#gonna go play my shitty sorority girl now i GUESS

[titan-fodder]

Prima Vista Part I

Rating: E (explicit; mdni) Pairing: Mike Zacharias x fem!reader wc: ~ 9.7k Warnings: dubious consent (because of alcohol), just copious amounts of sex, oral, squirting, 69ing, college shenanigans, obnoxious frat boys, terrible fashion choices A/N: At long last, here we have the beginning. Massive thanks to @pleasantanathema and @whats-her-quirk​ who have been cheering for me since I told them I wanted to right a “little college AU” for a “little collab” June and I have been planning for a while. Also, I don’t know where I’d be without Lauren’s fraternity knowledge, so extra thanks for that, babe. I hope everyone has as much fun with this fic as I did.

God, you hate frat boys. 

Their sense of entitlement, all their fucking house pride. Brother this, brother that. It's annoying. Add in the factors of being an athlete on top of it, and they're downright insufferable. 

So it makes absolutely no sense that you're at a fucking Pi Kappa Alpha party. 

Your friend, Hitch, dragged you here (naturally), and it wasn't like you could really object considering she's the only real friend you have on campus. You study together and switch off between dorms to watch movies and bitch about classes. She's the complete opposite of you in many different ways, but you soul-bonded over biology and that was that. 

Unfortunately, Hitch decided she would leave you to your own devices almost immediately, opting to skip over to a game of beer pong and flirt with a boy in her statistics class. You have no idea why considering he has a fucking bowl cut, but she's been talking about him for weeks now. 

The party is filled with loud music and too many people with red solo cups. There's no way they're all of age, so you're already paranoid that the cops are gonna raid the place, but there's nothing you can do besides leave. It's a tempting thought. 

Before you can, though, there's an uproar in the kitchen, and curiosity gets the best of you. Moving from your place against the wall, you make your way over to peek in and see what's going on. A large group of frat boys, what you think are sorority girls, and whoever else wants to join are raising their cups to cheer. An especially loud voice rings out above the rest, "One win down, eleven more to go!" 

Claps and supportive shouts are nearly deafening. 

"I think we can do it! Do you think we can do it?" 

More cheers, more hollers. 

"Let's hear it for UC lacrosse!" 

You have to cover your ears this time. Should have known this party was to celebrate the win earlier that day. 

When the crowd parts, you see the ringleader, Erwin Smith who is very well-known on campus for three reasons: he will talk your ear off about history if given the chance, he's irritatingly gorgeous, and he will fuck any pretty girl with a pulse. 

Again—you fucking hate frat boys. 

To ease your bad mood and possibly encourage you to have some semblance of a good time, you shuffle further into the kitchen to grab a drink. You feel a little exposed, not dressed like many of the other girls who are either in rompers or the classic sorority chick outfit (giant college shirts that cover their shorts). You are in a crop top, torn shorts, and a floral cardigan. Not your best outfit, not your worst. 

There's no way you're touching any of the pre-poured cups or the jungle juice, opting for an unopened can of mediocre beer. 

You feel someone approach you from behind, glance over your shoulder to see nothing but a broad chest covered by a fucking hawaiian shirt. 

Craning your neck, you're met with another familiar face, one Mike Zacharias known as 1) Erwin's best friend, 2) one of the tallest guys on campus, and 3) the best lacrosse player on the team. 

You haven't spoken a single word to him but that doesn't stop him from grinning at you, flipping shaggy hair from his face, and chanting a low, "Shotgun, shotgun, shotgun!" 

"Are you god damn joking me?" You ask with a raised eyebrow. 

"Hell no!" 

"I have shotgunned a beer literally once in my life, and at least half of it ended up on my shirt."

"That's alright," Mike's smile shrinks to a smirk. "We're all about getting chicks wet in Pike." 

Face falling, you scoff, "Yeah, okay, I'm leaving." 

You sidestep him, cracking open the beer, but he follows close behind you. It makes a little bit of fear spike in your gut—everyone knows the horror stories that accompany many fraternities—but you're mostly just annoyed. 

"Hey, what's your name again?"

Again. As if you've actually formally met before.

"Why do you care?" 

Mike does not hesitate when he answers, "'Cause you look like you're having a shit time here, and I'd like to change that."

You roll your eyes, let your head loll over your shoulder to look at him again. If you're being honest with yourself, he's kind of extremely hot with his undercut and flippy hair, not to mention the stubble that's grown out just enough to make you think thoughts for a split second.  

"A noble cause," you quip. "Truly." 

He chuckles, watching too closely as you take a sip of your beer. 

"So? Name?"

After too big of a swallow, you answer him, and light green eyes brighten a little. 

"Oh, you're Hitch's friend, right?" 

Of course that would be your only identifier on campus. Hitch is insanely pretty and very outgoing. It makes sense that people just know you as her tag-along. 

It doesn't stop you from feeling slightly offended, though. 

"Yeah, and you're Erwin's friend, right?" 

"Among other things," he snorts. "Mike Zacharias." He holds out a massive hand that you eye before taking, figure you shouldn't be too much of a bitch and make a bad impression on the most highly regarded frat at the college.  

"I know who you are, dude. Not many people don't."

"Aw, flatterer." 

That grin is back on his face, lopsided and far too charming, and you definitely need to get away from him before you down a couple more beers. 

"Freshman?" He pries, and somehow you wind up at the staircase, leaning against the wall and praying he'll just stand beside you instead of caging you in. 

He does, and you let out a breath of relief. 

"Sophomore."

His eyebrows shoot up for a second. "Fuck, you've made it through a whole year flying under my radar?" 

You give him a wholly unimpressed look. "Wow, you really know what to say to a girl, don't you?" 

"That came off as shitty, sorry. I just mean, like, you're super cute. Feel like I would have committed you to memory if I'd seen you."

Your face heats up probably more than it ever has in your life, but you still snap, "We haven't had a single class together, I never go to your games, and this is the first Pike party I've been to."

Mike nods. "Ah, that explains it. Just haven't given anyone a chance to notice you." 

"Sure, let's go with that."

Another several sips. You hiss at the taste, and Mike laughs. 

"Can't handle beer?"

"Can't handle shitty beer."

"Ouch. Want me to grab you something else?"

He really doesn't seem to understand the warnings all girls have heard over the years. That, or he just doesn't care. You don't know him well enough to pass that kind of judgement.

"Uh, no. I always make my own drinks at parties."

"That's understandable." Except it isn't. He doesn't have a clue. 

"Well, you can go grab one, and I'll just finish this one for you. Don't want it to go to waste."

It's your turn to smirk now. "That desperate to swap spit, Zacharias?" 

"Like this?" He laughs through his nose. "Nah. But I can think of other ways."

"We've been talking for literally two minutes."

"I'm perfectly capable of making decisions in two minutes."

"Not any good ones obviously."

Tilting his head, Mike thinks out loud, "Can't tell if that's an insult aimed at me or yourself." 

"Take it however you want. I don't really care."

His eyes glint with amusement. There's no way you're escaping this any time soon. 

Long, thick fingers close around the top of your can, and he gently tugs it out of your hand then keeps those eyes locked with yours as he takes a sip. 

"Gross." You try to keep the teasing tone from your voice. 

"Just go get another drink."

You actually listen, mostly to get away from him but also because you could go for something easier to stomach. 

A game of King's Cup is going on in the kitchen, a five obviously being drawn because everyone suddenly pantomimes holding a steering wheel. It's surprisingly fun to watch, so you post up next to the counter after mixing orange and pineapple juice with rum. 

"Four's whores!"

"Categories! Different beers!"

"Seven heaven!" 

"Ayyy, waterfall!" 

You shake your head as everyone drinks for way too long. Some people are already swaying in circles where they're sitting. Others are simply red-faced. 

"Wanna play?"

"Jesus! You came outta nowhere."

Mike looks too smug for your liking, but doesn't say anything, just crushes the empty can in his hand and throws it into the trashcan next to the back door, all gooseneck and perfect arch. 

"Let me guess—you're reigning champ at beer pong."

"Nah," he waves you off. "That's Erwin and Nile. King's Cup however…"

"King's Cup isn't even a competition. It's just flipping cards and getting fucked up." 

"Well, yeah, but it's still fun."

You let out a heavy sigh, eyes still trained on the game going on, then concede, "Once this one is over, I'll play. Just to get you off my back." And because he won't have the chance to talk to you for the duration of the game. 

"Excellent."

You manage to finish your drink by the time the round ends, have to rush to make another as Mike strides over to the table and steals the two seats that have been vacated. They're right across from each other. You don't know if you'd prefer that or just sitting next to him so he can't stare at you.

Sauntering over, you plop down and place your drink in front of you. The guy to your right is quick to introduce himself with hooded eyes and a self-assured smile. You give him basically the same treatment that you've been giving Mike, making him pout and turn away as a freckled girl deals out the cards. 

It's fast paced, and you find yourself drinking more than you'd planned. Mike picks you as his buddy (of course), and the guy next to you makes everyone drink for nearly thirty seconds straight when he pulls an ace. 

Still, you find yourself laughing as people scream and curse. You catch eyes with Mike often, and as you finish your second drink, he begins looking very attractive. More attractive than before. So attractive that you allow him to pour your third cup. 

"If you roofied this, I'm gonna be real upset with you," you tell him just before taking a sip. He added more rum than you did, but that doesn't surprise you. 

"Hey, one of Pike's virtues is being a gentleman."

As soon as he says it, about seven people around the table shout, "Pi Kappa Alpha!" like some kind of sports team, and you roll your eyes so hard it hurts. 

You're drunk after this game. And, then you make another drink and get plastered. Meandering around the rest of the party, bodies begin to blur together, the music fades in and out, and you barely know what you're saying to Mike anymore as he follows you close behind in the same state. For every drink you've had, he's had two, and now he's walking around with a cup full of jungle juice nodding at his brothers, smiling at all the girls who look at him.

His room is downstairs unlike most of the others, right at the end of the hallway. It makes it far too easy to end up inside, but as soon as the door closes and his huge hands find your hips, your world disappears entirely. 

*

The first thing you feel when you wake up is a nauseating pounding in your head. The second is a very large body behind you. 

God dammit, you think, trying to recall the events of the night before. 

Pi Kappa Alpha. Hitch left you, so you hung out with… Mike Zacharias? From the lacrosse team? 

Frowning, you try to look over your shoulder, but all you can really see is a head of hair. However, you can feel the coarseness of his beard against your bare shoulder, and that's enough to solidify that it is indeed Mike behind you. 

Shifting some brings more of your physical state to your attention—your naked chest under the blanket, the way your legs are pressed together, your pussy between your thighs… swollen? Jesus, what did he do to you last night? You can also feel something dry and crusty on your stomach which is both disgusting and relieving. At least he had enough sense to pull out. 

Luckily, his arm isn't wrapped around you which makes it much easier to sit up on your elbow. It takes you a while to locate your clothes around the room from where you are, and even then, all you can find are your shorts, shoes, and bra. You peer around, trying not to groan at the headache threatening to make you black the fuck out all over again, but that pounding as well as the nauseating churning of your stomach is making it difficult. 

You slide out of the bed, basically crawling to the little pile of discarded clothes. As you fumble with fastening your bra, you glance around one more time in search of your shirt and cardigan, but it’s no use. What you do see, however, is the obnoxious Hawaiian shirt  Mike had been wearing the night before, and well… You’d rather not leave the Pike house topless, so…

Snatching it off the floor, you slip your arms through the giant sleeves and somehow manage to button up about half of it. Then, you’re flying out the door, desperate to be in your own dorm, curled over your own toilet, in your own clothes. 

Oh, thank god his room wasn’t upstairs, you praise, trying to remember the way to the front door. There are numerous bodies and tipped over cups to navigate through, and you cringe at the various odors that assault your senses. 

You see the door from across the room, so close and getting closer as you try not to trip over anything, but as you pass the kitchen, you hear a smooth, familiar voice greet, “Good morning,” in a smug way. 

