#womens lacrosse uniforms

[frogsare-friends]

no because if women athletes "perform better" in teeny tiny skirts or basically bikinis, why are the men allowed to wear shorts and short sleeve shirts? if you support making women wear uniforms like that because of better performance, do you not care about men performing well? or are you just a sexist piece of shit?

[hauntedjpegcollection]

terrible

wc: 8827 au: college au ch: benny, maran

Benny swiftly learns that college is nothing like the military.

Sometimes, he misses the rigidity. The ease of obedience that came with the Air Force, someone always there to tell him what to do even if the compromise to his person had always hurt. Sometimes, he still misses waking up at four in the morning, running PT drills until he threw up; a mans arm around his shoulders, someone laughing, him laughing, a Sergeant barking. Sometimes, he misses the organization and the routine as much as the frantic mania of a jet hanger. The noise that left him with a near permanent ring, at least in his left ear. He misses the smell of fuel and oil and the starchiness of his uniform.

Misses knowing exactly what he was doing.

He feels too old to be a freshmen; even if twenty-two is no where near old and his professors joke that a frontal lobe isn’t even finished until twenty-five. Benny had done his contracted five in the Air Force and then left and the military was paying for his Bachelors now, as they fucking should. They owed him.

And Benny loves college. Even if it’s scary. Even if he feels awkward and out of place and people mistake him for a few grades above—or worse, mistake him for a drug dealer so often he wonders if he should start actually dealing drugs. He loves the classes, loves learning, loves feeling exhausted all the time and living off coffee and cigarettes and most of all, Benny loves the parties.

They are the closest thing to a jet hanger he can get outside the military. Hectic and loud and rotten smelling—it’s these parties where he finds that he really does like drinking (even if he’d told himself he’d be different from—he’d be different, he’d avoid the alcohol for as long as he could). Beer goes down easy and he doesn’t get hungry and he finds himself a bottomless pit, endlessly able to drink and drink and drink. People think he’s funny, especially when he’s drinking and no one minds the stutter because they are all also drinking.

So he goes to the parties, as many as he can. Even the frat parties, where he obviously doesn’t belong.

“Pick a card,” Benny purrs playfully, two girls in front of him, giggling into their red solo cups. The music is almost too loud to hear what one of them says—she leans in close to try and tell it to his ear and he can smell her bright floral perfume. Benny imagines kissing her, imagines touching her waist and her shoulders and her throat. He’d really only started sleeping with women a few years ago that sometimes the attraction still felt startlingly new. He seeks them out at these parties especially, to feel his way around what he likes.

Benny fans the cards in his hands, performs a silly trick to shuffle them, listens to the girls laugh, feels almost just as intoxicated by their attention as he does the mostly rum and very little coke he’d just finished. The heavy, almost wet air inside the frat house presses and makes him sweaty, makes his hair as moppy and stringy as usual. The girl compliments the stupid shirt he has on, a graphic t-shirt he’d yanked from a thrift store without paying. He does another sleight of hand while they drink.

A heavy body presses up behind him—an instinct of pure fear makes Benny’s pupils dilate, something long remembered in a few broken bones scream at the surface of his not-fully-formed frontal lobe. His mouth dries as he twists his head to look over his shoulder.

Connor Alexander stands behind him, chest to Benny’s back, his eyes shiny with alcohol and cruel glee. Benny’s brain whirs like a computer, sorting Connor into categories; guy with two first names, lacrosse player, asshole, asshole, asshole.

“King of Spades,” Connor says, his breath smelling sharply of beer. Sour and tangy. Benny wants to get out from under him, but is trapped between Connor’s broad chest and the two girls in front of him. The girls seem excited with the lacrosse player there—Connor is big and pretty and popular and a senior, or super senior, whatever it means when someones been in college for far longer than they’re supposed to be.

Benny should hate Connor. Maybe he sort of does, maybe he hates Connor’s perfectly straight teeth (Benny has a crooked row, he smiles close lipped mostly so no one sees), hates his broad shoulders and his summer time tan and his big hands, one of which is closing around Benny’s shoulder. He should hate the way he smells, but he doesn’t, something boyish and pine and clean, even when he reeks of weed and alcohol too. Mostly, Benny hates himself for not hating Connor, who has always been an absolute prick to him.

“You’re n-not supposed to tell me the card,” Benny sneers, trying to shuffle his deck back together to keep it away from Connor. The last time he’d been at a party and some jock had zeroed in on him, the cards had been scattered everywhere for him to pick up. Near tears, cheeks burning, humiliated in a way he hadn’t felt since he was ten years old, while people laughed.

“This guy,” Connor says fondly, with a hint of condescension as his hand turns to an entire arm around Benny’s shoulder. “Man, it’s sweet you’re entertaining girls for me.”

Traitorously, they giggle.

“Someone h-has to,” Benny comments, shuffling the cards once more with ease of muscle memory. “I’m p-prepping them for the inevitable joy of yo-your presence and the endless discussion of sports, sports, yourself, sp-sp-sports again and then yourself. Here.” Benny finds the king of spades, holding it up between two fingers. The girls laugh, which makes Connor’s face go a dark red color. He has a pretty ‘Summer at Cape Cod’ sort of tan, so it’s more maroon than anything else. It was ruddy before from the drink, but now its worse and so is the glinting meanness to his eye.

Connor takes the card and licks it. Benny tries to ignore the strange stir in his stomach that mingles with the unwarranted violation against his property—then he reels when the card is slapped to his forehead. His feet sort of scramble against sticky hardwood floor, the heavy arm around his shoulders anchoring him to the humiliation. Benny’s lips pull back from his teeth, hands shoving at Connor’s chest to get away—the girls laugh and laugh and laugh.

When he finally does get free, the card flutters to the ground, lost to him, the deck now incomplete.

—

Benny drinks more.

He drinks so much that he is stumbling when he finds the bathroom. His hands sliding across the wall to keep himself mostly upright. Everything comes to him in tiny spurts of imagery. Wall, hand, bathroom door, open door, girl crying on the tub, girl leaving, him apologizing. Hands on the sink, holding himself upright. Mirror. Himself. His eyes, his creepy fucking eyes. He fishes into his pockets to try and find his sunglasses until he remembers why he’s in the bathroom.

The toilet is missing the entire lid and seat, so all he has to do is manhandle himself out his jeans and boxers—the release of pissing is long and satisfying. One hand holds the wall while he does, a drunken groan escaping him. His head feels clearer somehow, his sunglasses almost sliding off his nose to join the piss and toilet water. He stuffs himself back into his boxers, careens his way to the sink to wash his hands.

And the door to the bathroom bursts open.

“What the fuck?” Benny yelps, and then jumps back. He collides with the tub, falling down into it, head banging against the tile wall. Pain explodes viciously, white and blinding. A little kid inside himself cries at the pain, like it always does—he slips and slides against the sleek bathtub, legs floundering and kicking. Nausea rolls inside his stomach, alcohol splashing around his insides, no food to soak it up.

“Dude,” Connor laughs, his voice booming and echoing in such a small space. The music is a living heartbeat just outside the walls, a constant bum bum bum because it’s all house club techno something that Benny doesn’t like. He stares up, with giant and undeniably terrified eyes. The lock clicks behind Connor and Benny feels his insides churn. His heart jackrabbits, thunders against the calcium of his ribs until it crawls into his throat. Benny has been here before—no need to get jumped in a bathroom, to get hate crimed at a frat party—he thinks about the knife in his back pocket and if he can scare Connor away.

“Let me help.” Large hands wrap around his biceps and yank him up. Benny stumbles, the alcohol making everything inside him swimmy and unbalanced. His ear is ringing, like it usually is. His eyes dart everywhere, like little nuts and bolts on an axis, sliding around all oiled up.

“L-Leave me alone, man—let m-m-me go.” He hates how small and terrified that sounds. He wants to be big and intimidating and frightening, because he’s done being little. He’d just gotten tattoos over his forearms, because they looked scary and he liked that. The skin was still tender, still feeling bruised and sensitive.

“Relax, holy shit—dude, you’re geeked, did you take something?” Connor’s hands move from his biceps to his shoulders and one of them touches under his jaw. Benny feels stuttery and uneven, his chest moving rapidly. He wants to slap Connor’s hands away, to get out of the bathroom, to get back to his dorm, to fall asleep in his bed. His bed, how safe he felt, just in his bed alone. Something he owned, even if it belonged to the school, it was his. Benny’s sunglasses are pulled from his nose and set on the ceramic bathroom sink with a tiny tink sound.

“What th-the fuck?”

“Your eyes are so blue.”

“Fuck you.”

“Well,” Connor says, leaning back against the bathroom door. “It’s not a closet, but it works.”

“What?”

Big calloused hands take Benny’s face and pull. He stumbles into Connor, his own hands hands flattening on the bathroom door behind him. Their chests are warmly pressed together. His eyes stay open the entire time Connor kisses him, because he doesn’t know what else to do. He feels a tongue slipping into his mouth, tastes the burn of alcohol, the sweetness of spit. Benny’s eyes dart everywhere. He can see Connor’s blond eyelashes fluttering.

When they withdraw—or rather, Connor does because Benny had been yanked forward to begin with—warm breath fans his face. It makes him shiver, makes an uncomfortable part of his stomach burn. He clears his throat, resists licking his now wet lips.

“I thought you didn’t like me.” Benny is ashamed at how much of that is a whisper. His mouth feel bruised from how hard the kiss had been. Facial hair had scraped across his skin and now it burned.

“I don’t,” Connor snorts, eyes rolling. Benny is equally ashamed at the small hurt inside his heart at that; just the tiny crack that forms, knowing it’ll take so long to shove plaster in to seal it back up and keep it whole. Benny swallows and attempts to tug himself away, but Connor’s hands are still firmly attached to his face. He doesn’t go anywhere and the other man leans in once more. Benny shoves his hand up and across Connor’s mouth to keep them from kissing again.

“Man.” It’s drawled out in an annoyed tone, gorgeous hazel eyes rolling for a moment, hot air on Benny’s palm. “At least I’m being fucking honest with you. What, do you want me to lie? You’re weird. You’re hot but weird. You kind of creep me out sometimes and—”

He sputters a bit when Benny’s fingers slip past into his mouth to shut him up. Then his face slackens into something lusty. His tongue moves and Benny thinks this is not the first time Connor has done this—not this, finger sucking in a disgusting frat bathroom, college party, music in the background, drunk and high—but this as in, down low with someone who he knows wouldn’t say anything.

For a moment, Benny tries to pretend that’s empowering. It’s secretive and gross and isn’t that what he wants? This was easier, this was better even, this was like owning a part of Connor that he couldn’t ever deny.

You couldn’t unfuck someone.

So Benny pulls his hand away. And he leans in for them to kiss again.

—

When it’s over, they’re both quiet as they reassemble their clothes.

Benny struggles with his belt because he keeps missing a loop. The orgasm and alcohol make his hands awkward, his breathing still ragged, a tingly feeling across his entire body. He keeps leaning and nearly colliding with the bathroom wall, cursing under his breath as he fixes it over and over.

Connor reaches out and grasps his shoulder and smiles at him. It’s as gorgeous as ever, as untouchable by lower class as it can be, it’s the perfectly sculpted smile of a man who grew up with two rich parents that loved each other and got him braces at the first hint of a problem.

He says, “Thanks, I needed that.”

And Benny has no idea what to say back, so all he says is, “Sure.”

And then Connor leaves.

So Benny locks the door to the bathroom behind him and yanks his belt all the way off and throws it into the bathtub and leans his head against the wall. It’s cool to his feverish, drunk skin. After a moment of that, he takes his shirt off to wrap around his elbow. He slams it against the little window above the shower and luckily it doesn’t shatter—his elbow or the glass. It just pops out, like the caulking for it was crumbling anyway, not taken care of for years—it falls into the grass below the house and Benny finds it easy to shove himself through it. He’s still lean from the years of military service before this languid, hedonistic stint in school.

Ben lands on his back, a loud thump, a soft whoosh of air from his lungs and stares at the dark blanket of the sky above him as the music dulls even further. He’s glad to be away from it. The outside air makes him feel even more sober than the sex had. Grass tickles his bare torso, which reminds him he’s shirtless and when he sits up, he realizes he’s still very drunk. The entire world shifts and spins every which way, his head woozy and unstable. He manages to get the shirt back on and shove himself up from the grass. He only slides a few times.

Someone says his name off to the side and he waves.

He hits the sidewalk and stumbles. He tries to find his cigarettes and lighter in his pockets. Finds that he’d crushed the pack of cigarettes when he’d jumped from the fucking window, but one is still good enough to light and carry him home.

—

There are strings of Connor’s, because Benny never really stops going to the parties. As dirty as it feels, there’s something equally as intoxicating about it. Sometimes, when it starts to eat at him, Benny relies on the old familiar rationalization that has carried him so far in his life; his father would have fucking hated it.

His father would have killed him for it.

Good.

