insanely in love, perhaps. He undresses you, kissing every inch of skin revealed, and though he wants to taste you, to eat you out until you come undone on his tongue, his dick is throbbing too painfully for him to ignore it.

You’re glistening, your arousal evident the second his eyes land on you. He still takes a moment to slip two fingers inside of you as he kisses you again, swallowing your soft moans as they come. And when he thinks you’re ready, stretched enough for his dick, Jungkook takes off the rest of his clothes. His dick springs free, already rock hard like it always is with you, and he jerks himself off a couple of times as he watches you, as you watch him through half-lidded eyes.

“Condom?” he asks, though he hopes you’ll say no.

He wants to feel all of you again.

You shake your head no. “Please just fuck me already.”

“Fuck,” he curses, his dick hardening even more. “Fuck, peach, I love you.”

He comes closer, rubbing his tip on you, collecting your juices. It’s so sensitive without a condom, and he has to bite the tip of his tongue so that he doesn’t come right away. It doesn’t help that you’re so wet. That a moment later he’s slipping in, inch after inch, your walls sucking him in. 

It doesn’t help that you moan softly, eyes fluttering shut as your eyebrows bunch together from the pleasure. You’re so hot like this, so sinfully beautiful, and some feral part of him just wants to pound into you, to fuck you until the whole neighbourhood knows that you’re his forever now.

But he tames himself, slowly pulls out before pushing all the way in again. 

“Kook,” you moan, and your hand finds one of his where it’s holding your waist. “Come close.”

You don’t have to ask twice, especially not as he wants you close, too. So he bends down, cages you between his forearms, and then he establishes a slow rhythm. Your hips lift to meet his, your walls tightening around him from the motion, and he knows he’ll come fast.

You’re too tight, too wet, for him to hold on for a long time. So he tells you how much he loves you. Whispers on your lips that he never wants to be separated from you again, that he thinks you’re the reason he’s alive. You confess your love back, tell him that he’s so worthy of your love, that you wouldn’t want anyone other than him. 

You tell him that you’ll love him when you’re old, which makes him laugh against your lips. There’s beauty in the thought, in the knowledge that he does have a lifetime with you.

“You’re…” he trails off, because he has no words to describe how amazing you are, and his dick is stealing most of the blood from his brain.

So he kisses you instead. Kisses you slow, kisses you deep, his motions growing faster until they turn sloppy, and then he pushes all the way in, his dick twitching as he unloads his cum deep inside of you. You hold him tight, pussy pulsating around him, and Jungkook’s high keeps going on and on, your lips muffling his groans and soft moans.

“I love you,” he says again when he starts being able to think once more.

He’ll never get tired of telling you.

“I love you too, Kook,” you whisper.

He’ll never get tired of hearing that, too.

Read chapter fifteen here!

☆☆☆☆☆

he is so in love with her please send help. Let me know what you think of the drabble!

All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2024. Do not copy, repost or translate.

[teapartyprincess4two]

can you please do a Nick panic attack fic. where either him or the reader (his bestie) has a panic at school and the other helps them calm down. (your choice on how the story goes. xx) love ya thx. ps. you're a great writer!! xx

4 In The Morning- N. Sturniolo

pairing: Pregnant!reader x Bestfriend!Nick

classification: platonic angst, fluff

warnings: use of y/n, slight cursing, mention of unexpected pregnancy, mention of bullies/ bullying (brief), short

insirpation: request^^ so technically they’re IN school, but I put a spin on this req :P

summary: Your best friend Nick comforts you after receiving some unexpected news.

—

“This can’t be fucking real.”

A positive pregnancy test rests on your trembling hands, this was never supposed to happen. A meaningless one night stand was never meant to come with actual, irreversible consequences. You were fresh out of high school, unemployed, and in your first semester of college chasing a dream that now felt impossibly out of reach. How the fuck were you going to raise a child on your own?

Nick is the only person you can think to call, he’s in a completely different timezone halfway across the country, but you know he’s the only person who’ll answer on the first ring. It’s 4 in the morning where he’s at, but knowing him he’s probably still awake.

You hold the phone up to your face with one hand, the other occupied with the pregnancy test. The longer you look at it, the more surreal this all feels.

“Hey bestie bae,” Nick picks up on the first ring, just as expected, his corny nickname for you momentarily easing your nerves. A small sniffle escapes your lips, you couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“Girl, what’s wrong?”

Silence. You don’t even know where to start. You trust Nick with your life and you know he won’t judge you, but the moment you admit this out loud it becomes real. As soon as those two words leave your mouth, the truth will be cemented into reality.

“You’re scaring me. What’s wrong?!” Nick reiterates. He knows you like the back of his hand, but even he can’t figure out what could possibly have you this upset. You take a deep breath, attempting to calm yourself down.

Finally, when your breathing is stable enough, you finally speak. Your voice cracks, “Nick—”

“Don’t do that. That only makes me more worried,” he interrupts you. You can hear his bed creaking in the background as he shifts around nervously.

“Nick, I have something to tell you,” you whisper, wiping a stray tear away from your face.

“Just tell me already. You’re actually fucking scaring me and I hate this,” he’s becoming impatient. Nick’s mind is racing with all the possibilities, his protective insticts kicking in.

“Promise you won’t judge?” the pregnancy test feels heavy in your hands. The two blue lines stare back, taunting you as they dangle your future in your face.

“When have I ever judged you?” Nick’s voice is soft, he can tell that this is serious. He’s being gentle with you, almost like he’s afraid that if he comes at you incorrectly you’ll break.

You take another deep, shaky breath.

“Okay, so remember how I slept with that guy?” You chew on the inside of your cheek, desperate for a distraction as you try thinking of the best way to relay the information weighing heavy on your mind.

“Did he fucking do something to you?!” Nick’s mind immediately formulates the worst possible scenarios, each one worse than the last.

“No. Well, yes.”

“Y/n I swear to God! Why didn’t you tell me?!” You can hear the anger in his voice.

“Nick he didn’t do anything to me. I’m fine, I’m just…” your voice trails off, how were you supposed to tell your childhood best friend that you were pregnant?

“You’re just…” Nick tries squeezing the information out of you, he’s desperate to know. You’re so close to hanging up or even making up an excuse to ignore reality.

You bite the bullet, deciding that prolonging this didn’t change the truth. “I’m pregnant.”

Silence fills the atmosphere for the second time that night. Nick is both in shock and disbelief, and he feels a wave of sadness wash over him at the revelation.

“I was NOT expecting that,” he whisper shouts in disbelief, he doesn’t know what else to say. He isn’t judging you, but he is extremely concerned. I mean, you’re both just kids, and even if it’s definitely NOT his child he still feels an overwhelming sense of responsibility over it already.

“I don’t even know what I’m gonna do,” you whisper, the tears forming at your lash line. You’re one blink away from sobbing.

“It’s gonna be fine… we’re gonna be fine,” Nick replies, attempting to console you before you have a full breakdown. It’s no use.

“It’s not gonna be fine, Nick! I’m pregnant and I barely even remember the guys face! I’m in college for fucks sake! We’re not even mid-semester and I already fucked up,” you exclaim through loud sobs. Usually Nick would feel extremely uncomfortable listening to anyone cry, but you’re his best friend. If anything he wishes he could grow wings and fly to you so that he could engulf you in the biggest, strongest hug ever. His heart is breaking for you.

“Y/n—”

“Fuck! I’m gonna be the worst mom ever. I don’t even have a job, how am I gonna buy diapers? Where am I gonna live? With my parents? Dude, I still haven’t even told my parents. Not like they’d ever wanna talk to me again after this,” your words are coming out a mile a minute. You were start to overthink, every excruciating detail only adding to your unease.

Nick can’t get a single word in, your anxiety fueled rant ringing through his ears as you realize that the worst is yet to come, “Oh my God, I still haven’t told my parents. My mom’s gonna kill me! She’s gonna tell my dad and then he’s gonna cut me off and then I’m gonna be homeless AND pregnant!” The more you think, the more inconsolable you become. The cold bathroom tile hits the back of your head as you throw your head back.

“I’m gonna have to drop out, get a job, find an apartment and fucking tell this RANDOM guy that he’s gonna be a dad. What am I even gonna say? ‘SURPRISE! HERE’S YOUR BABY!’ I’m so fucked, Nick. I’m so fucked…” your breathing is erratic, the hysteria causing you to enter an anxiety attack. Nick can tell that everytime you breathe your sobs and hiccups inhibit you from taking a full breath.

Your eyes are shut tight as you clutch your chest, attempting to regulate your breathing. The wind is being knocked out of you, you’re hyperventilating and the snot that bubbles in your nostrils doesn’t help either. Mascara runs down your red face; you’re a sad, hopeless mess.

Nick finally gets a word in, your loud sobs being the only sound coming from you. “Y/n, listen to me. Take a deep breath… Everything is going to be fine!” He listens as you do as instructed, breathing in deeply before releasing a shaky exhale.

“I know this is hard and I can’t even imagine how you’re feeling, but I know that you’re scared,” he continues, pausing briefly to gather his thoughts.

“I want you to know that I’d NEVER let you do this alone, EVER. We’re gonna figure this out, I’ll fly over there tomorrow if I have to, but we’re figuring this out.” No one has ever put their life on pause like this for you before, it almost seems unreasonable and selfish for you to allow it.

You’ve calmed down significantly, your loud sobs being reduced to quiet whimpers. “You don’t have to do that, Nick.”

“You’re right. I don’t have to, but I want to. I’m gonna buy the ticket now, but you get some rest okay?” His voice is soft and gentle.

You know he’s tired, but you really need a friend right now. If you hang up, you’re sure to cry until there aren’t any tears left. “Can you stay on the phone with me?” you ask hesitantly, already feeling like a bother for calling at 4 in the morning.

A small, sad smile forms on Nick’s face, “Of course, anything for my bestie bae.” The corny nickname makes you laugh, the first sign of happiness since you called.

Every shared childhood memory is playing in Nick’s mind from the time he met you, to the time you defended him from high school bullies. There’s no doubt in his mind that you’re going to be an amazing mother, even if the circumstances are completely unexpected.

“Y/n?” he picks at his bed sheets, flicking pieces of lint onto the floor.

“Yeah?” you slowly get up from the bathroom floor, gently placing the pregnancy test on the sink before walking into your room.

“You’re gonna be such a good mom,” he admits. You crawl under the billowy comforter, bringing it up to your neck for some form of comfort. Nick’s words are reassuring and you feel so grateful to have a friend like him.

Suddenly it all doesn’t feel so scary.

—

MASTERLIST

A/n: this was honestly (loosely) based on my relationship with my best friend. I hope you enjoy hunny bunches!

luv ya! Thx for the req!

P.s ur the best anon for this request xx

- L.A.M.B👼🏻💗

—

taglist: @nicksmainbitch @sturniololovers @mayhem-72 @worldlxvlys @gnxosblog @meg-sturniolo @creamoncreamoncream2 @mattnchrisworld @sanyi5 @lustfulslxt @whicked-hazlatwhore @tworosesblackthorn @mxqdii @fawned01 @junnniiieee07 @sturniolololover @missriddle03 @k-l-a-w-s @hearts4chris @maryx2xx

note: if you want to be tagged in my fanfic related posts, you can access my TAGLIST and comment 💐

note: requests are open, I will be writing as many as possible because you guys have sooo many good ideas. Please be patient 💗✨

[xxkissesforchanniexx]

What do we think about a enimies to lovers / academic rivals with Jeongin?? But It ends good.. Ive been thinking about and It cant get out of my mind

𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐝𝐨 𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

Pairing: college student!Jeongin x fem!reader Word count: 2.8k Genre: Fluff 🥰💖 >.> in a sense & Smut 🔥❤️ Warning: enemies to lovers >.>, they in college don't be stupid use protection, use of y/n with you/your, baby bread is jealous, i think i got it all??

A/N: IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG, theres a lot to go through in my requests and my computer wasn't working yesterday so I'll try my best to get all the requests out soon. THANK YOU FOR ALL THE SUPPORT! - Khxndle

"I can do better." were the words you had grown to dread over the years you'd known Yang Jeongin. It went all the way back to the third grade when you were top of your class, and then Jeongin appeared, and just like that, he was the "smart kid." It wasn't bad necessarily, you had someone to talk to about school, someone who understood, until it was bad, and Yang Jeongin drifted away from you in middle school. That wasn't when you started hating him though, it was that spelling bee of 8th grade year, you were so close, he swore to you it was an "I", it was a "Y" and you blew the competition.

"Bradykinesia." The teacher at the table asked you.

"Definition?" You asked.

"Slower or difficulty moving the limbs."

"Bradykinesia... B-R-A-D-I-K-I-N-E-S-I-A. Bradykinesia."

"Incorrect. Yang Jeongin?"

He smiled, his thin eyes crinkling. "Bradykinesia. B-R-A-D-Y-K-I-N-E-S-I-A. Bradykinesia."

Your eyes widened as you turned to look at Jeongin.

"Correct. Yang Jeongin will continue to the district competition."

You never really spoke to Jeongin after that.

You sighed deeply as you walked into you literature class, second year of college, it had been about four years since you had last seen Jeongin and even longer since you had a friendly interaction. As you sat down and the seats began to fill in the classroom you scanned the room for a bit. The sound of a notebook slamming down to your right made you jump, you turned to see a very cute boy with light brown hair and chubby cheeks.

"Oh, did I startle you?" He laughed lightly. "Sorry." He sat beside you, "I'm Jisung."

You nodded with a small smile, "y/n."

Jisung smiled brightly past you, "Jeongi-"

Your jaw dropped, Yang Jeongin stood at the door, he fixed his glasses and looked at you. "l/n y/n..." He smiled at you with all the care a chainsaw had to wood.

Jisung looked between you and Jeongin. "You know each other?"

Jeongin smiled as he sat on the other side of Jisung, "I know her very well."

It had been several weeks since the start of your literature class with Jeongin, and he was relentless. If you answered incorrectly, he was the first to correct you before the teacher could even say you were wrong, during learning games, it was always him a few points behind you, only to answer the final question faster just to watch your face fall as you placed 2nd. Jisung noticed after a while and asked what the problem was only for Jeongin to reply with a "She's the problem." and you to reply with a "The idiot to your right."

As if your life couldn't get any worse, Jeongin had a wondrous looking 98% on his 6th week report while you had a 97%.

"I can do better, I gave you ample room to pass me." he teased as he waved the paper in your face.

Jisung smiled sheepishly, showing his 74%.

You collected your things and checked your watch.

"Where are you going?" Jisung asked.

"Study date." You said.

"With who?" Jeongin raised a brow.

"Christopher from the theatre department." You picked up your bag.

"Does he even-" Jeongin started.

"He did literature last semester." you smiled. "Plus he's cute."

Jisung bounced his eyebrows comically.

Jeongin bit his lip. "Hm. Okay."

"Anyways, bye bye."

