#she tasted like jungle juice and I probably tasted like beer but oh god I wanna kiss her again

[salmon404]

Thinking about the girl I hit it off with so well at a party and we were like seconds away from a one night stand (and then hopefully a date) and she pulled away and went “nah I promised my boyfriend I wouldn’t do this again..” and I felt like I just got sucker punched. Boyfriend? Again??? What??

Seriously still thinking about her tho, her bf lives in Tennessee and he doesn’t deserve her…

Unrelated but has anyone else every broken up with someone because they were too like mentally stable and neurotypical? Or is that just me

[new-berry]

Going to give one last shot at Spain three. But with INTENT. I have cleared my calendar. (Lads and leafs hitting dim form sort of clearing it for me)

NSFW not even the warning should be over the line. Please take that as a warning.

Frank Lampard / Rio Ferdinand

Non con and period disregard of consent. I’m not sure how else to phrase it? People used to talk right over the top of “no” all the time. Little bit of gaslighting?

This is former lovers and one lover completely ignores what the other person is saying. I feel like this was the blind “what the fuck is consent?” That was pretty common 25 or more-ish years ago when this was set.

More from Rio’s POV than the frank centric Spain one and two. And again: consent issues warning.

….

Something about being on holiday gives Rio vivid dreams. He’s not going to dream about trees, he’s going to dream about a jungle full of parrots and monkeys or whatever. Probably being here in Spain, it’s so fucking hot even the locals look fed up.

He’s dreamt about sex before. Someone sexy who’s not exactly faceless. Like the hot Spanish girl he was dancing with last night, yesterday? In his dream he can’t quite hang on to her face. There’s a hint of beer in his dream that he doesn’t remember on her, she had a slippery glossy mouth and tasted sweet. Strawberries on her mouth and orange juice on her tongue.

Rio’s name had sounded so good in her mouth “Reeee-oh.” A little breathless, he should have taken her home. He’s still turned on but the dream is fading, that weird moment between being asleep and awake. He feels weighed down and anchored in.

He’s nearly awake and tries to flip the stiffing blanket off but there’s a soft noise of protest and he’s awake then, properly, Pressed against and anchored down, his dick is hard even though he never got that far with her. A looming ache in his ass.

When his eyes slide open he looks down to Frank’s mouth around his cock. Fingers slippery as eels wedged inside him. His mouth is dry and he’s trying to blink himself awake. “Ohhh.” It comes out like the second part of his name in her mouth, high and breathless. But it’s Frank’s name that comes out next, and he looks up, big eyes looking bigger than usual, all pupil in the low light, eyelashes fluttering.

It’s too much instantly, from the thought of it in a dream to Frank sucking too hard, fingers beavering away between his legs, sliding two in, slithery wet digits in shallow, pressing down trying to find his prostate.

Frank yanks his mouth off, so fast there’s the burn of teeth and Rio gasps. “Yeah baby.” Frank says back. His voice is wrecked either from the too harsh weed they were all smoking or from sucking Rio’s cock like he’s going to find god if he keeps doing it.

There is no good way to move, Frank’s fingers just slot further into him when he moves his hips, and his brain is catching up with how close to coming his dick is, heart racing as much from being shocked awake as his impending orgasm.

Rio shoves at Frank’s shoulder and when he doesn’t move his forehead. Frank uses the hand that isn’t two knuckles deep in him to put Rio’s hand in his head. “You can pull baby.” He says. Rio shudders as much from the brief respite to Frank sucking too hard on the top of his cock , as from the warm night air cooling the spit left behind, as Frank calling him baby. It’s gross, sleazy what they calls the girls before they take them back to the hotel then shove them in a taxi home. Or at least away.

Frank fumbles he find his prostate and rubs his fingers over it, too hard and sloppoy, Rio’s hand twists in his hair without meeting too and Frank gives a hum of satisfaction and that enough to have Rio almost shouting, biting his lips to hold it in in the quiet still night probably suffocating Frank with his hand pulling his head down and his cock filling Frank’s mouth with come.

Franks just coughs a couple of times and then laughs. Rio stares up, then at the window, wide open, grubby white curtains hanging limply in the lack of a sea breeze. Franks spits on the sheet and then nuzzles across Rio’s thigh. His stubble is rough on the skin inside Rio’s leg and his ass is burning where Frank hasn’t taken his fingers out.

In fact he’s nudging them further in, lying on Rio’s thigh, cheek smooshed and hair a mess from Rio’s hand when he let go after he came.

“The fuck? Frank?” The words are separated by rough mouthfuls of breath. He can’t move, Frank practically lying on his leg, too hot, hard dick on his leg. “Get the fuck off me.”

Franks grins at the protest. Pulls his fingers out to rest his ring finger at Rio’s ass with the other two resting just inside him.

“You wanna be on your stomach?” It’s like fucking Frank to pretend nothing is wrong, that this is like in the past when they would hook up. “No I want you the fuck off me you fucking nutter.”

Frank’s smile slides away and he looks petulant. It was cute the first few times Rio saw it. Now it’s fucking annoying. “I said it was over.” Rio shoves Frank’s forehead again, Frank stuffs a finger in him in retaliation and it’s so sudden that Rio clenches up and pants desperately.

“Fuck Frabk.” He gasps roughly. “What part of no more don’t you get.”

Frank smiles, his sharp little canines peeking out. Frank kisses up his leg, slurps at the sweat lying greasy on Rio’s stomach.

“You say no more but you never stop me.”

“I was sleeping.” Rio’s head pounds he gasps in gratitude when Frank’s fingers slip out of him.

“You were hard,” Frank nuzzles into Rio’s neck goes straight for the bottom of his ear which he knows is a weak point for Rio. “Moaning my name.” It’s bullshit, Rio’s knows it’s bullshit and Frank knows he knows, his head thumps again and Frank goes on “you’re the one who told me ‘“like old times,’ you’re the one with slick in your bag.”

Rio can’t make sense of the memory that Frank brings up. Laughing so loud they are about to be chucked out, football players spending big and attracting girls or not. Rio’s head rings, trying to get the night in order. He’d been swapping kisses with the girl with strawberry flavoured lips. Then she was gone and Frank was pressed to his side. Eyes too bright and voice too loud.

“How was I supposed to know you didn’t want this, kept your arm around me, cuddling me all night. Kept squeezing my leg.”

“I was drunk.” Frank hmmms “sure thing.” He bites on Rio’s collarbone when Rio puts his hands on Frank’s hips to shove him back. “Keep it down.” Frank mumbles around Rio’s nipple “you’ll wake the lads.”

That sends a cold fizzle down Rio’s spine. The house they have rented has four bedrooms but at any point one of them is usually sleeping or passed out in the living room and that’s only a door and half a hall between the couch and the room Rio claimed.

“No more Frank.” Frank switches sides, lo ks his nipple and ruts against Rio, “don’t be selfish.” Frank says “you got off. Don’t be a dick. Leading me on with all your ‘like old times’ and you wanna kick me out when only you got to come.”

Rio looks at the door ajar. “Keep it down.” He hisses . “Can you be quiet?”

Frank grinds into his leg, “yeah I’ll bite when I come no one will hear.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

Frank rolls his hips, “come on I’m so wound up from how pretty you sound, how good you feel, it’s only going to last a minute.”

Franks dick is leaving little snail trails of come behind, and experience has thought Rio he’s really not far off coming.

“Just rub one out.” Rio says finally. Heartbeat calming, thigh protesting when Frank’s weight is holding it out and down.

“Let me fuck you.” Frank’s voice is needy and too loud. There aren’t even cicadas making a sound tonight.

“Keep it down.” Rio whispers but Frank stubborly keeps his voice a regular pitch. “Come on. Wanna screw.”

Rio sighs and relaxes against the bed. Frank’s grin is triumphant and he climbs off Rio’s leg to lie between them, the shape of his body opening Rio’s legs further. “Wanna be on your stomach?” He’s at least whispering, voice the kind of low intent that gets girls going.

He’s holding lube in his hand, a type Rio has never seen before and he shakes his head.

“Just don’t take forever.” Rio’s face screws up at the drip of cold lube on him. “This is a one time thing. Last time.” Frank nods and kisses Rio, gentle and reverent, ignoring the foul taste in Rio’s mouth, may not even notice it over the taste of Rio’s come.

“Go easy,” Rio doesn’t add it’s been a while, doesn’t want Frank putting together that the last time was Frank as well.

“So good.” Franks slides in inch by inch, fingers running over Rui’s shoulders and arms, soothing him through getting opened up on his dick “no one else is this good.” Frank rests his forehead down, mumbles into Rio’s neck “I love you. I always have.”

Rio doesn’t clench up at that because he was expecting it. It makes his heart drop as Frank starts a slow smooth rythum, it won’t be over in a minute Rio thinks. Then he just thinks ���shit fuck no’ as Frank mumbles he loves him again

[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 ]

[castielscarma]

Motel

Week 5, here is my piece:  @helianthus21 @pray4jensen @bend-me-shape-me Dean tries not to grimace as he walks through the door to the motel. The dark hasn't settled yet, and he looks over his shoulder, casting one last eye on Baby. He parked her near some trees and some bushes on the other side flank her, so she should be good.

He looks around the room. There's a bed to their left, large enough to fit two people and an off-brand flat screen hangs on the opposite wall. The wallpapers are not dirty and he can't see any tears. The carpet is thin but whole. A table with three chairs is cramped into a corner and he spots the standard mini fridge, probably empty.

Two doors at the far end lead to the other bedroom and a bathroom. He sighs, but he's not sure if it's from resignation or exhaustion. Probably both.

Done with the quick survey of the room, Dean nods to himself. “We didn't have to stop. Just a few more hours and we could've been home instead.” Dean drops the duffel bag on the floor and toes off his shoes.

“You couldn't drive straight and I'm tired. We all are. Tired and dirty.” Sam says behind him.

He turns and winks at Cas. “Check on dirty.”

“I don't think he means that kind of dirty, Dean.” Cas lets Jack inside before closing the door.

“I – Yeah, I know, Cas. I'm the bad kind of dirty, practically drowning in vamp confetti.” He's tried to clean himself as much as he could after they cleared the unusually large vamp nest but his flannel shirt and pants are caked with blood. Maybe Sam has a point. What they expected to be a milk-run had turned into a hunt that lasted hours with vamps swarming the place like flies drawn to rotten meat.

Jack chimes in.“I could have driven you home while you slept – “

“Nah, we're good Jack. Sam's right. And I don't know about you, but I'm starving.” He fishes out his cellphone. It's almost 10 pm. “Jack, find us some food. Something hot.”

Sam interjects. “If you're really hungry I saw a vending machine just outside...”

Dean is already out the door. “Be right back. Dibs on the shower!”

He comes back after a few minutes, already munching on some Doritos. “Fuck, these are the best tasting Doritos I've ever had.” Dean turns the bag around as if expecting to find something magical to explain the taste of synthetic cheese on his tongue.

Cas has already claimed the bed in the main room.

“It's the good bed? You checked, Cas?”

Cas stops unpacking his duffel bag. “I don't think it's necessary to engage in your kind of – “ He frowns as Dean grins and takes a few hurried steps, before jumping down on the bed.

The bed sings a creaking song until Dean stills. “Not the thinnest I've seen and no springs poking our asses. I say the bed is a keeper.” He wipes his hands on his pants and shouts. “Sammy, your bed is good?”

Sam sticks his head out of the other bedroom. “It's a bed, we're good. Me and Jack can sleep in it. I'm fine, Dean. Besides, I'll gladly hand over the bigger bed to you two as long as you are hands-off. The walls are thin.” Sam makes a face.

“Hey! We'd never do – “

Sam narrows his eyes and purses his lips in that familiar frown he does when he's grumpy – a frown that Dean thinks is secretly adorable.