—

It doesn’t take very long for Benny to realize one degree isn’t enough. Something inside him is hungry and never satisfied and he can’t imagine a world that isn’t lectures and books and learning—so he reapplies and just keeps going. The military stops funding after four years (the irony that he’d given them five of his own, just for them to pay for only four is not lost on him), but he’s smart. Benny finds that he’s very smart, that cleverness takes him far. He gets scholarships and funding, he pinches pennies between meaningless jobs and his grades never slip.

Then he meets someone named Cael.

And for the first time in his entire life, Benny is suddenly dating someone. No more secret hook ups in bathrooms, closets, random strangers bedrooms. No more meeting people on easy dating apps for one night stands that are sometimes more than one night. No more Connor’s.

His grades still don’t slip.

Benny teaches them to ice skate because they’re from New Orleans and have never seen snow. They move into a place together and Cael decorates the kitchen and Benny admits to not knowing how to cook anything but minute rice. They sleep on the left side of the bed and he sleeps on the right. Cael sings in the shower. Benny picks up their favorite kind of beer on the way home and they watch shitty reality tv and eat pizza and both resolve to start working out because they’ve gained weight dating each other and it feels so normal. It feels so…wrong.

They last a little over a year, until Cael breaks up with him.

Spring makes Benny’s allergies atrocious, which explains the painful pressure behind his eyes. Cael tells him that he has an empty hole inside him that he keeps trying to fill with anything he can get his hands on, and that they don’t want to be shoved into some place dark and cold. Benny tells them to stop fucking therapy talking him—and they break up with him because he isn’t in touch with his emotions enough to justify dating anyone.

The irony is that he apartment hunts the day after and finds a place that some man named Jeb is renting under the table. He isn’t in touch with his emotions enough, but he can’t stand that they’ve left their fancy lavender soap in the shower. He can’t stand finding their hair ties everywhere. He can’t stomach the stain on his couch from where they’d dyed their hair and it had gotten little spots of bleach everywhere.

So he moves.

Then he meets Lark and Xavier.

—

And of course he fucks Xavier.

Not right away, because at first he thinks the two men are dating. They have an ease of affection that makes his skin itch. A polarity that keeps them spinning and revolving around each other, without a string of sex tied between them. Benny sort of hates them both for it, not that he’s without friendships. Few and far between friendships and occasionally they chafe with the desire to get close and he shoves them away and thinks of Cael telling him he’s got an empty black hole that he keeps trying to fill.

So of course he fucks Xavier, because Xavier is also incredibly beautiful and has big eyes that just scream ‘I’ll make you feel good’.

It’s fun—both of them sweaty and in his bed and covered in the little tell tale signs of mouths, biting and nipping and tasting. Xavier’s long body is bent over his mattress, hands grasping at sheets, pulling them free from the edges of the mattress. He has freckles everywhere, but they’re lighter on his lower back, where the sun must not kiss him nearly as often. His skin pinkens easily with enough pressure. Benny’s tattooed hands slide in appreciation over a tapered waist, over slim ribs.

When he bears forward, chest to back, Xavier makes a sound that veers too suddenly high and it causes Benny’s harsh thrusting to pause. His new room mate is more vocal than anything he was expecting or at all used to—it strokes a part of his ego that he wasn’t even aware of. It’d made everything more enthusiastic, more fast paced, this desire to get a louder sound on every slap of his hips forward, on every twist and different position he found Xavier easy to mold to.

Instead of continuing, he brushes sweat slicked red hair from Xavier’s temple.

“What?” he breathes. The sound is so breathy and sweet its almost distracting.

“Did that hurt?” Benny’s hand cups around the back of Xavier’s neck, massaging enough to watch pond colored eyes roll close.

“Uh,” Xavier pants, his cheeks flushed and shiny. A bead of sweat runs down from his temple to drip off his chin. He smiles that awfully pretty boy smile, eyes still closed. Benny feels warm affection blooming in his bloodstream that he isn’t entirely sure is purely sexual. “It’s—” Benny paws a hand forward, groping across Xavier’s chest and making him huff a laugh and a pleasurable little sound, grinding his forehead into the pillow. He places his mouth to a warm, slick shoulder.

“Tell me.”

“You’re sort of heavy,” Xavier admits.

“Are you calling m-me fat?”

Xavier starts to protest, but Benny leans himself back from the way he’d folded over Xavier. He hadn’t even realized that most of his weight was pressed down on the other man, that he’d truly pinned him to the bed like that—he liked the feeling of being bigger, of making someone else pliant beneath him but only if the other person liked it too. Benny shifts to one knee, the other raised and yanks Xavier’s hips back. This time, his sound is strangled, but deeply positive. His freckled back muscles flex and dance.

Benny pats him affectionately.

“Tell me wh-what you’re into, Xavier,” Benny says and for a moment, wonders if all this talk is making them both too soft to continue. Until his request for communication is met with an eagerness that drains them both to bone weary tiredness after all is said and done.

—

Over breakfast the next morning, they agree to not have sex again.

“Thanks,” Xavier says, sleepy eyed and smiling widely. He has a little bruise on his neck that’ll fade in a few days.

“One and done,” Benny replies, eating cereal like he’s never had a meal before, hunched over the table as if someone might try and take the Cheerio’s away from him.

“What’s one and done?” Lark asks, his athletic shorts making awful swishing sounds as he walks around the table to open the fridge. Xavier clears his throat and rubs knuckles against his cheek and his face goes so red it looks painful—and Benny doesn’t answer Lark, he just laughs manically and finishes his cereal.

—

It’s a year or so later when Maran is opening the door to his bedroom.

He looks surprised, as if he isn’t the one nosing around a strangers apartment. Lights from the party pour through the door frame, as does music and the loud energy of drunk people in a gathering. Somewhere between freshmen year (Connor) and the beginning of his Masters (Cael), Benny had stopped enjoying the parties. For some reason, they get thrown more often at his apartment; maybe because it’s bigger, or because the complex doesn’t complain or the cops never show up or because Lark is very popular.

Benny’s too tired to engage most of the time, and that night particularly, he’d been more concerned with cleaning his chemistry set.

“Oops,” Maran says, looking equally bewildered at himself for saying anything as he does for opening a random door. The light around him pools at his edges, his silhouette turning bright like he’s a drunk little angel. Benny can barely make out his features, but he’s seen them before. Knows those high cheek bones turn a pretty shade of red when he’s had too many fruit cocktails that Matilda or Xavier have made. Benny stares, sitting on his stolen lab stool, black gloves on his hands. He holds up tweezers that have a cotton swab pinched between them, as if he’s saying hello.

“I’ve only ever seen those in movies.” Maran dares to take another step into Benny’s room. He briefly wonders what his little sanctuary looks like in the eyes of a stranger. Messy, disorganized, refuge? From the party anyway. Was Maran looking for that? “It’s dark in here.”

“Mm,” Benny makes a humming, noncommittal sound.

They’ve not really been introduced, though they’ve technically met. They’ve been in the same room as each other once or twice, at least. Benny doesn’t like parties anymore, but he shows up for Matilda—because she was Matilda, so of course he does. And he’s seen Maran across the room, or in passing. He’s been on the receiving end of that big, pretty smile and felt his heart thump in ways it shouldn’t be thumping.

Maran came with Benji and Xavier was skittish about Benji (for reasons Benny could easily figure out), so no, Maran and Benny have not formally met.

And it’s starting to look like they’re not even meeting now, because Maran takes his step back. Looks like he might retreat into the party, back into the noise and alcohol and too many people. A prickling sensation crawls over Benny’s scalp, down the back of his neck. He tries to get his mouth working, but nothing happens, so instead he stands.

He points at the stool.

“Oh.” Maran steps toward it. “Are we about to do something fun?”

Benny ignores a very warm sensation that fills him from the stomach up. He clears his throat and points again—and Maran slowly lowers himself onto the stool. He sits just like Benny could imagine him sitting; hands around the front between his thighs, feet tucked behind on the stools bars. He swings his head back to look at Benny, who slowly removes his gloves. It could be a trick of the light (what little there is) that makes Maran’s eyes seem so shiny, watching the gloves get plucked away and tossed into bin.

Benny crouches in front of the mini fridge he has. He withdraws beakers filled with ominous looking liquid and returns to his desk and his chemistry set and the cute boy.

“Yunno—I’m sorry for barging in, like, intruding. On your—I’m assuming this is homework.” Maran seems to ramble when he’s nervous. Benny doesn’t mind, because his voice is nice. Very nice. Benny stands behind him and reaches over Maran’s shoulder to put the beaker down. It’s full of a dark brown, bubbly liquid. He puts another, full of clear, equally bubbly liquid down on the other side of him. For a moment, they’re touching. His biceps on Maran’s shoulders. Then he lets his arms drop.

“If y-you mix those, we’ll blow up.”

“Really?” He expects Maran to turn around, but instead he just drops his head back like it’s on a hinge. The top of his brightly dyed hair brushes Benny’s torso. His long, beautiful brown neck is exposed. Benny’s sweaty hands twitch at his sides. He feels like someone’s just walked through the library inside of him and selected a book, withdrew it just to blow dust off the pages and crack the spine.

“Highly to-toxic. Incredibly deadly. Drop a p-penny in and it’ll dissolve.”

“Which ones the penny again?” Maran asks, head falling forward to look at the two beakers. The nape of his neck is fuzzy with the smallest wisps of hair. His ears are pierced, the jewelry small but pretty. There’s a thin line of silver, a necklace that disappears underneath his shirt. Benny reaches over his shoulder once more and takes the one filled almost to the brim with black liquid.

When he lifts it to his mouth, Maran gasps. He turns his whole body on the stool, a sneakered foot pushing against the hardwood, and he reaches up. One hand touches Benny’s bare, tattooed forearm. He’s so warm. It’s dark in his room, the lighting soft and low because his eyes hate the light. Benny smiles as he gulps down the mysterious toxic liquid.

“Do you uh,” Maran’s throat bobs. “Do you drink the other one next and explode as a party trick?” It is so absolutely absurd that Benny sputters a laugh, tossing the beaker onto the desk. It rolls and rolls and rolls and clatters against the set. He puts both hands on Maran’s shoulders and leans so they’re looking at each other.

“It was root beer.”

“I can smell it.”

“What? Am I too close?” Benny grins, leaning in just a bit further. Maran doesn’t scoot back the way he expects, so they are too close right then. Instead, he smiles, his sweet drunk smile. It makes all the noise from the party disappear completely. Benny’s ears ring. Maybe not just from the jet damage. He fumbles a hand down Maran’s arm and then grasps the other mans palm and gives it a hard enough shake to jerk Maran back and forth.

“I’m Benny.”

And Maran says, “Hi, Ben.”

—

The beginning of Summer is unbearable. Heat comes quicker than the calendar predicts and the apartment becomes stuffy and disgusting with three men too hot to function. Windows are thrown open, fans are turned on, shirts discarded and tempers strung tight. It feels ominous to Benny, like there is something just on the horizon, a bubbling sort of storm that brews until it finally breaks the sky open.

He tries to keep to his room, where he has a window unit. Stands in front of it, hands on either side of the wall, lets the cool air hug around his torso. He never liked Summer.

The heat makes his hair worse, makes it clump together in strings. Makes him feel greasier than usual—he’s clean, he swears, he showers sometimes twice a day but it just sticks to him and now he’s just known for it. Being gross, being dirty. That’s Benny. Nasty. He swipes a tattooed palm down over his face and finds a shirt to throw on that’s big and comfortable, with a large rip at the collar. He contemplates staying in his darkly lit, air conditioned room, as he rips the collar further, tears the whole thing off and tosses it into the waste basket by his door.

But instead, he creeps his way to the living room, to the sounds of voices. Benny lingers for a moment, in the safety of the hallway, rocking back and forth on his heels, teeth indenting his lower lip. He holds his phone in front of himself, staring at the little text message that had pulled him out of hiding, out of air conditioning.

we got ice cream ٩(｡•́‿•̀｡)۶ i got ur favorite flavor!!

Above that text are three more, details of Maran’s day, with those small wiggly things included. A good morning text with too many exclamation marks that he’s suddenly started receiving every day like clockwork, a picture of the sloppy breakfast sandwich he’d gotten (Benny had noted with no small amount of happiness that he recognized that sandwich, that they’d gotten them together only a few days ago), and a text far later in the afternoon that finally proclaimed that he and Benji were coming over.

Benny locks the phone and shoves it into his pocket but stays in the hallway. He recognizes voices and knows its not just Benji and Maran. Xavier, obviously, because if Benji exists in a place, Xavier is already there too. Lark, whose laugh is distinct in its short, huskiness. And then…someone else.

It’s strange to be scared in that moment. Benny can sometimes fool himself into thinking that fear isn’t a regular part of his day anymore, that he’s largely moved on. He’s far past twelve years old, but some sort of trauma to the brain has made him like a freakish animal that cannot control it’s hair trigger response to flee. He pictures himself like a deer, stupid enough to stand in the middle of the road, but terrified enough to run head first into trees and snap its own neck.

When he turns the corner into the living room, four people turn to look at him.