Erwin is leaning against a counter, smirking over a steaming cup of coffee. He’s wearing only sweatpants, his hair is a little mussed, and for a split second, you understand why he pulls so many girls. 

Still, you roll your eyes and continue moving—a classic DNE situation, but the frat boy doesn’t seem to get the message, instead calling out, “Nice shirt!”

“Fuck off, Smith,” is the only thing you utter before leaving, slamming the door behind you. 

*

Mike easily catches the frisbee that spins directly at his face then quickly throws it back to try and catch Nile off guard. It works, and the brunet curses and has to go running after the flying disc. 

A few girls watching from the nearby fountain clap and yell his name, wriggling fingers in a wave as if he can actually see that far away. Mike gives one wave of his own hand then turns back to the grass where Nile is jogging back to his place.

“You did that on purpose, you asshole!” He spits.

Mike shrugs his shoulders, yells back, “Get better at frisbee, and you won’t have this problem!”

Nile throws the plastic so hard that it flies off toward the fountain, making all those girls scream and dive for cover. 

“Yeah, I’m not getting that,” Mike shakes his head. Nile drags his fingers down his angular face before setting off on yet another trek, apologizing profusely then standing around to flirt like usual.

Blowing hair out of his face, Mike considers joining his brother, but before he can, he sees a familiar figure turning on the sidewalk, about to pass the fountain and head toward Hartley Hall. 

His feet are moving before he really registers it, glad his long legs can carry him quickly even at a walk. Mike calls out when he’s a couple yards away, and you turn to him, eyes growing wide before you start to move faster. 

He can just barely make out the words, “Nope. Not doing this,” and chuckles, catching up the rest of the way.

“Hey, chill, I just wanna talk.”

You turn to look at him, head tilted up, squinting against the sun, and Mike has never been more thankful for his height because you look so god damn cute all small and irritated with him. 

“What is there to talk about? I don’t even remember anything.”

“Yeah, neither do I,” he says, lacing fingers together behind his head. “Shame.”

“Whatever.”

Mike tries and fails to hide a snort, nods at Nile as you both pass him and the gaggle of girls surrounding him. Mike has no doubt his friend will get at least one phone number out of it, if not all of them. 

“Did you at least have a good time before you blacked out?” He ventures.

You shrug your shoulders, hitch your backpack up a little higher. “Maybe. But, if I was just around you the whole time, probably not.”

“Aw, come on! What did I ever do to you?”

“You need a list?”

Mike nods. “Would probably help.”

“For brevity's sake, I’ll just say that you started the night trying to get a literal stranger to shotgun a beer and ended the night fucking said stranger and… Not holding back, apparently.” Mike frowns, about to ask what you mean by that, but you elaborate before he can. Voice dropping, you question, “Do you have any idea how fucking sore I’ve been for the last few days? What the fuck do you even have hidden in those stupid shorts?”

“I’d be happy to show you again.” He grins sideways, and when you shoot him a venomous look, he figures it’s time to change the subject. “Anyway, I may have done that and more, but you’re the thief.”

“Excuse me?”

Mike tries to sound nonchalant as he accuses, “Stole my shirt and everything." Honestly, he's a little upset that he didn’t actually get to see you wearing it. 

“I—”

“That’s my favorite shirt, you know?”

You laugh. Finally. “Are you serious?”

“Absolutely.”

“That shirt is fucking heinous, okay? You’re lucky I didn’t burn it.”

“Does that mean I can have it back?”

You make a little noise in your throat, something between a grumble and a growl, but you check your phone and tell him, “Fine. My next class isn’t for another couple of hours, so just…Follow me.”

It takes immense effort to not skip to your dorm like a little kid, but Mike is excited. He’s not gonna try anything weird, but just seeing your space? He’ll be able to get a better feel for you. So far, all he knows is that you live and breathe sarcasm and can’t handle your liquor well. It’s enough to get him a little more than interested, but it’s not enough to go off of.

The two of you gain a few looks as you make your way through the shared study space of the dormitory, heads turning, eyebrows raising in recognition. No one should be all that surprised; it’s not like Mike and Erwin haven’t frequented a lot of these rooms. 

You lead him down a hallway, and Mike looks at all the little dry-erase intro boards hanging outside of every door. He’s a little surprised to see that the one by yours isn’t blank. Your name is written in bubble letters, surrounded by little hearts, and when you catch him looking at it, you’re quick to tell him, “Hitch.”

“Ah. Of course.”

He follows you inside, staying by the door to not invade too much of your space, but he doesn’t even try to be subtle as he looks around the small room. Pennant for the college hung up over a cork bulletin board that’s a mess of photos and sticky notes. Cluttered desk with just enough of it cleared to fit a laptop. Tiny succulents on the window sill. Double bed covered in a quilt. And there, in the open closet, Mike catches sight of his shirt—pastel pink and littered with palm trees. 

After dropping your backpack on your bed, you step over to the hanging clothes and grab it, muttering, “Ridiculous,” as you hand it over.

Mike laughs as he slings it over his shoulder. “You know what’ll make you hate it even more?” You quirk an eyebrow, probably doubting that anything could, but your entire face falls when he informs you, “I have matching shorts to go with it.”

“No you do not.”

“Definitely do.”

“That should be a crime. You should be arrested.”

He chuckles, has a retort on the tip of his tongue, but something catches his eye—a bookshelf tucked away in the corner by your bed overflowing with novels and knick-knacks. Mike sees a particularly thick paperback, recognizing the black background and small desert picture on the spine.

“Bro!” He walks over, plants a hand in the middle of your mattress, and reaches for it. “Is this fucking Dune?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“This is, like, my favorite book, dude.”

“Seriously?” You sound just as disbelieving as you do disinterested. 

Mike begins flipping through it, scanning over highlighted passages as he nods. “I have the whole series back home, but I only brought this one and Messiah with me to college.”

He straightens up but keeps a knee on the edge of the bed, and you plop down to sit on it, watching him closely as he continues to look over the notes scribbled in the margins. 

“I had to read it in high school," you tell him. "Then my cousin gave me a lot of the books after I talked with him about it one time. I haven’t gotten around to reading them, though.”

“You really should,” Mike urges. “I mean, I know you probably have a shit ton of reading for classes, but if you ever get the chance, you should at least read the next two.”

“You some kind of closet nerd, Zacharias?”

“Kinda,” he admits, putting the book back on the shelf only to grab a worn copy of Fellowship of the Ring. “I mean, Erwin and a few others are well aware, but I don’t really broadcast it.”

“Not good for the cool guy image?” 

“Nah, people are just more interested in other things,” he mumbles, eyes fixed on the tiny print.

“Mike Zacharias,” his gaze flicks to you as you laugh quietly. “Lacrosse god and big fucking geek.”

He closes the book and uses it to lightly hit you on the top of the head with it. You half-heartedly smack him right in his abs only to push against the muscle harder and ask, “Jesus Christ, what do you have under there?”

“You know, that’s the second time you’ve asked what I have under my clothes,” he points out, a little too satisfied. “Better watch out, or I’m gonna start getting ideas.”

You huff, but your hand is definitely still on his stomach, unmoving but warm through his shirt. Mike told himself he wouldn’t do anything weird once he got here, but you’re already on the bed and touching him, and he’d kind of really like to have this particular experience while sober, so he very slowly takes your wrist and moves it away. 

It makes you look up at him, a question dancing in your eyes as your lips part. Mike makes sure his own stare conveys everything he’s thinking, wishes he could just transplant his thoughts into your brain so that he can put you a little more at ease around him. 

You’re onto him, though, tugging your hand from his grip and blinking a few times. He figures you’re about to point to the door and tell him to take his fucking Hawaiian shirt and leave. 

Instead, you pull on the fabric covering his ribs so that he loses his balance and has to catch himself before crashing into you. It puts his face level with yours, and you take the opportunity to kiss him—hard, desperate, and a little confused judging by the way you’re frowning. 

Mike grunts, holding himself up with the arm on the side of your hips then uses the other to slide under the thigh closest to him and pull you further onto the bed. He’s straddling you in no time, up on his knees so that he doesn’t crush you. 

Hearing the sound of shoes hitting the ground, he tugs his shirt off over his head, and then he’s curling over you again. Your mouths grow slick with spit. He slides his tongue past your lips, and you arch into him, fingers tangling in his hair. Mike pushes you back down so that he can strip you down to your bra and panties then takes the time to rid himself of his shoes and shorts.

“Oh, fuck,” he hears you breathe, and when he glances up at you, he finds you staring at what he knows is an intimidatingly large bulge under his boxer briefs. “It makes sense now—the soreness.”

Mike chuckles, slots his forearms on either side of your head and mutters, “Yeah, sorry about that.”

You lick his lips and he bites yours, bodies clashing together as he grinds himself against your covered pussy. Eventually Mike is able to snake a hand down your body, making sure to brush over your ribs so that you squirm beneath him. Fuck, he already loves the way you squirm. And, when he moves your panties to the side and teases your little hole, already wet just from making out, Mike discovers that he loves the way you moan too. 

He’s slow as he pushes a finger in, groaning when you clench around it. Pumping it in and out, he gently works you open and wonders if he was courteous enough to do this the other night. He hopes he was. 

You spread your legs for him, start bucking into his hand, especially when he hits that special spot inside you. 

“Fuck, fuck, fu—” You grab his face, bringing it close to yours again so that you can muffle curses against his lips. 

When Mike adds a second finger, your jaw drops, and you start to tremble. 

“Too much?” He asks.

You shake your head, stutter a breathy, “N-no. Just—ah—slow. Go slow.”

He moves to suck on your neck, promising, “I will.”

Mike waits until you’re dripping into his palm and spread about as widely as you can be underneath him. Then, and only then does he shimmy out of his underwear and question, “Condom?”

“Bookshelf,” you huff. “In the jewelry box.”

When he opens it, a little ballerina spins, and Mike has to laugh at the ridiculousness of it. “That’s twisted.”

“Shut up.”

He grabs one of the gold packages and tears it open, then rolls the latex over his cock and discards the wrapper somewhere. 

Mike only gives you his tip first, sits right inside your entrance so that you can squeeze him and get used to the feeling before he pushes in any more. You barely shift your hips back and forth, like an experiment. It’s just enough for Mike to see slick coating the end of the condom, and he nearly starts drooling.

He presses in a little more, appreciates the way your eyes roll into the back of your head, then adds one more inch.

“Jesus Christ.” Your breaths are coming in short gasps, words slurring together. He’s not even halfway in, and you’re already fucked out. 

Your cunt is spasming around him, and Mike tries to get you to relax more by lightly rubbing your clit with the pad of his thumb. 

You leak around him, pussy slowly but surely opening up a little more so that he can slide in further. He gives a few shallow thrusts that make you whine, then reaches up to grab one of your pillows which only sends him deeper. 

“God dam—”

Mike lifts you and shoves the pillow under your hips, smiles in a way he’s pretty sure you hate, then jokes, “Better to fuck you with, my dear.”

“In...sufferable…” The annoyed tone is lost when you cry out. Mike buries himself as far as he can without hurting you. He isn’t quite balls deep, but you feel so fucking good that he doesn’t even mind. 

Starting a steady rhythm that has every upthrust dragging over your g-spot, Mike watches through foggy eyes as your mouth opens and closes, chest rising with stuttering breaths before you exhale and moan. He dips his thumb between your folds to gather a little bit of slick and return it to your clit. The circular motion makes you arch again, and Mike abandons the little bud for just a moment so that he can unclasp your bra and pull it off. The sight of your tits bouncing in time with his thrusts almost does him in, but he holds back, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment to gather himself.

You’re just clamping around him so perfectly, pussy drooling and creaming on his cock, and Mike is not a quickshot, but for you—

He pulls out all at once, flips you so that you’re on hands and knees, then spreads you open to lick into you from behind. 

