#they just don’t want to clue people in on that and semblances are a good excuse

[darylscigarettesmoke]

Daryl is weak.

Okay, bold headline. I’m a journalist I know how clickbait works. Jokes aside, hear me out.

A lot of fans say that Daryl acts totally out of character in the second season of his spin-off. Getting close to a woman that quickly. Kissing her. Not thinking about going home anymore or not fighting tooth and nail to get there anymore.

And while I very much agree and the Daryl from the Spin-Off doesn’t feel like the Daryl from the flagship show anymore, there’s a pattern I’ve noticed throughout the series.

The word Daryl gets described the most is probably “loyal”. But what if he’s not that “loyal” man, everyone makes him out to be?

Daryl’s not good alone. He needs people. He latches on to them. First it was Merle, his bad influence of a brother. Then it was Rick and the group. He needs a role model. Someone to follow.

what happens though if you take away his role model, is always the same thing. He falls into despair, latches onto someone else and forgets where he came from.

Remember the arc after the prison fell? He was stuck with Beth, thought the group is dead. But instead of making use of his tracking abilities, determination, pure willpower to prove himself wrong and see that most folks are still alive or just whatever to find out if the other’s are really dead, he succumbs to pessimism and suggests to Beth to just stay at the funeral home, doing nothing but playing house. He would’ve stayed there for much longer if Beth hadn’t gone kidnapped. Once Beth was gone, he stucked to the Claimers until Rick came along again…

Same thing with Leah. He believed his leader (Rick) to be dead, his guilt made him shy away from his family, he lived in the woods until Leah came along. It took him longer than with Beth to finally give in and decide to stay with Leah, but still - he isolated himself from the thoughts of his family and stayed with a woman - and yet again, he would have stayed there, away from his family, if Leah hadn’t left herself. He didn’t have a clue about what’s happening in Alexandria, with the Whisperers, with Rick’s kids and probably didn’t wanna know either.

Rinse and repeat we got Isabelle. In this case, it’s even worse because Daryl’s stuck in another country. But again he’s far away from his family, again there is a woman, again he’s latching onto her and yet again he is forgetting about his people back home to the point where he’s almost not considering to go back anymore at all.

Daryl always needs a circumstance, a death, a kidnapping, or a person (Carol?) to pull him back to reality and to remind him who he is and what he might’ve left behind.

It’s also highly ironic to me that the Villain of the season, that cult leader, describes what’s going on with Daryl in Episode 2x03 perfectly:

“Must be hard living without a semblance of faith. No organizing principle, nothing to cling to [….] a man alone it’s a sad state.”

Daryl always believes he is alone, that his group has given up on him. His low self-esteem and the thing’s he had to endure prevent him from seeing how loved he is. But he’s never been truly alone, after he found Rick’s group.

Having to fend for himself as a kid has left his mark on him, so he’s clinging onto people, desperate of not wanting to be alone.

Now that doesn’t go without saying that I don’t believe Daryl didn’t find something in France. He found what he wishes for - a family of his own and to not be the “lonely man” anymore. But it’s time to come back from Neverland, to achieve that dream.

With all of these things considered I start to believe the Daryl we all know and love is still there - he just needs to be reminded that he is loved, cared for and so, so missed.

Edit: Some more notes. That is just a poor explanation/interpretation of bad writing in the Spin-Off. When Daryl said he wasn’t sure of what he was looking for when he left the Commonwealth, that made it clear as day the writers absolutely intend to retcon this beloved character and all of his core characteristics to pretend Daryl’s this blank page, a character without history. But this doesn’t work and I hope they’ll notice it soon enough.

[mxlti-fand0m-imaginess]

Bodybag // Ethan Landry

request: none!

prompts: none!

summary:

warnings: VERY dark reader, murder, blood, slight gore, obsession, language, reader is crazy, kidnapping, pretty much yandere reader, main character death, almost everyone dies, reader is very mean to ethan in the beginning, once again this is very dark so don’t read it if that’ll upset you!

word count: 3k

a/n: gn!reader, ghostface reader, ethan isn’t ghostface, ethan and quinn aren’t related

join my taglist! album masterlist!

I don't know, where exactly you expect my head to go

When you look at me, it's like I lose control

You know that you're to blame, when you say my name

When you say my name, yeah

You can’t even really remember when it all started. Even though it’s only been a few months, it felt like a lifetime ago. Looking back at that time, the time before you met Ethan, it all felt like a fever dream. You were normal, once. Well, as normal as any hormonal teen could be. But then you met him. Ethan Landry. And suddenly your life was turned upside down and any semblance of your former self was gone, lost forever.

You had never felt this way about someone before. You didn’t even really know how to describe what you were feeling. It definitely wasn’t love. Maybe obsession would be a better word? All you knew was that Ethan consumed every single thought you had, filling your every sense until you couldn’t focus on anything but him and his stupid smile and his stupid hair and his stupid face. He was beautiful, and you hated it. You hated how he made you feel. You wanted him more than anything, but not in the way most people want someone. You didn’t really care about whether or not he wanted you back, because in the end it wouldn’t really matter.

You wanted him like a possession. Something you could have all to yourself without anyone else standing in the way. Naturally, you couldn’t voice any of your thoughts to him. You would most definitely send him running if he knew about even half of the things you had thought about doing to him. And you didn’t want him to know how you felt about him, not that you really knew that yourself. So instead, you opted to hate him. That was something you could be vocal about.

And it wasn’t like that was entirely a lie. You did hate him, in a sense. You hated how he was all you could about. You hated how your stomach did flips at just the sight of him. You hated how much you wanted him. So to keep your true intentions hidden, you just focused on the hate. He would never know how much you wanted him if he thought you couldn’t stand even the sight of him. And that was exactly the way you wanted to keep things.

Look at you, walking all around, just acting like you do

Makin' everyone think you don't have a clue

But I could see it, yeah, I know your secret

He had to have known. There’s no way he could be acting like that around you if he was oblivious to your feelings. Always smiling at you and trying to make amends. Flirting with other girls in front of you and ignoring your presence. Sure, he could’ve just been trying to make up for whatever it was that caused you to hate him. And he might’ve just been flirting with those girls because he was interested in them, not even noticing that you were nearby. But you knew better. He was playing the long game. Making you want him more by trying to seem uninterested. Well he wasn’t going to get away with that. You would just have to level the playing field.

“Who’s she?” you asked Tara, pointing over to a girl that Ethan was talking with.

“Uhh, I think her name’s Abby? Why do you care anyways? You hate the guy, why does it matter who he’s talking to?”

“I don’t care. I just think she’s too pretty for him. She’s probably just going to use him to get good grades or something.”

Tara grimaced. “That’s kinda harsh, y/n. Don’t you think that maybe she’s talking to him because she likes him?”

You scoffed, your eyes narrowing as you glared at the girl. “Oh, please. I don’t think anyone could like him. I mean just look at him. He’s practically women repellent.”

Tara said something in response, but you had already tuned her out. That girl, was it Addie?, was getting way too close to Ethan. Your Ethan. And that just wouldn’t do. No, she would have to be taken care of. You had definitely thought about killing someone before, but this was the first time that you were seriously considering it. After all, how hard could it be? Wear some lame costume, stick a knife in her gut, and drop the body off in some dumpster. It didn’t really sound too difficult to you after all.

You would kill as many people as you had to for Ethan to realize that he was yours. That he couldn’t talk to anyone else. And hopefully, if people started to realize the pattern of everyone who talks to him ending up dead, soon there wouldn’t even be anyone for you to get rid of. No matter how long it takes, he was going to be yours. Whether he wanted it or not.

Don't know if I hate you or if I wanna date you

Put you in a bodybag instead of my bed

I don't wanna like you, I just wanna tie you up

And keep you in a cage and watch you sleep for ages

“I just don’t get it! The last three girls I’ve talked to have all ended up dead! How unlucky do I have to be? Every time someone starts to show even a little bit of interest in me, they end up dead! Why does this keep happening?” Ethan huffed, sinking down into the armchair in Sam and Tara’s living room.

You were sitting on the loveseat directly across from him, eyeing him with a hard look that Ethan couldn’t decipher. He shivered under your gaze, the constant attention making him uncomfortable, and you had to bite back a smile at your effect on him.

“Maybe it has something to do with you? Like maybe whoever this killer is could be obsessed with you and killed them to keep you away from them?” Chad piped up from his spot on the couch.

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, hoping to deflect them from the truth. “Yeah, right. Who could ever be obsessed with him? God, just look at him. I doubt anyone could even find him attractive, let alone kill people because of their love for him. It’s just not realistic.”

Ethan’s face fell and he shrunk in on himself, your words deflating his already fragile ego. You smiled to yourself; some sick, sadistic part of you always loved to see him in pain. Especially when you were the one who caused it. Tara scoffed and slapped you on the shoulder, wordlessly reprimanding you for your cruelty towards Ethan. You shrugged and looked away before another thought crossed your mind.