Jeongin looked at the desk for a minute, he could do better than Chris to help you study, who was Christopher anyway?

"Jeongin..." Jisung leaned in and smirked. "I smell the bitter scent of jealousy..."

"Huh-"

"You're mad she's going to ask Christopher for help studying,"

"What? No." Jeongin replied quickly,

"Why not just offer to help her?" Jisung tilted his head.

"Who in their right mind helps their rival?" Jeongin grabbed his things and started leaving.

"You know I'm right!" Jisung shouted after him.

"Nuh uh!" Jeongin shouted back.

Come the 12th week check, you and Jeongin were tied. He bristled as you proudly announced your 98% during lunch break, his grade hadn't changed.

"It's thanks to Chan." You smiled to yourself.

"Who is Chan?" Jeongin's brows furrowed.

"Christopher." Jisung said sipping his coffee.

"When did you start calling him Chan?" Jeongin stared at you.

"When did it become your business?" You shot back.

He sucked in a breath and huffed out hopelessly. It wasn't his business, but it bothered him that you were relying on some theatre major.

"Y'know, frat boys are having a party next weekend." Jisung looked at you, "Of course, being the such good friends, Chris and Felix are, I'm sure he's going."

You shrugged. "Don't have time for fra-" Your phone buzzed and you looked at it.

Channie😵‍💫 01:37pm My friend is gonna have a party, be my plus one?

You looked at Jisung. "I might just have time."

Jeongin glanced at your phone and his fist clenched. "I'm going." he said and looked at Jisung.

"Oh my!" Jisung smirked.

"Shut it." You rolled your eyes and smiled at your phone.

"You ready for the test tomorrow?" Jeongin nudged Jisung.

"What test?!" He practically shrieked.

"It's a miracle you have a C." You sighed.

"OH HELP ME STUDY!" He started pulling out books and vocabulary sheets.

"I'll he-" You started.

"Jisung, let me help you, I know the material better." Jeongin smiled at you.

You narrowed your eyes and looked at your phone, quickly replying to Chan:

You 01:43pm Sure :)

The test the following day was difficult, you even saw Jeongin looking confused, but you somehow finished with a 86%. As the students filed out of the class with the lunch bell you sighed.

Jeongin looked over your shoulder, "There isn't ever going to be a day you pass me is there?" He smirked.

You wanted to smack him. "I didn't study as much as I should've."

Jeongin's brows furrowed. "What were you doing with Chri-"

"As I said before, he's cute." You shoved the test into your bag and stood, Jeongin looked at you and opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something.

You looked at him waiting for him to say anything and when he didn't you made a face and left him alone in the classroom. It was when he saw you joining the well built man with dark hair and that stupidly charming accent in the hallway, he knew he was screwed.

It was the night before the party and you were knee deep in clothes from your closet, searching for an outfit, any outfit.

"You could just go in jeans and tee." Jisung said from where he lie on his stomach on your bed in your apartment, looking up from his phone and kicking his legs.

"You could just look more masculine." You teased, intentionally throwing a hoodie over your shoulder to hit his face.

"Hey!" His eyes narrowed and you chuckled softly. He looked at his phone again and sat up, "I have to go."

"Already? You just got here." You glared at your friend. "Who's gonna help me pick an outfit!?"

"Ask Hyunjin," he sighed, "I have to go see Minho anyway."

"Why?" You raised a brow.

"Who's gonna help me pick an outfit!?" he retorted.

You threw another hoodie at him as he left. You sat on your bed and picked up your phone about to text, Hyunjin to come over when you heard a knock at your door.

You groaned thinking Jisung must've forgotten something, another knock. Who was at your door at 11pm on a Friday without texting you first? "I'm coming!" You shouted as you walked to the door.

You opened it and made a face at the man at the door, his eyes met yours and you started to close the door.

He put his foot between the door and the doorframe. "Can I talk to you?" Jeongin sighed.

"Sure let's talk." You opened the door and pulled out your phone scrolling for Jisung's contact.

He grabbed your phone. "Can you not talk to me without Jisung keeping the peace?"

"I'm being peaceful." You huffed grabbing for your phone.

"Why do you hate me so much?" He asked, holding the phone out of your reach.

"Is that even a question?" You jumped for your phone and he somehow managed to push you back into your apartment, closing the door behind him and keeping you from stumbling.

He stared down at you. "Is it that I have a better grade than you now?"

You pulled away and tried to get your phone again. "No."

"Is it that I annoy you too often?" He held the phone between two fingers as far away from you as he could.

"No." You jumped for it and he grabbed your hand.

"Is it that I'm always in your business?"

"Ooh!" You mocked shock, "You're getting warmer." You said rolling your eyes.

He made a face. "You can't seriously still be on about what happened in middle schoo-"

"So what if I am?!" You snapped.

"It was years ago, what are you five?!" He shouted.

"You know wha-" You started. "Wait! How the hell did you get my addre-" You remembered how quickly Jisung had insisted on leaving. "JISUNG IS IN ON THIS!"

"Listen." Jeongin sighed. "Let me explain."

"What is there to explain?" You stared at him condescendingly, "That you love comparing yourself to me because I'm not as smart as you? That you were so desperate to be "the smartest" that you just had to lie to me and make me look like an idiot? That you just hate the fact that I'm so close to passing you after trying so hard?! No! I know, you really hate the fact that I'm not acting like everyone else and asking you to help me in litera-"

"Yes!" Jeongin yelled. "Why are you going to Christopher as if I can't help you?!"

"Why am I OBLIGATED to ask you for help!?"

"Because-" He hesitated and closed his mouth, breathing deeply for a moment. "Forget it."

"What?" You stared at him.

"I said 'forget it'." He handed you your phone.

You stared at the defeated look on his face and opened your mouth to say something.

He moved for the door before you could get the words out and you grabbed his arm. "Tell me."

He turned to look at you.

You felt your face getting hot as he spoke.

"Don't go with Chris."

"Why?" You muttered, taking a step back.

"If I tell you, will you still go?" He took a step toward you.

"Why?" You asked more persistent than before.

"Because I don't want you too." He whispered, walking closer.

You took another step back and you felt the wall against you back and tensed. "Why?"

"I don't want you to get involved with frats at all." Jeongin rested his hand on the wall beside your head. "I would prefer you sit and read "Things Fall Apart" with me. I would prefer you tell me about your day like you did in elementary school. I would prefer you talk to me, let me explain myself." He looked into your eyes. "I don't want you to get involved with those frats because I want you for myself."

You stared at him with wide eyes.

"I hate it that you would trust Christopher over me. I hate it that you would consider asking someone for help before me." He bit his lip. "Because I like you, I don't want you to be with anyone else."

You opened your mouth to speak.

"No, I'm not finished." He shushed you. "I was stupid in middle school, I was dumber in high school. But I want to try for you, because I know I can do better. I want you to be with me. I want to prove to you I can do better than Chri-"

His eyes widened as you kissed him gently. "You talk too much."

His cheeks went red. "I-"

You raised a brow. "What? I thought you were going to prove you were better than Chan."

Jeongin smiled and kissed you again. "I'm going to prove it. Let me enjoy myself for a minute."

You giggled as he peppered kisses all over you cheeks.

"I'm sorry for how much of an ass I've been."

"Prove it." You said looking up into his eyes.

Your heart skipped a beat at the sly grin on his face, "Come here." He swept you off your feet, "Where's your room?"

"First door on the left.." You whispered.

He carried you in and threw you gently onto the bed before climbing over you. "You're really pretty, you know that?"

You blushed as he leaned down and kissed you deeply, his tongue wrestling with yours before he finally gained entrance to your mouth, groaning softly at the taste of you. His lips moved from yours to your jaw where he bit gently.

You gasped softly.

He smiled against your skin and sat up, tugging at your shirt. "Can I take this off?"

You nodded and looked away as he removed the shirt. "Take off yours?" You gave him the most innocent doll eyes, he rolled his eyes and removed his shirt, before kissing your collar and chest, you squeezed your thighs together at the feeling.

His hands moved behind you. "Up please."

You lifted up a little and he quickly removed your bra, lowering you back down slowly, he took a moment to admire your chest before kissing your breast and working his way to your nipple before taking it into his mouth. You whimpered as he sucked at it, rolling the other between his fingers before switching. He smiled as he saw the way you rubbed your thighs together.

"Up." He grabbed the waistband of your pants as you lifted your hips and pulled them off your legs. He smirked down at you, "Chan ever see you like this?"

"N-no..." You stuttered, covering your mouth.

"Good." He sat got on his knees to admire your pantie clad sex for a moment, looking at the wet spot. "He doesn't ever get to see this, okay?" Jeongin looked at you.

"Okay." You nodded.

He smiled. "Take this off." He tugged at your underwear and you moved to help him remove it. He didn't give you a moment to prepare yourself before his mouth was on you, licking wide stripes of your cunt. You moaned and grabbed his hair. He hummed contentedly into you, the vibrations send sparks through you. He grabbed your thighs and kept them open as he started sucking at you clit, his eyes flicking up to see your face every few moments. He pushed a finger into you.

"Jeongin! Innie!" You squealed tugging at his hair. He moved his finger slowly and tentatively added a second

You moaned and squirmed. His mouth on your clit and his fingers was too much. "I'm going to-"

He pulled away. "No."

You whined. "Why would you do that?!"

"Wanted you to come on me, not in my mouth." He stood again and removed his pants.

Your already red face went redder as he moved over you.

He kissed your cheek gently. "I wanted you for so long..."

"You have me, what are you waiting for?" you muttered, looking down at him, he was decently thick, but he looked so long you felt your stomach turn.

"Oh, nothing." He leaned down to breathe in your ear. "Stop looking at my dick like you want to eat it or I might just make you."

You blushed furiously, "Yang Je-" You moaned, eyes fluttering shut as he pushed into you.

He groaned softly into your neck, "So tight. I'm going to cum if I move..."

"Move." You hissed, opening your eyes to glare at him.

He sucked in a breathe before propping himself up on his elbows. He gave an experimental thrust and smiled as you moaned and wrapped your arms around him. He pulled out again and thrust into you a few more times, before he began moving into you confidently, kissing your throat and muttering sweet nothings into your ear.

"Chan can't do this can he?" He muttered against your lips before kissing you.

You moaned and nodded.

"Only I can make you look like this." He pulled back and gripped your hips, fucking into you harder. "You're not going to the party anymore?"

You shake your head, "N-no, I w-won't go."

He hummed happily and slammed into you faster.

"Innie! Innie! I'm coming!" You gasped out.

"Shit!" He moaned as his hips stuttered. "Can I come inside?"

You nodded mindlessly. "Come inside!"

"I love you." He whispered in your ear, he rubbed your clit and forced you over the edge, you moaned loudly as your walls pulsed around him, nails digging into his back. Jeongin followed close behind, he bit your shoulder to muffle his cry as he came inside you, his hips canting slowly before he fell onto you.

You held him for a moment and whispered. "I love you too."

[beca-mitchell]

the system's breaking down (i think there’s been a glitch) (1/1)

Summary: PP2, but an AU where Beca already knows Chloe has experimented plenty and Chloe is shocked by this revelation. Basically a rewrite of the retreat scene. from @bobby-lynnes-bra: i always thought it would be funny if beca responded to the experimentation comment with "chloe what are you talking about, you've slept with multiple women in college already"

Word Count: 2578

***

It’s not Chloe’s brightest idea but it’s…convenient that she and Beca are quite literally being forced to speak to each other in this cramped, confined space. And besides, Chloe is surrounded by the people she loves most (and the woman she’s most in love with) in the world. What could go wrong?

After Beca’s hasty refusal of Chloe’s generous backrub, Chloe changes tactics. She can hear Aubrey’s voice in her head already, calling her desperate, but she kind of is. She feels, simultaneously, that Beca is drifting away in more ways than one and with the end of the semester looming in a mildly horrific proximity, Chloe has run out of options.

She will make sure Beca knows, at least at a very base level, that Chloe wants to kiss her so very badly. She hasn’t thought of much else past this.

“You know Beca, we’re very close, but I think that this retreat is really gonna let us discover everything about each other.” 

“Is that right?”

“You know…one of my biggest regrets is that I didn’t do enough experimenting in college.”

Beca’s nose crinkles. “You’re so weird. What are you talking about? What about all those girls you slept with in my sophomore year? And that one hookup that kept coming back last year.” 

The air whooshes out of Chloe’s lungs at that revelation. “Wait, you know about all that?” 

She forgets momentarily that they aren’t alone because she is absolutely tunnel-visioning on Beca. Suddenly, her chest feels tight, but not in a good way—not in the way it had felt when she had first heard that Beca and Jesse broke up a few weeks ago before he left early for Los Angeles without her. 

Suddenly, Chloe feels very small. She hadn’t known Beca was aware of that. She assumed that Beca had just thought she was only into men this whole time, which was part of the reason Beca never picked up on any kind of signal Chloe sent her during that first year.

She barely hears Beca’s non-commital mumble about Chloe’s lack of subtlety.

If Beca had known all this time that Chloe liked girls, it was never an issue of thinking Chloe was too celibate or too straight to be interested in Beca.

It had been years.

“Chloe?” 

Beca is in the middle of turning around to face away from her, hair ruffled from shifting around. Chloe can’t even bask in how cute Beca looks because she is distraught. She doesn’t even process at that second that Beca, despite being petulant, is still concerned about her lack of quippy comeback and lack of quippy response. 

On autopilot, Chloe turns to stare up at the tent’s fabric. She imagines what the stars are doing beyond the thin barrier. Surely, they must be laughing at her misfortune. 

***

When Chloe stumbles out of the tent the next morning, following closely behind Beca, she decides to put it behind her. Mostly. It proves difficult because to distract herself from Aubrey’s drill sergeant voice, she drifts and finds herself just looking at Beca, mostly with mild disbelief. 

Had that been what Beca had been hiding the whole year? That she knew Chloe had a big gay crush on her? Had she told Jesse? Had they both laughed about it? Did that even matter considering Jesse was a couple thousand miles away?

Her mind whirls at a speed she previously had never been able to access. She creates a million and one scenarios, each worse than before. By the time she lands on a scenario where Beca is quite literally homophobic, she decides that she needs to calm down and tries to focus on her breathing so she can at least belt when Aubrey points to her. 

Chloe notes that at least Beca is participating, though she seems less enthused than everybody else. It’s a familiar-enough sight at this point that Chloe just tries to let it go. It is frustrating that she has no idea whatsoever what Beca is thinking, or even why Beca’s mind appears to be elsewhere. 

It had been easy to ignore when they were back at Barden and occupied with classes, performance prep, and just generally trying to slam the lid closed on their overfilling anxiety pots. It’s less easy now, at a remote location and surrounded by only each other. Beca’s distance is more apparent than ever and it all just hurts so much that it makes Chloe want to claw out her eyeballs with her sweaty hands. 

Finally, exhausted, Chloe thinks that she gets a reprieve, but then she hears Beca’s voice cut across the group, clear as day. 

