#literally been a hot minute since I’ve drawn these guys

[hitwiththetmnt]

Sweet Dreams P1, P2

@butterfilledpockets ITS BEEN A WHILE BUT I HAVE MORE IDEAS, I will take care of the B.E.N.T babies while you’re away

Don Bot dreams

[jennyboom21]

Which one of y’all wrote this?!?

It’s exquisite!

But I’m here for one reason and one reason alone.

Dianna Agron.

You probably know Dianna Agron from “Glee,” or “Shiva Baby,” or being an incredibly hot Jew recently interviewed by Hey Alma. I’ve been a fan of hers since “Glee,” since I watched her sing and dance in a revealing cheerleading uniform. There aren’t many things you can pinpoint with accuracy in your life, but I’m pretty sure I can say this with full confidence: Dianna Agron made me gay.

The crowd is mixed. There are a few groups of young women, one very fashionable young guy. They all have a queer air about them, and I know I’m not just projecting: I can hear their conversations and they are gay.

At first I think most people in attendance tonight will be Gleeks, at least the young ones. I mean, why else would you pay to see Dianna Agron sing at a fancy hotel? That shit’s expensive. Later that night, when I told my friend’s mum I saw jazz at the Carlyle, she told me I got a “real New York experience.” Young people can’t afford that! Unless you’re a dedicated Gleek.

Growing up in 2009 was confusing. I was 14, and being 14 sucked. When “Glee” came along, it was funny and edgy and it was gay. So gay. I say now, only partly as a joke, that “Glee” made me gay. Not in a malicious, gay-agenda kind of way, but more in a “this is the first time I see gay people on screen and now I realize they exist” kind of way. Quinn Fabray, Agron’s character, was my favorite. And that shit was confusing. Quinn was a devout Christian, blonde and blue-eyed and villainous yet infinitely likable. I was drawn to Agron, and her character, in a way I didn’t fully understand yet. Why was I obsessed with this gorgeous, impeccable woman? Why did looking at her make my stomach flutter? I followed Agron from project to project, watching literally anything and everything she appeared in. And that includes an ad for a Nintendo 3DS. I was obsessed. And unknowingly, I was very gay.

Dianna Agron is late, by almost 15 minutes.

I’ve got nothing to do but scan the room. I’m not sure why older people are here. The folks next to me are middle-aged and seemingly heterosexual. There are elderly people at the bar across from me. There are finance guys with their done-up girlfriends. Middle-aged couples with their 20-something daughters. Queers. Me. A woman reading the Wall Street Journal. A regular swapping family updates with the bartender.

This is the power of Dianna. She brings us together.

Dinner and a show at the Carlyle seems like it exists in a different era, like I’ve stepped into a portal and come out into 19-dickety-2. Dianna has that vibe, too. That old school charm, the timelessness to her features. Like you could find her likeness in a Buzzfeed article titled “25 Pictures of Bona Fide Ellis Island Hotties.” She wouldn’t look out of place in furs and a fancy cigarette holder. I realize I’ve just described Cruella de Ville. I guess that’s my epitome of old school fancy. I try to lean in.

I order a gin and tonic and it is mostly gin. I’ve barely eaten all day and my head is starting to spin. It’s either the alcohol or my body can sense that Dianna is near.

Finding out celebrities are Jewish is always weirdly exciting. Finding out Dianna Agron is Jewish when I was 14 was like finding out Santa is real and also he’s your distant cousin. Sure, there was absolutely no reason for our paths to ever cross; the chances of successful-actress-who-lives-in-L.A. Dianna Agron meeting me, a kid from Australia who attended an all girls’ Chabad school, were literally zero. But when I realized we were both Jewish, anything felt possible: a Shabbat meal we miraculously both attend, a performance of “Fiddler” on Broadway where we happen to sit next to one another. The Jewish world is impossibly small, and by some strange twist of fate, we are both in it.

It never happens, of course. No Shabbat, no random meet-cute. The closest I get is my friend meeting her in a cafe in Jerusalem a few years ago. I think it’s for the best. Imagine getting close enough to Dianna Agron that you could talk to her; I don’t think I’d be able to cope.

I come within mere inches of Dianna Agron.

She enters the room and stands right next to me, waiting for her musical cue. Her band has already taken the stage (her violinist and cellist are HOT. Like, hot hot). Wall Street Journal Lady is watching the stage, asks me if she’s obstructing my view of the band. She literally does not realize Dianna Agron is standing right next to us. Literally, right next to us. Like I could reach out and tap her on the shoulder and ask if she comes here often.

Thank God I’m wearing a mask, I decide, as Dianna takes to the stage and starts to sing. Otherwise everyone would be able to see this dumb fucking smile that stays on my face for the rest of the night.

I’m going to be honest with you, I don’t listen to a lot of jazz. Up until this night, my favorite jazz is H. Jon Benjamin’s comedy album. But now I love jazz. Jazz is the best. It suits Dianna’s voice so perfectly. I think it’s absolutely criminal that all those years on “Glee” and she didn’t sing any jazz. She sang a funk song, but no jazz. She sang showtunes, but no jazz.

A crime. A crime against humanity and Dianna Agron stans.

Her voice has a sultry quality, and that is the first time I’ve ever used that word. She hits low notes in a way that hits me straight in the chest. She scrunches her nose as she smiles in a way that I recognize from online performances I’ve obviously watched before.

When your personality is formed by pop culture, seeing a celebrity almost feels like seeing an old friend. I know, logically, this isn’t true; Dianna Agron does not know me, and I do not know her. But I know a version of her, the version she puts on in interviews. When she laughs throughout the show, I know that laugh. I’ve seen the smile she throws at the audience dozens of times before. This is what this is, at its core, I decide. Old friends. A whole room of them, watching their queen bee.

Dianna doesn’t look like a lot of the Jews I know. It’s something the Jewish media loves to talk about, somewhat saltily. Dianna Agron, always the non-Jewish bridesmaid and never the bride under the chuppah. Obviously, I first knew her as Quinn Fabray, noted Christian, who bullies Jewish Rachel Berry with a merciless quality some may describe as “small-town antisemitism.” More recently, Agron’s character in “Shiva Baby” is the only non-Jewish character in the whole movie. There’s also that time she played a nun in one of the greatest (and gayest) nun films of all time, “Novitiate”. And who could forget when she played famous Mormon Brandon Flowers’ girlsona in the “Just Another Girl” music video? OK. I’ll stop showing off my impressive Dianna Agron knowledge now.

I’ve spent a lot of time in my life considering what it means to look like a Jew. As a woman, I never had to grow peyos, or wear a kippah and tzitzit like the boys did. My dad would cover his kippah with a baseball cap if we wandered too far from home, and my brother quickly learned to do the same. For a long time, the only way I felt identifiably Jewish was by the knee-length skirts that screamed “Modern Orthodox.” But I stopped wearing skirts years ago. The Chabad boys handing out Shabbat candles in New York only offered me some because I stopped to ask them for directions.

In the Carlyle, there’s nothing that demarcates me as “Jew.” I could, for all intents and purposes, choose to play the role of “non-Jew” for this evening’s performance. But I say a bracha (blessing) before I sip my drink. I read a d’var torah while I wait for the show to begin. And I think, somewhat simply, that actors are not the roles they inhabit.

A waiter brings a cake with a candle into the crowd, and Dianna wishes the recipient a happy birthday. Her crowd work throughout is amazing. She laughs and smirks. I remember I am gay, very gay. At one point she turns her back to the audience and throws us a look over her shoulder. My automatic internal response is “step on me.” At another moment, she tells the audience that she and the band “like applause,” and my internal voice says, “OK, Rachel Berry.” She sings “Our Day Will Come,” which was performed on season six of “Glee,” an episode that she didn’t even appear in. Still, my hand flies to my chest as I hear echoes of the “Glee” version, echoes of Naya Rivera and Darren Criss (the latter who, incidentally, I met after the show. Wild).

I wonder how hard it must be to divorce herself from “Glee,” and from the type of fandom and fans it has spawned. When you have something as big, as iconic and divisive and culturally groundbreaking, attached to your name, it must be hard to feel as though you’re maturing as a performer. Do you expect your fans to mature along with you? Do you expect to pick up more on the way?

There’s no doubt in my mind that Dianna is picking up fans tonight. WSJ Lady is all in, as are the other bar regulars. Who better to spread the gospel of Dianna than Dianna herself?

Her pianist is Jewish, it turns out, and so is her drummer. She doesn’t, like, announce it or anything, but their names are Eden and Itai, so I kind of figure it out, you know?

She tells us she found her drummer on Instagram, scrolling casually.

And yet here I remain — with several mutuals, I might add — unfollowed, Ms. Agron. What’s up with that?

My notes get fewer and farther between from this point on. I’m a few drinks in, the room is too dark and I’m too mesmerized by what’s happening on stage. But here are some important things to know:

she sang in French

her mom cried and she called her out for it

she made a playlist of the songs she performed on Spotify because of course she did

she sang an Eartha Kitt song after the audience demanded two encores

she is wonderful.

Two things happen concurrently. I steal a pen from the hotel bar, and Dianna starts to sing “Moon River.” Without sounding like a crazed stalker, for a single moment in time, she’s singing to me. It might sound pathetic, it might sound insane, but here’s the truth of the matter:

In that moment, I am 16 again. I barely know anything about myself — I’m years away from coming out, and it’s something I’ve chosen to compartmentalize and never think about. I don’t know who I am, I just know who I don’t want to be. But through it all, there’s this person who has a Tumblr she posts on regularly, and she’s on my favorite TV show every week, and she’s pretty in a way that feels normal and Not Gay to obsess over.

Dianna sings “Moon River.” In that moment, as the last bars of the song play, I hold onto 16 as hard as I can.

Here’s the crux of the whole night. I know, when she exits the stage, she has to pass me again. I know. I deliberate all night whether to say, “Thank you, Ms. Agron,” like an absolute fool or stay quiet or what.

Obviously I go with the fool route. She rushes past me. I say thank you, not unlike a kindergartener being forced to thank their parents’ friend for something. She laughs. She says thank you to me.

There you have it. Mission accomplished. I have spoken to Dianna Agron one time.

Am I a changed person? Obviously not. I am who I was at the start of the night, just significantly drunker and with a new pen.

The WSJ lady asks me how I enjoyed it, and I tell her very much so. She also loved it. I ask her if she can airdrop me the videos she took throughout the night (even though we were told not to video!!!) and she says, “Of course!” so now I have the videos on my phone. I sent them to my friend who loves “Glee” just as much, if not more, than I do. But I don’t watch them. Why would I watch them when I experienced the magic first hand?

The Kotzker Rebbe once said that silence is the most beautiful of all sounds.

Clearly he never went to a Dianna Agron jazz show.

Author’s twitter

[crystallinearts]

yoyoyo fans of chosen.!! GOOD NEWS!

I know it’s been a while since the last chapter, but I’m working on the next one

HOWEVER, that’s not the good news! the good news is actually kinda twofold

first off, I’m revising and adding/polishing up earlier chapters! the first maybe 5 chapters were particularly egregious with regard to the way Chara spoke and the voice for Reader-chan, but I’m on chapter 12 trying to revise things and still finding some places to add or change little bits

it’s a lot of refining dialogue (Reader-chan was supposed to do a little more stammering, “um/uh” and repeating words in earlier chapters to convey her nervous/shyer personality, AND in the first several chapters I noticed a lot of places where I broke the rule that Chara barely uses contractions in their speech, as well as they were supposed to use a bit more formal language choices) and putting in some additional jokes/foreshadowing/mini interactions between the Dreemurr sibs

and WHEW I’ve got over 200,000 words to go through so it’ll be a hot minute before I actually get these updated chapters posted or anything, but I’m really hoping they’ll read a lot better than they used to

AND THE OTHER PIECE OF GOOD NEWS...

I’m starting to do fanfic readings of my own works on my YouTube channel, and chosen. is the first one I’m going to attempt! THIS is what got me to kick my ass into gear and revise the earlier chapters, because I knew I always wanted to do this, but I didn’t want to start doing it until I’d revised the chapters, fixed things up, etc.

I’ve already got the first chapter’s reading recorded, but I do wanna get a couple of request videos out before I make a video of my reading the first chapter of chosen.

and, that said... I need some art for the videos. =)

I’ll probably use my own art for a lot of chapters, because ideally I’d love to have a different piece for each chapter’s video

WHICH MEANS... if anyone who has already drawn something for it would be okay with me using their art, PLEASE LET ME KNOW!! obviously I would link to your Tumblr (or wherever else you’d like to be credited) in the video description (and probably in the actual video as well)

and if you’d like to create a piece specifically for any chapter, GO FOR IT, TAG ME, AND LET ME KNOW THAT I CAN USE IT!!! I love to give all the incredible artists and my supporters ALL THE ATTENTION!

but please note that you don’t have to! my fanworks are free projects created because I love them, and I can’t pay for art, so it would literally just be something for you to do ONLY IF you would like to, and I absolutely do not expect it! as I said, I’ll probably do most of the art myself, I just thought I’d put that out there that if anyone would like their pieces featured in something like that, I would absolutely LOVE to share your creations with the world

anyway, that’s it for now... hopefully I’ll have a new chapter of something out for you guys soon!! love youuuuuu <3 <3 <3

[stratiotis-nth]

Ever since Cas came back and turned human, it would seem he’s stopped giving a shit about literally everything. When Dean noticed this new aspect of Cas’ colorful personality, he had made himself paranoid that Cas would suddenly start flirting with him on the regular now that his big confession was out in the open.

So while Dean was scared shitless, he was confusingly disappointed when Cas didn’t do that at all.

No. The first thing the ex-angel did after surviving another encounter with death was start a Shotgun war with Sam.

And no, not the bang bang kinda shotgun.

“Shotgun!” Cas practically bellowed down the corridor as the three of them were getting ready to get dinner.

“That’s not fair, Cas! I’m in the bathroom!” Sam complained through the closed door. Cas ignored him completely as he strode past and ducked into the passenger seat of the Impala. Dean, who had been desperately trying to stay out of this war, just gave Cas a sideways smile.

“Y’know, the rules are you can’t call shotgun until you actually see the car, Cas.” He told him, his lips tugging up in amusement and…just happiness that Cas was close.

“Until Sam demands to implement this rule, I will abuse his ignorance.” Cas replied, smiling softly. Once again, every time Cas won the passenger seat, Dean wanted to ask what was with his sudden obsession with it. It wasn’t like Cas hadn’t been stubborn enough to claim it before he became human. He wondered what changed, why Cas suddenly cared about seating arrangements. But, as he had been doing ever since they got Cas back (again), Dean bit his tongue. He didn’t want to overwhelm the newly human with the tsunami of questions he had.

Sam griped the entire way to the diner, grumbling about being squished even though Dean knew there was more than enough space. Cas sat next to Dean, watching the trees amble by with a serene, totally unaffected smile on his face. Pleased as a pickle. Dean was fighting his own internal battle between his burning questions and undying amusement at Sam’s plight.

At the diner, Cas sat next to Dean. That much was hardly anything new. The two just naturally gravitated towards each other, and after Dean caught himself drifting mindlessly towards Cas more times than he could count, he stopped giving him grief about personal space.

Cas’ thigh brushed up against his almost the entire meal. Dean pretended not to notice, but internally, he was melting into a puddle of bi panic.

In the parking lot, Sam was quick to call shotgun when Cas got distracted by their waitress catching up to him and giving him her phone number. Dean was too busy bristling and snapping at Cas to hurry up to even notice Sam was sitting next to him.

Cas sulked the entire ride home, the waitress’ number stuffed into one of his pockets. Dean tried not to think that maybe Cas was saving her number for another time.

On Saturday, it was Dean’s turn to go on a food run. Sam was busy working a ghoul case with Eileen, so when Cas wanted to come along there was no yelling match over the front. He ducked into the passenger seat and just about blinded Dean’s poor weak heart with a smile that crinkled his nose.

They fought over eggs for about twenty minutes in the diary aisle. Dean win by threatening to give Sam exclusive access to shotgun. Cas relented with a glower that could have smote demons if he still had his grace.

Eventually, Sam did implement the rule about only calling shotgun with the car in sight, and as the weeks went by and Dean’s silent journey is self realization unfolded, the war at escalated. Now, neither of them could call shotgun without all three of them being in sights of the car. It had gotten bad enough that Sam and Cas waited impatiently for Dean in the garage, staring expectantly for him to round the corner so they could have their yelling match.

Cas nearly blew Dean’s eardrums out, bellowing “SHOTGUN!” loud enough to drown out Sam. He angrily opened his mouth to argue when his phone started ringing.

“It’s Eileen.” He said, his back snapping straight and immediately answering the video call. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Can you give me a ride?” Dean could hear Eileen’s voice over the tinny speakers. “My car broke down and the nearest shop is two hours away.”

“Where are you?”

“An hour away from you? It was supposed to be a surprise.”

Dean saw Sam’s face soften, the tension of worry falling away. He butted in, sticking his face in view of the camera so Eileen could read his lips.

“Just tow it here. I can patch your ride.” He said. “Sam can take the tow truck.”

“Are you sure?” Eileen asked.

“Course. ‘Sides, those guys won’t give you a fair price anyway.” Dean flapped his hand dismissively.

“Thanks, Dean.” Eileen beamed, and oh, Dean knew that smile. Mischievous and damnit, she had planned this from the start, hadn’t she? Just to get a free repair out of him. Dean squinted suspiciously at her, and Eileen just wiggled her eyebrows.

“Cas and I can pick up the curse box and meet you two back here in a few hours.” Dean said. He saw Cas immediately brighten, having secured the passenger seat.

Cas was looking particularly triumphant as they drove, his knees rocking back and forth in a content, mindless sort of way. Finally, Dean couldn’t hold back the question anymore.

He had done his work accepting the fact that he wasn’t as straight as he thought, that it wasn’t very heterosexual to stare at Cas’ lips or pop an awkward boner seeing him all cleaned up after Purgatory, or completely shutting down every time he died or getting all prickly when waitresses give him her phone number. He was gay for Cas, and he had just gotten around to accepting this. Cas said he loved him, right? so Dean shouldn’t be afraid or rejection or anything. Yeah, no he was terrified.

“Hey, Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?” He turned to him with that soft smile that Dean wanted all to himself.

“I gotta ask, man,” Dean chuckled a little awkwardly and kept his eyes firmly on the road. “Why are you so determined about sitting shotgun? You’ve never been before.”

“Ah.” Cas hummed, turning back to the road too. “I suppose now I have the freedom to pursue the things I want. Chuck is gone and my deal with the Empty is null in void. I have time to…focus my attentions on other things.”

“The things you want? What, you got a better view up here or something?”

“Well yes, the windshield does allow more viewing space.” Cas agreed. “But it’s not my main goal in doing all this.”

“Then…what is?”

“Dean.” Cas said in that ever patient, you’re-being-dumb-about-this voice. “I enjoy being up here because it allows me to be closer to you. You are the view I most admire, Dean. I’m always so helplessly drawn to you.”

Dean’s mouth had gone a little dry and his grip on the wheel was suddenly sweaty. The silence that fell was deafening. Cas didn’t even look concerned. He just sat there waiting the road as if he hadn’t just said something so…so…soft to Dean.

Helplessly drawn. Like Cas couldn’t bear being away from him. Like Dean was this perfect, magnetic thing that Cas was enchanted by, something worth having around.

With a jerk of the wheel, Dean was pulling over on the side of the empty highway in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. He threw Baby into park before twisting around and staring at Cas.

He didn’t even look vaguely concerned, the fucker. He just gave Dean a patient look.

Dean opened his mouth, and closed it. Did it again, ready to tell Cas everything. Snapped his jaw shut.

Cas watched in cool amusement. Dean felt his cheeks get hot.

“Screw this.” He grumbled to himself, before lunging across the bench, grabbing Cas’ face with both hands, and kissing him square on the lips.

He felt Cas freeze for a moment, probably in total shock, before he started moving.

Dean nearly choked on a gasp as the chapped, warm lips started pushing and devouring, Cas was suddenly the one taking charge, shoving Dean back against his window as he clambered across the seats to get on top of him.

Twelve years of pent up emotions came crashing out in a sudden burst of unstoppable passion. And as soon as it started, it seemed to have stopped. They both were panting, Dean’s jeans were tight and his entire body screamed to have Cas against him again. But Cas had made to move away, putting space between him as he looked at Dean with wide eyes.

He didn’t get very far. Dean grabbed ahold of his jacket lapels and held on tight with an iron grip, keeping Cas hovering inches above him, basically sharing air.

“Wanna hear a secret?” He whispered between heavy breathes. Cas just blinked at him. “I’ve always rooted for you getting shotgun.”

Cas’ kiss swollen lips split into a dazzling smile, and he rewarded Dean with another intense make out session. When they pulled away, Dean found the words spilling out of his mouth.

“I love you too, Cas. You can have me. God, you have had me, for years you have. Can’t believe it took me so long, I’m sorry I made you think you couldn’t have me, I’m sorry it took me so long—“

Cas shut him up with another kiss, and Dean’s ramble faded into a helpless whimper that too was swallowed up by Cas.

“Does this mean I get exclusive shotgun privileges?” Cas asked a few hours later than they finally took the curse box off the poor shopkeeper’s hands. They had arrived nearly an hour late, not that Dean (or his dick for that matter) particularly cared.

“Honestly? Play it up to Sam and he might let you get away with it for a while.” Dean chuckled. Without even thinking too hard about it, his free hand slithered over the bench, grabbing Cas’ and entwining their fingers. Something so small and simple, yet made Dean light up like a sun.

