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sapphire-writes · 8 months

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Bandaids & Butterflies (modern hospital AU)

Do No Harm part 2 || masterlist || next part

pairing: doctor!Aemond Targaryen x doctor!Reader

summary: Your week continues at Citedal General. You try to figure out what ails Cece Lannister while tensions rise between you and Aemond.

word count: 4.1k

disclaimer: yall, I am not a doctor, I am simply a Grey's Anatomy stan. If something is off or incorrect please just suspend your disbelief! I am trying my best to make it as accurate as possible but its just for fun!!

warnings below the cut!

warnings: medical terminology, medications, CT scan, blood, infectious diseases referencing spicy times but nothing explicit in this chapter

dividers by the lovely @firefly-graphics

“What happened to you?” little Cece Lannister says when you walk into her room the following day, “You look terrible.”

There’s something about kids; like they’ve been force-fed truth serum and have to say the first thought that comes to their mind. You cock your head to the side, a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

“Cerelle,” her mother hisses, cheeks red at her daughter’s brutal honesty.

“What?” Cece says, eyebrows creasing together, “She does.”

“It’s okay, really,” you tell Mrs. Lannister, as she scolds her daughter again, “Maybe I should get a bed next to you.”

Cece shakes her head, golden curls vibrating as she does. Her hospital gown hangs too big, drooping off her thin shoulders. You wonder if she’s been eating much more than the ice cream they serve after dinner.

“No roommates, please. I like my alone time; I get to choose whatever station I want,” she says smiling, holding the remote control to the television on the wall.

“How’re you feeling this morning Cece?” you ask, reaching for the chart that hangs at the foot of her bed.

The nurses of Citadel General are on top of everything; without them, the hospital would not be able to function. You flip through her chart, eyes scanning her nighttime vitals.

“Okay,” Cece says, tugging the ear of her stuffed lion.

“I see they increased her muscle relaxant,” you note, “Did you have a hard time sleeping?”

“She always does but I think the spasms are getting worse, especially at night,” Mrs. Lannister says, concerned in her voice.

“Are you gonna have a scar?” Cece chimes in, pointing to her temple, mirroring where your stitches are.

“Cece-”

“Probably not,” you tell her, giving Mrs. Lannister a small smile, “The doctors here are pretty good you know.”

Cece leans over in her bed, pulling out a small toy doctor kit.

“I’m a good doctor too,” she says, rummaging through the bag, “Tyrion has had extensive surgical procedures.”

She points at her stuffed lion, and you suddenly notice the different array of bandages and band-aids covering the golden fur.

“Oh has he?” you ask, as Cece pats the bed beside her. You move to sit on the edge of the bed, holding her chart across your lap.

“Yes,” Cece says, holding out an assortment of bandaids for you to choose from, “I’ll let you choose. I like pink the best.”

You smile, pointing at the pink bandaid with yellow paw prints decorating it. Cece smiles, approving your choice. She peels the backing before pressing the bandage over your stitches, gently pressing on the edges to make sure it sticks.

“There, much better,” she tells you.

“Thank you, Dr. Lannister,” you tell her, which causes her to smile.

“There she is!” Jace calls as you arrive at the nurses' station. His face scrunches as he looks at your forehead, “Nice bandaid.”

“Thanks,” you say, touching the pink bandage, “Courtesy of Cece Lannister. You run that CT scan for her yesterday?”

“You mean after the ruckus you caused?” Jace asks, leaning against the nurses' station, “No, Baratheon put me in the pit. Which is probably where I will stay for the rest of my life.”

“Did anyone get a CT?” you ask, frowning at his theatrics.

“Um after you left Cory was supposed to cover her labs and stuff,” Jace tells you, “I’d ask her she’ll know-”

“Know what,” Sara says, placing a handful of clipboards between you, “I’ve been on scut duty all morning. Does anyone know why Baratheon is in such a foul mood?”

“Fouler than usual?” Nettles says, stepping up beside you.

“I’m not sure if I’m able to determine that,” Sara says, groaning, “But she definitely seems angry.”

“Excuse me! Excuse me!” Cory says, weaving through residents, holding two coffee cups above her head, “Seven hells, doesn’t anyone know how to walk in this place?”

“Apparently not,” Nettles comments, as Cory holds a coffee out to you.

“For you. Figured you’d need the extra caffeine,” she says as you take the cup. Her smile turns down into a frown, “What is on your head?”

You roll your eyes. This is clearly going to be a whole-day occurrence.

“Interns!” Dr. Baratheon’s voice calls out, and you all turn, straightening yourselves.

Dr. Baratheon looks down at her clipboard, before bringing her steely blue eyes to look at the five of you. She sighs, flipping through her pages.

“Martell, now that Dr. Y/L/N is back I want you to assist me on Lyonel Beesbury’s Whipple this afternoon; You can write that on the board,” she says, nodding to herself.

Cory lets out a soft ‘yes’ before quickly rushing across the hallway. Nettles’ jaw tightens and you can tell she’s disappointed to have not been asked.

“Waters I want you shadowing Dr. Targaryen today in pediatrics, Dr. Y/L/N you may join her,” Baratheon continues.