“Sorry, what are we doing?” 

Chloe forces herself to be patient. “We’re rediscovering our sound.” She finally makes eye contact with Beca after hours and she tries not to be hurt by the sheer annoyance she sees written across Beca’s face; she tries not to let it bother her that she has no idea why Beca is even reacting like this to something they both love. 

“Really?” The derision in Beca’s voice makes Chloe want to recoil so very badly. “Because it all sounds like songs that would never go in our set.” 

Chloe’s ears are ringing. She thinks Aubrey says something, so she tries to refocus, but she catches the tail end of Beca exclaiming that she has more important things to do. 

“What could be more important than this?” What could be more important than me? Is what Chloe desperately wants to scream, but she can’t – she knows she can’t. Not here, in front of everybody. 

She swallows her pride when Beca brushes her off. She isn’t letting this go, not this time. “Where do you think you’re going?” 

“Getting out of here. We all have to leave eventually, Chloe. Some of us aren’t scared of that.”

“And what’s wrong with being scared?” Chloe asks, ignoring how high her voice goes. That stops Beca in her tracks. “What’s wrong with being afraid of losing the people I care about?” 

“So you’re acknowledging that there’s something that happens after graduation? After worlds?” There’s a mocking edge to Beca’s voice, but the franticness in her eyes as Chloe nears closer to her is more evident than ever before. 

“Of course I am! It’s all I think about. It’s all I can think about, thinking about not being able to see you—all of you,” she adds hastily. “Not being able to see all of you every day.” 

Aubrey touches Chloe’s elbow. “Chloe, maybe—”

Chloe shrugs her off. “And what about you?” she asks, finally feeling some of the blazing heat in her chest begin to power up her ability to speak. “What about how you’ve been lying to us this whole time. Keeping things from us?”

“What are you talking about?” 

“Everybody’s noticed you’ve been a little checked out lately.” Chloe gestures around. “Don’t you care about any of this?” 

“Of course I care! I’m just trying to think about my future. Which is more than what everybody else seems to be doing.” 

“And what about me?” Chloe asks, forgetting momentarily that they’re surrounded by their friends. 

“What about you?” Beca doesn’t ask the question with a hint of derision or viciousness, but it still hurts nonetheless seeing the plain confusion on Beca’s face. 

“Don’t you care about me?” Chloe thumps her hand on her chest. “I have been there for you for years and you can’t even—you can’t even pick up on a few. Simple. Hints!”

“What hints?” Beca looks around at their friends for help and as Chloe glances around, everybody is pointedly looking away. Emily’s face is turning red. Jessica and Ashley are glancing at each other knowingly. And Aubrey—Aubrey has the worst expression of all of them: pity. Beca apparently still isn’t able to find an answer or assistance from any of that, so she turns back to Chloe, arms crossed.

“Are you being dense on purpose?” 

“I’m not, I swear.” 

“So you’re just going to act like you haven’t seen anything the past few years. Nothing at all.”

“Chloe, what the fuck are you talking about.” 

“I think Chloe is just concerned you’re maybe focused on relationships right now when you should be focused on the Bellas,” Aubrey says, from out of nowhere. 

It isn’t what Chloe is thinking at all, but she lets the brief silence serve as a reset. She gathers herself as Beca turns on Aubrey. 

“I broke up with Jesse a while ago,” she says plainly. 

“Well–”

“Aubrey, don’t.” 

“—In fact, I’m not thinking of any relationships right now. I’m focused on me and moving to Los Angeles after we graduate.” 

Chloe deflates. “Forget it. Forget I said anything.” 

Beca faces her again. They’re standing closer than before, Chloe having closed the distance between them, but the emotional distance between them couldn’t be larger. “Chloe. Wait.” 

Chloe waits, expectant eyebrow raised. 

“I have an internship. That’s where I’ve been disappearing off to. I swear, that’s it. I’m not…like sneaking around or anything,” she adds in a lower tone. “Not with Jesse or anybody else. That was over months ago.” 

Chloe, unfortunately, fixates on the first part only, filing her disappointment away for later. “An internship? Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“You were just…” Beca shrugs, gesturing vaguely with her hands. “I didn’t know if you wanted to hear that I had my mind elsewhere.” 

“Well, I did,” Chloe replies, stung. “Why wouldn’t I? You’re…” she inhales. “You’re my best friend, Beca. I want to know these things and of course, I’m so happy for you.” 

“Oh ouch,” Amy murmurs, nudging Aubrey. 

Beca stares at her for a moment longer. “That’s it then?”

Chloe nods slowly. “I—”

“I’m just going to take an hour for myself,” Beca announces. She walks away from Chloe. The sight of Beca’s back stings more than Chloe expects. She reaches out half-heartedly, her throat dry. She can’t even call out to Beca, not until Beca screams, swept up by a bear trap none of them had seen.

***

A few hours later, they sit huddled around a campfire. Chloe has hardly been able to leave Beca’s side, finding ways to touch Beca, whether it’s making sure she isn’t cold (on a warm early summer night) or making sure Beca has had her fill of snacks (Beca has consumed several smores, growing paler with each one Chloe forces into her hands). 

They still haven’t really resolved anything, even as they figure out just how to save their sound. Chloe doesn’t feel particularly resolved as far as things between her and Beca stand. 

Beca appears aware of it too, if the furtive glances she keeps shooting Chloe are any indication. There’s a fidgety-ness to Beca, the way she shuffles as if she isn’t sure if she wants to sit closer or further from Chloe. 

“Let’s leave them to talk,” Aubrey says hastily. She snaps at the rest of the Bellas to get their things before she grabs Fat Amy’s wrist and tugs her, despite her protests of wanting to stay near the fire. Amy is eventually lured away by the promise of access to the minibar and a room for the night. 

Once Beca and Chloe are finally alone, Chloe finds that her mind slows to nothing. She cannot remember a single thing that she wants to say to Beca–everything except, “I’m sorry.” 

Beca prods at a rock with her toe. “What are you sorry for?” she asks quietly. “I should be apologizing.” 

“I was just…mad at you. And mad at myself. Mostly myself.” 

“You should be mad at me. I’m incredibly dense,” Beca offers. 

Chloe huffs. “I didn’t mean that.” 

“You did. It’s okay. I am and I’ve been trying to work on it.” 

“I shouldn’t have just…yelled at you. Especially not in front of everybody. I’m sorry. I just…was so embarrassed about what happened in the tent and then thinking about you hiding things from me.” Chloe groans, covering her eyes with the heels of her hand. “Which you’re totally allowed to do. I just felt so…” 

“Left out?” Beca suggests, her voice quiet and gentle.

Chloe peeks at her with one eye. “Yeah. Let’s start there.” 

“I’m not good with that kind of stuff. You know that.” Beca’s smile is sheepish in the flickering light from the fire. It makes Chloe want to kiss her even more, but she has no idea if that’s appropriate. “And I didn’t mean to leave you out. Trust me. I want to tell you stuff, but it’s just… It’s like how I push everyone away. I just keep doing that whenever I feel scared that I’m going to lose people.” 

“You quite literally can’t lose me,” Chloe says, trying to go for levity. “I’m here,” she murmurs, only slightly horrified when her voice cracks. “I’m here even if…”

“I know. I know. I’m so bad at this.” 

“I promise, I’m worse.” Chloe sighs. “I haven’t been honest with you either. I thought I was being super obvious about it, but you seriously are really hard to get through to.” 

Instead of a quip or sarcastic response, Beca, for her part, takes Chloe’s hand and slowly tangles their fingers together. 

“I…” Chloe takes a deep breath, letting her eyes adjust and focus on their intertwined fingers. “I like you. I’ve been trying to tell you for years.” 

Beca says nothing for the moment, but both of them are content to let the crackle of the fire and ambient noise from the trees around them fill the space.

“Please say something.” 

Beca’s initial response is to laugh. She laughs and squeezes Chloe’s hand.

Chloe stares at her in bewilderment but waits nonetheless. She hates her traitorous heart for doing so, but it all but thuds out of her chest as she takes in how beautiful Beca looks then. 

“I’m sorry,” Beca apologizes once her giggles subside. Still not letting go of Chloe’s hand, she shifts her body so their legs touch more fully. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh, but this is what I mean when I say I’m so bad at all of this.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Just that…God. Chloe. I like you too. I’m just really terrible at showing it and I was so scared you wouldn’t like me back. I broke up with Jesse because he moved, yes, but also…” Her eyes drift away, first to the ground, then back up to somewhere around the center of Chloe’s face. It takes Chloe two seconds to realize that Beca is very obviously staring at her mouth. 

“Oh,” Chloe murmurs. “But you…always knew I liked girls and you never…”

“I never thought you liked me,” Beca explains.

“Why not?” Chloe asks, genuinely stunned.

Beca adopts a look of surprise at the question. “Well, I guess. I don’t know. I just—”

Neither Beca nor Chloe will ever know why Beca had been so surprised at the thought of Chloe liking her in a more-than-platonic way because Chloe decides then that what she really wants to know is what Beca’s lips feel like on hers. So she does just that, finally fulfilling years of curiosity. Beca doesn’t hesitate, lifting a hand to curl into Chloe’s hair to hold her in place.

Chloe never has to wonder again.

fin

[3-2-whump]

Caretaker 2 Intro: The Flicker of a Spark

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Thank you @whumped-by-glitter for beta-reading this monstrosity!

TW/CW: blood, briefly mentioned scars, not sure what else, tbh

Author's Note: I know like a high school level of Spanish, I studied abroad in a Spanish-speaking country for one semester in college, and I spent more than two hours researching what cholo Spanish sounds like. That being said, if I got anything wrong, please tell me, and be kind about it. I am only human, but I would very much like to know one way or the other <3

Set five days after this

Nico, dude, pls respond.

Read 01:10 am

Khaled shook his head with a frustrated huff. Here he was, walking the streets several blocks away from his master’s apartment well after dark, texting his best (only) friend on the clandestine cellphone he had gotten for him, and that bastard left him on read. He lobbed a discarded can across the sidewalk with a well-placed kick.

 He had never realized how used to his friend’s welcoming smile and wholesome presence he’d become, until he’d had to go without. It had been five days. Five days of eating alone. Five days of trying to meet his eyes when they drove out at the end of the day, but to no avail. Nico could barely look at him, and the few times he did, it was with such palpable guilt.

But there was no reason to feel guilty. Even if he did feel betrayed by how easily his supposed friend fell in line, Khaled knew Nico didn’t have much of a choice. Besides, he has every right to choose his own future over a relationship with me. I would’ve done the same, he justified.

I’m not worth the trouble.

He was so lost in his mind as he mulled over the day’s events, that it took an unfamiliar presence bumping into his shoulder to bring him back to the present. A large man with a goatee bore his tobacco-stained teeth at him. “Hey, you, watch yourself!”

He ignored the stranger who bumped into him as he brushed past him and kept walking.

“What, you’re just going to ignore me, now? Who do you think you are?!” the man shouted.

A shorter, thin-eyed man walking alongside him joined in the provocation. “You heard him, vato,” he sneered, pockmarked face scrunched in a scowl. “You gonna come back here and apologize, or are we gonna have to make you?”

And, honestly, Khaled probably could’ve ignored the heckling and went on with his night in peace, until one of their tattooed hands gripped his shoulder and pulled him back towards them.

Within seconds, the larger man howled in pain as he recoiled his broken fingers from Khaled’s personal space. The other guy cursed something in a language Khaled did not understand, then turned toward him, fury blazing in his eyes. “¡Pendejo! So, that’s how it’s gonna be?!” With no other warning, he rushed toward him with a roar, his hands curled into fists. Were it not for the many escape attempts that devolved into fistfights, Khaled probably wouldn’t have stood much of a chance against his opponent. However, all that experience running away from and fighting off the mafia’s cronies had finally paid off. He deftly evaded the man’s haphazard punches, weaving in and out like a stubborn mosquito until he was finally able to land a jab up his opponent’s ribcage. Just as the second man crumpled gasping to the ground, the first one got up again, charging with his good hand raised. Khaled dodged that fist, too, quickly catching it and wrenching the man’s arm painfully behind his back. A well-placed elbow into his stomach knocked the breath from him. It could’ve been worse –he’d dealt with much harder hits before –but it was enough to make him loosen his grip. His opponent wrestled back control of his arm and punched Khaled square in the jaw, his teeth rattling discordantly in his mouth. He tasted the metallic tang of blood. He collected himself just enough to block the second hit in time, though the force of it felt as if it would break his forearm. A kick to the back of his knees brought him down to the concrete with a harsh thud, and soon the second man was dragging him up, arms pinned helplessly behind his back. “You shouldn’t have fucked with us, you-”

“Vatos, vatos, cálmate, todos.”

A clear voice rose from the fight scene. The man pinning Khaled dropped him instantly, letting him fall onto the pavement as he reverently addressed the source of the voice. “Julio,” he greeted, instantly backing away. Khaled glanced to the other man, who was also opening space between them as he tucked his broken fingers into his side. In front of them, along with half a dozen other men, stood one tall, thin young man in the center carrying himself with the confident presence of an apex predator, a leader –or a Boss, Khaled’s thoughts supplied. His dark hair was shorn close to his scalp, save for a choppy bleached mohawk running down the center. A glimmer of a piercing shone in the right cheekbone of his olive-skinned face, matching the barbell in his left eyebrow and rivaling the dangerous glint in his knife-sharp eyes. He wore an oversized army green parka over his upper body, well-loved and well-worn, if the custom patches and frayed seams were any indication. His long thin legs were clothed in dark track pants, tapering to spotless Chuck Taylors on his feet. Those feet walked calmly towards the three, stopping a mere pace and a half from them. “What’s going on here, primo?” he asked the first man, the one who provoked the fight. “It’s not like you to go two on one on some poor fucker like that.”

“I know, I know, but I didn’t think it would be so hard to beat some sense into him,” the man complained. “That little twig really made me and Luis work for it!”

Julio glanced skeptically at Khaled, who had just recollected himself from the ground. “What, him?” The corners of the Boss’ mouth turned up in a deriding smirk. “Are you getting so rusty, Alphonso, that you can’t even handle one skinny little twink?”

“Why don’t you try fighting this ‘skinny little twink’ yourself, you fucking beanpole?” Khaled’s mouth replied before his common sense could catch up. The smirk on Julio’s face dropped only a moment, until it was replaced with a wider, shit-eating grin. The golden hazel of his eyes reminded him of a cat’s eyes in the way they glowed with the pleasure of finding a mouse to toy with before they eat.

“Alright, he speaks!” He reached a tattooed hand from the depths of his parka to help Khaled stand up on his feet. His knuckles read ‘FUCK.’ Khaled didn’t have to guess what his other hand said. “You wanna go, pendejo, let’s go!” Julio laughed. He stepped back to his entourage to shed his coat, revealing long, sinewy tattooed limbs sticking out from a large t-shirt, its sleeves cut off and band logo long since faded. The gang formed a circle around them, giving Khaled and Julio plenty of space to have their fight while making any chance of escape impossible.