Maran and Benji don’t seem to mind sitting so close even in the heat, and Benny has to wonder if that’s because they’d grown up with never an inch or more between each other. So they’re together on the couch, Maran with one leg drawn up (too much bare thigh revealed, those God damn shorts), and Benji slouched beside him, with booted feet kicked before him. Xavier, despite being the tallest, seems easily comfortable sitting on the floor, elbows on the shitty coffee table Benny had stolen from a thrift store.

Lark perches on the arm of the other recliner, opposite side of the couch. He’s the only one that looks mostly unbothered by the heat, one of Benny’s own baseball hats on and turned backward, a peek of blond hair at the front. He’s not sweat slicked like Xavier, who looks drowned by the weather, and he doesn’t tug at his shirt collar the way Maran is—distracting Benny’s attention more than once.

“You’re being loud,” he finally complains.

“He’s alive!” Xavier proclaims, hands thrown into the air, face tilted to the ceiling. It makes Maran laugh, because he finds Xavier funny. Benny thinks Xavier is funny when he’s making Maran laugh. He yanks the fan’s head toward himself as he settles into the misshapen recliner beside the couch. “No, hey—I’m hotter than you, stop it.”

“Pfft,” the lone stranger in the living room’s suggestive snort makes Benny stare.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Xavier says bashfully, a tucked hand behind his neck. His cheeks are pink. Benny presses a socked foot against his bare freckled shoulder and gives him a playful enough push that Xavier grins sweetly and the pink drains away.

—

His name is Rex—which is a dogs name. Or the shortened version of a dinosaurs name. It might be a nickname and he might have explained the story behind it but Benny doesn’t listen. Quickly tunes that voice out the second it starts talking and finds it easy, because the heat just depletes him into the recliner anyway. He is melted STEM major, a puddle of advanced Chemistry minor.

Benny fiddles with his silver zippo lighter, not daring to actually strike it and bring even more heat into the living room. The constant anxious turning of it over and over in his hands makes Maran stare at him more than a few times. His quick glances become a constant for a moment before conversation gets strung between Xavier and Lark and Maran, obviously and then Dog Dinosaur Boy.

It’s only a few hours before night finally sweeps through and no one wants to turn on a light, as if that might ruin the little bit of cold darkness.

“The ice cream,” Maran says, launching himself from the couch. His familiarity with the apartment makes some part of Benny feel tender, oddly vulnerable, weirdly sublime. It twists something inside his chest, and his eyes stay following him. Maran’s in those unbelievably cute shorts, a shirt that’s too big and his dirty converses.

Though he knows it’s one deeply strange, perverse thought, Benny imagines himself yanking Maran’s legs into his lap and unlacing those white converses and pulling them away—he envisions leaning in to kiss clusters of freckles on a knee, sometimes skinned by skateboarding. He imagines his hand wrapping around a brown calf and raising it higher to kiss the sharp bone of an ankle. It’s such a blatantly sexual and somehow intimate fantasy that his face heats and he fumbles for his sunglasses in his pocket, despite how dark it is in the living room.

When Maran returns, Xavier and Benji retreat with their pints—and that’s nothing new. They often do, even though Xavier has nothing but fans in his bedroom and he runs hot like his blood is a degree warmer. Benji seems stalwart against heat, though and Xavier is so head over heels stupid in love he’d do just about anything for him (besides ask him out). Only, Maran doesn’t take the couch back, he perches beside Benny, handing down a pint and a spoon. It’s cool to his fingertips, but his shoulder brushes Maran twice and then nothing feels anything but warm after that.

“Salted caramel,” Maran says, slapping his own spoon directly onto the top of Benny’s ice cream. It makes a tiny pap sound. “You know—I figured you’d be a mint sort of man, Ben.”

“Gross,” Lark interjects.

“Agreed,” Rex chimes.

“Why’s that?” Benny asks, his eyes only on Maran, who also seems to only be looking at him. Benny can’t tell if that’s wishful thinking or not—for a while he’s assumed Maran has a crush on him. The sort of awkward, first crush a man gets on another man and isn’t sure if it’s real or not. Benny is too scared to find out, but he takes a slow bite of ice cream and Maran’s eyes skate away and to the ceiling and then down to the floor, his own spoon tap, tap, tapping against his lips.

“Y’don’t like sweets, really. Mint’s more refreshing, right?”

“Mint makes my skin itch,” Lark complains, with his shitty plain vanilla bean ice cream. Benny tries not to be annoyed with him, because Lark is still the only person in their entire circle who hasn’t noticed Xavier and Benji are moony over each other—and while he has no doubts Lark has a queer radar that never stops, he has so obviously not picked up on whatever small tension bubbles between Benny and Maran.

“They didn’t ha-have blue raspbe—berry?” As Benny asks, Maran looks down at his ice cream, tongue sliding across his lower lip to catch some. He shrugs. Something about the gesture is bashful, rounds his shoulders in a youthful way. See, I know your favorite too, Benny thinks, with smug satisfaction. He contemplates touching Maran’s thigh with his now cold hand, just to get a reaction from him, some sort of laugh or a squeak. He wishes they were alone, like Xavier and Benji.

“Cherry suits you, Maran,” Rex says smoothly.

It makes Benny snort, cool eyes on the other track star Lark’s dragged into their home. He’s very handsome. When he sweats, it looks misted and natural. Not greasy. Trailer park trashy. When Benny glances up to Maran, he expects the same level of petty annoyance at these awkward, bumbling flirtations. Like it would be an inside joke between them, something they could laugh about, in his room, in his room with the air conditioning, in the dark together—can you believe this guy? What a fucking loser?

Only Maran smiles. That chin tucked, big eyes looking from under his lashes, teeth indenting his lower lip smile. He uses his thumb to wipe away some of the ice cream on his mouth, his tongue touching the pad of his finger to clean it. Rex comes alive under that smile. He leans forward in excitement for that smile, elbows to his knees, spoon in his mouth, corners of his lips turned up. Benny can only imagine rows of straight, white teeth in that mouth.

He stands quick enough that Maran stumbles from the arm of the recliner. His dirty sneakers squeak on the hardwood as Benny retreats to the kitchen. It’s a good thing Benny’s ears are ringing, so he doesn’t have to hear whatever snide comment is made as he leaves.

—

You’re terrible at sharing, Isaac says. He’s smiling. It makes his eyes narrow and mischievous.

I don’t own much, Jonny rationalizes, his voice cracking around puberty painfully. I don’t want to lose anything.

—

Shame makes it too impossible to leave the kitchen, so he pretends that he wants to be there. Sits at the pub table, paperback spine cracked and folded so he can read with one hand. Lucky enough he’d left it on the counter when he’d come home from class to begin with—lucky more so that Xavier hadn’t neurotically cleaned the entire space hours earlier. Benny isn’t really reading. His eyes are skimming sentences, but they skip words. Nothing sticks. He isn’t thinking of anything even remotely related to the book.

Of course he’s aware of the presence inching into the kitchen behind him. Maran’s converses scuff on the tiled kitchen floor. Benny licks his finger tip and turns a page.

“Hi.”

He doesn’t answer.

There’s another scuffing sound. Cool air brushes against him as the freezer is opened. Then Maran is shuffling around the table. For a moment, it seems like he might sit down across from Benny, but then he simply stops and stands beside him. His hands keep moving from in front of him, fiddling with a gold bracelet that is strikingly beautiful against his dark skin, and then down behind his lower back. His knees switch and bend with weight shifting side to side.

“Haven’t seen you dip out all day,” Maran comments. Benny feels a brief surge of anxiety at how awkward he sounds—his voice pitched a little higher with worry. It makes Benny’s hand indent the slim paperback even harder. He doesn’t look up. “Benji get’s pretty bent up if he hasn’t had at least one, so—I mean cigarettes.”

“I’m trying to quit,” Benny mumbles, staring at his book.

“Yeah?” The one word sounds more like please than anything else. It feels rotten, Maran shuffling beside him, trying to ply him for attention. What does he want? Is that it? Just someone looking at him? Benny scrubs a hand down his face, sweat sliding down his throat. He’s disgusted by himself, thinking like that. Knowing Maran better than that. Two different emotions keep fighting for the most attention in his brain. Petulance and worry. It makes him nasty.

Benny finally pushes himself away from the table and stands. He means to answer with some sort of bite, but can’t say anything at all when Maran looks at him. It’s a quick flick, because he has his phone out.

“Wh-What are you looking at?”

“I got this weather app,” Maran explains, brows tilted upward. He looks nervous, even though he’s smiling. It mingles into something that twists Benny’s insides around like an angry fist is punching into him. “It—Well, it’s really fucking cool, Ben, actually. Can I show you?”

Maran, I would let you do anything, Benny thinks, even though all he does is continue staring. He slowly runs a hand down his own throat, wicking away sweat thats pooled in the hollow of his neck, at the top of a dagger tattoo. Maran’s eyes stay there longer than he’s ever stared at any part of Benny. Usually he is fast about trying to avert his gaze. Benny lifts a finger and taps his phone.

“It talks about cloud density—and light pollution near you—and uh, weather patterns. Right. I’ve been checking on it, today and—”

Their bodies bump together as Benny gets closer to look at his phone. The background is a pretty starry sky graphic. The font is cute and bubbly, pleasing to the eye in a way that Benny does not find pleasing at all. A small round planet with an adorable face that resembles those wiggly things Maran uses in his text messages has a dialogue box that says PERFECT WEATHER CONDITIONS FOR STAR SIGHT ❤

Lark and Rex talk in the living room, but they sound distant. Benny turns his head, his chin touching Maran’s shoulder.

“I wanted to look at—you told me about that constellation! That’s bright! And out there,” Maran waves his hand at the ceiling. The little planet on the phone screen blinks. It bounces slightly, in a constant, happy animation.

“Lyra,” Benny says quietly.

“Right, but you said it’s hard to see in a city. Because of—”

“Why do y-you wanna look at Lyra?”

“Because you told me about it.”

Oh God, he wants to kiss him. Benny wants to slam him into the refrigerator and kiss him. He wants to shove their bodies together and taste his tongue and hold him and squeeze him and bite him. He wants their faces so close they’re just breathing each others carbon dioxide until they’re stupid. And then he wants to kiss more. Instead, Benny just keeps staring at Maran.

“Do you want to,” Maran hooks a thumb over his shoulder, smiling. “Balcony?”

“Yes,” Benny says darkly.

—

Maran wasn’t wrong. He’s probably being such a bastard because this is just his second cigarette of the day—he’d not left the living room that entire evening as it bled into night. Like some strange sentry, he’d merely sat there, feeling tethered to this man in red shorts, as he leans against the balcony ledge. Maran stares up into the night sky. The wind makes his shirt billow slightly, around his boxy form. Benny lights a cigarette with little fanfare and sinks into the lawn chair on the balcony.

The nicotine thins his bloodstream immediately, makes him relax.

“I like when you do it like that,” Maran comments, chin tucked over his shoulder. His hands wrap around the metal railing. His toes brush the concrete of the balcony, drawing himself up on the strength in his considerable biceps. “Blow the smoke out and breathe it in like that. Looks like a trick.”

“I’m so impressive,” Benny sighs, kicking his socked feet out in front of him. He inhales hard on his cigarette, taps his cheek as he breathes out, blows rings that make Maran snort and roll his eyes.

“I think I can see it,” Maran says, pointing up above the awning of the balcony.

“Maybe.”

“No, really. I looked it up, to see it online first. I swear, it’s up there.”

“Of course sh-she is. But the city—Maran, stop it.”

Benny stands when Maran begins shimmying up the railing. One of his hands stay wrapped around the rail, the other with his phone open to his camera app, held up high.

“No, I swear, it’s just on the other side.”

“Maran, ge-get off the fucking railing.”

“C’mon, Ben, I just want a picture.”

“Maran.”

Benny shoves himself from the lawn chair. The cigarette drops from his mouth, drops the whole eight floors to the parking lot below. The cherry becomes tinier and tinier, sort of like a star blinking up in the sky. Benny wraps arms around Maran’s torso as he wiggles himself onto the railing.

His heart thunders in his ears, along with the ringing. His arms tighten harder, pushing Maran’s torso into his chest. He wears a little locket, a heart shaped trinket with the word ANGEL written on it. He smells so good, the scent of his sweat and body and the shirt he wears. Laundry and some sort of body spray. His muscles tense and flex underneath Benny’s grip.

His cheek presses to Maran’s chest, his own heaving with anxious breathes as Maran hefts himself up a little to get his picture. A warm hand wraps around the back of his neck for support. Fingers brush along sweaty skin, making Benny’s teeth gnash. He squeezes that much harder.

“Oh, I got it!” Ben pivots on his heels and tosses Maran down into the lawn chair. It skids backward just a bit. Maran’s smiling, cheeks dimpled, until Benny hunches forward. His hands wrap around the arms of the lawn chair, their faces inches apart.

“Don’t ever do that again,” Benny seethes through clenched teeth. His blood races in his ears, tingles along his entire circular system. He feels so nervous that his stomach hurts with it. He pictures Maran having slipped, falling, one sneaker caught on the railing, all that’s left of him. Benny’s fingers grasp the lawn chair harder. “Do you hear me? Don’t ever fucking do that again, Maran.”