Targaryen.

Your heart lurches.

“Dr. Baratheon, I’m supposed to get Cece Lannister that CT scan,” you tell her, as she raises a brow.

“That’s fine. After that bring it to Dr. Targaryen up on peds, she’ll be interested in seeing it,” Dr. Baratheon says, returning her gaze to her clipboard.

“She?” you ask the question leaving your mouth before you can stop it.

Dr. Baratheon sighs, placing her clipboard across her stomach. Her eyebrows lift toward her hairline, blue eyes fiery.

“Yes, she,” Dr. Baratheon quips, “Was there someone else you thought I was referring to?”

“No ma’am,” you say, shaking your head.

“Good,” she says, eyes moving past you, “Snow, Velaryon, you’re in the pit.”

Sara and Jace audibly groan. Baratheon gives them a stern look which stops their complaining.

“No drama today,” she says sternly, “Understood?”

You all murmur words of agreement, and Dr. Baratheon brings her eyes back to your face; they flicker up to your forehead.

“Take that thing off,” she comments, shaking her head and walking down the hall.

“She’s right. You look silly,” Nettles tells you.

“I can’t take it off, it was a gift from a sick kid. You know how much bad luck that will bring me?” you tell her, walking down the hallway.

“Speaking of bad luck,” Nettles says, smiling, “When are you going to tell me about how you know Dr. Sexy?”

“Dr. Sexy?” you say through a laugh, “Not the greatest name.”

“Girl but he is sexy,” she says fanning herself, “Guy’s name should be McDreamy.”

“McDreamy, Dr. Sexy, it’s nothing,” you tell her, “We….we may have hooked up. Once! That’s it and it was before I knew he worked here.”

“You bad girl,” Nettles hisses, though she’s smiling; her eyes bright, “How was it? Does McDreamy live up to his name?”

“Literally the best sex of my life,” you tell her, “But we already decided it can’t happen again.”

“What?” she says, her smile dropping, “It’s not like he’s your boss, he’s a coworker! People fuck coworkers!”

“What happened to not shitting where you eat?” you tell her.

“Girl you already did, might as well see it through! Especially if he’s that good,” she says, leaning closer, “Just….how good, if I may be so bold.”

You wet your lips, trying to fight your smile.

“Five orgasms good,” you admit and Nettles squeals loudly, jaw dropping.

“That does it,” she says, “You’re getting Dr. Sexy back. Do it for me.”

“Don’t you need to get to peds?” you ask, “And see…Dr. Targaryen?”

“Yeah I noted your confusion around that,” she says with a sigh, “Dr. B was talking about Dr. Helaena Targaryen. You know, renowned pediatric surgeon? She does fabulous research on infectious diseases as well; she came and spoke once when I was in med school about…”

Your mind trails off as Nettles speaks, still focused on Aemond. You hadn’t seen him today and yet he was all you could think about. Since dropping you at home you hadn’t spoken, besides the text he sent you. The door couldn’t still be open. Could it?

“...especially in the southern climates like the Summer Isles, Sothoryos, and Naath..are you listening to me?” Nettles says, punching your shoulder slightly, “Right. Anyway, Sounds like you’re boning her brother.”

“Brother?” you ask, connecting the dots, “Shit. He did say he moved back here for family. But a family full of doctors?”

“You really don’t know anything, do you?” Nettles says, shaking her head, “Sorry. That sounded mean. But the Targaryens are like a huge deal in the medical world.”

“I mean, I’ve seen names on research,” you admit, “And maybe a Ted Talk or two but….I mean I didn’t even know his last name when we…I didn’t realize..”

“You’d come straight into the lion’s pit?” Nettles says with a chuckle, “It’s okay, girl. But I’m giving you some homework. Seriously, look them up. Learn a thing or two.”

“I can’t google Aemond,” you tell her, “It’s just…I don’t know that doesn’t feel right.”

“Understandable,” she says with a shrug, “I mean, Spark Notes version, they’re a huge name within the medical community. Big money, big name, big influence. So don’t go pissing any of them off.”

“Right,” you tell her, “Got it.”

“I’m heading to pediatrics,” Nettles says, pressing an elevator button, “See you soon?”

“Yeah,” you tell her, “Just have to get this CT and I’ll be there.”

“Cool. Later, klutz,” she teases as the doors open.

Cerelle Lannister’s CT scan takes much longer than anticipated. The wait is long and the small girl trembles when being taken into the machine, legs flailing each and every way. Only when they’re strapped down is she somewhat still enough to enter the machine.

“I feel like a mummy,” she says when the straps are secured, “Being put in a sarcophagus.”

“That’s pretty spooky,” you tell her with a grin.

“I like to pretend when I’m scared,” she says softly.

You reach out and take her hand.

“No need to be scared of this. The machine is just really loud, that’s all. I’ll be just outside,” you assure her.

“Okay,” she says softly, squeezing your hand.

She does great, staying as still as she can the entire time. You praise her through the microphone and wave as the nurses escort her back to her room, wheeling her in a small wheelchair. Her stuffed lion was safely on her lap. You’ve noticed she rarely lets go of the toy.