Why did Tara care so much about him?

No, no, no. That simply wouldn’t do. You didn’t understand how you had been so blind to it before, but Ethan’s friends, your friends, were yet another thing standing in the way of him being yours. As long as his friends were still around, you could never get him all to yourself like you had wanted. Something would have to be done about that.

I wanna keep you in a cage and watch you sleep for ages

I wanna keep you in a cage and watch you sleep for ages

You started off easy, knocking off the people that Ethan cared about the least first. He was never particularly close to Sam or Quinn, so you figured he wouldn’t really miss them all that much. You wouldn’t want to devastate him beyond belief just yet, so you decided to work up to it. Once most of his friends were dead, he really shouldn’t care all that much when the rest of them finally kick the bucket.

You decided to go after Mindy and Tara next. Mindy was always mean to Ethan, not nearly as mean as you were but still, you figured he wouldn’t mind it all that much if she was gone. Tara had proved to be a problem. She had been preparing for your attack, and apparently she had also taken some self defense classes. After a swift kick to the ribs and a minor concussion, you decided that you would have to play things differently.

Finally managing to pin Tara to the ground, you lifted up your mask, which made her stop struggling underneath you from shock.

“Y/n? It’s you…?” Tara asked, betrayal evident in her voice.

You quickly shook your head, putting on your best apologetic smile. “No! No, it’s not me. It was just a prank! Y’know? Cause it’s almost Halloween? Okay, maybe not the best timing.”

“Yeah, no shit! I thought you were gonna kill me!” Tara panted, clearly out of breath from your previous struggle. “Can you get off me now?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah. Sure,” you said, making it look like you were about to stand up.

Once Tara’s guard was down, you pulled your knife out and shoved it through her throat, your eyes lighting up at the utter pain and confusion in hers. You twisted the knife, blood gushing out of the wound and flesh squishing under your blade, before you finally removed it, smiling down at your friend’s dead corpse.

“Dumb bitch,” you mumbled under your breath, finally standing up and making your way out of her apartment undetected.

Now all that you had left was Chad and Anika. And then you could finally have Ethan all to yourself.

Feels like I'm gonna D-I-E, whenever you get close to me

It's way too hot in Michigan, I'm changin' the subject again

My heart is melting and my hands are, are weak

“What are we gonna do? Someone is clearly targeting us, and I don’t want to be next!” Ethan said, gesturing frantically as he panicked.

You frowned sympathetically, placing your hand on Ethan’s arm. In the past few days you had started to be kinder to him, more caring, hoping to draw him in and get him to trust you before you pounced and made him yours. And despite how you had treated him in the past, Ethan seemed much too eager to let you in and let his guard down.

“I’m sure we’ll be fine. Hopefully, the cops will find him before he can strike again. And if we stay in groups maybe we’ll have a better chance. You can stay with Chad, obviously, since you live together. And Anika can stay here with me. We’re gonna get through this. Together.”

“Y/n’s right. If we always stay with someone else, it’ll be harder for the killer to get to us. It’ll all be over soon,” Anika said, trying to muster up as much optimism as she could.

The night dragged on, mindless chatter and the failing attempt to have a normal night filling up the hours. When it grew close to midnight, Chad and Ethan decided to head back to their dorm for the night. You made a makeshift bed on the couch for Anika before heading into your room to pretend to go to sleep.

After waiting a few hours to make sure Anika really was asleep, you crept out of your room, not even bothering with the costume this time. Creeping closer to her sleeping form, you were consciously aware of every sound that you were making. You didn’t want to risk her waking up, doing it while she was asleep would be so much easier.

Once you were finally close enough, you double checked that she was sleeping before pulling out your knife and dragging it across her throat. Her eyes shot open as she desperately clutched the wound, before rolling onto the floor and slowly bleeding out. You smiled to yourself. That was the easiest one yet. Now you just had to cover your tracks.

Gripping your knife, you shoved the blade through your palm, biting your lip hard to silence your scream. If you wanted to make yourself seem innocent, you’d have to look like you had gotten attacked too. Pulling the knife out of your hand, you slashed yourself across the shoulder before dropping the blade to the ground.

Hopefully that would be enough. You didn’t want to go overboard with stabbing yourself, rendering yourself unable to complete your plans. Not that it really mattered anymore. There was only one more person left in your way. And then Ethan would finally be all yours.

I could cry when I hear you speak, but that just makes me angry

I wanna kiss you on your cheeks, but I also wanna punch your teeth

I just don't get it, I, I just don't know

“Thanks for letting me stay here, guys. I don’t think I could handle spending another night alone. Especially since Anika-,” you cut yourself off with a forced sob, trying to appear as broken up as your friends were.

“Don’t mention it. We’ll be safe as long as we stay together. It’ll all be over soon,” Chad said with a smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes.

You tried to smile in return, giving him a quick nod before laying down on the couch. You pulled the blanket that Chad had given you up to your shoulders, forcing a yawn as you pretended to seem tired. In reality, you were wide awake. Everything would be over soon, and you couldn’t be more excited. Once you finally got Chad out of the way, all that was left was to take Ethan for yourself. And then you would finally have everything that you wanted. It was going to be perfect.

A short while later, Chad and Ethan went into their separate bedrooms, both of them already thinking you were fast asleep. You laid there for a while, staring blankly at the ceiling as you waited for Chad to fall asleep. When you heard snoring coming from behind his door, you sat up quickly, eager to put the final part of your plan in motion.

Slipping on the ghostface costume and grabbing your knife, you crept over to Chad’s door. You slowly pushed it open, wincing when the hinges creaked. You stood still for a moment, making sure that you hadn’t woken him up. After you were sure that Chad was still blissfully asleep, you entered his room, quietly walking over to him.

In your excitement to get on with it, you had failed to notice the sound of Ethan’s door opening or the sound of footsteps approaching from behind. You stabbed Chad over and over, his blood splattering all over your mask. Maybe it was a bit overkill, he was probably dead minutes ago, but that insane part of you just couldn’t bring yourself to stop. Until you heard the floorboards creak behind you.

You froze, pulling your knife out of Chad’s chest and slowly turning around to see Ethan standing there, frozen in shock.

“Y/n?” he asked, his voice quivering as he stared at you with wide eyes, looking utterly terrified.

You sighed and pulled your mask off, a sadistic smile on your face.

“I really wish you hadn’t seen that,” you said, stepping closer to Ethan, your knife still in your hand.

“A-are you gonna kill me?” he asked as he took a step backwards, shaking under your gaze.

Your smile turned sickly sweet as you reached him, your hand reaching up to caress his cheek, Chad’s blood staining his pale skin.

“Of course not, darling. I could never hurt you.”

Don't know if I hate you or if I wanna date you

Put you in a bodybag instead of my bed

I don't wanna like you, I just wanna tie you up

And keep you in a cage and watch you sleep for ages

That was the last thing Ethan remembered before he woke up in your room, chained to your bed. His vision was blurry and he was struggling to move. He attempted to pull on the restraints to free himself, but he couldn’t find the energy within his limbs to do so. His eyes darted around the room, the panic within him growing. How was it already morning?

His attention turned to the door when it opened, and you walked into the room, still smiling that sickly sweet smile. It was unnerving.

“Morning, darling. Did you sleep well?”

Your voice sounded so normal, so plain. You were talking to him as if nothing was happening. As if nothing was wrong. You walked closer to him, and Ethan instinctively tried to back away, causing you to frown.

“Why am I here?! What do you want with me?!” Ethan yelled, trying to get away from you despite being unable to do so.

You tilted your head and smiled as you sat down beside him on your bed. “I just want you, darling. You’re mine now. All mine. No one else’s.”

Ethan shook his head in disbelief as your words sunk in. “W-what about our friends? Why did you kill them?!”

You laughed. You actually laughed. What was wrong with you? What about all of this did you find funny?

“It’s not like I wanted to kill them. They were just in the way. They were trying to keep you from me,” your face fell as your voice lowered, “No one can try to keep you from me.”

“Are you gonna hurt me?”

“Of course not, silly! Why on earth would I hurt you? I would never want to do that. Well… unless you try to run away from me. That would change things.”

Ethan eyed you warily. Have you always been like this? How had no one noticed before? He felt his heart sink the longer he looked at you. You really did seem serious. And he knew what you were capable of. You would probably kill him if he even talked about leaving you. He didn’t know how to get out of this. There wasn’t a way out of this. Ethan was stuck here, with you. Forever. Just like you wanted.

I wanna keep you in a cage and watch you sleep for ages

I wanna keep you in a cage and watch you sleep for ages

Mm, hmm-hmm, hmm-hmm, mm

tags: @nowitsmissing @hyeyulove @abbyluvsjackchampion @mariaflor873

[blissfulcrow]

Way Home is Through You

Chapter 3: Do Or Die, You'll Never Make Me

AO3 link here

First Chapter here

Second Chapter here

“Okay, so if you're technically dead, do you eat or drink?”