“Look.” Khaled raised his hands palms-out, his momentary bravado quickly forgotten, “I just want to go home, okay?”

“And you will, if you win,” Julio said, stretching his long limbs methodically as his catlike eyes sized up his prey. “But you wandered into our territory, and you pissed off my cousin. You gotta answer to that, you know, and if I win, I will make sure you do.” He dropped into a crouching stance, muscles tense as a bowstring, practically twitching with anticipation. “Now, let’s fight!”

Cheers erupted over the impromptu crowd as the two circled around each other, looking for the right place and moment to strike. Julio’s fist arched up like a whistling arrow and bore down toward Khaled’s face. He blocked it, wincing a little at the impact on his already bruised forearm. For being as skinny as he is, this guy sure has some force behind those hits, he thought. He successfully blocked a couple more punches –though barely-, and gradually Julio drove him from the sidewalk to the middle of the road, the crowd parting for the fighters and cheering all the while.

After another successful block, Khaled found an opportunity to land a kick to his opponent’s ribs. He swung his leg toward the man’s ribs. Just before his foot could meet Julio’s side, the tattooed hand whose knuckles spelled ‘YOU!’ caught it in a death grip. Khaled paled. “Nuh uh,” Julio tutted. He yanked up, unbalancing Khaled and sending him crashing to the hard asphalt. The fall knocked the breath out of him for only a moment as he fell onto his back. With enough presence of mind to remember he was still fighting, he swept his other foot at Julio’s ankles and brought him tumbling down to the trash-littered street too.

The crowd’s cheers grew frenzied as their Boss and the trespasser tackled, rolled, and straddled each other across the broken glass and loose rubble on the ground. Khaled wrested his fingers into Julio’s mohawk to hold him still as he hit him. Julio sunk his fingers into the top portion of Khaled’s undercut and slammed his head into the asphalt. Golden eyes like knives gleamed with the promise of a painful end as the man on top of him snarled like a beast. All too soon, Julio ended up mounted on top of Khaled, sitting on his chest, one hand on his throat, the other hand raised and primed.

Is this it?

The wildcat could finally eat his kill.

Is this how it ends?

In place of fear, or sorrow, or even the base need of every creature to get up and fight in the face of a threat to their survival, Khaled surprisingly felt nothing but peace as he stared into those aureate irises.

Why am I so okay with this?

“Go ahead,” Khaled spat between bloodied lips. He no longer pressed against the hand holding his throat. He lay his head back beside the ashes of long-extinguished cigarettes. “You win.”

Those knife sharp eyes met his, and for a second, they softened. Golden hazel melted into deep brown. The wildcat sheathed his claws.

It was only a second later that Julio was helping Khaled off the asphalt, brushing the dirt and broken glass from both their clothes all the while. The keen sharpness of his eyes returned, as if the momentary lapse in the Boss’ composure had never happened. “Hey, you got pretty close, man.” He collected his coat back from his posse and fished around the pockets, eventually pulling out a box of cigarettes and a lighter. He wordlessly offered Khaled one, but he politely refused. “Been awhile since I threw some serious chingasos,” he said as he lit his cigarette. “Been even longer since someone was able to throw it back at me.” He leaned against a nearby lamp post as he huffed a plume of smoke into the night. “No way just some random guy could stand a chance against me. Who are you with, twink?”

“The name’s Khaled, beanpole,” Khaled bristled. “And I’m with the Costas.”

“Ha, the Costas? The Costas?” Julio took another drag of his cigarette. “Yeah, and I’m the fucking pope,” he snickered. His gang awkwardly laughed alongside him.

Khaled brought his bloodied fingers up to the hem of his shirt, lifting it over his head and turning around to show his exposed back and shoulders. The laughing immediately ceased. The bluish-black ink of the skull and snake insignia was tattooed starkly on his skin, just above old, crisscrossing scars. “How in the fuck–you bear their mark, you really are a –but, how?” he sputtered. “They’re old-school mafia, there’s no way they’d just let you –you’re not even –how?!”

He slipped his shirt back on and turned to face his astounded former opponent. “It’s a long story that I don’t feel like telling,” he muttered.

“What about those scars-”

“-but I am unquestionably a Costa, and therefore I am under my Boss’ protection,” Khaled continued, interrupting Julio’s question. Speaking of ‘Boss,’ he’s gonna kill me he if he wakes up and finds out I snuck out this late, he belatedly realized. He awkwardly raised a hand and waved. “Now, I really must get back to my Boss. Goodnight.” He turned to leave.

He didn’t make it more than two steps before the rival Boss called out to him. “Wait, Khaled-”

All too suddenly, the moment of potential comradery was ruined by a car pulling up next to their semicircle. The gang protectively huddled around their leader as some of them immediately assumed defensive stances. The window to the familiar car rolled down.

“Khaled! Jesus, I was worried sick!” Thomas shouted, his voice nasally and unusually low with congestion. The man paused his scolding when he took in Khaled’s new cuts and bruises he didn’t make. “What happened to your face?” He turned his head to glare at Julio, who was glaring back with equal amounts of animosity. “Estrada, did you do this?!”

“Boss, I’m fine, really,” Khaled said, leaving the tightly knit group of guys and making his way to his master’s car. “I was going to get you some cough drops -you’re out, remember? It’s settled, I won… I think…” He made his way to the passenger side door and let himself in. “Let’s just go home so I can ice my face, okay?”

The man grumbled his dissent, but reluctantly pulled away, driving Khaled back to the apartment they shared.

“Those chop shop sons of bitches are bad news, boy,” Thomas warned. “They’ve got no honor! Stealing and scrapping whatever they can find, infringing on our territory, the territory my family fought for, just to –they kill for cash, you know!” They pulled into his usual spot in the underground garage as the rant sent the boss into a coughing fit. “Shameless,” he sighed. “I don’t want you anywhere near them, understood?”

Khaled wisely said nothing.

Thomas glanced at Khaled’s lap, frowning when he didn’t see a convenience store bag in his hands. “Did you even get a chance to buy those cough drops?”

Rather than being caught in his lie, Khaled decided to go for a half-truth. “No, master.”

Thomas huffed, which triggered another cough. “You know, you are so lucky I am sick right now,” he groused on the way from the parking garage to the elevator. “I barely had the energy to drag my ass down here to get the car and rescue you. And I definitely don’t have the energy to beat some sense into you!”

As Khaled later stripped himself to prepare for a shower, he paused as he noticed a small business card in his pants pocket. How in the hell –what? His mind replayed any and every possible moment Julio or someone else could’ve slipped something into his pocket without him noticing.

He carefully lifted it out as he shucked his pants off his legs and threw them into the hamper. It was the business card to an auto repair shop, with ten numbers underneath.

“Wait, Khaled-” The way Julio said his name replayed in a loop in his head as he stared at the ten-digit phone number with his secret phone in hand.

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee

@generic-whumperz @bamber344

[shion-yu]

Day 3: Campus Crud

Back to genre: angst for @sicktember. Ft sick Elliot in college. 1,733 words. CW: vomit. 

September marked the beginning of junior year for Cliff and Elliot, who moved into their shared dorm room at NYU on the 22nd floor. They had been rooming together since Spring of their freshman year so by now they were old pros at setting up. First they cleaned, then Elliot decorated while Cliff organized. The two twin beds were pushed together to create a large place for them to sleep together. In no time at all the room looked perfectly cozy, as if it had been organized that way for months.

There was a difference from last year though: everything was quieter. Their excitement was toned down thanks to the constant bickering they'd been doing all summer, including this morning. It was mostly little things that didn't really matter - Cliff showered too long, Elliot played music too loudly - but their patience had been worn thin by the underlying real issues they didn't talk about. Specifically, the part where Cliff would not call Elliot his boyfriend by name even though it was glaringly obvious to everybody, nor would he return the words “I love you” regularly. Elliot might say “boyfriend” and Cliff didn't deny it, but from Cliff’s lips Elliot was always “my roommate” or “friend.” For a long time now, Elliot had tried to come to terms with this was simply how Cliff was, but it had worn him thin now and Cliff knew it, too. 

So their relationship was strained, and with it the carefree quality of their early dating days. Cliff saw it as a precursor to the inevitable: Elliot would break up with him. He was desperate for this not to happen though, so he tried to be perfect for Elliot instead. He didn't let Elliot know how anxious he felt all the time, or how his stomach hurt so badly that he’d started vomiting almost daily. He brushed Elliot off when Elliot fussed over his visible weight loss, or the breathless cough that seemed to pop up with very little exertion. He didn't explain that he was afraid that using the word “boyfriend” just seemed too special for someone like him, and saying “I love you” was just too scary for someone who had never been told that before. It wasn't that he wasn't ready to commit, because he was. He desperately wanted to spend the rest of his life with Elliot. He just didn't know how to express it genuinely without sounding as scared as he felt.

“Nobody’s ever told me they love me before,” he told Elliot once. But he didn't think Elliot really understood that he meant no one, not even his parents, had ever uttered the word love. He’d also never heard them say it to each other. How could he, coming from them, deserve to say love, then?

He practiced sometimes when Elliot was with friends. “I love you,” he would say in the mirror, but then he’d look up and the sight of himself disgusted him and he couldn’t do it again. He needed more practice before it felt genuine. Otherwise, Elliot would see right through him. He’d know the words weren’t natural to Cliff, and Cliff thought that Elliot thinking he didn't mean it would be worse than never saying it at all.

He was standing at the mirror working up the nerve to practice again when Elliot came home early from class on the second Tuesday of the semester. Cliff jumped in surprise as if he'd been caught doing something scandalous. “You’re home,” he said nervously. 

“Your face is all red,” Elliot told him. Cliff's face turned redder in response, but Elliot didn't notice. Instead, Cliff watched him toss his bag onto his desk chair and climb into bed, even though it was only noon and Elliot rarely napped.

“Did your class get canceled?” Cliff asked.

“I came home,” Elliot said from under his covers. He realized Elliot’s voice sounded hoarse now. Cliff cautiously moved to Elliot’s bedside, standing there like he wanted to say something but didn't know what. “Cliff, what?” Elliot snapped at being stared at.

“Are you okay?” Cliff asked, innocent and clueless. “You don't usually skip class. Are you sick?” 

Elliot groaned and turned on his side, facing the wall away from Cliff’s hovering figure. “I don't know, I don't feel great. I’m just gonna sleep it off.” He was quiet for a second, then added, “Don't worry.” 

Cliff was already worrying. But he said, “Okay,” and went to sit at his desk. He tried to focus on reading his textbooks, but he found it hard to concentrate. Elliot rarely got sick and Cliff had very little caretaking experience. He decided to hope that Elliot could indeed sleep it off and half an hour later went to his own afternoon classes. 

When he came back, Elliot was still in bed. Cliff had spent most of his lecture trying to remember what Elliot did when Cliff was sick, which unlike Elliot was frequently. He crept forward and pressed one hand to Elliot's forehead, only to find it overly warm. Crap, Cliff thought. Elliot had probably caught whatever beginning of semester cold was going around - half of the lecture hall had been sniffling, coughing or sneezing today. He’d also heard that the stomach bug and the flu were making their rounds already.

He rustled through their drawer where they kept the first aid kit, accidentally knocking a book to the floor in his hurry. Elliot stirred and opened his eyes in confusion. “Cliff?” He asked, before beginning to cough.

“Sorry,” Cliff said guiltily. He found the thermometer he was searching for and approached the bed. “I uh, think you have a fever.” He held out the thermometer awkwardly. 

“You do it,” Elliot said, looking down. Cliff furrowed his brow in confusion. “Hold it for me,” Elliot clarified, looking embarrassed. Then he opened his mouth and waited for Cliff to slide the small instrument under his tongue. Cliff kept his gaze trained on the thermometer only until it beeped and read 100.6. 

“That's high,” Cliff stated, wiping off the metal tip and sliding the thermometer back into its small plastic case. 

Continuing this theme of confusing actions, Elliot said, “I don’t feel good. Hold me.”

Cliff blushed. Elliot wasn’t usually this forward with him, but he did want to help in any way he could, so… Cliff removed the sweater he was wearing and got into bed with Elliot, wrapping his arms around Elliot loosely. Elliot shuffled closer. “Don’t go,” he said. “Stay with me.”

“I wasn’t planning on going anywhere,” Cliff said, which was the truth. This uncharacteristic clinginess was making him nervous, though. Was Elliot really sick? He didn’t think 100.6 was that high, was it? “Do you want to go to the clinic?” He asked.

“No,” Elliot said, coughing pitifully into Cliff’s chest. “Just you.”

Just you. It was all Elliot ever asked for, and all Cliff wanted too. Yet somehow they constantly ran into problems doing precisely that. 

Cliff brushed his fingers through Elliot’s dark curls, staring at the ceiling and telling himself Elliot probably just needed to sleep it off, it was just a cold. But by evening Elliot’s fever was worse, and at midnight he woke Cliff up shivering violently. Cliff took Elliot’s temperature again and felt his stomach lurch with anxiety when he saw the glowing 102.4 on the screen. Cliff gave Elliot Tylenol and held him, scared.

“What do I do?” Cliff asked him. The only other time Elliot was sick, it hadn’t seemed this sudden. “Elliot?”

“I just need you to stay,” Elliot said through chattering teeth.

“It’s midnight, I’m not going anywhere,” Cliff said in confusion. He held Elliot tighter but let go quickly when he was shocked by a muffled sob from Elliot. Was it really that bad? Cliff wondered if he should call an ambulance, or his dad. “Elliot?”

“You're going to leave me,” Elliot said, beginning to cry. “I don't know what I did that you can't love me.”

Cliff’s chest ached with guilt and regret. “I - I do,” he said, trying to comfort Elliot.

“Then why won't you say it?” Elliot cried. “Why won’t you say you love me?” Cliff couldn't answer. Elliot cried harder and began to cough. Cliff was trying to get himself to explain when Elliot said, “Trash,” before immediately throwing up on their duvet. 

Cliff rubbed his back and shushed him, ignoring the urge to jump out of bed. The dorms had washing machines on each floor and Cliff wanted to run to them. But Elliot needed him and he couldn't leave now. “I’m sorry,” Elliot groaned once he was done vomiting. “The sheets.”

“I’ll wash them,” Cliff said quickly. “Do you want to go to the bathroom and clean up?” Elliot nodded. “I’m going to the laundry room and I’ll be right back,” he reassured Elliot. “I promise.”

“Okay,” Elliot whimpered. Cliff dashed to the laundry room down the hall and threw their duvet inside, hoping the machine could handle vomit. He added a ton of extra detergent and then returned and piled their blankets onto the bed in lieu of a duvet. Elliot came back into their room then, still sniffling but distinctly less hysterical.

