#frat!kyle

But for all of his promises, your expectations and hopes for how good of a research partner —or possibly more— he'd be had dwindled in less than two weeks, by the time of your first meeting. You couldn't exactly be mad at him, after all he had done the work you'd both agreed on, checked a number of reliable sources and compiled the most relevant just like you had done.

Still, those efforts had quickly fallen flat when he'd appeared in your reserved room at the library with a girl hanging from his arm. The printed-out articles had quickly ended up on your side of the table, adding up to the ones already selected by you, while his had somehow been instead occupied with what you could only guess was his girlfriend's notebook.

You had been stunned, feeling yourself blink in astonishment for what could probably be considered too-many times as you tried to process the fact that he had really turned your final project preparation into some tutoring date in which you'd become an unwilling third-wheel.

For about twenty minutes you had had the decency to wait, hoping that whatever subject they were going over would be cleared up shortly and you'd get the chance to actually go over what needed to be done. Of course that didn't happen, and with a frustrated huff you'd just taken out a highlighter and started to mark whatever quotes you felt best represented the point your investigation was trying to prove.

There had been a couple times where he had seemed to try to make somewhat of an effort, asked about a couple quotes he had previously highlighted himself, or reached out to skim over one of the articles you had selected. Every time those moments had been short-lived, he'd either quickly accept whatever your decision was on the quality of the selections, or he wouldn't really get past the summary before his attention was back on his girlfriend.

You'd been tempted, if just for a moment, to direct your frustrations at her. Maybe make a remark on how your work also needed to be done, suggest that they find a better time for sharing complicit smiles and rewards for right answers in the form of soft kisses. Still, you didn't, because she wasn't the one that had agreed to meet you today, nor the one that would get their final score based on this.

Instead you'd kept your head low, answered in short quips whatever questions Kyle might have made and gotten through the paperwork as fast as possible. As soon as the last quote had been highlighted, you'd put all the prints together in a neat little pile and packed your stuff. Then, you had pushed them to Kyle's side of the table.

"Same time next week, make sure you read those, the summary is on you since this was on me today." You didn't wait for a reply, ignoring the way the both of them seemed surprised at the fact that you were done. Barely bothering to mutter a farewell of your own, you'd left the library.

Looking back at it now, if it had ended there, you could've let it slide. It hadn't been an ideal situation, if an awkward and uncomfortable one, but you were willing to move past it for the investigation's sake.

Except, the next week, when you had already been waiting for almost half an hour in the library, he had texted you how he wouldn't be able to make it. Knowing in your gut what had happened, you asked about the summary, just to get what you hoped was a terribly embarrassed admission on how he hadn't been able to finish it in time. He didn't need to tell you that time had been spent with his girlfirend instead for you to know.

In case it wasn't enough, after rescheduling, he had once again showed up ten minutes late and with a girl beside him. Just to add insult to injury, it wasn't even the same girl he'd come in with two weeks ago. Somehow they had still been as lovey-dovey as he had with the previous one. Which, of course, it also meant you'd been left alone revising his work and taking on the next step you should've been doing together.

From then on you'd had stopped trying, relegating him to the same half-hearted tear you'd categorised in most of your randomly-assigned project partners during your school years. Sure, Kyle did whatever was asked from him and at least put effort in it. But that compromise seemed to depend on you organising and asking for it, instead of an interest that came from his own volition.

You'd decided his early interest had been a practised strategy to keep you on board for long enough to have the complaint-period be over. Now that you were stuck with him for the rest of the semester you'd decided to take a step back.

There were no more in-person meetings, at least not as regularly nor as pushed by you. Instead you'd check in with each other every few days, most of it done through texts and the odd email; only when something needed to be properly cleared up, then you'd have a quick conversation at the end of class would suffice.

Now, it's not like you hate Kyle. You're sure he's a good friend —would probably not say the same as a boyfriend given the amount of both girls and guys you've seen him with in the few months of the project— and you could definitely say he's a nice person to chat with. But you've definitely crossed him off from the kind of person you'd ever want to work with, and have had to bite back snarky remarks about his so-called commitment when talking with other people around campus.

Imagine then, how excited you were when the first thing you see a Wednesday morning — clock barely hitting 8am— is a new email from your professor sharing the pairings for the final project.

Your name followed by a dotted line that reaches the last one you'd want to see. Kyle A. Garrick.

A/N: it's finally here! it's been so frustrating because i have such a clear concept for kyle's story but i never like how it turns out when i write it down. feel like this one could've turned out better but hey, better than nothing. Hoping the next ones will come easier!

It’s just that he knows how pitiful and pathetic he becomes with you, how down bad he is. He becomes nothing but a dog after a bone, heeding every call and instruction you give. Even when he’s the one on top —supposedly being the one to bark instructions and call the shots—, just a small whimper or moan and he’s immediately focusing all his attention on giving you more of it, giving you as much of him as you want.

He loves having you see him like this, the knowing look in your eyes, the grin on your lips when you do whatever you want with him. However, he does not want his brothers seeing that, they already laugh enough about how he follows you around campus —the way he has adjusted his schedule to match yours, organised his free time to spend as much of it as he can clinging to you—. They don’t need to see how he goes from the teasing menace he usually is to the yearning, praise-craving, whimpering mess he turns into when it comes to you.

Which immediately becomes the go-to way to tease him. It’s subtle enough that it gives the guys plausible deniability, but they all know exactly what they’re doing. It’s always something quiet, so only he’ll hear it, too.

A low whistle from Simon as you walk into their party, his head nodding in your direction at the same time Johnny’s blue eyes spot you. He can’t help the needy groan that leaves him when Simon leans closer, “Shit, those clothes are tight. Gonna get them off with your teeth, Mactavish?” He has to step outside and play a game of beer-pong as a way to get the chilly air to cool his already-heated skin.

It doesn’t get any easier as the night goes on, because you keep distance between the two of you, just enough to make him move from one side to the other of the room, eyes always searching your figure, eager to follow you around and through the crowd. Despite the way you stay close to your friends, you meet his eyes every few minutes, giving him a wink over the rim of your solo cup, slowly licking your lip when you pull it down and feel a drop cling onto your skin.

He’s already sporting a half-chub when Kyle leans in, one hand on his shoulder while the other hands him a full cup of a drink Johnny doesn’t care to identify before taking a gulp. “That the kind of look you get when on your knees, mate?” He almost chokes on his the burning liquid, eyes closing tightly as the blood rushes south, his pants definitely too-tight now.

Even John fucking Price, the house president —the guy that is supposed to be the composed and serious one—, has his own fun with it. When it’s late, or maybe too early, by the time the sky is getting a brighter shade of blue and people have mostly shuffled out, only frat brothers and their trusted few having stayed behind.

John walks down the main stairs, stopping by the couch the Scott is on, looking at him with lightly raised brows. “Cute thing’s been waiting in your room for like ten minutes now, asked ‘bout you.” Before the full sentence has reached his ears, Johnny is up and running, taking the stairs two at a time as he desperately tries to make it to his room.

In his rush, he doesn’t realise how he walks right past you, while you exit the kitchen after helping Kyle and a couple more of the guys tidy it up a bit. “Where’s he going?” you ask in a mix of surprise and amusement, you just get a light shrug from the house president.

“Said he was going to prep for you, love.” John says with a grin, giving you a wink before he joins the others on the couch and lights a cigar. As you climb the stairs, you look over your shoulder, just to see the group of men giving you approving looks and knowing grins.

Or: you don’t have to do any foreplay with frat!johnny because the rest of frat!141 has him ruined long before you even touch him — they’ve all fucked johnny, they all know what makes him drool like a dog