“I don't need to, but I can.”

“Do you want something to drink?” She said, walking into the tiny kitchen. ‘Going to need coffee to get through this’.

“I’m good, thanks.” He replied as he took a seat on her worn, brown couch.

She nodded, flicking the kettle on to make her cheap instant coffee. Bringing down one of her favourite mugs, she poured out what she needed. Entirely entranced by the complexities of making it, she was trying to get her mind to form a semblance of thought on approaching this. It’s not like there is a how-to on helping a dead guy go back to being dead. 

The click of the boiled kettle broke her from her thoughts. Pouring it out and stirring, she reached the armchair across from the broody man.

“Listen, I’m really sorry about what happened to you. Reading what I did, you’ve been through hell. That being said, how are you here?” She asked.

“Would tell you if I had a clue, all I know is that both times I’ve come back the crow is there. Last time I was here when the bird got hurt, I’d get hurt. I think it's my connection to the land of the living, but I don’t think it’s what brought me back this time.” He stated, gazing at the crow that had made itself comfortable perched on an old oak bookshelf in the cramped living room. The bird was transfixed on the woman, its eyes bore into her soul.

“Crows represent many things in many cultures. I guess it's not too far-fetched to say that someone was right about them.  In ancient cultures, some say they were revered for their association with death and beyond; they often felt they were guides for people through their journey to life after death.”  She replied, sipping her drink while maintaining eye contact with the bird.

“And you know this because..?” He asked, snapping her out of her cross-species staring contest.

“I enjoy mythology and am a fan of spiritualism.” She shrugged dismissively, feeling embarrassed about her answer. 

“Ah.”

There was a long silence between them, neither knowing where to go from here. She gazed over at Eric, trying to wrack her brain on what to do. Their only clue was a cloaked figure, which wasn’t much to go on. Her heart felt for him; so much happened to him, and he was lost and alone. 

The flapping of wings brought both of them out of their own minds and back to the present. The crow had made its way back to the window, looking over at the two and letting out a caw before motioning outside.

“I think your friend knows where we can start.” She laughed, rising to her feet to start gathering her things. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Getting ready? I am not about to go exploring the city in nothing but sleep shorts and a tee.” She quipped, throwing a pair of boots out from her closet. 

“Right, I’ll wait outside for you.” He moved briskly to the window, opening it wide as he started to raise a leg out of it. 

“Wait! You can use the front..!” She ran to the window as he dropped himself out of it, ignoring her exclamation. Sticking her head out, she gave him a look of concern. He raised from his landing and grinned up at her, almost amused by her concern. 

“Alright! I'll be down soon. You know, having to take the long way and all that!” She called down, pulling herself back inside to dress herself. 

After throwing on her jeans and a loose top, she grabbed her phone and keys to lock up. On the way down the stairs her mind reeled, just the other day she was working her mundane barista job and tonight she is wandering the city with a guy and his crow. How life takes us to unexpected places. 

Leaving the building, she saw him leaning against the opposite building, crow on his arm, almost looking like they were talking. Walking over, she clapped her hands together.

“So, where are we off to?” She asked, not sure if she was asking him or the bird. 

The bird cawed, taking initiative in leading the group. She looked over at Eric for answers, to which he cocked his head.

“This way.” Short and determined came the statement. 

As they made their way across the city. The woman tried to get to know more about him.

“So… That was a pretty big drop from my window. How are you, like not a moaning mess on the pavement right now?” She questioned.

“As long as the bird stays alive, I do too. Undeath gave me a few inhuman abilities. I can take quite a few hits and heal within seconds, which makes life easier. The scars, however, stay.” He replied, avoiding eye contact with her.

“Oh. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.” She apologised, feeling like she had stepped over a line.

“It’s fine.”

The walk continued on with not much more said between the two, the night was quiet, save for the hurried footfalls and flapping of wings. After half an hour of following the crow, Eric came to an abrupt halt. His breath caught in his lungs as he gazed upon where the crow had stopped. The woman looked at him with an air of surprise. 

“Eric?” She pushed, worried.

His haunted green eyes never left the building before them, dilapidated and covered in graffiti. Boards that once barred the door had been ripped from their place and strewn carelessly onto the pavement. 

As if by the speed of light, he had taken off into the building, leaving her dumbfounded. She called after him as she bolted after him. Making her way up the twisting stairs, she called out to him. 

“Eric! You don’t know what’s… up here…” her voice faded as she caught up with him. Pushing her way into the run-down loft, she was alarmed at what was before her. The cloaked figure. Their voice broke the silence.

“I was hoping you’d arrive, but I do wish you hadn’t brought your pesky little mortal with you.” Her voice was deep and feminine, with a condescending tone that chilled you to the bone.

 The figure turned to face the pair, pushing back her hood to reveal long, curled black hair. Her features were as sharp as they were dark, contrasting her porcelain skin. She was elegantly dressed in a purple deep-cut slit dress, corset painfully cinching her waist.

“Why are you here?” Eric gritted through his teeth.

“Eric, my dear, is that any way to talk to the person who brought you back?”  She approached him, reaching her hand up to cup his cheek. He threw himself backwards as if her touch were electric, screwing his eyes shut and clutching his head as he groaned painfully.

“Hey! Get away from him!” His ally made her way towards him, only to hit an invisible barrier. 

“Now, that is quite enough from you.” Spoke the cloaked woman and, with a flick of her wrist, sent the other woman flying backwards into a wooden collum in the middle of the room. Her head bounced off the oak, dotting her vision and disorientating her. She ran her fingers through her hair and felt a slick sensation coating the tips; eliciting panicked,  hurried breaths from her lungs. The pain seared harshly through her body.

A loud, grating caw was heard with the vicious flap of wings.  Through slow blinks, she could see the woman flailing her arms to shoo the bird as it continued its assault on her. 

“Leave me, beast.” She sneered, backing towards the fractured stained glass window. The bird was relentless in its attack, the woman was frustrated with this and called out to Eric.

“I will be back for you, my love. We will not be interrupted next time we meet!” She promised as her form disappeared in a thick black cloud. 

Vision slowly left the woman on the floor; she saw the crow land beside Eric. Squawking to get his attention and once it had it, it hurriedly hopped towards her as if to lead Eric to her. Her eyes met his, concern covered his features as he slowly made his way over to her. Tears slowly filling her eyes, she softly whispered.

“It hurts.”

He didn’t respond, only reached his hand behind her head and closed her eyes. A warm feeling stemming from her head before flowing through her whole body made her hum in comfort; the pain slowly dissipated from her head and brought her back to reality. Staring up at him, she touched the wound to find it wasn’t to be found. 

“How..?” 

“I took it.” He said softly as if not to scare her more than she already was. 

“Are you okay?” She asked, concerned. He chuckled gently.

“You certainly are a strange one. You just took a header into a thick wooden collum, and you’re asking me if I’m okay? I’ll be fine. Right now, though, we need to leave. Are you okay to walk?”

She attempted to push herself up from the ground, but her arms gave out, and she slammed back onto the ground. 

“I’ll take that as a no.” He huffed, wrapping her arm over his shoulders and hoisting her to her feet.

The action blushed her face. Her body was pressed up against his toned form, and she couldn't help but feel nervous at the sudden closeness. She chastised herself internally for thinking this way. 

‘This guy lost his fiancee. Don't get all hot and bothered because he’s helping you, ' she silently scolded herself. She needed to focus on helping him.

As they left the loft, she vowed to herself to put her feelings aside and not let them grow into something tragic.

Hey yall,

Sorry for the lack of updates, been super sick and had things happen in my personal life. Hope you guys enjoy this chapter, if you do please show it some love. Here is hoping I can get on a posting schedule.

With Love,

BlissfulCrow <3

[milquetoastasoiaf]

HOTD Spoilers under the cut!!

I made the decision a while back to just try and enjoy the show for what it is because we are never getting a good or faithful adaptation of the book.

However,

The first episode of s2 really does fall flat for me.

The scenes that carried the most impact were the scenes of Rhaenyra. Specifically the scene of Rhaenyra finding Luke’s remains and the scene with Jace. Emma’s performance was beautiful and really carried the episode.

What really annoys me is how they handled Blood & Cheese. Book readers knew what was going to happen (or what was supposed to happen), but even for more casual viewers and fans this event was hyped up a lot and even likened to the Red Wedding. But it is so underwhelming.