You sit in the room outside, watching as the scan produces results. Forehead creased, you click through the images as someone knocks on the door. You turn, smiling at Jace leaning in the doorway.

“Hey there,” you greet, “Shouldn’t you be in the pit?”

“Had to sneak away for a second,” he says, “Those Cece’s scans?”

“Yeah,” you tell him, beckoning him forward, “See that inflammation there?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, leaning forward, hands on the back of your chair, “So what’s your thinking?”

“Something bacterial,” you tell him, “I mean, there’s no sign of tissue or nerve damage, her labs are stable despite her on-and-off fevers. But it's progressing significantly. She’s having trouble sleeping due to the spasms.”

“Have you ever heard of something that causes this?” Jace asks.

“No, at least not off the top of my head,” you admit, “I’m heading to peds. Maybe Dr. Targaryen will have a better idea. Nettles says she specializes in infectious diseases.”

“Oh…..yeah,” Jace says, straightening up and rubbing the back of his neck. You frown as he tenses, his friendly disposition vanishing.

“Just an idea,” you tell him, gathering your things.

You follow him out of the room. Jace seems uneasy, he rubs at his face, and the collar of his scrubs.

“No it’s a good one,” he agrees, “I should get back to the pit---”

“Strong,” a voice calls, sending your heart racing.

Aemond takes several strides toward the two of you, a smug smile on his face. Something in your gut tightens, the memory of your night together burning in the back of your mind. He wore a similar expression then, one full of confidence. Goosebumps erupt on your skin. You can hear his voice from that night, as he whispered in your ear while sheathed to the hilt inside of you.

“Who’s my good girl, hmm?”

You blink, shaking your head, trying to physically expel the memory from your mind. Your cheeks heat up and you notice Jace has turned several shades darker as well, fists clenched at his side.

“I thought you were assigned to the pit, Strong,” Aemond asks, cocking his head to the side, “I would hate to have to tell Baratheon you’re disobeying orders.”

Aemond’s sentence hits you like a slap in the face. He’s not as cool, calm, and collected right now as he was the last time you’d seen him. He’s bordering on being cruel. You glance at Jace.

“It’s Velaryon,” Jace says, through his teeth.

“Come again?” Aemond asks, “Don’t mumble, Jacaerys, it’s unseemly.”

“My name,” Jace says sternly, “Velaryon.”

Aemond’s mouth quirks into an amused grin.

“My apologies,” he says smoothly, “You’ll have to forgive me, it’s easy to forget.”

“Sure,” Jace says, nose wrinkling.

“Give my best to your dad,” Aemond says, “Whichever one, you’re choice.”

Aemond turns to you, something flickering across his eyes.

“Dr. Y/L/N,” he says with a curt nod, before walking away, hands tucked behind his back.

Jace exhales, striding over to the elevator. You follow close behind as his pager beeps.

“What the hell was that about?” you ask, stepping inside with him.

“Nothing.”

“Jace, that wasn’t nothing.”

“He was just messing with me,” Jace insists, not meeting your eyes.

“Why was Dr. Targaryen messing with you?”

“Because he’s a narcissistic pig!”

Your eyes widen and Jace sighs, shaking his head.

“He’s….he’s my uncle okay,” Jace admits. Your eyes widen.

“Your uncle?”

“Yes, and my side of the family doesn’t really get along with his side,” Jace says, as the doors open to your floor.

“But why-”

“Look, it doesn’t matter,” Jace says, shaking his head, “I have to go. Sara just paged, some drunk deadbeat riling everyone up downstairs.”

You step outside the elevator but turn back to him.

“I want the full story, Velaryon. Not the Cliff Notes, the whole story,” you tell him.

“Okay!” he reluctantly agrees, “Later.”

“Tonight, Dragon’s Den, tell Sara!” you call as the doors begin to close.

“So I can air my dirty laundry to everyone?!”

“Exactly!” you call as the doors shut.

Turning on your heel, you head down the hall to pediatrics. You can’t wait to share the details with Nettles as you push through the double doors and head to the nurses' station.

“Excuse me,” you ask a nurse, “Have you seen Dr. Targareyn?”

“Which one?”

“Dr. Helaena Targaryen,” you clarify.

“She was just here, she’ll roll around in a moment.”

“I’m sorry…..roll?”

Just as the question leaves your lips, the sound of wheels against linoleum is heard from down the hall. A woman in light green scrubs and a white lab coat rolls on her heels down the hallway. Nettles jogs behind her as she turns, coming to a stop in front of you.

Her silver hair is shaggy, but the resemblance to Aemond is uncanny. A large butterfly pin holds some out of her face and she smiles brightly as you greet her.

“Been waiting for you,” she says, holding a hand out for you to place your scans in, “Aemond told me all about you.”

You nearly choke on your saliva and Nettles’ eyes go round.

“He--he did?” you squeak.

“Mhmm,” Helaena says, flicking through the scans, “Quite the first day you had.”

“Oh right,” you say, relief washing through you.

“Glad you’re okay,” Helaena says, glancing up at you, “Nice bandaid.”

“Thanks,” you tell her.

“Cece Lannister,” she muses, “What is going on with you.”

“I was hoping you’d have thoughts,” you ask.