They’re so close, he can feel breathing against his lips.

“Okay?”

“Okay,” Maran whispers, his eyes roaming. They hit every point on Benny’s face. His eyes, his cheekbones, his nose, his mouth and up again. “I’m s—”

“Don’t apologize,” Benny snaps. He closes his eyes and leans forward just enough to touch their foreheads together before drawing away. “Just—Don’t f-fucking scare me like that.”

Maran’s repeated ‘okay’ is smaller. It’s not reprimanded small, it’s not scared small. There is, undeniably, some sort of sheen to his eyes, and a half smile to his plush lips. He puts knuckles to his mouth, looking down at his phone. His face falls immediately and he sags back into the chair. Only then does Benny realize he’s still leaning over him and move away. The heat all over his skin feels so much less like summer and more just Maran.

“What?”

“My picture turned out shite,” Maran complains. His lip juts. His brows knit. He looks so unbelievably adorable.

“You were leaning off a balcony.” The smile turns shy. Benny rolls his eyes and gestures for the balcony door.

“C’mon.”

—

Once back inside, they see brightly dyed orange hair and soft pastel blue hair. Matilda’s facial expression at Rex as she passes to the couch where Lark has laid himself out says everything Benny needs to know. He’ll delight in talking to her later about Lark’s terrible friends outside their circle.

“Do you like movies?” Rex asks Nomi as they pass to the front door of the apartment.

“Do people not like movies?” Nomi replies, in such a confused voice that it makes Benny smile.

—

Up on the roof, even in the middle of night as it is, it’s still just as hot. Benny finally gives in and strips off his shirt and tosses it to the side, where more lawn chairs are scattered. An empty cooler and a skateboard lounge beside the chairs. There’s a mattress that Xavier had dragged up his first year living there. The sheets are always somehow fresh—neat little freak. Benny flops himself down onto it, briefly starfished and happy.

Then Maran’s weight joins beside him. He’s trying very hard not to look at Benny, who tries very hard not to take that as a compliment. He shuffles over to give the other man more room to lay down as well. Then when he finally does, Benny lifts a hard and points.

“Oh,” Maran whispers. His voice is so sweet. So awe inspired and gentle. Benny is not even remotely looking up at his favorite constellation. He stares directly at Maran. His side profile is lovely. His full lips, his strong nose, defined brow. His hair is just starting to grow out a little. It’s been dyed recently. There’s always a bit of a lingering smell, chemicals and shampoo. Benny would give anything to put his nose right to Maran’s temple. To kiss him, underneath Lyra.

“There you go,” Benny says instead. “No suicide necessary.”

“I was not jumping!” Maran’s elbow nudges Benny’s bare ribs. He smiles and closes his eyes. “You had me, anyway. Wouldn’t fall. Not with—you were holding pretty tight.” He can feel the vibration of those words. He can read through them. Benny lays with his hands on his stomach, comfortable and hot.

“Maran,” he says.

“Mhm.”

“You’re st-still life guarding at th-hat shitty country club pool, right?”

“Green Acres? Yeah. Why?”

“Do you want t-to break into the pool with me to-tomorrow?”

The mattress wiggles. Maran himself, wiggles. He gets onto his side and Benny is forced to open his eyes and stare at those beautiful eyes, thick black lashes making them look so God damn fucking pretty. He has a freckly on the inside corner of his eyelid. Oh fuck him. He hurts. He makes Benny boil inside.

“Really?”

“Really, really.”

“Wicked,” Maran laughs. The stolen word from Xavier’s vocabulary makes Benny love him. They drift back into silence as Maran rolls back onto his back. The little app on his phone hadn’t been lying. The sky is completely clear of clouds. It is just one titan of a blanket, laying over them.

“Nomi wants to know if she can have the rest of your ice cream.”

Benny smiles ear to ear. He thinks of her blue hair curling around her ears, her perplexed look at dino-dog-boy. He thinks of the tiny mole she has right next to her left eye.

“Sure.”

“She also—uhm. She wants to know if she can come hang out.”

Benny rolls his head to the side and finds Maran no longer looking at the sky. They’re staring directly at one another now. Benny can see a flush rising on Maran’s cheeks, not weather warmed, but something else. He’s seen Maran with Nomi, the way he moves like an orbiting little meteor around her glow. Benny laughs, shaking his head.

“Tell her to come up s-so she can meet Lyra too.”

[laresearchette]

Friday, February 10, 2023 Canadian TV Listings (Times Eastern)

WHERE CAN I FIND THOSE PREMIERES?: DEAR EDWARD (Apple TV +) PINECONE & PONY (Apple TV +) AT MIDNIGHT (Paramount +) MEET ME IN PARIS (The Roku Channel) JOE BOB'S VICIOUS VEGAS VALENTINE (Shudder) MARVEL'S MOON GIRL AND DEVIL DINOSAUR (Disney Channel Canada) 8:0pm WHAT IS NOT PREMIERING IN CANADA TONIGHT? SPINNING OUT OF CONTROL (TBD - Lifetime Canada)

NEW TO AMAZON PRIME CANADA/CBC GEM/CRAVE TV/DISNEY + STAR/NETFLIX CANADA:

AMAZON PRIME CANADA CLARKSON’S FARM (Season 2) FARZI FOR ONE NIGHT ONLY MONTANA STORY PALAVA SOMEBODY I USED TO KNOW

CBC GEM GHOSTS (Season 4) THE LAST BLACK MAN IN SAN FRANCISCO

CRAVE TV DOWNTON ABBEY: A NEW ERA GOOD NEIGHBORS THE GRAND SEDUCTION INTO THE FOREST LEAP YEAR LET ME IN LEVERAGE: REDEMPTION (Season 2) MACK & RITA MADEA’S WITNESS PROTECTION MEAN DREAMS MEN WITH BROOMS MILTON’S SECRET MR. A & MR. M: THE STORY OF A&M RECORDS (Episodes 1-2) MY AWKWARD SEXUAL ADVENTURE PLEASURE STEPHEN COLBERT PRESENTS TOONING OUT THE NEWS (Season 1) THE SWEARING JAR TRANSPLANT (Season 3) TYLER PERRY’S A MADEA CHRISTMAS TYLER PERRY’S BOO 2! A MADEA HALLOWEEN

DISNEY + STAR CROCODILES REVEALED DUG DAYS: CARL’S DATE MARVEL STUDIOS LEGENDS (Season 2 premiere) WINNIE THE POOH: A VALENTINE FOR YOU

NETFLIX CANADA 10 DAYS OF A GOOD MAN THE FLASH (Season 9 Premiere) FORGETTING SARAH MARSHALL LOVE ACTUALLY LOVE IS BLIND: AFTER THE ALTAR (Season 3) LOVE TO HATE YOU YOUR PLACE OR MINE

NHL HOCKEY (SN) 7:00pm: Kraken vs. Rangers (TSN4) 7:00pm: Leafs vs. Blue Jackets (SN) 10:00pm: Penguins vs. Ducks

NBA BASKETBALL   (SN Now) 7:00pm: Knicks vs. 76ers (SN1) 7:30pm: Jazz vs. Raptors (TSN2/TSN3/TSN4/TSN5) 8:00pm: Timberwolves vs. Grizzlies (SN1) 10:00pm: Mavericks vs. Kings (TSN2) 10:30pm: Bucks vs. Clippers

MARKETPLACE (CBC) 8:00pm: What the Fee?: Tackling three fees everyone hates: From sneaky add-ons to bills, to gift cards that decline in value and a restaurant with a charge many diners find distasteful; revealing the worst offenders and seeking answers from those behind the big bills.

THE LOVE CLUB: NICOLE (W Network) 8:00pm: At a New Year's Eve college party, four women make a vow to call on one another if they're ever in a romantic crisis. Ten years later, they find themselves resurrecting their love club as each searches for eternal happiness.

GWEN SHAMBLIN: STARVING FOR SALVATION (CTV Life) 8:00pm: Gwen Shamblin founds a Christian-based diet program, preaching the power of prayer for weight loss. Accumulating power and money as a larger-than-life public persona with dramatically teased hair, her reign comes to a tragic end in 2021.

STUFF THE BRITISH STOLE (CBC) 8:30pm: In the wake of a rebellion by Chinese martial artists against foreign military forces, a golden warrior statue looted by British colonial forces ends up in Australia.

NLL LACROSSE (TSN/TSN3) 9:00pm: Rush vs. Roughnecks

THE NATURE OF THINGS (CBC) 9:00pm: Walking with Ancients: New archaeological discoveries are challenging the understanding of when the first people arrived in North America, rewriting the human story.

TITANIC: 25 YEARS LATER WITH JAMES CAMERON (Nat Geo Canada) 9:00pm: Cameron debunks myths about the shipwreck and whether Jack could have survived.

THE SPENCER SISTERS (CTV) 9:00pm (NEW DAY AND TIME): When Darby's friend Kaia is wrongfully accused of plagiarism, Darby and Victoria must put aside their differences and investigate, uncovering a wide-ranging scandal.

THE SWEARING JAR (Crave) 9:00pm: Carey and Simon, an otherwise perfect couple, try to kick their swearing habit before their baby arrives.

CRIME BEAT (Global) 10:00pm: A Monster in Uniform Part 2: When the key suspect in a series of assaults and murders is brought in for questioning, a cat and mouse game unfolds in the interview room and ultimately leads to a shocking confession from a man leading a secret double life.

BOBBI KRISTINA BROWN: HER FRIENDS SPEAK (Super Channel Fuse) 10:00pm:  Bobbi Kristina Brown was born into a life of glitz, glamour, celebrity status, and all the substance abuse issues that come along with it. Exposed at an early age to living life in the fast lane, she was put on a fast track to becoming famous.

THE GOOD FATHER: THE MARTIN MACNEILL STORY (CTV Life) 12:00am:  Weeks after his wife's suspicious death, Dr. Martin MacNeill moves in his mistress under the guise of a live-in nanny. Shocked by her father's actions, his daughter begins to question everything she's known about him while uncovering a web of lies.

HARLEY QUINN: A VERY PROBLEMATIC VALENTINE'S DAY SPECIAL (adult swim) 12:30am:  Harley and Ivy celebrate their very first Valentine's Day together.

[sportofusalacrosse]

Top lacrosse video today: How many uniforms as a D1 Lacrosse Player?! ????

Top lacrosse news

„West Chester dominates IWLCA Division II All-Region squads” – phillylacrosse

„Phillylacrosse Women’s College Super 7 Rankings: No. 1 West Chester aims for NCAA Final Four – Sponsored by Hannum’s Harley-Davidson” – phillylacrosse

„.@FusionLax Wednesday boys’ summaries” – phillylacrosse

„Philly women, men named to USA Lacrosse Magazine Division I All-America teams” – phillylacrosse

„Princeton moves to No. 2 spot in Phillylacrosse Men’s College Super 7 Rankings – Sponsored by CH Custom Products” – phillylacrosse

Best tweets – 2023. 05. 11.

[womenties]

Field Hockey - Playing in a Wolf Pack

Arriving on the lakeside campus reminded me of my youth growing up on a lake and making my heart sing. Nestled in the Finger Lakes, about an hour and a half from my home, is the quaint campus of Keuka College my sports destination for the day. Mesmerized by its charm, I parked my car behind the Recreation Center, went inside to find one of the most likeable coaches I’ve ever met – Erika Profenno smiling and ready to make learning Field Hockey my goal for the day.

Seven business women, some with field hockey experience or moms of some of the Keuka College Wolverines Women’s Field Hockey team, arrived and started networking. We met there to caravan to the field where the players were eager to teach us this historic game.  You might not know but field hockey’s origins started in the 18th-century making it one of the oldest team sports in history.  Some of the business women brought field hockey sticks, goalie pads, and shin guards to uniform up for the game.

As we arrived at the field looking over the campus and lake, the stars of the show greeted us.  They were giggly, exuberant team players ranked from freshman to seniors who play for Coach Erika. They were well- trained, well-behaved, and excited to teach a bunch of middle-aged women how to play the sport they loved on a brisk Saturday morning.  As a college student, I cherished Saturday mornings so I can’t imagine being this happy myself if I had to rise and instruct a bunch of 50-year-old women.

Led by Senior Captain Makaela Mills, we learned how to “flick”, “strike”, “drive,” and “defend.” I easily perfected the drive motion since my energy level was high, but flicking the round compact ball, that fit in the palm of my hand although larger than a golf or lacrosse ball, was a tougher move for me. My friend Jill Bates said, “I keep thinking I’m driving a golf ball and raising my arms too high behind me.”  Coach Profenno came to our rescue giving us detailed guidance.  If there is one thing I’ve learned being taught so many different sports in a small span of time it’s that it is easy to confuse strokes and movements between them. Soon we were assigned to two different teams, a mix of women and players, and lined up for two 8-minute halves for a scrimmage. FUN! I was put on the offensive line so I could score a goal. Behind me was a line of middies and then defenders and our goalie, a non-goalie player from the team who wanted to try out goal for once (she did great by the way).  I made both teams name themselves – we were called F2 – the Feminist Field Hockey Team and the other team chose the name Plan A. (check out our TikTok Video of the scrimmage at this link).