If Cas didn’t manage to convince Sam, Dean sure as hell would.

[idy-ll-ique]

Breaking The Rules.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader (sort of Winter Soldier x F!Reader too)

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Warnings: like,,, lots of murder

Requested: nope

Summary: The Winter Soldier attacks the building where Y/N works and comes face-to-face with her. Surprising her and himself, he lets her go, breaking the rules, not following his orders. Y/N is so thankful about his mercy that she is now the world's biggest Bucky Barnes stan. What happens when their paths cross again 7 years later?

Author's Note: Hiya peeps! Okay so I don't really know if I've done a good job writing this but I tried my best so,,, enjoy!

---

The Asset is not thinking.

The Asset is not made to think.

Casually stroking his gun as he walked into the plain building, he watched the people inside the room pause for a minute. Then the screaming began. He simply stood there, the scene unfolding in front of him as people ran; inside rooms, out the building as they jumped out of windows to avoid him. He let them.

Finally having had enough because HYDRA demands some kills, Soldat, he cocked his gun and started out by fighting the security guards that had an ounce of bravery in them as they approached him with their own guns. He killed them easily. Then he moved further into the building, ending the lives of anyone who tried to get in his way.

What was his purpose of doing this? There was none. He was programmed to kill, and the program had no specific targets. No targets, only kill. He walked up the stairs of the building as more people, who had not been dead, escaped. Then he ended up on the floor where she was.

Y/N was going through a stack of papers, wearing headphones, when she heard a scream. It had been so sudden and loud that she startled badly, the papers flying from her hands as she turned around, ready to give the person a piece of her mind only to be met with the prettiest blue eyes she had ever seen in her life. The breath left her lungs and fear overtook her.

The person in front of her; she had heard of him. They called him The Winter Soldier. He was covered in black leather, his silver arm shining in the sunlight that entered through the window on her right. She quickly glanced at it; she was 10 stories above ground. He had a black mask on (more like a muzzle, she thought) and a peculiar look on his face.

She looked around the room, her eyes filling with tears when she saw the bodies of her coworkers, the friends she had made at the workplace, littered on the floor. Damn you, stupid headphones. She discarded them. He had killed them all. The Winter Soldier didn't really have a say in what he did, she told herself, he had been programmed to act like that.

Nothing but a murder toy for HYDRA.

And she hated them for that.

"Don't cry." She looked back at the Soldat, her eyes wide in confusion. Huh? Why would he say that? She blinked away the tears and started raising a hand to wipe them off when he suddenly raised his gun. Her hand paused mid-air and she held her breath, waiting for him to finally put her out of her misery as her eyes unconsciously watered once more.

When he saw her hand, though, her palm was facing him. Ready to rub off the tears, he noticed, and he lowered the gun. "Don't cry," he repeated and Y/N, as absurd as she found the situation to be, did as he ordered. She wiped the tears off and rubbed her hands on the jeans she was wearing, staring at the man. He stared back at her.

When he first entered the floor, he had done what he had been told, until there was no one alive in the room. Or so he thought, until his eyes landed on Y/N. She was wearing some sort of a device over her head, completely oblivious to what was going on. Was she deaf? Did she not hear the gunshots?

As he approached her cautiously, someone screamed behind him. And he saw how the papers flew out of her hand she whirled around, her big, doe eyes blinking at him until recognition sparked in them. Then she cowered. For some reason, as he looked at her, he couldn't bring himself to harm her. She looked… adorable, almost. So he did what he did best.

Stared.

Her eyes were darting around the place, and they watered when they landed on the bodies on the floor. He gulped quietly under his mask, something inside him stirring uncomfortably as he watched her cry. And suddenly, he couldn't help himself. "Don't cry," he blurted out and she looked back at him. He stared. She blinked rapidly and started raising her hand.

Thinking she would raise a hand on him, he immediately held up his gun as a warning but realized that she was simply drying her tears, new ones in her eyes as she looked at the gun. And he suddenly felt very apologetic. "Don't cry," he repeated and allowed her to wipe her tears. But he was surprised to hear her speak.

"Please don't hurt me."

She was shaking, arms going around herself, but she wasn't crying. At least she was not crying. He didn't reply, only stared as a foreign, almost forgotten word came to mind. Pretty. She was pretty. Soldat or not, how could he bring himself to harm a pretty thing like her? He raised his gun again when he remembered his orders; kill, do not show mercy.

The pretty woman started crying again, this time her tears were much more prominent. "Please, please don't do it, please… I have done nothing to you, don't do it…" she pleaded, fingers intertwined as if in prayer. Kill her. But he ignored the order and lowered his gun again.

"Pretty," he stated and her brows furrowed. Y/N blinked at him, pretty? Did she hear that right? He called her pretty, right? "Pardon?" she blurted out and his head tilted to the side. "Go." His voice sounded strained and for a moment, Y/N wanted to embrace him, to comfort him but hurriedly dismissing the thoughts, she turned on her heels and ran out the building.

The Asset stared at her as she ran.

He had not been programmed to think.

Then why had he?

---

"Guys, I'm telling you, it was so surreal—"

"Oh my God, Y/N, will you stop—"

Steve, Sam and Bucky glanced at the group of ladies that ended up at the bar next to them. A few years had passed since the incident between Bucky and Y/N took place and he was back to normal. No longer the Winter Soldier; he was an ally of the Avengers now. Steve glanced at his friends, lips curling into an amused smile.

"What do you think they're talking about?" he whispered and Sam snickered quietly. "Why don't we listen?" Bucky simply shook his head, but was also kind of intrigued at this surreal experience that Y/N talked about. Y/N… that name sounded kind of familiar to him, but maybe it was a common one, what did he know?

"He called me pretty!"

"We know he's hot, Y/N, but seriously, the Winter Soldier did not call you pretty."

The three men froze and their eyes darted amongst each other. "He did," Y/N whined, "I'm telling you!" Bucky almost dropped his glass but managed to hold on, his jaw dropped. Thankfully the ladies were not aware of the men shamelessly eavesdropping on their conversation. "Wait wait wait, what is this about you and the Winter Soldier? I've not heard that story."

"Ugh, Sam, you've done it now!"

Steve and Bucky glanced at Sam with smirks and he rolled his eyes. "Samantha," he snarked but the super soldiers only shrugged in reply. "Okay okay, this was like… 7 years ago. I was in my office, working, when our building was attacked. By him." And Bucky, try as he might, couldn't remember shit.

"Dude, I was wearing headphones so damn strong that I didn't hear literal gunshots echoing around the room, like what?"

"Seriously, Y/N? You know we won't say anything if you tell us you're lying."

"But I'm not lying," Y/N insisted, "I heard a scream and finally took off the headphones. When I turned to see who had screamed, he was literally standing in front of me." Hazy memories slowly flashed in his mind; a plain building, those red-black headphones and the fluttering of papers. He gulped his drink down.

"And didn't kill you like he had been trained to? I still think you're lying. Or maybe you just have severe trauma and you made up a story of the handsome Bucky Barnes calling you pretty." Bucky nearly laughed when Y/N's face turned red but then guilt started weighing heavy in his stomach. He had put her in danger…

"I don't have trauma, don't joke about stuff like that! Anyway, I was like, scared shitless. I thought I was gonna die, I started crying but he told me, don't cry. Like huh?" Bucky didn't remember that part. Steve and Sam were now definitely drawn to the story, their eyes set on their glasses as they listened.

"I didn't want to anger him so I wiped my tears but he raised that goddamn gun again and I started crying again. He repeated his words and I started pleading, as we've all seen in action movies." Snorts drifted between them. "Please don't hurt me, let me go…" Y/N mimicked but Bucky's heart rate suddenly spiked. The same voice, the same tone…

He had had a nightmare the previous night.

She was the one he heard.

"Okay, so after I'm done begging, you know what he fucking says? Out of all things, he literally called me pretty. Like just— just that one word came out of his mouth. I'm literally still so confused," she spoke animatedly and the friend who had not heard the story before gasped. "Seriously? No way," she scoffed.

"Yes way!" Y/N got impatient. Why did no one ever believe her? She got that it was an outlandish story, but it was real! Y/N wished the Soldat was here; not to kill, of course, merely to confirm the fact that he had, indeed, called her pretty. But that man was long gone, replaced by someone who was stable-but-not-so-stable, undoubtedly handsome and with a new metal arm. This Bucky was much better than the dangerous Soldat.

"Then he told me to go. He sounded so fucking soft, you know? I have so much respect for Bucky Barnes, I mean, look at him. He went through so much he didn't deserve, and sometimes I just wanna—" She made a choking gesture, "—everyone who hurt him." Her friends chuckled but he could tell she wasn't lying. She really did care for him.

After all he put her through…

"I'm serious! Look at him! He looks like a lost puppy. How can you not care about him?" Y/N whined and her friends shook their heads. "You just have a big crush on the man, accept it." Bucky rolled his eyes as Steve and Sam smirked at him. He nudged them both, keeping silent. "You know what? I wish he was here right now. He probably doesn't even remember but if he did—"

"I remember it, doll, only vaguely…"

Y/N's group froze as their gazes followed the voice, landing on the three Avengers beside them. Her friends were mortified, Y/N even more so. Did he hear the story? "D-Did you… hear…" she stammered and Bucky pursed his lips. "I'm sorry." The apology fell out before he could stop himself and Y/N, ever the Bucky-apologist, instantly shook her head.

"It was not your fault. HYDRA did that to you. You didn't deserve any of it, mark my words." She sounded like Steve, he noticed and smiled gently. After all he put her through… she still stood by his side. "Thank you, doll, that really means a lot," he said sincerely and Y/N grinned at him. "You're welcome!" And before she could turn to her friends, he spoke up again.

"I meant what I said."

"Hm?" She looked at him, head tilted in confusion. "When I called you pretty, I meant it. You are pretty, very much so." She went red under his intense gaze and shied away, forcing Steve, Sam and her friends to burst into boisterous laughter. "Th-Thanks," she mumbled and Bucky craved her more.

"Join me for a drink?" he questioned and her eyes widened. He mistook it for fear and immediately lowered his head. "Sorry, I overstepped—" He froze when she took his metal hand, holding it gently, looking at him with the same eyes he had thought to be adorable 7 years ago. "Of course I'll join you." A genuine smile bloomed on his face and without a care in the world, he led her away from her friends.

She was going to be his.

Forever and always.

The only woman caring and wonderful enough to accept him, broken and everything.

---

A/N: Leave a like if you enjoyed, thanks for reading! Love you all 🖤

[thran-duils]

Learn Her Place

Title: Learn Her Place Summary:  Fem!Omega!Reader x Alpha!Tony Stark x Alpha!Steve Rogers x Alpha!Bucky Barnes. The reader works for S.H.I.E.L.D. and is on suppressants. In this universe, we obviously are working with multiple Alphas being able to share an Omega. The reader has had sex before but it has been with Betas. She is very distracting to the Alphas and they’re tired of not being able to focus on their work, so they decide to make sure her suppressants no longer work and she is where they think she belongs. Without the suppressants, the reader succumbs to her hormones very quickly. Words: 4,894 Warnings (for the fic in entirety): Non-con, ABO dynamics, smut, breeding, brief mention of infidelity, multiple partners, angst. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK! Author’s Note: Kudos to whoever picks up on the movie line reference

Masterpost

Steve hated it.

Watching her come back from one-night stands with Betas and not feel any remorse about it.

She was an Omega and was granted freedom by the suppressants given to her. She was wasting her fertile cycles away on frivolous orgasms with random strangers. She was able to infiltrate regular society, mainly hide herself away into the crowd. It was not foolproof though.

There was still something there during what her cycle should be. If one did not know she was Omega, they would not attribute the feeling of arousal to her. But he – along with every other high ranking agent – knew she was and it was that much easier to pinpoint it. He could pick up on it and it made him clench his fists every time she was in close proximity, her infiltrating all his senses. He saw the other Alphas in the room tense too at those times, having a difficult time focusing on the mission briefs with her sitting so close. And one of those times was right the hell now. Tony was staring at her abashedly across the table, his fingers at his lips, his jaw clenched. His stare could be excused, he was an intense person. Bucky, next to Steve, chewed on his cheeks while he tried avoiding looking over at her.

It was selfish.

And foolish because the suppressants only did so much, and they acted like it was a solve all. S.H.I.E.L.D was trying so hard to be inclusive and it was only serving to bring down focus and morale when all they wanted to do was mount one of their team members who was acting above her Omega rank.

She had raised her hand and was answering a question. She was smart, there was no doubt about that. She had worked really hard to get up to this level and she continued to go above and beyond.

But…

Steve’s eyes raked down her clavicle to where the top of her breasts were exposed above her shirt. She most certainly had a push up on. His thoughts trailed to what they looked like bare. How they would look at different angles… when she was riding him, below him, from the side… all the different positions he could get her in. His favorite: cradled in his arms, his hand on her round stomach…

He snapped to attention when Wanda literally snapped her fingers in front of his face. He had been spacing out.

“You alright?” she snorted.

“Yeah, fine,” he said rubbing the back of his neck. He gathered up his file and got up from the table without another word, walking towards the door.

He spotted her down the hall, speaking with Thor. Thor was enthralled, looking at whatever she was showing him in her file. He was a huge teddy bear, just like Bruce.

Steve caught sight of Tony and Bucky coming to stand next to him, their eyes fixated on her too down the hallway.

“Anyone else not catch a single thing that was said in that meeting?” Bucky half joked.

“She’s distracting,” Steve snapped in hushed tones. “How do they not notice the affect she has? Has no one said anything?”

“Oh, I’ve already brought it up,” Tony told Steve and Bucky, rolling his eyes. “They’re marking it up to me not being able to ‘control myself’ and shaming me for it.” He added scornfully, “Were you forced to watch that goddamn video—”

“Where they were described as ‘delicate flowers’? Yeah, I did. And was that supposed to make us feel any better about thinking about them being put in harm’s way?” Bucky muttered, shaking his head. “They shouldn’t be putting her out in the field. Here in the office is one thing. But they shouldn’t be putting any position outside. They’re too susceptible to persuasion.”

Tony said, “That’s why it’s supposed to be secret about their Omega status.”

“I don’t like them out there,” Bucky repeated. “Not just for them but for the rest of our safety too.”

Thor was so close to her, laughing at whatever she had said. He was not affected at all. Steve ground his teeth watching that in front of him. She was comfortable around him, her hand coming to rest on his arm. He felt jealously scratching away at his insides, knowing she was in a cycle.

“It’s gonna drive me insane if I don’t leave,” Tony grated, tearing his eyes away from her to focus on the other two. “You going to the party tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Bucky and Steve said in unison, still staring down the hall.

Tony snorted, “Who the hell planned it on a Thursday, anyhow? Don’t get too worked up if she takes a random person home. I for one won’t be there to witness that. That is unless…” He pulled a syringe out of his pocket, holding it up and Bucky swiped it in the blink of an eye, making it disappear again. Tony threw him a wry smile and said, “I think it’s about time. Don’t hesitate too long now since she’s just gone into the cycle. It’ll take a day or two though to work, remember! And don’t let Banner catch you with that.”

He clapped Bucky on the shoulder before turning on his heel, leaving the other two Alphas to stew.

<><><>

Bucky and Steve walked into the loud club, finding everyone in disarray already in the VIP area. They had been on last minute mission and had returned late and the party was already well underway. The upper space of the club was packed of S.H.I.E.L.D agents at all varying stages of intoxication. Some had set up tables to play poker – something normally illegal in clubs but no one was bothering them – as well as varying card games.

Of course both of their attention was drawn in towards Y/N. Clint was laughing at the fact she had walked back from up the stairs with a sandwich shoved halfway in her mouth. “Y/N! The food is on the way! You remember? That we ordered?”

“But I’m hungry now,” she whined, her mouth full. “And Wanda asked for half of it!”

“You’re such a baby,” Clint laughed barely keeping it together.

Wanda was in stitches, her head thrown back against her chair. Vision was laughing in tandem with Wanda, following her movement. She only laughed harder when Y/N held out the untouched part of the sandwich that was supposed to be for her.

“Thank you,” Wanda said, taking deep breaths as she tried to stifle her laughter.

Natasha appeared at Bucky and Steve’s sides, raising her eyebrows. “They are drunk,” Natasha hissed at them over the music.

And she smirked then, an unfamiliar kind of smirk. And Steve cocked his head.

“Are you drunk?”

She shrugged sheepishly which was all the answer they needed.

You grasped onto Steve’s arm, startling him. “Have you guys done shots yet?”

Steve’s eyes flicked down to her hand only for a moment and he could feel every press of her hand into his bicep. He looked back up at her and told her, “I can’t get drunk, Y/N.”

“Oh, right,” she said looking immediately pitying of him. She rubbed his arm excessively in her drunk state and he stiffened, his jaw clicking. “I’m sorry. I forgot!” She laughed, noticing how stiff he was and poked him in the chest. “You need to loosen up, Steve.”

“I’ll try,” he said forcing a smile.

“You too, Bucky,” she commented eyeing his stoic expression. She touched the side of his face and he inhaled sharply. She giggled at the response and said, “Maybe you’ll feel better after a drink? You can get drunk right?”

Before he could respond, her attention was drawn elsewhere by Wanda. As soon as she was gone, Steve let out a frustrated sigh and Bucky mirrored his state.

“She’s not taking care of herself,” Bucky murmured, shaking his head. “Anyone could take her home. Anyone!”

“Yeah, well, we’ll make sure that doesn’t happen,” Steve returned firmly. Bucky frowned and Steve rolled his eyes, “You can have some drinks. I’ll just be the sober eyes.”

“Thanks for that leeway, but this has gone on long enough hasn’t it?” Bucky asked.

“It has,” Steve exhaled heavily. Y/N was holding Clint’s hand as they danced their way down the staircase from the VIP section, away from where him and Bucky were standing.

Steve was close to her all night, especially on the dance floor. At one point, he grabbed a female Alpha who had started grinding on Y/N and yanked her away. The other Alpha had started to get buck until she realized who exactly she was trying to fight. He was not a hard man to mistake, not with all the press conferences and his mere presence on top of that. She gritted her teeth before leaving seeing his icy stare, taking the hint. Y/N was oblivious, dancing to the techno music, hands in the air still with Clint and Wanda.

Y/N fanned herself and her hands came to the hem of her shirt. Steve’s eyes almost bugged out of his head as she began to tear it off. Steve was at her side immediately, grabbing the shirt before she could remove it completely, yanking it back down.

She focused in on him, confused, and he demanded inches from her face, “What are you doing?”

“It’s hot,” she yelled at him over the music, as if that was a reasonable explanation for her behavior. He imagined all the eyes on her now, his blood pumping in his ears.

Steve shook his head and grasped her arm, pulling her through the crowd.

“Steve!” he heard Clint call from behind him, but it went ignored.

Bucky knew when Steve walked by with Y/N it was time. He got up, following Steve’s movement away from the VIP section towards a more isolated part of the club. Y/N was asking Steve where he was taking her before Bucky snuck up and administered the shot before Y/N could even react to his presence.

She began to ask, “What the hell…” but her eyes were already drooping.

Steve caught her before her knees gave out from beneath her. She was conscious but she was far past coherent. She groaned in his arms and he picked her up, hushing her.

“Wish I could have gotten even two drinks in before that,” Bucky said, eyes searching the club. He looked towards the hall and said, “Should try to take her out a back way or…?”

“She was reckless,” Steve grumbled in his ear as she slumped into his side. “Let’s take her home. She shouldn’t remember any of this. But no, let’s take her back by so everyone can see how ‘drunk’ she is.”

“Right, good idea,” Bucky agreed.

<><><>

Tony walked in, seeing Y/N at the break room table already, at 7:00am. But, her head was resting on her forearms, a large cup of coffee next to her. He looked over his shoulder, seeing people were walking by in the hallway. Slowly, he closed the door, the handle clicking into place when it was fully closed. She did not stir, and he cocked his head. She must really be out.

He tapped her shoulder and she grumbled, sitting back uncomfortably. She was squinting at him and recognized him, before rubbing at her eyes.

“You alright?” he asked, feigning concern.

“Yeah, just… not feeling great,” she told him.

Hungover. Every clue of it clear as day to everyone else. But Tony was not everyone else. He knew this was not a withdrawal from alcohol but another drug entirely. Her body was correcting itself from that nasty medication, right at the height of her heat.

“You should be drinking water instead of coffee,” Tony told her, his Alpha peaking in his tone.

It was an easy way to worm himself in. He was not supposed to do this – but they had also not been supposed to administer that drug without her consent –, it was against protocol. But he just had to know. He had to see if she would respond.

Simultaneously to his surprise and not, she made eye contact with him. He saw… doe eyes. She quickly averted her gaze and looked at her cup.

“You’re right,” she told him.

Tony watched her with arousal as she got up and tossed the coffee in the sink. She went towards the fridge, but Tony was already there, opening it up to grab a water bottle for her.

“Let me,” he told her, and she stopped, looking at him patiently as he held it out to her.

She took it from him, taking a drink. “Thanks. I… I really don’t feel great.”

Tony pointed at her and said, “You probably need oxygen. And a lot of water.”

“Oxygen?”

“Clears a hangover pretty quickly.”

“Oh, I’m not—” she began to stammer, and he could not help his lip twitching in amusement at her looking embarrassed.

Tony chuckled, “It’s alright. The party was last night. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Y/N looked unsure if she should relax or not for a few moments before she relented, nodding. “Yeah, what idiot decided tequila shots was the way to start off the night?”

“Probably the same idiot who planned it to be on a Thursday.”