“Has she traveled anywhere recently?” Dr. Taragreyn asks, frowning at the scans, “You’re thinking it’s some sort of infection, correct?”

“Yes,” you tell her, “And I’m not sure about her travel history.”

“Find out,” she tells you, “If you’re going to find out what this is, you need to find out what caused it and where.”

She hands you the scans, smiling once more.

“Nice to meet you,” she says with a smile, “Officially this time.”

Your cheeks heat up. She knows. She remembers. You vaguely remember Aemond speaking with his sister before leaving; you’d barely caught a glimpse of her.

“Yeah,” you agree, smiling weakly.

You hurry off after that, eager to get back to Cece Lannister’s room to inquire about her recent travels. Walking down the hall you enter one of the many elevators, waiting patiently as it stops on nearly every floor, doctors coming in and out.

Then it's just you and someone else, you look out of the corner of your eye and recognize him.

Dr. Cole smiles at you.

“How’re you feeling?” he asks.

“Better, thanks to my cool bandaid, not the stitches and rest,” you tell him, cracking a smile.

“So cool,” he says with a laugh, “I had a kid give me a bandaid covered in oranges the other day.”

“Tropical,” you comment as the doors open.

“Good to see under better circumstances,” Dr. Cole says, beginning to exit, “Ah Dr. Targaryen.”

Your blood runs cold as Aemond enters the elevator.

“Will I be seeing you this afternoon?” Dr. Cole asks, “I’ve got an aneurysm clipping if you’re interested.”

“Always, if you’ll have me,” Aemond says, and Dr. Cole nods as the doors close.

You’re alone. With him. Alone with him. Your heart pounds frantically in your chest, anxiety making your senses heighten. The elevator suddenly feels very small, and closed in; the air not being pushed through the vents quick enough. Aemond stares straight ahead, not looking at you and not attempting to engage in polite conversation. Your stomach sours and you swallow.

“Hey,” you say tentatively.

You glance at Aemond out of the corner of your eye and watch him look down at his feet. You scoff softly, annoyed by his ignoring of you. The elevator hums and your anger pools quickly in your belly; flames licking upwards to your face.

“So you’re ignoring me now?” you ask, getting no reply, “Really mature.”

Aemond continues looking at his shoes, hands folded behind his back.

“We’re colleagues, the least you could do is make polite conversation,” you huff, pressing the elevator button once more.

You know it won’t make it arrive quicker, but you need something to do with your hands.

“And that whole thing with Jace?” you say, pressing the button again and again, “I don’t know what your problem is, but clearly that was an asshole move--”

Your hand is yanked away from the button, long fingers wrapping around your wrist and suddenly his lips are on yours. The hand around your wrist falls and both his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

Your anger dissipates almost immediately, as you link your arms around his neck fisting the hair at the nape of his neck. The moan this causes him to release, sends your knees buckling, and he brings one hand to your ass, squeezing harshly.

Spearmint and tea. He tastes so good, mouth so warm and soft moving against your own you can’t help but whimper as he cradles your jaw with his free hand. Desire pools in your belly, and a desperate gasp leaves your lips.

Aemond drags his lips to kiss your jaw, and your neck as his opposite hand cradles the side of your face, his thumb stroking your cheekbone. You’re so needy, so responsive to his touch, you want him so desperately, and then---

The elevator dings and you push away from each other, breathing heavily as the doors open and more residents and attendings enter. You quickly get your bearings springing out of the elevator and onto your floor.

“Y/N!” Aemond calls, walking after you.

Your pager goes off just as he reaches you, and you squint down at it.

“Code White Cerelle Lannister,” you tell him, going numb with shock, “I just saw her-”

“Go,” Aemond says, before turning to a nurse, “That’s a medical emergency, page Dr. Helaena Targaryen!”

You hurry down the hallway, breaking out into a run as you enter Cerelle’s room. Dr. Baratheon is there already, Mrs. Lannister sobbing holding onto Cece’s stuffed lion. Cece’s sheets are soaked with sweat as she thrashes.

Not sweat.

Blood.

It’s as if Cece is sweating blood.

“Hematidrosis,” Dr. Baratheon says, readying a syringe, “Push one of epi.”

“Cece it’s gonna be okay,” you tell her, as Dr. Baratheon hands you the syringe.

Cerelle’s eyes are wide, tears streaming down her face leaving clear rivers through his red-tinged cheeks.

You give her the epinephrine. Slowly but surely her sweating ceases, and her forehead begins to dry. Her legs spasm, stronger than before. She’s getting worse.

“Mrs. Lannister,” Dr. Baratheon says, trying to console the weeping woman, “Mrs. Lannister it’s alright. While Hematidrosis is quite disturbing, it’s not serious.”

“Not serious?!” Mrs. Lannister says in a shrill voice, eyes wide, “My daughter is sweating blood, and you’re telling me it’s not serious?”

“Paged,” Dr. Targareyn says entering the room, “Dr. Baratheon.”

“Mrs. Lannister, this is Dr. Helaena Targaryen, one of our pediatric surgeons and infectiology specialists.”

“Infecto..what?” Mrs. Lannister says as Helaena moves around Cece’s bed.