As we ran wildly chasing the ball with our sticks in front of us, we laughed and laughed and tried our best to score. I must admit I didn’t score and our team didn’t win but kudos to Plan A for their expertise and 2 goal win. At the end of the scrimmage, which I wish went longer, we gathered for a huddle, sticks in the air, and smiles on our faces for a large group photo.

We headed back to the Recreation Center to have a pizza networking party complete with a career and business discussion for us to give back to these sharp students. I gifted them each a Chicken Soup for the Soul “Running for Good” book that held my Boston Marathon story to inspire them further in life to play and give.  To my surprise, they gifted me with my very own Keuka College Wolverine Jersey #24 which I absolutely love. The experience was truly amazing. It was fun sport to learn and play - especially if you like running and being on a team. On this Monday morning, I am so proud to now be a part of the Wolf Pack – a Wolverine in heart and spirit.

[theultimatefan]

EvoShield® and National Lacrosse League Renew Partnership for Protective Equipment and Apparel

The National Lacrosse League (@NLL), the world’s largest and most successful professional lacrosse league, has announced it is renewing its protective equipment and apparel partnership with EvoShield (@EvoShield). A new two-year agreement will see EvoShield continue as the NLL’s official supplier of performance driven sports protective gear in the 2022-23 season. The deal continues a partnership that began in 2018.

“Our sport is physically demanding, and the health and safety of our athletes is a top priority,” said Brian Lemon, NLL Executive Vice President of Lacrosse Operations. “EvoShield is a world class brand and an industry leader in protective equipment in multiple sports and we are excited to bring back our partnership to keep NLL athletes protected and performing at the highest level.”

In August of 2022, EvoShield launched two new versions of Lacrosse Arm Guards featuring the brand’s proprietary Gel-To-Shell technology that ensures a custom fit for every player. EvoShield also offers custom arm guards at customevoshield.com where players can create designs to suit their personal style using a variety of colors and an option to personalize the straps. EvoShield’s lacrosse offerings include slash guards, NOCSAE-approved should pads, lacrosse gear bags, mouthguards approved by the American Dental Association, as well as men’s and women’s lacrosse uniforms. A new protective rib shirt that integrates into the Evoshield Shoulder pads for a lockdown fit will be released this winter.

“EvoShield is proud to provide game-changing protective shields to the best athletes in the world, and to partner with the NLL as an internationally leading professional lacrosse league,” said EvoShield brand manager Tom Bolle. “We look forward to working with the league and its players to keep athletes protected and on the field as we continue to support lacrosse.”

EvoShield works closely with NLL players for insight in development of its lacrosse shield products to ensure the highest quality, comfort, and protection for players at all levels. Buffalo Bandits’ forward and 2022 NLL MVP Dhane Smith, Buffalo Bandits Forward Chris Cloutier, and San Diego Seals’ forward and NLL veteran Kevin Crowley provided feedback and recommendations to EvoShield product developers on the new arm guards.

Under the partnership, EvoShield will supply NLL athletes on every team with protective gear and apparel. EvoShield products available to NLL athletes include wrist/slash guards, arm guards, shoulder pads, protective rib shirts, thumb guards, toe guards, and thigh guards. EvoShield apparel includes a variety of sideline and on-field performance apparel as well as fan wear.

[brownsteve661]

Wave One Sports offers the best deals on Nike women's lacrosse shorts.

[starsailores]

the foxes as things that people at my school have done:

neil: claimed to be perfectly fine, right before falling to his knees and fainting. in the middle of the school building.

andrew: brought a pair of massive locusts into school to throw at people he didn’t like, only for them both to get confiscated before second period.

aaron: accidentally slapped his friend in the face, in the middle of a spanish lesson.

nicky: when a teacher was taking the register, said “yes, baby” instead of “yes, sir”.

kevin: a teacher was handing around (flavoured) crickets for people to eat, and he stubbornly ate one because everyone thought he wouldn’t do it. he almost threw up because of it.

matt: wrote “UwU” on a pumpkin, climbed onto the school’s roof, and put the pumpkin on the edge of the roof so that it was watching over his english classroom.

dan: after an english teacher said to write a “feminist” version of an inspector calls, asked what he meant by a feminist version. when he said “oh, you know, switch the men and the women around”, she started a debate with him on what feminism actually is.

allison: inspired (almost) every single year eleven to go into school wearing non-uniform on our last day, despite the principle saying that we couldn’t, because the school year got cut short thanks to coronavirus.

renee: randomly recited the bird scene from victorious in the middle of a lesson, purely because she was capable of doing it.

wymack: was walking along the astroturf with a student while carrying a lacrosse exy stick and a tennis ball, then used the racquet to launch the ball like a hundred metres. when the student asked how he did that, he just shrugged and said “it’s all about the timing”.

part two // part three

[ncrahq]

NORA CALHOUN has been accepted to participate ! they are a 22 year old all the way from MONTANA, USA . SHE is currently studying SOCIOLOGY at the interchange.

nora calhoun

twenty-two ; stinging raw wound of a woman ; nihilist in a lacrosse uniform ; daughter to an absentee gambler ; burnt-out ex-athlete ; former golden girl

stats.

FULL  NAME  :  nora rosemary calhoun

AGE  :  twenty-two

BIRTHDAY :  november 16

ZODIAC  :  scorpio

BIRTH PLACE  :  montana  ,  usa

GENDER :  cis woman

PRONOUNS :  she / her but fine with they / them

ORIENTATION  :  bisexual

HEIGHT :  5′7

TRAITS : laid-back, good-humored, cynical, irreverent, apathetic, dogmatic, bold, competitive, directionless

AESTHETIC(S)  :  growing up too fast, weeds overcoming an otherwise manicured lawn, waking up from sleep in the position of clutching an imaginary teddy bear that hasn’t existed since your childhood, the familiar yet foreign feeling of throwing on your old high school sweatshirt years after you’ve graduated, cigarettes on your birthday cake instead of candles, a carelessness that makes some uneasy, glitter mixed with dirt on the floor after a party

MAJOR  :  sociology

MINOR  :  women’s studies

about

nora is from montana. her family started off happy but [TW: gambling, addiction] her dad had a gambling problem. turns out he was a frequent at the local casinos and underground betting. he left for vegas and nora has felt his absence ever since [end tw]

her mom drank a lot after her dad left. she worked odd-jobs but still lost the house. they were in a trailer park for a large part of nora’s early years. the other kids knew which made school hell.

as a kid, nora had a lot of...anger ? she didn’t really know how to express herself with words so she used her fists instead. the school psychologist suggested sports as an outlet for her, so it was soccer then lacrosse

her mom remarried eventually, but she married a creep. [TW: implied csa, grooming] without going into detail, he made nora feel uncomfortable in a way she couldn’t describe at the time. it caused her to grow up faster than other girls her age [end tw]

she was popular but she’s the girl who peaked in high school. nora will admit this to you in a joking manner. but if you really listen, you can hear the bitterness in her voice. a knee injury put her out of the running for a coveted sports college scholarship. luckily her grades weren’t trash so she’s still able to attend college without one

the liminality of suburbia was her backdrop growing up. cruising down neighborhood streets at 1 am, drunk after a party. not wanting to go home. finding god at the bottom of the public swimming pool after dropping acid, jumping the fence. she still has that aimless energy about her.

she drinks. she likes to have fun. she’s sarcastic and cynical, yet charismatic. she was popular and played a lot of social chess in high school. it taught her some things. she’s generally laid back but also directionless. nora can lean towards apathetic when placed in situations she doesn’t give a shit about. but she’s dogmatic about other things and still has that temper she had as a little girl. she’s not afraid to call people out or speak her mind. she’s a ride or die friend. occasionally the mom friend. she grew up taking care of her own mom. but more often than not she’s the one egging you on to do something reckless. “just one more shot” “why not stay out a little longer?” etc. etc. until you’re wasted in some dive bar belting out karaoke in a foreign language at 3 am. however she’s also that friend who will give you tough love advice. help key your ex’s car. make sure you get home safe after a wild night.

[TW: drugs] nora is a big pothead. wasn’t in high school because of sports. it made her sluggish. now she regularly converts old plastic bottles into bongs. she’s also a sloppy drunk. she’ll take anything you give her. she developed a liking for coke in high school and now does it sporadically if she can find it. she definitely shows up for class in yesterday’s outfit and smudged eyeliner [end tw]

she doesn’t really know who she is anymore ?? she went from smol feral angry child to Star Athlete and Prom Queen ™ to ??? whatever she is now. stoner who fucks around too much ? yeah, that. she’s going thru a bit of an identity crisis i shan’t lie to you

headcanons

she’s bisexual. nora hates men. it’s because of her dad and stepdad tbh. girl has daddy issues but she loathes that phrase. she’s also a women’s studies minor and it just makes her dislike men even more lol. she has sex/flings with men when she’s craving Validation™ but she definitely has past relationships with men where she’s had real feelings. probably refused to admit those feelings.

nora doesn’t laugh. she scoffs. she chuckles. she snickers. but you’ll never see her outright crack up

she has really fond memories of mcdonald’s. her father used to do scratch-off lottery tickets as nora sat on his lap. when he won chump change he’d take her to mcdonald’s to get a kid’s meal. this ritual, of course, dwindled and died once her father’s gambling got out of control. but now nora often chooses mcdonald’s, even if there were a michelin star restaurant handing out free hors d'oeuvres down the street. she’s made it a goal to try all the regional menu items as she travels

will never turn down a dare. she’s got a competitive nature from sports that never went away.  

oddly enough she’s sentimental

pretends things don’t bother her but they do

pierced her own ear as a child after watching the parent trap. her mom had promised to take her to get it done but kept getting too drunk to drive her to claire’s. so nora took it into her own hands. i say ear because she did the first one on pure adrenaline alone but then started crying and her mom found her before she could do the second.

collects vintage t-shirts

and hats

her personal style is a lot of thrifted and depop stuff. she’s a sneakerhead. rarely wears anything else on her feet. when she does, she likes cowboy boots. it’s that montana rancher gal in her. even though she’s never been near a horse in her life

doesn’t believe in astrology. *cue collective booing*. but she doesn’t shit on people who do and she’ll humor them by letting them read her horoscope.

also doesn’t wear makeup. wore it once as a kid to hopefully get the other kids to stop bullying her before she got into sports and made friends. they absolutely roasted her when she showed up in electric blue eye shadow and bright rouged cheeks. it really turned her off to makeup and for a while she had a lot of internal misogyny to unpack surrounding “girly girls” and judging women who wear makeup, revealing clothes, etc. now she’s very much “do whatever makes you happy” and  dislikes those who look down on women for any reason. plus she’s pretty gay so she loves when girls are all dolled up.

her vibe is definitely more camila morrone in her films mickey and the bear or never goin’ back. a much rougher look than camila morrone the model.

biography

TW: gambling, addiction, alcoholism, grooming, csa, vomit mention

the only of child of christy and james calhoun. he’s a construction worker, she's a full-time mom. they call a suburban town in montana home. and though they don’t have much, they’re at least middle class. the calhoun family is a happy family.

nora is a colicky baby. frequent ear infections. refuses breastfeeding and formula alike. sleeps for 2 hours, screams for 6. her mom jokes about what a difficult baby she received from god. she wonders why nora never smiles. it’s as if somehow, even then, nora knew what was to come.

from the outside looking in, all is well. fourth of july barbecues ; setting up the above-ground swimming pool every summer like a ritual ; birthday parties and holiday greeting cards. the calhoun family is a happy family.

but there’s more lurking beneath the surface. arguments in hushed voices amplified into screaming matches ; broken dishes. daddy bets the money for christmas presents on black, lets it ride. mommy spends her evenings with a wine bottle in hand. the calhoun family is a happy family

nora’s father begins to chase luck wherever it takes him. he soon finds he prefers the omnipresent neon lights of vegas to the monoculture of the montana prairies. it makes nora sick, how he leaves. nothing but a father-sized absence at the dinner table. collect calls from correctional facilities when his gambling gets him into trouble. slivers of hope followed by broken promises. year after year until nora grows into a disillusioned ‘difficult’ child. he’s still your dad, the school psychologist tells her one day during a session. nora wishes on every shooting star for a different dad.

mom drinks. mom can’t pay rent. mom works odd jobs but still loses the house. she moves the family into a dilapidated trailer park. nora spends her time kicking empty bud light cans instead of soccer balls ; putting blankets on her passed out mother so she doesn’t get cold as she slumbers on the couch.

school isn’t any easier for nora. her reputed poverty is reflected in her tattered overalls and mud-caked sneakers, a size and a half too big. as a child she struggles to express herself. stares and glances are favored over language until the ripe age of five. she’s labeled “nonverbal” by teachers and psychologists alike

when she does open up, she speaks very slow, waiting for her words to grow. and then there’s no stopping her. she becomes a loud girl. a vicious girl. a violent girl. a bully in the third grade nearly swallows his loose tooth after nora’s right hook connects with his condescending grin. but this isn’t the last time someone calls her a mean name. and the more insults are hurled in her direction, the more her tiny hands are balled into fists. the school counselor suggests sports as an outlet.