The episode’s title was “A Son for A Son” and picks up following the aftermath of Lucerys’ death at the hands of Aemond while riding Vhagar. This is the first clue that something is going to go down, this is war now. Next clue is Daemon, from the beginning of the episode, is plotting revenge. Even trying to command Rhaenys to fly with him to King’s Landing to take out Vhagar. And all throughout the episode there is a sense of foreboding, and the building of tension to begin this next real act of war. Then we finally hear it from Rhaenyra herself, she wants Aemond Targaryen.

Daemon takes this as the green light and plots and plans. A son for a son. So much build up for this, right?

And then…

“Which one is the boy?”

“I have a necklace of great value.”

“She’s lying.”

“No she’s not.”

🗡️🗡️🗡️

And honestly? Any anguish we could have felt on Helaena’s part was undercut by her running to her mother’s rooms only to find Queen “holier than thou” Alicent and Ser Criston “I don’t want to be your whore” Cole fucking. What was intended to be a serious and tragic moment and I was cackling. Like what the fuck?

People were fair to be more upset about Cheese kicking the dog. Hell, I was more upset about Cheese kicking the dog.

1. They should’ve done away with Alicent and Ser Criston’s affair. It doesn’t add anything to the narrative for me other than “ooooh sexy times.” It makes me dislike their characters even more (which might’ve been the point in it, I don’t know. It’s just a weird choice if we’re meant to maintain any semblance of empathy towards the Greens, and given the splicing of the scene of Alicent in the Sept lighting a candle for Lucerys into the scene of his funeral, I think they do still want us to share that with them.) It’s just weird imho.

2. Removing Maelor from Blood & Cheese takes away all the impact that scene was meant to have. We already knew that the Blacks would seek revenge for Lucerys. It was a given the second Aemond went after him. We already knew it was coming.

But having Helaena be forced to make that impossible choice? Only to have the tables be turned on her for it? Whether or not Maelor would have understood what was happening, Helaena knew and she would always know.

“You hear that? Your momma wants you dead.”

Diabolical.

There is an added layer of psychological torture placed on her. That would have made an already sympathetic character, even more so. It would have added to the tragedy of it all.

Overall, for me, it was kind of a “meh” episode.

[thatanimewriter]

UNDERGROUND.

➳ request: Hello, can i ask pyrrha with a gn mafia boss s/o who is a private person who has a dangerous semblance and hides it from pyrrha due to fear of pyrrha be disgusted by them and pyrrha doesn't knew that s/o is  vale's no 1 underground boss until s/o need to save pyrrha from cinder and told they're underling to fight off the grims and the white fang during the battle for beacon when the battle is over pyrrha ask about s/o's semblance and s/o confess to pyrrha about their semblance and how they become a mafia boss

➳ character/s: pyrrha nikos

➳ warnings: swearing, mentions of death and injuries, spoilers for volume 3 onwards 

➳ notes: thanks for requestinggg @unlikelyturtlelad​

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬 / 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭  / 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬 / 𝐰𝐢𝐩 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

──  𝐏𝐘𝐑𝐑𝐇𝐀 𝐍𝐈𝐊𝐎𝐒.

probably was a little bit upset that you never told her

but idk how you were supposed to go

“hello, my love, i’m the most renowned mafia boss in vale with the highest kill count and when i kill someone, i just carry their soul with me forever and i can hear everyone kinda talkin in the background while i do my shit, but i can release them and it’s some serious body horror type stuff and it hurts like a bitch, but it is a good intimidation tactic :))”

...

honestly, that probably is the best way to summarise it but you don’t wanna get into that conversation when you can pretend to be a normal person, yknow???

you have no clue how to break it to her that you’re not actually a villain, even if you’re mafia-involved

all you did was steal something from the schnee family because fuck jacques

n now you’re a public enemy-

and you don’t know how to explain your distaste for ozpin

or ozpin’s distaste for you

ozpin just doesn’t like you cause you know his secret

i guess that’s the one benefit for mafia involvement

but you absolutely hate the whole maiden project cause you know it won’t work against salem but he’s trying anyway

n then pyrrha came to you to tell you about her being the next fall maiden-

and she can safely say she’s never seen you so angry

maybe even a little scary since your semblance started to flair up with your anger

a dark red fog starting to swirl around you and eyes forming from within the fog

she claimed she would be ok, but you knew better than she did this time

but first, she had to make sure ozpin would be ok, because she was 90% you were gonna kill him

this was especially evident when you found out she’d gone after cinder by herself from jaune

with a sigh, you made some hand signals to send your goons to deal with the white fang and grimm in your stead while you went to go find your girlfriend with a hero complex

naturally, cinder is aware of your existence

and she knows very well what you’re capable of

so when she’s nearly about to shoot an arrow into pyrrha’s chest, she hesitates when she sees the thick fog circle around the room, creating a dome shape

now, pyrrha knew about that part

but she wasn’t prepared for your body to warp in ways it really shouldn’t have ever warped

layered screams of agony echoed throughout your little dome as you drew your weapon and promptly forced cinder to aim at you instead of pyrrha

but it’s ok, as fucking terrified as she is, she knows she’s safe 

she thinks-

when things are over

things being cinder’s ass kicked and knocked the fuck out and a pleasant smile on your face after hearing ozpin is dead

which was quickly wiped off when you realised he’d just reincarnate

but surely you wouldn’t have to deal with him again, right??

wrong

but when you’re in the infirmary gettin everyone patched up, pyrrha has some QUESTIONS

you answer them

but answering 1 question leads to 5 more

in the end, she’s glad that she has someone like you to keep her safe

but she never wants to hear the screams of many people in her ears all at once ever again

she tried to ensure that, but you just said

“no promises”

because who knows when you need to use it again in this strange, strange world

and if you ever see ozpin again, you’re gonna want to use it anyway

just for putting pyrrha in danger on purpose and knowing what she was going against but still decided to go through with it anyway

[ecargmura]

Metallic Rouge Episode 2 Review - On The Way To Wellstown

So, will this show be a slow-paced one where Rouge and Naomi meet people and the former saves the day by transforming into her Mecha self or will it be one with average pacing and their destination will be reached in two or three episodes? I don’t know because I have no clue what’s going on right now. This story just shows but never tells, and I feel like that’s supposed to be what the story is? Showing action, sci-fi and a story, but never telling the concise details.

A lot of new characters are introduced in this episode alone, but I’m not too sure if they’re gonna be around for long—maybe until our duo reaches Wellstown. I do hope the granny shows up again in a future episode because she was literally the scene stealer of this episode. Who doesn’t get excited over a badass drifter granny? She was the best part of the episode. I did like Jill, the kids and the doctor guy. Jill is a babe. Like, Naomi is a babe, but Jill is on the verge of stealing her crown. Since she’s a journalist, she might show up in the future. I did like how the kids were not used as hinderances in a way? Like, Miguel and Emily behaved like kids and typical siblings, but they were not used in a way that makes them hinderances. I do like how Miguel was the typical kid older brother with his kid younger sister: teasing but also caring. The doctor guy is the most mysterious so far. I also want to know the deal of the wavy haired guy and the human and Nean duo in the beginning.

It seems like Rouge is being hunted. Was it because of what she did in the previous episode or did she always have a target on her back? Anyways, I did like that there were people wanting to give Rouge but others were against it because they were witnesses and that could mean the end of their lives. Man, these characters are smart as heck. So far, none of these characters have made a stupid choice.

Other than drifter granny, I also liked Naomi’s info dump on the history of Mars’s military and Rouge barking at Naomi. These moments feel rather light-hearted for a rather serious action show. I like the balance, honestly.

The voice acting was good. Rouge and Naomi’s voice actresses keep doing a great job. However, the supporting cast really intrigues me. Yui Ogura voices Jill and I was actually pretty shocked to learn that it was her. I usually associate her with cutesy anime girls so for her to voice someone like Jill, who’s an adult, shocked me. She should voice more adults because her deeper voice is beautiful to listen to. Kenjiro Tsuda voices the doctor guy. Given that he has been voicing gruff old guys lately, having him voice a calmer character feels novel, but still welcomed. Kazuyuki Okitsu’s voice was literally unrecognizable to me. I don’t know his character’s name (he voices the wavy haired guy they pick up towards the end) but I didn’t know it was him until I saw the credits. Yeesh, these voice actors are going above and beyond their ranges.

Anyways, I just hope I can grasp what the story is about later on. The actions scenes are great. The character designs are great. I just need a semblance of what the heck is going on because I can’t just be intrigued by animation alone. What are your thoughts on this episode?