Cece’s eyes are panicked and she holds onto your wrist with a vice-like grip.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” you tell her, “Dr. Targaryen is just checking on you.”

Helaena brings out a penlight, instructing Cece to follow it with her eyes.

“Mrs. Lannister, have you traveled anywhere recently?” she asks, continuing her assessment.

“Um,” Mrs. Lannister struggles to find words, placing a hand on her forehead and closing her eyes, “Yes. We got back a couple of weeks ago.”

“Where?”

“Naath. It was Cece’s idea, she’d been reading about the flora and fauna, she’s such a bright kid she loves all that stuff,” Mrs. Lannister says through tears.

Helaena smiles at Cece.

“I like that stuff too,” she tells the young girl, “Cece, what did you see on your trip? Any cool plants, bugs, animals?”

“L-lots,” Cece answers shakily, still holding on to you tightly.

“Tell me about them.”

“Um well…they’re famous for their butterflies,” Cece tells her, “They’re huge.”

“They are,” Helaena confirms, “I’ve never seen them in person, but I’d like to. Did you touch any butterflies?”

“Yes, but I washed my hands! Right after!”

“What color was the butterfly you touched?”

“There were so many--”

“Try and remember, the ones you know you touched.”

“Blue…..green…..one that was black and white,” she says teary-eyed, “Did the butterfly hurt me?”

“It didn’t mean to,” Helaena says softly, “They don’t know any better.”

“Butterfly fever. It’s a bacterial infection spread in Naath,” Helaena says to you and Dr. Baratheon outside Cece’s room, “She’ll need a routine of antibiotics, I can consult with my team on a proper regime.”

She turns to you.

“Good work,” she praises, “Butterfly fever can get pretty nasty. Skin sloughing off, and so forth.”

“She’s right, Y/L/N,” Dr. Baratheon praises, “Good work.”

“Thanks,” you tell her.

After establishing Cece’s antibiotic treatment and giving it to the nurses' station, you make your way to the intern locker room. You quickly change out of your scrubs, eager to be back in normal clothes. Closing your locker, you check your phone. Jace, Sara, Cory, and Nettles have texted saying they’re waiting down in the lobby.

You leave the locker room, putting your phone in your pocket when you see him. Leaning against the door Aemond’s head turns as you walk out.

“Hey,” he says, straightening up. He’s still in scrubs, clearly, his shift isn’t over.

“Hey.”

He’s quiet for a moment, wetting his lips as he tries to find the words he wants to say.

“Look about earlier--”

“Aemond,” you cut him off, “We can either do this or not. You’re either in or out, but you have to make a decision.”

Aemond is silent, blue and violet eyes watching you.

“What do you want?” he asks quietly.

“I just want you,” you answer honestly, “What do you want?”

“I….” Aemond struggles to speak, biting the tip of his tongue.

It’s not an outright rejection, but it still hurts like one. You sigh, looking down at your shoes.

“I can’t decide for you,” you tell him, beginning to walk by, “That’s up to you.”

He doesn’t stop you as you continue to walk by, doesn’t reach out and pull you toward him. He lets you go. You find your friends in the lobby, force a smile on your face as you travel to the Dragon’s Den, and eagerly accept the tequila shots Cory buys you. There’s no text this time.

Perhaps he made his choice.

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highvern · 4 months

Text

Teach Me VI

Final

Pairing: Lee Dokyeom (Seokmin) x fem!reader

Genre: smut, humor, college au

Warnings: angst, pining, crying, alcohol consumption, jealous pouty DK, meddling Seungkwan and Hoshi, eventual smut, dry humping, making out, face fucking, munch DK as always, unprotected sex, cream pie, they're simps for each and its disgusting!, DK wearing a chain that dangles in readers face bc im sick and twisted, kinda choking but not really?

Length: ~7.4k

Note: SURPRISE!! ITS HERE!!!! this series started in OCTOBER which is wild to think about. two months of these two plaguing my day to day and so many amazing readers interacting with the story honestly makes a little emotional for it to end. this is the first series i've ever done and now it's over so soon but there are bigger and better things on the horizon! (goes and cries in the corner) If you notice any errors or typos pls ignore.

This blog is intended for 18+ only! MDNI or you'll be blocked!

read more here

[MONDAY 11:23 AM]

YOU: Home

Mr. Boo: Thank you! Love you!

Mr. Boo: We can have a bff night when I get back

[MONDAY 4:48 PM]

DOKYEOM: Hope you got home safe

DOKYEOM: I’m sorry, I shouldn't have spoken to you like that.

DOKYEOM: Can we talk this week?

Dokyeom doesn’t leave his room the rest of the weekend. A combination of fear of Seungkwan beating the crap out of him and absolute heartbreak keep him wrapped in the covers. Not even Soonyoung can elicit more than a half-hearted grunt when checking if his roommate is still alive.

The drive back to campus is no different. Staring longingly out the window, Dokyeom stares at his unanswered messages. When he goes to your Instagram he finds your account missing with the sinking realization you blocked him.

Seventy two of the best and subsequent worse hours of his life crumbled your fragile relationship. He thought you returned his feelings.