“Thirsty Thursday,” she mumbled, taking another drink.

“Thirsty Thursday,” Tony agreed lightly. “Eat something too. Something healthy. Fruit, maybe.” She grumbled in response but nodded as she sat back down at the table. She swiped an apple from the center of the table and took a large bite. Tony watched her for a few more seconds, anticipation nipping at his heels before he parted with, “Feel better.”

He needed to tell Bucky and Steve she should be ready by tonight if she was already reacting to him like that.

<><><>

Y/N was the last one in her office, the other two had gone home already. She looked up at Tony walking into the office, carrying a bag. Her stomach growled at the smell coming from the bag, her eyes falling to it. Tony only stalled for a moment, the smell of her coming to him. She was tumbling fast, she looked flushed.

Tony approached her desk, a friendly glint in his eye. “Ah, you are still here. Here, we ordered some food. I always go for greasy at some point after drinking and I’m sure it’ll help.” She looked past him to where Bucky and Steve were in the hallway.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Y/N told him timidly.

Tony loved the sight: she was tying to avoid direct eye contact, speaking in soft tones.

“Just thought we’d be nice.”

“Thank you.” She would not grab it from him. “Today has been… I don’t know. I can’t focus. I need to finish this before I leave. I just… I don’t feel great,” she said her voice getting smaller as her eyes were dragged back to her computer screen.

Tony ordered, “Press save and close the laptop. Eat.” He placed the bag on her desk. “It’ll help.”

He turned to leave, and she blurted, “Where are you going?”

Tony came to a stop, his gaze locked with Steve and Bucky, his back to her. To them, he gave them a sly, knowing smile that only lasted a few seconds before he turned back to her.

“I mean, you don’t have to leave and go eat somewhere else if you already have your food too. You don’t want it to get cold. I promise I’m not throwing up or anything. I just feel off. Like a headache… a little hot.”

She wanted them to stay, that was obvious. She needed something from them and even if she could not figure out what it was just yet, her body was telling her they were needed.

“Sure,” Tony chirped. “If it won’t bother you.”

She shook her head and he started walking back towards the desk beside hers. His suit jacket came off, and he swung it around the back of the chair. Steve and Bucky had come into the room as well, purposely leaving the door open. Bucky sat across from Y/N, his eyes following her movements as she opened the bag Tony had placed in front of her. He watched the way her hands shook ever so slightly, her tongue running across her bottom lip as she opened the container of food.

Y/N made a satisfied sound as she tasted it. “God, thank you. This is delicious. I needed it. I feel… shaky.”

The three of them around her was making it difficult for her to focus though. She kept stealing glances at them, being met with blatant stares back as they slowly ate. Steve adjusted, trying to hide his length that was starting to grow at her being so damn close and smelling so damn good.

Tony spilled some on the desk and said, “Shit!”

Before she could offer he was leaning over her, reaching across the grab a kleenex from the other side of her desk. He heard her inhale and he forced himself to not react, sitting back down, dabbing at the food he had spilled. His jaw was clenched; he should not have done that because now he was working himself up quickly.

The three of them noticed her chewing slowed to a stop and her eyes moved between the three of them. Something was starting to click… the tense silence in the room getting under her skin. The off feeling no doubt growing ever stronger.

Swallowing, she cleared her throat. Her voice was higher pitched than normal, “Do you guys want a cookie? To go with it for after, I mean? I… there’s some over here.”

She pushed her chair back quickly and moved away from her desk. Along the wall, she fumbled with the drawers, looking for these mysterious cookies. She was getting squirrelly, nervous, like she wanted some air. They could all sense it and they wanted to get ahead of her stressing out while they could. All three were out of their seats: Bucky strode across the room away from her, closing the door while Tony and Steve came closer towards her.

Y/N turned around startled at them all having moved so quickly, holding a handful of fortune cookies. Bucky leaned against the doorframe, staring directly back at her. She gave a small laugh, “Are people still working out there? Were we being too loud, do you think?”

Tony and Steve said nothing and her smile faltered, a frown growing. “Can…Can I just… get by,” she said trying to skirt around them but each time, one of them blocked her way. She tried to brush it off, holding the cookie out. “Do you just want it now?”

She asked, so innocently. Sweetly. Steve shuddered at it. She could not hide her true nature even in her tone. And the phrasing, the three of them smirked.

Bucky was still by the door, leaning against the frame. He popped a chocolate in his mouth, watching the scene unfold.

“Well, I would really like to get eat—” She said, trying again to break through their rank and being unsuccessful. She frowned visibly now, worry lines showing up on her face. She chuckled nervously, “Did I do something wrong?”

Steve noticed the spiral coming. He could hear the increase in her heartrate. She knew she was surrounded by Alphas and was growing uncomfortable. Especially since she was alone, it was late, and they were encroaching. His hand came up to slap over her mouth and she yelled frightened, the sound muffled. He pulled her away from the counter, dragging her back towards the third desk. Tony was ready, grabbing her arms and twisting them behind her back, slipping the retractable cuffs around her wrists. The cookies tumbled to the floor and he paid them no mind, stepping on them as he passed her to Steve solely. Her arms were bound at the small of her back and she fell face first against the table. All three of them were growing hard at the sight.

As soon as Steve removed his hand she began to scream, and he clamped back down.

“Omega,” Steve purred in her ear and she whimpered behind his hand. He laced his tone, his Alpha rumbling, “You’re going to be quiet aren’t you?” She said nothing, her chest just rapidly moving up and down. “Omega… are you gonna be quiet? Nod for me if you are gonna be good.” She nodded frantically against his hand and he slowly removed it.

Tearfully, she said, “Can you let me go?”

“Oh, no. No, we can’t, beautiful,” Steve said, his finger running down her exposed neck, causing her to squirm. He pulled away, turning his attention to Tony.

“But… I… I didn’t do anything wrong,” she tried to plead, looking at Bucky across the desk to where he was standing at the door. “I followed all the rules. I—” Tony’s hands lifted up underneath her dress and she let out a choked noise, craning her neck to look back at him. “Alpha, please!”

Tony audibly groaned at her slipping up and giving in to calling him by his title. He yanked her leggings and underwear down to her ankles. He freed himself from his slacks and his fingers pressed at her pussy. She buried her face in the desk, trying to squeeze her legs together.

“Oh, come now. None of that,” Tony ordered, and she loosened. His fingers pressed in, stroking her slowly. She was already wet, probably had been for the better part of the day. It is why the three of them had stayed away, they could have lost control before now and ruined it all otherwise.

“You’re not being punished, Omega,” he told her. “Rewarded actually…” She whimpered and he cooed as he continued stroking her gently, “Oh, sweetpea… beautiful Omega. You’re going to be just fine. You’re in the perfect hands. You feel sick for a reason and we are going to help you.”

The more he spoke, the more he watched her body relax against his hand and his tone. The smell of her was driving him insane – he could only imagine Steve and Bucky not being able to touch her at all. He should not stall for long, wouldn’t want to start a fight.

“You’re going to feel so much better,” Tony promised as she tried to push back on his fingers, and he bit his lip at the sight. His fingers were gone, and she let out a disappointed noise. Tony rubbed his cock up and down her ass, slowly. “God, this is gonna feel so fucking good.”

Tony’s head pressed in and she gasped, adjusting to his width. He gave a strangled laugh, relishing in how tight her walls were. She was squirming beneath him and he gave her a rapt smack on the ass.

“I know you haven’t had an Alpha cock before but relax, Omega,” Tony ordered gruffly.

“It’s too much,” she said pitifully.

“You’ll adjust. You’ll adjust,” Tony moaned, pressing in further. “You’ll be able to take all of me. All of us. It’s what you were built for.”

Bucky was becoming shifty, chewing on his thumb nail, his eyes boring into Y/N. He had stepped away from the door, coming closer to where she was. His dick was outlined in his jeans but he had refrained from releasing himself just yet. Steve on the other hand had taken his cock out and was stroking himself, needing some type of contact. Both of their eyes were blown wide.

“Oh. Tony,” Bucky said, aroused. “You would love this sight.”

Y/N’s eyes were glazed over as Tony thrusts grew deeper and quicker. Looking the perfect example of a subservient Omega, impaled on an Alpha’s cock.

“I love the feeling,” Tony choked back, holding tight to her wrists to drive himself deeper.

Soon, they came tumbling down. Tony came with loud grunts, emptying inside of her and he left a claim mark on her shoulder. Tony only took a moment to kiss at her neck, whispering something sweet into her ear before he backed off. His pants were buttoned back up and he collapsed in one of the chairs, his eyes falling on her.

Steve wasted no time coming behind her and entering her with ease. She whimpered at the intrusion, still so sensitive. His thrusts were unbridled, worked up into a frenzy. Y/N’s hips bounced off the desk.

“Alpha,” she whined.

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” Steve panted, his fingers digging into the skin at her hips. “You feel so goddamn good, Omega. You’re doing so well. So, so well. Everything I dreamed.”

The room was filled with skin slapping skin and the aroused moans leaving Y/N.

“Alpha,” she whined again, and Steve groaned, knowing she was getting close. He could feel her clenching around him.

And when she did, shaking and whimpering, Steve thrusted quickly as she tightened. He finished with a shout unable to help himself, coating her walls. He left another distinct claim bite at the base of her neck. His fingers traced it gently before he noticed Bucky standing there.

“You know, for an Alpha. Buck, you sure as hell are patient,” Steve joked.

Bucky gave a curt smirk before shoving Steve out of the way. Steve held his hands up in surrender, turning away and letting Bucky have his way with her. Y/N was doing so well still, behaving and letting Bucky rut her into the desk without pushback. Bucky had been right, Tony thought to himself. He loved that look in her eyes. She was lost to her arousal.

“P-p-please, alpha,” she begged moments before she cried out again.

Bucky grunted loudly, his thrusts becoming more erratic, chasing his high. He shook as he emptied himself and went to the opposite shoulder to leave another claim mark. She was exhausted, breathing heavily having not one but three Alphas imprinting themselves on her and using her.

The door opened and all three of them froze, Bucky still buried in Y/N, his large hands at her hips.

Clint was standing there, his mouth fallen open in disbelief at the scene. There were a few seconds of suspended shock before he asked them disgusted, “You couldn’t even lock it?”

“Didn’t think about it,” Tony admitted.

“You? You didn’t think? That’s rich,” Clint spat back at him. He noticed Y/N was handcuffed and realization dawned on him. He glared daggers at the three of them and snapped, “You’re going to get sidelined for this!”

“No, I don’t think so. More like chewed out… I’ve been chewed out before,” Steve said. Impatiently he added, “Now, will you close the damn door?”

His request went ignored by Clint, who pressed on furiously, “No, seriously. You guys know that right? Compromising an agent like this! Especially one they’re trying to keep up because they’re in such big demand to even out the ranks! She’s only going to respond to your Alpha commands now! That compromises her!”

“And why is anyone complaining about that? She should be answering to her superiors,” Tony remarked, watching her intently. She was so lost, trying to figure out what was going on. She had no purpose without feeling a cock being driven into her when she was this worked up into her heat. Tony almost felt bad for her…

“Barton, are you going to let Barnes pull out so we can untie her or what? She’s got to be getting sore by now. Wouldn’t want to hurt our ‘delicate flower’.” Clint stood his ground and Tony lost his humor, snapping, “Get the fuck out, Barton. It’s already been done. Now. Before I lose my goddamn temper.”

Clint’s jaw was clenched as he turned away from the three Alphas, slamming the door behind him so loudly it shook the wall.

“Speaking of that,” Bucky said, clearing his throat. He leaned in, catching her attention. “Darling… do you want Alpha to finish inside you?” She nodded fervently and Bucky grunted in response, rutting against her backside even as he pulled away from her. He pulled her up and she stood on shaky legs. In her ear, he asked, “Do you want to always be finished inside of?” She nodded again, biting her bottom lip. “Hmm… you want to please us? That’s what I thought. So. How about after you take in that feeling of that warm seed inside you, you go up to the director and tell her you want to resign? Tell her you wanna be a good little housewife for us? How does that sound?”

“Okay,” she agreed.

Steve’s fingers pressed her cheeks in, pressing her lips out and he smiled. “You wanna be an asset to the team in your best way. Such a team player.” He shot Tony a look at the end of the desk, an aroused gleam in his eye. “I’m sure we can get you a proper collar.”

“I’ve already got it built. I’ve been waiting for her to learn her place.” Tony then added, “But she can’t live with me. Pepper will kill me.”

“I’ve got it,” Steve said.