[besiwoo]

NEXT GEN EP 5 ! siwoo performs bang! ( line distribution )

the final round.

what had started off as siwoo signing up on the show out of spite – to anger his father, to rebel against him had now turned into something a lot more bigger than that. he was a finalist now, and while he hadn't lived his life shying away from the cameras or spotlight, with the crew constantly around him and his every moment monitored, the reality that he was now no longer simply just another passing person had hit him even more.

the last few rounds had been interesting enough, pink venom, puzzlin and now... bang. an original song. and something about having an original song, having a song that no one else had released be released with his voice on it felt almost special. fuck.

it also hits him how well he wants to do, how the criticisms pouring in no longer made him feel annoyed with the person giving them, but if anything they annoyed himself for not doing well enough, for somehow failing to live up to this expectation that he'd put on himself.

the last round had gone well enough, the sexy concept suited him and still the words – your performance skills still aren’t quite up to par. you know this, don’t you? you can cover it up with stage presence and good looks to some extent, but it won’t last forever. they rang in his head.

but they were true, and siwoo knew this. he was aware of this. he'd entered the competition with close to no clue as to how to hold a note, no rhythm in his body – the only semblance of dance that he had any knowledge of were box steps and jazz hands. little by little, he'd tried his hardest to keep up, could only hope that whatever presence he had would help him, and now it's reached it's threshold. siwoo has to get better if he wants to win. and fuck, he really wants to win.

late nights in the practice room, covered in sweat as he attempted to get the rhythm. the fucking rhythm. siwoo had never felt this way before, like he was in a race and yet the starting positions were all insanely different. he feels as though his tongue is on fire, like his throat is going sore from the amount of times he's repeated the same lines over and over, trying to perfect it, to do it justice. it's his song now. he hated this feeling, but what annoyed him even more was his face.

you can cover it up with stage presence and good looks to some extent, but it won’t last forever.

her words repeat in his mind and he frowns. his frustrations are only solidified during their team building exercise, when he'd been called out by ren almost out of nowhere. siwoo, who had been listening to inho and jay, who'd done his hardest not to let it show on his face how tired he was, who swallowed his pride and confessed that the reason he couldn't get along with luciel was because he was too damn likeable, was getting attacked by someone he barely looked at, barely knew. someone he'd only ever traded a few words with.

i still don't know what you're doing here. i don't know how you've made it this far when there are people who have gone home who would've been leagues better for this team. you're still treating this entire thing like- like you're some king and we're wasting your time as your lowly subjects by making you reflect on what you bring to the table.

fuck. fuck. of course siwoo knew that, of course he knew that there were others far more talented than him. of course he fucking knew that. but for ren to try and paint siwoo as someone who thought he was too good for everyone else, for him to judge siwoo without the both of them ever having a fucking conversation. it pissed siwoo off to no end.

had that been his reputation? some guy who hadn't been taking things seriously? despite the effort that he'd put in, the hours, the aching of his legs. fuck. it frustrated him. was his only saving grace really just his face?

to hear all that from someone he'd never even worked with, from someone who was supposed to be a coach. it annoyed him to no end. he hadn't spared a glance to ren, and yet it seemed as though he hated him. how annoying. how fucking annoying.

"am i that untalented?" siwoo says, turning to jay. they've been working on their rap together, trying to get the vibe down properly. yet, the words can't seem to slip away from his mind. "do i really only have my face?"

"instead of untalented, isn't it more that you weren't exactly interested in having those talents in the first place though?"

it's true. siwoo had never thought of becoming an idol, the closest thing to being in the entertainment world that maybe, just maybe sparked his interest was modelling. even then, it wasn't something that he thought of often.

"i didn't think i'd like performing so much. now i'm annoyed by how bad i am at it. every feedback i get is about me relying on my looks — it... i don't know, i don't want to be some guy that just relies on my face," he confesses. his honesty seeping through around jay.

"that's easy to fix though, isn't it? all you have to do is get better, get good, so that they stop seeing just your face," ah. jay is right. "well, easier said than done. but your piano skills don't suck, so doesn't that mean you're not a useless visual?"

siwoo smiles, rolling his eyes. "i never called myself a useless visual," he jokes. "but thank you. i think it'd be nice to win."

and he does try to get it together, he tries to be good. he spends his time repeatedly working on his dancing, trying to get the beat. maybe he can do it, maybe he can prove that he isn't just a stupid useless visual who thinks of himself as a king ( though, siwoo's never really thought of himself as a king either. kings are old, and ugly and siwoo is none of that ).

somehow, he and luciel make up. sort of. somehow. it's an odd relationship, but siwoo doesn't hate it – they get along enough to have conversations and try to make things work. he doesn't find himself having to shy away from practicing with luciel one-to-one, working together to build the chemistry that they'll have to show on stage.

he needs to do good, fuck. what had started as something he'd done in spite, will probably end in that too. except it's different now, he wants to do well because he has something to prove.

he wants to put meaning into this.

PERFORMANCE DAY

he gets into place, the scene no longer unfamiliar to him. the stage though, the stage feels good. it's a live audience and the cheers from the fans seem to bring him some sort of excitement. he'll do well, he has to.

the song begins with luciel, and siwoo slides across the stage like practiced. by now, it feels like muscle memory.

if anything he's glad that the song is so ... rough. that it's a good outlet for him to channel whatever sort of frustrations he's been holding back.

his part comes soon enough, and he makes sure to keep eye contact with jay during this portion. "pull it bang bang bang bang," he says, before his eyes move back to the cameras and then the live audience.

he stands in the middle raises his eyebrows.

feel vibe overly heated atmosphere shout myself to the world rock the world

the only thing running through his mind is how to do better, how to prove to everyone that there's a reason he's still here, and the reason isn't solely just because of his fucking pretty face.

again he goes up to the center of the stage, passionate as he raps the next line.

do you like me or hate me? they don’t know me

it hits close to home. do they like him? do they hate him? while he feels as though he's gotten along fairly well with the rest of his team members, he can't say the same for a certain mentor. a mentor that doesn't even know him. fuck, this feels refreshing to say.

thankfully he isn't performing with him though, he's performing with his team members and the synergy doesn't feel completely off. he feels comfortable – no, he's enjoying it. it comes with practiced ease at this point the gestures, the smiles, he thinks he might start liking this too much.

ya ya yesterday today and tomorrow i am who i am

he is who he is. and nothing could quite change that. it's a face that he'd been born with, and the only thing that he can change is his skill. the only thing he's been focusing on is his skill. again it's almost refreshing to rap it, to be able to say it on stage. he really fucking likes this song, likes it even more because it's his.

soon enough, the song comes to an end, and siwoo's the one to end it. he jumps to the front, and raps out his line "look at me, i will be myself."

and he will be. this is him. he's ryu siwoo, after all.

[remiwasslain]

Vent time! Scroll past if you’re not a fan of mentions of self harm, depersonalizing, major hyperfixation focus, and overall just fucking depression 🫠

I don’t know. I feel like I’m rotting on the inside out. I feel…”alive”, and yet so god damn dead. I’m waiting for the day I wake up and my skin is peeling away to show my rotten interior. Every day I look at myself in the mirror and I change from what I think I look like. My eyes look hollow and empty, my eye sockets are cold and dark as if I have makeup, and my lips are always curled into a cruel and bitter frown.

Worst part, I tell my psychiatrist this and he just laughs and says “well it’s a good thing you’re not a fruit!” Like oh Wowie thank you as if human corpses can’t rot! anyways. But hey, what do I know? I *don’t* know. Lawrence oleander core fr.

I just don’t understand why I can’t convince myself that the smile and warm comforting personality that my friends and girlfriend adore doesn’t feel real to me. *I* don’t feel real. As soon as the attention is off of me and I don’t need to be around people, the numb empty feeling returns and reminds me I put on the stupid act for everyone to feel normal, even if for just a moment in time. I’ve had people look at me after the “mask” drops and say things such as “oh wow good to know your smile is fake” and every time I have no clue what to say. They’re not *wrong*, per se. There’s something wrong with me but my psych ignores it because he must think I’m playing it up, or something like that.

Another issue is my god damn hyperfixations. Doing class work? Nah. You’re gonna blast And One in your headphones and maladaptive daydream about BTD because it brings you comfort and warmth in an otherwise numb state.

And my poor girlfriend. My poor fucking girlfriend. Her and I are so sexually incompatible it makes shoving a sphere toy into a pyramid hole look easy, and it makes me resent myself. Why couldn’t I be what she wants? What she needs? It makes me wonder if she would be better with someone less sadistic and cruel, but every time she says she’s happy. She’s lying, I know it, but I’ll let her believe. I’ll let myself believe.

She doesn’t even know I’ve relapsed because I genuinely cannot enjoy myself sexually without thinking of blood, the stinging pain of the blade across my skin, the fear and adrenaline in my eyes as I proceed to permanently mark myself for life. She has no idea, and I don’t want to tell her.

Just….why couldn’t I have some semblance of normalcy? Why can’t I feel human? Is this really worth going through what, another 60 years of mental torture because the justice and medical system have failed me time and time again?

…only time will tell I guess.

If you made it this far, enjoy weevil pic.