After Soonyoung blabled a drunken confession on Dokyeom’s behalf, he worried you’d drive off in the night; swiftly rejecting him. But you wrapped your arms around him and held him as you slept. Kissed him awake in the early morning sun, nothing but a soft smile and presses of lips across his face. It was better than anything Dokyeom hoped for. He thought it meant you liked him back even if you didn’t say it yet.

But then you interrogated him and the hot tub and it all came crashing down. You were trying to let him down easy, buttering him up before giving him a reality check. It’d hurt of course. The tsunami of shame at thinking he had a chance and then adding insult to injury when you called him childish.

Dokyeom knows he was wrong for his reaction but embarrassment sent him spiraling and he needed to get as far away from you as possible.

And now that he’d succeed, he doesn't think he can find a way back.

—

Monday and Tuesday are spent suffocating under a mound of blankets, munching on a carton of ice cream, and crying till your head hurts and your throat is sore. The string of texts from Dokyeom remains thoroughly ignored; but each buzz of your phone raises your heart rate to unhealthy levels until you read the notification from some store offering a discount.

You ignore the string of messages from Dokyeom, tempted more and more to block him as they come through; but you can’t bring yourself to do it. Just like you can’t bring yourself to delete the pictures of you two together peppered throughout your camera roll, or the most recent video that does nothing but make you sick to your stomach.

Tuesday night your roommate returns to campus, cheery and well rested from a weekend with her boyfriend back home. You hide from her friendly questions about your weekend in the bathroom, shrouded in steam and bubbles.

Looking at yourself in the mirror after you're sufficiently pruned and chilled from freeze drops, you notice the traces of Dokyeom still on your skin.

A tiny maroon bruise is fading to a sick green right under your collar bone. Prodding it with the tip of your finger, you wince at the tenderness of the flesh.

You hate it.

Hate how somehow your eyes are thick with a gloss of tears at the sight of a hickey, they way you can’t catch your breath when you realize the shirt you brought in with you is another one of his you lifted over the months.

Dokyeom hadn’t been your boyfriend. You two hadn’t even been casually dating. Over and over again you remind yourself you were just friends who had sex, and you shouldn’t be this torn up over a guy. Dokyeom didn’t like you and that wasn’t something to hold against him.

But the facts do nothing to stop the knot permanently lodged in your throat.

—

The first time you see Dokyeom post-not-breakup, he’s sitting in one of the rolling chairs at the mahogany table you two claimed for your usual study sessions.

Blood frozen, heart clenching unbearably, you turn and walk right back out the revolving glass doors, hoping he didn’t see you.

But the echo of quick footsteps behind you say otherwise.

“Hey! Y/N!”

Faltering for a moment, you keep walking as if you hadn’t heard anything. And because the universe has a sick sense of humor, the crossing light turns red just as you approach, leaving you stranded with the one person you didn’t want to see.

You whip around at tap against your arm with such ferocity you nearly stumble.

Dokyeom has the gall to smile at you sheepishly before opening his mouth, “Hey.”

“Hi.”

“You weren’t in lab yesterday.”

“Nope.” You respond monotonously, glancing behind you at the still red crossing light.

“Did you need notes or—”

“No, I got them already.”

“Oh, well—”

The light turns green, allowing you to race across the road before Dokyeom can finish his thought. The heat of his gaze doesn't leave your back until you turn down the next road leading you home.

—

Your second interaction with Dokyeom is in the same sterile lab your friendship started. You slip inside just before class starts, narrowly avoiding getting locked out by your grumpy instructor.

Sliding into an open seat near the door, you stare straight ahead as he delves into the topic for this afternoon, pointedly ignoring the pair of eyes watching you from the familiar station at the back of the room.

“Finals are almost upon us people so I would like to take this opportunity to remind you that the lab is not open after hours. Meaning, you should prioritize your time in this room. Now let’s get started.”

The guy you’ve been partnered with is nice enough, willing to follow your lead as you read off the necessary equipment. He even manages to crack a few jokes, though not funny you’re thankful for the distraction.

You learn his name is San, he’s an underclassman and he doesn’t understand anything about the class despite attending every lecture and office hour available.

When he leans over to copy the results you’ve scratched into your notebook, you hear a crack and shatter behind you. A dozen heads twist towards the source of commotion, finding a red faced Dokyeom staring at you.

“Mr. Lee! May I remind you our lab equipment isn’t cheap!”

“Sorry,” he mutters, shuffling towards the broom hanging on the wall.

You focus on ignoring him the rest of class, which is surprisingly easy with your new partner pestering you with inane questions.

A lull hits, waiting for the digital scale to spit out a final reading. You managed to pull well ahead of schedule, calling over your instructor to verify your results before collecting your things.

“So,” San starts, stuffing his own notebook in his bag. “Would you be down to tutor me sometime?”

“Oh, I uh—”

“No pressure! I just saw some of the old quizzes in your folder and thought maybe you could help me out.”

“Sure,” you smile, taking his phone to enter his number.

Voices from the different stations echo off the blank walls, drowning your conversation out.

“Awesome! My boyfriend took this class last year but did about as well as I’m doing.”