Steve rubbed her stomach and said, “Regardless, she’s gonna be serving her real purpose soon.”

~~~

Forever tags: @coconutqueen21 

[titan-fodder]

Prima Vista Part I

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

God, you hate frat boys. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Claps and supportive shouts are nearly deafening. 

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

More cheers, more hollers. 

"Let's hear it for UC lacrosse!" 

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

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

Again—you fucking hate frat boys. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hell no!" 

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

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

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

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

"Hey, what's your name again?"

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

"Why do you care?" 

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

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

"A noble cause," you quip. "Truly." 

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

"So? Name?"

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

"Oh, you're Hitch's friend, right?" 

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

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

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

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

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

"Aw, flatterer." 

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

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

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

"Sophomore."

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

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

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

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

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

"Sure, let's go with that."

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

"Can't handle beer?"

"Can't handle shitty beer."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Not any good ones obviously."

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

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

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

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

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

"Just go get another drink."

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

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

"Four's whores!"

"Categories! Different beers!"

"Seven heaven!" 

"Ayyy, waterfall!" 

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

"Wanna play?"

"Jesus! You came outta nowhere."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Excellent."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, chill, I just wanna talk.”

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

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

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

“Whatever.”

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

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

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

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

“You need a list?”

Mike nods. “Would probably help.”

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

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

“Excuse me?”

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

“I—”

“That’s my favorite shirt, you know?”

You laugh. Finally. “Are you serious?”

“Absolutely.”

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

“Does that mean I can have it back?”

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

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

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

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

“Ah. Of course.”

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

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

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

“No you do not.”

“Definitely do.”

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

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

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

“Uh, yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You some kind of closet nerd, Zacharias?”

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

“Not good for the cool guy image?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Too much?” He asks.

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“God dam—”

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

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

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

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

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

“Holy—” 

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

“Mike, Mike, fuck, please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

Is still hot. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God dammit, why is he so sexy? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh. Right."

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

"All the more reason not to go."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And, there's that point. 

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

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

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

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

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

But, it needs to stop. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Right. Did you watch the game today?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So, you were watching."

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

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

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

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

"So? I can get tired too."

He's got a point. 

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

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

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

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

"Fine, but I have some stipulations."

"Oh, do you?" 

"I do."

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

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

"Deal." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Don't get cocky, Zacharias." 

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

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

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

"You have any classes?" You ask. 

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

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

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

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

"Probably?" 

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

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

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

Mike figures you out and offers, "Tolerable?" 

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

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

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

"God dammit." 

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

"I said we weren't—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And, words like that scare you.

[ n e x t ]

[dustofbrokenheart]

The Covenant: Gains

Poly Sons of Ipswich x Reader

Word Count: 2,802

Summary: Trying to take advantage of their gym membership, reader starts working with a devastatingly attractive personal trainer. And his friend is pretty hot, too.  

The gym was still new for you but you had been coming consistently enough that you felt comfortable there. You knew what times equipment would be available and what times the crowds would be too much (week days 3-5:30 was like competing in the Hunger Games.)

Cardio always came before strength exercises because your muscles would be too fatigued otherwise. 

And on Tuesdays and Saturdays they played your favorite music on the loud speakers so you didn’t have to bother with headphones on those days.

Still, you weren’t an expert by any means. 

In fact, you were still hesitant to call yourself a gym-goer because you’d seen the workouts other people did and you definitely weren’t doing that. There was no strategy, you just did what you felt like doing on any given day. You were impressed by their discipline though.

Maybe, most likely, it would benefit you to incorporate some of that into your own routine.

The gym had a personal trainer program and you figured that would be the best bet—much easier than trying to figure it out on your own.

Poking around the website, you found the section that explained the process. The design was modern and intuitive, and it was easy to book an appointment: the only information you needed to provide was your name, the date/time, and what trainer you wanted.

The first two things were easy to fill out but the last had you a little stumped; you weren’t familiar enough with any of the trainers to request anyone by name even with the drop-down menu that listed out all of the choices. For a second, you were tempted to forget about the whole thing but luckily, there was an option for ‘no preference’ and anxiety levels dropped off as you selected it.

Appointment booked, you went on with the rest of your night, focus shifting to what sounded good to eat for dinner.

A week later, you found yourself in the gym’s front lobby, arms crossed and foot tapping. Since it was the first time, there was no harm in arriving early. The directions on the website had said to wait there for the trainer but so far there was no sign of them. Granted, there was still five minutes until the scheduled start so it would be unfair to start complaining about them just yet.

Rolling your neck to alleviate some of the tension, you paused mid-stretch, neck awkwardly craned like a gaggling turkey, when a man walked out. He was without a doubt the most attractive man you’d seen at the gym to date.

Thick dark hair that curled just above his ears. Warm brown eyes and an even warmer smile. Tanned skin that wrapped around arms that had just the right amount muscle: toned but not bulky. All in all, a good looking man.

You tracked him as he glanced around the area, looking for something—his eyes suddenly met yours and you straightened up in embarrassment—or someone. “Y/N?” he questioned.

You throat was so dry, it was painful to swallow. “That’s me.”

It didn’t seem possible but his smile grew even brighter. He stuck his hand out. “Nice to meet you. I’m Caleb and I’ll be your trainer today.”

Good karma most certainly at work here. How else could you explain being lucky enough to have the hottest guy in the gym be the trainer? Whatever the case, you weren’t going to look this particular gift horse in the mouth.

He gestured you forward with a wave of his hand and followed you to the main workout area. There was slight pressure to staying cool and collected with him behind you. 

“I’m going to start you off with some jogging to warm-up. Do you want to use the track or hop on a treadmill?”

“Treadmill is fine. It’s what I normally use.”

You stepped up onto the belt and fiddled with the settings to establish a pace you felt comfortable with. The machine started up with a loud hum and your arms and legs began to pump. Normally, you’d have your earphones in to distract yourself with music but they weren’t that day so that you could hear Caleb if he said anything to you.

Good thinking, really, since he did indeed start chatting.

“So how long have you been a member?” he asked.

Determined not to sound steady, you took a few moments to normalize your breathing. “About two months. But this is the first time I’ve worked with a professional,” you added at the end.

It was hard to hear his laugh over the treadmill but the hitching of his shoulders gave him away. “Thanks, but I’m not really a professional. I just have a training certification is all.”

Huh. Attractive and humble. If you weren’t careful, you’d develop a full-blown crush in no time.

“A certification sounds professional to me,” you insisted. There. That wasn’t flirty at all. You were merely sharing an opinion.

Jogging passed by faster than it usually did even without music. Evidently, all that was needed to make a run enjoyable was good conversation and an even better view. 

You powered off the treadmill and gradually transitioned to a walk and then a full stop. A single bead of sweat trailed down the side of your face but before you could wipe it away, only to stumble after being patted on the back by Caleb. 

Those muscles were not just for show.

You had mixed feelings about him giving you props for completing the warm up. On one hand, you were a little insulted because even you could handle jogging for ten minutes. On the other, it was nice to have him flatter you. And he seemed to type to mean his compliments.

“Thanks,” you said almost like a question as you plopped down to stretch.

“Really,” he insisted. There wasn’t any level of patronizing tone that you could detect. “You’d be surprised by how many people I work with that complain about running.”

“Really?” you exclaimed with surprise. “I wouldn’t say I love running but it’s not terrible. Better than swimming anyway.”

“Whoa, now. I’ll have you know that I was a big swimmer in high school.”

The friendly banter about the woes, or in his case, the highs of swimming got you through the stretches he showed you. Occasionally, there would be a pause while he corrected your posture but once you fixed your position, the banter started up again.  

Finally, you conceded, “I will admit that swimming did wonders for your shoulders though.”

He looked away with a bow of his head. He smiled but it was closed lipped, no teeth on display. Oops. That comment may have been a bit too forward. Rather than draw more attention to it, you diverted attention to the actual work out.

Seeming to be of the same mind, Caleb dropped it, too, and set you up at a weight bench. He must’ve have seen the doubt on your face.

“Don’t worry,” he assured. “I’m not going to have you squatting 300 pounds or anything crazy. Here. Take this and we’ll start with some dumb bell rows.”

He handed you a twenty-pound weight, the smooth metal cool against your palm. The weight was noticeable but not so heavy you struggled to hold it. A month or two of this and your arms would actually tone out pretty nice.

You peered subtly at Caleb behind you. You wouldn’t be at Caleb’s level, not just after a couple weeks but then again, you doubted most people could measure up to him even after working out everyday for a year straight.

Someone people had all the good genes.

You could’ve complained but found it much more enjoyable to appreciate the good view. In fact, it was the view that got you through the rest of the season.

“Thanks,” you panted around the mouth of your water bottle. A bead of sweat ran down your neck and you reached to wipe it off.

“You did great, really,” he said, the epitome of what a good trainer should sound like. “The scariest step is always to start so signing up for additional personal training will be a piece of cake.”

“Y-yeah.” Suddenly, your shoe laces fascinated you. “So…if I want to do that—more of this...do I choose you on from that list of trainers?”

“Sure thing. Or if you’d prefer to try someone else, all of the trainers are fantastic choices.”

“I think I’ll stick with you. As long as that’s not weird or anything…”

“Nope, not weird.”

You worked up the courage to look him in the eyes. Swirling irises of molten brown, you couldn’t help but be drawn into them. “Same time next week then?”

“Same time next week,” he agreed with a nod.

***

It had been a little over a month since you had started working with Caleb at the gym and what had started as one personal training session a week had turned into two, sometimes three. Improvement was happening steadily and you definitely felt a difference in your stamina.

Strangely enough, you were even proud of the small callouses that were starting to develop on the tops of your palms, under the fingers. They weren’t classically beautiful but at least you had proof of the work you were doing.

Having worked up the confidence, you’d also started doing some of the exercises Caleb showed you on your own. It was on one such day that you met him.

Another gym babe.

The first thing you noticed was his ass. Literally. He was in prime squat position and his short, though knee length and loose as they may be, could not hide his toned glutes.

You were embarrassed to admit that you were totally ogling him, like a dog looked at a prime cut of meat. You didn’t get star struck often, but damn.

The universe must have sought to punish you for the lack of propriety and your mp3 slipped through your sweaty fingers onto the moving treadmill, yanking the earphones out of your ears along with it as it flew backwards on the conveyor belt.

Recovering from the stumble your mp3 caused, you turned off the machine and gingerly picked out the music player, preparing for the worst.

Miraculously, the screen was still in tact and sounds was still coming through the earphones. You took another sigh of relief when you realized he was preoccupied by his own workout and hadn’t seen your embarrassing moment.

Something similar happened the next time you saw him a few days later: he was cooling down after having thoroughly trounced the heavy bag in the small boxing set-up the gym had. His arms looked so good in his cut-off tank (muscles and veins were all on display) that you froze with your mouth hanging wide open.

Another gym-goer did catch you that time but at least it wasn’t the god sculpted from marble.

You almost felt bad, like you were cheating on one of your crush’s with another which was ridiculous because Caleb was just a trainer and you didn’t even know the other one’s name.

Who knew that so much drama could happen in the confines of a simple neighborhood gym? Seriously, The Bachelor wished it could have as many good options as the gym seemed to.

***

You huffed as you pushed yourself up on increasing shaky arms. For a few seconds, you honestly didn’t think you’d be able to do it as your arms got stuck at a forty-five degree angle. Digging deep down, you managed to fully extend your arms.

“Nine,” Caleb counted. He was kneeling besides you on the yoga mat, counting, and adjusting your form here and there, while you did push-ups

Rather than descend slowly as was proper for push-ups, you collapsed to the mat with your arms squished underneath your chest. Rolled your head, you gave him your best pleading eyes and hoped he might take mercy.

That hope was misplaced. He gave a sympathetic smile and shook his head negatively. “Sorry, Y/N. We agreed on ten and by my count, you still have one more to go.”

“Can I not and say that I did?”

“Come on now. It’s only one more.” He waved his hands around like he was waving imaginary pom-poms. “You can do it!”

You managed a weak laugh. There was no way you could’ve say no. Your arms felt like they were burning but he looked adorable trying to be a cheerleader. An unbidden image of him wearing a cute male cheerleading uniform flashed in your mind and you thought he would pull one off well, what with his wide shoulders and sculpted legs.

Imagination got you through the last push-up and you groaned as you turned over on the mat, spread out like a star fish. “That was absolute torture.”

Caleb opened his mouth but was interrupted by a newcomer.

“Geez, man. You need to take it easier on your clients.”

Recognizing the voice, you found the other gym guy you’d been eyeing standing above you.

“Pogue.” Caleb held his fist out to the man who in turned bumped his with the trainer’s. Evidently, they knew each other.

Then they embraced in a full-on hug.

Okay, so they definitely knew each other. And it was hard to miss the parting caress to Pogue’s shoulders—what kind of name was Pogue anyway?—that was generally reserved for two people that were close.

Were they related? Dating, perhaps?

Your imagination fired up again and you wondered what they would look like wrapped even more intimately with one another…which was entirely despicable, you reminded yourself. There was no proof they were romantically involved, and, even if they were, it was none of your business.

The other two, who had been talking while you were maladaptively fantasizing, had continued talking and their conversation now turned to you.

“So who’s this?” Pogue questioned politely.

“This is Y/N,” Caleb introduce you. “They’re one of the people I work with.”

Pogue stuck his hand out to shake. “Nice to meet you. I’m glad Caleb hasn’t killed you off yet.”

“Hey! I am extremely fair with workouts, aren’t I, Y/N?”

“He is,” you said with a small smile, rocking on your feet. “Besides, he way too nice to ever become a drill sergeant.”

Pogue shoved Caleb lightly and Caleb elbowed him in return. “I know he doesn’t look like the type, but he was quite the drill sergeant back when we were both swimmers. He just hides the competitive instinct under his charming smiles.”

That peaked your curiosity. “No way, you guys swam together back in the day?”

“Spencer Academy was state champs three years running in our time,” Caleb admitted. “But nowadays I do my thing with personal training and Pogue more into MMA.”

“MMA?” you questioned.

“Mixed Martial Arts,” Caleb supplied. “You’ve probably seen him hogging the punching bags in the back.”

You most certainly had but you weren’t about to confess that to either of them. It would be too embarrassing and might even toe the line of harassment.

“You are more than welcome to share bags with me, any time,” Pogue grinned teasingly.

A thought hit and flowed out of your mouth before you could stop it. “You guys should give me a lesson sometime.”

“Oh. I didn’t know you were interested in that sort of thing,” Caleb said, surprise coloring his voice.

“Are you saying that you don’t think I can?” You weren’t sure what made you say it. It’s not like you were hardcore dedicated to trying it. 

Whatever the cause it had Pogue chiming in save the situation.

“What prince charming means is that we would love to give a demonstration sometime.”

Caleb down at his watch because of course he still wore one instead of just using his phone like most other people. “Damn. Our hour is up Y/n and I’m late getting my next client. But we can hit the punching bags next time, if you want…?”

“Sure. Uh. Does Wednesday work for you?”

Both of the men nodded and Caleb called over his shoulder as he jogged to the lobby. “It’s a date. Schedule it online and I’ll approve it.”

The word kept replaying over and over. Date. Date. Date, date, date. He probably didn’t even mean it like that but it didn’t stop your heart from fluttering.

Waving goodbye to Pogue wit a promise of seeing him next week, you bounced off to grab your phone from the locker room. There was nothing wrong with scheduling your next session ASAP.

It’s a date.

_______________

Pogue boxing does make a fetching image. Pogue and Caleb in the ring sparring together even more so. Debating whether to make a part 2. 

Caleb always seems to be the hardest for me to write so I hope he sounded okay in this. This has been sitting in my drafts for a while and I decided to finally post it. 

Thanks for reading! 

[lifewithdavefarts]

DaveFarts - Episode 1 “FartsApp” [Episode List] Since he’s a gassy nerd, Dave teases his friend Tim via WhatsApp by sending him a series of short videos of him farting.

FartsApp

Being gay with a fart fetish is really hard sometimes.

For me at least.

While the world is definitely getting more open-minded about homosexuality, I can’t really force it to accept this weird fetish (to be honest, all fetishes are kinda treated like taboos, regardless of the sexuality involved). I had to settle for YouTube videos or websites devoted to this whole fart-sniffing thing; not that I’m complaining: it was good to discover that so many people actually had this fetish.

Cue Dave. Well, sort of, actually. He doesn’t have a fart fetish and he’s not even gay. Dave has been my best friend since forever. Unlike me, however, he’s straight and is currently dating some (lucky) girl.

Around my age, he’s like a brother to me, and we’re actually well-known because of how much time we always spend with each other.

Dave is a great guy, a great friend, very open-minded and, dare to say it, actually quite hot.

Not surprisingly, being the brother I never had, he’s the first friend I came out to, the only one who knows about my homosexuality. Actually, it’s not like I told him… he found out on his own, in the worst possible way (for me).

During one of our nerdy game-nights, being “that one gassy friend”, Dave started to rip -as usual- tons of farts, fueled by some junk food, until he ripped one directly in my face (and boy it was amazing…). Everything went downhill from there… kinda. For some reason or another… he just accepted all at once not only my homosexuality, but also the fact that I found face-farting… hot. He just laughed about it and honestly gave me some encouraging words about my peculiar situation, proving that he’s indeed the best friend ever. Oh… and he also literally farted for me after that, in my face, letting me sniff and enjoy his amazing rips; he can also fart on command apparently: got a taste of his talent that same night.

That one, surreal night.

I still can’t believe it happened.

Felt like a confused dream. Like one of those nights where you drink too much so you don’t clearly remember what happened. But it was all true.

Dave, my best friend, was perfectly fine with me, my fetish, and all this weird stuff.

Yes: I know how lucky I am.

It’s been 4 months since he found out.

And, believe it or not, I’m getting face-farted so often that I’m almost forgetting how beautiful it feels.

Seriously: Dave simply accepted it like I’m living in someone’s crazy fetish dream and, when we’re alone, he just casually farts in my face (without me asking for it). Not always, but very often.

Surprisingly enough, despite the fact that my nose spends a lot of time brushing against his denim-covered butt, our friendship didn’t change at all though: we still hang out with the rest of our friends and generally spend a lot of time together.

Sometimes I’m so in disbelief about how easy-going he’s been with me, that I randomly ask him “You sure you’re OK with… this?” (I say, gesturing all of me), but he just smiles or rolls his eyes annoyed, tired of hearing the same question over and over again. What can I say? He’s perfectly comfortable with his own sexuality I guess, so he doesn’t have any problem with my fetish.

Sometimes though -sorry I say this- I kinda wish he did…

No, I’m definitely not complaining. That’s the best possible scenario for me, but sometimes he can get a bit too… inopportune. Dave is not really a prankster, but he loves teasing his friends, just for fun, including me.

I was in the middle of an important exam once, one of these pop-quiz thingies that make zero sense, and I felt my phone vibrate. I checked my FB private messages and all I saw was this YouTube link sent by Dave. Since I’m a fool apparently, I clicked on it, and one of those popular YouTube fart videos popped up and played, one with really loud farts. The first fart actually echoed in the room and other students glared at me: never felt so embarrassed (not including the night Dave found out about my fetish).

“Dude! Stop sending me this stuff!” I texted him. “I’m in the middle of an exam here!”

I scolded him for this, but the truth is that I couldn’t ask for a friend more open-minded than him.

The fact that he teases him with fart videos like he teases our heterosexual friends with those “shock” porn pics made me feel more… accepted.

But still… I was in the middle of an important exam so he had to stop.

And he obviously didn’t.

He sent me like 10 other links, just to annoy the sh%t out of me.

I mocked him by texting something like “Those videos are quite hard to find. Guess you’re gay too then!” but he would reply with “I had a great teacher!” and send me one of my awkward photos from Facebook.