“Holy—” 

Mike’s cock is throbbing where it bobs against his stomach, but he can ignore it for the most part, focused on eating you out, sucking at your messy lips then dragging the flat of his tongue over your hole. He moves his face back and forth, wants to leave his mark on you in the form of stubble burn between your legs. 

“Mike, Mike, fuck, please.”

He’s positive you can’t actually hear him when he teases, “Please what?” right into the crevice of your ass. 

You growl, push against him, and swallow enough pride to beg, “Please fuck me.”

Biting his lip, Mike straightens up enough to watch his fingers disappear into your pussy. One, two, then a third that makes your messy entrance stretch for him. He lowers his face again, feather light licks around your sensitive hole, and when he twists his wrist so that he can tap on your spot, you come immediately. 

A mixture of slick and squirt drips from your cunt and soaks into your quilt. Mike pushes more out as he continues to finger fuck you, humming at the way your arms give out and you fall against the mattress. 

This is the perfect position for him. He replaces his wet fingers with his cock and ruts into you quickly, chasing after his own impending orgasm. Pretty little whimpers fall from your lips, fuck drunk as you babble, “Oh, god, Mike, Mike, fuck…”

He’s gripping your hips too tightly, pulling you back against him, shoving his cock deeper and deeper until he finally comes with a shudder and a low groan. 

Mike pants for a few seconds, then leans down to press a few kisses to your spine, but instead of the usual happy sighs he gets from most girls, you just roll your shoulders and mutter, “Stop that.”

He does, then pulls out, takes a second to stare at your pussy—worked open from his size and still dripping. It would make a very pretty picture, but Mike wouldn’t dare try that with you. 

You roll onto your back, a huff of air leaving your lungs as you scrub a hand over your face then tilt your head to him. It looks like you have something to say, but you just chew on your bottom lip, eyes moving from Mike to the door.

And, he can take a hint. You don’t have to say it. 

With a self-deprecating snort, he pulls the condom off, tying it then tossing it into the trashcan by your bed. 

“Yeah, okay,” he nods. “Let me just…” Mike tugs his clothes back on, kindly tosses you your top so that you can cover yourself like you obviously want to. 

He makes sure to grab the Hawaiian shirt that brought him here in the first place, tossing it over his shoulder then striding to the door. 

Chancing one more glance at you, you force a smile and try to pad his bruised ego. “Don’t worry, it was good. You were good. It’s just not gonna happen again.”

Mike fights a smirk, raises a hand in a wave, then steps out.

Not gonna happen again, he chuckles to himself. Yeah, right.

*

You don't understand how this keeps happening, how you keep ending up in bed with Mike fucking Zacharias. 

This time you had gone to the disgusting bar right off campus, got one whole drink in your system before the familiar trio walked in. They were all in khakis and pastels—Erwin in blue, Nile in yellow, Mike in pink. Again. 

You actually slammed your head down on the bartop because despite how basic he looked in his light polo, Mike was still hot. 

Is still hot. 

Back at the Pi Kappa Alpha house, you're a mess of limbs on his bed. You take immense pleasure in tugging his shirt off, and once his arms are free again, he's lifting the hem of your little skirt and mouthing over your thong. 

You're more than tipsy after a couple more drinks but nowhere near as drunk as you were the first night. It hadn't taken much convincing from Erwin for you and Hitch to play pool with them, and when Mike had come up behind you to help you line up your shot, you knew you were a goner. 

While he's busy between your legs, you take off your shirt and bra. Green eyes flick up as soon as you toss both articles on to the floor, and without any hesitation, Mike reaches up to grope your tits. 

He's clumsy and distracted as he tongues over the warmth pooling in your underwear, squeezing plump flesh and pinching your nipple so that you whine and push your hips further into his face. 

Mike groans, just as drunk if not more so. He's messy as he kisses your thighs, nearly rips your thong when he pulls it off of you. 

His tongue feels good, too fucking good as he laves over your entrance, soothing an ache that isn't quite there anymore but definitely was a few days ago. 

"Taste so fucking good," he grumbles, slurping and sucking and making you squeeze your thighs around his head. 

"Okay," you pant. "Okay, okay." You grab him by the hair and lift his head from you, stomach flipping at the sight of the bottom half of his face absolutely covered in slick. 

God dammit, why is he so sexy? 

Your mouth waters, and the thought of possibly giving him head this time crosses your mind. You're just inebriated enough to stay relaxed, didn't drink to the point of throwing up, and he has gone down on you the last two times so... 

Lizard brain taking over, you sit up, tell him to flip over, then start making your way down his body. 

Mike grabs you before you can turn to face him, fingers digging into your thighs and pulling you down to sit on his face. 

"Fucking—I'm trying to blow you, for Christ's sake."

He moves his head just enough to tell you, "So? You can do that while I do this."

And, he's not wrong. It just means that you're gonna get distracted. 

For a while, all you can really do is control your breathing and undulate on top of him, but eventually you fall to your elbows and lick up his shaft from base to tip. 

Mike really does have a nice cock—a beautiful cock—bigger than you've ever taken in terms of both length and girth, and veiny in the perfect way. Even his balls make your pussy throb, large and round, the right just slightly bigger than the left and now dripping with saliva as you lower your mouth further and further onto his cock. 

The feeling of his tongue buried in your cunt is making you delirious, eyes rolling, muscles going slack as you gurgle around the tip hitting the back of your throat. 

Mike groans into you, his legs starting to shake, and you assume in your half aware state that he's trying to not just skull fuck you into oblivion. 

You know you're making a mess, both on his face and on his cock. The fingertips that have been holding you open shift, one of them slipping into your clenching hole, and your hips begin to move on their own volition, riding what he'll give you while moving your tongue back and forth. 

You've only taken about half of him, doubt you can take any more. He's hot and heavy in your mouth, and when you pull off to breathe, you can taste pre cum on the back of your tongue. 

It triggers something in you, makes you raise up and clumsily turn around so that you can work him inside of you. 

Mike groans a long, "Fuuuck," and immediately starts thrusting upward. 

You're lucky you're as wet as you are, but the burn that comes with getting so stretched out still makes you hiss. You brace yourself on his broad chest, feeling the dampness of sweat forming a sheen on him, and your own body starts to feel too hot. 

You had wanted to ride him to feel in control of the situation for once, but you quickly realize it's not gonna happen, Mike gripping your hips and moving you how he sees fit. 

He's raw this time, a thought that should scare you, but he feels so good even through the discomfort. Every vein and ridge hits all the sweet spots inside of you, the flared head of his cock smooth as it presses just where you need it to. 

You're squirting again—he just seems to be able to fuck it out of you. It's not the high you're looking for, but the release in pressure still feels divine. 

Mike seems to enjoy it too because he looks down at where you're connected, swears at the way you gush on his cock, then starts swiping fingers over your clit so quickly it almost hurts. 

More fluid leaks from you, and Mike breathes a low, "Come on, baby, come on, 'm gonna fuck you dry tonight." 

Hearing him talk like that—his hand rubbing over your overstimulated clit, his thick cock threatening to split you in two—causes heat to travel up your legs and down your arms until it settles in your stomach and floods you. 

You cry out, stars and tears behind your eyes as Mike keeps going, taking everything he can from you until he's laying in a huge wet spot in his bed. 

He lifts you just in time to shoot cum upward on your chest, white splattering then dripping down in strands to pool on his stomach. 

You stare down at him, mouth hanging open and find him looking up at you with the same expression. 

It's hands down the best sex you've ever had, but you're not about to tell him that. Instead, you dismount him like the fucking horse he is and stand on weak legs, actually have to lean on the bed for support. 

"Just stay the night." His voice is deep and full of gravel. It's entirely too hot. 

"Absolutely not." You shake your head, grab your shirt and his boxers then ask, "Where's the nearest bathroom?" 

"Down the hall on the right, but you don't have to sneak out the window or anything. Just use the front door if you're tryin’ to run away."

You can't help but snort. Stupid. "I'm not trying to escape, dummy. I just need to pee." 

"Oh. Right."

You slip out of the room, hoping it's late enough for everyone to be asleep, but you have no such luck as the door to the bathroom opens and fucking Erwin steps out. 

He hums, looking you over for a moment as his lips lift on one side. 

"Don't say anything," you grit through your teeth. 

He holds his hands up in surrender, chuckles, acting all innocent. "Wasn't going to."

You squint, not believing him for a second, then move around him to get to the bathroom. Before you can shut the door, you hear him mutter, "Another one bites the dust," and consider running out and strangling him.

*

"Please please please come with me to this game," Hitch begs, her hands clasped together, imploring eyes wide and doe-like. 

"No. You have plenty of other friends to go with. You don't need me there."

"But, I want you to be there. It's gonna be such a good match. Rival schools and all that."

You roll your eyes. "Hitch, in all the time you've known me, have you ever seen me give a single fuck about sports?" 

"No, but you'll finally get to see Mike and Erwin and Nile play."

"All the more reason not to go."

"Do you not like them or something? Why wouldn't you like them? Everybody likes them!" 

She doesn't know, and you don't want her to. She had been too caught up with that Marlowe kid at the party, then was kept busy playing pool with Nile to see you and Mike slip out of the bar together. 

It's the only secret you've ever wanted to keep from her. You will take it to the grave. 

"I just… I just don't, okay? I get a… Sleazy vibe from all of them."

You really don't. Not exactly. You're not a big fan of the 'fuck-every-chick-on-capus' mentality, but most college boys think like that. Only difference is these three can actually achieve it. 

Hitch crosses her arms over her chest and gives you a look you've seen on your mother's face many times, usually when she has a point to prove. 

"You know I'm just gonna keep bothering you until you come to one, so why not just get it outta the way?" 

And, there's that point. 

"Ugh." You know she's right, and you really can't put up with this all semester. "Fine, but I'm gonna bitch the entire time."

Hitch squeals and claps, bouncing where she stands. "Yes! Wouldn't have it any other way."

You dress in school colors, put your hair up so that it won't be on your neck as the sun beats down, then take Hitch's little hatchback to the field. You try to talk her into sitting toward the back of the crowd that's gathered on the bleachers, but she just pulls you to the front without acknowledging your request. 

Even with the helmets, you can easily make out who's who, mostly because of their size. Mike and Erwin are doing some kind of pregame ritual where they hit their sticks together, shout something, and chest bump. It's the most alpha thing you've ever fucking seen and makes you question why you ever thought screwing one of them was a good idea. 

To be fair, you never really did think it was a good idea. It just kind of happened. Three times. 

But, it needs to stop. 

You repeat that thought to yourself as you watch Mike sprint across the field and launch the ball into the goal several times. You repeat it as he dances around his opponents with ease, quick footwork until he can throw them off. You repeat it as he stands on the sidelines and takes his helmet off to shake out sweaty hair and squirt water into his mouth. 

And, none of it really helps. Mike is pretty incredible on the field, especially with Erwin and Nile backing him up. Everyone in the stands is screaming, yelling their names and chanting. It's a little contagious, you have to admit. You get as far as clapping but refuse to actually cheer. 

At some point, Erwin jogs over to the bleachers and waves his arms for everyone to get louder, and they sure do. Even through his helmet, you can see his sparkling white smile, and your own lips curl up as you shake your head at him. Unbelievable. He has all these people at his beck and call. 

Erwin has to get back on the field, though, fueled by the crowd like the other nine players. They end up pulling ahead of the other team and finishing the game eleven to seven. 

Naturally, Erwin announces a party at the Pike house, and naturally, Hitch drags you to it. 

This one is even bigger than the last. It offends every one of your senses—too loud, alcohol permeating the air, bad drinks, worse dancing, and strangers rubbing against you as you pass them. 

You give up on your beer before you’re even halfway through with it, just set the can on one of the counters and start milling around. You’d rather be anywhere else but here. Your head hurts from the game earlier, baking in the sun and not drinking enough water. Should’ve taken an Advil… And some Benadryl. Hitch wouldn’t have been able to bring you here if you’d been unconscious. 