Returning his phone back, you start walking to the door. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah, he told me to take geology instead but I didn’t listen.” He laughs, stepping forward to hold the heavy wooden door open for you to pass.

You miss the sound of a second beaker breaking as you walk down the hall with your new friend.

—

“Dude, you have got to calm down.” Soonyoung pleads, head hanging off the couch as his legs extend into the air. He swears the increased blood flow makes him smarter.

Dokyeom nearly wears a rut into the carpet from his pacing across the length of their tiny living room. He’s been in a mood since that afternoon, watching his not-girlfriend-possibly-no-longer-friend giggle with some dude that wasn’t him. And then give her number to said dude. In front of him. All while she completely ignored his existence.

“He probably just asked her to study together.”

Jealousy isn’t Dokyeom’s thing. Sure he may whine and pout if he isn’t getting enough attention, but he’s never got the blood boil urge scream like he has right now. And about a girl that won’t even look at him.

Tangling both fists in his hair, Dokyeom tries to calm down. Soonyoung was probably right. You’re a genius at chemistry, you’re slated to officially tutor through the library next semester pending final grades, and the guy Dokyeom swears he’s never seen in class most likely asked you for help. It’s not his place to be jealous.

“Hate to be that guy but you need to get a grip”

It's easier said than done. There's four more weeks of class plus a four hour final and your Seungkwan’s friend. You’re not going to disappear after the semester ends and Dokyeom’s feelings surely aren’t going anywhere given he’s got a constant reminder that you’re the woman he lost his virginity to.

If he knew inviting you to that party at the beginning of the semester would end up like this, he'd have sat somewhere else the first day of lab.

Soonyoung chokes on his own saliva when Dokyeom collapses on the floor with a reluctant, “You’re right.”

“I am?” Eyes bugging so hard they nearly pop from his head.

“I just have to move on.”

They both silently agree to pretend Dokyeom is capable of that.

—

San and his boyfriend, Jay, turn out to be horrible study partners. You are hardly able to focus from the way your abs hurt from laughter; Jay has a talent for self-deprecating humor.

“You didn’t!” You gasp, ignoring the daggers being glared into you back by other library goers.

Typically you’d respect the needs of others, but they chose to sit on the first floor; if they needed real quiet they should have sat upstairs where it’s enforced by a graduate librarian with nothing better to do.

Jay nods solemnly, “I threw up on him during our first date. But he,” flinging an accusatory finger at his boyfriend, “insisted we go to some weird food truck so it’s his own fault.”

“You said you liked to try new things!” San defends.

“Not food poisoning!”

Descending into giggles, you feel sorry Seungkwan is missing out on two people he’d get along with. But he canceled at the last minute, leaving you at the large oak table all by your lonesome until you’d run into your classmate, looking for a seat.

From the corner of your eye, you see a familiar someone approaching. White blonde hair and trademark grin, Soonyoung stops at the edge of the table.

“Hey, Y/N” he grins.

Sending him a tightlipped smile you return the greeting.

Soonyoung introduces himself to your tablemates, both just as friendly as he. Thick palpable tension descends into the warm atmosphere and you’re about to rise and get another coffee just to escape it when Soonyoung turns back to you.

“Could I take a look at your results from the last lab? We didn’t get to finish in time.”

The unspoken half of ‘we’ is Dokyeom.

You hate the flare of curiosity flashing in your head. When you partnered with Dokyeom you always finished on time if not early, even with his joking.

“Ugh, sure.” You agree, digging into your bag for your notebook.

Not waiting for an invitation, Soonyoung slides into the chair next to you, pulling out his own notebook to copy down your answers quickly. But even after collecting the necessary info, he lingers.

“So you’re in lab with us too, right?” He asks San.

“Yeah, but I’m probably taking it again next year even with Y/N’s help.” San smiles.

“And you?” Soonyoung asks Jay.

“No, I took it last year.”

“Glad to see someone can make it out alive! Do you guys mind if I hang out until my friend arrives?”

The friend is definitely Dokyeom but you don’t want to look like a bitch in front of your new acquaintances nor have to explain the mess of your love life to either of them.

Soonyoung’s self satisfied grin when you flash a tight lipped smile and nod nearly tempts you into strangling him. Why is he choosing to torture you? It’s Dokyeom’s fault no matter how you look at the situation. He tricked you; had you falling for the saccharine persona and ambiguous confessions. Dokyeom rejected you at the cabin for everyone to see, humiliated you, and then had the nerve to act upset when you wouldn’t speak to him.

You try to focus on the worksheet in front of you, a proactive effort to prepare for the final exam still far away. Drowning in extra credit had been an exhaustive effort to get your mind off of your issues but Soonyoung had to ruin it. And now he’s laughing with San and Jay like best friends and it’s all too much.

Shooting up from your seat, they all stop to stare as shaky hands pack up your materials. “Sorry, I forgot I had a thing. Somewhere else. Bye!”

Halfway to the door before anyone thinks to question your eagerness to leave, you walk right into another person.

“Shit sorry!” The faceless stranger exclaims as your books and papers go flying.

“No, I should have been watching wher–”

And when you look up, Dokyeom is staring back.