[pencil-to-paper]

leaving

You’ve never been good with endings

Your eyes well up before you even press play on the episode titled ‘finale’

Your heart plummets when bold letters at the top of the page spell out ‘epilogue’

And every event comes in a 2-for-1 package deal with a countdown to the end, the ticking drowning out good experiences before they get the chance to become good memories

Just the word ‘last’ is enough to rattle you, it’s a good thing you’ve almost never know the difference between ‘goodbye’ and ‘see you later’ until it was too late for tears to blur your final look at the people and places you used to know

Letting go has never been your specialty, and there’s no solace in it, so you ignore the endings and the pain, turning to what comes next in an attempt to find some semblance of comfort

You try to appreciate the latch unlocking in front of you, but it’s hard to be grateful when you heart is still jammed in the hinges behind you

And as for what the latch will reveal, that’s unfortunately up to you

You want to figure things out, but you’re indecisive and collect regrets like grandmas with plastic bags, so you make padlets and pinterest boards and imagine your dream life every night in bed

Because if you start hoping now, if you want something for long enough, you know you really want it, even if the house and pets and stress-free living you fantasize about might be just that, a fantasy.

You’re still in denial about it, because without that fantasy, there’s not much left

The internet tells you that your brain finishes developing at 25, but the 25 year olds tell you that they don’t have a clue, everyone’s just making it up as they go, and the 30 and 40 and 80 year olds tell you, “it’s true, we don’t know either”

But you want to know, want to feel it in your soul that you’re doing things right and you have goals you’re achieving

You’re young, 25 is years away and you don’t want to put your life on hold while you wait for your brain to finish figuring itself out

You don’t even know what you’d do all those years, you just know you weren’t supposed to make it past 13, so of course you didn’t plan for 14 or 15 or 18 or 25, and every day throbs with the question of what now?

You read those articles about people who graduated in their 50s or started a business in their 60s, they say “here’s proof you don’t need to rush!” and “I only found myself after I retired”,  but all you hear is “there is a chance you will spend the rest of your life feeling lost”

When the past and the future are equally hostile, you turn to the one thing left, the present 

Stretch this moment out as long as possible, if you claim that you’re being “mindful”, you can ignore the fact that the clock doesn’t stop

By chance or by choice, you don’t notice everything ending around you.

By chance because when you’re busy writing, there doesn’t have to be a world beyond your earbuds

By choice because right now, even as your hand cramps and letters blur together, you can’t bring yourself to to write the last word.

As stupid as it sounds, your worst fear might just be the period at the end of the sentence

Or maybe it’s whatever word comes after

[wingsofwater]

SO 👏

for reasons i will not get into but im sure are obvious given context clues, i happen to relate to sunny a lot. shes a sweet little people pleaser on the surface, but with a streak of ferocity and anger when she needs it. she doesnt like being pushed around, and she especially hates it when everyone [including her own sibs] think shes completely agreeable and lets everyone walk all over her

so its especially annoying when everyone expects her to automatically hate her guardians as soon as shes free when no, thats not how this works!!

the guardians served as her parents for literally her entire life up until she escaped. sure they were bad, they were horrible, but they didnt let her die, and, in the loosest terms possible, they took care of her. in bad circumstances, of course shes going to cling onto whatever semblance of kindness she given!! rose tinted glasses and all that, shes going to try to focus on the good and block out the bad, hence why she was always nice and tried to please everyone; she didnt want that thin veil of hope to be broken. ive done that too. i continue to do it, its a coping mechanism, it keeps you from focusing on the bad so you don’t end up spiraling into hopelessness, or even worse. so of course sunny isnt going to drop it as soon as shes safe. of course shes not going to let go of how she viewed her life when shes believed thats just how it is this entire time. thats just not how this works, and it probably will never be how it works

tl ; dr, sunny has been through hell and back and as a coping mechanism chooses to cling to the good in the world instead of focusing on the bad and i find it EXTREMELY annoying when everyone wants her to drop it just because they don’t think it fits into their view of how people should deal with trauma

hey chat so this might just be my personal opinion but i think it will be so cool if we could stop getting mad at sunny for having coping mechanisms

[zamalie]

Maybe I should just abandon gender entirely forever or something

[metamatronic]

Can you list what cryptids are for each character so we don't overlap ideas?

oh boy here we go—

DR1:

Makoto: Human (Lucky Student = Human)

Sayaka: Siren (for obvious reasons)

Leon: Kitsune (the idea of leon having any semblance of responsibility with his wish-granting is laughable also red hair)

Chihiro: Vampire (mostly for the joke of Chihiro not acting at all like a vampire, but also was the one who turned chiaki)

Mondo: Werewolf (I KNOW IT’S CLICHÉ BUT HE LOVES DOGS AND TRAVELS IN A PACK)

Taka: Mothman (this is not my idea, full credit to @monikamarkovova, but the poor boy just wants order because his very presence causes chaos i cant—)

Hifumi: Cherub (they took his arrows away and now when he makes weird comments about shipping people he just comes off as a creep)

Celeste: Gorgon (those drills are in fact snakes and you should be afraid)

Sakura: Genie/Djinn (very buff lady just wants to help)

Aoi: Fishperson (self-explanatory)

Toko: Possessed??? Person?? (i don’t have an explanation for this other than maybe the ghost of a serial killer possessed her. i legit googled ‘is jeff the killer a cryptid’ trying to figure this out.)

Byakuya: Demon (“you fools are all running around, tethered to this earth by your petty grudges. meanwhile, i was sent from hell. i am so far above you”.)

Hiro: Banshee (Can predict the future and also screams a lot. Hiro does not know he’s a ghost and for the sake of everyone here do not tell him)

Kyoko: Death Herself (can hear the footsteps of death my ass. ultimate detective because she has witnessed literally every murder ever.)

Mukuro: ???? (maybe some sort of wolf something something Fenrir)

Junko: Wraith (feeds off despair obvs)

SDR2:

Hajime: Formerly human, now a demi-god, maybe? (the reserve students are all human, Hajime may have just gotten wrapped up in something)

Nagito: Human, surprisingly.

Chiaki: Vampire (turned but Chihiro)

Teruteru: Satyr (cause he’s horny, subscribes to dionysus, likes food and debauchery)

Ultimate Imposter: Mimic (again i feel no need to explain)

Mahiru: Yuki-Onna (cause. cause you freeze for the camera. help.)

Peko: Golem (created by Kuzuryu clan to protect Fuyuhiko. Fuyuhiko is insistent that she had free will because of course he does this is their entire dynamic.)

Ibuki: ???

Hiyoko: Pixie (here to cause mischief and steal names probably)

Mikan: Succubus (ok i know this is terrible but here me out. mikan is an asexual succubus. she does not want to sleep with you. please stop assuming she does.)

Nekomaru: i’m looking at my notes and i just wrote ‘robot?’ so maybe i don’t have anything for him yet

Gundham: Bakeneko (i think i’ve made this abundantly clear at this point)

Kazuichi: Dryad (I really drew a blank with this boy but like. he wants to fly by gets motion sick so maybe he’s??? a tree?? i don’t know kazutreechi)

Fuyuhiko: Zombie (OKAY I CAME UP WITH THIS A 2Am BUT fuyuhiko dies and peko is mortified so she learns necromancy just to bring him back. she’s like “oh my god young master i’m so sorry i’ve turned you into a monster” meanwhile fuyuhiko’s like “NO THIS IS GOOD WE’RE EVEN NOW PLEASE STOP REVERING ME”)

Akane: i got nothin

Sonia: no clue woops

[notanotherreidgirl]

spencer being really horny every time he’s around you but your completely oblivious until MORGAN tells you and then you take it upon yourself to go fuck reid (sub!spence pls!)

here you go! by the way, i am such a big fan of your writing and I was so psyched that you sent me a request - i hope you like it!

wc: 1058

Warnings: masturbation, language, oral sex (female receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex

Derek frowned. He wasn't usually one to meddle, leaving that to his baby girl but enough was enough. If he had to watch Spencer trip over his words (and his feet) when you walked into a room one more time he was going to lose his mind. Just last week he practically had to smack Spencer for staring down your low-cut blouse for 10 straight minutes during a briefing. Spencer Reid was a lot of things but subtle was not one of them.

The only thing worse than his perpetual and blatant arousal was your unrelenting obliviousness. There was Spencer turning bright red every time you so much as breathed in his direction and running off to the bathroom whenever you came within 3 feet of him and you had absolutely no clue. It was infuriating. Derek had never understood Penelope’s tendency to get involved in other people’s love lives until he was watching this scene unfold before his very eyes.

Spencer was returning from the file room, a stack of folders in his arms when he passed by your desk. At that very moment, you stretched, your shirt riding up to reveal the tiniest sliver of your lower back. It was perfectly innocuous for most, hardly noticeable really, but it was absolutely overwhelming for Spencer. The files tumbled from his grasp, scattering across the floor. You quickly bent down to gather them up which did nothing to help the growing bulge he was desperately trying to conceal. He dropped to the ground and hastily pushed the papers into a poor semblance of a pile - letting out a little yelp when your hands brushed - before depositing them on his desk and rushing out the door, mumbling something about forgetting a file.