“You do that look for Eileen too? Does it work? Maybe I'll try it on the waitresses, earn me an extra slice of pie.” Dean chuckles but stops short, wincing as the pain in his side reminds him of a particularly nasty kick he received from a vampire.

“Dean?” Jack's concerned voice reaches him but he waves it away.

“I'm fine, it's nothing. Just a vamp deciding they were Jet Leestat.” He chuckles softly but stops when Jack doesn't move a muscle. “Ah, come on. Jet Li... Lestat? Get it? Anyway, I don't need any healing. ”

Jack ignores him, his hands are already raised and he grabs Dean's arm. His eyes glow and Dean feels the sharp pain subside to a dull ache until it vanishes completely. “You didn't need to; you're already drained from healing Sam during the hunt. It was nothing, Jack.” He touches his side which is as good as it will get on a hunter approaching forty. “But thanks.”

Dean looks expectantly at Sam and Cas. They just stand there, and Sam even has the audacity to raise an eyebrow in question.

“Jet Leestat! Cause he kicked me, true karate-style –“ Dean swings around with his arms in a circular motion – “and Lestat, the bloodsucker in those books.” He hisses for emphasis. “You get it now?”

Nothing but crickets. Dean shakes his head in disgust and grabs another handful of Doritos. “You uncultured lot. Won't recognize fine literature.”

Finally, Sam speaks up. “I don't think Interview with the Vampire is considered fine literature.”

“I can't listen to this anymore. Shower time. Jack, you found a place?”

Jack's eye's narrow as he lists the nearest restaurants. “There's a Susie's Place just a few minutes away, but it seems to be closed. The nearest after that is Thai Jungle – “

“That's the winner. They open?”

“Yes.”

Dean is already unbuttoning the top button of his shirt. “Pad Thai for me, drown it in lime juice. And I want a Mount Everest of peanuts.” He grabs his bag and heads for the bathroom.

He can hear Sam order vegetable satay as he shuts the door. The shower is not the worst he's seen. No shower curtain, thank the gods. As long as the pressure is more than a drizzle, he can live with it. Dean removes his shirt and pants, cursing a few times as he feels caked blood crack along with other bloodsucker things – he has no desire whatsoever to further put his mind on what it can be – and tosses it on the floor.

The water flows fairly well and as Dean steps under the water, the spray is hot. Almost scalding, so he turns it down just a fraction. He welcomes the heat that relaxes his muscles and the comforting feeling that follows, one of heaviness cloaking around him and with a promise of sleep.

He grabs the lavender soap and ignores the foul scent as he rinses off the dust, blood, and grime that has found its way under all the layers of clothes.

A faint draft sneaks his way and Dean turns to find Cas there.

Cas removes his clothes and steps inside.

It's cramped but Dean couldn't care less. “Soap?” He doesn't wait for an answer, instead, he grabs the soap and works it all over Cas' body. The warmth of Cas, the way his muscles play under skin that Dean's made sure to know fully during countless hours of midnight exploration, all of it speaks of home.

“Now it's my turn.” Cas leaves the soap, grabs some shampoo instead. Soon they're slotted against each other, Cas fingers digging into Dean scalp.

His ministrations send shivers down Dean's spine and what he thought was relaxation earlier now hits him with full force. He sways and leans into Cas. “That's the spot, right there.”

Cas laughs, grabs some more soap and washes himself.

“What's the hurry, Cas?”

Cas is already rinsing himself off. “I assume that Sam desires a shower too.”

Dean grabs Cas' still soapy ass and squeezes. “He can wait.”

“We don't know how much hot water is left.” Cas leaves wet kisses on the side of his neck.

“Fine, I guess you're right.” Dean grabs a towel and dries himself off hurriedly before digging into his bag. He pulls out a pair of pants, a huge smile on his face. “Eileen, bless her soul. She actually went ahead and bought a pair.”

Cas looks questioningly at him, so Dean explains. “We were just talking shit one night and I mentioned why no one had ever thought to pack for post-hunt? Everyone – and hey, I'm everyone too – are so wrapped up in the before, that we don't stop to think about the after. When the last vamp is dead, and you grab your cold beer and slip into your best sweatpants, you know everything is good.”

He pulls up another pair of black sweatpants. “Sweet Cas, we're pants twins.”

Cas rolls his eyes. “Oh, joy.”

Five minutes later, Sam is in the shower. Dean can hear Sam complain about something in there, but the spray of the water and the wooden door mutes his objections. “We did save you some hot water! Not my fault it cools on the way down your freakishly tall body.”

Jack occupies one chair, watching something on the TV. “Just ten minutes tops and food should be here.”

Dean's stomach growls. “Where's the bag?”

“The nacho bag? The Doritos... you ate them all,” Jack answers before paying attention to his show again.

Walking over to the mini-fridge, Dean opens it, only to stare at empty space. “Ah, really? I know this was a fairly cheap motel but not that cheap. Not even a tiny bag of nuts, a stale cracker. A bag of forgotten Skittles?”

Cas sits down on the bed. “Why would someone store Skittles in the fridge?”

Dean shuts the door with his foot. “A smart guy. One that knows cold Skittles taste like heaven.”

Just as Sam walks back into the main room, Dean answers the knock on the door. Tipping the driver handsomely, he unpacks the food on the table. “Sweet, two wedges of lime! You want some, Cas?”

Cas shakes his head, smiling. “Wouldn't want to steal your food. I'm alright, Dean, thank you.”

Dean hands Sam his vegetables before digging in. His eyes almost roll back as the taste of the slightly spicy noodles, cilantro, and chicken hit his mouth. “Man, this is so good.” He squeezes some more lime on the noodles and shovels in another mouthful. The taste of food has rekindled his appetite and his stomach growls in appreciation.

“Dude, you spilled sauce all over the table.”

“I didn't force you to order veggies, Sammy. I'm just trying to save you, encourage you to eat some delicious Pad Thai.” Dean squirts the small package of soy all over his food. ”Mm.”

Sam stabs a piece of carrot and dips it in the peanut sauce. “I'm fine.”

The TV provides muted a background as they eat mostly in silence. Dean realizes as the worst of his appetite is sated that he could pass out right on the chair. “You sure you don't want some, Jack? They gave me a mountain of food.”

Jack shakes his head. “No, I'm good. I think I'll go to my room and sleep.”

“Nuh-uh, your and Sam's room. You sharing, kid.”

“He snores.”

Sam raises his eyebrows. “I don't snore.”

Dean interjects. “Oh, trust me, Sammy, you snore.” He turns to Cas. “I can't count the times, I had to kick him while we were hunkering down in some C-grade motel, desperate for some shut-eye and he started belting out a hellish symphony worthy of discarded foghorns. Try tissues.”

Jack looks from Dean to Sam, a questioning look on his face. “Tissues?”

“Yeah, tissues. Stuff your ears and pray you'll pass out fast enough.”

Jack raises his hand in greeting. “Right... Good night, guys. Cya tomorrow.”

Sam ignores them as he dips broccoli in sauce.

Dean drums his fingers on the table and feels Sam push on his shoulder. “What?”

“Can you stop that? I'm trying to eat.”

Dean doesn't even try to stifle the yawn creeping up on him. “Eat fucking faster. “I'm beat and need to sleep. And you have a bigger mouth than I do... shouldn't you be done by now?”

“I don't inhale my food, Dean.”

Dean scoffs. “Pff, I don't inhale my food. Right, Cas?”

Cas looks Sam straight in the eye. “He sucks it down faster than a Roomba.”

Sam starts coughing and quickly grabs a bottle of water. “Right. Time for me to leave, guys.” He heads for the bathroom and Dean can hear how he furiously brushes his teeth in there. As Sam leaves, he shuts the door to his room with a bang.

“Great, just you and me now Cas.”

“I hear you!” Sam shouts. “Don't forget me and Jack are in here.”

Dean rolls his eyes and mutters to himself. “Oh, trust me, Sammy, we won't forget.”

They undress silently by the muted light of the bedside lamp. Dean just drops his clothes over a chair but Cas insists on folding his clothes.

Dean sighs as he gets under the covers. “I don't know if I'm getting old, but sleep, Cas. Sleep. It's all a hunter needs to kick ass. Besides coffee... and a cold beer now and then. Angel blade is good to have, and a trusty gun. Snacks too, and badass skills. A good right-hand punch can never be underestimated.”

Cas slides in next to Dean. “Seems a hunter needs a lot of things to kick ass.”

“Nah, I just need an angel by my side, and I'm good.” Dean adjusts the covers, making sure his feet are nicely tucked in.

Cas clears his throat. “You don't need all of that though, Dean. You're perfectly fine as you are. It was not your skills or your weapons that made you the skilled hunter I know you are, but you. What's inside of you. Your heart and soul, Dean. Your determination, your will to never give up, and your determination to fight for what's right.”

Dean leans in close to Cas, enjoys the heat of him, and how close they are. His skin is like a furnace, or maybe it's that Dean always burns brighter in Cas' proximity. Cas does that to people. Brings out a light they didn't know they had, just by shining his own brilliant soul. “Cas, we're already together, no need to butter me up.”

“I'm not.” It's two simple words, but Dean feels the heaviness of them, a ring of truth that settles around them as he utters them into existence.

Dean turns the light off. “Cas...” Dean chews on his lip before speaking. “I want you by my side, you know that right. It's not like...before.”

Cas grabs his hand under the covers, a comforting thumb circling before he squeezes once. “I know that, Dean. You're not going anywhere, and neither am I.”

Dean finds comfort in the gesture and squeezes back, before nestling in closer to Cas. He exhales heavily. This right here is all he ever wanted. He holds Cas' hand in his until he feels tiny pinpricks accost his shoulder. His hand is suddenly leaden. “Alright, Cas, love ya, but I'm letting go now before my hand spontaneously falls off.”

He senses Cas' chest rumble in silent laughter as Cas eases off his grip. “That would be a shame. I put you back together once, wouldn't wanna do it again.”

Dean turns on his side and smiles as he feels Cas' heavy arm drape over his body, pulling him in close. Cas kisses him softly on the neck. “Good night, Dean.”

Sighing, Dean allows the final semblance of alertness to leave him and welcomes the heaviness of sleep. Tomorrow will bring with it a new day, new opportunities, new uncertainties. But one thing Dean will never doubt is his feelings for Cas, and Cas' love for him in turn. “Night, Cas.” Soon he sleeps, Cas by his side always.

[mr-chrisevans]

Meet Cute - pt. 9

Word Count: 1,561

First Chapter | Last Chapter | Next Chapter

"There she is!" I was greeted by the glowing faces of Casey, Jules, and Estelle as I got back from work. "Hurry up and change so we can start drinking now." Casey told me as I shut the door behind me.

"I didn't realize we were having a little shindig this evening." I said as I walked back to my room and stripped out of my work clothes and changed into something more comfortable. As I changed I heard Estelle working the blender, clearly preparing margaritas for us all. "I hope you are actually doing an acceptable ratio of tequila to mix this time." I said as I sat down at the kitchen counter next to Jules. "Last time we were basically drinking an entire glass of tequila."

"Not to mention it was the worst tequila I've ever tasted in my life." Jules added with a shudder.

"Hey, give me a break. Last time I had spent most of my pay check covering part of that ones rent." She raised her eyebrow at me and returned to the margaritas.

"And I have never been late on rent since then." I responded.

Estelle started pouring her concoction into our glasses when Casey exclaimed from the couch. "Oh my God. Laurel, come here." I tried to protest, but she kept insisting.

"What are you even watching?" I asked as she rewinded the tv.

"Just shut up and look." She finally pressed play and I realized why she was so insistent.

"In recent news, Chris Evans is back in LA after finishing up filming on The Avengers. And it seems like he's back with Mystery Woman from earlier this year." The disembodied narrator spoke as a picture of Chris and I at dinner when we saw each other again was plastered on the tv. As much as I hated it, it was a great picture. The two of us were mid-laugh, but he was looking right at me and the look on his face... I don't even know how to describe it.