Cliff held the blankets up for him to crawl in, which Elliot did. Then Cliff got in behind him and held him again, hoping it wasn't just his imagination that Elliot felt a bit cooler now. “I’m sorry,” Elliot mumbled.

“They're just sheets,” Cliff said.

“Not that,” Elliot said, emotion welling in his voice again. He tucked his hot face into Cliff's collarbone and Cliff felt tears on his skin. “I’m sorry I’m pushing you.”

“You're not,” Cliff said automatically. “It’s just me. I’m... It’s me. Don't work yourself up again,” he said. It was easier than explaining. Something else was always easier than explaining.

“Don't go,” Elliot let out a tiny sob again but then fell quiet. He trembled in Cliff’s arms until his breathing evened out and Cliff knew he'd fallen asleep. Cliff stroked his hair and kissed his face.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into darkness, words pressed against Elliot’s warm skin. “I won't ever leave you. Never in a million years.” He just needed more time to feel comfortable putting it all into words. But by the time he figured these things out, it would be too late.

[strawberryblondebutch]

How do you think Kirby ended up with the FBI and in the place she generally is when we meet her again in Scream 6?

Oh hell yes, strap in, buckos~

The first person who comes to see her in the hospital isn't her mom or dad, or any of her friends. It's Sidney Prescott. She feels like shit -- the number of painkillers in her system is making her groggy. "Where's Jill? Did she make it out?"

She expects the worst when Sid sits down. She soon realizes that there's an option worse than the ones she came up with in her head.

The rest of the school year is a slog. Her guidance counselor tells her that there's nothing wrong with taking an extra semester, but she can't do that. She can't stick around in Woodsboro even a second longer than she has to. The name of the game is to get her degree, move out, and never think about this place again.

Kirby goes to USC without much of a plan. She's lucky they don't ask about her. She's not Sidney or Jill, not even related to them, so she's mostly passed over. Decides to study English on a whim; it was always her favorite subject, might as well try that one out. She likes it well enough, but there aren't exactly a lot of jobs that come with it. Ironically, after about six months of couch surfing and waiting for a break, she books her first job, as a production assistant on the Stab television series that spun out of the seventh movie.

Sidney comes to see her, wants to check in, see how she's holding up. She doesn't live in a nice part of LA, and while out at lunch, a man tries to rob the counter at knifepoint. Sidney pulls her under the table, tries to protect her. They don't talk about it at the time, but later that night, over a couple drinks in Kirby's shitty apartment, she asks Sidney if it's always going to be like this. Running and hiding and hoping for the best.

"You get used to it. Especially once you're outside of Woodsboro. Trouble follows a lot slower away from that place."

She thinks about that for a few weeks. On set, they start working on a scene that feels familiar. "It's a great twist," the director says. "We're flipping the script, right? Normally the girl goes out, rescues the guy, gets stabbed because she's not looking over her shoulder, but this time, what if it's the guy she's rescuing? What if it was all a ploy?"

She goes home early, locks herself in her room, and she thinks about what Sidney said. Just hold on and survive and hope for the best.

Fuck that.

Cops are useless. They're basically cannon fodder, and their reach is municipal at best, but the FBI? Those are the guys who put the work in.

You need two years of professional employment post-college before you can even apply for the agency, so she can't quit her job yet. This fuels her. She goes home and practices: for the test, for the physical, for the interview. The polygraph is where she's sure she's tanked it. She tells them everything -- how could she not?

Three months later, she gets her invitation to Quantico.

The job isn't often what she expects. Sure, she's out in the field, but it's not serial killers as often as it is gang members, drug mules, and white collar criminals. After basic training, she's asked where she would like to be assigned, and she says as far away from California as possible, so Atlanta it is.

The Stab subreddit doesn't fall under the FBI's investigation until after the attack in Woodsboro. She gets stuck trawling through message boards, starts to uncover what Jason and Greg are planning. Her supervisor taps her on the shoulder one day, pulls her into their office. "Those kids you've been looking at, they just got butchered by someone in a Ghostface mask. I know you've been taking point on this, but we're going to need people on the ground. Do you think you're up to it?"

Did she ever.

[redtippedfox]

I promised myself that I wouldn’t post vents on here, but there’s no where else I can post this since the people that cause most of it are on all of the medias that I follow except this one. So i guess this is a safe haven. You don’t have to read this or look at it, this is just me letting out my bottled up emotions and the thoughts that have been discarded or pushed aside.

I never was good at making good friends, I’ve made long lasting ones but they don’t live near me at the moment. All I’ve ever wanted was a friend who I could be passionate about my interest with, like the ones you would see on TV. People who liked the same things or would watch tv shows with me. I instead made friends who brought nothing but pain to my life. In middle school I was in a friend group that I thought was special, those people hurt me more than anything. One friend hated my silliness and mocked me for it, I thought I could talk about my frustrations to a close friend, someone that I gave everything to. My parents got a phone call from that friends mom saying that she was going to get me suspended for the things I had said, my close friend had told everything I had said to the person who had hurt me. I lost two friends that day, and I lost my trust in telling my feelings to my friends. Which is why I am posting this here rather than on my social media or my art account. I’m scared of people knowing how I really feel.

When I make friends I put my all into it, gifts, time, attention…anything that I can give… I hate that. Being a people pleaser is like tying a noose and handing it to someone who will let you hang.

My Highschool friends were even worse. They treated me like I was always the second option…and I was. I always was and will always just be the second option. Never the first. I make friends and introduce them to my other friends, just so they could meet…it’s always my fault for thinking that I would be my new friends first option. How it always goes is like this. I meet a new person who I like, they are nice and I am willing to put my efforts into this friendship. They meet my other friends and they get along, great! Ideas of sleepovers and hanging out flood my mind! They click, they prefer my other friend over me, I am just another option. And the cycle repeats, not once, not twice, but over and over again. Which is why I’m writing this. I had recently started my second semester of college, I live in a room with three other people. My roommates, hope for a chance of a new begin rise. It quickly shatters. My suite-mate lives in the room across from mine, I try to befriend her, I take her out, I buy her things, I take her home for thanksgiving and other things, my family spends money on her. She chooses to be best friends with my roommate instead. I shove it down and say I don’t care. I try to make new friends.

I recently met someone who loves Miraculous and writing as much as I do, we ended up talking for hours. I think I finally have a friend, a friend just like the one I always dreamed of having. I put the effort in thinking that this is finally it, a new start. They accidentally meet my suitemate, and the two click. They recently started texting, and today after I helped my new friend with a personal situation, allowing them to stay at our dorm and comforting them. They end up taking my suitemate out to the mall, they come back and are now so much closer. She even wants my suitemate to move in with us next year, when it was supposed to be just us. My roomate was even mocking my new friends boyfriend while calling her my suitmenates friend.

I don’t want new friends anymore…just let me get my work done and graduate and leave me alone.

It’s obvious that I will never be the first option.

———————————————————————————

If you did read this vent, thank you. I tried talking to my mom about how I felt but she just told me to make new friends, as if I haven’t been trying. I won’t post any more vents on here. This is the only one. I’m going to Vegas with my family next weekend so hopefully that will cheer me up and give me time to work on other art pieces. Thank you again for listening. Have a good night. I cherish you all.

[shig-a-shig-ah]

so um… ghul… I need advice (if you can give it)?

So you’re a college professor right? Well, for a while now I’ve really been thinking about going back to school (I’m 25, by the way) because I’d also like to become a college professor, ideally in creative writing/something in the writing field.

So I was wondering if there was any advice/warnings/general information you might be able to share that you think would be useful.

You don’t need to spend too much time answering. I don’t want to inconvenience you. But I could just really use any words of wisdom since this is something I really really want but am scared I’ll be blindsided by something (I did a little college back when I was 18 but ended up having to leave due to personal reasons, so I have some experience on what to expect, but not a ton).

Anyway, hope you’re having a good night.

Hi! Always happy to give advice and warnings about the dumpster fire that is academia, so I definitely don't mind the question or feel inconvenienced. I should clarify though that I'm a PhD candidate, not an actual professor--so basically, I'm a very advanced graduate student who teaches instead of taking classes. But, being a professor is the goal and I'm pretty well versed in the ups and downs of pursuing an academic job.

And I have warnings. So many warnings!

The first thing to consider is just the amount of time it takes to become a professor. While you can get some jobs with only a Master's degree, they're few and far between, and especially precarious. For anything secure, you basically have to have a PhD. That means 4-5 years of undergrad, assuming you're starting basically from scratch, and then at least another five years for the doctoral degree. Keep in my mind that most people take longer than that to finish a PhD, too--I'm in my eighth year of grad school (sixth year in my actual program because I did a master's beforehand), and the average time to degree for my department is seven years. I know people who took ten. I may take ten!

Second, the academic job market is terrible. In many, many ways. There are basically two options--tenure track and adjunct. Tenure track pays better, comes with stability, and is probably what most people think of when they think of being a professor. Adjunct positions are short-term teaching contracts that only last for a semester, and often pay worse. (Imagine cobbling together a full-time job by teaching multiple classes a couple universities to make $30k a year with few benefits, if you're lucky).

Tenure track jobs have more stability, benefits, etc., but are also really fucking competitive. It's not unusual to have hundreds of applicants for one position, and even then it likely still won't pay as much as most other jobs requiring that level of education. On top of that, you generally have to also hustle to public papers, present at conferences, etc., just to be competitive for these jobs. And, as a bonus, it's almost guaranteed that you'll have to relocate to find a position, so you could easily find yourself moving to Arkansas to make $45k a year after a decade of schooling. Things are especially competitive and underpaid in the humanities, like writing-related fields, too.

Now, it's not like it could hurt to pursue it as an option, but going back to undergrad just for that being the goal is maybe not the best idea; it's definitely better to go in with a few possible paths in mind. Because it's a big time commitment for very little guaranteed payoff, and that's without even considering that just getting through grad school is fucking hard, and pretty much guaranteed to leave you with a lot of debt unless you have a partner to financially support you. And there are things that are great about it--you get a lot of autonomy, and I really love teaching so I have a great time--but I also pretty much agree with the advice I was given before starting, which was: if you can picture yourself doing anything else, do that instead.

[hismercytomyjustice]

I did wind up signing up for piano after all. I just had my second lesson and thank god it went so much better than the first.

I’m definitely one of those “oh, I’m not immediately good at this? Time to pretend that never happened” people.

I know it’s good for me but I hate it. 😭

Some vague piano knowledge has returned from when I took piano for two semesters in college (like 10+ years ago oh god I’m ancient).

All I know for certain though is FUCK the bass clef. It can go right down to hell where it clearly wants to be played. Bl

I was a spoiled violinist for 12+ years and a soprano for another handful. I shouldn’t have to be tortured like this. 😭😭😭 I wasn’t meant to read bass clef, goddammit.

Yes, I know it’s just kind of transposed treble clef, but do you think that helps me????

Also why does the piano go 5432112345 when playing??? This should be ILLEGAL. I can never innately tell my right from my left and this is like that but even worse somehow. 😭😭😭😭😭

Why am I paying to be TORTURED?????

Also also, are there actual positions on the piano because this shit just feels like witchcraft with all the moving around and “oh now this note is your thumb.”

You know what doesn’t do that? THE VIOLIN. The violin respectably has specific positions that are always the same. You’ve got your 1st, 3rd, 5th, etc and YOU’RE GRATEFUL FOR IT. None of this willy nilly nonsense!

please god tell me the piano does have this because i’m scared

…it might not seem like it, but I am actually enjoying my piano lessons.

[undyinglantern]

Part of the reason I dropped out of college was because for one specific art (painting) class, we had to buy materials to bring in and when I went to the supply store I walked around for 10 minutes (it wasn’t a very large store) trying to find an item before my mom (who’d driven me there) finally pressured me into asking an employee where it would be. And then I couldn’t find a second item and I was already so stressed from asking the first time and my mom was growing tired, so I panicked and just didn’t buy that item. I got about half way through the semester before the professor was walking around one time checking out progress and asked me where was [material]. I admitted I didn’t have any and they looked extremely annoyed before grabbing a container of it from a cabinet and allowing me to borrow it. I had to put it back at the end of every class. The shame never left me. Another reason I dropped out was because for (that same class) our final assignment was to create 3 paintings that represent “you” and I could not for the life of me think of more than one thing, because what is self identity and what personal life did I have going on anyways, so I again panicked and just dropped the class even though it was so close to the end. I kept driving to campus (in the morning) to pretend I still had that class but instead I would either move to the back seat to lay down and nap or cry, or head to the library on campus and just be on my phone for the duration of what that class was. Another reason I dropped out was because, while a communications requirement is mandatory, I foolishly failed my interpersonal relationships class because I kept forgetting about the weekly online quiz until Friday (when it was already too late), so I tried to take the same class again but with a different professor the next semester only to fail again with an even worse score. So then I tried to take a public speaking class instead, but our first assignment was to create a “short” presentation to introduce “about you” and to bring either a little trinket to pass around or some sort of cultural food or drink that you can give enough samples for the whole class; again, I panicked and dropped the class after that first day, so I never completed my communications requirement. Another reason I dropped out was because I had enter into community college as “undecided” and was starting my fourth year (aren’t you only supposed to be there 2, maybe 3, years before transferring lol) and still had no idea what I wanted to get a degree in. I had only visited the coinciding office once (again, as is probably clear by now, because of anxiety) to see what requirements I still needed for an “art” major (because that was the only thing I could think of that I didn’t absolutely loathe and could maybe see a future in that doesn’t involve becoming a teacher in that subject myself) for the specific college I would have transferred to (which I only said the one I did because that was where my sister had gone). Another reason I dropped out is because the longer I was there, the more frequently I would think to myself while sitting at a red light “I could step on the gas and crash into traffic right now or swerve and clash into the streetlight or a tree too,” until eventually I was thinking about it every day. I’ve only been at this job for 2 days and I’ve already thought about crashing the car and getting myself sent to the hospital multiple times.

[acrimoniousandrew]

Long Vent

There is literally nothing worse than grieving a friendship that should have never happened in the first place. How did we even start becoming friends, like. I really don’t know. I remember we first started talking in 6th or 7th grade because of our shared interest of music. Being in band together and all that stuff. 7th grade flew by me: it was an awful year, one of the first ones that I experienced being completely friendless. At least by the end of the year. Once 8th grade hit, we were all friends again. Especially the two of us. Yeah, I started hanging out with other people, but it wasn’t like she was available all the time. She had responsibilities and was in other activities. Freshman year she decided to join the marching band with me (I had already been doing it for a number of years, and I had been involved when the marching band program at our high and middle school started). We did so much together. We laughed, cried, shared memories. Started hanging out together outside of school and band stuff– coffee runs, late night pool adventures, and then driving around for hours in the early hours of the morning. We were inseparable for a while. 

High school came and went and we slowly drifted apart over time because she found newer, better friends than me. They drove together to away football games that the band was required to be at, they hung out together outside of school. I had friends other than her, but none of them were really involved in the marching band or anything. Junior year of high school my world collapsed again. Despite everything that happened that ripped most of our friend group apart (from me at least), she stuck by me. She– or so I thought– cared about me. 