When you got back to your seat Derek was there, toying with the Ray Bradbury novel that Spencer had given you a few weeks ago. You shrugged at him, preparing to get back to work and forget all about Spencer’s odd behavior. “When are you gonna put pretty boy out of his misery?”

You looked up confused. “What are you talking about?”

“Come on now. You’re too good of a profiler not to notice that Reid’s got it bad for you” he picked up the book as if to present evidence. You opened your mouth then closed it. Then opened it again.

“Oh.” It was all you could think to say. Your entire world just shifted to the left slightly and you swore you could hear it click into place. You turned on your heel, tracing Spencer’s steps and ignoring Derek’s laughter. Finding him was easy. He had retreated to the privacy of the file room, the Bureau had nearly gone completely digital and no one came down to rummage around for paper files when they could just look them up. He was biting down on his fist in order to muffle himself but his moans reverberated through the room. “You do this often?”

He jumped, making a useless attempt to cover himself with his hands but it was too late. Who knew the resident genius would have such a pretty cock? “I asked you a question”

“Y-yes. Yes, I do.” Much to Spencer’s chagrin, his erection did not subside after getting caught, if anything your presence had the opposite effect. He was sure he had never been this hard in his life. “I think about you all the time. I’m so sorry”

“You’re sorry? That’s not good enough, Spence” you pulled yourself up on a desk, parting your legs. “Come apologize to me properly”

After he got over his initial shock, he wasted no time dropping to his knees in front of you watching entranced as you removed your panties. His hands shook as they slid up your thighs and he brought himself to your core hesitantly, certain this was a dream. But all his disbelief was suspended at the very first taste. He ate you out like a man starved. You could feel him everywhere - licking up your folds, darting into your entrance, gripping your thighs, circling your clit - until you came apart. But he made no move to stop forcing you to pull him up by the hair. “You taste so good. Please, I want-”

You yanked his hair harshly and his words devolved into a lewd moan. “I don’t give a fuck about what you want. You got that?”

He nodded vigorously. “Good. Now I want you to fuck me, Dr. Reid. Do you think you can handle that?”

He stammered out a yes but you were already positioning him at your entrance, gathering a fistful of his cardigan and pulling him into you. His eyes were glued to where the two of you joined, watching himself disappear into you with wide eyes. You were setting the pace, propelling him in and out as he tried to process the enormity of the situation. Every time he started to wrap his mind around the fact that his dreams were coming true, you would envelop him in your warmth or let out a soft moan that dashed his mind to bits. He desperately tried to keep his release at bay but it was no use. “I-I’m going to -”

“Come for me, baby. Fill me up” you brought a hand to your clit, bringing yourself to your peak as he came with a low whine. For a moment the two of you just held each other, basking in the afterglow of resolving weeks of tension. Spencer swallowed before speaking. “I really am sorry. If I ever made you uncomfortable, I’m so sorry. I just can’t get you out of my head.”

“The only thing you have to be sorry for is not telling me sooner.” You placed a soft kiss on his lips and shuffled back, easing him out of you and letting his cum leak out. “You belong to me now, baby”

---

You had decided to stagger your return to the bullpen, having Spencer go first with you following 5 minutes later but your efforts were made in vain. When Derek spotted Spencer enter with a wide grin on his flushed face he stood right up and started clapping. Penelope sprinkled some makeshift confetti she had fashioned out of multi-colored post-its over his head as Derek grabbed his shoulder. “Finally! Way to go, pretty boy”

Blurb Masterlist

[redemn]

to  say  that  nothing  like  this  has  ever  happened  to  arthur  before  would  be  a  vast  ,      and  even  completely  impossible  ,      understatement  .      he’s  never  seen  or  dreamed  or  even  imagined  anything  like  the  world  breaking  down  around  him  as  it  does  now  ,      bleeding  silvers  and  blacks  and  building  monsters  out  of  what  he  had  believed  to  be  men  in  horrifying  grotesque  fashion  .      it  is  worse  ,      to  the  outlaw  ,      than  seeing  a  man  rolled  and  ripped  apart  by  gators  in  the  swamps  of  the  bayou  nwa  ,      or  watching  the  limbs  and  vital  organs  of  an  unsuspecting  passerby  flying  through  the  air  coupled  with  shrapnel  and  bomb  smoke  .      not  a  single  disgusting  image  in  his  mind  could  hold  a  candle  to  the  heat  and  explosion  that  uncovers  such  complete  and  utter  destruction  .      (  unbeknownst  to  him  ,      he  is  many  decades  too  early  to  understand  the  technological  advancements  ,      and  perhaps  a  trillion  more  years  too  early  to  truly  wrap  his  head  around  the  concept  of  dimensions  and  realities  and  sentient  beings  who  seem  ,      very  clearly  ,      to  be  responding  right  back  to  the  people  who  speak  to  them  .  )

he  finds  himself  hoping  ,      as  he  staggers  after  the      (  very  much  less  confused  )      man  on  his  side  ,      that  he  could  shut  his  eyes  at  some  point  ,      open  them  ,      and  find  this  all  to  be  some  bad  dream  .      delirious  .      taken  captive  .      if  he  were  to  hear  colm  o’driscoll’s  damn  voice  in  a  few  seconds  ,      it  would  be  much  better  than  this  .

then  they  reach  the  box  ,      which  by  all  means  does  not  look  like  it  will  even  fit  two  people  inside  of  it  without  having  them  crammed  in  like  sardines  in  a  can  .      before  he  can  question  that        ironically  ,      it’s  significantly  less  confusing  than  the  destruction  behind  them        he’s  shoved  inside  .      the  racket  quiets  once  the  doors  are  shut  ,      but  arthur  doesn’t  move  very  far  into  the  room  .      the  facility  ,      maybe  ?      it’s  as  large  as  an  entire  building  ,      to  be  sure  ,      with  metal  pillars  to  hold  it  up  ,      not  to  mention  a  plethora  of  objects  and  what  reads  to  him  as  junk  and  useless  leftovers  ,      some  of  which  he  recognises  ,      most  of  which  he  has  no  first  clue  about  .      he  doesn’t  want  to  have  a  first  clue  about  it  ,      either  .      or  a  second  .      ignorance  ,      he  has  suddenly  determined  in  the  past  five  minutes  (  what  feels  like  an  eternity  ),      is  a  blessing  after  all  .

❝        i  was  the  last  ? outta who ?        ❞        he  finally  tears  his  gaze  away  from  the  trinkets  and  the  unnaturally  lit  ceiling  and  walls  and  the  loudly  whirring  center  device  to  look  at  the  man  .      the  doctor  .      again  with  that  unfitting  description  .      arthur  wouldn’t  trust  this  man  to  work  on  his  body  .      not  by  his  dress  ,      his  demeanour  ,      his  choice  of    …    practice  ?        ❝        whatchu  mean  ,      i  was  bein’  studied  ?      first  thing  i  remember’s  bein’  at  that  bar  .      don’t  know  how  long  i  was  there  ,      but  it  sure  felt  like  it  weren’t  real  long  'fore  you  arrived  .      ain’t  no  way  i  was  studied  very  long  .        ❞

maybe        maybe  this  is  just  an  extremely  bad  hangover  .      with  a  grimace  ,      arthur  moves  to  sit  on  the  floor  ,      against  one  of  the  metallic  pillars  .      it’s  cool  to  the  touch  ,      the  metal  ought  to  be  .      that’s  good  .      the  only  semblance  of  the  reality  he  knows  ,      at  least  .      he  squeezes  his  eyes  shut  ,      pulls  his  knees  up  ,      rests  his  face  in  his  forearm  .      grounds  himself  ,      or  tries  to  .        ❝        where  the  hell  am  i  now  ,      then  ?      you  ain’t  one’a  them  whatevers  ,      but  how  do  i  know  you  ain’t  just  gonna  do  the  same  ?        ❞        the  same  whatever  it  is  that’s  been  done  to  him  .      he  still  doesn’t  know  .      if  anything  ,      the  explanation  just  makes  things  worse  .

"You're better off not knowing." The Doctor sighs before stepping forward. "Don't worry though," The Doctor gave Arthur a tired look back and an, "I'll explain later." Before he whipped forward and rested his hand along the activation switch of his screwdriver, every single combat drone in the city square primed their weapons, causing The Doctor to look like some cherry bush thanks to their laser targeting systems. He kept focused, the alien creature slugged its way up to him before it leaned in his face. The Doctor remained unimpressed, lowering his screwdriver into his opposite hand and standing up straight to meet the creature. The whining of the weapons was the only sound echoing through the quiet square. 

"Not a killer." The creature repeated. It seemed it did want to test him, today.