I could feel all my friends eyes on me as I sat there looking at the tv, trying to figure out what I was thinking. I turned to Casey. "It's okay, really. I honestly can't be surprised about it anymore so it is what it is. Now let's completely ignore this and get back to getting drunk."

And drunk we got. Jules and Casey passed out in the living room and Estelle and I covered them with blankets and brought out a wastebasket just in case. After I said goodnight to Estelle and went into my room, I saw that I had two unread texts, one from Adam and one from Chris.

Adam

I should be back from my conference on Thursday, wanna get together next weekend?

I closed out of that conversation without answering and opened Chris' message.

Chris

Are you free tomorrow night?

Laurel

Depends on what the activity is.

Chris

How good are you at planning parties? I've been roped in to hosting a Halloween party this year and I think I'm in way over my head.

Laurel

I guess I'm coming to your rescue.

*****

So we were friends.

And it was fine. We were making it work.

It wasn't like we were spending all our time together either. We would see each other a couple times a month, and everything was normal. Well, I wanted to seem like everything was normal. I had told myself that I didn't have feelings for Chris anymore as an excuse to get to see him and not feel guilty about it. That didn't work so well for me.

I rang Chris' doorbell and was greeted by his bulldog running up to the door and barking at full force. I saw Chris sprint after him and scoop him up before opening the door. "Someone is very excited to see you." He laughed.

"I'm so happy to see you too, East." I loved on East for a little before I turned to Chris. "Not terrible to see you either." I joked and gave him a hug after he set East back down.

"I guess it's good to know where I stand in this house."

"It's always a good idea to have your priorities straight." We made our way into his living room where he had beers set out for the both of us. "Looks like you do have your priorities all set." I laughed as we sat down on the couch.

"Hey, if I'm gonna be forced to plan this party I might as well find some way to enjoy myself." He grabbed his beer, leaned back into the couch and propped his feet up on the coffee table.

I crossed my arms and stared at him. "I'm glad you're enjoying being able to lounge, but I will not let you invite me here just to plan this whole thing by myself."

He sat up straight and looked me directly in the eye. "You are absolutely correct. No more lazing around it's all work from here on out." I could tell he was purposefully being annoying, but I just rolled my eyes. He relaxed and spoke again. "Okay, where do we start?"

"Well, you should probably make a list so you know what you need to buy. Have you thought about anything that you want so far?" He shook his head. "You are woefully unprepared." I said under my breath. "Let's start with alcohol because that is definitely the most important part of this holiday."

"I could not agree more." He said and leaned forward as I typed out a list on my phone. "Jungle Juice?" He questioned as he inspected my list.

"Look, I know we're not 19 and in college but there's really no better way to get plastered and have fun doing it." I responded.

"Well, I never went to college but maybe this will finally give me that experience I've been yearning for."

The next couple of hours were a mix of us actually planning the party and continuing to catch up from our time apart. Being with him was so easy. It didn't feel like I had to force anything he was genuinely interested in what I had to say. Time had gotten away from us, and before I knew it I got an annoyed text from Estelle saying if I didn't get home in the next 30 minutes she was ordering Chinese without me. "Estelle is threatening to leave me without food tonight, so I should probably get going." I told him as I stood up and grabbed my now long empty beer bottle.

"Shit, when did it get so late?" He got up too and cleared his stuff from the table. "Thanks for helping me out with this." He said as we walked into the kitchen. "I would not have been able to get my shit together enough to actually plan this as well as you did."

"I'm always available to come to the rescue. This better mean I'm on the invite list though."

"No, I was really just using you for your planning skills. I didn't actually want to see you there." He joked and I playfully slapped his arm. "Of course not." He said through laughs. "If anyone deserves the credit for planning what will definitely be the best party I've ever thrown it will have to be you."

"You're lucky I'm not asking to be paid for my services." I poked his chest, trying to come of as intimidating but it clearly didn't work.

"I'm extremely lucky." He said and held onto my arm. We locked eyes with each other and both fell quiet, unconsciously drifting closer together until we could feel each other's breath. He leaned down and lingered just before my face. Those few seconds felt like hours until I finally closed the distance between us and our lips crashed together. His arms wrapped around my waist and pulled me closer in to him. I ran my fingers through his hair and pulled him deeper into the kiss. I had tried to forget how amazing kissing him felt, but I knew now that I never would. Everything about it was perfect. Every part of me felt alive and ready for whatever might happen. No one else could make me feel like that.

We pulled apart and I tried to catch my breath. It took me a few seconds to really realize what had happened. "Oh fuck." I muttered and stepped away from him, his arms falling away from me and back to his sides.

"Shit. Laurel, I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me."

I didn't even know how to respond so I stood in the kitchen across from him, silent for what felt like years. "I should go." I said suddenly and walked back into the living room to grab my things.

He stopped me at the door before I could leave. "Please don't be mad. I'm so sorry."

"I'm not mad. I just-" I took a deep breath. "I just need to think about something. But I'll see you at the party." I smiled at him and walked out to my car.

I needed to figure out what the fuck I was feeling and fast otherwise I'd be caught in a mess that I did not want to deal with.

[omgjasminesimone]

The Hot Exchange Student Part 2

Logan x MC (Ellie)

Previous Part: Part 1

Next Part: Part 3

Author’s Note: Happy RoDAW Logan Day! Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! (Hopefully the tags work)

Summary: Logan is an exchange student from Detroit a few weeks into his exchange program in L.A. He’s adjusting pretty well. He’s even going to parties and sideshows with a cute girl who’s technically his host sister, but their feelings are quickly becoming far from familial.  

Word Count: 3,400

“Soak it all in.” Riya commands, smiling at Ellie as the four of them enter Brent’s mansion.

“And I thought your house was nice.” Logan says after glancing around at the sheer size of the place.

“The Vandermeers are loaded. Brent is probably the richest kid at school.” Darius explains to the group newcomer.

“So, what do you think of your first high school party Ellie?” Riya prompts when Ellie does nothing except look around the room with a wide-eyed stare for several long moments.

Ellie’s turns her stare to her friends. “This is absolute chaos! I can’t hear myself think! How does Brent even know this many people? Are they drinking alcohol out of those red cups?” Ellie’s stream of consciousness flies out with no filter.

Logan smiles fondly at her. “I like how you say exactly what you’re thinking. It’s refreshing.”

“Speaking of refreshing…” Ingrid sidles up to Logan, brushing against him flirtatiously. She’s holding two red solo cups. She offers Logan one. “Jungle juice?”

“Sure, thanks.” Logan responds, sipping on the alcoholic mixture.

Ingrid trails her now free hand down his toned arm to his hand. Ellie grits her teeth and looks at her rival murderously. “I’m the Mar Vista Prep Unofficial Welcoming Committee, let me show you around, introduce you to some people.”

Ingrid doesn’t wait for a response before pulling Logan away.

“Has she always been that aggressive?” Darius asks when the two are out of earshot.

Ellie tears her gaze away from Logan as Ingrid introduces him to Brent and the rest of the popular kids. “Let’s check out the food. Or the corner.” Ellie suggests.

“No way Ellie. We’ve never been able to drag you out with us before. You’re getting the full high school party experience.” Riya insists, tugging Ellie over to the jungle juice.

Darius pours glasses for the three while Ellie looks around worriedly, almost convinced her dad is going to burst through the door in full uniform to break up the underage drinking. “Relax Ellie.” Darius says, handing her a cup.

“Easy for you to say. I don’t think your dad owns a breathalyzer.” Ellie retorts, but she takes a sip anyway. She’s never had alcohol before, and she kind of just wants to know what all the fuss is about. Hmm…this is actually pretty good. It mostly takes like juice, but there’s definitely an added alcoholic tang.

Before she knows it, Ellie has finished her second cup of the concoction. And her alcohol tolerance must be pretty low, because she’s definitely feeling it. After all, sober Ellie would have never allowed Riya and Darius to drag her to the dance floor, sober Ellie would have been worried about looking stupid in front of everybody. Tipsy Ellie is more fun.

Ellie sways to the loud R&B song blaring out of Brent’s expensive sound system, sipping on a beer now since she figured she should try other types of alcohol. She doesn’t like it, but at least she’s drinking it slowly since the taste is terrible. Ellie spins, and when she looks up her gaze locks with Logan’s. He’s dancing with some redhead, but his eyes remain locked on her.

Riya pushes her towards him. “Go, cut in.”

“But-“ Ellie tries to interject.

“Go.” Riya says insistently, pushing a little more firmly this time. “Logan is staring at you. He clearly wants you to.”

Sober Ellie would have protested more, but tipsy Ellie decides maybe he does want her to, especially if she’s reading that hungry gaze correctly. Ellie taps the girl’s shoulder. When she turns around, Ellie realizes her name is Lisa and she’s in their Spanish class. “Can I cut in?”

Lisa looks like she’s going to say no, but Logan grips Ellie’s hand and pulls her to him. Sober Ellie would be blushing furiously, but tipsy Ellie just drapes her arms over his shoulders, almost like she’s done this before. Logan’s smile widens, and he pulls her as close as he physically can with his hands on her waist, leaving them thigh to thigh.

Oh. There’s the heat of the full body blush he’s so good at getting out of her. For a moment, she had thought tipsy Ellie was immune. “I’ve barely seen you all night. What kind of host are you, leaving me all alone?” Logan teases.

“You weren’t alone. Ingrid was hanging all over you.” Ellie reminds him. Ellie had watched them while she drank, ate, danced, mingled with Tim, or was it Josh?

Logan tilts her chin up so she’s looking at him. “Are you jealous? I kinda like when you’re jealous.” Some of her hair has escaped her ponytail, so he tucks it behind her ear. And when he does, she spots his watch.

“Oh my God Logan, it’s 11:00!” Ellie exclaims, pulling herself out of his arms. He doesn’t seem to understand her alarm, so she clarifies. “Our curfew! It was 10:30! And I’m still kinda drunk and my dad will definitely notice, and Riya probably can’t even drive right now! I just saw her down a beer, and-“

“Hey.” Logan interrupts, rubbing her bare arms comfortingly. “Breathe.” Ellie does what he says, and immediately feels a little better. “It’s just curfew.” Logan adds flippantly.

“My dad takes curfew very seriously. We’re going to be grounded for the rest of the time you’re here.”

Logan smirks. “No one has ever tried to ground me before. This should be interesting.”

Ellie frowns, he’s never been grounded? What’s the deal with his parents? But there’s no time to get into that now. Logan takes her hand and winds his way through the crowd to where Riya and Darius are drunkenly grinding on each other. It seems they were just keeping it G-rated before for her benefit, their perennial third wheel.

Logan clears his throat, and the pair reluctantly pull apart. “Can either of you drive right now? Ellie missed her curfew.”

They both shake their heads no emphatically. “I can drive then. I stopped drinking a while ago. Do you trust me with your car, Riya?” Logan asks.

“Well, I’ve only known you for two weeks, but so far you seem pretty trustworthy. And I really want to go home and go to bed, so here’s the keys!” Riya drunkenly tosses the keys high, but Logan manages to catch them anyway.

Logan drops Darius off first, and then parks the car in Riya’s driveway.

“Are you sure you don’t want to just drive to Ellie’s? I can come pick up my car tomorrow.” Riya offers.

“I don’t know how I would explain that to my dad without letting him know about the underage drinking. Besides we still have time to catch the last bus.” Ellie replies.

“If you’re sure. Night guys! Thanks for driving Logan!” Riya drunkenly stumbles into her house, and Ellie and Logan set off for the bus stop.

“Why don’t you have your license?” Logan asks. He’s been wondering for a while, she can’t possibly enjoy riding the school bus. He sure doesn’t like it.

“My dad says driving is too dangerous. He sees a lot of crazy stuff out on the streets.”