We ended up moving in together our freshman semester. I was well into my relationship with my current boyfriend (who was going to a community college for a semester) and she was well into her relationship with her underage boyfriend (she was 21 and he was 17). Things were mostly okay. She would ask me questions about her relationship and I would answer honestly. That was my downfall, I think. 

Second semester freshman year, my boyfriend would come from his room upstairs into the room that me and her shared, just to be able to sleep together for a night. When the morning came, he would be out of there– not bothering her, me, or anyone else on our floor. Eventually she breaks down with two of our other friends, saying that she can’t live with me anymore because my boyfriend keeps coming into our room. She leaves. I still don’t know exactly what was said or how or exactly to who. All I know is that this moment damaged our relationship forever. Because of this, I moved upstairs, living with my boyfriend in his private room. I do not speak to her much, but I do write her a note and apologize for everything, realizing my mistakes in this friendship, too.

Next semester, fall again. She is not at school. She is taking a gap semester because her boyfriend cheated on her, just like I said he probably would. Not much happened. I became closer and closer with two of the people that she told her problems with me to. I really respect them and look up to them; they seem to care. 

Christmas break, I talk on the phone nearly every day with one of the girls that my old friend had talked to. We were really close friends at this point. I was even living with her partner since the start of the fall semester, who had also become one of my close friends. 

Spring semester: Old friend comes back to college and is greeted with smiles, laughter, and she wants to retry with me. Perfect and great news for me. I never wanted to lose her in the first place. 

Then things really start sinking into place. The other people that I’d grown close to stop talking as much to me and more to her. I figure that this is probably because she was gone for a semester. We all hang out a lot. We all smoke and drink together. Things are going fantastic. 

The summer was an interesting time. I worked with my old friend at a pretzel place in the mall closest to where we went to high school. She got the job during the spring semester after talking on the phone with my boss. She seems to enjoy it. I enjoy it. We hang out together a pretty good bit: at work, outside of work, going to dinners with other coworkers, carpooling, late nights, etc. It was amazing. 

Next semester, fall yet again. I am working full time in Charlotte at the mall there, doing the same things I have done over the summer. I come back late most nights. Upon my arrival, the friend group that was once there dissipates– my friends go upstairs, my boyfriend to bed, and me, alone. My old friend rarely talks to me upon reuniting with the friend that I had grown close to. They start working together since the one I got close to over Christmas break is taking a gap semester because of financial reasons. This is all fine and well, and I only question it a little bit. But it does start to eat away at me, furiously.

I end up quitting my job because I cannot take the long days, the (seemingly) longer drive to get there, the no social life, the drinking every single night, etc. The list could go on and on for eternity. I needed out. I spend the rest of the small semester smoking weed every night, hoping to not run into anyone, honestly. Over the course of the fall semester, the amount of times a week/day I saw any of the people I consider my friends drops to about once a week if that. 

Over break, I helped my mom and my dad and my brother. My dad works at a job he hates, my mother is out of work because she snapped a tendon in her foot and had to have surgery. My brother does not do anything except lay in bed. I cry every night. I am a loser with no friends and I am literally 21. How does this happen to someone who had such a nice group of friends in high school until that all fell apart, too? 

Next semester, spring of 2024. It’s only really just started, I guess (we're like 2 or 3 weeks away from midterms and then spring break). I’ve talked to more people this semester than I have out of any of them since freshman year, except they’re all people I know, I guess– at least for the most part. I haven’t really done anything until this past week, the week before Valentine’s Day. I showed my old friend and her sister to my apartment (the old friend had already seen it, but I thought it would be neat for her sister to see). After that, all three of us went up to the other friends’ apartment, and we saw everyone. Everyone that I once considered a friend was in that room, but I knew I had to get going after just a little bit. The air of the living room was oppressive. I knew I wasn't wanted in there. I knew I had plans that night too, so I felt silly for even being up there when I should’ve been getting ready to see my other friends. I ended up seeing them. We don’t really hang out or talk much, and I am so scared that I made a horrible impression on them and they won’t ever want to talk or hang out with me again, even though it made me feel so much better. It was the first time we all really hung out late at night and drank together.

Every time I see one of her (the old friend's) reposts I get so sad. She reposts so much “my best friend” material on TikTok that it makes me feel nauseous, it makes my heart ache, it makes me angry. Because I know they're not about me. I should be the best friend that she’s posting about. I feel ridiculous but like??? Why would I not feel angry? We were so close. So close. But not now. I don’t know if I’ll ever really have friends. I won’t know why either. I assume it's just a character flaw in me. Maybe I was never meant to have friends and everyone I’ve ever been friends with just simply pitied me like a nearly dead dog on the side of the road. Maybe that’s all I am anyway. A nearly dead dog. I hate this life. 

Is it stupid to grieve over a friendship? Certainly not. Is it stupid to grieve over a friendship where you thought you were loved and valued to some extent but actually weren’t? Yes. But also at the same time, why wouldn’t it hurt? It hurts me, it makes me angry– fuck, everything does a little bit. I don’t know. 

Everyone I’ve ever loved has looked at me and felt disgust. 

[umichenginabroad]

Dublin Week 10: Wales

Welcome to this week's installment of my blog. It's been an eventful 7 days since the last installment, so buckle up buttercup.

The past week was the first week of my two week spring break, and was filled with my trip to Wales with the mountaineering club. It was the best week of my semester, hands down.

Day 1:

My week started bright and early on Monday morning with a three hour ferry ride from Dublin to Holyhead, a town on the west coast of Wales. The ride was incredibly rough and uncomfortable, but we all made it in one piece, which is all that matters. After a quick stop at the Lidl (grocery store chain) in town, we got on a bus to the cabin we were staying at near Llanberis. The weather was absolutely horrendous, with high winds and driving rain, a theme that unfortunately persisted throughout our trip. Despite the poor weather though, we settled in nicely and had a relaxing evening of low effort dinners and passing the time with games and a bit of drinking.

Top Left: My mates Cormac and Colin face off in a heated game of chess Top Right: The gang comes together for a spirited game of "family fun time" Bottom Left: Club captain Jack poses as a game of "sling pot" is played in the background Bottom Right: I absolutely destroy my friend Fiona in a game of chess (fun fact: the guy behind her, Tal, has the same last name as me, however we are not related)

Day 2:

The weather on day two started off looking much better than the first day. Because of this nice weather, I opted to go climbing.

Left: Our cabin looking pretty in the best weather we had all trip Right: Some goats that came up to our cabin as we walked to the bus on day two

The climbing we did was at an old slate mine about 30 minutes away from our cabin. The region of Wales that we were, Snowdonia, is well known for its outdoor activities, and this quarry is a popular climbing destination. After a quick (but very steep and slippery) hike up the quarry, we set up some ropes and climbed and explored the quarry for the rest of the day. I got to climb twice, and it was a lot of fun. I haven't climbed outdoors in years, so it was great to get back into it.

Some views from the quarry, as well as a picture of me climbing

On my second climb, the weather suddenly turned and it started to snow and hail, so after finishing my climb, we packed up and hiked back down to our bus, and went back to the cabin to rest up and eat some dinner.

That night we stayed up late again having fun, and even got the chance to see some stars, which was pretty awesome.

Me finishing off a card tower that my friend Colin and I made

The stars on night two

Day 3:

Unfortunately the nice(ish) weather of day 2 couldn't last, and we had some pretty crummy weather on day 3. Because of this, most of us decided to go on a hike up the tallest peak in Wales, Mt. Snowden. If you're thinking that this was perhaps an ill advised decision, then you'd be right, but you also clearly overestimate the forethought of a group of college kids, and know very little about how good stories come to be.

As you might expect, the weather, in fact, did not get any better as we gained altitude on our hike, and by the time we stopped for lunch, it was incredibly snowy, cold, and windy. Some of us even set up a little shelter to stay warm which was a lot of fun.

Top: A seagull looking very out of place and a view from the first half of our hike Bottom: A 360 degree view of our little lunch shelter

After lunch, the weather progressively got worse until it was full on blizzard conditions. We made the decision not to got to the very top of the mountain, but we still got a group picture pretending that we did. It's not like the view would've been any different.

A group pic from the "top" of Mt. Snowden

Believe it or not, the conditions descending the mountain were even worse than the conditions going up. The wind picked up considerably, and was pushing us downhill, which made descending rather difficult. Once we got low enough though, the weather chilled out a bit, and we just had a nice hike in the hills of Wales. Overall it was an incredible day with zero injuries and everyone had a great time.

A view from our way down the mountain

Once again, our evening was filled with food, drinking, and overall good vibes. Also, my mate Colin got a buzz cut.

Left: Hanging out after the hike Right: Colin getting his buzzcut

Day 4:

Unfortunately, the conditions on day 4 were so bad that outdoor activities were just out of the question. So instead of climbing outdoors, we climbed at a nearby indoor climbing gym. Even though the gym was pretty small, it was really nicely laid out with fun routes and nice equipment. After a relaxing few hours at the gym, we returned to the cabin for one final night of games and drinking as everyone celebrated a great trip. The club also made everyone bracelets from old climbing rope.

Top left: For some reason rope bracelet making has to be done in the dark with red headlamps Top right: Jack is definitely not in any pain as Fiona braids his hair Bottom: Colin and I have to trade socks as part of family fun time

Day 5:

As you'd expect, everyone was suuuuper well rested after the previous nights celebrations, so everyone decided to just get a little bit more sleep, and things got moving a little later on day 5. After packing up and cleaning the cabin, we got back on our bus one last time and departed for the ferry in Holyhead.

Colin jumps on some trash bags to get them to fit in the dumpster

Fortunately, our ferry ride back to Dublin wasn't nearly as rough as the ride there, so most people just hung out and/or slept. Once we got back to Dublin, I got a ride from a friend's parent back to campus, where, after eating a bit of dinner, I promptly passed out of exhaustion, thus concluding my trip to Wales.

You may be wondering: "Sam, wasn't St. Patrick's day also this week? What did you do for that? I'm sure it's a huge thing in Dublin."

Indeed it is a huge thing in Dublin, and had I been in Dublin on St. Paddy's day, I would have undoubtedly participated in and told you about the festivities. However, St. Paddy's happened to fall on the day that we were coming back from Wales, so unfortunately I was unable to participate. I reckon it was worth it though, considering the great week I had in Wales.

This coming week, my Dad and two siblings are visiting, so stay to hear about what we get up!

Sam Adler

Materials Science and Engineering

University College Dublin

[seraphiism]

❀ ﾟ. ༄ ┊ 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐔𝐒 𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 ! ( 𝐩𝐭. 𝐢𝐢 ) ;

characters: xiao / albedo / scaramouche

↬ xiao ࿐ ࿔

"oh my god," you whisper, "it's like i'm ten again and reliving all my first day of school nightmares."

was anyone going to tell you that ice breakers were still a thing in college? you thought you left that behind, long forgotten, buried deep in your soul where no one could reach.

"what's a truth about me? or a subtle lie that people wouldn't catch on about? what's an interesting fact about me?"

"you talk to yourself loudly." xiao mumbles. "you could say that."

your expression of worry turns deadpan. you're not sure if you're offended, because he says it like it's a mere observation and not a smartass remark. you debate for a few seconds until your professor tells you to make quick introductions to the person next to you, which would be--

"xiao."

you thought you would prefer personal intros instead of those two lies, one truth ones, but you wonder if you thought wrong. you smile weakly, offer a hand out as you tell him your name, noting his slight hesitance. it's a few moments of contemplation before he shakes your hand, murmurs a very polite 'nice to meet you'.

that's pretty much the whole conversation. you sit in idle ( and uncomfortable ) silence as the chatter around you continues on.

"what's an interesting fact about you, xiao?"

you can see the gears turn in his head and the way his muscles tense up at the question-- which is fair, really, because small talk isn't the funnest thing-- not to mention the fact that you're paying too much money for a class that is wasting time on getting to know your classmates.

"i..." xiao thinks hard, but nothing comes to mind. "i don't have one."

oh. you did think wrong. this is even worse. this is the worst. ice breakers are awful. small talk is awful. college is awful. you are having a crisis and it's not even related to a test.

"well, we'll get there, won't we, xiao?"

xiao looks at you, skeptical.

"eventually."

↬ albedo ࿐ ࿔

friendships in chemistry are made because no one knows what's happening most of the time. or at least that's what it seems like, anyway.

maybe not in this case, though.

"what did you get for your margin of error?"

so you're not going to say your lab partner is cold by any means, because he's really not-- it just seems like he prefers to keep to himself, which doesn't work exceptionally well when you're an assigned pair for the rest of the semester.

but you've also known albedo for thirty minutes, so your judgement could be entirely wrong ( and you're not too good at small talk yourself, so you guess this pairing isn't the most convenient in the first place ). you smile as he awaits your answer, glancing at the math and formulas you've calculated probably fifteen times over. oh, this is so wrong. you are about to embarrass yourself, you think, looking at his expectant visage.

"two hundred thousand and seventy-eight percent."

albedo stares at you with the blankest expression you have ever seen in your life. you laugh when his eyes cloud over, but he's quick to recover and clear his throat.

"according to this formula," he scoots closer to you, points at the figures on his notebook, "taking into account the numbers from this trial, you should have gotten three percent."

you have this theory that if you stare at the numbers really hard, you'll understand them. this theory is incorrect.

"i don't know how to tell you this, and i'm sorry i have to," you whisper, albeit dramatically, pure amusement on your countenance when you see slight concern on albedo's face, "but i don't know what i'm doing. you're probably right, though."

albedo suspects this will be a long semester. ( it will be, but with you, perhaps he might enjoy it more than he expects. )

↬ scaramouche ࿐ ࿔

in case anyone asks: no, you are most definitely not crying at 1:42am in the university library because of the fifth final you have to take in 15 hours. you would never break down in a public area where everyone around you is either dead inside or on the verge of death.

--except for the person at the next table over.

"stop crying. this is a library. the bathroom is right there."

you do stop crying-- not because scaramouche told you to, but from the pure shock and rage this stranger evokes from your very core of existence. you stare at him, baffled, as he tilts his head in the direction of the bathroom and the only thing that floods your mind is a plethora of insults.

you are going to fight this little man. you are going to be suspended but you won't have to take your test so it'll be fine. ( that's how you justify this act of violence you're about to commit, anyway. )

you watch, speechless, as he grabs his belongings and sits across you, digging out a pack of tissues from his backpack before he tosses them in your direction.

"stop crying." he repeats, the words gentler this time around. he avoids eye contact by looking at the notes scattered about the desk. "i'll help you, so stop throwing a tantrum."

at this point, the tears are long gone and replaced with confusion. how could someone be so rude and then offer a helping hand in such a manner? another glance at the tissues, then the matching of gazes. he raises a brow at you in the waiting.