All of the lacrosse team is there, flanked with guys who won’t stop slapping them on their backs and girls who won’t stop batting their eyes and squeezing their biceps. It’s comical, really, the fairweather trend. There’s no way this would be happening if they’d lost their last three games. Instead, the team would be getting harassed and pestered, not so subtle comments about practicing more and replacing members. You’ve seen it all before. 

Leaning against a wall, you watch it all unfold. It’s probably the most entertaining thing at the party other than the group of sorority girls dancing on a table. Things are getting out of hand already, and you would prefer not be here for the aftermath, but just as you're about to leave, Mike breaks away from the group and strides over to you.

“Hey, didn’t expect to see you.” He takes a sip from his cup, smiling around the rim.

You use your usual excuse: “Hitch,” and he nods. 

“Right. Did you watch the game today?”

Crossing your arms, you mumble a, “Yes,” that Mike can’t hear but can definitely see.

He beams then asks, “You gonna tell me I played well? ‘Cause I did.” He’s all cocksure and giddy, and it makes your body run hot in a few different ways.

“I don’t think you need anyone else fawning over you,” you say with a condescending laugh.

“You mean you don’t want me to flex for you?”

“I’m leaving. Right now." When you push past him a little too roughly, it causes him to drop his cup, and your shirt is suddenly plastered to your chest and stomach. The white isn’t discolored, which leads you to believe, “Fuck, is this just straight vodka?”

“No, Christ,” he cringes at your wet state, looking genuinely apologetic. “It’s just water. Sorry.”

You scrunch your top up to wring it out, wondering what he’s doing drinking water instead of liquor, but you’re not about to pick on him for staying hydrated. 

“It’s fine. I was about to leave anyway.”

He’s quick to stop you with a, “No, don’t. Just… change into one of my shirts or something."

Narrowing your eyes, you contemplate how many ways this can go wrong, how much you should not allow this, and even go as far as accusing, "You're just trying to get me in your room again."

"You wanna stay in a wet shirt?" Not really. "Come on."

He jerks his head toward the hallway, and you end up following him, grumbling the whole time because you swear to God if you end up on your back for him again, you're going to be very upset with yourself. 

Mike beelines it for his dresser as soon as you're in the room, much quieter than the rager outside. He digs around in it, flipping all the way to the bottom then pulls out a heather gray tee. 

"It'll probably still be a little big, but it's from high school, so you shouldn't drown in it."

He tosses it to you then, to your surprise, turns back to the wall to give you the privacy to change. You eye him the whole time, peeling off your top as well as your bra since it soaked through. His shirt still covers your little shorts, and you assume you look a lot like one of those sorority girls, but it's good enough, has that super soft feeling from being worn too much. 

"Thanks. You can, uh… You can turn around now."

Mike looks over his shoulder, like he's making sure you're decent, then turns around fully. 

"I was trying to get outta there anyway. Spilling a drink on you was a good excuse."

You open your mouth, choking on a scoff, then ask, "Did you do that on purpose?" 

"No! It really was an accident. I'm glad it was just water, but I still feel bad."

You're squinting at him, but now you're curious about something else.

"Why'd you wanna get away from the party?" 

Sighing, Mike shows a tired smile. "Honestly, I'm still worn out from the game. I'm already sore and covered in these god damn bruises. I just wanna relax."

"If you're covered in bruises, I can't imagine how the other team feels. You smacked the shit outta some of 'em."

"So, you were watching."

"I may have glanced up once or twice," you lie. "Anyway, why don't you just hide out in here?" 

He shrugs his shoulders. "Erwin insisted I show my face, and I didn't want him to give me shit about being a recluse."

You can relate. It's why Hitch drags you everywhere. You wouldn't even leave your dorm for classes if you didn't have to. 

Still. "Dude. You're definitely not a recluse. You're fucking everywhere. All the time."

"So? I can get tired too."

He's got a point. 

"Can we just chill in here for a while?" He asks you. 

"Why do you need me to chill? You basically just said you needed a break from social interaction."

"Yeah, but not all social interaction," he corrects with a small grin. "Please? I've got movies and video games, Zelda and shit."

Again, the contemplation kicks in, all the pros and cons. You know very well what this can (will) lead to, but you also want to escape the party. And, if Hitch whines about you leaving, you can tell her you were there the whole time. Not like it's a lie. 

"Fine, but I have some stipulations."

"Oh, do you?" 

"I do."

Mike waves a hand for you to go on. "Let's hear 'em then."

Holding up one finger, you tell him, "You have to let me snoop around your room—" he laughs. You lift another finger, "—and we are not, under any circumstances, having sex."

"Deal." 

You tilt your head, taken aback at how quick he is to agree. "Wait, seriously?" 

"Seriously. Go ahead. I'll pull up Hulu."

You hum, still suspicious, but start making your rounds, taking in photos from what you assume to be the high school soccer team he played on, then a fishing trip with Erwin, a middle-aged couple with a dog, and some pinned up tickets to sporting events he's attended. 

He has a bookshelf against a wall, textbooks at eye level, but the top and bottom shelves are filled with sci-fi and fantasy novels that make you smile. His TV is fairly large, big enough to see the picture from his bed which is also sizable and draped with a plush comforter. The last thing that catches your eye is his closet, halfway open and full of jerseys and Polos. A few different pairs of shoes sit at the bottom, but pushed all the way in the corner are a few boxes of fucking Magic the Gathering cards. 

"Oh, man. You really are a closet nerd. Like, literally."

"Huh?" Mike looks over at where you're kneeling, realizes what you're looking at and actually sounds self-conscious when he admits, "Yeah, uh, I wasn't joking the other day." 

"I've never played—too technical for me—but my friends in high school did."

"There are baseball cards back there too if that makes me any cooler."

"It doesn't," you say bluntly before straightening up and reaching to shut the door to his room. Plopping down on the floor next to him (where he was smart enough to sit), you add, "But even I can admit it's kind of endearing."

"Oh yeah?" He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, that stupid lopsided grin on his too-handsome face. 

"Don't get cocky, Zacharias." 

"You wouldn't let me if I wanted to."

Both of you agree to a Batman movie, and you make yourself comfortable, kicking your sandals off and leaning against the bed behind you. You're a little too aware of Mike's body beside yours, but you're able to ignore it for the most part, keeping a few inches between your arms and legs. Of course, he still brushes against you when the movie ends and he takes the time to stretch. His shoulders roll, making his shirt strain over his back, and when he holds his arms out, linked at his fingers, you can't help but take a quick look at his bulging biceps. 

"Fuck, I'm gonna feel like garbage tomorrow," he complains. You can see the bruises littering his arms, some of them thick lines while others are almost perfectly circular from where he was hit with the end of a lacrosse stick. 

"You have any classes?" You ask. 

"Just my ten o'clock and three o'clock."

You make a noise of acknowledgement then fall silent. You're not sure how to hold a conversation with him that isn't sarcastic or snippy since you haven't actually done a lot of talking in the first place. 

"Sucks," is all you can come up with. 

"It's alright. I've probably dealt with worse."

"Probably?" 

"Well, nothing really comes to mind, but I'm sure I have."

You should get going. It's late, and you have a nine AM tomorrow. Plus, the longer you sit next to Mike, the more ideas pop up in your head. Dirty ideas. Ideas that will leave you disappointed in yourself. 

"Well, I'm gonna head back. This has been…" You're unsure of what word to use, don't want to get his hopes up by saying 'fun'. 

Mike figures you out and offers, "Tolerable?" 

"Yeah, we can go with that. I'll get your shirt back to you sometime soon."

Mike chuckles and gets to his feet. "Just whenever you can." He grabs your wet top from the ground and holds it out to you, then reaches for the door as you slip on your sandals. 

You feel him close behind you, close enough for his chest to push against your back when you straighten up. His arm is pressing into your side, hand curled around the knob and twisting it, but he's unable to open the door as you let your head fall against it. 

"God dammit." 

"Hm?" You can tell he's leaning down because his breath falls just over your ear. 

"I said we weren't—"

He cuts you off, "But, you want to."

He's too hot and too smooth, and you can’t stop yourself from turning around and breathing, "Yeah, I want to." 

It's different tonight. Mike takes his time undressing you, kissing and sucking your neck, your collarbone, your nipples that pebble against his tongue. It's unnerving even as you squirm and moan. 

He eats you out lazily, flattening his tongue against your folds then dipping into your slit so that he can slip into your twitching hole. 

When he adds a finger, you immediately grind down on it, silently begging him to work you open enough to take his cock, but he doesn't move any faster, apparently content to just drive you insane. 

You're nearly begging by the time he turns you on your side and moves to lay behind you, hiking your leg up and pushing most of his length inside of you in one faultless motion that makes you choke and sob his name. 

That stretch is back, delicious as it is painful as he splits you open. His thrusts are the same slow pace, cock dragging against gummy walls as he drapes an arm over you to toy with your swollen clit. 

It takes you both longer than usual to come, but when you do, your whole body trembles against him, and you have to suck in several deep breaths until you feel like your lungs start actually filling with air. 

Mike paints your back with warm cum, groaning right in your ear as he rubs against you, his cock sliding easily up and down your skin and making more of a mess. 

That unnerving feeling blooms in your chest again, crawls up into your throat. 

Tonight had been too casual, too natural. The way you hung out and watched a movie was already a little strange. Him fucking you from behind, holding you tight against his body, was too tender. And, now, after he leaves to grab a wet towel and uses it to clean your back, you find yourself searching for words again only to come up with passionate—intimate. 

And, words like that scare you.

[ n e x t ]

[mypoisonedvine]

Cake By The Ocean | frat!Chris Evans x reader

summary: fraboy au.  college parties.  beach shenanigans.  blame @ballyhoobarnes​

warnings: fingering, mention of oral sex (m receiving), overstimulation, verryyy light dub con if you squint??

shitty moodboard provided by me c:

Chris was the worst thing about mixers, hands down.

Honestly, you hated everything about mixers.  Your sisters were at their most annoying, magically transforming from educated, classy women into the most desperate of ‘pick me’ girls, clinging onto any Zeta guy they could get their hands on.  What bothered you wasn’t that they flirted with the guys, it was that they dumbed themselves down to do so.  That plus an overcrowded house, shitty drinks from plastic cups, and having to clean up everybody’s mess the next day, and you really just did not want to go to another co-ed event.

But Katie M. and Katie B., the sorority president and vice president respectively, decreed in their all-knowing power that every soror must attend five night-time events a year and you had procrastinated so hard that you had to attend every single one in May to avoid getting kicked out.  The scholarships were too good to lose. 

That didn’t mean you had to mingle, though; you were happy to hide in a secluded corner and look like you were doing something important.  In this case, it was stacking and unstacking cups.  Hopefully nobody watched you long enough to notice that you weren’t actually helping set up the drink table.

But of course, he had to show up.  He had this instinct where he could sense you minding your own business and enjoying your life, and he just had to appear and annoy you.

“Hey,” Chris’ voice wafted to your ear from behind you.  You felt his hand slip onto your waist loosely.  That was all he had to say to you?  ‘Hey’?

You ignored him, mainly because you had absolutely no idea what to say.

“Bein’ cold isn’t gonna keep me away,” he informed you, leaning in closer.

“Do you have any other suggestions then?” you frowned.

His mouth was so close to your ear now that you could smell the booze on his breath.  “Been thinkin’ about you.  I know you’ve been avoiding me.  But it hasn’t made me forget.”

“Me either, sadly,” you groaned.

“I know you get wet when you think about it,” he purred.  “I betcha think about it at night, remembering how good it felt to just let go--”

You spun around and pushed him back.  “Chris, everybody makes mistakes.  Like when the Nazis invaded Russia in the winter.  Or when your mom decided to keep it after your dad put on the condom wrong.  Or, worst of all, when we got drunk and had sex over half a year ago.  It’s okay!  Accidents happen.  But it’s best to leave them--” you rested your hand on his shoulder, giving your best comforting-but-stern look-- “in the past.”