“And the fact that it’s almost midnight and we’re walking through downtown Los Angeles to the bus stop isn’t dangerous?”

“Well, to be fair my dad never wanted us out this late.”

“He’s really controlling.” Logan notes.

Ellie frowns, automatically defending her father. “He’s very protective.”

Logan sighs, letting it go since they’re obviously not going to agree. “Well, you told me what your dad thinks. What about you? Do you want to learn how to drive? Because I could teach you.” He offers.

“You could?” Ellie has been wanting to get her license since she turned 16 several months ago, despite her father’s objections.

Logan smiles at the hopeful look in her eyes. “Sure, everyone should know how to drive. We need a car though. My cousin Vaughn lives in LA. I bet he could get me a good deal on something used.  He travels a lot for work and he’s currently out of town, but when he’s back we should see what he can do.”

“Looking forward to it.” Ellie responds, eyes widening when she sees their bus coming from around the corner. They’re still a little far off from the bus stop. “Run!” She instructs, waving down the bus.

…

..

.

“The European Union was formed by the….” Ellie tries to think of the answer without flipping over her yellow flashcard, looking to the ceiling as if she’ll find the answer there. “…Maastricht Treaty!” She recalls, smiling when she flips the flashcard to check and discovers she’s right. “WWII started on…..”

Logan knocks cheerily on her door, opening it when she gives him permission. He flops down on her bed, narrowly avoiding her open textbooks. “Vaughn invited me to a sideshow in West LA. Want to come with?”

Ellie frowns, she has a test on Monday. Plus, they’re grounded.

When they got back from the party two weeks ago, her dad hadn’t been home. He was working an overnight shift, but he’d left a note saying he wanted to speak with both of them in the morning. He had gone on and on about how disappointed he was, and then grounded them for three weeks.

“What’s a sideshow?” She asks instead of reminding him they’re not supposed to go out. Her dad is working another overnight tonight, so he’ll be none the wiser. Plus, Logan hasn’t really respected the grounding thus far anyway, coming and going as he pleases. Her dad is getting really irritated with him.

“People bring out their cars, show off a little, race, there’s food, drinks, it’s basically a party.” Logan explains, hands behind his head. His shirt is riding up, exposing that sliver of skin between his jeans and his t-shirt that she finds so enticing. She forces her eyes back up to his face.

“And I’ll get to meet Vaughn?” Vaughn is the only family Logan has ever talked to her about. He’s always very tight lipped about Detroit when she asks questions.

Logan smiles. “You would, and he’s a trip. You don’t want to miss that Ellie.”

“I think my dad changed the code to the alarm. He’s trying to make you respect your grounding.”

Logan rolls his eyes. “I can’t be grounded, I’m a guest. Are the windows alarmed?” Ellie shakes her head no, and Logan grins, hopping off her bed and opening her window. “Then window escape it is troublemaker.”

..

The sideshow is different than anything Ellie has ever experienced. She feels very out of place in her Langston sweater and jeans. Logan is definitely in his element though, and people keep calling out to him and greeting him.

“How do you know all these people? You’ve only been in LA for a month, yet somehow you’re way more popular than I am.” Ellie teases.

“That’s not hard to accomplish, since you do things like respect that you’re grounded and never leave the house, while I’ve been exploring all the L.A. car scene has to offer.” Logan teases back, taking her hand and tugging her towards the food trucks.

“Vaughn!” Logan exclaims when they reach a food truck covered in street art and lights. The owner of the food truck steps out, and hugs Logan tightly.

“Logan! It’s been a minute!” Vaughn says when he releases his longtime friend. He notices Ellie. “And you must be Ellie. Logan rarely brings girls around, so you must be special. What’s going on with you two?”

Ellie blushes and Logan rubs the back of his neck nervously. “Nothing. She’s technically my host sister, so that would be inappropriate according to the program rules.” He nudges Ellie. “And your dad. Did I tell you he took me out to dinner when you were at Riya’s and basically told me not to touch you? He was pretty threatening.”

Ellie’s jaw drops in mortification. “He didn’t!”

Vaughn laughs. “You’ve never been popular with parents Logan. You’ve got to stop playing this whole bad boy persona.”

“Who says I’m playing?” Logan retorts.

“So you guys are cousins? Does that mean you have more family here in LA Logan?” Ellie asks.

“We’re not really cousins, but we’re close. Been through a lot together back home in Detroit.” Vaughn clarifies. “Well that’s enough sentimental stuff. You guys have to try my new wings! They’re going to be a top seller.”

They spend a few more minutes chatting with Vaughn before taking their wings to go, exploring more of the sideshow.

An hour later, Logan is admiring a Lamborghini while Ellie admires Logan when shouts suddenly fill the air. Ellie just makes out the sound of Vaughn’s voice over all the yelling.

“Come on Salazar, that wasn’t fair and you know it!” Vaughn exclaims, following after a tall man who looks to be in his mid 20s.

Logan quickly takes off after them, and Ellie follows behind him.

“Logan!” Vaughn says, some relief in his voice. “This is really bad.”

“What happened Vaughn?” Logan asks.

Salazar smirks, leaning against a 2005 Devore GT. “Your boy is calling foul because he bet his truck on a race, and lost.”

Logan turns to Vaughn. “Why would you do that?!”

“Fuck, I’m screwed! That thing is my livelihood man. I’m so stupid.” Vaughn knocks himself in the head a couple of times before Logan reaches out to stop him.

A crowd has started to gather around, joining Salazar and his goons in laughing at Vaughn’s expense. Logan’s face darkens as he gets angry. He turns to Salazar and gets right into his face. “You feel like a big man, beating a food truck? Too scared to race against anything less than 8 tons?”

Salazar scoffs. “What, you want to go double or nothing for your friend here? What are you driving?”

Logan seems to deflate a little, before glancing at Salazar’s Devore GT. “Let me race in your car. When I win, I get the Devore and Vaughn’s truck back. Unless you’re afraid of getting your ass kicked by a kid driving your own car.”

“Why would I do that? You don’t have anything I want, and I already have your friend’s food truck.” Salazar taunts.

“I don’t know boss, we could use a new guy to try to smuggle drugs through LAX. Trevor got locked up, he’s looking at 8 years minimum.” One of the goons chimes in.

“Logan, no.” Ellie immediately protests, gripping his arm and attempting to pull him away from Salazar.

“Ellie, it’s fine. I won’t lose.” Logan promises, shaking her off.

Salazar thinks it over. “Well, I do have three Devores. And it’s getting so hard to find people dumb enough to smuggle.” Salazar shakes Logan’s hand. “You’ve got a deal kid.”

“Logan, don’t.” Vaughn tries to interject, but Logan ignores him, heading over to the driver’s side door of the Devore GT. “I can’t let you do this cuz, please.” Vaughn tries again.

Logan smiles. “You can’t stop me either, so relax and enjoy the fireworks.” Logan opens the door and gets into the car, the keys are inside, so he revs the engine.

Ellie crouches by the driver’s side window, imploring Logan to look at her. “Please don’t do this. You could get serious time for smuggling Logan. And I don’t think Salazar and his goons are going to race fair, you could get hurt.”

“They probably won’t, but Vaughn is the only one who has always been there for me. I can’t let him lose his truck when I know I can win. Hey, why don’t you come with me? You can be an extra set of eyes, keep me safe out there. And Ellie, it’s quite the adrenaline rush. There’s very little else like it.”

Ellie bites her lip nervously. If her dad knew she was even considering this, he would ship her off to a nunnery, and it would probably be for her own good. But one more look into Logan’s penetrating brown eyes and she finds herself hopping into the passenger seat.

Logan smiles at her, squeezing her hand briefly before grabbing the gear shift and putting the car in drive. They roll up to the starting line and wait. “Seatbelts.” Ellie reminds Logan, buckling her own. He smirks at her and mirrors her action. A scantily clad girl steps out in front of the cars, a racing flag raised in her hand. “Now that we’re about to have a car, we can get started on your driving lessons.” Logan says before slamming on the accelerator as the flag goes down.

Ellie is thrown back into her seat at the speed. She glances side to side and doesn’t see anyone, Logan has taken the early lead. The crowd’s cheers die out as they race out of view of the crowd, entering an alley.

Salazar and his goons take this as their chance, attempting to ram Logan. “Incoming on the left!” Ellie warns, and Logan manages to avoid the collision at the last second.

“Thanks. I’m glad you’re here.” Logan admits with a smile, eyes still focused on the road. Ellie’s heart beats quickly, both from the adrenaline of the race and that damn smile. She didn’t know it was possible, but somehow he’s even hotter when he drives.

With Ellie’s help, Logan manages to cross the finish line in first place, just ahead of Salazar.

“You were incredible.” Logan praises as he parks the car in the middle of the cheering crowd. Vaughn’s cheers are the loudest and most jovial. Logan pulls Ellie from her seat and into his lap, hugging her tightly. “Thank you for helping me.”  

Ellie pulls back slightly to look at him, and slowly, their lips get closer and closer to each other’s. Just before their lips can meet, the door is suddenly open, light streaming into the dark vehicle.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Vaughn exclaims, pulling them both out of the car and hugging them tightly.

Logan laughs, clapping Vaughn on the back. “Don’t do something that stupid ever again.” Logan warns.

“Right back at you.” Vaughn retorts, ruffling Logan’s hair fondly.

Mutters rise up from the crowd as a man walks through, the crowds parting reminiscent to when Moses parted the Red Sea. Their respect, or maybe it’s fear, of this man is obvious.

He’s tall, has long black hair, and is covered in tattoos. “I haven’t seen you around before.” He announces when he makes it to Logan.

“I’m new in town. Name’s Logan.”

The man sticks out his hand for a handshake. “I’m Teppei Kaneko. That was some impressive driving Logan. I might have some work for you, if you’re interested.”

“What Kaneko? You said me and my boys were going to be getting that work.” Salazar angrily interjects, slamming his car door and stalking over.

“You lost to a kid driving your car Salazar. That doesn’t exactly inspire confidence that you’re the best man to bring into my operation.” Kaneko retorts, looking at Salazar derisively.

“He got lucky. It’s beginner’s luck.” Salazar insists.

“Well, maybe that’s something I can use then. You can go Salazar. Don’t bother showing up to the garage tomorrow. You’re no longer needed.” Kaneko says dismissively.

Logan is looking at Kaneko as they continue to talk, but Ellie catches the throat slicing motion Salazar makes in Logan’s direction before he gets into his car and drives away.

…

..

.

They park the Devore around the block from the house, since Detective Wheeler would definitely not be a fan of how they obtained it. Or of Ellie learning to drive. Logan took her to a parking lot on the way home and taught her the basics. He insists she’s a natural, that she’ll be ready for her test in no time.

Ellie gasps when they walk around the corner and she sees her father’s patrol car parked in the driveway. “Oh no, he’s home early.” Ellie mutters, speeding up her pace back to the house.

“Well, at least we don’t have to try to sneak back in through the window now troublemaker.” Logan jokes.

Ellie glares at him before opening the door.

Detective Wheeler is waiting on the couch. He looks very angry. “Ellie. Logan. Have a seat.”

…

..

.

Taglist:  @choicesarehard @ifyouseekheart @brightpinkpeppercorn @regina-and-happiness @choicelogansbitch @flyawayboo @fairydustandsarcasm @alesana45 @umiumichan @maxwellsquidsuit @professorortegasstudent @god-save-the-keen @mrsmckenziesworld @paisleylovergirl @iplaydrake @sinclaire-made-me-sin @hazah @lovehugsandcandy @desiree-0816 @cora-nova @justdani14 @lady-dianelewis @emceesynonymroll @emichelle @badchoicesposts @client-327 @riverrune 

[chubinecco]

Cheat Day, August

Okay, so, quick preface on this one, since it’s the first time I’m doing this. About a year ago, I decided I wanted to lose some weight. (Number of health related reasons for this, but also, I wanted to better see a bigger difference when I stuffed. Big -> Real Big is all well and good, but tiny -> pretty big is like *melts*) 

Went well for a couple months, but I REALLY missed stuffing myself, started having trouble staying on the diet from day to day kinda thing. That’s when I decided I should get a cheat day.