nora starts soccer. it’s like some feral instinct calling to her to run. she excels, becomes team captain. by middle school she’s invited to the parties where the girls and boys play spin the bottle and get drunk off wine coolers. she’s actually popular. it doesn’t hurt that her mom’s newly remarried ; gotten them out of the trailer park and back into suburban bliss. but mom’s new husband makes nora feel uncomfortable in ways she cannot describe. his feet mark up floors ; his presence lingers in the air ; his glances always last a little too long. nora tries to avoid being home as much as possible. at night she locks her door.

nora loses her virginity at a party. not because she necessarily wants to. but it’s what everyone else is doing, right ? as her friends ripen themselves with tales of virginities lost, nora can’t stop staring at those same friends with curiosity, thinking thoughts deemed “sinful” by the priests from before nora renounced religion and stopped attending sunday mass. she ignores those feelings, purses boys instead. the first time she does it, any hope for romance is crushed when she feels his toothfully truthful kiss ; a business kiss. isn’t that all sex is, anyway ? a transaction ? nora feels like it sometimes. the boys like nora. they quickly learn that they don’t need to whisper sweet nothings in her ear ; don’t need to call her their baby darling sweetie-pie to find their way into her bedroom. or theirs. or a coat closet.

nora learns about getting fucked up. she graduates from smirnoff ices to straight tequila. drugs enter the picture junior year. if only it were as easy as “just say no”. soon she’s walking through town at 2 am. while she’s drunk. while she’s high. while she’s both. after a party. after a lacrosse game. after mom’s passed out on the couch and her stepdad’s been drinking again. then up at 6 am for practice with a pounding hangover ; running sprints before vomiting up her hollow stomach behind the bleachers. wipes her mouth on the back of her hand, heads to the showers. it’s routine.

a knee injury kills her dreams of a college scholarship. no d1 school wants a girl with a torn ligament. nora begins to spiral without the structure and discipline sports provided. now she’s willing to do anything, wanting to numb the feeling of disappointment tightening in her ribcage. she’s wasted at graduation.

luckily nora finds her way to college. she studies sociology, can’t think of anything else. she gets the opportunity to travel the world. but she’s still hungry. ravenous even. she’s not sure what exactly for. people used to say she’d crash and burn out ; never make anything of herself. guess in a way, they were right. weren’t they?

[keepingupwiththepogues]

School Uniforms Headcanon Rafe x reader

 - I go to a private high school and just got my new set of uniforms today and we have these quarter zips with our school crest, and I got two - a women’s one and a men’s one - the dude one is too big,, and it just made me wish it was my boyfriend’s and I stole it from him, and then Rafe popped into my head. So here it is:

Obviously you steal his clothes, like no doubt.

His quarter zip? Gone, you were cold and its yours now.

His lacrosse jersey? Well, you needed a shirt for spirit day, so you took it.

His hat with your school emblem? What can you say it was a bad hair day.

Let’s be honest. You never thought your school skirt was flattering until you met Rafe.

It’s pleated all the way around and can't be more than four inches above the knee. Who thinks that's hot?

Apparently Rafe does

He likes the way it swings when you walk and that he's the only one who gets to see it hiked around your waist when you're fucking right before a lacrosse game.

The PE uniforms are god-awful, yet Rafe seems to pull it off.

He’s at the right height so that the shorts aren't too long, and, yeah, the material is this disgusting nylon/mesh hybrid, but that doesn't mean his ass doesn't look fine as hell in them.

You're favorite part about his uniform is the tie, though.

The way he never has it fully tightened and it’s always crooked.

What you don't know is that he does this on purpose so he has an excuse for you to fix it right before you enter school.

He loves the look of concentration on your face when you retie the knot and how you furrow your brows and poke your tongue out of the corner of your mouth ever so slightly.

[herosofmarvelanddc]

Soccer Date - a Staticquake ficlet

Summary: Daisy takes advantage of having a day off at the beginning of summer to take Lincoln to a professional women's soccer game.

Read on A03 or below! Also written for the Hot Shield Summer challenge @agentsofchallenges

“I can’t believe you’ve never been to a game before.”

Lincoln laughed at Daisy’s affronted attitude. “What can I say? I was always more of a baseball and basketball fan.”

“Respectable choices but still. Soccer is a classic. Didn’t you play when you were five?”

Lincoln couldn’t help rolling his eyes. “Yeah, and so did half of all other five-year-olds.” Daisy laughed in agreement. “Anyways, then I played t-ball, then basketball before landing back in baseball in high school so those two became more important to me.”

“I imagine you looked nice in a baseball uniform.”

The glint in her eyes when she said this made him smile and tug her closer as they continued walking around the stadium to find their seating section. “I did look pretty hot.”

She laughed slapping his chest playfully causing them both to laugh.

They finally reached their section and sat back to watch the end of the teams’ pre-game practice.

“So how did you get into soccer anyways? I know the nuns didn’t let you play.”

Daisy smiled. “No, they certainly did not. But I did play with other kids during recess in elementary school and I had a soccer elective during freshman year of high school. Plus, before I ran away, I would hang around after school a lot on the bleachers and I definitely preferred watching soccer practices over football or lacrosse.”

Lincoln nodded in agreement. He was never a huge fan of either the American staple sport or the ‘preppy’ sport of lacrosse.

“It might also have to do with the fact that I had a crush on one of our defenders on the girl’s team but that’s beside the point,” Daisy said with a wistful look on her face.

Lincoln laughed. “Respect. We’ve all been there before.”

Daisy looked at him with a glint in her eyes. “Pray tell, what did you do just to get a chance to watch a pretty girl play a sport?”

He grinned leaning back in his seat and throwing his arm around the back of her seat. “I may have convinced one of my buddies to come with me to a couple volleyball games in college because one of the cute girls from my bio class was on the team.”

Daisy grinned. “Smart and sporty. Good choice.”

He leaned in a little closer and locked eyes with Daisy. “What can I say, I’ve always been attracted to incredible and strong women.” He leaned down and placed a soft kiss on her lips but pulled away before she could deepen it. “And you, Daisy, are the strongest and most amazing woman I’ve ever met.”

He smiled at her instant blush and her effort to quickly look back at the field but he gently guided her face back to his for one more kiss.

“You’re a huge sap,” she laughed pulling away and leaning into his side as she focused on the players again.

“Only for you. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t love you. Although now it makes a lot more sense of why you chose to bring us to a women’s game instead of a men’s game.”

He loved seeing the playful twinkle in her eye as she replied, “I figured we both would enjoy admiring some beautiful and talented women.”

“How considerate of you.”

“You’ll have fun don’t worry. But thank you for spending your day off here with me. I love you too.”

“No place I’d rather be.” Lincoln grinned, “but next time we are going to a baseball game.”

Daisy’s laugh made his heart soar. “Deal.”

Soccer may not be his favorite sport but seeing her so happy during their first day off of summer may turn him into a soccer fan after all.

[eisehaus]

Lucifer: We also have a wide variety of sports teams in our athletic program here at RAD.

MC: Do you have a Women's Lacrosse team?

Lucifer: That is not currently one of our options. Besides, I'm not sure it would be wise for a human to play with demons for such an agressive ---

MC: The uniforms include a skin tight mini skirt and tank top with knee socks.

Lucifer, dialing his phone: Diavolo? I would like to petition that we add a Women's Lacrosse team to our roster.

[locria-writes]

Which high school tropes/cliches would MC, the ROs and any other characters you want to include (like Doradeira, Yunning, etc.) be in that High School AU?

i feel like as much as we love a good high school au, it’s probably super difficult to actually translate abea into it without everyone suddenly being uber creepy to poor mc (/‿＼✿)

mc

the new grade 12 transfer student who fits the ‘sick lonely rich kid’ trope

channels that “i’m so tired of everything pls let me graduate and move on with my life” vibe 1000% of the time, and is always so confused about everything like why is everyone so intense all the time????

childhood friends with lulu, and probably only really ever talks with him or ouren bc even though they’re weird, they’re a normal kind of weird. more or less adopted by doradeira as her new best friend tho, and azorius is just kinda,,,,,there??

doesn’t really fit into any ‘clique’, but bc she has friends in “high places” (lulu and doradeira), nobody really picks on her

either in art club (art focus), choir (charm focus), science olympiad (scholar focus), or archery club (war focus)

probably has a secret club of simps fawning after her that lulu fights off idk and she probably never gets it when he confesses to her lol

launcelin

the history teacher who’s waaay too overqualified for his position bc he has a phd in history, despite only being in his late twenties

super intense in class bc he gets really passionate about history lol. his tests and assignments are probably really hard, but he’s always willing to give extra help and extensions

disowned and disinherited by his dad, and has honestly never been happier -- especially since he took in ouren as a ward/adopted son, and now has most of his life together

has terrible taste in women and an awful dating history, so he’s just happy to be single and literally doesn’t get why so many of his female students (and some male) are so interested in his love life

supervises a bunch of weird and obscure clubs bc his students asked him to, and doesn’t really get any of it, but happily supports them

has a soft spot for mc since she’s his best friend’s little sister, and honestly, he identifies with her confused and tired energy

vezian

a grade 12 jock who’s also the heir to this massive business, and boy does he have the arrogance to show for it

has the exact personality you think -- arrogant, conceited, but surprisingly charismatic, and does have a soft side every now and then (mostly regarding doradeira)

has a very strange and vitriolic rivalry with lulu bc the latter beat him at the elections; super popular otherwise, and bc he isn’t totally disrespectful most of the time, liked by a lot of teachers too, except for launcelin bc he constantly fights with his older half-brother (despite the latter ignoring him most of the time)

totally still a manwhore who probably has a new gf every month or so, but at least he doesn’t do anything cheesy like the “omg one month anniversary!!!” so almost tolerable??

probably does all kinds of sport, but i’m gonna say lacrosse, since it’s just snobby enough, and violent enough for him. probably also a student council member and spends most of the meetings arguing with lulu

has a list of girls he wants to “date” before graduation, and unfortunately, mc is at the top of it

lu’anyu

the grade 12 hustler who’s literally in so many clubs it’s not even funny and half the school is convinced he sells drugs on the side

lives off of red bull and whatever scraps mc feeds him at lunch and everyone swears that he sustains himself off of stress

likes taking the piss out of vezian, but in a very eloquent and passive-aggressive way; very popular otherwise bc he has a princely demeanour, but is a surly old man at heart

has a lot of admirers, but everyone is too intimidated to ask him out, and are now convinced he’s dating mc anyway

thrives off of stress -- student council president, wrestling, archery, science olympiad, debate -- nobody knows how tf he does it, not even the teachers

heart eyes only for mc; keeps confessing to her, except he doesn’t do it in a straightforward way, so mc never gets it lol

ouren

the accidental heartbreaker of grade 12, but everyone loves him anyway bc he’s just too nice and sweet (plus, he’s a great ‘in’ to get to launcelin)

literally always has something nice to say (or just polite if it’s launcelin), and some people swear they see a beam of sunlight when he smiles

one of those ‘popular’ kids who has a lot of friends, but very few close ones. vibes a lot with mc, and surprisingly doradeira, and gets along weirdly with lulu

an unintentional heartbreaker bc he’s so suave and charming, but he’s never intentionally flirting, and always tries to gently turn down confessions

lives in the art room most of the time; always has paint smears on his uniform and hands, and mostly does landscape paintings

has a crush on mc and is so confused??? too afraid to confess, so he’s just happy to be friends with her

doradeira

for the sake of a consistent timeline, is vezian’s twin, and queen bee of the school (inadvertently; she just couldn’t stand the last one lol)

kind of a bitch, but the good kind? literally couldn’t care less about what other people think, kind of petty, stands by her own morals, and won’t compromise them ever

as a queen bee, she has to be popular, but she is just really well-liked in general? a bit too outspoken, but generally isn’t really mean or unnecessarily petty, and is undeniably a fun person to be around; adopts mc as her new best friend bc why not

would love to dip her toes into the dating scene, except vezian keeps scaring away any guy who so much as looks at her wrong. she’s not very amused

i wanna go full on cliche and say she’s a cheerleader, but she also kind of gives off drama kid vibes (except drama kids will never be popular rip)??

azorius

a pretty average grade 12 kid, nothing insane or weird about him really

is really normal? he’s mostly polite and kind of shy, but not overly so in any way

just kinda exists in the social hierarchy. he’s not super popular, not unpopular, just smack dab in the middle. has friends, but no one really close, and doesn’t really have any enemies either

hasn’t really dated much, and doesn’t really intend to. he’s satisfied with being single for the next while anyway

probably more on the sporty side, so wrestling maybe? lacrosse? not a star player, but definitely better than average

just kinda goes *heart eyes* at mc on first sight. major simp what can i say

[carmichealroyals]

FRIENDS IN HIGH PLACES: PRINCESS BELLE SPOTTED OUT AND ABOUT WITH FRIENDS AFTER SCHOOL

It seems like everyone’s favorite teenage princess has quite the group of friends surrounding her these days! This afternoon, the Princess Royal was spotted walking through the Olde Plaza of Winterven’s Historic District in her Winden Preparatory School for Girls uniform, arm in arm with her friends from school after classes had been let out for the day. In both pictures, HRH is spotted with a few young women of note, including none other than Fiona Holbrook, the Prime Minister’s daughter, where the girls were overheard asking Princess Belle questions about her family’s recent trip away and if the beau of Grand Duchess Margot, Mr. Howard Moore, is as handsome in person as he is in pictures.