“The best mistakes are made at least twice,” Chris grinned.  “How do you think I ended up with a little sister?”

In spite of your desperate attempt not to, you cracked a smile.  At least he could take a joke.

“Go enjoy the party,” you suggested, “talk to any of the other girls-- I bet a lot of them will find your offer more appealing.”

“I don’t wanna talk to them,” he frowned, “I wanna talk to you.  You’re interesting.”

“And they’re not?”

“I would never diss your sisters,” he raised his arms, “but you’re definitely my favorite Delta.”

“You have strange taste,” you shuddered.

“That I do,” he nodded wistfully, “that I do.”

~

You were cooped up in your room, surrounded by open text books and uncapped highlighters.  A final on Monday meant you needed to prepare all weekend.  You didn’t even look up when you heard a knock on your door; you just called out that it was open so they could come in.

“Good news!” Katie B. beamed as she popped her head around the door.  “Zeta invited us to a beach party tomorrow!”

“Why do you think that’s good news for me?” you wondered, furrowing your brow in confusion.

“Uh, because away events count for two night-time events in your attendance calendar?”

Ehh, you didn’t need to study all weekend, right?

~

Hoping to get your boost on your attendance record but disinterested in actually participating in any meaningful way, you decided you were going to tan, mainly because it utilized two of your greatest talents: laying down, and doing nothing.  After a hefty layer of sunscreen was applied to whatever your bikini didn’t cover, you settled in on the little rubbery chair with your over-sized sunglasses and some bluetooth earbuds to jam with.

The sun warmed your skin until you felt so relaxed that you honestly considered falling asleep.  Thankfully your earbuds blocked out the sounds of Zeta-Delta partying down the beach, even when the volleyball game got a little rowdy.  

Sadly, you were pulled from your relaxed state when a shadow blocked your sun, and you hesitantly opened your eyes behind the dark plastic of your shades.  Squinting, you saw his tattoo first, and you knew it was Chris come to taunt you.

“You’re blockin’ my rays, Evans,” you frowned.  

He spun the volleyball in his hands, smirking playfully.  “I came over here to ask if you wanted to play.  It’s shirts vs skins.”

“Let me guess, you always play skins?” you quipped, quickly scanning his muscled torso which was so cruelly exposed.  Did he have to look so good?  Did it have to remind you of the way those muscles flexed as he was thrusting--

“Unfortunately for me, I bet you always play shirts,” he chuckled, interrupting your train of thought just in time.  “If no volleyball, how about a swim?”

You pulled out your other earbud and put them back in their case, realizing he wasn’t going away any time soon.  “Chris, tell me, what is it that makes you think I want to be anywhere near you?  Seriously, tell me, so I can stop doing it.”

“Sure, right now you’re acting pretty icy,” he explained, kneeling down in the sand beside your chair, “but I remember when you couldn’t keep your hands off me… when you got on your knees for me…”

You wanted to interrupt him but your throat was suddenly too dry, and your thighs were clenching together.

“When you begged me not to stop…” he continued, leaning closer, his hand grabbing your knee suddenly, slowly trailing up your thigh.

“Chris,” you whispered, just under your breath-- but it turned into a gasp when his arms wrapped around you and he picked you up.  “Put me down!” you yelped.

“I think you need to cool off, babe,” he grinned.  “A little water might do the trick, huh?”

Your screams of protest were lost to the wind as he started running, effortlessly carrying you to the water’s edge.

Soon, he was knee-deep and you were pulling yourself up into him as you tried to avoid the water.  “I swear to god if you drop me,” you began.

“I won’t, okay?” he assured, slowly calming down as you let your legs hesitantly reach past the water’s surface.  It was cold at first, but then it was relaxing against your heated skin.

As he set you down in the water, his arms naturally slid to your waist, and yours to his shoulders.  And then you were looking up at him and it felt way too right.

“Um, the… the water feels great,” you mumbled.

“Yeah,” he agreed in a low, husky voice, “yeah, feels amazing.”

Those words in that voice brought back some specific memories.  

He was so much taller than you that when you were doggy-paddling to stay afloat, he could still walk somewhat normally.  But you didn’t expect him to walk behind you, or wrap his arms over your torso.

“Chris?” you gasped a bit.

“Shh,” he soothed, placing a soft kiss to your ear, then your neck, “you don’t want anyone to hear you.  Then they might look over and realize what we’re doing.”

His hand moved lower, over your stomach and finally to the top of your bikini bottoms.  You shivered, biting your lip as you tried to process everything that was happening.

“Tell me you want it,” he requested, his voice making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.  “I know you do but, I need to hear you say it.”

“I want it,” you whimpered, “please.  Touch me.”

You felt his smile against your neck as he slipped his fingers under the fabric, instantly finding and teasing your clit.  Your hips bucked a little, disturbing the water around you.  He rubbed it so softly that you would’ve thought you wouldn’t be able to feel it at all, and yet somehow it was making your entire body jolt with pleasure.  

“Calm down baby,” he chuckled, “don’t act strange or somebody will see.  And we all know how much you want everyone to know that you want nothing to do with me.”

You whimpered a little, but realized that a small group of Deltas was about to walk by in the water.

“Act natural,” Chris instructed softly, knowing that the water would obscure what you were doing, but you’d forgotten what natural even meant.

“Hey guys,” Parvati smiled, and Gia waved at the two of you.

“Hello ladies,” Chris greeted back with a nod of acknowledgement; you sheepishly smiled and waved, trying to ignore the way Chris’ fingers were moving against you.

You figured they would question why you were sitting on Chris’ lap in the water, but they were oddly accepting of it.  Maybe they were just wondering what took you two so long.

The second the girls were out of earshot, swimming further into the water, Chris started moving his fingers even faster.  

“You’re such a dirty girl,” he chuckled darkly, “getting fingered in front of your friends.”

“Wasn’t my idea,” you defended.

“I distinctly remember you begging for it,” he teased, quickly pulling you a little lower into the water so he could grope your breast.  He reached under the triangle of your bikini to get a better feel of it, tweaking the nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

“Fuck, Chris,” you moaned softly.

“Feels good?”

“Yes,” you sighed, “so good, fuck…”

You instinctively tried to push his hand away as your orgasm approached-- it was too much, too strong, and you weren’t sure you could take it.  He’d learned to keep going anyways, otherwise you’d never get off.  And damn if you didn’t secretly love the way that he was too strong to push away.

“Go ahead,” he purred, “let go.  Come for me, babygirl.”

You bit down on your lip as the pleasure reached its peak and crashed, your body spasming as he held you close with his free arm.  “Chris, I’m coming,” you whimpered.

“I know baby, I know,” he groaned, “keep going.”

With his fingers still rubbing firm and fast on your clit, you honestly thought you could scream.  Instead, you grabbed his arm like your life depended on it, your head falling back onto his shoulder.

“Stop, stopstopstop,” you pleaded for mercy, and he granted it as his hand slipped from your bikini bottoms.  “God, you wear me out,” you sighed with exhaustion.

“That’s the goal,” he smiled.  

You moved your hips back only to feel the hard shape of his cock pressing into your thigh; you grinned.

“Well, I should probably leave you to your volleyballing,” you announced, standing up and starting to walk away.

“Wh-- I can’t play like this!” he protested, noticeably staying crouched in the water-- you knew that with what he was packing, he had no chance of hiding his boner in those tight swim trunks.  Plus, when they were wet, they would probably cling to it so tight that little would be left to the imagination… why were you salivating all of a sudden?

“Just act natural!” you encouraged him as you continued to walk towards the shore.

[moldisgoodforyou]

lost time (chapter four)

gif isn’t mine, lmk if it’s yours and i’ll gladly credit!

pairing: rafe cameron x oc

warning: cursing, underage drinking

wordcount: 2.3k

MASTERLIST

______________________________

“So. Why’d you set them up?” Sophie’s roommate Allie asked as they got ready for the party together, makeup and hair tools scattered across their shared countertop. Sophie’s ‘drunk in a frat basement vibe’ playlist blasted from her phone and she scowled as she knocked back her second shot of vodka (reserved for pregames only), the liquid burning her throat.

Julia had gotten ready earlier and was on her way to pick Rafe up and bring him back to the sorority house, expressing her nerves several times before Sophie and Allie finally shoved her out the door. “I don’t know why you’re so nervous, it’s just Rafe.” Sophie had complained. The two of them opted to forgo bringing a date, planning on staying for a solid hour to dance then head to the after party at another Theta girl’s house.

“Why not?” Sophie replied, eyes trained in the mirror as she carefully applied eyeliner. 

“I thought you two hated each other.” Allie mentioned, casting a hesitant glance her way. 

“We do.” Sophie shrugged. It was well-known at that point, why was she questioning it?

“Did Julia do something then?” Allie questioned, confused.

“No, why would you say that?”

“Because.” Allie turned to catch her eye, trying to read her reaction. “You hate him.”

“No, I don’t hate him.” Sophie set the eyeliner down with a sigh. “Look, I would never date him, but I wouldn’t have a problem with him dating my friends. He’s not that terrible.” 

Allie laughed, shaking her head. “You make literally no sense.”

“It makes sense! C’mon, you don’t have anyone like that?”

“No, I actually enjoy my friend’s company.”

“Hm.” Sophie shook her head. “I wouldn’t say we’re friends. But you’ve got it all wrong, anyways.”

“Uh huh.” Allie rolled her eyes, wiggling into her dress for the 70s themed party.

“No, I’m serious! I don’t mind being around him, no one else will argue with me like him.” Sophie declared as she tugged her halter top in place, then checked her phone. “One last shot before we have to head down?”

“We need to stop buying shitty alcohol. Now that Julia’s 21, we have no excuse.” Allie complained but poured the shots anyway, wrinkling her nose as she sniffed the bottle.

“We do have an excuse, we’re struggling college students and Burnett’s is cheap.” Sophie countered, clinking the shot glass with Allie’s before knocking it back. “Come on, we can’t miss the bus again.”

_

Meanwhile, Rafe was having a similar conversation with his roommates over at Delt. “Lemme get this straight. So you’re going on a date with her friend.” James said, gesturing broadly as he tried to understand. He and Colin, their other roommate, had followed Rafe into the communal bathroom to grill him the second he let it slip he had to get ready for a Theta party.

“Right.” Rafe confirmed, eyes focused in the mirror as he concentrated on shaving.

“But you keep talking about Sophie instead.” James stated. “Like, I haven’t heard you shut up about her since I met you freshman year.”

Colin chimed in from across the room in a matter-of-fact tone. “That’s ‘cause he’s obsessed with her.”

“Am not!” Rafe objected quickly, wincing as he nicked his jaw with the razor.

James laughed tauntingly. “Just ask her out, dude, I don’t see what the big deal is.”

“You don’t get it.” Rafe turned to the two with his hand pressed against his jaw to stop the bleeding. “Sophie’s different, she’s not just -”

“Then I’ll ask her out. I need a date for our party next week.” Colin interrupted, but kept his head down as he scrolled on his phone. He knew he was pushing the limits and didn’t need to see Rafe’s look of jealousy to know it was written all over his face.

“...Fine.” Rafe said after a few beats too many.

“You’re cool with that?” James questioned, doubtful as he cast Colin a wary glance.

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?” Rafe shot back, trying to play it cool.

“Uh, I don’t know, probably because you’re in -” James started, ultra-sarcastic.

“Fuck off, both of you.” Rafe muttered as he walked out of the bathroom. The boys followed him out to the hall and down the stairs to see him off.

“Are you gonna fix your shirt? You look ridiculous.” Colin asked, surveying Rafe’s outfit.

He wore brown corduroy pants with a slight flare at the bottom (that he had to borrow from the Delt costume closet) and had his floral-patterned shirt almost completely unbuttoned, tucked into the pants. “No, it’s a 70s party. This was the style, I guess.” He grinned, gesturing to his chest and flexed for a moment. “And I get to show off my hard work.”