Now, to prevent myself from deciding every day is cheat day, I pick a specific day a couple months in advance that I think I’m likely to eat a lot usually it’s some kind of holiday or event.

August’s cheat day was the 24th (with some spill over to the 25th because I was at my friend’s wedding, but this is just about the 24th).

I started the day with a BIG ol’ bowl of pasta with ham and cheese and spices stirred into it, four slices of bacon, two eggs and a NICE big glass of water. By the time I was finished, I was feeling pleasantly full, but nothing I couldn’t handle.

This is when my day went a little sideways XD Some kerfuffles with my prescription (adhd) and packing and everything else, I didn’t get on the road quite on time, and was in a bit of a hurry, I didn’t get to eat ANYTHING else u.u BUT I’d promised myself I was gonna get my tummy good and stuffed, so around about 2, I was making good time, and I asked my phone/GPS to find me a taco bell along my way :3 I ordered myself one of those twelve taco boxes, stopped in the parking lot real quick and downed two of them right away because they’re just SO tasty; but also salty, and I forgot to get myself anything to drink. whups.

I didn’t want to get behind, so I unwrapped my third taco, and got back on the road. Some stop and go traffic, I unwrapped another taco any chance I got and few more miles down the road I’m starting to feel it. Kinda full, nice tightness high in my belly, but not too heavy. Wishing I had something to drink, but it’s okay, I had a REALLY big glass at breakfast, and my car’s got AC, so I’m not dehydrated, just wish I had something to help it along.

I managed another taco and got my first cramp. Not a big one just sort of my tummy goin’ “Hey, Chubs, what’re you doin’ up there?” Felt so good, gave myself a bit of a rub and rest as I was driving along and wondered, “how many tacos have I had?” I managed to reach into the box next to me and get all the empty wrappers together and counted them.

Seven Tacos.

I’d had seven tacos, just over half the box. And I was feeling SO good. Full, achey, but also just... Let’s just say, even if I hadn’t been in the car, I would’ve been driving stick at this point.

But I’ve got just shy of half the box to go. The next two tacos, I took my time. Slowed down a little bit, but they were kinda cooler by now, and I was driving at speed on the highway, and holding half a taco in your hand while driving isn’t exactly easy, so few times I had to like... two bites, then kinda work the whole rest of the taco into my mouth like peeling a banana with my lips and barely getting to chew before I swallowed. Kinda a weird experience, but also kind of AMAZING to have that much food in my mouth at once, I could really feel the last swallow of each taco I ate this way as it went down my throat.

Because of this, I got a bit burpy; REALLY wished I had that water, but oh well. Rubbing my tummy gently, shifting in my seat. I could feel the wheel of the car was closer to me than it was when I started driving. I kinda almost wanted to push my seat back, but that’s silly, I’m at the perfect height for my mirrors, and my feet reach the pedals and just.. I’ll be fine.

But oh BOY I was feeling it. My stomach felt SO big. Bloaty and full and just... packed. Nine tacos so far. I glanced over at the box and was like, “I can do one more. At least one more will give me a nice, ten tacos.”

I grabbed my tenth taco, unwrapped it like a pro and chowed down. FUCK it felt good. Hurt a bit too, and I wondered if I could actually make it through the last two. I didn’t want to bother carrying the box on the train with me, and I DEFINITELY didn’t want to leave two tacos in the car. I thought about trying to give the last two away, because I was SO stuffed, but it’s two tacos, and that could go SO awkward...

I checked my phone, and I had just shy of an hour left until I got to the train station. One hour, two tacos, one SUPER full belly that was really intent on informing me just how much I had eaten. I could do this.

I drove along a while, kinda idly fiddling with the box next to me, thinking about how full I was, how much I’d waited, could I have my next taco yet? I felt pretty good... Distracting myself listening to podfic. Fic was getting to a “Good Part,” and I was feeling really Good too, and I decided, “Just one more. I can handle one more.” 

Eleven tacos down. Just one more to go. “This feels SO good. It’s been TOO LONG since I’ve had a cheat day on my own, no event or people to get weird about how much I’m eating just because I can, but DAMN I wish I could share this with someone who Gets It...”

My belly was full, I was feeling almost floaty and warm and good. I could feel my belt digging in, but only a little. More belly rubs, more driving, It’d only been maybe ten minutes since my eleventh taco, but I was SO close to the end. So close to an even dozen, and it felt SO good.

I grabbed my last taco, unwrapped it. Bite and chew, bite and chew. Every swallow felt AMAZING. By the end of it, I was kinda disappointed it was over, but also SO FULL it was a relief to know I had Done It. I ate a dozen tacos on top of an ENORMOUS breakfast, and the day was only half finished...

I made it to the train station with PERFECT timing, found I’d parked on the far side of the building from the tickets, no big deal, I could do with a bit of walking, my knees felt a bit stiff after all that driving. I got my tickets, then had to RUN across the concourse to get all the way back to track 2. Turns out I had more time than I thought I did, and running on a FULL full stomach is oof, but whatever. I got in my seat and felt SO squirmy. Tummy was Not Happy with me for that one. Not queasy or anything just like, Very Fucking Aware of just how Full I was, and also that I kinda needed to pee, but... no time, and didn’t really want to get up once I’d sat down...

One ninety-minute train ride of reading and thinking about my tummy later, I arrived in New York a bit later than intended, but none the worse for wear, and I get to walk about half a mile to get to where I’m staying for the weekend. I could have taken the metro, but it really wasn’t that bad, and I really didn’t feel like dealing with fare, so walking it was.

Some travel and other things, I made it to the tail end of my friend’s rehearsal dinner. From here, because of the other people around, I was more focused on socializing than my own greedy belly, so I didn’t get to revel in how stuffed I was nearly as much, but it kinda also meant I was distracted enough I probably put more in there than I would have otherwise been able to get through.

There were a number of casseroles out, and I was promptly handed a big ol’ jug of Coconut Pitorro.

Few things to know, 1) Pitorro is basically, Peurto Rican Moonshine 2) I am EXTREMELY lightweight XP

I didn’t have much, but it does NOT take much for me, even on a VERY full stomach XD I made a point of trying a couple bites of all the different dishes (there were like five of them) and also rehydrating in addition to having this DELICIOUS nectar of the gods that was mixed so strongly it made even the hardier drinkers shake their heads a bit XD

So, in the range of about twenty minutes, I’ve met about a dozen new people, forgotten about a dozen new names, inhaled three glasses of water, another modest plate of food and a shot and a half of what’s basically straight Rum.

I felt AMAZING. I didn’t think I COULD feel better than I did when I got on the train but BOY was I wrong.

That’s when they informed me the party was moving. I was just like “lol, you want me to stand up? uhh... Good luck with that...” but I was still mostly sober yet, and between the lot of us, we all managed to get outside and into a handful of Ubers and on our way to the next destination. 

My car was the first one there, so we grabbed a table, I had another cup of water, slowly nursing it and waiting for the rest of the troupe to show up.

I was... a bit less interested in putting anything much more into my stomach at this point, but it’s a wedding, It’d be rude to just sit and drink water while everyone else drank beer. Thing is... I just... don’t like beer. This was a local place, and I could tell it was REALLY GOOD beer, but just... not my thing. I managed to nurse about half a beer and a couple cups of water (They were small cups) while we were there, chatting with new friends and old. It was a good time, even if I was feeling a little meh.

After a couple hours, we moved to the next place. I was feeling a bit less meh, had managed to pace myself pretty well, though I was still pretty giggly and tipsy. and they informed me gleefully that the next place had more Pitorro!! Mixed drinks with new varieties of Pitorro!! :3

I had one of those, tried a sip out my friend’s drink, all of them tasted SO GOOD. and I was SO gone XD tummy was still FULL, but I was just WAY too happy and bubbly to care, and I had PLENTY of people to chat with and grin with and just it was a GOOD time ^.^

After that, a few of us headed up to the bride and groom’s house. Hung out, lazed about with bride’s dog, who hadn’t seen me in about a year and a half and practically LAUNCHED herself over the back of the couch to come greet me, she was SO HAPPY to see her Uncle ‘Chubs.’ 

Around 11, the bride handed me a glass of Jungle Juice and asked my opinion. Bride has a tendency to mix things STRONG XD. But DAMNED if it wasn’t tasty XP

That was the last thing I had for that cheat day, but even the next morning I was feeling it. Didn’t get around to getting up and having breakfast until almost 10am XP (which was a philly cheese steak with all the works from the place on the corner XP) But DAMN was it a good time.

Cheat Day totals

Large bowl of pasta with cheese, sour cream, ham chunks

Four slices of bacon

two eggs

TWELVE tacos

five sampler-servings of Hispanic home cooking

1/2 a beer

~5 shots of Pitorro

~6-8 cups of water

one glass of “jungle juice”

[thebuckybrigade]

Heatwave Part 3

PART THREE YALL...We’re getting even closer to the smuuuuut. Okay, so same warnings as before, language, crush on an older man--sexual thoughts are likely to occur, graphic depictions of stick shifting--A CAR YOU PERVS--lol and some underage drinking. But other than that, I think we’re cool. 

Onwards!

You looked apprehensively at the...truck? Jeep? Whatever it was, it did not look safe. It wasn’t the usual vehicle that Josh took you to practice in; in fact, you hadn’t ever seen it before he had pulled it out of the shed at the back of his property. 

“You ready?” the man in question called from the driver’s seat, a dark pair of sunglasses covering his eyes as he grinned at you. 

“Uhhh…”

Ellie laughed at you from her spot on the porch and gave your shoulders a push, “Come on girl, I learned last year, it’s not hard. Dad is super cool and a good teacher, he’ll go easy on you,” she told you. 

You flushed as the intrusive thought crept in; I bet he’s a good teacher...but what if I don’t want him to go easy on me? 

“R-right, well, here goes,” you agreed before hurrying over and climbing in the passenger seat, feet knocking against the red metal tool case on the floor. As the vehicle roared away from the sidewalk you nudged it with your foot and frowned, “What’s that for?” 

Josh glanced over, “Needs an oil change. Figured I’d teach you how to do that too,” he told you, giving you a warm grin before turning his attention back to the road. 

Right...let’s get hot and oily and oh god...this was NOT a good idea. 

A bead of sweat ran down your neck and your thighs sweat where you pressed them together, heat aching between them as you tried to concentrate on anything other than the idea of a dirty, greasy Josh pinning you against the car and...

NO...nope...

“Okay so you’re going to have to concentrate to learn stick,” Josh murmured from beside you, leaning against the frame of the bars overhead as he instructed you, his white t-shirt damp in spots from sweat, distracting you. 

He reached out and tapped your left knee, your muscle jumping sharply at the touch. He grinned and patted your knee again, “Easy there kid, you’ll do great,” he assured you, completely misunderstanding the reason for your reaction. 

Thank GOD.

“So, you’ll use this foot to ease on and off the clutch and brake. Getting out of first gear and into second is probably the hardest part, but once you get a feel for it, you’ll get better,” he assured you. 

You bobbed your head, trying to pay attention as he explained the mechanics of the vehicle and shifting; it was actually pretty interesting, even if you didn’t fully understand everything. 

Eventually he swung himself onto the bench seat next to you and slid over until your hips were nearly touching, giving you a grin, “I can see the pedals better from here and tell you what to do,” he explained. 

You nodded unsteadily and clipped on your seatbelt before putting it into neutral and turning the engine over. Sweat made your palms slick against the wheel and you shifted your hands, waiting for him to tell you what to do. 

When he didn’t say anything you looked over and he grinned, “You got this kid. Tell me the first step,” he encouraged. 