Other times, since our friendship didn’t change a bit, he even made random references to my homosexuality or even my fart fetish when messaging me to make plans for the night (especially during the weekend). This mostly happens on WhatsApp:

Dave: “Dude, you have to come with us. Stop being a whiny little bi*ch and get up from that couch!”

Tim: “Sorry, man. I don’t think I’ll be joining you tonight…”

Dave: “You know what? If you don’t come with us… you’re gay!”

Dave: “Sorry, I mean… if you don’t come with us, you’re a fuc*ing heterosexual!

Dave: "U ride pussy, don’t you? Fuc*ing straight people!”

He was obviously being sarcastic, but I just loved how he adapted his… uhm… “humor” to my situation.

One time, however, things got a bit… hotter for me…

Dave: “Dude, come over. We have a lot to study…”

Tim: “Sorry, really can’t today. Aren’t you with Dana right now anyway?”

Dave: “I need somebody to focus with, not focus on. You know me and Dana always end up in bed after like 20 minutes.”

Dave: “It’s awesome but this stuff ain’t gonna study itself…”

Yep. Dave and his girlfriend Dana apparently had a very active sex life.

Glad he was getting laid. And Dana was pretty cool to be honest.

Tim: “Dave, sorry. Maybe tomorrow, k?”

Dave: “Dude! Come on! I’m farting like crazy today!”

Did… did he just try to “bribe” me using his farting abilities?

Dave: “Seriously. I just ripped one that was like 10 seconds long. What a waste of farts!”

Tim: “Dave… are you crazy?”

Took a couple of minutes to reply to that one, and then I got two messages at once.

Dave: “Oh yessss, Tim, crazy for youuuuuu!” he wrote, with a heart emoticon at the end (again, he’s a sassy bi*ch as usual).

I then saw that WhatsApp was loading a video sent by him, an actual video, not a link.

It was Dave, a smirk drawn on his face while staring at the camera. He was wearing a simple black shirt. The view soon moved and I saw his slightly sagging-butt in jeans sitting on a wooden chair, and then heard this big fart echoing in his living room (he was alone), rumbling loudly and hard on the wooden surface. He even turned the camera to his face while he was forcing the “classic”-sounding fart out, making funny facial expressions; indeed, the fart lasted almost 10 seconds, and I obviously loved that: biggest farts I’ve ever heard from him in awhile! It was like watching those funny fartvines on… well… Vine, but having my best friend as the funny/hot farter this time.

Dave: “Hope that convinced you…” he then texted.

I was kinda… “offended” by that last message.

I mean, yeah, I seriously wanted to be there, but I always love spending time with Dave, farts or not (that’s why we’ve been friends since… forever).

Tim: “Are you seriously using farts to buy my friendship? It’s not like I don’t want to study with you. I just can’t today!”

Was that too harsh? Should I have added a smiley face at the end?

Only thing I was sure of, is that I never thought that a sentence like that would even make sense someday.

And I was still bewildered by how Dave was so comfortable with the fact that I loved farts.

Tim: “You don’t need farts to convince me, Dave. More like… you’re making me suffer!” I joked, finally breaking the ice myself with a reference to my embarrassing fetish, proving that I indeed wanted to be there with him, enjoying those farts.

Another couple of minutes passed.

Was he making another…?

Dave: “I know you’re suffering, Tim. Don’t worry. That’s why I’m sending you this.”

Oh boy, another video. Should I play it? Was he aware that I was getting a boner from all of this?

I literally pitched a tent in my pants.

There… it’s Dave again, this time sitting on the couch. The video started with his face winking at the camera with a sly smile; the camera then moved between his legs and slowly panned towards his butt in loose jeans (he probably put his legs on the small table in front of his couch, to make his butt more visible). Now I had a rather unique (and hot -for me) view of both his butt (and part of his crotch) in jeans and his face. He grinned wildly and the fart began, ripped right in front of the phone. The sound and the views were perfect; Dave moved the camera towards his butt as the fart kept going strong, sounding like a deep trumpet; I could see the detailed blue fabric of his jeans as the funny sounds continued. What a lucky phone!

It lasted around 8 seconds and it was simply the hotness.

The video ended with Dave laughing at the camera and all went pitch black.

Tim: “You’re insane, Dave!” I joked again, enjoying how crazy he was about this. And for me I guess.

But I had to tell him.

Tim: “Dave, you do know that all of this gave me a… well…”

But as I was halfheartedly writing the second part of the message, Dave wrote more stuff.

Dave: “Then go beat your meat! I can’t do everything for you, Tim.”

Dave: “And please don’t act like this is some kind of big deal…

Dave: "Wow, Tim got a boner! How impressive!”

Dave: “Let’s all bow to Tim, the mighty guy whose penis can turn bigger!”

Dave: “Behold, the Great Tim! The guy who once had a boner and had to tell everyone!”

Further proof that Dave was being the best friend ever.

He was clearly being sarcastic; he was joking. That was his way of telling me “Nah bro, it’s all good”. And I was kinda surprised that he was so… chill about this stuff. I literally had a boner because of him and he just… didn’t care. As I said, he’s very open minded and perfectly comfortable with his own sexuality, so he didn’t have the irrational fear of “turning gay” when doing this stuff with and for me. I also appreciated that he trusted me with those funny, but otherwise embarrassing videos.

After one or two minutes, I’ve received one big audio file and I just knew what I was going to get when I clicked the triangular-shaped button to play them.

I heard Dave singing my name like he was some kind of serial killer trying to find me.

Dave: “Tim… come here…”

I then heard a series of muffled noises, as if the camera was being put under something, and it was clear what: I in fact then heard the loud, audio-glitching sound of one big fart that lasted around four seconds.

Dave: “He’s waiting for you…” he sung again in that creepy tone of voice.

Another fart, just as big as the first one.

He was on fire that day!

Now I was both laughing like an idiot and having the biggest boner.

Tim: “Dude, you’re on fire! But… to be honest, that was kinda gay…” I chuckled.

Dave: “Says the guy who gets a boner when he hears a fart. You fuc*ing hypocrite.”

He then sent yet another audio file, with him singing that meme-song “I’m gay, gay, gay, I love long big c*cks”, but slightly changing the lyrics. He even put a karaoke version of it on his computer while recording the audio file.

Dave: “You are gay, gay gay, you love long big farts. ‘cuz you’re supah-super gay, and you love big…”

Fittingly enough, a huge fart from my best friend took over the last part of the song. Loud as usual, sounding like a deep chainsaw. I could just imagine how beautiful that was. But the best part was probably the fact that he was definitely farting for me. I know, not your usual “hot sexy” scenario… more like a “sweet” one, in a very twisted way of course.

I wasn’t obviously offended by that “gay song”, since I knew that Dave was just being silly as usual and his mocking words were definitely not mean-spirited.

Tim: “Aren’t you supposed to be studying right now?” I asked.

Dave: “I don’t know, aren’t you supposed to be here right now?”

Tim: “Dude, seriously. Thank you! But I’m serious… I really can’t today.”

Dave: “Alright… alright… cya tonight faggot…” he wrote, with a heart-shaped emoticon at the end.

I just rolled my eyes and chuckled a bit, then drove my attention to my own books.

This was going to be a long afternoon. But after only one minute of silence, my phone vibrated wildly: it was Dave and he was calling me. Very unusual in that moment.

“Uhm… Dave? Hello?” I picked up.

I was greeted by a series of “Dude, sorry!” and I was really confused.

“Dave… what?”

It was just Dave being adorkable I guess.

“Dude, sorry about that 'faggot'… that was bit too much, sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

I laughed in disbelief. “Bro, it’s OK. I’m not offended. I know you didn’t want to insult me or anything…”

“No, Tim. That one word is not a joke and I shouldn’t have used it, sorry.”

I was just… wow. Dave went from “dominant friendly farter” to “adorable/awkward confused puppy” in mere seconds. Further proof that I was the luckiest guy alive (fetish or not): Dave cared so much for me that he even apologized for the “f-word”, which admittedly is a very bad word for a guy like me. But this time it was coming from Dave, my best friend, a guy who cares so much about me that he would even “censor” his language just to avoid unfortunate implications.

Ironically enough, the roles were switched, and he was the one saying a rapid-fire series of “sorry!” this time.

“Dave, quit with the apologizing. You’re the best.” I chuckled. “We’re bros, that’s what we do: we insult each other!”

“Alright… you sure? Not going to use that word ever again though.”

“Dave… it’s OK. You’re the best.”

“OK… OK. See you tonight. Take care.”

And he hang up.

He just wanted to make sure that he didn’t accidentally offend me by calling me a “fag”.

I would have been, if it wasn’t coming from Dave.

But then again, he also said that he was going to kick in the face whoever dared to insult me.

And he said that before he found out the truth about me: he’s always been quite protective.

“Oh come on!” I shouted, almost annoyed, merely five minutes later, when I heard the phone vibrate one more time.

It was Dave. Again.

He sent another video.

I tried to scoff at it but I was obviously loving all of this instead.

He was lying on the couch, the camera focusing on his butt in jeans. I could see both his face and butt, at the same time. It was like he filmed the video imagining my POV when he farted in my face, and I absolutely enjoyed that.

“Alright, Tim… Sorry for calling you a faggot.” he spoke in a “comically” serious voice. He truly was “sorry”, but it was clear that he was trying not to laugh. “I’m really, really sorry, believe me.”

Keeping a straight face, he ripped an incredibly loud, deep fart at the camera. He didn’t bat an eye, blink or smile. He eventually lost it towards the end of that 6-seconds long blast. He chuckled a bit and then turned “serious” again.

“That was a sad fart… we’re both sorry.”

He then closed his eyes and made a funny face, signing in relief as he ripped another long fart, the lucky camera slowly panning towards the seams and textures of the blue denim covering his powerful sagging butt. It lasted almost 10 seconds: truly a fart master. And those weren’t even on command!

“Oh my…” I whispered, staring in awe at the amazing video.

“This one was on the house…” he chuckled, right before turning the phone to his butt one last time and ripping a short series of toots, grinning wildly, clearly forcing those smaller farts out just for me. And that was it.

My boner was definitely wet now as bits of that well-known white substance poured from the tip of of my “standing” dick, slightly dampening my boxers and pants. It was like a volcano going to explode. A volcano that, just like me, couldn’t take it anymore. I rushed to the bathroom and furiously beat my meat, almost strangling my rock-hard penis with a firm grip. I didn’t last much: I literally peed sperm, thinking of Dave’s farts. The best part is that I didn’t need to imagine anything: it was all real. I laughed in relief just as I felt my penis deflating like a balloon, after it vomited its white substance. It felt good, not “masturbation good”, like “life is good”. And it was.

My best friend, Dave, was this fantastic guy who, in his own, twisted way, was taking care of me, accepting me, making me comfortable with my fart fetish. A gassy, open-minded, mildly disgusting “bro” who only wanted to preserve our friendship.

And I couldn’t be happier.

End of Episode 1

[hermannsthumb]

I've read fics where Hermann disapproves of PDAs but what about the reverse? As in he's so stunned at winning the most amazing man in the Shatterdome (6 phds, literal rockstar, gorgeous Newt) that he deliberately provokes contact and shows of affection. Just to show off to people and send a clear back off signal. And Newt just dotes on him obliviously.

ok this one is another super old prompt and when I was writing it this week it KINDA got away from me. but I hope everyone enjoyyyys. partially inspired from conversations with @k-sci-janitor 👀 totally sfw, except for one brief reference

anyway, a fic about hermann being all affectionate with newt and also discovering what relaxation is 

——————————————-------------------------------------------

The day after the world doesn’t end, Hermann brings Newt breakfast in bed.

Honestly, it surprises Newt more than the whole world not ending thing. Up until the previous evening, after all, Newt was pretty damn sure the guy absolutely hated him, and that if Hermann was gonna do something as out of character as bringing him breakfast, it surely meant he’d spat in it first. Or maybe poisoned it. If hated isn’t the right word, Newt would say Hermann at the very least barely tolerated. And then the whole sharing the neural load thing happened. And, after that, hugging, not once, but twice, and then falling asleep in bed together. And now Hermann’s perched on the edge of his bed (which they shared while they slept) and handing him a plate.

“You had quite the busy day yesterday,” Hermann says kindly. Hermann has never spoken to Newt kindly before. Atop the plate are two pieces of toast, a soft-boiled egg, and a mug of coffee. The coffee and toast (Newt notices) are exactly the shade he prefers. He wonders if Hermann picked up on it before or after the whole mind-melding thing. Before wouldn’t surprise him—Hermann has always been weird about noticing details like that. The egg, however, is something purely Hermann in taste. “I imagine you could use a nice spot of breakfast,” he adds.

Newt shoves his glasses on and blinks at Hermann groggily. He struggles to sit up, partially tangled in his sheets, and then takes the plate. A little bit of coffee sloshes down onto one of the slices of toast. “Are you wearing my sweatshirt?” he says.

Hermann smiles and looks down at the ragged old MIT sweatshirt he’s tossed on. He may have a few inches on Newt, but he’s still one skinny motherfucker, and it hangs almost comically off his frame. “I am,” he says. “I poked around in your closet, I hope you don’t mind. My clothing was in a rather sorry state.”

Sorry state is an understatement for both of them. Newt’s surprised they haven’t been formally ordered to burn the shit they wore to the bone slums yet. Blood, dirt, and kaiju guts aside, Newt’s, at least, reeks to high heaven with sweat. “No worries,” Newt says. He picks up the coffee and blows on it. He wonders where Hermann got coffee that smells this good. It’s been hard to find anything decent and non-instant on the base these days, and (thanks to limited rations) chain shops like Starbucks cost an arm and a leg for even a small. He also wonders what people thought when they saw Hermann strutting around the base with bedhead in a sweatshirt that obviously wasn’t his. Newt almost wants to blush on his behalf. Scandalous.

Before Newt can so much as take a sip of the coffee, Hermann is suddenly unbuckling and shucking off his grey slacks. “Dude!” Newt yelps, flushing bright red to the tips of his ears. Hermann blinks at him innocently. “What are you doing?”

It’s not so much that Newt is upset as it is that it’s so wildly out of character for Hermann that he feels he owes it to Hermann to act at least moderately scandalized. In all his years of knowing and working alongside Hermann, he’s never so much as seen Hermann’s bare wrist before. Now he’s in Newt’s goddamn bed flashing calves, and thighs, and neatly-pressed little white briefs… Hermann rolls his eyes and tosses the slacks (unfolded!) onto Newt’s desk chair. “Making myself comfortable,” he says. “Would you like me to stop?”

Does Hermann iron his underwear? It would be at odds with the rest of his clothing if he did, which is usually in various stages of frumpy to outright wrinkled, but Newt can’t think of how else it would look like that. He wonders if Hermann’s stitched his name on the inner waistband. It seems like the kind of thing Hermann would do. Newt suddenly realizes he’s been staring at Hermann’s briefs (and, worse still, considering how cute Hermann looks in just them and Newt’s sweatshirt) for an uncomfortably long time, so he quickly shakes his head and drags his eyes to Hermann’s face. One of Hermann’s eyebrows is quirked up. Newt hasn’t been subtle. “No,” he says. He clears his throat. “No, dude, you’re—all good.”

He chokes down a too-hot sip of coffee to have something to do with his mouth.

Hermann smirks.

The bedcovers are drawn back. Hermann slips under them and drapes an arm across Newt’s chest, his hand curling protectively over Newt’s hip. With his other hand he snags Newt’s coffee from his grasp and takes a sip. Newt watches his jaw and throat work as he swallows it, a funny feeling blooming in the pit of his stomach. The mug is handed back over, Hermann’s fingers brushing against Newt’s, which make Newt feel even funnier. “Newton,” Hermann declares. “I think we ought to have sex.”

“Oh,” Newt says. “Can I finish my breakfast first?”

“Certainly,” Hermann says.

Newt’s heart pounds as he spreads a little packet of margarine across one of the pieces of toast; he can feel Hermann’s eyes on him, never straying once. Hermann’s hand draws little circles on his hip. Newt drops his toast twice to the plate before he can successfully take a bite, and even when he does, he doesn’t taste it. Hermann’s fingers dip under the hem of his t-shirt. Newt swallows his toast. “Why?” he says.

Apparently it’s the right question. Hermann nods, like he’s pleased Newt has asked. Like they’re talking theories or something. “I came to the conclusion while I fetching your coffee,” Hermann says. “It occurred to me that I wouldn’t have gotten up at seven in the morning to get coffee for just anyone. Then, of course, there is the whole drifting business—”

“You realized you wouldn’t have done that for just anyone too, huh?” Newt says with a smile. Hermann’s hand on his hip stills, and his cheeks go pink. Newt’s relieved to have gotten some ground back here. “Hermann, that’s sooo romantic.”

“The world was at stake,” Hermann sniffs.

“It’s okay,” Newt says. “I won’t tell anyone the great Dr. Gottlieb has feelings. So, what, you realized you have a big ole crush on me?”

Hermann takes the unfinished piece of toast from him and sets it down on his plate. He pulls Newt’s glasses off, kisses him soundly, and then puts Newt’s glasses back on. His mouth tastes like toothpaste. “On the contrary, I’ve always suspected it,” he says. “It’s just that now I have the time to confirm it.” He reaches up and strokes at Newt’s hair. “We have the time for lots of things, now, Newton. Whatever we’d like.”

Newt finishes off his coffee quickly, not even caring when he burns his tongue, and then tosses the remainder of his breakfast to the floor. His egg spills onto the massacred skinny corduroys he wore yesterday. Whatever, Newt’s burning them anyway. “God, get overhere already, man,” he says, tugging at Hermann’s borrowed sweatshirt. He needs to help Hermann confirm his crush or whatever, pronto.

--

It’s a few days before Newt and Hermann finally drag themselves out of bed and to the lab to tackle what little work remains for them to do—cataloguing what are apparently the last kaiju samples known to man (Newt), recording and backing up their drift data (Newt’s solo drift, and then their joint data), drawing some random scribbles on the board and pretending they’re important calculations about the possibility of the Breach reopening (Hermann. Okay, whatever, maybe they are important). Unfortunately, the delay isn’t for any sexy reasons, as much as Newt would’ve liked it to have been. The events of the last day of the war caught up with them pretty quickly after that morning in Newt’s bed, and they mostly just slept, ordered out dinner, popped ibuprofen for their various aches, and avoided medical at all costs. (Rumor had it the medical staff on base were looking for him and Hermann so they could do some brain scans. Apparently drifting with a kaiju brain is potentially dangerous, who knew.)

A rancid smell washes over them the second they push the heavy lab doors open, and Newt spots several hunks of kaiju organs rotting away on his workbench. Hermann clamps a hand to his mouth. “Oops,” Newt says, turning to Hermann sheepishly. He can’t help but cower as he does. He and Hermann got along swimmingly the past couple days—it’ll be sad to see all that hard work go down the drain over this. “Guess I forgot to clean up the other day. In my defense—we were kind of busy.”

But Hermann doesn’t snap at Newt, or thump his cane on the ground, or call Newt an idiot, or even look annoyed; he lowers his hand from his mouth and laughs. Albeit a terse laugh, but still. Newt gapes at him. “We were rather busy,” Hermann concedes. “So long as you clean it up in the next ten minutes, I—what, Newton?”

“Nothing,” Newt says, quickly. “I’m gonna—um—deal with it now.”

Hermann disappears from the lab while Newt is digging around in the storage closet for extra heavy-duty trash bags. When he comes back an hour later, he’s holding a cardboard tray of small plastic cups, and Newt has just hefted his last spoiled sample into the lab’s airtight biohazard bin (a bit mournfully, if he’s being honest, since he’s sure there’s still more to learn about the kaiju from them). Newt squints at the cups in the tray while he rips his messy disposable work gloves off. “What’s that?” he says.

“Iced coffee,” Hermann declares.

The gloves slap, wetly, into the biohazard bin, and Newt lets out a low whistle. “Dude. No way. From where?” He’s not sure when he gave off the impression that the way to his heart was good coffee, but maybe it’s true. Then again, Hermann could probably win him over with a cup of lukewarm tap water. Not because Newt is desperate or anything. He just really likes Hermann.

“A little shop a bit away from the base,” Hermann says. “I took the bus.” He draws back his chair and sits down with a soft sigh, setting his cane against his desk. Then he draws out a small brown paper bag from his parka pocket. He tosses it to Newt; Newt catches it with one hand. “They had these funny little cakes on sticks. I thought you might like one.”

“Cake pops?” Newt says.

“I presume,” Hermann says. While Newt inhales the little chocolate-dipped cake pop (which is so good, oh my God, Newt hasn’t had dessert that didn’t come from a vending machine in plastic shrink wrap in years), Hermann adds, “I wasn’t sure what sort of iced coffee you liked, so I made sure to get a variety.”

“Sick,” Newt says, spewing crumbs on his shirt. “Um. But, like, why though?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Hermann says. “I suppose I wanted to do something kind for you.” He carefully slides a straw out of its paper wrappings and pokes it into the lid of one of the coffees. Once he crumples up the wrapper and tosses It into his train bin, he grips his cane, and uses the handle to nudge Newt’s desk chair towards him. “You worked awfully hard cleaning the laboratory.”

Newt preens a little, even as he privately wonders why Hermann’s acting so weird. Well, nice. But nice is weird for Hermann, so they’re basically the same thing. Is this part of his whole deciding whether or not he digs Newt thing? Newt just assumed the awesome morning they spent together would be proof enough of that. Then again, Hermann’s pretty thorough. “I guess,” Newt says. “It was kind of my mess, though.”

Hermann pats at the empty chair with a smile. Hermann’s smiles are so rare—crooked, and stupid cute—that Newt’s heart gives a painful little twist at the sight of it, and he realizes he doesn’t actually give a shit about why Hermann’s being all weird, actually. “You’ve earned a break,” Hermann says. “Besides, I’d like to spend time with you.”

Newt’s too stunned to argue with that one. When he sits down, Hermann inches their chairs together until their knees are touching.

--

They don’t necessarily fall back into their usual habits by the next week, but the better ones they’ve picked up (being a little kinder to each other, a little more patient, a little more respectful, and also the fact that Hermann can’t seem to stop touching Newt) all but fall into the background as Newt throws himself into his work with renewed determination. Unfortunately, his desire to get it all done as soon as fucking possible speaks less to his awesome work ethic, and more to the fact that he’s just not sure what else to do with himself now, and he likes that work gives him the excuse to not think about it. Hermann said they have all the time to do whatever they like now. Well, Newt likes working. He knows working. Relaxation is a foreign concept to him, and it was a foreign concept to Hermann up until recently. While Newt is toiling away over his decaying kaiju samples in the lab, Hermann is out—

“Where?” Newt says.

Hermann gives Newt the most serene smile Newt’s ever seen cross his face. “I took a bath,” he says. “It was very nice. I bought some nice soaps, and lit some candles, and looked online to see how to do one of those mud masks. It was very relaxing. You ought to try it.”

“Try bathing?” Newt says.

“Yes. Well, no. I mean taking a bath. Is there something you’re not understanding?”

Newt tries to imagine Hermann with a mud mask on his face and cucumbers over his eyes and fails miserably. Hermann hates messes. He would never stand for mud, let alone on his skin. Where’d he even find a bathtub? Did he break into the rangers’ locker room again? Aren't candles banned on base for being a fire hazard, anyway? “Yeah,” Newt says. “Pretty much all of it.”

Hermann shakes his head with a snort, and Newt catches a whiff of something floral and fragrant—his fancy new soap or oil, he guesses. “I’m not surprised. You know, Newton, you are awfully tense.”

Hearing that from Hermann of all people, the king of having-a-massive-stick-up-your-ass, is probably the funniest thing that’s ever happened to Newt. He laughs out loud and plunges a bare hand into his kaiju sample with a gross squelching noise. “Sure, dude.”

He’s almost too engrossed in his sample to feel Hermann sidling up behind him and setting a hand at his waist. He definitely feels Hermann nose a kiss behind his ear, though, and the hot flush that spreads down across his neck from it. Newt’s hand goes sweaty around his scalpel. One thing he definitely wasn’t expecting from a post-no-apocalypse Hermann is how free he is with affection in any and all forms. “Give it a rest, love,” Hermann murmurs. He nudges at the heel of Newt’s boot with the end of his cane. Love? “Why don’t we head back to my quarters and watch a film? You can pick.”

“But.” Newt fidgets. “I have—my sample—”

Another little kiss. The soapy-oil smell is stronger now. Newt thinks it might be lavender. He wonders if the mud mask left Hermann’s skin all soft. “It won’t be going anywhere, Newton.”

Newt sets down his scalpel.

When they they pass by a group of LOCCENT staff in the hallway, Newt makes to drop Hermann’s hand (which Hermann had laced together with his own before they left the lab), but Hermann holds fast, maybe even faster than before, and looks at him with his stupidly sweet set of big eyes. Newt waits until they round the corner to say anything. “Sorry,” he says, lamely. “Um. I thought—you wouldn’t want—” Hermann continues to stare at him. His iris is still ringed red like Newt’s. “I just mean I know you’re weird about stuff like that. Public stuff.” Hermann has been a closed and tightly-bound book for as long as Newt’s known him; he can’t imagine that would suddenly change and he would start broadcasting his emotions far and wide in the course of a week just because he’s a little less stressed.

Or, you know. Maybe Newt’s totally wrong on this. “Ah,” Hermann says. He nods, very seriously. “Yes. I have been considering that as well. I see no reason to hide recent developments in our relationship.” He squeezes Newt’s hand. "In fact, I see no reason to not be quite, er, proud of them. You’re quite the catch.”

Newt remembers the stolen sweatshirt. Maybe Hermann wearing it out to get them breakfast was more calculated than he realized. “So if I made out with you against the wall right now you wouldn’t be mad?” Newt says.