“Are you showing off your singular chest hair too?” James teased, just laughing when Rafe flipped him off over his shoulder as he walked out the door.

_

“Nice shirt, Cameron.” Sophie greeted Rafe right away as he came onto the bus with Julia, heading straight to the back. He didn’t miss the sarcastic tone but was surprised as she pulled a flask out of her white knee-high boot, passing it to him surreptitiously.

He grinned, his eyes trailing over her chest for a moment as he took the opportunity to duck his head down to take a swig. “Thank you. We match.” He nudged his shoulder against hers, comparing the similar floral patterned fabric on his shirt and her top.

“You should have sent me a picture of what you were wearing, Rafe, Sophie and I would have traded outfits.” Julia told him with a hint of a complaint in her voice, her hand going to rest on his thigh. “Now it looks like you two came together.”

Rafe and Sophie laughed at the same time and Sophie shook her head. “Anyone with half a brain would know we wouldn’t come together.”

“Right.” Rafe found himself having to force a grin, then slid his arm around Julia’s waist. “Besides, I’m here with you anyways.”

Sophie averted her eyes, choosing to ignore the small pang of jealousy in her chest.

_

“I’m going to be sick.” Sophie mentioned to Allie at the after party with disgust lacing her tone, eyes trained on Rafe’s arm slung casually around Julia’s shoulders. 

Allie frowned and tried taking the solo cup from Sophie’s hand, only for Sophie to tug it back and take a big gulp. “Maybe stop drinking then?”

“No, no. Not like that. It’s just - she’s been parading him around, all night, like a fucking prize.” Sophie scowled as she reached to refill her cup with the Malibu sitting on the counter. 

Allie watched skeptically as Sophie zoned out as she poured, then grabbed her wrist gently once the cup was filled halfway. “I think that’s enough, Soph.” She murmured, knowing Sophie wasn’t really concerned with Julia and what she did.

“I just want to be drunk.” She complained, but let Allie take the bottle away and top off her cup with lemonade instead.

Allie laughed and linked her arm in Sophie’s, tugging her back out to the party. “I’m pretty sure you already are, babe.”

“Yeah, well, not enough.” Sophie almost gagged as she took a sip of her drink, immediately pouring some into Allie’s cup. “Shit, that’s strong.”

“I tried to stop you!” Allie giggled, then nodded her head toward a boy hanging around alone by the unoccupied beer pong table. “Go distract yourself. Mackenzie brought him as a friend, but I’m pretty sure she’s over there flirting with someone else.”

Sophie cast another wayward glance toward Rafe and sighed as he let out a loud laugh at something Julia had just said. “Can you tell I’m drunk?”

Allie shook her head. “No, it’s almost concerning how good you are at hiding it. I can almost never tell.” 

Sophie smiled, pleased. “Do I look okay?” 

Allie grinned and checked her hip against Sophie’s. “Stunning. Flirt away.” She said before turning away, leaving her on her own.

Sophie took another quick sip of her drink as liquid courage before stepping up to the beer pong table, starting to arrange the cups properly. “Are you any good?” She asked the boy with a flirty smile. 

“Me?” He replied stupidly as he looked around for a beat instead, almost surprised that Sophie was talking to him. 

“Yeah, play with me.” She scooped the ball out of one of the cups and placed it in his palm, a thinly veiled excuse to touch him. “I’m Sophie.”

He nodded and grinned back. “I’m Will. I can’t promise I’m any good, my aim’s kind of shit.”

She laughed and moved to the other side of the table, setting up the cups on that side too with her back to Rafe. “Good, then I’ll win.”

He had been watching the exchange from across the room, halfway listening to Julia’s conversation with a few other sorority girls. He thought she was perfectly nice, but didn’t see himself pursuing anything further once the night ended. “Hey, Julia, let’s go play pong.” He suggested abruptly, steering her toward the table. 

“I - okay!” Julia shrugged as she was cut off mid-ramble about something pointless.

“We’ll play.” Rafe interrupted Sophie’s flirting with a friendly hand clapped on her shoulder from behind, pulling her up just as she was purposely leaning across the table to show off her chest in her low-cut top to Will. 

She cursed quietly at the familiar voice and shrugged him off. “That’s alright, we weren’t really -”

“No, it’s okay, we’ll just be partners.” Will amended with an easy smile, coming over to her side of the table as Rafe and Julia took his place. “I’ll try not to let you down.” He teased Sophie, nudging her with his shoulder.

The game went on without incident for a while, Rafe and Sophie almost matching each other shot-for-shot - in both trash talk and tosses at the cup. Sophie was disappointed by Will’s performance - he held true to his lack of aim, and Julia overshot nearly every time it was her turn. “Flick your wrist more, Will.” Sophie advised, slightly annoyed near the end of the game, down to one cup each. Rafe smirked, but the smirk quickly disappeared as he watched Sophie take Will’s hand, trying to mimic the motion of throwing the ball. Will laughed, apologizing again for his poor game, then took his shot - leading it to bounce off the table.

“Julia, go ahead.” Rafe offered, eyeing his opportunity. She missed, as he expected, and he stepped forward with a wicked grin. Sophie frowned, already wary. “Game over, Soph.” He grinned, then took a hard shot - knocking the lone cup off the table and spilling it straight onto Will’s pants.

“What the fuck, Rafe!” Sophie exclaimed straightaway, throwing up her hands in exasperation.

He gave Will a small shrug, not looking apologetic in the slightest. “Sorry man, didn’t think it’d spill.”

“That’s not house rules, idiot.” Sophie spat. 

Rafe just laughed, arrogant as ever. “This isn’t your house, Flint, you can’t make up house rules.” 

She scowled as she gestured toward Will, who was making a poor effort of trying to pat his pants dry with just his bare hands. “Knocking the death cup is off limits, that’s house rules here, Cameron. You got his pants all soaked.”

“It’s fine, really.” Will deflected, trying to diffuse the situation.

“No, it’s not. I’ll go find you a towel.” Sophie huffed, having long given up on flirting. She took off to the kitchen. Rafe turned to Julia, starting to apologize. “I’m gonna -”

Julia waved him off with a knowing smile. She was honestly surprised Rafe had stuck around with her for so long, noting that he seemed bored from the start of the after party. “I know. Go ahead.”

Rafe gave her a grateful smile, then followed Sophie into the kitchen, the door swinging shut behind him. “Come on, Soph, you’re not actually mad at me.” He tried, leaning against the counter.

“Move.” She grumbled, trying to push him aside. 

He didn’t budge. “Sophie.” 

She set her hands on his hips, catching him off guard just enough to shove him away from blocking a set of drawers. She started going through them for a spare towel, ignoring him. 

“Sophie, come on.” He tried again.

She stood back up, empty-handed, and shook her head, going out the back door to a small porch. Normally, it’d be busy out back, but in the chill October air, everyone had stayed inside. Rafe didn’t hesitate to follow again.

“What the hell was that, Rafe?” She demanded, hating the way he leaned up against the wall of the house so easily, like he belonged.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He challenged.

“No, you know exactly what you were doing.” Sophie shot back, arms crossed as she took a step forward. “I was trying to flirt with him and you interrupted.”

He smirked, matching her step closer. “Well you were doing a pretty shit job, you seemed more annoyed about his poor game than anything.”

She pressed a hand against his chest to keep just enough distance between the two of them, lowering her voice a bit. “That’s not why you stopped me.”

He leaned closer, raising his eyebrows. “Enlighten me, then.”

She stayed quiet, only able to think about his heartbeat racing underneath her touch. As he bent his head down, closer, she fisted her hand in his shirt, her voice low with a warning tone. “Rafe.”

“Sophie.” He murmured back, lips hovering inches away from hers.

taglist: @dontjinx-it @butgilinsky @oopsiedoopsie23 @taiter-tots @annedub​

[thedivinecommaarbitrage]

Waiting for Lightning - Chp 1

I Remember Days When I Was Younger

AO3

Beauregard Lionett, junior at the University of the Cobalt Soul and star of the track team attended every 6 AM weekend practice hungover. She said it was her secret weapon. The added pain from the pounding headache gave her an edge. (And turned her on a little, though she'd only admitted that to Fjord while quite tipsy.) This morning was no different, except the women's rugby team was practicing on the indoor field the warmup track circled. Beau was mid-stretch, jamming to her tunes, and checking out the women on the field, a state of being she rather enjoyed.

Now Beau considered herself a bit of a Casanova. She had slept her way through most of the girls on the track team, and the soccer team, and half the sorority girls she partied with if she was being honest. So, she was sizing up the rugby team, looking for her next one-night stand when she saw the most striking woman.

Running drills across the field was a Norse goddess. A tall, muscular woman with hair that went from black to white tied back in a loose mess of braids. Beau couldn't see her eyes from this distance, but she had dark makeup all smudged around them. Beau could appreciate that aesthetic since she normally sported day old, messy eyeliner. The mystery woman also had a blue line inked from her lower lip down her chin and neck. Beau bit her lip wondering how far down that line went. Beau was so caught up in ogling the woman that she didn't notice Dairon was behind her until they smacked the backside of her head.

"Get your head out of the gutter, Lionett, and get on the track. It's time for training, not drooling over the other athletes." The assistant coach was already walking away before Beau could react.

"Hey! My head's here in the game, Dairon. I know what I'm doing. I'm the best for a reason, okay. Lay off for a minute, will ya?" Beau said as she stood up and jogged after her coach. Dairon had taken an interest in Beau during her freshman season on the team. They were a total hardass, and Beau would never admit it, but she would have washed out without their help. "I'll do my laps, okay. You don't have to tell me twice." And she took off before Dairon could continue telling her off.

Beau ran her laps, with her music turned up loud enough to compete with the sound of blood pumping in her head. Right now, it was Joan Jett. She kept stealing glances at that woman as she played on the field. Beau didn't know much about rugby, but she could still tell that the woman was good. She hadn't ever had the ball, but she had made successful tackles against most of the players who had possession of the ball. That woman was all muscle and ferocity, taking down opponents left and right. It was really fucking hot.

Unfortunately, the rugby team's practice ended before the track team's. Beau watched the woman quietly gather up her things and head to the locker rooms, not talking with any of the other players. Surprisingly, off the field, the woman seemed demure and reserved, compared to the powerhouse she was on the field. Beau only focused back in on her laps once the woman was fully out of sight.

“Lionett,” Dairon called to Beau as she walked away from the track at the end of practice. “Meet me at 10:00 in the practice room for more training. It’s been awhile, and I’m worried you’ve gotten rusty.” They turned on their heel and marched away before Beau could respond.

“Great, yes, Dairon, that fits perfectly in my schedule. Thanks for asking. You’re such a considerate coach.” Beau said to Dairon’s retreating back. She sighed and continued on to the locker room. She was already feeling the laps in her legs and more training with Dairon would just hurt more.

 When Dairon had first taken an interest in Beau, she had been rather angry and troubled. She was getting into fights with her teammates and was close to being kicked off the team before they stepped in. Dairon had taken her to a small practice room and said, “Take a swing. Try and hit me. Take your anger out here, off the field.” So, Beau took a wild swing. Dairon easily sidestepped, so fast Beau didn’t even notice, and then followed up with a slap to the side of Beau’s head. “You’re sloppy, directionless. You need discipline and order. Again.” Beau swung out again, and Dairon raised their hand in an effortless block. “Better, but you’re still miles away. Try again.” Beau yelled in frustration. Why was her coach doing this? She closed her eyes and breathed out through her nose and took one more wild swing. To her surprise, this one connected with something soft, and she felt a small crack. Beau opened her eyes to see Darion staring back at her in shock, blood gushing from their nose.