Your mind felt like it had gone blank. “Uhhh.”

“One foot on the brake and the other on the clutch,” he encouraged gently, tapping each knee. 

Quickly you moved your feet to the right spots, looking up to find him smiling approvingly. Pleasure swept through you and suddenly, you remembered what you were supposed to do. 

You could feel when the clutch engaged and the gear took hold, allowing you to release the brake and accelerate slowly. Your hand was firm on the gear shift, confidence swelling within you as you palmed it. 

“Great job kid!” Josh crowed from beside you, crowding a little closer and slinging his arm behind you along the seat. Nervously you gripped the gear shift tighter, feeling it rattle a little in your grip, your stomach trembling with excitement.

Heat went through your body at how close your bodies were pressed and you lost your concentration, missing the moment when you should have shifting, stalling out the vehicle. 

“Fuck!” you growled, slamming a hand against the steering wheel before looking up sharply at Josh’s booming laughter. 

His eyes crinkled around the edges as he pressed a hand to his sternum, shaking his head, “Damn kid, I didn’t know you could swear like that,” he admitted. 

You flushed and nodded, “I don’t around my mom cuz she doesn’t like it. I didn’t think you would either,” you admitted. 

He shrugged, “Whatever kid, you’re 16 now, I think you’ve earned the right to say fuck whenever you want.” He grinned, “Come on now, try again,” he encouraged. 

You took a deep breath and nodded, focusing your attention on the mechanics. This time it went smoother and soon you had the vehicle zipping around the abandoned mall parking lot. 

Josh laughed with delight and you glanced over at him, admiring the way the wind made his hair fly every which way and his skin looked like burnished copper in the golden rays. 

Eventually he guided you to a halt and had you practice reversing and parking before nodding and sliding his hand down from the back of the seat to grip your shoulder tightly, “You did it darlin, I knew you could.”

Shivering under his touch you looked up at him shyly, heat rising in your cheeks and for once you were grateful for the heat bearing down on you so it wouldn’t be so obvious as to why. 

When he pulled away your skin felt the loss like an electrical current had been applied and then removed--the tingle remained, but the sensation wasn’t quite the same. 

“Time to do an oil change,” he told you, grinning as he grabbed his tools. 

By the time you finished the oil change you were both hot, sweaty and greasy, but you felt an incredible sense of pride knowing that you could do these things now. 

Josh pulled down the tailgate of the vehicle and tossed the toolbox in before waving you over to clean your hands off with a rag, laughing as he used it to wipe at the smears of grease on your face. 

One of his hands held your chin and you stared into his face as he cleaned you off, brow lined in concentration. 

He’s so handsome you thought with a soft sigh, the sound catching his attention. His gaze lifted to yours and he softened, smiling faintly. “You thinkin bout your dad?” he asked gently, surprising you, because, really, you hadn’t been. 

You hesitated for a moment and then shook your head, giving him a faint smile in return, “No, actually. I was just thinking I have to do something to thank you for teaching me,” you murmured, biting your lip as a thousand inappropriate options came to mind. 

Josh scoffed and shook his head, “No way darlin. Come on, sit down,” he encouraged, slapping a hand on the tailgate. When you both were comfortable he pulled a small blue cooler forward and opened it, reaching in to pull out two sandwiches and to her surprise, two beers. 

Before he handed her one, he gave her a long appraising look, “Now listen, I’m not letting you drive back after having that. And I’m only giving it to you with food and in my presence. But I want you to know, I’m damn proud of you. Not just about today, but this whole time your dad has been gone so far. You’ve kept your shit together and worked goddamned hard and you’re more of an adult than some people I know.”

He popped the tops of the beers and handed you one, tapping his against yours, “Cheers darlin, here’s to you,” he murmured, smiling sweetly at you. 

You flushed and murmured a quiet thank you before taking a sip, enjoying the cool flush against your tongue, even if the flavor wasn’t your favorite. 

As you sat there, eating a sandwich and drinking a beer with him, you had the thought that this was the best non-date date you had ever had. 

Glancing around the party at the drunken teenagers surrounding you, you grimaced and lifted your red solo cup to sip again at the “jungle juice”, trying not to wonder at what exactly was in it. 

It tasted like vomity skittles. 

Swallowing down the last of it, you looked around to where Ellie was dancing with her boyfriend and smiled faintly, glad that she was enjoying the party. She was the only reason you were here--your big plans for the night had included a pint of Ben and Jerry’s and a binge session of Black Mirror. 

But then Sam had texted you both about some party the seniors were having before they went to college in the fall, and all your plans for relaxing were shot to hell. 

Tugging at the hem of the dress you had borrowed from Ellie, you headed for the beer pong tables, determined to put some of your athletic prowess to use and have at least a little fun. 

Two hours later you were...well...drunk. And making out with someone. Who was he again? 

Pulling away you looked down and frowned at the face of the guy you were kissing, unease filling you when you didn’t recognize him. Clumsily you scrambled off him and looked around for Ellie, clutching your phone in the hopes it would help you find her. 

Eventually you found a bathroom that wasn’t occupied and texted her, waiting only a few minutes before you got a reply. 

Heyyy girl, Sam and I went upstairs for awhile ;) We’re at his place, you ok?

Uhhh...little drunk...think I’m gonna call for a ride. 

Ok, so sry for bailing on u!!

NO worries...as long as you GOT SUM GIRL

GIRL PLZ...gonna get round 2 right now!

You laughed at Ellie’s audaciousness and sent her a text to be safe and opened the Lyft app, frowning when you saw it would be a twenty minute wait. Of course, it was New Orleans on a Saturday night in June...the tourists were probably swarming the Quarter. 

With a sigh you leaned back on the toilet and stared up at the ceiling, pondering your options. 

Your mom was working...again. 

A Lyft was 20 minutes. An Uber was about the same. 

Slowly you realized what you were going to have to do. 

Lifting your phone back up, you dialed Josh. 

After a few rings he picked up, sounding sleepy and worried. 

“Hey kid, you okay?”

You nodded unsteadily and realized he couldn’t see you, “Uhh yeaaaa,” you sighed, drawing the word out. “So I went to a party and I had a little too much to drink and a Lyft is like twenty minutes wait, can you pick me up?” you asked hopefully. 

There was a long moment of silence and then a sigh. “Send me the address kid.”

When the line disconnected you texted him the address and hurried out of the bathroom, heading for the front door to wait. The guys at the beer pong table called out for you to come play and you hesitated--maybe just for a minute?

A minute quickly turned into ten and when Josh arrived you were wasted. Through your daze you could hear him scolding the boys for allowing you to drink more as he wrapped an arm around your waist to keep you upright.

Even that proved not to be enough for the state you were in and as he struggled to get you to the door, he growled something that sounded like, “C’mon darlin, work with me,” before he sighed and swept you off your feet and into his arms.

The world spun as he carried you, but his shoulder was reassuringly solid beneath your cheek and you pressed your face into his neck to breath in his scent.

“You...you smell good,” you told him disjointedly, nose brushing against his throat.

You could feel him hum for a moment in agreement perhaps before his hand at your thigh disappeared to do something and a moment later you were in a vehicle.

Josh tucked your seatbelt around you and clicked it into place before getting in his side and casting you a worried glance.

“You gonna throw up?”

You shook your head and curled toward him, smiling softly. He sighed in relief and when the vehicle pulled away your eyes began to close.

A hand landed on your thigh and you smiled tiredly, “Thank you for comin to get me Josh,” you murmured, words slightly slurred.

The grip on your thigh tightened and you sighed softly, enjoying the feeling .

“Of course darlin. We’ll be home soon,” he assured you, sounding worried. “Can you stay awake?” he encouraged, squeezing your thigh again. 

“Mmmmhmm,” you agreed sleepily, kicking off your heels to lift your feet onto the dashboard, eyes fluttering open to find his face. 

He’s so handsome...I wish he saw me as more than a kid...I wonder what he would do if I moved his hand up my thigh...

Your mind wandered along dangerous pathways, the heat in your veins syrupy and spreading slowly. Josh kept glancing over at you as he drove, smiling encouragingly as he talked, trying to keep you awake. 

“Seems like you were winnin at beer pong,” he murmured, turning onto your street. You nodded and grinned and he smirked, “I don’t think those boys know what to do with a girl like you,” he told you softly as he parked the car. 

As he came around the car to help you out, you swayed into him, high heels clutched in one hand, the other clinging to his--holy shit so muscular-bicep. Peering up at him, you frowned, wrinkling your brow. 

“I’m not a girl,” you huffed, growing more annoyed at his amused smirk. 

“Oh what are you then?” he asked teasingly, “A cat? Should I call you kitten?” he teased, and fire lit in your belly at his tone. 

Pulling back unsteadily you glared up at him and poked him hard in the chest, “No! You should call me a woman because that’s what I fucking am! Those idiots don’t know what to do with me because they’re children.”

You softened and turned your chin up to him, searching his face for any sign he understood what you were trying to say and felt your belly sink when he only looked at you with the same fondness he always did. 

Exhaling sharply, you looked away and shook your head, “Never mind. You don’t care,” you muttered harshly, moving to brush past him. 

Josh made a noise of surprise and caught your arm, halting your progress. Determined not to look at him, you stared down at the asphalt as he spoke. “Hey wait darlin, I care about you. I care,” he reassured you. 

Scoffing, you tried to pull your arm away and he tightened his grip and a thrill of unexpected pleasure went through you at the display of strength. His other hand cupped your jaw far more gently and his voice was tender and emotional when he whispered, “Look at me.”

Swallowing hard, you looked up, feeling his touch like an electrical current racing through your body as he stared into your eyes. He shifted closer, barely any space between you now and your heart sped up, your body arching towards him unconsciously.

“I care about you darlin. You’re right that you’re more of an adult and a woman than most girls your age. You’re just...” he paused and shook his head, smiling faintly, “it’s hard to think of you growin’ up and leavin me behind. You and Ellie are goin off to college soon and I’ll just be a sad old man,” he told you, his voice rough by the time he finished, tears shining brightly in his eyes. 

Heart in your throat, you threw your arms around his neck, a huff of surprise leaving him before his arms wrapped around your waist and he hugged you back, your toes leaving the ground for a moment before they rested on the tops of his shoes. 

Turning your face towards his neck you inhaled his scent, so familiar, so comforting, and murmured, “I’ll always come back Josh. No matter what.”

You could feel it when his chest exhaled unsteadily and he made a soft noise that sounded almost like crying, his hands on you tightening. You remained that way until finally he released you and your feet slipped back down to the ground, your hands resting on his chest as you smiled affectionately at each other. 

“You know, you’re really not an old man,” you told him, smirking as you rose up on your toes to push your fingers into the lines between his brows, “not yet anyway,” you teased. 

Josh laughed and his hands on your waist flexed, pulling you a little closer. Your heart thundered at the continued proximity and you flushed, hoping the darkness would hide it. 

“Thanks darlin. I’m glad I don’t qualify for AARP yet,” he joked. 

You shook your head vehemently and grinned, “Nope. I know of at least three girls in school that think you’re cute,” you told him, flushing a little. 

He grinned and wrinkled his nose, “That’s flattering I suppose.” You nodded and after a moment the laughter died down, leaving you standing in the street in the dark. 

Shifting, you pulled your keys out of your purse and pointed to your house, “I should go, mom will be home soon and I haven’t seen her in a few days,” you told him. 

Josh nodded and glanced over his shoulder to the dark house, frowning a little. “You sure kid? I can text her and let her know you stayed with me,” he offered. 

It wasn’t like you hadn’t stayed there a million times before, but tonight, you wanted to be in your bed. You wanted to process your feelings and maybe get out your vibrator and imagine his large hands on you...

Clearing your throat you nodded and smiled tiredly up at him, “Yea I’m sure. Thanks for everything though Josh, really,” you murmured. Before he could wave it off like always, you leaned up, fingers clutching at his shoulders as you pressed a kiss to his cheek. 