“Well,” Hermann says, inclining his head to his door, "seeing as my quarters are right there, it seems a rather unnecessary inconvenience.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Newt smiles as Hermann leads him in. “Can I really pick the movie?”

“Within reason.”

[bewitching-elizabeth-olsen]

Press: Elizabeth Olsen and Jurnee Smollett Compare Notes on Genre-Blending Acting and Advocating for Performers on Set

VARIETY: Neither Elizabeth Olsen nor Jurnee Smollett are strangers to having to really stretch their imaginations to dive into complex characters and even more complicated worlds.

Both have superhero films on their résumés: Smollett portrayed Black Canary in DC’s “Birds of Prey,” while Olsen stepped into Wanda Maximoff aka the Scarlet Witch’s shoes for Marvel’s “Avengers” franchise and then some — including Disney Plus’ first Marvel series, “WandaVision.” They are both now Emmy-nominated for projects that tasked them with jumping through time, blending genres and telling epic love stories (Olsen with “WandaVision,” Smollett with HBO’s “Lovecraft Country”). And, even though they are up in different categories (Olsen in lead limited series/TV movie actress; Smollett in lead drama actress), both of these shows are one-season wonders, leaving the performers and their audiences wanting more.

Olsen and Smollett dissected all that of when Variety brought them together post-nominations to talk about their celebrated roles and surreal playgrounds.

You both had a lot of magical or otherwise surreal elements to interact with on your shows. What did you actually have in front of you to react to on set?

Jurnee Smollett: We were very fortunate on “Lovecraft Country” because the whole VFX team worked so hard to create an atmosphere that was also practical in our space. I remember on Episode 3, the exorcism scene, we shot it over a course of three days and, while there was not a man in real life with a baby head on him, you’ve got the wind machines and the pictures are blowing and all the special effects makeup is being touched up. Atticus [Jonathan Majors] has pretty much turned into a rabid dog and I’m doing this spell with my ancestors and whether they were shooting behind us or shooting the elements, we were at our max capacity regardless because that’s just how we approach the craft. It was such a big sequence to shoot that that’s when the actor in you has to advocate for your instrument. I did go to the director and say, “Can you jump in and cross shoot Jonathan and I?” As an actor it is our job to shoot however many takes, however many angles you need, but then it is also our job to advocate for yourselves. And I love playing in this space because you get to use your imagination you get to go to crazy places. Because even while the practical elements are there; you get to go to crazy places. But I was grateful for the practical elements because it’s just so much easier.

Elizabeth Olsen: Did they have pre-viz so you knew what some of the supernatural elements looked like?

Smollett: With the Shoggoths they not only had a pre-viz for us, but for some of the scenes they had massive sculptures, like a dude standing there in a green suit with a Shoggoth head. The pilot we didn’t have this puppet, but by Episode 8, maybe we got more of a budget or something, but eventually we did get a puppet — which was really cool because you could see, “This is the moment his mouth is opening.” But also, Misha [Green], our showrunner, she just wants more blood, more dirt. She’d try to get them to blow spittle at us.

Olsen: That’s so gross!

Smollett: This concoction of Shoggoth spit, throwing it in front of this wind machine. I find the more practical stuff we have to work with, it just helps so much. And then there were the moments where it’s like, “No it’s just a green tennis ball and an X, and go.” How about you?

Olsen: For all those little things in the air and stuff in the ’50s, it was really important to our director [Matt Shakman] that we did everything ala “Bewitched.” It was all camera tricks, it was all wires. Our head of special effects had a lineage of a father who [did] special effects before him, and so puppetry and wire work and stuff like that were things that were already in his vocabulary, but we would have our special effect guys who are used to blowing things up and putting things on fire just balancing and making sure things aren’t swinging but they have to move. Even in the ’70s when she’s pregnant and everything’s in chaos, we really had a picture on the wall going in circles; they just figured out things with magnets.

When we were filming the finale, it was during COVID, during the fires last summer, and we shot Kathryn [Hahn’s] side at the beginning of the episode when she has my boys with her magic — we had to shoot them out because you always have to shoot the side with the kid out and also Kathryn was doing wires for the first time and of course it was with a corset and it was really hot and really bad air quality and so she had to be sent home by the medic at the end of the day. And so, on my side we were running out of days, and I think we had 35 minutes to shoot my side and my reactions to all of that, and there’s quite a bit of back and forth and throwing myself to the ground and hitting a different mark that will then stitch with the stunt double being pulled. I did a weird one-woman show sans kids, sans Kathryn. Our stand-ins were such a huge part of our show and I was so grateful to have them they’re reading lines with me, and our director, Matt Shakman, was like, “If you feel like you can’t do this, we’ll just do this tomorrow.” That gave an adrenaline rush to me and it just became, “I’m just going to do it.” There’s a lot of fear when you’re like, “Oh I don’t have the elements and I am on my own, literally.” But I’ve had to do this before and I’m just scared to do it because I feel stupid. But I already look kind of stupid — I’m shooting things out of my hands — so why don’t I just lean into it as full as possible and just do it and find it in some core, guttural space of desperation? That day was bizarre, but I was actually very happy that I didn’t put it off. I feel like sometimes as actors when there are things that make us nervous it’s like, “Oh we don’t have enough time to explore so let’s do it the next day if we can,” and then you’re in your head all night about it. And so, it’s nice to just do it, even if it feels silly.

Smollett: I’d imagine surrendering and using the fear and all that that you were feeling probably served you so well in it.

Olsen: And don’t you feel that, though? When you feel unsupported you just want to break down in tears and you’re not supposed to break down in tears or you’re not supposed to have those it’s those feelings in the moment, but there are other times where it is really useful and there’s something freeing about channeling it in some way.

Smollett: Yeah and it’s that word you just used: freeing. Being able to surrender — leap and the net will appear. And you’re right, if you would have gone home, you probably would have come back the next day and you would have overthought it. There’s something about using the adrenaline in that moment that I don’t think you can really teach an actor to do; it’s just experience. Because we go and we prep and we do all these things, and then you get to the set and there’s one distraction, two distractions, and those are the elements that just through experience you’ve learned to use.

But I have to say, when I was little, I used to go to sleep every night watching Nick at Nite and “Bewitched” was one of my favorite shows. I did not expect you guys, at all, to go to land of “Bewitched.”

Olsen: I didn’t either. I’m so grateful to it. I felt like I like forgot my body as an actor. You’re a very physical actor, so I feel like you probably don’t have that experience because you just seem so connected and free whether it’s on stage or doing action. And I really felt disconnected from my body until “WandaVision.” I was like, “Right, I have posture; I can walk; I have legs — all of these things are going to be telling the story and it’s period and so I get to move differently.” It’s been a while since I needed to create quite a different character, and it felt so good to wake up my body to the full character work.

Just watching you in the first episode on stage, I was like, “God damn, I want to feel that free on stage with a song and with an audience.” I’m a self-conscious actor when it comes to extras and things like that. There’s something about it where the crew’s the family, and with extras, I feel so vulnerable. And you seemed so at ease and in control and confident. It made you understand her fierceness and how fearless she was.

Smollett: Thank you so much! It’s so interesting that you point that out because, for me, singing in front of people terrifies me. It truly is one of the things that terrifies me the most. The thing about Misha’s writing is, she finds a way to teach you so much about a character in such a small amount of time. And in that first sequence we learn so much about Leti, from that fearlessness you talk about, the ease that she has in herself and in her person, but then you learn so much about her hypocrisy and the contrasting ideas that are at play inside. She’s a very complex one. In the scene with her sister where she’s talking about having dreams of pioneering into an all-white neighborhood in 1955, but she can’t afford to may for socks. [Laughs.] She didn’t come to her mother’s funeral, and yet she’s here yearning for some sort of family connection. And so, I just remember reading that and feeling so drawn to her and feeling like it’s a side of myself that I needed to unearth — there’s a Leti in me that I desired to actually be, but sometimes am not. And it’s interesting because through Leti, she really forced me to do so many things that I hadn’t done before and really become more fearless, become more unbound. It was just such a very cathartic experience for me.

Olsen: I felt that way with getting to do this sitcom comedy part. I felt like I was touching my childhood version of myself who was a ham doing children’s musical theater, who just who just like played for the laughs or whatever — that part that I don’t access at all, really, when filming. And Kathryn Hahn was such a force and Paul Bettany raised to the challenge, as well, of these comedic performances that were really physically funny. I started to get more comfortable — in the ’60s, ’70s, really got comfortable — and it was so much fun to touch that child that maybe was told too many times, “Oh, you’re such a ham” or you just felt like your big personality as a kid was not OK or wasn’t as appropriate. And so, getting to play with that was really freeing and very fun. As you were saying, there’s a release I needed to have, and through the comedy I was able to have it.

How did this sense of empowerment affect how you carried your own characters’ power? Was there something your character that inspired you to advocate for yourself or did advocating behind-the-scenes inform in-world behavior?

Olsen: I felt very lucky coming into this, because this is a world I know. And so, where my voice of advocacy came in was for actors who are coming into the world — like Teyonah [Parris], wanting to make sure that she had everything that she needed to understand where her character was going because this was a character that’s going to continue [and] if she had everything she needed for stunts. And then similarly with Kathryn, she didn’t realize there was someone who she could use to teach her hand gestures for her magic. And so, she was feeling nervous and lost, like, “How do I do this thing?” And I was like, “Oh, how do you not have that information!?” And then having a conversation with whom you need to on the crew up top and figure out how to keep everyone else feeling like they had everything they needed. And luckily, because this was a show with characters that Paul and I had before, the pieces came together and it was a situation where your voice is welcomed and heard.

From “Sorry For Your Loss,” the TV show I did with Facebook, I now have a producer voice that I can’t shut up. I now just need to talk to ADs a lot, and I need to talk to line producers a lot. I realize that I like having — especially if I’m No. 1 on the call sheet; if I’m a primary part — all of the information so I can understand why decisions that seem weird are happening, or else I’m going to get in my head about, “Why are we doing this this way? I just let people know that off the bat now because it makes me less of a control freak, having information. And it is a team effort and I think the actor’s value has changed in that in that respect. There’s a lot more opportunity for women to be vocal now, and so I’m just really seizing that opportunity.

Smollett: It was a very personal growing experience for me. It was time of transition [and] I’m still going through that transition in my life. In order to truly surrender and do the text justice, there was so much I had to bring to the altar every day to sacrifice. I remember talking to Jonathan about that, and he would refer to it as allowing your heart to break and hoping that the Holy Spirit would put it back together. She was essentially a woman trying to navigate her womanhood but she was never actually allowed to have a childhood. She was habitually abandoned by her mother and didn’t know her father and there’s something in that parental-daughter split that I found myself really relating to. Oddly enough like Leti, I was estranged from my father for years. He eventually passed away, really before there was that healing and so, oh man, it brought up so much shit with Leti. How does she see the world? She sees the world through the eyes of an abandoned child. With Leti, that made her overcompensate; with Jurnee, it made me shrink a lot. When you talk about that artist child, those of us who have been in this business for so long, you take on all the sensors. And I found myself just trying to love her a little more. One of the things I admired so much about Leti is this desire to love herself — this real desire to own herself unapologetically in a world that told her she was too Black and female, to exist in her entirety. It’s still a transition that I’m in, but I definitely feel so grateful to have been able to walk through some of that and navigate through some of that with Leti. But that’s, I think, the blessing and the curse of being an artist. You’ve got to be willing to bring your whole mind, body and spirit to it; nothing’s off limits.

Jurnee, the last time you spoke with Variety we were all assuming you’d get to return to this character, but now that HBO has said it’s not being renewed, do you have unfinished business with her?

Smollett: It’s no secret I’m heartbroken. I loved Leti and of course would have loved to continue playing her. But I am so incredibly proud of the work that we all created together — it feels so special and unique — and I am finding peace in that. We’re artists and there’s an endless well that dwells inside us— and there’s so much that’s out of our control. And I think I’ve done this long enough and I’ve experienced enough heartbreaks to know you don’t get attached to the results too much; you just try to stay in a moment. And I feel just so proud and blessed to have been chosen to go on this ride with these collaborators, so I am more so in the place of gratitude than loss.

On the other end of the spectrum, “WandaVision” was a limited series but Wanda Maximoff is a character you have been coming back to for years, Elizabeth. How do you approach that longevity — the changes in her, the changes in you and the interest in revisiting her at all?

Olsen: I’m 32 and I was 25 — so seven years ago — when I did the first one. There’s so much change that I’ve had, even as an actor and how I approach work and, I think, honor work so much more in the last five years, four years of my life. [Jurnee’s film] “Birds of Prey” feels like such a female-empowered thing, so I feel there’s a really incredible energy to beginning it, but then with me you hear people make comments about Marvel movies and it affects your own process. “WandaVision” really shook that up for me and made me reinvest.

Smollett: I so want to know your process with that because the comic book space was new for me. I’d been a fan; I’d seen all your movies and the other movies. How did you navigate all of those voices? Because they can be very loud.

Olsen: Luckily and also frustratingly my character was always this emotional anchor to a piece of the story. It was like the heart, if there’s a heart. Paul and I were the only romance that was really fleshed out in those movies. And so I just treated it like I would anything. And then, we have a really fun time filming “Avengers” And so it’s really goofy and the Russos are great. And so we, it feels light-hearted, and it feels like we have the last laugh at the end of the day. But when it comes to the reinvesting, that’s the whole mind game, right? Because you just hope that it continues to have this quality control, but the more the more things get made, you’re worried about that. Especially because I did a show on Facebook that was scripted, and I didn’t love the way they handled it. And it was hard. And so second season, we went back and we literally, as a team of producers, had meetings with people who ran Facebook Watch about where we thought they could improve. We had a whole presentation for them. And then eventually, they were like, “We’re not doing scripted anymore.” And so I didn’t have the greatest experience being a part of the launch of another streaming service. And so, the Disney Plus part made me nervous and then bringing these characters that are so big to television made me nervous. But Kevin Fiege explained to us that that they were not going to cut corners, and they’re going to try and create the same attention to detail, and they did. And I think it was really important for them to have that care for these first three shows that they were putting out because it was defining a new thing for them. And so, we were taken care of.

I think more for me with this with the reinvestment moving forward, I never had a six-movie or nine-movie thing; it was always two or three at a time — those were my contracts. And so, it’s always a really conscious decision. I wrapped “WandaVision” on a Wednesday and flew to London on a Friday to continue playing this part [in “Doctor Strange 2”]. I could have used getting out of the mindset, though, because they were totally different utilizations of the character and people would have had more time to understand “WandaVision” had we not just wrapped. And so there’s just a lot of, “We covered this in ‘WandaVision…’” It’s bigger than me, there’s lots of threads that are continuing on after me that I’m not aware of, and so it’s always about, “What can I get from this journey with this character that maybe I haven’t tapped into yet with her?” That’s where I keep approaching things from, so that I feel like I have some sort of strap-hang — that I can know that there’s going to be growth of some kind, even though it all maybe looks the same to other people. There is that conscious decision to learn a new element of this woman, or even of myself as an actor — something that I want to explore that I can bring to it.

Your passion for acting is apparent and you both produce as well. What about directing?

Smollett: I would love to one day. I find myself currently being incredibly excited about producing and ushering new voices and excited voices. I don’t know that I would want to direct myself — that’s a whole other skill. I remember watching Denzel Washington, who directed me in “Great Debaters” but he was also in it, and at that point he had such a command of his instrument that he was able to do that. But it’s a lot. And I remember him telling me, before directing himself, he went and made himself watch all his films just so that he could stomach this idea of watching himself in the editing room. And so, I love the idea of storytelling; I’m obsessed with just telling stories, but I don’t know that I would self-direct.

Olsen: I find myself still loving producing so much because I love asking questions and poking holes and thinking about reorganizing of storylines, things that I feel maybe need more structure. I loved writing essays in school so much; it was like something that I found creative because it was about putting so many different sources into a braid that could maybe create this larger conversation or thought at the end. And so, that’s how I look at scripts. That’s really satisfying enough for me, to play that role. I think one day I’ll think about it more honestly, what it what it would mean to be a director. I fear that if I were to do it anytime soon, I wouldn’t have the tools that I would want. I do ask lots of lens-y questions because I’ve really only been working for 11 years and only recently have I tried to really understand the art of what lenses to choose and why and what it makes an audience feel based on what you’re choosing. I want to have a better, more holistic understanding of [that] before attempting [directing] because I do think it’s such an art and just because I understand the structuring of a story or how a set works, I want to be able to provide the the image in my head. I don’t know if I have that skill yet, but I am curious about feeding it and nurturing that.

Press: Elizabeth Olsen and Jurnee Smollett Compare Notes on Genre-Blending Acting and Advocating for Performers on Set was originally published on Elizabeth Olsen Source • Your source for everything Elizabeth Olsen

[rainydayhogwartsimagines]

aaaah I was wondering if I could request a draco x reader w/ social anxiety? draco being a fluffy boi 🥺

Oh my lord you guys are GETTING ADORABLE WITH THESE REQUESTS

You were so not a fan of being around people

Thank God you ended up in the most reclusive house

Slytherin

You always kept to yourself, you didn't really talk much

Large crowds scared you so you usually ate dinner in your room

No one really noticed you

The most anyone had conversated with you was the portraits on the walls because you'd sometimes sit on the benches

The ghosts also knew you by name too

Moaning Myrtle actually didn't hate your guts.

Well one day you were in a hurry and you accidentally ran into Draco.

"Ow-- Geez, watch where you're going!" He winced as the spine of one of your books hit him on his elbow

"S-S.. Sorry." You apologized, grabbing your books in a hurry and then running off.

Draco realized he had no idea who you were

"Goyle, who was that?" Draco asked.

"I'm not sure." Goyle shrugged.

"Crabbe?" "I don't know either."

So he started asking around and no one had conclusive answers.

Not even Fred and George seemed to know the hell you were.

One day Draco saw you walking.

"Hey, wait a minute." He said after one of your books fell.

You turned around and he handed it to you.

"What's your name?" He asked.

You were practically shaking and it worried him.

"Uh.. Uhm... I-I..." You swallowed and he frowned.

"Y-Y/n.. my name is Y/n." You said.

So there was the answer.

You looked down at your watch and grabbed the book before running.

He began to notice he actually had a lot of his classes with you.

He started trying to talk to you more and more and you usually would have panicked responses

One day he sat next to you in potions and you seemed very... Withdrawn

You weren't talking, you weren't showing any signs of communication

Draco was actually concerned.

He noticed you were gazed out and staring at your desk.

Then your head dropped a little like you were sleeping.

He tapped your shoulder and you just toppled over out of your seat

He caught you before you could actually hit the floor but he was really concerned

Basically: your body hadn't slept in a few days and you literally crashed.

You conked the fuck out.

Draco would always check on you while you were recovering in the medical wing.

You woke up confused and he was sitting there with a book just reading.

"...D-Draco?" You muttered.

He didn't say anything. He just pushed a jello cup to you and kept reading.

Draco was a lot more pushy with you though

"Have you eaten?" "Have you slept?" "When's the last time you drank water?"

You were confused on why he seemed to care but you still answered him.

He would notice you refuse to go to quidditch games or even walk into the great hall for dinner.

The house elves of the school knew you by name as well.

"Miss L/n, we made you some brownies for your passing of the exams" one of them told you.

You smiled and took them, thanking the house elf.

Draco was surprised that even the smallest creatures of the castle seemed to know you.

"Good Evening Y/n" Nearly Headless Nick would greet you in the halls

"Good Evening Sir Nicolas, enjoying your stroll?" You would greet back.

Draco was baffled and confused on how you had no problem with talking to these things but struggled to find words around actual people.

You noticed that he was of course following you around more

Especially since he would just take your books from you and start walking to your next class

So one night you were in the common room

You couldn't sleep so you just sat on the couch with the fire place going.

Draco is a night owl and found you.

"Y/n? What are you doing up, do you try to have another passing out incident?" Draco asked.

You sighed and just stared at the fire.

"what's wrong?" He asked sitting next to you.

"We go home in a few weeks." You muttered.

"Do you not want to go home?" Draco asked.

"Not if my step brothers are there." You muttered.

That was the first hint that something was not right to Draco

He looked at you and then had an idea.

"Wanna spend the summer with my family?" He asked.

You looked over. "You barely know me."

"Think of this as... A friendship investment?" He suggested.

"But--" "if that's an argument forming it's nonsense just say yes."

So you spent the summer at Draco's

Lucius noticed you retreat back but he didn't really comment on it

Narcissa actually got you to open up though

You'd sit in this day room like area with her and have tea

She learned all sorts of little things about you

You came from a wealthy family

Your dad was practically your best friend

Your stepmother was nice but your step brothers seemed to loathe you.

Draco began to notice his mother with you

How you would actually smile around her

You wouldn't stutter that much

Draco began spending time with you and Narcissa

He actually discovered you were very very sweet and VERY sarcastic

You loved to read and often read muggle books

According to you it's "interesting to find out what muggles can come up with when they don't know magic"

When you went back to school more people suddenly knew who you were

They'd just randomly greet you and it made you uncomfortable

Like really uncomfortable

Draco was with you most of the time and you'd actually hide behind him sometimes

He almost found it... Cute?

But the one student you finally seemed to open up to besides Draco was Neville

He understood you

He understood what it was like to live with anxiety

So he introduced you to another friend

Luna.

You and Luna were best friends, always smiling and sharing these small inside jokes

She was a year below you so you only saw her in your free time but Draco was glad you were trying to communicate

Hogsmeade was a thing

Draco kept close to you at all times and you seemed so weird a few days before the trip

You kept sniffing the air

"I smell snow." You'd say

"Y/n, snow is frozen water, it doesn't have a smell." He'd tell you.

"Ask Luna. I can smell snow." You'd tell him.

He thought it was bullshit but one night he saw you sneak out.

He followed you and you nearly had a heart attack.

"What are you doing!?" He whisper shouted.

"I can smell snow Draco, it's going to happen." You told him.

"Y/n, this is absolutely ridiculous--"

Guess what.

It snowed.

Draco was so confused but you were looking up at the night sky with this gorgeous smile as snowflakes fell onto you

He fell for you. Then and there

How could he not?

So you two snuck back to the common room, drinking hot cocoa and clinking your mugs together for the first snow fall of the winter.

Hogsmeade was amazing

Neville was happy to hang out with you

Though Draco was acting a tad... Odd

An unexpected friendship duo I didn't know I needed: Draco and Neville