“Oh my god, did I break your nose? Fuck, that’s cool. Ah, I mean, shit, fuck. Are you gonna kick me off the team?” Beau’s sudden joy at landing a blow on her coach was crushed as she remembered the reality. She had punched a school official, fuck.

Dairon lightly touched the side of their nose and laughed. “That was good. A little wild, but when you focused, and let your anger slide away, you connected. You have potential, Lionett. And no, I’m not going to kick you off the team. I’m going to teach you to fight, properly, with restraint and focus.”

Beau stood there, shocked. Fighting training? All she had wanted as a kid was for her dad to enroll her in karate or any martial arts, but he had refused on account of it being improper for a girl to learn to fight. “Really? What, that’s so cool! I can’t wait to punch things so good. This is gonna be sick,” Beau said, looking at her fists. She already felt so much cooler.

“It’s not something ‘cool’ or something to be taken lightly. You need control and composure if you’re going to be successful on the team. It’s about discipline. Remember that, Beauregard.” Dairon opened the door to the practice room. “Every day after practice, we will meet for another hour, and you will learn. Now, get out of here.” With that Dairon turned on their heel and walked off down the hall. Beau was left standing, still in shock, feeling like her world had been shifted.

 Beau slammed the door to her dorm open and tossed her gym bag in the general direction of her closet. "Morning, Jessie!" She called as she strode across the room to flip down in her roommate's bean bag.

"Beau, why do you have to be so loud? It's the morning. It's time for sleeping. Do you even sleep, Beau?" Her roommate, Jester, groaned as she rolled away from Beau.

"But, Jess, I brought pastries." Beau held up the paper bag, emblazoned with the emblem of The Slayer's Cake, the most popular bakery in Zadash.

"Pastries?" Jester squealed and snatched the bag out of Beau's hand before leaping back onto her bed. "Beau, you're the best roommate ever. Thank you!" She rummaged through the bag. "And you got my favorite blueberry muffins? You really are the best."

 Ah, it was nothing really. The on-campus store is in between here and the track." It really wasn't, but Beau loved making Jester happy. She was the best friend that Beau had ever had. (Though she would punch out anyone who accused her of being soft like that.) “Come on, eat your sweets, I’ve got to meet Dairon again in a couple hours and we have to study with Fjord before then.”

 Beau had met her wild roommate on move in day freshman year. She'd driven herself to school in her shitty, old Toyota Camry because her parents couldn't be bothered to give a shit about their only kid leaving for college. Her brother was born less than a year later, and Beau stopped wondering why they never gave a shit about her anymore. She had finally made it to her dorm to find a bubbly, little blue tiefling decorating one side of the room in pink, frilly things, and a tall, buff minotaur standing guard, arms folded. “Hey, ummm, I’m Beau. Your roommate, I guess.”

“Oh, hi! I’m Jester. And this is Bluud. He’s harmless. Bluud, get out of her way, so she can unpack. I can’t wait to be the best of friends. I’m an art major. What are you studying?” The tiefling, Jester, bombarded her with even more questions while they set up their room and ran out to get more supplies at the local Target. Beau was sure she was going to hate Jester, but after a few hours, they were good friends. And by the time they went to bed, Jester declared them to be best friends forever. They had been roommates ever since, so for now, Jester’s declaration was holding true. Beau couldn’t picture anyone else putting up with her shit, and no one else could handle Jester’s specific brand of wild.

 “Hey, Jess, I saw this cool chick at track this morning. She was practicing with the rugby team, and I’ve never seen her before. She had this really goth look with black and white hair and a chin tattoo. Have you seen her?” Beau began changing out of her running clothes into a different cut off t-shirt and sweats.

“Oh, I think you’re talking about Molly’s new roommate. She just moved here from another school; I think. Her name is Yasha. I saw her briefly when I was at Molly’s last weekend.” Jester turned back to her vanity to finish putting on her makeup for the day. “She didn’t really talk, but yeah she looks really cool and really strong. Did you see her arms? Like, so nice.”

“Yeah, she was a powerhouse on the field,” Beau turned away from Jester to hide her excited expression. Jester knew who she was, and she was Molly’s friend. Beau and Molly may not always get along, but they still hung out with the same people. Beau would have a chance to meet her, to meet Yasha, then. “Yasha…” Beau murmured. The name was beautiful and strangely fitting for the woman she had watched on the practice field. Beau blushed as she thought about her. Beau was going to talk to her. Get her number. Maybe even court her. That last thought made her laugh; Beau hadn’t ever courted anyone. But that muscular, goth woman made her want to try, and Beau would try anything at least once.

[leilakisakabiri]

Faking It (d.d)

plot: The reader meets David at a party and a series of events ends with her having a run in with her ex. PRE-RELATIONSHIP

requested: no sir.

SEND REQUESTS 

warning: spiteful exe’s 

word count: [ 1241 ]

It was another Saturday night, and you found yourself once again at a college frat party. You had promised yourself that this year you would go out more, and be more social, but it was slowly sucking the life out of you, you were most definitely not a people person. 

Sighing, you watched as your friends danced together on the makeshift dance floor. You had been at this party for all of thirty minutes and you were already bored, but you couldn’t leave, not only because you would get yelled at by your friends for disappearing but also because you had chosen to ride here with your friends, and with no money on you, you couldn’t exactly find a ride home. 

You stood up, pushing past sweaty bodies as you made your way to your friends, running through plausible reasons in your head for begging them to leave. 

“Hey girl!” Your friend Mila smiled at you, pulling you into the tight circle your friends had formed. 

“Hi” you smiled back. 

“Alright what’s going on?” She asked turning to face you, her drink splashing in her red solo cup. 

You shrugged, “Nothing, I’m just feeling out of it I guess.” 

She narrowed her eyes at you, before realization dawned on her face, “Y/N is this about Carson?”

You gulped, your thoughts drifting back to your ex-boyfriend, your anniversary was coming up, but this year he wouldn’t be there to celebrate it. 

“Bubba, you have to get over him, it’s been almost a year. You were doing so good.”

You averted your eyes from her gaze, stumbling over your words as you replied, “I-I know, it’s just this is his sorority and it-it’s bringing back a lo-lot of memories.” 

She gave you a sympathetic glance before pulling you once again, this time towards the backyard where the drink station was,  “C’mon lets go get some drinks!”

You heard your friends holler and cheer as she said that, and the group of you made your way towards the drink table. 

Mila was still pulling you along with her, hand’s interlocked, when someone forcefully shoved past you causing you to stumble back and lose your balance, your heel catching onto something as you lurched sideways, your body hit something warm and solid, and instinctively you let go of Mila’s hand to stable yourself, feeling somebody’s arm’s wrap around you, but it was too late. 

You fell into the pool with a loud splash and as you rose to the surface spluttering, you saw a boy with messy brown hair and pink cheeks surface next to you. 

“Oh god, I’m so sorry!” You muttered, feeling incredibly guilty for bringing the guy down with you. 

He chuckled, “It’s all good. I’m David by the way.” 

You smiled back at him, “Y/N.” 

He opened his mouth to say something else but before he could you heard his name being called, you watched as he swam towards his friends, 

“Bro, you good?” One asked while the others kept commenting about finally getting some good ass clickbait. 

You watched as the boy nodded, talking enthusiastically before giving you a sideways glance, motioning for you to join them. You swam towards them, coming next to David. You both got out of the pool and his friends started recording the both of you. 

“What are you doing?” You questioned once you saw all their camera’s facing the two of you. 

“We’re vloggers.” One simply replied and you nodded your head pretending you knew exactly what they were talking about. 

You answered some of their questions, your eyes flitting towards David occasionally, only to find he was already staring at you, which in turn caused a blush to spread across your cheeks. 

You turned your head when you heard someone shouting your name, 

“Y/N, oh my god are you alright?” Mila frantically questioned, as she hurried towards you. 

You nodded, reassuring her you were fine before introducing her to David and his friends. 

You guys talked for a while longer before your teeth began to chatter from the cold, “I’m gonna go find a towel,” you stated rising to your feet, the water still dripping from your body. 

David quickly stood up as well, “I’ll go with you.” 

You softly smiled at him before motioning for him to follow you as you headed back inside. You both walked side by side as you walked upstairs and towards the towel cabinet. Reaching inside you pulled out two towels, handing one to David.

You both dried off quietly before David broke the silence, “So how did you know where the towels where?”

You felt as if the air had been knocked out of you, “Uh-I-uhm my ex-boyfriend lives here.” 

He nodded his head, accepting your answer, “Oh cool.” 

You nodded, turning to shut the closet door, your body freezing when you heard his voice. Shit. Fuck.

David immediately noticed and he gently grabbed your shoulder, “Hey, Y/n you alright?”

Before you could say anything you heard your name being called, “Y/n?” 

You closed your eyes, thousands of memories flashing through your head as you heard his voice, the voice you had been so desperate to hear for the last several months. Putting on an overly cheerily smile you turned around to face him, 

“Hey, Carson.”

He smiled at you before pointing towards David with his red cup, “Who's this?” 

You stuttered, “Uh-uhm-uh” 

You glanced at David for help, and he stepped in front of you, ‘I’m David, her boyfriend.” 

You felt your heart swell when he said that, boyfriend. Just the way he said it made your stomach flutter.

Carson gave him a tight-lipped smile, before turning back to you, “Wow Y/N, I didn’t take you as a gold digger.” 

You felt your anger fuel you as he said that, but also confusion surface, what was he talking about?

You watched as David's eyebrows furrowed, “Hey, not cool dude.”

Carson shrugged, “Whatever. Just know I won’t be here when he dumps your pathetic ass Y/N.”

Now you were livid. You pushed past David and stood in front of him. “Who the fuck do you think you are? What gives you the right to talk to me? If I remember correctly we aren’t together and haven’t been for a god damn long time so you have absolutely no right to say that to me, especially since you’re the one who broke up with me. You chose to end it, not me, and god knows I’ve cried enough over you, so I’ll be damned if I let you play with my emotions any longer.” 

Carson visibly softened as you brought up your history together, “Y/n...” 

You shook your head, not in any mood to listen to his shitty excuses, “Fuck off, Carson.” 

You took hold of David’s hand as you walked past Carson a weight being lifted off your shoulders, you were done pining after him. 

Once you were finally downstairs, you turned to face David nervously, letting his hand drop from yours, “I’m sorry you had to do that.” 

He looked down at you, a grin etching onto his face, he threw his arm around you bringing you closer to him, “Are you kidding? That was amazing, my girlfriend is a badass.”

You playfully rolled your eyes at him, your heart beating exceptionally fast when he said that, 

“Girlfriend huh?” you asked, watching as a light pink color covered his cheeks, 

“I-uhm-uh” now it was his turn to stutter over his words. 

You beamed at him, “It’s okay, I rather like it.”

[theworstbob]

the thing journal, 3.19.2017

review-like bitlets of the 7+ new things i took in last week.

this week: mystery team, what we do in the shadows, quelle chris, /sigh/ ed sheeran, the lies of locke lamora, sorority noise, margo price, valerie june

1) Mystery Team, dir. Dan Eckman: This is such a small movie, and such a relatively hidden gem, that I kinda feel bad for pointing out flaws. There's so much charm that I feel the gross-out humor is, while executed well, really out-of-place, doesn’t really fit with what I thought the movie was best at doing, and I really think they should've done more with Donald Glover's boundless exuberance and Aubrey Plaza's deadpan stare; that's a quality comic pairing that I kinda think got short shrift, and for good reason, it's DerrickComedy not DerrickComedy & Friends, but that's still a well they could've explored more. (Hey Bob! maybe edit that sentence?) Nah, dude. Such a solid comedy, though. The central goof somehow never grows tiresome, is in fact never fully abandoned, and they take this concept to really interesting places; like, these characters in a gentleman's club would have been good enough, but they found an absurd angle to take that took it to a whole new level (and then they took it to... a different place? a decidedly less whimsical place, to be certain). There's a lot of imagination, and that’s this film’s saving grace. Honestly, bringing up what I don’t like about this film kind of feels like analyzing a newborn fawn’s first steps. “Yeah, see, the great ones, they strut out the womb. Birth to trot time here is pitiful, not pro-quality at all. You can tell he doesn’t have that motor. You can’t teach motor, you just c -- why is it vomiting. Goddamnit, but why.”