You could hear his inhale of surprise and felt his fingers clutch your waist as your lips lingered for a moment before you pulled away and stepped back, smiling softly at him.

“Night Josh. Sweet dreams,” you murmured before turning and hurrying into your house. 

When you peered out the window from the pitch black interior of the house, he was still there, standing in the street, hands by his sides, staring curiously at your house like he had just had a revelation. 

OH HEYYYY....still no POV switch, I know. I think we’ll do it for the last installment. I think it makes more sense for what I have planned. Graduation, a time skip to age 20, aaaaannnddd….SMUT!! Whoo!! I know, it’s taken so long to get there! But I hope you’ve liked what I’ve written so far. If at the end of this you’ve got other ideas that you’d like to see me write for Josh Brolin x reader, hit me up. I’m a thirsty hoe for that man lol Thank you for reading!! 

@headoverhiddles @egonic @lucifers-trash-stash @daddybrolin 

[vettyandberonica]

Archie Andrews Imagine

“I Hate Parties”

Summary: Betty and Veronica were always dragging you out to parties, the only thing that makes this one any better is the arrival of the one and only Archie Andrews.

Word count: 3030

a/n: It’s way longer than I thought it was gonna be but what the heck. Sorry if it sucks but I suck so it’s appropriate.

---

Parties had never really been your thing. Like you liked going out sometimes, and every once in a while you would be in the mood to dance, but after a while it just felt boring. Every time you got ready on Friday nights with Betty and Veronica you would be excited; ‘This time will be different,’ you’d think to yourself. But time after time it would end up the same way with the same house of people dancing to the same music and playing the same game of beer pong. Tonight was no exception.

 “Can we leave yet?” you yelled over the booming bass to B and V, trailing behind them.

 Veronica turned her head to answer you, “Okay, we literally, and I mean literally, just walked in. You haven’t even had time to get bored yet!” She pushed through the crowd and led the trio to the bar in the corner of the room. “So,” she turned to you and Betty with 3 shot glasses, “shots anyone?”

 You rolled your eyes and looked to Betty for a go/no-go. “I’m convinced that you have some sort of radar or sonar or something when it comes to finding alcohol” Betty joked back.

 “It’s residual from my days in New York,” she said handing each of you a shot glass. “Gentlemen, to our wives and girlfriends,” she started the usual toast looking at the two of you expectantly. You turned you Betty and completed it simultaneously laughing, “May they never meet” and downed the shot, feeling the vodka burn all the way down your throat. You weren’t a huge fan of alcohol, yet another reason parties weren’t your favorite place, but being drunk was fun sometimes. Since it was the getting drunk that was the annoying part, you generally stuck to vodka. You preferred its nail polish remover taste that could get the job done faster to the slow-working, carbonated urine formally known as beer.

 Just then, the music changed to “Cake by the Ocean” by DNCE, a song that was notoriously Betty’s jam. Her eyes widened and she jumped up in down in excitement. “We have to dance!” she squealed pulling your and Veronica’s wrists toward the dance floor.

 “I think I’m gonna sit this one out guys,” you explained trying to get out of this inevitable public display of embarrassment.

 “What, you don’t dance Chad Danforth?” Veronica teased in a very Veronica-esque way. Betty chimed in, “Because we all know how that ends, Chad dances with Ryan like the whole time”.

 “It’s not that I’m too good to dance, it’s just I’m not drunk yet enough to dance”

 That must have been an acceptable answer because Betty simply pointed at you and began to back away with Veronica in tow with a “Hey batter batter, hey batter batter, swang,” to which you yelled back over the growing crowd with your hands cupped around your mouth, “I’ve got to just do my thang!”

 B and V faded behind an ocean of people and you were alone. Just you and the vodka. Speaking of the vodka…

 You turned to the bar and poured yourself another shot and stuck your tongue out at the offensive taste. You poured some coke into a red solo cup and started to walk away then thought better. You turned around and poured some more vodka in with the coke. What? It was gonna be a long night.

 You made your way through the room, deliberately avoiding the table with the jungle juice and found a dimly lit corner to lean in.

 I wonder where Archie is right now? It’s not like he normally hangs out with us at parties anyway. Since they always happen after football games he usually hangs out with the rest of the team, but you were curious. You would never admit it to anyone, not even Betty or Veronica and especially not to Archie, but you’d had feelings for him for quite some time. There were times when you wanted to tell him about it, he was one of your friends after all, but you truly felt that he didn’t feel the same way. It wasn’t worth the risk.

 “You like hanging out in dark corners, loner?”

 Speak of the devil and he shall appear. You could identify that voice anywhere: the one and only Archie Andrews.

 “You like staring into dark corners, creeper?” you shot back.

 Archie chuckled and approached with open arms for a friendly hug. “Hey y/n,”

 “Hey Tom Brady, great game.” You pulled out from the hug but stayed standing close to him to be able to hear each other over the loud music.

 He smiled, “It wasn’t exactly the Super Bowl, but thank you. So, what are you drinking?” He plucked the plastic cup out of your hand. “This isn’t the jungle juice, is it?” he questioned with a slightly alarmed but mostly joking tone. Reggie’s jungle juice was pretty famous, or more accurately infamous.

 “God no,” you shook your head, “It’s just coke.”

 “Good. Stay away from the jungle juice.” He took a sip and did a bit of a spit take into a nearby plant overdramatically. He looked at you with a faux-shocked expression. “Just coke, huh y/n?”

 “Just coke as in mostly coke. As in there’s slightly more coke than vodka.”

 “Alcohol’s illegal for people our age you know,” he warned just before he drank half of the cup’s contents.

 You narrowed your eyes and leaned toward him as if trying to get a better look, “Why, you a cop?”

 He glanced around, checking that the imaginary coast was clear before he leaned in. “You ever seen 21 Jump Street?”

 “Ah,” you nodded.

 “Yeah.” He said with a laugh, straightening his back and returned the cup to your hand. You thought his hand had lingered for a second touching yours; you were probably just imagining it. You had to be imagining it, but the moment was over before you could really be sure.

 “Uh,” you tried to regain your composure. “Betty and Veronica were in the other room dancing the last time I saw them,” You offered figuring this had to be his destination. You were friends/friendly with him but they were all really close. The only reason you even knew Archie in the first place is because you had become good friends with the girls.

 He shrugged his shoulders, “Okay.” He blinked at you and didn’t move. You tried to suppress the smile that was threatening to show itself. Maybe he was here for you. The electronic music blared on and you scanned the room, looking for nothing in particular in an attempt to make yourself busy, or at least make yourself look busy. The house was filled to the brim with a mix of people, some you knew, some you didn’t. People were singing and dancing and yelling and drinking and smoking and—okay, you couldn’t ignore it anymore. Archie was still looking at you! You could feel his eyes on you from the side.

 You glanced at him and couldn’t help but let out a nervous laugh. He was just smiling down at you like a fool. “Is… is there something I can do for you Mr. Andrews?”

 He smirked, keeping a laugh to himself, “No, it’s just,” he shook his head looking down at his feet. “Nah, never mind.”

 “Oh, come on! What? Do I have something on my face? Is my hair messed up?” You ran your fingers through your hair trying to fix any possible issues.

 “No, you look great. I was uh,” he looked back up at you. “It was just that you looked really cute.” He shrugged his shoulders and looked off to the rest of the party, the flashing lights washing his face with a blue and red light, hitting his cheekbones in just the right way to leave a shadow in the hollows of his cheeks. It wasn’t until that moment that you really noticed how close he was standing to you. He was at max 6 inches from you; he could lean forward the tiniest bit and kiss you (if he were so inclined). It all felt too good to be true. He had to be drunk or something.

 “How many drinks have you had?”

 “Just the sip of your ‘mostly coke’. Why?”

 For some reason this answer bothered you more than if he had been drunk. The fact that he called you ‘cute’ while being almost completely sober was, as far as you could tell, reason for alarm. “Let’s go find some drinks.” Frankly, you needed another one.

 You grabbed him by the wrist so you wouldn’t lose him in the crowd and began to push through the mess of sweaty bodies toward the familiar bar. You would have made it too, if it weren’t for the jungle juice. You were walking past the table with the punch bowl of the “juice” on it, the bar was in sight, when some random drunk guy with a cup full of, you guessed it, Reggie’s famous jungle juice rammed into you, spilling the entire contents of the cup all over your shirt. Your mouth hung open and the people around you all gasped.

 Archie pushed between you and the guy, “Hey man, why don’t you watch where you’re going?” There was some real anger in his voice, and you weren’t going to lie, it was pretty hot.

 “Well why don’t you mind your own business?” the guy said getting right in Archie’s face. He opened his mouth to respond but before he could get anything out you put your hand on his shoulder from behind him.

 “Archie?”

 He looked down at you, clenching his jaw. “C’mon Arch, it’s not worth it.”

 He looked back up at the guy for a moment then back down at you. The crowd that had gathered around you all waiting in anticipation for Archie’s response.

 He nodded his head, “I know where the bathroom is,” the crowd of people returned to their former activities with sounds of general dismay that there hadn’t been a fight. “Let’s go see what the damage is.” He grabbed your hand in his and led you in the opposite direction as the bar, down a hallway, and into a bathroom.

 It was pretty dark in the house so you couldn’t really see how badly it had spilled on your shirt yet. Archie closed the door behind you while you felt around on the wall for a light switch. You flipped on the switch and he immediately gasped sharply.

 “Is it that bad?” you asked. You couldn’t being yourself to look in the mirror yet.

 “No… I mean it’s…” He tried to think of some consolation to give, unsuccessfully. “Yeah, it is that bad.”

 You hesitantly turned to face the mirror, squinting enough to delay the inevitable. Your eyes sprung open and you found that yes, it truly was that bad.

 “Oh my god.”

 “I told you.”

 “This shirt ruined! How am I supposed to wear this for the rest of the night?”

 “Well, you did say you wanted to find another drink. I guess it found you first,” You looked at him in the mirror and rolled your eyes. “And I did warn you to stay away from the jungle juice” he laughed getting a closer look at the stain.

 You turned to him and sighed, “I have to go home. There’s no way I can walk around like this.” You still didn’t like parties, and this was no exception, but you were actually getting to hang out with Archie alone. This was just your luck.

 “Take my shirt,” He blurted out, rather loudly.

 “Take your shirt? Like the one you’re wearing right now? Arch as much as I’m sure that every girl at this party would love to see you walking around shirtless, neither of us are at that point of drunkenness yet.”

 “It’s fine. Even if you’re got my jersey, I’ve still got my letterman,” he countered, already peeling off his jacket and throwing it on the floor. “It’s not like I’ll be completely shirtless.” You thought about this for a moment before hesitantly nodding your head in agreement. You really didn’t want this night to end just yet. Plus, shirtless Archie.

 You took off your stained t-shirt and threw it in the trash, no stain remover was powerful enough to work on that jungle juice. You stood awkwardly in just your plain black bra. You definitely had cuter, but you hadn’t planned on anyone, especially not Archie, seeing you shirtless tonight. Archie pulled off his jersey leaving both of you half naked. And let me tell you he was built with a capital B. Just as he was handing you the jersey, the bathroom door flings open. It seems neither of you had remembered to lock it in the chaos of the dark.

 Kevin Keller stumbled into the room, clearly at least a little bit intoxicated. It took him a second but when he finally realized what he had walked into, at least what it looked like he had walked into, his eyes widened dramatically taking in the scene. It was understandable. You were sure this looked a lot worse than it really was.

 “Oops!” he exclaimed.

 “Kevin, it’s really not what it looks like,” you tried to explain to him with your hands out in front of you as if trying to calm a wild animal.