Neville kind of pulled him to the side while you were sidetracked and looking at something and was like "Dude are you okay"

And Draco kind of told him about the first snow fall and Neville had this smile "Draco... You like her."

"Oh.... OH." Draco realized.

"What are you two talking about?" You asked curiously.

"QUIDDITCH!" they both lied.

"I've never been one for sports." You shrugged.

You, Neville and Draco would have days where you all sat in the library

There would be a break in the day where Draco had a class but you and Neville didn't

That was when you revealed "Neville, I think I like Draco" but you also made him swear to secrecy.

He was in this frustrated state.

HE WANTED YOU TWO TOGETHER GOD DAMNIT.

You ended up spending the summer with Neville, Luna and.... Draco

Neville's parents? SO FUCKING SWEET

Luna was so awesome to hang out with too.

You and Neville were like siblings and Draco enjoyed seeing you smile and laugh around them

So the fourth year starts

And you hate it even more because there are EVEN MORE STUDENTS NOW

You were surrounded by people 24/7 and you were NOT A FUCKING FAN MAN

But you found comfort in Fleur though.

She found you one day in the library and had to sit with you because it was too crowded.

She was so sweet to you

Like holy crap

New friend? Obtained

You watched the goblet of fire do it's thing

"Harry potter" was drawn and Draco seemed to twitch

You knew about some quidditch rivalry but never knew the extent of it

Draco just griped about how the boy effortlessly ended up in the public eye constantly.

You didn't seem to care though. Fleur was in the competition so you would cheer her on

You loved seeing your friend go out and kick some ass.

For the first time you were able to sit in the quidditch arena with a group and not feel absolutely terrified about being around people

You were however very much afraid of the dragon that was chasing Fluer

She made it though

Your group helped her with her egg and all of you seemed baffled on why it SCREAMED.

"It's making noise for a reason." Luna said looking at it

"But why?" Draco asked.

"Maybe we're not listening to it correctly?" Neville suggested.

"Hmm?" Fleur asked.

"Muffle the noise?" You asked seeing what Neville meant.

So she dunked it underwater

Somehow it got back to you that Harry was having trouble figuring out the purpose of the egg too.

You were the one that hinted on how to solve it.

After catching wind of this, Fred and George had to know who you were.

After all, you had an oddball group of friends

So they scared the crap out of you a few... Dozen times trying to get to know you

But because Fred and George aren't completely stupid they asked the portraits "how do we get to know her?"

They told them to be patient and sure enough they were in.

Fred and George both noticed you and Draco spending a lot of time together

You actually got the whole group into baking

Like you stressed baked during the trials for Fleur

So one day Draco decided to learn how to make cookies

And you two got into a flour fight and you were giggling the whole time

The two of you made cookies but Draco couldn't actually pick them up because he insisted his hands were dirty. So you were sitting on the counter and fed him one.

He smiled and looked at you, wiping off some excess chocolate on your face

You and him exchanged this look and he FINALLY kissed you.

You two finally started dating and Neville almost cried.

"I HAVE BEEN HIDING YOUR CRUSHES FOR ALMOST A YEAR AND I'VE BEEN GOING INSANE"

The second trial comes along and you're watching it with the group, Neville helping Harry with something so he could breathe underwater

You and Draco were sitting on the docks playing poker with jellybeans with the group

Everyone started coming back

Fleur was empty handed and she was panicked.

"Gabrielle-- she's down there I-I Co-couldn't

You knew who that girl was from the conversations you had and frowned.

"Neville do you have any of those things left" you asked.

Neville handed you gillyweed and you ate it, jumping in with no hesitation

Draco nearly jumped in after you but Fred assured him that if it took too long George and him would go get him

You came back up with Gabrielle though and were shivering the whole time

"IT IS FUCKING COLD." You shivered.

So you took that dance class and to everyone's surprise you actually could dance.

Though you were mumbling "One two three"

You still did quite well

Draco was smiling the entire time

"Hey Y/n... Would you like to go to the Yule ball?" He asked you.

That made you trip and fall onto him.

"Fuck-- sorry-- I am so sorry!" You apologized

"Love, if I weren't so used to this then this would be slightly alarming." Draco chuckled, helping you up.

You chuckled and sighed. "Yes." You nodded.

"Hmm?" "To the dance. Yes."

So Luna was the one who helped you that night

Neville went with Luna that year and it was fun for the whole group

They were all ✨classy✨

But you. You were stunning

When you came down the stairs Draco's eyes were huge

"Fred do you have sunglasses because my girlfriend's radiance is BLINDING ME."

He was dancing with you and he would whisper sweet little compliments in your ear.

For the first time in a crowd you weren't so scared anymore

The group loved seeing you so happy with Draco

They all snuck back to the Slytherin common room and you were all eating cookies when Snape found you all

"Hi professor... Cookie?" Fred offered

"... Insolent children"

Harry ending up winning and giving the money to Fred and George

Summer at the burrow and you finally meeting the rest of the Weasleys

Molly loving you

Molly loving Draco

MOLLY ADORING LUNA

Molly LOVING NEVILLE TOO

All of you laughing and having campfires during the night

Luna plays guitar?

Fred does too?

You all being kind of sad when you go back to school because it's Fred and George's last year.

You all spending as much time as possible together

Agreeing to work in the store after graduation as their "numbers gal"

Doing that after graduation

Draco also working at the store? Whaaa

Neville becoming a herbology professor

Luna becoming a caretaker of magical creatures and helping out with the shop too

Draco proposing to you one night after closing

Fred and George cracking out the champagne

And you telling them getting drunk in a building with things that can explode was a terrible plan

But you did it anyway

Nothing bad happened but still

You and Draco getting married that year and the whole group was nearly crying the entire time

Neville was the best man (again this is a duo I didn't know I needed until now)

Luna was the maid of honor

You had your son... Scorpius Fredrick Malfoy

Fred was crying the entire time holding the kid because he was "so smallll"

George saying "Of course he's small he's a baby moron... But he is cute"

[misslilli]

Felix Felicis

MSR. AU. PG-13. | tagging @today-in-fic | read on AO3

Chapter 21 - The Halloween Fair

[ DS ]

On the afternoon of the Halloween fair, I take out the costume that Miss Hannigan picked out for me from the closet. Ever since I’ve got it, I’m beyond excited to wear it. It’s a black low-cut shirt, a white, checkered suit with a blazer that ties at the waist and a flaring skirt. As I put on the blonde wig and the black beret, I turn to the mirror channeling my best inner Faye Dunaway and say to myself in a breathy, southern lilt: “My, my, don’t you just look dandy, Miss Bonnie Parker!”

My friends have been roped into manning the booths of the fair and somehow, I’ve slipped under the town people’s radars, which leaves me able to roam around the fair, albeit alone. Since I’ve known most people in this town ever since I was little, I’m never actually alone at these happenings, people tend to just pull me into their conversation as I walk by. But as luck will have it, as I’m rounding one of the booths of the fair, I find myself face to face with the one person I had secretly hoped to see.

He’s wearing a brown tweed suit with a matching waistcoat and over the white collared shirt he’s tied an emerald green tie. Perched on his head is a white fedora. ‘Shit. He’s Clyde. What the fuck?’

We stop in our tracks and stare at each other for a moment, taking in our respective costumes. He’s the first one to regain his ability to speak.

“Hey Bonnie, the laws are outside, they’re blockin’ the driveway!” His Warren Beatty impression is perfect right down to the Texan drawl. ‘God help me…’

“Gosh, I hope you’ve parked the getaway car around the corner, Clyde!” I’m putting on my best Faye Dunaway impression again as I add a wink to my statement and just continue to walk past him. My heart thumping hard against my chest betrays my cool exterior, but that’s my secret and my secret alone.

----------

[ FM ]

When we finally get to the Halloween fair that Felix has roped me into, dressed up in a costume I didn’t even pick myself. We trail the grounds together and we’re drawn to the candy apple booth. Well actually, Felix draws us to this exact booth, the little sneak, but I can’t resist his pout and pleading eyes, so we end up getting an apple each. Munching away happily, his mouth full, he asks the question I’ve been too scared to ask myself: “Hey dad, do you think Miss Scully is here too with her friends?” I hope she is, if only to see what kind of costume she has picked out for herself, but I can’t tell Felix that. Instead, I just shrug and we continue our stroll across the town square.

When we round another booth, we both stop in our tracks as we see a blonde woman appear before us , dressed in a checkered suit and a beret on her head. ‘Bonnie. She’s the freakin’ Bonnie to your Clyde. Your sidekick. No, your partner in crime. The woman you love. In the movie of course. Insert awkward cough.’.

Felix is oblivious of course, he hasn’t seen the movies and I doubt he even knows what my costume is, let alone Miss Scully’s. I scrape together the last braincells that are left in my head and a stupid movie quote is the only thing I can think of at this moment.

“Hey Bonnie, the laws are outside, they’re blockin’ the driveway!” The retort she gives me combined with her wink render me speechless until she’s well past me and Felix, mingling with the small crowd that welcomes her into their midst just a few feet away from us.

Felix does the thing I wish I could bring myself to do, staring at her retreating form in wonder and he also speaks the words that have sprung to my own mind.

“Wow!”

----------

[ DS ]

Countless conversations later and a little tipsy on the delicious apple cider they always serve at the Halloween fair, I wander along the booths when I hear a voice I haven’t heard in over a year. And could’ve gone forever not hearing again. It’s my ex-whatever Steve, talking to one of his friends.

I’m hidden pretty well in the crowd of people due to my shortness but I can still catch flashes of their conversation. When I hear my name, I stop, straining my ears.

“Dana? Oh God, no. She’s not even close to being a serious contender for a relationship.” I wince at his statement as well as the tone of his voice. “She’s just always there, you know? Like a well trained Golden Retriever, I say the word and she comes running. Such an easy lay!” When they share a laugh I can feel the flush of shame and anger crawl up my neck.

The situation he describes is exactly what I’ve spent countless hours in therapy getting over. But what he says next really drives a stake through my heart. “It’s so pathetic, but if it’s what I have to do to get laid, whatever. She’s even dirtier in bed than any hot teacher fantasy you could ever imagine and what they say about good Catholic girls is very, very accurate, if you know what I mean!”

If he weren’t the demon I have to face every time I try to get over my past, I would’ve revealed myself and give his ass a good kicking for talking about me the way he has. But not knowing how I’ll react to being face-to-face with him, I stay hidden behind a group of mummies and zombies like a fucking coward.

I’m so furious with him and myself for not being able to stand up to him. Where the hell are my friends when I need them? I haven’t seen them all evening and I could really use their company to talk some sense into me. Since they’re nowhere to be found, I head towards the bar set up in the back and slide onto a stool, ordering a shot of Tequila. ‘Fuck it! That low-life is not even worth your time of day!’

On the surface, I’m so angry I want to set this whole damn place on fire, but deep down, the past hurt resurfaces to join the hurt from his words I just heard.

By the time I’ve downed my second shot, I’ve repeated the mantra that I’m a strong woman who’s better off without men in my head about a thousand times. I see someone slide onto the stool next to me out of the corner of my eye as I order another shot of Tequila to keep the two empty glasses in front of me company.

“A third shot of Tequila is just asking for trouble, if you ask me.” I turn my head slowly towards my bar-mate to tell him exactly where to shove his smart-ass remark when I’m faced with my supposed partner in crime, the charming one with the disarmingly innocent smile on his stupid face. I’m staring him down defiantly, my eyes never leaving his while the bartender places my glass in front of me and I grab it, downing it in a swift motion, daring him in my mind to say anything else. He doesn’t comment, good for him, and orders a shot for himself, just raising his glass silently and I clink it with my empty one – I’m tipsy, not insane, chasing one shot with another.

We’re staring straight ahead during our conversation, turning our glasses over and over between our fingers.

“Which guy seems to be the problem and how many rounds of ammo do I need to take him out?,” he asks after minutes of silence. I want to lean into him for just assuming that it’s a man that has me sitting here seething, but unfortunately, he’s right. This one time.

“How many rounds you got?” He scoffs at that.

“Plenty. And I know of exactly eleven ways to get rid of a body without raising suspicion.”

“And here I was thinking the FBI frowned upon their employees giving out top-level secrets on how to hide away evidence of a crime committed.”

“I’m not going to tell you, I wouldn’t want you to be held in contempt of Congress when questioned.”

“How do you know I wouldn’t rat you out when questioned by Congress?”

“Just a hunch… Talk to me, Red. What happened tonight?” He turns towards me and I can feel his gaze dancing over the skin of my face.

“You really want to know? Well, turns out the asshole of an ex of mine decided that today might be the perfect time to make an encore appearance in my life and reminded me again why I should’ve kicked him to the curb a long time ago instead of hoping I could change him.” Looking down at the bar, I trace my finger through the condensation drops, my anger slowly dissipating and my voice growing more and more quiet. “I heard him say some pretty awful things about me tonight.”

I relax into his hand when he places it comfortingly on my back, right between my shoulder blades, and huff out a sigh. “I’m sorry.,” is the only thing he says, but doesn’t add anything else, giving me the choice if I wanted to elaborate or not.

“What I witnessed today was the way he’s always been but I just couldn’t see through the masquerade of the sweet guy, he was so kind and said all the right things and he quite literally wooed the pants off me from the get-go.”

“Love bombing.” ‘Oh yeah, I forgot, you’re a profiler. You probably already got one worked out for me, trust-issues, anxious attachment style, possibly daddy issues, in short, a hot mess. Avoid at all costs.’

“Pretty much, yeah. And I was stupid enough to believe it.” I raise my hand to call over the bartender for another round.

“You’re not stupid. It’s hard to tell the difference between genuine interest and love bombing in the beginning.” ‘Yeah, no shit Sherlock. It’s exactly why I’m sitting here torn between wanting you to make a pass at me and being absolutely terrified that you actually will.’

“How about we pass on the shots and get some water instead before calling it a night?”

“I think that’s probably a good idea, Mr. Mulder!”

“You know, after tonight, what do you say we just drop the Mister?” I nods slowly, pursing my lips.

“So just Fox?” He makes a pained face.

“No, please don’t. Just Mulder is fine.”

“Mh-hm. I guess since we’re dropping the titles, that that makes me Scully? Little odd, but alright!”

We get the check and argue back and forth about who gets to pay, him putting an end to it with a firm “Will you give it a rest, you’ll get to pick up the next check!”.

In my attempt to slide off the barstool gracefully despite three tequila shots, my heel catches onto the rail at the bottom and I stumble over the stool, knocking it over in the process. I have only his quick reflexes to thank that I don’t follow suit, his arms catching me around my waist and pulling me upright again.

He has the audacity to laugh, the bastard, and I’m beyond mortified. “Easy there, partner! Do you need a ride home? Felix is at a pajama party at his friend Suzie’s house, so I’m free to be your pumpkin carriage for tonight.” ‘NO! Yes? No. Get your hands off me. Don’t let go just yet.’

I’m so confused at the tug of war in my fuzzy head but I hate getting a cab alone and I’m in heels on top of being tipsy, I don’t want to walk home alone at night.

As we walk out, his hand finds his way to the small of my back guiding me through the crowds while making sure I don’t stumble again.

On the drive to the beach house, I manage not to fall asleep despite how tired I feel, too afraid of snoring or, God forbid, drooling onto myself. His hands find my back again guiding me up the stairs to the front door and I turn to face him at the top, even more nervous.

“Thanks for the ride, Mulder. And for listening.”

“Anytime, Scully. Good night!”

When he leans in, I start to panic that this is it and I think it shows on my face, because he only kisses my cheek, just like I did after the birthday party before getting back in the car and heading home. I can’t decide if I’m relieved or disappointed.

I can’t ignore the flutter of excitement every time his hands land anywhere on my body but what I will absolutely deny, even to myself, is the way my heart constricts in my chest when he gazes at me that way and the sense of comfort that settles over me when we’re together.

Bodily reactions I can deal with, it’s when it comes to emotions is where it gets scary.

I just don’t think my heart can survive another Steve.

[delos-mio]

Out of the Woods - College!AU - PART 2

A/N: Part 2! I hope you enjoy this chapter. No major warnings apply! Thoughts, feelings, predictions always welcome <3

***

After dropping you off that evening, Nikolai found his mind to be running a mile a minute. It was 1am, relatively early by college standards, but he had no desire to go back to the party and no desire to go home. Instead, he walked around campus until his feet throbbed. He thought about your smile and your laugh, the way you bit your lip and the way you toyed with the ends of your hair. He thought about how you could very well be in the arms of another man right now.

He could have lived without that mental image.

It seemed wild to him that you could make so many feelings flood back to him in such a short amount of time. It hit him like a ton of bricks the moment you locked eyes, and it was instantly like the last 5 years of silence never even happened. God, he wished they never happened. How could he have been so cruel? Who just up and left the person they were very clearly falling in love without a trace? Nikolai, that’s who. And under the penetrating glow of the moon, for the next six or so hours, Nikolai hated himself for it.

Nikolai quietly tried to sneak back into the apartment he shared with Aleks around 7am. Generally, he was a pretty heavy sleeper, so he figured it’d be no problem. As the front door clicked shut behind him, another door clicked open inside the apartment. Alina, clad in only one of Aleks’s shirts, exited his room and immediately jumped upon seeing Nikolai. He quickly averted his eyes and turned his attention to the ceiling, trying to look anywhere but at the half-naked girl before him.

“So, I take it he wasn’t too upset I left the party early?” he asked before she blushed and quickly padded down the hall to the bathroom.

Nikolai pushed his hair back from his face and shook his head. Of course Aleks had company. He made his way to his room and let the back of his knees hit the mattress, flopping onto his back. His eyes fluttered shut as he mulled over the events of the evening. He knew he needed to turn his brain off and actually try to get some sleep, but that was still proving to be rather difficult. As he was getting lost in his own thoughts, he was interrupted by his door being flung open and Aleks leaning in his door frame.

“Do you mind? I’m really tired,” Nikolai grumbled, still not opening his eyes.

“You dog! You got home later than me,” he said with a smile evident in his voice.

“It’s not like that. You’ll notice I didn’t bring anyone home with me, now did I?” Nikolai was starting to get irritated by his roommate’s presence and hoped he’d leave him in peace and quiet sooner rather than later.

“Maybe not. But you could have. Seemed like you and Genya’s new roommate had something going on,” he pried.

“Can you fuck off? Respectfully?”

“Alright, alright. I’ll let you sleep. But you’re gonna tell me about her when you wake up.” With that, Nikolai heard his door shut again, leaving him in the stillness of his room. He fell asleep half hanging off the bed where he landed with the girl who got away on his mind.

----

When you woke up the next morning, Nikolai was still fresh on your mind. The way he smiled, the way he smelled…everything about him haunted your dreams. It didn’t even take a full minute before the guilt settled in. Jesus Christ, what were you thinking? Did Matt cease to exist because your first love cropped up out of nowhere? You just started flirting with Nikolai again like it was as easy as breathing. But you couldn’t help yourself—Nikolai had worked his way into your head instantly just like he had when you were 17. Like the first time you saw him take off his helmet, shake out his perfect, golden hair, and skate to the bench. It had been a wrap since that moment. You groaned into your pillow, feeling a little nauseous and a lot guilty. After freshening up and pulling a sweatshirt on, you wandered out into the living room of your apartment with Genya where she was eagerly chatting with Zoya over a cup of coffee.

“Fancy seeing you here, ditcher,” Genya teased as you grabbed a mug for yourself.

“I didn’t ditch,” you said. “Nik told you guys we were leaving.”

“Where’d you end up anyways?” Genya asked with a tiny smirk. This line of questioning amused Zoya and she gladly joined in on the antagonizing.

“I can only assume, knowing him, that you ended up somewhere more...private,” Zoya interjected.

“It wasn’t like that. I um, we ended up just going to get some food. Catch up or whatever,” you said while you shot daggers at Genya. You paused to take a sip of the too-hot drink before continuing. “Where have you been hiding Nikolai anyways?”

“He ain’t hiding- have you met the dude? I met him during Freshman orientation. Zoya and I lived in the dorm room next to him and Aleks,” she said as a matter of fact. “We’ve been hanging out ever since. Real good guy.”

“I know,” you sighed, pushing around a pen that was left on the coffee table.

“You like him! Oh man, I’m sorry, I didn’t even think about him being totally your type. You and your pretty boys. Mhmm, I bet he liked you too,” Genya teased and smiled again.

“No, he’s just an old friend,” you lied. “I have a boyfriend.”

“Could have fooled me,” Zoya mumbled, but you caught it. The comment did nothing to ease the growing knot in your stomach.

“Seriously. He’s my friend. I kinda got carried away with the flirting last night, but I was so excited to see him, you know?” You looked at them both, silently pleading with them to let it drop. “We’re just friends. Nothing else.”

“That may be true now, but the dude has it bad for you. I saw the way he looked at you, dude,” Genya said softly, finally sympathetic to your anguish. “Can I ask how you know each other? Besides ‘high school or something’?”

“We didn’t even go to school together.” You leaned back into the cushions, letting your focus drift away from the girls across from you. “My parents own an ice rink in my hometown and I’d work the concession stand when I got out of school- do my homework and pour hot chocolate or whatever. Nik played hockey with his high school team there.” You smiled to yourself. “I saw him come off the ice one day and thought he was the most handsome boy I’d ever seen. And one night, he walked right up to me after practice and started talking to me like we’d known each other forever. I didn’t have a ton of friends in school and hadn’t really been noticed by boys like...ever. So to have this super hot dude flirting with me was wild.”

“Oh my god, was Nik your first crush?” Genya squealed.

“I’d had a couple guys that caught my eye before him, but he was the first guy I really liked. First guy I kissed. First guy I…” you trailed off, letting the pause speak for itself.

“No wonder he was so happy to see you,” Zoya said.

“He kinda ghosted me when he left for college and I hadn’t talked to him since the last night we were together. I was too scared to try and find him on Facebook or anything. I didn’t want to see him with other girls hanging all over him and hurt my own feelings, you know?” Genya and Zoya exchanged a sympathetic look. “Anyways, that’s about it. Pretty boring stuff.”

“Babe…”

“I gotta start getting ready for work,” you said, abruptly standing and putting your mug in the sink. “I’ll see you guys later.” With that, you shuffled out of the room, hoping neither of them caught the hitch in your voice. So, maybe you weren’t as over that ghosting as you thought you were.

----

The weekend passed with a lot of idle time thinking about when you could possibly see Nikolai again. You were really regretting not scrawling your number somewhere for him. It was torture not knowing how to find him again outside of groveling to Genya, or hoping dumb luck would make you run into him.

You made it to Monday morning and somehow managed to make it to your 8:30 am class on time; a rare feat for you. Thankfully, the class was all engaged in a lively discussion of what constituted a modern classic novel, so it was easy to stay alert and engaged. Before you knew it, your professor was dismissing you and reminding you all about the paper that was due on Thursday. You shuffled down the stairs of the academic building and paused once you got to the quad. Normally, you’d head home for a few hours before your afternoon class, but you had a little time to spare today before your study group. But you also had Nikolai’s face burned in your mind. Would it be totally weird to try to find him?

The building that housed Science and History was only a quarter mile from your classroom, so you made quick work of the walk and tried to hype yourself up, telling yourself that it was normal to want to see him this bad- you’d missed out on a few years there! Of course you wanted to see your friend. When you got inside, you realized you had no idea where you were going. You had yet to take any sort of History class while at school and had absolutely no idea if he was even in class at this time. God, this was seeming like a dumber and dumber idea the more you walked around. After wandering aimlessly for a minute, you saw a familiar head of effortlessly messy golden hair slink out of a classroom.

Immediately, your eye was drawn to him. You were thankful he didn’t notice your presence because you were definitely staring. All weekend, you were sure you had a picture-perfect vision of him in your head, but you were abruptly reminded that he was much more handsome than you could dream up. He had traded in his button down shirt from the other night for a cozy looking grey sweater. You allowed yourself one more moment to admire him from afar before you approached. But Nikolai had turned to face you straight on, face lighting up the moment he saw you.

“I was wondering when you’d come around.” You could hear the smile in his voice.

“So, you don’t think I’m crazy for wandering around a building I’ve literally never set foot in, hoping by cosmic timing you’d be here?” you smirked.