With a quick flick of his wrist and a press of the button, the screwdriver whirred a sonic vibration, a frequency that caused the world to flicker around them like it was some TV static. Some parts of the drone citizens exploded in response to the overload. The creature growled a roar as the reality around Arthur & The Doctor began to break down. His screwdriver, right now, was terminating a high-frequency disruption pulse, one that was causing all the virtual reality equipment to overload and explode. It caused the shimmering cloaks of disguised citizens to drop their holographic disguises— allowing Arthur to see just where he'd been being kept, as well as the army of metallic skeletons guarding him.

A large stadium, like some kind of holographic deck. The walls shimmered like jewelry before they relaxed, the creature still reeling from the painfully high Sonic vibration whilst the androids rebooted. The Doctor moved away, back toward Arthur. There, behind them, The Doctor pointed out to a blue box with large letters on the top that read out 'POLICE PUBLIC CALL BOX', 'Pull to Open.' The Doctor tugged Arthur towards it, "Now that the simulation is dropped, the computer just made a long walk a very, very short jog— come on!! Before those androids unscramble themselves and remember they have all the guns!" He said hurriedly, ushering Arthur towards the Police Box at a quick pace. Already, flares of plasma energy were being fired by androids who were still trying to get their legs back on.

At the Police Box's doors, The Doctor scrambled for a silver key. Whilst he shoved it inside the door lock to push the doors open, he gave Arthur a look. "Trust me, I'm a Doctor, not a policeman." He said quickly before pushing the doors open. The box looked battered as if she had seen better days, (which she had.) The doors glowed a faint blue, and The Doctor was quick to shove Arthur in before himself. Bolts of energy collided with the wooden texture of the door, and The Doctor quickly rubbed a new scorch mark with his finger. "Oh... Sorry, dear." The Doctor mumbled quietly before slamming the doors shut behind him. 

INSIDE THE BOX, there was a different story. What Arthur would've been able to easily see was a small wooden box that was maybe about eleven feet tall and three inches wide with a four-inch standing room— well, it gave way to a huge, massive room. One that looked like it was lived in. A massive control console was in the center, with six individual and unique panels. It stood on a slightly raised platform and was surrounded by metallic pillars. There were oddities like lamps and candles providing ambient lighting, but most of it came from the console. There were rugs, bookshelves, jukeboxes, and record players. It looked like a homeless collector's travel fan. At the control console, The Doctor ran over to it and quickly started hitting a sequential series of random buttons on the console.

SUDDENLY he threw a HUGE LEVER that caused the rotor in the center of the console to move up and down. A loud whooshing and groaning, caused by a tiny rumble, made it feel as if the interior was moving. Outside, the collectors roared in anger as they watched the Police Box fade in and out of existence. In the console room, the machine roared as the Doctor reached up to pull down a monitor, a wooden box connected to a scissor arm that displayed words and images. Arthur saw a space station, in the sky, quickly it was swallowed up by a wave of flame that prompted The Doctor to shut the screen off and return towards the controls. "I'm a Time Traveler." He said it bluntly, "You were captured by other time-traveling entities, one that make their business out of simulating history for people who can't time travel." The Doctor circled the console while he explained. "They do that by abducting people from the times they're trying to simulate, sticking them in isolated environments, and allowing their androids to copy their behavioral patterns and replicate it."

"In short, you were being studied." The Doctor said grimly before looking back at the controls of the console. Now that there was silence, The Doctor could be properly assessed. A tall man who'd thrown his coat on the nearest chair, revealing a slender man wearing a waistcoat, tie, boots that cut at just an inch below the knee, and a long purple cloth that wrapped around his palm and wrist. He mumbles to himself while flicking various controls, inhaling deeply. "The station, and everyone being studied, was about to be consumed by something terrible..." The Doctor finally continued, "I tried to warn the station, but they wouldn't listen... so I've been traveling back in time, rescuing all the captured individuals and returning them to their proper times and places..." Finally, from across the console, he looked up at Arthur.

"You were the last."

[the-nysh]

Ahh, that pause.... Now whatever semblance of ‘Garou’ still exists within that swirling, faceless vortex of corrupted madness, of course he still couldn’t come out and admit what actually happened to him (especially to Bang of all people - whom Garou can’t show ‘weakness’ in front of the one mentor who personally enforced the lessons to be strong). That avoidance and denial of the truth instead speaks volumes to me of a different message: of a Garou who still refuses to accept, believe, or fully comprehend the actual act of violence that was cruelly and forcibly thrust upon him - as a victim to True Evil’s unfairness. “Yes really.” 

We’re given two sets of contradictory information here from which to parse the clues. (Where only one is likely believable as the truth...)

This ‘Garou’ claims (or rather, is allowed to believe) to be fully in control of his free will and this new ‘power’.....but not right after ‘god’ deliberately expressed his intent & agenda to make him into his avatar (against Garou’s will).

Because the Real Garou’s will was already shown before this (so believe and trust in this one):

Where he explicitly refused and absolutely did not consent to that.

Meaning there’s no excuse to deny, defend, soften, or downplay the true act of violence that was cruelly inflicted upon him to suffer; you just have to tell it like it is: Garou involuntarily became a victim to forced cosmic mindrape.

...Whether or not he’s even able to comprehend that, and regardless of how his lingering consciousness still tries to rationalize the terrible experience after the fact, doing his damnedest to struggle thru it and assert what he wants to believe, while refusing to acknowledge -that ‘thing’s existence- or accept the reality, and gravity, of what actually happened to him. (So you know how often male survivors can’t simply just come out and admit their trauma? Whether it’s because it’s something deeply personal or shameful, or because they don’t even know, realize, or understand they were a victim in the first place - yeah, that’s what this incident reminds me of. Which is certainly A Message that’s still buried under there...especially when all of this is still curiously presented thru Garou’s limited, definitely not omniscient point of view of the story too.)

The manga also spent ages (over 100chs) establishing the basis & foundations for Garou’s character. Deliberately showing us the crux of his emotional grievances & motivations before this, and repeatedly hammering to us like a broken record even, the signs of his true (good/heroic) nature so we’d never forget, dismiss, or fail to discern how the real Garou should actually behave. (Cause even in his wildest power fantasies, Garou still only attacked monsters; he never wanted to actually kill anyone - as in the heroes or civilians, as some ‘indiscriminate mass murderer’ or ‘hero killer’ - which he didn’t want to become in both the wc & manga. His actual goal was to indirectly lead towards saving the world to fix and make it safer for all the outcast ‘Tareos’ who’ve suffered like him - not destroy it and all the people/life within it.)

So there should be some major red flags raised when this warped ‘Garou’ abomination starts coldly spouting hugely ooc things like ‘All Life Eradication’ thru literal nuclear overkill and whatnot - because no, that’s not even Garou believably talking at that point, that’s the corrupted influence of ‘god’s agenda - who’s against humanity, speaking thru him and literally warping his voice & mind as a conduit/avatar to enact ‘his’ power and conduct True Evil wrath upon the world. Which is all against the actual Garou’s wants or best interests in mind! (The tragic thing is when Garou’s essentially blocked from even realizing that - tricked and forced into doing this anyway without his consent, and misled into believing it’s still ‘all him’ in control when the choice to do things his way has been forcibly taken from him. So you can’t take this “Garou’s” word as truth after his core integrity has been so thoroughly...compromised. It’s truly evil for him to suffer from something like this he did not deserve.)  

Also importantly: when Garou, who was previously lucidly aware in all his wildest, performative ‘absolute evil’ speeches before, couldn’t be taken literally at face value then (unfortunately it seems ‘god’ did and royally mistook Garou’s words to the other literal extreme...) Then certainly anything this thing says or does, warping the worst of his words & beliefs against him even, absolutely cannot be trusted as a genuine reflection of Garou’s true desires. :O No way. As that’s two layers far removed - both from his previous performatism and from the real Garou’s actual will to conduct his brand of ‘evil’ in the way he actually had in mind - to make the world a better place. Especially when the current residual ‘Garou’, who’s somewhere still in there, is in the process of losing his very mind or worse at this rate. (Now if this Garou could have successfully won in a mental battle of dominance, to endure/overcome ‘god’s influence, take back his control & agency, turn the ‘power’ into his own, and bitchslay this ‘god’ back into hell with a taste of his own medicine somehow, then that would be something entirely different. However the current situation doesn’t seem to be the case...yet?)

So despite anything he claims and regardless of whatever he’s still able to think or believe to be true at this point, his thoughts, mind, and will are still tethered to that thing‘s forced influence (we all saw the ugly truth about what actually happened to him)....and yet, beyond the extreme words that spew out of that void, it’s rather those pauses and momentary reactions that still linger behind them, that show me something else far more important. To the Real Garou who’s still in there, please stay strong. ;o; 

[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 ]