(Pictured above and below, from L-R: Lady Rachelle Hyde of Pickering; Miss Fiona Holbrook; HRH Belle, Princess Royal; Lady Bridgette Pennington of Bulford; Lady Michaela Holmes of Lutz)

Keen-eyed royal watchers snapped the two pictures that appeared online today as the girls were headed into the Cocoa Bean Cafe, a new coffee shop a short distance from the school which has become quite the local hangout for the boys of Weston College as well as the girls of Winden Prep.

Sources close to the family say that the girls instantly connected when they all started in the same kindergarten class at Buckingham Academy as children, and that despite all being very different, they are all incredibly close. “If Belle has a free minute, she’s checking their group chat, which is only quiet when they all inevitably go to sleep. The girls don’t care about titles and who outranks whom, and they know that they’ll always be there for one another.” Sources also say that HRH Crown Prince William and Lord Ronan Holmes of Lutz were expected to join the girls for coffee after class, but both boys had lacrosse practice that ran overtime.

It certainly is refreshing to see the Princess Royal be a “regular” teenager – or as regular as you can be when you attend an elite girls-only boarding school in Winterven! We’re sure we’ll only see more of these friendships as the girls continue through their schooling.

[brooken-tcc]

1.

Hello everyone! I’m writing a story for my own entertainment and decided it might be fun to share with others in the community, so if you’re down to read some teacher crush themed but not only tc story, don’t hesitate. (Also, feedback is always appreciated.)

Brooke

I was trying to find stupid excuses to see Owen after classes, I just really liked him for some reason. I definitely had a crush on him. He was about 15 years older than me, and did not teach me anymore, just coached.

I looked sexy in my uniform, dark thighs, skirt, a little opened button up shirt and a loose tie, the perfect school girl outfit. I wore my favorite jewelry and did my hair nicely, also my makeup.

I'd go to his office sometimes, or to the gym when I knew he was there, but usually I just hung around in his office.

We always talked about things very openly, and I just that a lot. His personality didn't really know what boundaries or propriety were, I think he enjoyed making people uncomfortable or weirder out, and always talked freely, even when he shouldn't have. And I liked that, it was strange and controversial, but very interesting.

"So, have you ever slept with Miss Polinski? Or anyone from the staff? People say you two did." I chose an interesting subject. I wanted to know about his sex life.

"Ah, no." He shook his head laughing. "I guess she had a thing for me but, not me. She just isn't really my type."

"What's your type?" I was really hoping he'd say something like what I am.

"Alive." He joked and then gave me a "doesn't really matter" shrug. "I guess just women that are interesting and not always following the rules. And I prefer long hair. What about yours?"

I don't know if it was the adrenaline or my mind leaving me, but I placed my right hand on his knee fast, as if I was trying to kill a fly.

He looked down at my hand and didn't do anything, so I started moving it up to his thigh. I'd been dreaming about this moment for a while now.

"Brooke." He stopped my hand with his. "Come on, you know this is wrong." He didn't look me in the eye, he didn't care it was wrong.

"I do know, but I also know we both would like this. So why not?" He smiled a little and I decided to act fast, he could never resist me then.

I winked at him and got on my knees in between his legs, brushing my hands down his thighs and opening up my top so he could see my bralette.

"Fuck me." He touched his head nervously and looked at the door. "Fuck." He kept on swearing, and I kept on touching his legs. "That's good, yeah." He let go of his doubt when my hands reached his crotch.

"Do you mind?" I asked when touching his belt.

"We really shouldn't, luv." He kept on looking at the door, it didn't have a lock.

"It'd be my pleasure." I smiled and started opening up his pants, feeling his tension grow.

I loved it. And I loved his reaction to every movement of mine. It was all great, but I shouldn't get into too much detail.

"I'm sorry luv." He handed me a tissue after coming. "No need to swallow that, here." He gave me an empty mug.

I smiled at him and spit into the mug, handing it back to him, then cleaned up my face with the tissue.

He put his pants back on and smiled into the mug.

"Thank you." He just wouldn't stop smiling. "We should probably talk about this once we've both cooled down, hmm?" He asked.

He looked both happy and nervous at the same time.

"What do you mean?" I was confused. Why did we need to talk about this?

"As you can see, I'm not one to control myself around you, and as I'm seeing, neither are you. But that's no fault of yours. I'm the adult here." He got up as well. "But I don't want there to be any awkwardness between us, so I'd like to discuss this, another time."

"Alright." I nodded, but it was weird. "Should I go now?"

"Yes, but, Brooke." He smiled. "You were really fucking amazing. Thank you."

I left with a grin and headed straight to the restroom to fix myself up.

I saw Owen that evening in the cafeteria, having his dinner with the other teachers. He looked normal, but I could feel a little nervousness when we made eye contact. I went back to my room with my friends afterwards and didn't talk about my adventures to any of them.

Owen didn't teach me, but he was my lacrosse coach over spring time and supervised our study hall or dorm from time to time, so he still was kinda like a teacher.

We didn't talk again for about four days, I didn't go to see him and he didn't reach out to me, so I figured he didn't want to. Saturday evening he was the one on call for the dorms, which means he is just hanging around or sitting in the office, making us follow the rules, and in case of a rare emergency, he is there to help.

He was watching movies with some of the girls and I decided to join them, sitting down next to him.

"Hey." He smiled. "Everything alright luv?" He whispered to me.

"Uhum." I nodded and watched the film.

When the movie ended we moved to the living room with this group, deciding to play a boardgame. The awkwardness between Owen and I faded fast, we could both enjoy the game without our thoughts shifting. I tried flirting with him a little, it usually worked, he was a very flirty type, and not just with me. But it just wasn't happening tonight.

Midnight came and everyone was getting ready to go back to their rooms, but I decided to be the slowest one.

"Good night sir." I looked into the teacher's room before going up to my room.

"Sweet dreams, luv." He smiled. "It was nice to see you today."

"You too." I nodded. "How long are you going to stay up?"

"I'm sleeping here." He pointed at the bed behind him.

"I know, just wondering if we can hang, or chat."

"You know you have a curfew." He shook his head.

"Yeah midnight, but that's already passed."

"Just because I'm cool doesn't mean you need to break the rules." He smiled and put down his phone, swiping his hands up his thighs and standing up. "I should go around and do a check anyway."

I wondered if he ever thought of me, daydreamed about what had happened. I had, for sure.

"Alright then." I nodded sadly and turned around.

"Brooke." He said after I had left his room. "I'm sorry, we should really have a chat. I guess I'm just nervous."

I nodded with a smile and stepped back into the room.

"I'll go around for a check, just wait for me here." He said and closed the door behind me, so I decided to take a look around.

This room was shared by all the teachers, always here for the one on call, so he didn't have lots of personal things around. He left his phone though, so I took a look at his wallpaper. Nothing, just some dark abstract art. No notifications, nothing interesting. Sat down at the end of the bed, pulling my legs up, fixing my dress to not show off my ass.

We didn't wear our uniforms on the weekends, but I enjoyed wearing skirts on most days, I felt pretty in them and they were more comfortable than jeans.

"All good." Owen came back and looked at me, nervously smiling. "Chocolate?" He took a piece out of his backpack and handed it to me.

"Don't you ever go home for the weekend?" I asked him, I saw him around school on most weekends.

"Not much to go home to." He shrugged. "What about you?"

"Same." I smiled and he tilted his head, looking like he wanted to know more, but he didn't ask. "You do know every girl up there is daydreaming about you, right?" I switched subjects fast. "Wishing they were in here with you, door closed."

He looked behind him to see the closed door and I'm sure he wondered weather or not he should open it, this was against the protocol after all.

"Not as much fun as one would imagine, hmm?" He giggled and took a look at his phone, noting he didn't get any notifications. Just nervous.

[smutty-story-blog]

Stars Above - Stiles Stilinski

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Type: One-Shot

Warnings(s): SMUT! Cussing, Praise Kink (kinda), Dirty Talking, wet dreams, masturbation, shower sex

It was a heat of the moment, head in the clouds, dream. She decides. She couldn't actually want to fuck Stiles Stilinski, one of her best friends, the lacrosse player who was famous for... Well, admiring and crushing on one absolutely perfect Lydia Martin. The dream didn't have a meaning of any kind, other than she desperately needed a lay. A good one at that.

Walking to school the next day doesn't help, like she thinks. The crisp morning air that clings to the leaves of the trees does nothing against her feverish skin as she trails down the road, alongside the woods, her hands tucked in her backpack straps as she keeps her head down, her brunette hair making a curtain between herself and the rest of the world. As she walks, her cunt is throbbing, aching, in time with her heart, begging to be filled, the only friction she is getting is the brush of her skinny jeans against her clit as she walks, today would be hell. Her dream flashing behind her eyes, like a film, or even a very real memory.

Lips locked in a kiss as they stumble through the door, slamming into the nearby wall with a grunt, breathes rasping as Stiles holds her at the small of her back, the door slamming behind them. He peppers kisses along her throat, nipping and sucking along the way as he holds her against the wall, and she whimpers and cries at his attention. "F-Fuck, Stiles." She cries as he bites her neck softly, sending her hips jolting and her back arching. Taking advantage of her arched back, he slides his hands down, lifting her by her thighs, and she wraps her legs around him as he stumbles down the halls, towards her room. In the privacy of the hall, he slams her against the wall, parting their lips, only to reach down and rip off her shirt, buttons flying everywhere as he growls, eyeing her bare breasts.

"Naughty naughty, Pen." He growls, attacking one of her breasts with nips and sucks, causing her head to fall back, mouth opening wide to let out a moan, her hips grinding against his, his dark honeyed eyes looking up at her as he sucks on her nipple, biting and tugging at it with his teeth, her cries becoming more frantic. "Fuck, baby. Your moans are so fucking sweet." He growls, rocking his hips against her own. "I just want to fuck you right here, right now, without any worried about who sees." Her eyes flutter at the friction of his clothes cock against her aching clothes clit, mewling as he does so. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? Everyone to know you're mine? That I've fucked you, and punished you like the good girl you aren't." He grins as his rocking speeds up, her head falling against his shoulder as she attempts to clear her mind, attacking his mole covered neck with kitten licks, sucks, and bites, laving it with attention as Stiles purrs. "I could fuck you so hard, you wouldn't be able to walk properly for a week. You want me to leave bruises on your hips, mark you up, let everyone know that Stiles Stilinski fucked the goody-goody of the school?" He growls, reaching between them to undo her jeans, sliding a finger down into her underwear, groaning at the slick gathered between her legs, causing her to let out a high pitched keen. "Fuck, baby." He moans as he slips that finger into her.

"A-Ah! Stiles!" She moans, throwing her head back once more, allowing him to attack her neck.

A honk jolts her from her thoughts, her memories of her dream, causing her to whip around on the side of the road, realizing that she had stopped walking previously. A familiar blue Jeep is a bit behind her, an all too familiar figure in the front seat as he pulls up beside her. "St-Stiles!" She stammers in surprise, pressing her glasses up the bridge if her nose. It occurs to her that she's aching worse now, her touch from this morning in the shower didn't help- she'll have to try again after morning track practice, being the only girl on the team has perks, such as having the girl's locker room to herself while the other members have to share with the lacrosse team after their morning practice.

"Hey, Penelope." Stiles smiles as he leans over the passenger seat. "Is everything okay? It's rare to see you walking to school on a day with practice. You never try to overexert yourself."

"Ah, woke up later than usual, my ride was already gone." She lies, causing him to nod, running his fingers through his hair, and licking his lips- a nervous habit.

"Can I give you a ride?" He offers, causing her to swallow thickly, shifting her weight between legs, the shift causing her to bite her bottom lip to bite back a moan at the friction.

"Uh," She chews on her bottom lip, before sighing with a nod. "S-Sure." She says, causing the young man to grin as he pops the door open for her, and she climbs in, slinging her backpack off her shoulders and into her lap as she does so, closing the door as Stiles starts to drive towards the school.

"It's weird to hear that you wake up late, Pen." He says, the nickname causes her dream to flash in her mind. 'Naughty Naughty, Pen.' She shifts in the seat awkwardly, swallowing thickly as she bites her bottom lip. "But, I guess you're human too, just like the rest of us, huh miss Valedictorian?" He teases as she hums in agreement, nodding as she looks out the window, trying to distract her mind. "Are you sure you're okay?" He asks carefully, causing her head to snap over to him, blush on her cheeks. "You seem... Fidgety." Her head ducks as her back straightens, struggling to stop shifting and fidgeting. "Not that that is bad," He states, causing her to glance at him. "just normally you're more... Composed. Do I put you off?!" He asks in a worried tone.