"you're really bad at comforting people."

"i'm going to make you cry again."

"you didn't even make me cry the first time!"

"then i will this time."

( okay. you do end up getting help from him, and yes, that is how you become study buddies. )

[boop-le-snoot]

@buckyownsmylife hey babe! Remember that one time you threw that cool challenge? Here's my entry. Prepare to get absolutely ruined because daddy!Bruce is exactly that sort of man.

main masterlist ☀️ taglist

emotional support nerd

Your best friend's dad, Dr. Bruce Banner, is hotter than you thought he would be. 6k words, NSFW. Kind of Alt!Reader - she refers to herself as 'goth' in one instance. Tony Stark makes an appearance because God forbid I write a fanfic without him in it.

This is filthy pron, ft. age difference (reader is college aged) daddy kink, throat fucking, dirty talk, praise kink, cream pie, possessiveness, belly bulge and ending with a hint at a threesome. I really crammed all I could from Eyre's wheel in here, didn't I. Oh well.

"How much longer, dad?" Lyra's annoyed voice struck a chord within me. I tried to hide my snickering - unsuccessfully might I add - causing my best friend to shoot me a hurt look, equally fed up with me as she was fed up with her forgetful adopted father. "You know what, we'll take the subway."

Lyra's father's voice, both agitated and apologetic, reached my ears in bitten-off phrases as the traffic noises around us grew in volume, NYC rush hour rapidly approaching its peak.

With a sound huff, Lyra removed the phone from her ear, staring me down with the most amount of petulance I've ever seen on her usually reserved, placid face. "It's twenty more minutes. Apparently he's driving Tony's car," she offered in the way of explanation, like it actually did anything to better the cold, wet situation we found ourselves in. "Please, and I can't stress this enough, please don't be weird."

I felt a flood of amusement at Lyra's pleading tone. "Darling, if you wanted a normal friend, you should have looked elsewhere," I gestured to my outfit. I looked like a goth boy's wet dream: chunky platformed boots, fishnets, heavy eyeliner. Of course, all in black.

"You know what I mean," she whined, waving off my pointing hand and fixing me with a hard stare. "The least my dad needs is someone that is terrified of him just because sometimes he turns into a big green monkey. It's not as exciting as internet thinks, anyway," the last part of the sentence was mumbled but I heard it nonetheless as Lyra stared out into the traffic, clever eyes looking for a particular car model.

What Lyra didn't know was that I was not at all considering to be terrified by the man who dosed himself with radiation and developed an advanced version of split personality disorder. I could be intimidated by him, sure, because he was incredibly intelligent, a world class scientist with more PhDs than I had zeroes in my bank account, but even despite his green problem, Dr. Bruce Banner was about as far away from 'scary' as a man could be.

The few scarce pictures of him on the internet showed a short, stocky man with kind eyes and salt-and-pepper curls, always dressed in un-ironed, crumpled button-ups with dorky patterns. Looking at him, I mused that there was a high chance he spoke with a stutter and that fact amused me to no end. Jekyll and Hyde, alright.

Lyra was much the same way. Shy and reclusive, with curly brown hair and doe eyes, she spent a good chunk of her first semester in college being avoided by everybody because of her last name; I, on the other hand, avoided everyone out of habit, I'd never been a social butterfly, but the way people subtly made sure to exclude Lyra from all the activities filled me with quiet, seething rage, and I stepped over my general distaste of people and removed my bag from the seat next to me so Lyra could at least study in relative peace.

Yeah, yeah, you've heard it all, I'm sure. Weird goth chick adopts a socially awkward, shunned nerd and they become best friends forever. I had to admit that under the shy exterior, Lyra was smart, witty and even funny sometimes. She was willing to entertain my crude jokes without moaning, at least, and I was perfectly okay with listening to her rant about science every now and then.

Rain banged on the slanted roof of the café we were hiding in, the autumn wind howled, making both of us shiver at the prospect of having to go outside, even if it was for a short moment to run to Lyra's dad's car. The day had started out warm and sunny, but much like a badly calculated chemical formula, it all went downhill a split second after we had set out to leave campus.

"There he is," the grouch in Lyra's expression had me once again unsuccessfully attempting to conceal my snorting.

Nonetheless, I followed her out into the rain, struggling to keep up with the brisk running in my platformed shoes, unceremoniously crawling into the car behind her without sparing a glance at the driver in my eagerness to get out of the freezing downpour.

"Hi, dad," Lyra's tired voice spoke up at the same time as I angrily shook out my hair.

"I've just about McFuckin' had it with New York," I was afraid the dye in my hair would bleed out into my clothes, or even worse, the nice, cream-colored car seats.

"Hello, ladies," the voice that greeted us was low, gravelly and apologetic to boot.

My eyes shot up, meeting an expression full of surprise and amusement. I stared at the shockingly handsome face of Dr. Bruce Banner like a deer in the headlights.

The fine mimic wrinkles had stretched into a resemblance of a smile, soft, plush lips revealing a set of straight, white teeth. The five o'clock shadow framed his jaw, giving it a sharp, defined edge, his clever brown eyes slid down my form, faltering on the pentagram on my belt and my fishnet-covered legs, settling on my chunky boots before hastily snapping back up to my face.

"Dad, this is..." Lyra's voice was full of suspicious bewilderment as she attempted to dissipate the sudden awkwardness.

"Oh, yeah, I'm Dr. Bruce Banner, but you can call me Doc or Bruce," he cleared his throat, turning himself towards the windshield and starting up the car.

"Nice to meet you," I busied myself with putting away any stray hair just to occupy myself with something during the time I needed to recuperate from being just... Looked at by Lyra's dad.

It sounds ridiculous, I know, but I was so taken aback by his handsomeness and his aura of a gentle but powerful man that the ride to Stark tower, however swift, went on in slightly awkward silence. The streets outside were, thankfully, noisy, and the lack of an attempt to have a conversation could easily be attributed to Bruce's need to focus on the road, but Lyra's increasingly concerned looks did very little to settle the sudden racing of my heart.

"C'mon, I'll give you some sweats so you can let your..." Lyra's vague gesture towards my upper body disappeared behind her side of the door. "Hey, Tony," she suddenly interrupted her sentence, very obviously addressing another person who I managed to miss as Bruce parked in the spacious garage.

"I've been told you're finally bringing your friend, Green Pea," a voice I'd heard a thousand times on the TV poked fun at Lyra.

She bent down to retrieve her bag, shooting big eyes at me and mouthing an exaggerated "Sorry!"

Tony Stark looked about a week in debt on sleep, a contrast to the way he usually appeared in public. The exaggerated eyebrow raise made me shuffle awkwardly in my spot; the Led Zep tee caught my eyes as I lingered on it, aware of my own Mötorhead top on display. He noticed it too, causing his face leave the snide territory.

"Wow, I didn't expect kids these days to have any resemblance of taste in music but you've surprised me, Corpse Bride," he gave me a quiet wolf-whistle, watching me through lidded eyes.

I felt my eyebrow crawl upwards at his attitude but Bruce spoke up before I could say anything: "Tony, no," so firmly, I had to raise both of my eyebrows. I felt a smile tug at my lips, the situation strikingly familiar in it's essence. Like father, like daughter...

"No," Lyra's identical expression, fond and annoyed, topped up with an accusing finger pointed in my direction had everyone snorting a giggle at the situation.

"Lyra," I whined, just so I could coax her grin that she was very obviously trying to conceal. "See, I told you, every crazy genius needs their emotional support nerd," I fixed her with a pointed look.

She promptly grabbed me by the arm, leading all of us to the elevator as the two men behind us shared a hearty laugh at my well-timed joke. It was either that or I would have completely embarrassed myself by gaping and drooling over both THE Tony Stark and Lyra's father.

The rush didn't stop there. I was promptly and generously offered not only a spare pair of pants but also a whole room to stay in after an invitation to dinner I simply could not refuse. Dr. Banner firmly coaxed me into staying overnight with his pleading eyes and a hearty seasoning of guilt tripping, softly crooning how he simply could not let a young woman to wander the cold, rainy night in NYC alone.

Tony added something too, in a tone way too surefire and patronising. I guessed he noticed my eyes lingering on Dr. Banner, being a genius and all.

In a short amount of time, I found myself seated at a dinner table next to a happy, giggling Lyra who'd downed a glass of wine and was well into her second. I found it adorable how much of a lightweight she was; not hesitating in the slightest to point out that fact when she made hands for a pitcher of water.

Tony was the first one to snark back something vague about his college days and all the wild parties he used to throw, booing Bruce upon discovery that he, in fact, actually studied in college in favour of partaking in various illicit activities. That had both me and Tony giggling with Lyra promptly joining in, both of us losing it over the running joke or her being either a test tube baby or the result of immaculate conception.

Bruce's face blushed scarlet. He sputtered, a few stray drops of his lemonade landing on the (ironed!) collar of his purple shirt, cough disappearing in the wake of Tony's truly amused cackling. Dr. Banner was well on his way to either choke on his Lo Mein or turn green; thinking quickly, I decided to defuse a situation by sharing a harmless, funny story that happened to me as a freshman.

"I went on a date with this guy who said that music was the most important thing in his life, and I thought, wow, that's so beautiful!" I began my story over Lyra's incessant snickering. "So we had dinner and went back to his place because I'm a whore," the whole table erupted in laughter at my deadpan remark, Tony reaching over to give me a high five.

"And as we got there, he put on one of his demos which was just a bunch of sampled and remixed Guns'n'Roses songs, and I thought wow, that's gotta be one of the worst things I've ever heard," I pointedly looked away as Lyra's cackling grew in volume, having heard the same story several times by now and the outrage I expressed at the situation first hand.

"But instead of that I said, wow, that's so cool! Then we did the thing and his whole bedroom was covered in Axl Rose posters and I'm sure at some point Mr. Rose stared right up my asshole," there were tears streaming down Lyra's face as Tony flopped his upper body onto the table and Bruce convulsed helplessly in a silent fit of giggles. "And then I thought to myself: wow, I would have to pretend to like his music if I dated this guy and I just couldn't do that..." I breathed out, succumbing to the mirth at the dinner table. "It was good but not November Rain good, y'kno?"

Bruce snorted loudly, sliding down his chair with a hand over his face. The table shook with the force of Tony's cackling; I didn't see his expression but the howling, rasping noises sent me into another fit of laughter, right on par with Lyra.

"Is this..." Tony rapidly inhaled the much-needed oxygen. "Is this why you keep wincing whenever I play the 'Roses in the lab?" Tony wheezed and Lyra nodded.

"I just... I can picture it, and I-" she made a vague, encompassing gesture and a face.

"Please, don't," I urged with a snort. "There are better ways to get disappointed."

Dinner went on by smoothly after that, everybody happily making remarks on my dating fail, the topic of Lyra's birth and Tony's college shenanigans dismissed.

I caught Dr. Banner's pointed look as we finished our dessert - he was studying me, eyes searching for something that he very obviously wished was there. From the damp roots of my hair to the soft, cotton top clinging to my chest, I wasn't left unscrutinzed and unexamined. Like one of the many specimens he studied on a daily basis, Bruce lingered on the many characteristics that made me stand out in the grey crowd.

"Would you like to see the labs?" He asked, appearing behind me without a single sound.

The freshly cleaned dishes clattered in my arms. I'd almost dropped them, startled, but Bruce's hand landed on the top of the stack right before the top plate would have slipped off and shattered into pieces on the cold tile of his kitchen.

Blood rushed to my ears. "I'd love to," my brain had briefly returned to reality, the rush of meeting both Stark and Banner succumbing to logic and reason. My and his fields of study briefly overlapped, the question he posed was more than reasonable. In fact, many people would cheat, lie and steal to be in my position.

Bruce smiled, opening a cabinet and taking half of the dishes I was holding to stack them up in their proper place. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, exposing wide, muscular forearms littered with dark, coarse hair.

I was sure my face was flaming. After waving off Lyra's attempts to put shoes on me and leaving her to watch her TV show, a wide, warm palm rested on the back of my waist, gently steering me towards the elevator.

I tried to keep my eyes off Bruce in the large mirror on the walls of the car as it swiftly moved down, scrutinizing my appearance instead. My throat bobbed, the elevator car suddenly too small and too hot.

His eyes left marks on me - invisible ones, the kind that I knew were there just from the scorching heat sizzling on my skin.

There was a certain je ne sais quoi about him. Perhaps, it was in the way he was acting - a polar opposite of what I'd had expected, Dr. Bruce Banner possessed a quiet confidence and his patience appeared to be endless, heartily doused with an appreciation for his closest ones. The way his eyes lit up in response to people smiling around the dinner table was hard to miss.

When Bruce spoke about his research - whatever wasn't classified, anyway - the spark expanded into a mischievous fire. I could hardly understand the nuances in his work, scratch that- I could not understand a single word he was saying, at all. The individual syllables registered as they should, but my traitorous brain could only focus on the way he licked his lips in between quickly inhaled breaths.

"You're not... Following, are you?" The corner of his mouth lifted upwards, clever brown eyes fixed on my face.

God, I hoped I wasn't drooling. But to deny the obvious would have been a stretch. "No, not really," I swallowed, willing my eyes to lift from the large veins on the hand that was pointing at a set of equations. Reasonably good at math any day, they looked like the scribbles of a madman to me at the time.

Dr. Banner sighed, letting silence creep among the whirring machinery in the lab for a brief moment. "I don't scare you?" He removed his glasses, cleaning them with the corner of his shirt.

The question reeked of self-doubt and, perhaps, insecurity. "No," I answered simply, not giving him the slightest chance to find doubt in my words. I was barely holding my voice from shaking, afraid he'd misunderstand my reaction to the sudden change in atmosphere.

He was closer to me than I recalled. My hip was almost brushing his, the bulk of his shoulder millimeters from touching against my bare skin, the smell of something herbal, like tea, and sharp chemicals clouding my senses. It was such a contrasting experience.

Bruce turned to me, an expression between hunger and regret forcing me to shiver and look him straight in the eye. A hand landed on my waist, holding me in place with gentle firmness. "I'm a monster, I could hurt you," he whispered, leaning into me like a touch starved kitten. The man screamed contradiction. "We shouldn't."

Vivid images of the Hulk and the rampages years prior flashed through my mind; the rubble, the collateral damage in the form of many lives. I barely remembered it, having been too little to really understand what was going on. One thing, though, I knew for sure: ever since the world became aware of Lyra's existence, there had been no incidents. Sure, the Hulk still appeared when there was a threat, but there were no documented incidents of the green creature running amok, accidentally.

"You won't hurt me," I spoke with conviction. Perhaps, I was bluffing just slightly but I wouldn't lie like that to myself. The variable, the... Twelve or so percent chance of things going... Awry, it made a small, malicious worm inside of me rejoice and fill my limbs with familiar adrenalised yearning. "You're not a monster. Far from it, actually," I used the hand that was not supporting me against the desk to gently cradle the side of his face, letting my fingertips brush over the rough five o'clock shadow on his cheek.