“I promise you, I don’t think you’re crazy. I mean, I was considering doing something quite similar myself,” You couldn’t stop the heat that started to rise in your cheeks.

“So, where are you headed now?” you asked, rocking on your heels.

“Well,” he pondered, “I was going to meet Aleks at The Moose if you’re walking that way.”

“I’m not, but I have a couple minutes before I have to be at my study group if you want to sit outside,” you offered.

“Of course, darling,” he grinned, hazel eyes playful as you found a bench next to the bike rack. “How was your weekend?”

“Not bad,” you shrugged. “I had to work both days, but it was pretty slow, so no complaints. I only got grilled by Genya and Zoya a little. It could have been a lot worse,” you smiled.

“They do love any information they can get their little hands on,” Nikolai said, leaning back into the bench. “You...didn’t see Matt at all?” he probed, trying with all his might to look and sound nonchalant, but failing.

“Why do you want to know?”

“Can I not take an interest in you?” he asked with gentle eyes, but you just glowered.

“No. I didn’t see Matt this weekend. We haven’t even talked since Friday, honestly,” you said. Nikolai didn’t interject at all, just looked at you to go on, if you felt like sharing. “We haven’t really been getting along lately. He’s a nice guy and all, but I don’t know how much we have in common. And he never seems to have time for me unless it’s on his terms. Like, he expects me to be available whenever it works for him, but he’s always conveniently busy if I ask him to do anything with me.” You kicked at a rock near your toe, eyes fixed on the ground, totally unsure why you just told Nikolai all that.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said sincerely. “I’m saying this as your friend,” he started, making you look in his eyes again. “You deserve someone who understands what a gift it is to spend time with you.” It was so simple, but it made tears instantly spring in your eyes. “Hey. Hey, now. None of that,” he smiled, thumbing a tear away. “Would you maybe want to come over Friday? Get pizza and watch a movie or something?”

“That sounds really nice, Nik,” you nodded. It was then he broke into a blinding smile and you were unable to stop the swirling in your belly.

“Could I—would I be able to get your number? So I can send you my address or whatever,” he added quickly; you were really starting to love seeing him get flustered.

“I think that’s a good idea, yeah.” You reached for some scrap paper and pencil from your bag and scribbled down your number, placing it in the palm of his large hands before standing up. His fingers just barely brushed yours as he took the paper before stowing it away in the front pocket of his jeans. “You can always use that number before Friday too, if you want,” you said with a sly smile and patted Nikolai’s cheek gently. His laugh carried a bit as you walked opposite directions out of the quad, your feet feeling like they were being carried by tiny, pink fluffy clouds.

Fuck. Did you just set up a date with Nikolai? No. No, not a date. Just two friends eating pizza and watching movies. Friends did that all the time.

But as you walked to the cafe where your study group met, there was a crashing wave of guilt that washed over you. What the fuck were thinking? All you were doing was playing with fire, practically begging fate to burn you. You were mentally beating yourself up, feeling like a total shit bag as you pushed open the door to the small cafe, seeing your group already gathered and breaking off into pairs, Matt beaming at you when you came into view.

“Hi, baby,” he said, kissing your cheek as you sat down next to him.

“Hey,” you smiled back with tight lips, hardly able to look at him.

You started going through notes for an upcoming Logic and Reasoning exam, but you found yourself unable to process anything you were reading. Your mind was elsewhere and you only managed half-hearted affirmations and hardly contributed any correct answers. Here Matt was, sweet and excited to see you. He was good, he was nice. Maybe you just needed to make more of an effort with him. Should he really want to do the things you wanted to do, or were you being selfish? You weren’t sure.

“Something wrong?” he asked suddenly, snapping you from your thoughts.

“Just don’t feel good, that’s all,” you shrugged, looking back at your notebook and computer. He accepted that answer and didn’t probe any further.

“So, you should come over Friday. I don’t have anyone else to hang out with and thought we could hang out,” he said into your ear, hand gripping your thigh.

“Can’t,” you said with a shake of your head. “I already have plans.”

“Oh there’s a surprise,” he said, half under his breath. And that...that was it. You immediately slammed your pen onto the table and looked at him with hard eyes.

“Would you just say whatever you’re trying to fucking say?” you seethed.

“Just seems awfully convenient that every time we’re supposed to do anything, suddenly you have plans with I don’t even know who” he said, clearly annoyed. “All I’ve done is try to accommodate you and do what you want, but that doesn’t seem to be enough,” he added with a melodramatic sigh, which was more than enough to set you off.

“Oh, that’s a fucking joke, right?” you laughed. “Maybe you’d know more about my schedule if you ever bothered to talk to me more than once a week. And you literally just said I should come over because no one else can! Like, I’m your girlfriend- I shouldn’t be your last ditch option,” you scoffed. “You know what? I can’t be here right now. Call me when you’re ready to rejoin all of us in reality.” With that, you grabbed your bag and stormed out the door, letting your feet take you quickly in any direction that was simply away. No, you were right about what you said to Nikolai- Matt only saw you as convenient.

Friday couldn’t come soon enough.

[strawberry1212]

Asian drama female lead passivity

I feel like a lot of aspects of female lead (FL) passivity is discussed (the fish kiss being the most famous example), but I wanted to systematically analyze each trope under the theory of female passivity and its feminist implications.

This topic has been stuck in my mind ever since I read a blog years ago (literally like six years ago so I’m sorry I have no idea where it is, I can’t link it) talking about how intimacy in Asian dramas is always portrayed as something women relent to giving up half-heartedly, and men one sidedly pursue. Women are chaste, men are lustful, and women are yielding to men, that is the essential message.

This dynamic plays out in Western media as well--the movie Don Jon is a super interesting analysis comparing how women are indoctrinated by romcoms, to how men are indoctrinated by porn. So women attach grand romantic gestures and romantic commitment to their self worth, because that’s what the girl gets in her happy ending, while men attach it to sexual prowess/having women do kinky sexual favors.

This dynamic is super harmful because it works to suppress female sexuality, as well as male emotionality. People are always surprised when a woman would rather just want sex (or a career) over a romantic commitment. And men are applauded for having the bare minimum of emotional awareness because it’s so rare.

I think a form of Asian drama female lead (FL) passivity that is most talked about is the infamous “fish kiss.” See exhibit A:

The guy initiates the kiss on the usually unsuspecting girl, as if the girl ever going in for the kiss herself would be too sexually aggressive. And as if even enjoying the kiss would be too much, they have her just stand there eyes wide open. It’s awkward, and even slightly funny to watch, but our critique often ends here. But I think the fish kiss is a symptom of a much deeper problem. 

You will notice that female lead passivity is present in all physical interactions between the romantic interests.

The pull in hug:

Which sometimes the FL looks uncomfortable to frightened in:

I even found a meme, so I know I’m not the only who thinks this is weird:

(meme/photo credit: https://goliath1357.tumblr.com/post/27115253892/kdramareasons-awkward-one-sided-hugs-k-drama)

What I don’t like about this trope is first of all, it makes female consent seem less romantic. It romanticizes this idea of male pursuit/female passivity, the man will protect her, the man will pursue her (basically like an object), the man will do all the work in making the relationship progress, etc., and it romanticizes this dynamic to women--this is easy to romanticize for us, because to the most of us that aren’t being constantly pursued by two hot men, this pursuit dynamic seems like a dream boat. Often the kdrama female lead (due to the Initial Misunderstanding trope) will even dislike and push away the male lead--and yet he still pursues her, how romantic! -_- Except in real life, the guy aggressively pursuing you and ignoring you disinterest is not romantic.

And the issue is on both sides, because it teaches women to just stand there, not express consent, and not express sexual/intimacy enthusiasm when we’re feeling it (that would be ~unladylike~). And on the other side, it teaches men to do all the pursuing and to assume that a girl standing frozen, wide eyed, and often looking scared as you kiss her, is consent. Sometimes the guy even interprets a clear “no” as consent. (Honestly I’m not even sure if these Asian drama writers are thinking along the lines of “xyz is consent,”...like I’m not sure how often they even think of the concept of consent tbh.)

But anyways, passivity. is not. consent!!!! That’s why we have the slogan “Yes mean yes,” meaning both parties must have enthusiastic, clear consent, for respectful intimacy. Asian dramas discourage women from expressing an enthusiastic “yes,” and it teaches men not to expect this “yes,” so they can steamroll past passivity and even rejection.

And I know some people will be boohooing me on this. “But sudden kisses and hugs are so romantic!” people will say. But what is “romantic,” like many things, is a social construct. We think things are romantic because they’ve always been presented to us as romantic, with swelling music in the background and the implicit understanding that anything is ok because they are Soulmates(TM) that end up happy together. We construct our idea of what is romantic largely out of media.

But that is not real life, and carrying those messages over to real life (as we inevitably all do), is dangerous. I just moved to Japan so this especially hits close to home for me: I dress conservatively by American standards, but I couldn’t bring a quarter of my clothes when I moved because I worried men on trains would interpret them as revealing, and therefore I would be “asking for it.” I, and I’m sure many women will feel me on this, think about and fear sexual assault very often. And when we don’t enshrine active consent, we perpetuate rapist culture.

Since “romantic” is anything our society constructs it to be, let’s romanticize enthusiastic consent! (like this NCT song!!) I think sudden kisses can be cute when you’ve established boundaries that it’s is ok, but it scares me that men and women are watching this and thinking suddenly kissing a person you haven’t discussed boundaries/intimacy with at all is cute. It’s all fun and games when it’s the hot male lead kissing the girl you know he’s going to end up with, but it’s not cute when it’s real life men thinking they’re entitled to women’s bodies.

Other examples of female passivity:

I stopped watching Moonlight Drawn over the Clouds at precisely this scene:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X6I0WXeD-dc&ab_channel=KBSWORLDTV

because it was so painful to watch her sitting there like a fish as the guys got these cool fight scenes. Like girllll literally do anything, throw a rock, something! First dramas routinely disable the female characters by making the male characters the able fighters, but even if you’re not an able fighter you can do more than just sit there like a lame duck -_- Especially the parts of these scenes where someone is standing over the girl with the sword and the writers don’t give the girl the presence of mind to simply run away, but they give the guy the presence of mind to somersault into the room, jump over ten monkey bars, slash the antagonist, and catch the girl bridal style on his way down. I guess the damsel in distress trope is as old as the book, but just the complete passivity so many female characters show in fight scenes as they need to be saved is really annoying and disempowering.

I think the worst part is their faces, they’re all like omg! this is so sad!

well girl you could have done literally ANYTHING other than sit there as he took ten bullets for you lmao. Women don’t exist to stand by and be saved!!! This is a historical drama but the modern drama version is when the guy is getting beat up by bullies or whatever and the girl just stands by and does nothing but look upset.

Another good trope that is under this passivity theme is the double wrist grab, where we not only have ONE male lead (ML) manhandling the FL, but TWO MLs. Ahh yes the only thing better than forcibly ignoring consent and the FL’s wishes is TWO men doing it.

I heard this recently even happened in True Beauty...which...that drama...truly I thought Kdramas were progressing until I saw how much people were hyping up that mess of misogyny (not to mention how boringly predictable it was). 

I can’t quite express this next trope in a screenshot, but something I also see a lot of is the ML professing his love to the FL and she sort of just stands there like O_O. Like she’s just sort of this object that sits there being admired? It’s just such an unnatural way to react to someone professing their love for you, and these scenes drag on for many minutes of just the ML’s dialogue so the female actress, having no lines, has no choice but to sit there O_O. Like give her lines! Give her reactions! Give her anything other than being wide eyed!!!!

And these physical interactions represent deeper emotional passivity in the female lead.

I’ve noticed it’s almost always the trend of the male lead falls later, but falls harder, and ultimately he puts more energy into making the relationship progress. Again, this buys into female fantasy, but it is an unhealthy fantasy that is grounded, I think, in our insecurities, and our fear of putting ourselves out there (so we would rather have someone pursue us than put ourselves out there and meet someone halfway).

This emotional passivity is why, weirdly enough, sometimes I will really like the drama because the girl is very stubbornly, openly, and aggressively pursuing the guy. A case of this is Itazura na Kiss, or Mischievous Kiss (there’s a Jdrama, Kdrama, and anime--I only watched the anime). Now the guy is downright meannnnn in Mischievous Kiss, this was not a healthy relationship at all, but there was something refreshing about the girl. Sure her aggression was in pursuing a man, but at least it was aggression, and I’d always only seen any hint of female sexuality/actively pursuing as something very stigmatized. 

I think a sister trope to the passivity trope is the innocence trope. The guy will literally take the initiative to profess his undying love to the FL and she’ll be like “what?? omg stop teasing you’re joking ahahha.” Why do FLs need to be so oblivious/innocent? I think it caters to the way media is seen through a male gaze but that’s a trope to deconstruct another time.

[rolandtowen]

Dumbass Romantics, the first part of a series exploring the ways in which Sokka and Zuko falling in love after the War. 

Sokka and Zuko seem to keep “accidentally” flirting with each other with romantic gestures from their respective cultures. It takes a while for everyone else (and them!!) to catch on. Set a few months after the end of the war, featuring chronic pain and cultural flirting.

Read it under the cut!

The Fire Lord hated the cold. He supposed he should have commissioned a fur cloak before visiting Katara and Sokka, but where could his tailors find fur on such short notice? He couldn’t bring himself to slaughter dozens of squirrel-toads just for one coat. He had settled on a cloak woven with extra koala-sheep wool, but stepping out of his ship’s warmth now and into the crisp air of the Southern Water Tribe, Zuko knew he should have heeded Sokka’s advice to him to dress warm.

The cold was a bitch. But thankfully, he didn’t have to dwell on it long.

“Zuko!” Came Katara’s voice from somewhere below him. Zuko hurried down the rampart and came to meet his old friend. He went to bow formally, but she laughed and pulled him in for a hug. “Maybe save the bowing for when we have dinner with the old folks tonight.”

Zuko raised his eyebrow.

“Oh! It’s nothing big – just my Dad, Bato, Kanna, and Pakku. I do hope you’ve worked up an appetite for stewed sea prunes, that’s all my Dad can make without blowing the kitchen up – unless you’re allergic to sea prunes, of course, but I guess you wouldn’t know yet seeing as you’ve never tried them—”

“Katara,” Sokka’s voice startled Zuko a little bit, coming from his left side. Zuko shifted his head so he could hear him better. “You’re rambling again. Let the man breathe!” Zuko let out a low chuckle and turned to fully face Sokka.

“It’s good to see you too, Sokka.”

“And you, jerkbender! Spirits, aren’t you cold? I told you bring layers!”

The trio started to walk towards Katara and Sokka’s village. Zuko pondered what he should say: admit weakness and say he was, in fact, cold; or be miserable for the rest of his visit in silence?

“I’m okay, it’s just that the Fire Nation hasn’t ever had a need to make warm clothing. My tailors wouldn’t even know where to start on finding fur for a cloak.”

“Well then,” Sokka said, “it’s lucky for you that we have polar leopards!” And with that, Sokka unclipped the fur-lined cloak he was wearing and draped it over Zuko’s shoulders, fastening the metal clips with practiced ease. Zuko was shocked.

“Sokka, I can’t take your cloak!” He protested, stopping in his tracks.

“Relax, jerkbender, there’s more where that came from. When are you going to learn to dress up for your visits, dork?”

Katara chimed in. “The last time Zuko was here, his body temperature was elevated by his righteous search for the Avatar. I’m sure peace and love have probably cooled your hot head off quite a bit, huh?”

Zuko only hummed, looking down at the cloak that had been thrust upon him. It really was, quite warm. And quite intricate as well! He ran his fingers over the moon phases embroidered at the seams, a striking white against the deep blue of the cloak.

“Enjoying my handiwork?” Katara asked.

“Yeah, I am.” Zuko answered in a daze.

He wasn’t sure if he should tell them what it meant in Fire Nation culture, to place your own cloak on another’s shoulders, to literally and figuratively place another under your protection. Really, Zuko couldn’t remember the last time he had been given anything as a gift. Charity was not a concept Ozai was familiar with. Sokka couldn’t have possible known that what he just did was like the Fire Nation equivalent of a betrothal necklace. Still, it did leave Zuko touched that Sokka would so willingly give over such a valuable garment. He decided to leave the matter alone and revel in the warmth of the cloak.

“Sooooooooo, do you wanna go fishing together?”

Zuko sighed. He was a little bored. When they got back to the village, Katara had immediately ditched them to go help Kanna and Hakoda prep for the night’s family dinner. Leaving him and Sokka to do…. whatever until dinner time rolled around.

“Uh, I don’t really know how to fish—”

“That’s alright! I can teach you. Just grab your cloak!” Sokka leapt up and swept out the door. “You are coming, right?” Sokka called from afar.

“Yeah, I’m coming!” Zuko hollered back. He fiddled with the clasp on Sokka’s – er, his cloak—and stepped back into the cold.

Sokka was at the edge of the village, spears in hand. “You ever been on a kayak before?”

Zuko chuckled. “No, the ships I’ve been tend to carry more than one person, I don’t suppose you’ve got one of those?”

Sokka punched him in the shoulder. “We can’t use one of the warrior’s boats, we’ll scare the fish!” Oh. That made sense. “Now I get it, you really don’t know anything about fishing, do you? What have you got to say for yourself?”

“Two things: one, prince; two, fire nation. We much prefer Komodo sausage to seal jerky.”

“Well, your hotness, let me show you how it’s done.” Sokka hopped into one kayak, patting the one next him. “I assume you at least know how to use a paddle?”

Zuko laughed. “I may have been an adrift refugee once or twice. I think I can handle a paddle.”

“Good,” Sokka smiled at him as he climbed into the one-seater kayak. Zuko took a few moments to adjust to the shift in his center of gravity, then nodded at Sokka.

“Let’s catch some fish.”

It turns out, Zuko is not a natural at spear-fishing. He watched closely the first few times Sokka threw his spear, bringing up fish each time. “Go on, try it,” Sokka encouraged him. Zuko looked into the depths and tried to aim for the blurry shadows he took to be fish. His spear came up empty. “That’s okay! It took me a few fishing trips before I really go the hang of it.” Sokka analyzed his form. “Make sure you extend your arm a bit before your release the spear, then you can change your angle more easily.”

Zuko nodded, mirroring the way Sokka was holding his spear. They waited in silence, kayaks knocking gently into each other on the waves. A fresh school of fish appeared underneath them, and they released their spears at the same time. This time, even Zuko had caught a fish! Only one, compared to Sokka’s two, but it was his first fish! Sokka smiled widely at him. “I knew you could do it.”

“I guess I should call you Sifu Sokka now, my fishbending master.” Zuko quipped.

Sokka blushed and he hoped the gathering snow hid it from Zuko. “I think we should probably get back; you don’t want to miss Dad’s stewed sea prunes.

“Definitely not.” Zuko replied. “What, what does one do with a fish once they’ve caught it?”

“It depends – I think it being your first fish, we should celebrate it! What do you say to making some boiled fish dumplings?”

“I think that if you’re teaching me, it’ll be wonderful.”

If it was even humanly possible, Sokka blushed harder.

When they docked their kayaks, Zuko noticed that Sokka was favoring one of his arms over the other. Normally, it wouldn’t be strange to see a person favoring a side, but Zuko knew Sokka was ambidextrous. He didn’t say anything, so Zuko kept his observations to himself. Kanna met them outside her home, and positively beamed when Sokka told her that Zuko had caught his first fish.

“Well, better a late bloomer than never, eh?” Zuko laughed but still bowed his head in deference.

“It is very nice to finally meet you, Lady Kanna. Sokka has told me much about you in your letters.”

“Oh, he has, has he?” Kanna gave a mean side-eye to Sokka, who was suddenly very interested in the icy ground. “He’s told me about you as well. You have my gratitude – I can’t imagine what would’ve happened if you hadn’t gone to the Boiling Rock.”

“It was my pleasure, Lady Kanna.”

“Just Kanna, just Kanna, my dear. Well, come in! I see Sokka has leant you a cloak, but you still must be freezing! In, in!” Kanna shooed them inside. “I will take special care of your first fish, Zuko. Anything you had in mind?”

“Uh, dumplings?”

“Excellent choice, dear. Fish dumplings coming right up!” She disappeared into the kitchen of the home.

Sokka sat down on floor, covered by blue fabrics and pelts. Zuko noticed how gingerly he set himself down, now obviously favoring his right side. Sokka’s lips were drawn tightly as he rubbed circles into his left shin. Zuko could have almost swore he heard Sokka whimper. Almost.

“Sokka,” Zuko knelt down next to his friend. “Talk to me.”

“Mmph,” Sokka scowled.

“Words, Sokka.”

“It’s mostly my leg—you know how I broke it on the day of the Comet?”

Zuko grimaced. He did remember. Even in his lightening-induced fever, Zuko remembered. He heard his physicians set Sokka’s leg and pop his shoulder back in place. He wanted to forget those sounds of Sokka in pain, but he couldn’t.

“Well,” Sokka continued. “Ever since then, it still… it still hurts. Katara’s tried everything, but I’m probably stuck with it forever. My leg hurts the worst, but my shoulder’s the most inconvenient. I’m old enough to start putting braids in my wolf tail, but I just—can’t. I can’t lift my arm above shoulder-level. And I know I’m wallowing to the guy who literally got half his face burned off but—”

“But nothing, Sokka. You’re allowed to be in pain. Here, you know what, pull up your pant leg—”

“Geez, buy a guy dinner first will you?”

Zuko blushed but Sokka did as he was told, exposing his left shin and ankle. Zuko focused a little bit of heat into the palms of his hands. He placed one on Sokka’s ankle, scanning his face for any pain. When Sokka relaxed into the touch, Zuko placed his other hand on Sokka’s shin, applying the slightest bit of pressure.

“You know, with those hands you could almost be a healer like Katara.”

Zuko snorted. “And you need to learn to let people help you.” After a few minutes, he pulled his hands away, fearing that if he kept them there too long he’d burn his friend. “If you want, I can help you braid your hair. I won’t even tell Katara.”

Sokka smiled shyly at him. He guessed Zuko didn’t know the importance of braiding another’s hair in water tribe culture—reserved for family members and, well, lovers. But Zuko was kneeling in front of him, in a water tribe cloak, offering to help him with a warrior tradition. After everything they’d been through, Zuko was family—and maybe, he could be open to being something more?

“Okay,” Sokka nodded. He pulled two beads from his pocket, both striking shades of blue, one carved by Kanna and one by Katara. “You know how my Dad wears his beads? It’s the same idea.”

“I caught my first fish today, I’m pretty sure there’s nothing I can’t do now.” Zuko settled himself closer to Sokka’s face. “I’m going to let your hair down now, is that okay?” Sokka nodded again.

Zuko took out the hair tie and separated two sections of hair thick enough to support the beads. For lack of another set of hands, he resorted to holding the sections in his mouth while he carded the rest of Sokka’s back into place and tied it into the wolf’s tail again. Sokka was suddenly very aware of how close Zuko was to him—more specifically how he never wanted him to leave. He loved the warmth that radiated from him, but furthermore, he couldn’t remember the last time someone helped him with his hair. He hadn’t asked anyone since he got back from the war, and while they were on the run… he was focused on more important things than his hair. Sokka risked a look at Zuko’s face: he was rewarded with Zuko’s adorable concentration face. Wait, adorable? Where had that come from?

“How do you know how to braid, anyway? I didn’t see a whole lot of braids in the Fire Nation.”

“My mother used to let me braid her hair when I was feeling anxious or overwhelmed. You know, it’s calming, repetitive, doesn’t involve fire—perfect for mess of emotional issues like me.”

“Hey, you’re not a mess.”

Zuko laughed darkly.

“Well, not anymore than the rest of us. We all already had our own issues and then a war happened on top of that. You were just lecturing me on letting people help me. You don’t have to be alone in this.”

Zuko’s fingers trembled as he finished the second braid. “I know. I’m still getting used to having people I can actually trust.”

Kanna suddenly called from the kitchen. “Are you two done lounging around or are you going to help an old woman with this fish?”

They looked at each other and laughed. They did kind of forget about everyone except each other.

“Hey, Zuko,” Sokka started as Zuko stood up and held out a hand for him.

“Yeah?”

“You can braid my hair anytime you want.”

Zuko resisted simultaneous urges to bow and to hug Sokka. He smiled instead.

“I’d like that.”

Bonus:

Kanna had heard everything of course. But she couldn’t bear to interrupt them sooner. Tui and La, if those two didn’t end up together she’d have a riot. In the few months since Sokka had been home with her, he hadn’t opened up to anyone about his pain. And he certainly hadn’t asked anyone for help with his braids.

Spirits, those two were good for each other. Dumbasses in love.