"No!" She shouts, attempting to keep him calm, before wincing at the noise height, and swallows before reaffirming. "No." She sighs, reaching up to twirl a loose curl. "I-I just didn't sleep well last night, so I am not all... Myself."

"Ah, that explains the hair too." He says, causing her to furrow her brow in confusion at him. "It's down from it's usual bun." He points out, causing her hand to reach up, before blushing as she realizes that it is.

"S-So it is." She replies, causing him to grin.

"It's nice. It looks good, cute even." He states, causing her to blush once again.

"Thanks." She answers shortly as they pull up to the school. Stiles barely puts the Jeep in park before Penelope is throwing open the door, shuffling on her backpack as she escapes the car, dashing towards the locker room.

Once she's changed into her track clothes, and on the field, she's different than the stammering and stumbling girl that her friends know. Running for her is cathartic, a different mindset all together, like an alternate person all together. But, today that doesn't happen. Today, as she's running, she chances a look over at the lacrosse field, spotting Stiles right away as he lifts his shirt, wiping sweat from his face, revealing that eight pack and happy trail, causing her insides to light aflame as she trips over her feet, stumbling as she falls, rolling feet over head until she stops, the sound of laughter reaching her ears from both the track and field team and the lacrosse. Her ears burn with a blush as she struggles to take a deep breath, hand blindly reaching out to try and find her glasses, everything is a blur, including the figure that is suddenly before her. "Here, Pen." He slides the frames on her face, his voice causing her to jump as his whiskey gaze comes into view. "You sure you're alright, today?" He asks, causing her to blush as she nods.

"Let's go Bilinski!" The coach shouts from the Lacrosse field, causing him to look over his shoulder, before looking back at her.

"I have to go, but I'm watching, okay? Don't overdo it." He presses a kiss to her cheek as he stands, her body be ones engulfed in flames from that place, causing her to swallow thickly once again.

"White!" She looks up at the coach's shout. "You're done for the day, hit the showers!" He yells, causing her to blush even more in embarrassment as the laughter starts to ring out again, but she doesn't protest as she starts towards the school, entering the women's locker room. She strips from her track and field uniform, shoving it in her locker, alongside her backpack, before walking over to the showers with her toiletries and towel, luckily with being sent in early, she can have a long shower, and doesn't have to quickly make herself cum, and leave herself unsatisfied. Normally, she wouldn't be so bold in an open place, but she's alone and desperate to take the edge off. Turning the water on high heat, she hangs up her towel, and sets to work wash her hair first, than lathers up her hands, running them down her body as she rests against the wall. Her eyes slip closed as her hands caress her breasts, biting her lip to stifle her moans, imagining they're someone else's hands, anyone else's, anyone but... Suddenly it's Stiles who is caressing her breasts in her mind, fingers big and thick, covered in calluses from lacrosse, the warmth pooling in her stomach is intolerable as her thumbs brush over her sensitive nipples, sending shutters through her body, a gasp escaping her as she pinches one.

"St-Stiles." She whimpers softly under her breath, head falling back against the tiled walls. Water spraying her slick body as her hands travel lower, fingers caressing her skin in a scorching trail, before slipping in between her soaked nether lips. "O-Oh!" She cries, a bit louder than she meant, the sound echoing as she bites her lip again, fingers pressing in and out if her in an unhurried pace, her thumb stroking her clit as she groans and moans, the peak is almost within he reach already, telling her just how worked up she is as she strokes her fingers deeper inside her folds, brushing that sweet spot that makes her shutter. "Oh," She breathes softly. "Stiles." She gasps, murmuring his name repeatedly as she continues, pinching her clit between two fingers as she strokes that spot inside of her, she shutters, legs weakening as her eyes roll in the back of her head, and she collapses as white blinds her vision. "Fuck, Stiles!" She cries as she cums, a breathless gasp with tears in her eyes as she continues to stroke herself, making her climax last longer, until she finally comes down from that high. As she blinks through that muggy hazy in her mind, she lifts her head slowly, relenting to finally get clean and get out, her eyes land on a figure across the room, at the entrance of the showers, covered in sweat, grass stains, and dirt, dressed in lacrosse gear, and staring at her with his mouth gaped. "St-Stiles!" She cries out in surprise, whirling around with shame and embarrassment flooding her.

"I-I-I heard noises, I thought you were hurt!" He defends, stammering as he stumbles backwards, turning to leave as he falls over the bench, and she bends down, hugging her knees as mortification fills her, making her tear up. "I-I'll replace that!" He yelps as he stands, going towards the door, only to freeze with his hand on it at the sound of soft sobs, he licks his lips as he lets out a muted sigh, his cock aching and straining against his lacrosse gear. He hears her sniffle, another soft sob, solidifying his resolution as his hand falls from the door, letting it close the few inches he'd opened it. His hand goes to the lock, sliding it into place to lock the door as he muted drops his helmet and gloves on a nearby bench, kicking off his shoes before stripping out of his gear and clothes, safe for his boxers, his cock making a tent in them. Walking over to the shower, he can see Penelope is wash her body, while turned from the door, the soft sobs and her quivering shoulders are her only giveaway for her tears.

"So so stupid." She berates herself between tears, scrubbing her body to try and remove all evidence of what happened mere minutes ago. She was mortified, and her chest hurt like someone took a hammer to it, leaving her crying and confused, not understanding why she feels how she does. Why? Of all people, why did he catch me? She let's out a few muffled sobs, sniffling and rubbing her cheeks in the water, preparing herself to be the laughing stock of the school, more than she already was anyway. Not that she believed that Stiles would tell anyone, he's too sweet for that, but you never honestly know a person. God, why did this have to happen? Our friendship may be ruined because of this. Her breath hitches in surprise as two strong, warm, callous covered hands wrap around her waist from behind, familiar hands that she's known all her life, a warm front meets her back as well, the hands take her loofah from her hands, and tossing it to the side. Soft lips meet the back of her neck from where her hair is brushed aside, and he raises her face to look back and up at him, thumb and forefinger on her chin. Her wide blue eyes look up at him, orbs radiating with innocence and curiosity, he licks his lips as he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to her lips as she leans back into his touch, kissing him back. His hands settle on her waist once she turns to him, his tongue running along the seam of her lips, before they open with her tongue snaking out, twining and twisting with his, the pressure of his body against her own has her moving backwards as he follows, a torrent of water spraying over him as he pins her against the tiled wall.

"So," He murmurs as he pulls away, ragged puffs of breath caressing her lips as her breathes caress his, mingling as one of his hands on her waist trails up to cup her face, the other sliding down to life her leg, hooking it around his waist. "moment of Truth, is miss Goody-goody as pure as they say?" He rumbles, causing her to look up at him, mewling as he grinds his clothed member against her slick core, her head falling back as he kisses the pulse point, before he starts to kiss back and forth along her neck, stopping to nibble or lick. "Well?" He asks, murmur against her neck as he latches on to the junction between her neck and shoulder, suckling as she gasps and mewls, grinding against him.

"A-Ah! N-No!" She answers, whining as he chuckles. "I'm not a virgin." She answers truthfully, her arms draped over his shoulders, one hand in his hair as he suckles a mark into her skin, groaning in satisfaction as he pulls away, the other hand coming down to toy with her pebbled nipple.

"Ah, Naughty Girl, Pen." He murmurs as she smiles up at him, innocently batting her eyelashes. "You should be careful with what you reveal, now I know that I don't have to go slowly." He growls, pulling away to slide off his soaked boxers, before pinning her back against the wall. She bites her bottom lip as she watches him through her eyelashes, lifting her as she wraps her legs around his waist. "Are you sure you want this?" He asks, his tip nudging her folds, opening her as he looks in her hazy blue eyes, fearing she may have changed her mind, and she swallows thickly, nodding. "I don't have a condom on me."

"I'm on the pill." She states, before leaning in to kiss him. "Now stop fucking stalling." She growls at him, causing him to grin as he slides into her scorching tight channel, his thick shaft move slowly as she stretches around him, whimpers of pain and moans of lust slip from her lips, the combined sensations almost too much as her head falls against his shoulder, breath puffing against his neck as on hand digs into his shoulder, the other cards through his hair. "F-Fuck!" She cries as he has to stop part way, taking ragged breathes as his dick is just nudging that sweet spot within her. "Fuck," Tears come to her eyes. "you're so fucking big and thick, Stiles. H-How can I be expected to take all of you?" She cries in his ear, stroking his ego with her question.

"You can because you're a good girl, and good girls do what's expected of them." He murmurs, kissing up and down her left shoulder before trailing across her collarbone to the other shoulder, and trailing kisses down that one, before he takes a deep breath, placing one hand on the wall beside her head, the other on her thigh, holding her up with almost no effort as he continues pressing his dick further into her cunt, her walls clenching down on him as he goes. "That's it, baby. Good girl, you're doing so good." He praises, brushing her wet hair from her face, and kissing her, her head resting on the wall as he does so. "Yeah, so good, taking that thick cock like a good girl." He growls, her breath shuttering as he finally bottoms out, stilling from the sensation of being in someone who could actually take all of him for once. "Holy shit." He gasps, his hand in the wall tightening into a fist, eyes clenched shut as his heart pounds in his chest, his cock twitching within her in his excitement.

"St-Stiles, oh my God. Oh Stiles." She moans breathlessly, hand tightening his hair as she takes deep breathes, before leaning in to latch onto his neck, kissing and licking and sucking a bruise into the skin, something he's no doubt had there before as she adjusts to his size. He's the biggest she's ever seen, let alone had, though that's not saying much because she's only had maybe two lovers if even. "Stiles. Stiles please, please move!" She asks finally, causing him to hum happily, slowly pulling out half way, before roughly slamming back into her, causing her back to arch as she cries out, the water cascading over them is still hot, luckily, thanks to the school's water heater, but it's obvious to Stiles that she's not going to be quiet, so he reaches over to turn on the shower on the left, before doing the same with the one of the right, hoping the sound will be enough to drown her out. "Stiles!" She whines as he pulls out, setting her down, causing him to chuckle.

"Hold on, baby. I don't want us to be interrupted by being caught, do you?" She mewls but shakes her as he goes around, turning on all the faucets, before running a radio nearby, random jazz music, that obviously belongs to the school, plays, before he's back, lifting her, and sliding into her, bottoming out as she moans, hands finding purchase in his hair. "Fuck," He grunts as her fingers scrape his scalp, and she tugs as he starts to thrust, bouncing her on his dick, sliding in and out of her just far enough that each thrust has her seeing stars as she gasps breathlessly.

"Oh, shit, Stiles!" Breath hitching at each thrust, heart pounding as she kisses him, pulling his bottom lip between hers, nibbling on it. One particularly long thrust has her detaching their lips, throwing her head back with a high keen, rolling her hips in time to his thrusts, obscene sounds of skin slapping against skin muffled by the music and showers.

"That's it, take it like a good girl." Stiles grunts. "Gonna fuck you so hard. Everyone gonna know you're marked by me, huh?" He growls as he thrusts harder into her, pace becoming sporadic as she cries out with each thrust. "You're mine. Nobody else can make you feel like this, can they? Nobody else can fill you so well." She shakes her head, whining as he growls in her ear. "I wanna hear you say it! Say it!" He snarls, thrusting harder as she let's out another keening moan.

"Nobody! Nobody Stiles!" She cries.

"Who do you belong to?" He demands.

"You! Oh, Stiles!" His hand falls between them, rubbing at her clit as he feels a tightening in his balls, her walls quivering around him in a not quite there, but almost, orgasm.

"Cum for me, baby girl. Cum with me. Cum!" He growls, causing her to let out a frantic wail, head thrown back as her nails bite into his back, scoring down the flesh and bringing up beads of blood as her walls clamp down on his cock. He spurts his seed all over in her as her orgasm washes over her, eyes rolling back in her head, her tows curling as her nails score his back again, and her legs shake. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" He shouts, thrusting hard and deep with each word as his load finishes off, and they slump down the wall as his head falls against her chest, breasts pillowing it as he let's out a shaky sigh.

"So, would now be a good time to tell you about the dream I had last night?" She asks softly, shaking from aftershocks on occasion.

"Sure, baby. Whatever you want." He chuckles.

"Pretty much was this." She states, causing him to look up at her. "Shower's a nice surprise though, easy clean up." He chuckles again, shaking his head as he leans up to kiss her. "I... Uh... Also hope that this isn't just a one time deal." She swallows her cowardly thoughts, and decided to relent the truth she's been denying herself for so long. "I really fucking like you, Stiles. As more than friends."

"I'd fucking hope so after that." He grunts, looking up at her, as she starts to card her fingers through his hair. "But, no, baby. You belong to me now."

"I'm okay with that," She murmurs, leaning on his chest as he turns with her in his arms, resting against the shower wall, her in his arms. "I think you've ruined me for other guys, probably for eternity." She states, his softening member sliding out of her.

"Good to know. I'll take that as a compliment." He grins, causing her to giggle, leaning up to kiss him, feeling perfectly at home in his arms.