Bruce emitted a sound somewhere between an agitated grown and a pleading whine, sagging with the sound exhale, pressing himself flush with my chest. His face slipped from my palm, the warm tip of his nose running a steady line up my neck, sending goosebumps running wildly down my back as his hot breath tickled the arch of my throat.

"Baby," the nickname punched a stuttered gasp out of me with the intensity contained in just that one word. "I've been hearing all these amazing things about you," his voice dropped, low baritone rumbling straight into my ear. "I won't be able to hold back. I'll want you all to myself," his bicep flexed under my hand.

My knees would have bucked if I wasn't grasping onto Bruce for dear life after those words. I had some sense of personal pride in me, so while my body was an easy, traitorous thing, my mind was more than eager to participate in this game, to ping pong a little bit before... "Yeah? What things?" I breathed.

Teeth briefly closed around my tender skin, nipping for just a second. "You're kind, beautiful," his hand took a steadfast hold on the back of my neck, exposing my throat to his mouth. More skin to mark, more time to whisper. "Intelligent, bright and clever," the more he spoke, the fiercer he became. Bruce's grasp tightened until I was pliant in it, willingly following his silent commands. "A bit of a pain in the ass," a healthy dose of humour was added into the mix as my ass was roughly grabbed, our fronts pressed together at his insistence.

"That sounds about right," I didn't resist the sudden urge to snark, thoughts lazily floating in my head, like clouds on a bright sunny day, fleeting and sparse. None of them caught on. I was focused on feeling the need, on my need to feel.

A sharp smack landed on the plump of my ass, the sound resonating in the eerily quiet lab. The sounds of machinery had dulled at some point, leaving just the two of us panting our lust into each other's space. "I know you can be a good girl. Will you, princess?" His fingertips dug into my flesh, surpassing the soft sweatpants as if they weren't even there.

I could only nod, dumbly, overcome by the sudden rush of blood to my body. The life coarsing through me sang, demanding a release of the pent-up tension.

"What's that?" Bruce removed himself from my neck, catching my unfocused eyes with a crooked smirk on his lips.

"Yes," I swallowed, breathing through my mouth.

"Mmm," he hummed, running both hands over my sides, over the frayed edges of my Mötorhead top. He admired it, briefly, setting his eyes on the band logo that was right over my breasts. Having decided something to himself, Bruce promptly removed it, lifting it over my head with ease and leaving it right on the science lab table.

Taking hold of my hand, he walked over to a hidden set of sliding doors that revealed a rather large, frequently used bed, shutting them just as I walked in, wearing only my bra and borrowed sweats. My back was pressed to the door in mere seconds, hot palms chasing away the chill of the lab as Bruce slotted his lips over mine.

He tasted like something I've never had before. His lips - so plush and supple, took hold of the kiss with practiced gusto, sucking me in without a chance or the desire to escape. I drank from him, sucked on the bottom lip as his tongue explored my mouth, danced with mine.

The room was spinning, the ringing in my ears growing in volume. I was only partly aware of the sensation of sliding down the wall; our knees thudded on the carpeted floor simultaneously, heavy breathing the only noise I could distinguish.

"Breathe, baby, that's it," Bruce coaxed, gently stroking my nape. The soft cotton of his shirt crumpled under my fingers where I held onto him, desperately searching something to ground myself with.

The buckle of his belt clattered and then clinked again as he wrapped the worn leather around my wrists, bringing them together in front of my chest. I exhaled sharply at the intimate gesture, a whine bubbling up from my chest when Bruce used a single fingertip to raise my chin.

My eyes met his; a brown iris tinged with the faintest of green around the outer edge. "This okay, princess?" He sought my face for confirmation, for agreement, for anything.

I nodded, stuttering mid-gesture, remembering our previous interaction. My mouth did not want to cooperate but I forced it to, even if it came out as little more than a pitiful mewl. "Yes, daddy," the word, sweet and sticky like fruit syrup, poured from my lips.

My eyes slid shut as my conscience - or was it common sense? - took hold of the situation. I was on my knees in front of my best friends dad, a virtual stranger, and I'd just-

Bruce's soft chuckle stopped the negative spiral of my thoughts. "That's my girl," he sounded a tad more breathless now, a hairliner in his perfect façade of self-control. As if he'd sensed my indecisiveness, he tugged on the makeshift restraints, pulling me closer, closer and into his lap.

A warm, solid chest with a healthy amount of fluff greeted me. Bruce let my lax, pliant body fall into his arms, catching me effortlessly and bringing my face to his lips. "You have nothing to be ashamed of, you're my good girl," he peppered soft kisses all over my flaming cheeks, my twitching nose, my fluttering lashes.

"Please," I begged, shame giving way to the flood of arousal that seemingly hit me all at once. I was aware of the dampness collecting in my panties, the stiffness of my limbs from holding back the ravenous desire to paw at Bruce like a wild animal. "Please, daddy..."

"I know, I know, baby girl," he soothed, not stopping his tender assault on my face. "Daddy will make it all better. I know just what you need," Bruce finally pulled away. I heard the sound of him undoing his zipper and then the awkward shuffle of him shucking off his pants.

Somewhere in between of all that, he'd ended up sitting down on the bed, wearing only his boxers, his shirt hanging open. The red crawled down his chest, partially masked by the coarse salt and pepper hair; his lips were cherry red and his hair was sticking out in odd directions. Bruce looked sinful.

My eyes inadvertently landed on the impressive bulge in his boxers; in response to my widened eyes, he reached out for it, stroking the outline of his thick cock through his boxers. "Like what you see, baby?"

"Yeah," My mouth watered.

"Baby wants a fat cock?" He teased, sounding like he knew exactly what he was doing, testing my self-control like that. With a flick of his wrist, it sprang free, slapping against his tummy, coating the fine hairs with drops of clear, musky fluid.

I swallowed, feeling the taste of him from afar and yearning for more where I was parked between his spread legs.

In a gesture almost loving, he tugged on the belt still wrapped around my wrists, bringing my face to his leaking shaft and my hands to the base of it, letting me feel the weight of his balls in them. The cock throbbed, neglected, weighed down by the heaviness of his full balls.

"Go ahead, baby, suck my cock," the encouragement came with a gentle push to my head.

I obediently followed, wrapping my lips around the pink, moist crown of it, a hum beginning in the back of my throat. My God, Bruce tasted heavenly... I whirled and slipped my tongue a around his head, I dipped into the slit to drink the nectar right from the tap, idly coming to awareness of the broken, choked moans coming from the man above me.

Raising my head got me a view of his chin; head thrown back, the lax O of his mouth glistened in the meager light. My eyes slid lower, to the flex of his abs. Bruce fought hard to stay still. The desire consumed me, a sudden rush of power at having Dr. Bruce Banner's cock in my mouth and the man at my mercy; I inhaled, sliding my mouth further and further down his throbbing length.

"Fuck," I heard him mutter before his hands gripped the sides of my face. "Hungry, baby, are you?" His eyes glowed a faint green; I shuddered at the power he held within himself. Held back for me. "Tap my thigh twice," he spoke and I had no choice but to obey. "Okay. Do that if it gets too much, alright?" I nodded. He gave me a wide, beaming smile. "Good girl," he praised, experimentally bucking his hips into my mouth a few times.

In and out. I focused on my breathing, sharp, little inhales: his girth took up all the free space in my mouth, the tip of it barely fit into my throat. The burn, the stretch; I felt every tenth of an inch, every bulging attempt of my body to accommodate Bruce's huge cock. It was delicious, I couldn't help but crave the same stretch in my neglected, sopping wet pussy.

"Fuck, you're taking it so well," Bruce moaned wetly. "Your mouth... S'like heaven... Could fuck it all day, that's my good girl," the rambling increased in it's intensity as the pace of his hips hastened. Drool and tears flowed like a river; my chin was dropping with it, spit connected my face to his pelvis. "Oh," there was a brief pause to his movements; suddenly, he pulled out, fisting the base of his cock, staring me down with a ferocious gleem in his eye.

I must've looked a straight mess; my face like a crime scene, my clothes disheveled, covered in fluids and most of all - I was desperately grinding against my own feet, too focused on the glorious cock in front of me to notice the weakness of my own flesh. "Daddy?" I questioned, wincing at the grating of my own voice.

Without a word, the belt was tugged once more; in a set of movements just slightly north of acrobatic, I found myself laying on my back in the middle of the bed, my sweatpants suffering a haste demise in the corner of the room.

Bruce crawled atop me, leaving a trail of sloppy kisses on every inch of my skin he could reach, mouthing something inaudible into every pore of my body. As he drew closer, I discerned bitten-off phrases, stringing my desire into sticky, tangy mess at the apex of my thighs.

"My perfect baby girl," the words reached me; all tongue, he kissed me once more, arching into me as much as I arched into his hot grasp. A brief inspection of my face - he was satisfied with what he saw - and Bruce crawled back, settling in between my spread legs, breathing hot air on the lips of my sex still covered by a sopping wet piece of fabric.

"Oh fuck," I yelped, feeling him smooch it soundly, the hot wetness of his tongue penetrating the meagre lace barrier with ease.

He moved it aside anyway, with a single finger, giving my pussy a broad lick, moaning into my cunt like a man gone mad. It took a few more licks for him to feel sated enough to surface, all the while holding my hips down. I was so sensitive, I felt even the tiniest flicks to my clit, I was sure if I didn't cum then and there, I would explode.

"Such a pretty pussy, princess," his heavy breathing paused briefly. He nipped my thigh. "So wet, is that all for me?"

"Yes, yes, daddy," I rasped, pushing my cunt into his face, losing all shame and trepidation.

"So tasty," he continued the torture, outlining my lower lips before taking another nosedive right into it, swirling his tongue around every fold, sucking onto my clit.

Bruce ate my pussy until my thighs shook, until my core quivered and I could no longer hold back the choked, ragged screams starting somewhere in the low of my belly and coming out as unholy, all-consuming yowls filled with unadulterated lust.

"Louder for me, baby," he inhaled rapidly, and then, he sucked on my clit.

The world stopped, halted on it's axis, every muscle going rigid in my body and every nerve ending simultaneously coming alive. Faintly, I heard a chant, repeating two syllables over and over, it sounded like my voice - but I had no control over myself. All I could do was weakly grind my hips against Bruce's mouth, faltering when the crashing waves of my orgasm began to recede.

The infuriating overstimulation stopped; blinking hazily, I saw Bruce's eyes glimmer brown and green in front of my face. His nose and his chin was glistening with a thin coat of sticky fluid; disheveled and red, he looked a man on the verge of a revelation.

Something hot and blunt nosed at my cunt, bringing back the moment to me - I realized, with a great deal of impatience - how empty I felt. The decision was minute. "Daddy, fuck me, please, I want your cock," the words came easily.

"That's my girl," his eyes fluttered shut as the first inches squeezed through the snug of my cunt. I was sopping wet and as relaxed as I'd be, but even then, it was a stretch. "Good girl, good baby," the mumbled praise made me whine and my pussy clamp on his cock. "Relax, let daddy fill you up." Breathing through it, I consciously unwound myself around him, letting my palms rest freely on his shoulders. "Let daddy take care of you."

Like melted sugar, his husked words stuck to me inside and out. Short, sharp thrusts; Bruce was patiently burrowing himself inside of me, making his way to reach the deepest parts of me I didn't even know existed. His cock head pressed against something hard and spongy inside of me; stars burst behind my eyes I'd clamped shut on reflex.

I moaned weakly, tugging on his arm, pressing myself closer. It felt so, so good. Like a raw nerve had been exposed and he was stroking it, pushing that little switch with every stroke of his hips.

"I'm not gonna last," he muttered as once again, my cunt squeezed him snugly in place, just as greedy as I was to feel that tiny explosion spark up within me again.

"I want..." I panted. Bruce set in a punishing pace after that, a palm under my ass, squeezing it so hard there would definitely be bruising. I craved it, I needed to see the evidence this was not some elaborate fever dream. "I want... Daddy to fill me up," words came out garbled; it sounded like gibberish to my ears but Bruce - they spurred him on.

"Oh yeah?" That breathless, boyish cockiness was back in his voice again; despite how fucked out he sounded, I prepared myself for something truly out of this world. I just knew.

He sat back on his shins, dragging me by the hips with him, making me shiver and moan and twitch and clamp onto him again as his throbbing cock hit that special spot again. And again. And again.

"Look at me, baby," a hand on my belly and his eyes burning right through me. As they slid down, towards the apex of my thighs where he was still moving within me almost lazily, I saw it.

"Oh fuck," I couldn't utter much more than a two-syllabled profanity. There was a bulge in my belly, just above my pelvis, moving in rhythm with Bruce's hips. And then he pressed on it and I-

Something, someone, somewhere was screaming. The noise was loud and pitched, but even then, I could barely hear it though the neverending waves of bliss that enveloped my whole being. Gold and silver at the edges of my rapidly darkening vision; I was drowning in something that smelled and felt like Bruce. The safety of his arms, the warmth of his heated body, the rapid snapping of his hips-

Oh.

"I'm gonna, fuck," the last word was but a ghost of a human speech. Growling low and filthy, Bruce leaned into my ear, his breath hot and moist. "Mine," his hips stuttered, his cock nestled deep, the sensation bordering on painful, forcefully extracted pleasure. It throbbed with every spurt of his seed; each one felt like a solid punch in the gut to my abused pussy.

"Daddy," I mewled, my body jerking away from him but my mind and my soul yearning for more. His rapidly softening flesh made the idea of being separated unbearable.

"S'good, s'my good girl, m'so proud," he mumbled, looking slightly disoriented as he removed himself from me, immediately pressing me to his side and interwining any free, flailing limbs.

We laid in silence, each of us slowly coming back to Earth after the completely unreal experience we just had. I didn't know what to think, didn't know what to do as the realization set in, the post-orgasmic haze giving way to a sudden rush of clarity.

"I can hear you overthinking," Bruce's voice was fond.

Before I could muster up the courage to snark back, the divided doors opened, one very concerned Tony Stark standing there, armed with a tranquilizer gun in one hand and a pack of cookies in the other. His mouth, previously open to (probably) yell at us, remained as open when his eyes had registered the scene in front of him.

I stared at Bruce. Bruce stared at Tony.

"The noise," he offered in the way of explanation, dangling the pack of cookies, looking, for once - speechless. He recovered quickly, however, even if the remark was a thin ghost of his usual sass: "You pick the nerd over me? I'm hurt," he scoffed in mock irritation, although I was pretty sure I saw some satisfaction in there, too.

Bruce looked at me. I looked at Bruce.

A mischievous grin slowly crept up his face, an identical one beginning to appear on my own face seconds after.

"Hey, two nerds is better than one, right?" My response is what did it; or, rather, it was the evidence of my previous throat-fucking clearly audible in my voice... Tony dropped the cookies and then, the tranq gun.

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