2) What We Do in the Shadows, dir. Taika Waititi: I'm counting this as a film I haven't seen before because I was half-asleep the first time I saw it! It's... Enjoyable, I guess, is the right word? Hey. Team. Let's real quick talk about something. Why has every comedy I've seen in 2017 had a protracted vomiting sequence? It was a good time in Santa Clarita Diet. It was at least acceptable in Mystery Team because that's about what I expected from a film of its caliber. Why did anyone need to vomit here? Or, perhaps more accurately, why have I missed what makes vomit so inherently funny? The gross-out gag didn't really fit the general vibe of this film. This film was so subtle, so deadpan it's hard to tell what the jokes were, then the dude eats a fry, "You shouldn't have done that!" BLEEEEEEEEH like why, did that advance anyone's arc in a meaningful way that i just missed, did it test so well that they would've been fools to cut it, i don't get it. That was the one thing about this movie that wasn't right up my alley, which is why I spent so many sentences talking about it.

3) Being You Is Great, I Wish I Could Be You More Often, by Quelle Chris: Because I've never smoked pot in my life, I was initially put off by the weirdness of this album, but because I'm a generally weird person, I was on this album's wavelength by about halfway through, and now I'm stoked to give this an album a shot now that I know what to expect and that it's something I feel. It's especially nice to hear something this weird and unique because I came to this on Monday and, hey, y'all know what I did over the last weekend? Listened to a fuckton of shitty pop(/country) songs from 2007. It's such a treat to come into this world where this dude's being his own dude.

4) Divide, by Ed Sheeran: In what world is "Eraser" not just an acceptable track to put on this album, but the opening track ahead of "Castle on the Hill." "Castle on the Hill" strikes a much clearer tone, sets an actual mission. "Eraser" is just the song where Ed Sheeran raps because how do you know your limits if you never push them, and not only is it a bad intro, it’s redundant because THAT'S WHAT "GALWAY GIRL" IS THERE TO DO. Ugh. Whatever. I hate how much I enjoyed "Galway Girl." I dunno, this wasn't the worst thing in the world, there were parts were I was like "enh" but parts I really dug, so I guess cheers to exactly fulfilling my expectations!, but I kinda wish it had a more cohesive sound? This was like Ed Sheeran's tour through the magical world of music. This is U2! This is dancehall! This is traditional Irish rap! This is what your exceedingly normal cousins will play at their weddings! This? is Spain!??? And it's like hey man, just be yourself. /remembers ed sheeran's early works Yeah OK this is more than acceptable, then. As something I made myself listen to for a thing no one ever asked for, I couldn't have asked for a better time.

5) The Lies of Locke Lamora, by Scott Lynch: This was a really impressive con man story told within the parameters of basic-ass fantasy. It was this Breaking Bad-esque display of a character getting out of the tightest corners possible, and part of the extrication from the corner involves a sword fight. Father Chains is one of the best, most down-to-earth characters I've ever come across in this kind of novel, and there's a short interlude toward the end between Chains and the title character that I'm still thinking about and laughing at, but it is this kind of novel, where they call chicken “capon.” You can call it chicken. No one’s gonna call bullshit if you call it chicken. Goddamnit. Like there's a Gabe Liedman bit about The Fantasy which all fantasy novelists apparently share and how boring that makes standard fantasy, and I don't 100% get why this needed to be set in a vaguely Spanish (but almost certainly British) fantasy land with an all-powerful wizard? But y'know what, if that's what's in your heart, you write your heart out, and the fact this was fantasy didn't keep me from having a grand old two weeks on the bus.

6) You're Not as _____ as You Think, by Sorority Noise: After my first listen, I immediately hit play on this thing again, 'cuz fuuuuuuuuck, y'all. One of my favorite records of last year was The Hotelier's Goodness, it was this odd little thing that I kept returning to because it kept hitting me in this certain way, felt like an album that sort of understood the special way in which I'm depressed. This album does what Goodness does, but in a more conventional way, speaking about emptiness and failure and staying in your own head, but with music that positively soars at points, like holy shit "A Portait Of" is kind of perfect? And maybe it's worth dissecting why something more conventional hit me harder than the weirdness of Goodness, but fuck it, not now, this is _____ time, and I absolutely love this. If this doesn't end up being my #1 album of 2017, I'm going to be so stoked, because I will have heard something better than this. My favorite punk album since No Closer to Heaven. I don't think I'm going to be capable of having rational thoughts about this album.

7) Midwest Farmer's Daughter, by Margo Price: hahaha you can hear the OH SHIT I DON'T WANT IT TO BE ALL DUDES THIS WEEK from a million miles away! I really dug this. I think it's probably the least interesting out of anything in the recent rash of traditional-leaning country albums, but we're talking about Big Day in a Small Town and Sailor's Guide to Earth and Traveler, that is a strong-ass chain that would see this album as the weakest link. I think, because I had this follow _____, I wasn't really in a space where I could connect to a different kind of sadness than my own? And it's not fair to this album that its evaluation should suffer because I try to binge albums.

7a) The Sun's Tirade, by Isaiah Rashad: So like I've listened to this a couple times on the bus before, so it doesn’t belong in the New Things category, but I just wanted to give this a quick shout-out, because I actually spent some uninterrupted quality time with it (previous listens have been marred by connection issues MUSIC IN 2017 HOLLA), and man, this dude kills it. It's like a Gothic OutKast, if that makes any sense. I'm really intrigued to see how he builds off of this, because man, if he can put the pieces together, he's gonna be incredible.

8) The Order of Time, by Valerie June: It should surprise no one I lurk on a website called Saving Country Music, which is where I heard about this woman, and I was intrigued enough by the description to check her out, and this is like the country version of the Quelle Chris album, where it took me a few tracks to get on the same wavelength, but once I was there, I was there, and I loved spending time in this fully-realized world. I almost feel bad calling this country; trying to fit this into a genre feels inappropriate, like, there isn't a word for Valerie June's songs, there's only the phrase Valerie June's songs. There’s this album I listened to last year, My Wild West by Lissie, this really dreamy and ethereal-feeling folk-rock album, and that’s the closest comparison I can find to The Order of Time, except The Order of Time is more eclectic, has a more interesting sound. It’s a touch slower than what I typically go for, but this is a phenomenal artist doing something crazy-unique and making it sound dope, and I appreciate it.

[datingadviceonreddit]

Sorry for the length. Every little detail is coming under scrutiny in my head now.Here I am, crying drunk being cradled like a baby by my fraternity brothers and I'm only a pledge. It started when this girl I thought liked me maybe as more than a friend came (drunk, like everyone else) to the party I was at, didn't say hi until I nagged her, walked right past me.My friend who knows I like her told her I was there and she said "no. Nope. No". This was a 180 degree turn from where we were at just the day before, and then hours later she acts like she did nothing out of the ordinary or is pretending not to remember. Now I'm doubting everything and I'm trying to get blackout drunk so I forget. I don't know what I did to deserve such a cold reaction.I can't shake the feeling that she is pretending to be nice to me so she can get some easy homework help. But it takes more effort to be as nice as she has been when professional courtesy would suffice. But why did she turn so vicious in that moment? Drunk people are honest people.Background:I met a girl in my freshman history class from a town close to my hometown and we have a bunch of mutual friends from back home, we both played lacrosse and hockey in high school, she wants to travel and I've been across Europe already. We hit it off great, I think. I asked her to get lunch after class and she agreed and we finished eating in 10min and sat there talking and laughing for two hours. Exchanged numbers. She says I'm extremely smart and interesting. She kept chatting so I walked her back to her dorm and then she had to get schoolwork done so I said bye at the door.She was begging me to help her with the history class work, saying she might actually fail. I excel at history and said I'd be happy to. My help gets her the highest score of the class on the first test.I saw her outside at a huge fraternity party Friday night a day after our lunch and came over to her and her friend. She introduced me excitedly, drunkenly as "the guy from my history class!!". She almost got me beat up when she asked some drunk buff dude if he came from a jersey party and he thought I was talking shit, and then he said some really awful stuff to the girls. It's kind of a funny story now but still. We were in the same designated driver car crammed in the backseat and she asked if I was okay to make it back to my dorm, then that was that.In the morning sent her a snap saying "heyy" and she snapped back, but didn't keep a conversation going. I asked her later kind of jokingly why she didn't snap back and she reassured me it's nothing personal and she only snaps 2 people, one of whom is her twin brother. Her phone was on the table open and I saw it's true. That night we saw each other at another big party but I only said hi and she said hi back. In hindsight, I'm not sure if it was a cold greeting for the sake of courtesy.Tuesday comes around, she says hi to me at the start of class and starts a conversation. Later I say I'm gonna meet some of my buddies after class and she straight up pleaded with me to come eat lunch with her instead, so I did, same great conversation for a long time. She says to come study in a group on Wednesday and I offered to study right after lunch, but she insisted Wednesday in a group.Show up Wednesday, help her out, plenty of laughs in between. At some point she says "well we're already friends so" I give her a shitty fidget spinner as a meme gift because her hands are always fidgeting and she keeps it and always messes with it when we're together.Thursday we get coffee after class. I insist on paying and she tries to dissuade me but takes it after prodding. It was a smoothie on the more expensive side, if that's relevant, I'm second guessing everything as I write this. She tells me she hates taking free stuff. We sit and chat in the quad. She tells me to come study one on one in the library the next day.We try to get work done but we get too distracted by each other laughing and talking about life and stuff. I ditch my fraternity brothers who were going to watch It to be with her. I say "since I'm here with you and not there, do you want to watch It with me sometime?". I'm not sure what she said exactly. Either, "when?" Or "ok, when?" Which are different. I said whenever she's free and she said "okay well I'm busy a lot, so. But I'll get back to you." I should've seen it coming.Since we're not getting work done I propose we go somewhere other than the library. We make some stupid bet and she says to shake on it and we hold hands way longer than a business handshake, lol. Leaving the library she laces her hand with mine and then at some point we let go and just walked side by side back to her dorm. We're just chilling, sitting there talking and telling stories and she's getting some homework done. She says I'm always distracting her so she tells me for right now I can hang out with her but only speak when spoken to, like in a joking manner but I mostly oblige. Couple times she says I don't have to stay and be bored, I say it's fine I'm not bored, but if she wants me to leave I will, and she reassures me she doesn't want me to leave every time. She gets a call asking where she is cause there was a sorority thing she had to go to as a new member, so we both start heading out, and she says thanks for hanging out and I say "hey we'll see It right?" And she calls out after me "maybe!", a big red flag in hindsight. However she did say to come study and hang out Sunday, today.Then the party. I'm dancing, with some girls but I don't grind on them. So I'm just having fun. I go upstairs and talk to some buddies when it happens and I'm devastated. I lean against a wall for a minute and then head back to my own frat house. I drink everything in sight and keep punching the couch. My brothers keep asking me if it's about a girl or whatever but I don't want to talk about it to them.I drunkenly text her apologizing and thanking her for being honest, that I'm fine with being friends and helping her with school. She responds saying she's drunk too and is confused, what am I talking about, and then says it's fine, she's not pissed off or anything, "we're good". She's either pretending not to remember or genuinely doesn't recall. I don't know how to go forward if I'm second guessing every interaction we've had. A tutor doesn't need this level of niceness/intimacy. I don't know if I should stick to the plan we made on Friday, for me to come over to help her and then we can hang out when it's done.TL;DR Me and girl get lunches, coffee, spend time together in her dorm and hit it off well but she drunkenly brushes me off pretty viciously at a party, says she doesn't recall anything of the sort, and I'm hurt and confused. via /r/dating_advice