 “Don’t even worry about it you guys. Your secret’s safe with me,” he tried to wink at you but the alcohol in his system just turned it into a sloppy blink. This sentiment did nothing to ease your concern. Kevin was not the person people told secrets to. Kevin was the person people told when they wanted the whole town to know something.

 Archie tried to stop him too, “No, Kevin man, it’s not like that. Her shirt just-“

 “Hey, you don’t have to explain yourselves to me. I always knew Archie - Y/n would happen. Don’t you worry about a thing. My lips are sealed.” He stumbled out of the bathroom and Archie quickly shut the door behind him, locking it this time.

You both stood in an awkward silence for a few seconds, neither of you knowing exactly what to say.

 After about 30 seconds you asked already knowing the answer, “He’s definitely going to go tell Betty and Veronica about this, right?”

 “I’m sure they already know.”

 You nodded your head and took the jersey from his hand. He slung on the jacket and waited for you. You pulled his jersey over your head. It was big on you but not too big. It smelled like Archie. It felt right. He opened the door and you followed him out of the room, only for him to stop abruptly. You ran into him and then peered over his shoulder at what had stopped him. Who else but Cheryl Blossom joined by Josie at her side.

 “Well, well, well. What do we have here?” she said in her Cheryl way, her eyes scanning up and down. “The quarterback and the rando hooking up at a party together. How cliché. Doesn’t this feel like a bad 80’s rom-com?”

 Josie joined in, “Who’s Molly Ringwald in this situation?”

 “I’m like Breakfast Club Molly Ringwald and Y/n’s like Sixteen Candles Molly Ringwald. That makes Archie Jake Ryan!”

 Neither of you had the patience to try and explain the situation to her. Archie grabbed your hand pulling you in the other direction down the hallway. “It’s been a pleasure as usual Cheryl,” he yelled behind him.

 Over the blaring music, you could just make out her say “Or maybe she’s more Pretty in Pink Molly Ringwald…”

 He pulled you through a different part if the house to a patio where a few random couples were making out. They were taking up all the seating and he scratched his head not knowing where to go.

 “Why don’t we just sit in the grass?” you suggested. You walked over to a far part of the lawn that was dark but still lit by the moon. The music was muffled and distant, present enough that would could have private conversation, but still muted. He sat down crisscross applesauce style and you followed suit, chuckling to yourself. You both sat with your forearms resting on your knees, leaving only a couple of inches between each other.

 “We’re finally alone.” He stated quietly, sounding satisfied. The moon lit up half of his face and his fiery locks glinted as he tilted his head.

 “Yeah, that’s why I come to parties. To be alone. Just me and two-hundred of my closest friends.” You breathed sarcastically.

 He grinned at your reply. He looked at you for a moment. Just really looked at you. He was really seeing you.

 He looked away timidly, “You look good in my jersey you know.”

 You raised an eyebrow, “Yeah?” He nodded his head. You considered how to reply. “Well I guess I’m just gonna have to try out for the football team then.”

 “Or,” He leaned in even closer, “alternatively,” his lips just centimeters from yours, “you could just…” He pressed his lips to yours, lightly but passionately, like it was something he’d been wanting to do for a long time. His lips were soft and it felt right, he felt right. It only lasted a couple of seconds but it felt like forever, in a good way. He pulled back and all you could both do was grin at each other.

 All of a sudden, a mess of loud yelling coming from the house caught both of your attention. “Woo!!!” “Oh yeah!!!” “Get it!!!” “Hashtag Archie-Y/n!!!” Veronica and Betty were hanging out of a window calling out to the two of you. You looked up at the sky in embarrassment and Archie just shook his head at them, laughing. They pumped their fists and chanted “OTP, OTP, OTP…”

 Archie stood up and put his hand out to pull you up, “Do you wanna go to Pop’s? Or anywhere that isn’t right here?” “Gladly,” you agreed, “I hate parties.”

[mari0016]

Open Letter to the People Who Care About Me (6)

Hey....I’m back. I know it’s been a while...a long while actually. I think the last time I wrote a letter to you all was back in December. 

Well a couple of things have changed since then. Are you busy? Do you have enough time to read this? Are you comfortable? Well go ahead and get comfortable, take a seat, get some coffee or tea, relax and prepare to learn more about me. 

Last time I checked in I was having some money issues. Well that hasn’t changed much, but I’m working on it. I have another job now, a part time job at a gas station across the street. It’s honestly not as easy as I thought it would be. I work the over night shift, meaning I go in at 11 pm and get out at 6 am. Rough. Sometimes it gets hard trying to balance everything in my life. There are times where I skip meals or lose sleep, or sometimes I try and catch up on sleep and end up missing a day. Still, I’m working on it, finding a balance between it all. As of now I no longer have free days, it kinda bums me out but bills don’t pay themselves. Either way, the main reason I wanted my weekends off were so I could visit my family but in all honesty, I think it should work both ways...right? I mean I don’t have a car so I can’t travel to see them but they’re more than welcome to come visit me, even if just for a couple hours. God knows if I could I would.

Last time I went into detail about my drinking problem, well as much in detail as I could anyway. Some of you reached out and asked me about it, expressed your concern, and offered your support. I want to take a moment to thank those who did, honestly, thank you. As for those of you who didn’t it’s okay, really, it is. You probably don’t feel comfortable asking, or maybe you think I’ll get offended of defensive, I won’t. By all means if you have questions then go ahead and ask me. I might have minded at first but if it helps people understand my situation and how I feel then by all means ask away. 

Honestly, my intention is no longer to keep things from you guys or lie to you. So it’s only fair that you guys know that I did have a couple of drinks on New Years. I wasn’t going to, I promise, but quitting cold turkey is hard. It started with a friend I hadn’t hung out with in a while, we recently reconnected, and she offered me a drink. I was too embarrassed of saying no and having to explain the reason why so I took it. I had two drinks that night. Honestly, it felt great. I missed it, the taste, the feeling it gave me, the smooth liquid flowing down my throat, I missed it all too much. But I only had two drinks. I had two more on New Years. NO biggie, they were just wine coolers. Had a couple more once I went back to my apartment in Campaign. Vodka Cranberry with Sprite. No biggie. I was a bit proud, seeing how I had control, how I only needed two drinks, no more. But I had a bad day. I was stressed out and I don’t even remember what I was stressing out about if I’m being honest. But I do remember having more than two drinks. I remember having more than alcohol that day. I had three Smirnoff Ice Green Apple Beverages and three vodka cranberry drinks. Oh and some chocolate fudge laced with weed. Now this may not seem like a lot but to someone like me, with a drinking problem, it wasn’t looking too good. Because then I started thinking. I wanted more. I wanted so much more. This just wasn’t doing it for me, not the Smirnoff drinks or the vodka or the weed. I needed something stronger. I needed tequila. Now here’s the thing. I’m not sure if I have said this before but my one weakness, the one thing I can never control is tequila. But before I had the chance to go out and buy some I got a call. I declined it. But I got a message shortly after. Now, even though I had posted some of this on my Snap Chat it’s important to say that I didn’t have this person on there. Yet, somehow, this person felt something was wrong with me so he wanted to check in. And I couldn’t have been more glad that he did. Because for some unknown reason to me I completely opened up to him, I vented. He talked to me until I was able to calm down a bit. He still checks in once in a while and for that I thank him. See, I’m the type of person who wants to get better on their own. But even the dumbest person knows they can’t do it on their own. Sometimes you need a little help and that’s okay. It took me a while to realize that, that I can ask for help, that it doesn't make me weak. 

Fast forward to last Friday night. I had two places to go to. Large group (connected to this Bible Study group I go to) or to a friend’s 21st birthday party. I chose neither, at first. I wanted a night in to catch up on sleep. However, I later decided that maybe I would go to this party after all. I had been so stressed lately and barely had time for friends. So why not enjoy my Friday night? It was BYOB. For those of you who don’t know, BYOB means bring your own beverage. So I bought a large bottle of Heineken beer and in a separate empty bottle I poured some cranberry juice and some vodka...okay a lot of vodka. I decided this was all I was going to drink. Clearly I was lying to myself. Fast forward to the end of the party, or at least to the part where I wake up the next morning with a terrible hangover and an upset stomach. Turns out I had much more than I thought. I started with a cup of jungle juice, then moved on to my beer, then to the vodka with cranberry juice, and somehow ended up drinking a lot of tequila. Yep. Tequila. My number one enemy. What could possible go wrong right? Well, I called my mom at 1 am but luckily she didn’t pick up. I called my former best friend but he also didn’t pick up. However, drunk me thought it would be a good idea to leave a voicemail in which I called him a terrible person and asking how he could hurt me the way he did. Thanks drunk me. No, seriously, thanks. You did me a huge favor. I needed to do that, I just could never work up the courage to do it. 

Now let’s talk about this real quick. I’m sure you all remember who I’m talking about, but if you don’t then please go back to letter 4. there’s plenty about him in that one. Anyway, I didn’t expect him to respond, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping he would. His response? A text. Not a call. A text. A simple text saying, “Lol r u drunk?” That’s what I got ladies and gentlemen. I mean this asshole couldn't even bother to type proper English for crying out loud. Oh and some of you know him and I could honestly care less if you tell him about this. Because the truth is that I DO NOT CARE. Not anymore anyway. I did before but this guy couldn’t even be bothered to ask why I had been drinking or why I had called him or why I had said he was a terrible person. HE DIDN’T CARE. Still, I apologized for what I had said and told him that although I didn’t remember the previous night, that I more than likely was drunk. He said it was okay because I didn’t say anything bad. I take it it’s not the first time he’s been told he’s a terrible person, or maybe he’s been called worse, or maybe he just didn’t care. Fine by me. So I sent him one last message. I said that the bottom line was that I should never have called him. To which he responded with five simple letters. LMFAO. Boy I don’t even know how I was ever friends with this douche. But anyway, this all made me realize that I deserve better friends. Friends who actually care about me and support me. Friends who are willing to listen and take things seriously. Now I don’t want you guys to misinterpret this. By no means do I wish him any harm. The total opposite actually. I hope he grows up and matures. I hope his dreams of becoming a writer come true. I hope he learns to value people and not take them for granted. I hope he finds peace and happiness. But as far as his friendship....well I can finally say I no longer need it. He’s just not the right type of friend for me, not the kind I need right now. But I will cherish the good memories we had, but that’s all it is now, just memories. 

Now back to what’s really important. Although, I had a minor setback, I’m regaining control. I haven’t really had any breakdowns since I’ve been back here. I mean yea I have bad days but they’re not as bad as they were before. I usually can find something to distract myself with or something to occupy myself with. There are still some days where I lay in bed thinking of all the things I could’ve done differently. Maybe if I had changed a couple of things.....I don’t know maybe I wouldn’t be where I am now. And the more I think that the less I wish I had changed things. Did terrible things happen to me in my past? Yes. Did I lose important people in my life? Yes. Did people betray me? Yes. Did I get caught up with the wrong people? Yes. Did I fail at life sometimes? Yes. But everything I have been through has made me who I am now. Someone who can take a punch or two. I’m not weak. Having depression doesn’t make me weak. If anything I’m stronger. Because even with this depression I still manage to get up most of the days. I still manage to live my life. I am still able to make something of myself. So no, I wouldn’t change a single thing. Because everything that I have been through has led me to where I am now. And I love where I am now. I have met some incredible people, I have made amazing friends, I have gained my independence, I have such a strong bond with my cousin - Wendy if you’re reading this, you are seriously the best. Seriously, thank you for being you. Thank you for being like a sister to me. Thank you for never giving up on me. - I have experienced so many great things. Champaign has been nothing but kind to me. I love it here. 

Now I really want to end this on a positive note so I’ll talk more about my anxiety, PTSD, and my eating disorder in my next letter. 

Again, thank you all for taking time out of your day to read this. Thank you for the enormous amount of support y’all show me. Thank you for the endless amount of love y’all have for me. Thank you. 

Love,

M