“Sorry, let me help you.”

“It's fine!” You snap, scrambling to shove everything into your bag.

You will not cry in the library: not over Dokyeom, not in front of Dokyeom. But once the concrete steps out front greet you the first tear falls and they don’t stop until you fall asleep curled up in your bed.

—

Later that week, in the sanctuary of your dorm, you indulge in contraband alcohol and the hype of your best friend.

“You need to just rip the bandaid off.” Seungkwan announces, arms thrown wide to punctuate his point.

“And how do I do that? I still have class with him!”

“Okay but how much of his stuff is still here?”

“Only like a few things.” you shrug, glancing around the room.

“Oh, really?” Seungkwan asks, throwing himself from his perch on your bed, crossing to the basket full of laundry in front of your closet. “Because this is a hoodie from his high school, this is the shirt I got him for his birthday a few years ago,” he shuffles around the collection of socks and pants to pull more of Dokyeom’s belongings out. “And I’m pretty sure you don’t wear boxers.”

Seungkwan launched the wad of clothing your way, disappearing into the bathroom in search of more evidence of your ex-friend with benefits.

“You let him keep a toothbrush here?” Seungkwan yells, head popping out with the neon green piece of plastic dangling between his fingers.

It's tossed into the growing pile at the foot of your bed, your rage-fueled focus on the smattering of objects on your desk.

More cheap wine and outrageous laughter has Seungkwan encouraging you to race across campus and return everything as soon as possible.

Red faced, he steadies you by your arms, “Listen, the sooner you get rid of this stuff the better. You’re like subconsciously holding on to him or whatever.”

Mooney eyed, you nod at your friend’s wisdom, scrambling for a bag.

The tote of Dokyeom’s belongings you’ve accumulated over the months sits heavy on your shoulders; bulging with the assortment of clothes, a spare phone charger, and a book that was severely overdue at the library you’d found under your bed.

Each click of your shoe against the tile floor echoes in the eerie silence as you walk down the hall towards the door of his apartment. The sterile lighting and gray walls are familiar yet alien under the new circumstances you're visiting.

You won’t be greeted with the smile you’ve grown to miss or the puppy-like excitement that once made you feel special. Both things of the past you hope to forget. No one had your heart fluttering or twisting in knots the way Dokyeom had. But those happy memories are just memories. And the sooner you cut him out, the sooner you can forget them.

Your fiery determination to get over him ignited in the walls of your bedroom had begun to smolder as the chilly wind and movement sobered you up.

A large part of you hopes it’ll be Soonyoung answering the door, Dokyeom absent for whatever convenient reason as you dumped his belongings and walked away for the last time. Worse case scenario, neither are home and you're left feeling like an idiot, lugging the ridiculously heavy bag back across campus in the freezing wind and rain.

Worse-er case scenario, Dokyeom is home.

The door to the boys’ apartment is like all the others, but the hot pink “please don’t do coke in our bathroom” doormat stands out. A gift from Jeonghan, if you remember correctly.

A quick rap of knocks announces your presence before you can lose your nerve, stepping back as you wait for it to crack open.

As luck would have it, Dokyeom answers the door.

“Um–” he starts, clearly confused by what he’s seeing.

Shoulders square, back pin straight, you thrust the bag at him. “Here’s your stuff.”

“Oh.” Dokyeom exclaims, still confused, but cradling the tote into his stomach.

“Well, bye.” You turn to leave but stop when he calls you back.

“I can grab your stuff real quick. Since you’re already here.”

It is a horrible idea. Alone with Dokyeom, in his apartment, where the only person to hold you accountable is yourself. But you can be done with this entire mess once you have the hodge podge of items you’ve no doubt accumulated here.

Nodding once, you follow as Dokyeom turns to head towards his bedroom.

Suffocating tension, thick as tar, fills the air. Dokyeom doesn't attempt to replace it with ill timed jokes as he digs in the black dresser in the corner of his room. The bottom left drawer had been long cleaned out of his own clothes, making room for the odds and ends left behind following your rendezvous.

A sizable pile of clothes lands on his unmade bed, followed by some toiletries you forgot at the cabin in your haste to flee.

Your ears are ringing from the quiet at this point, unable to look at Dokyeom swapping his belongings from the canvas tote with your own. Focusing on your phone, you scroll mindlessly, as Dokyeom works slowly to prolong the torture. He unfolds and refolds all the shirts, lost pairs of pants and shorts, before cramming them into the bag. If you took a second to look at him, you’d see longing glances in your direction with each item he packs away. But you don’t chance it until he approaches you when he’s finished.

“Here,” he says, eyes downcast as he hands you back the full bag.

Lifting it from his hands, you move back to the living room, bee lining for the front door and the sobering cold air outside.

“Wait.”

The smooth metal doorknob is cold against the wrinkles of your palm. All you need to do is twist and it's over. Unlatch the lock, step outside and your relationship with Dokyeom, whatever it may have been, is done. No more crying, no more wondering. Only four more classes and you can leave the mess of the past semester behind you forever.

But you can’t do it. The smallest part of your heart, buried under the weight of anger and sadness, pleads for you to stay. To give Dokyeom one last chance.

You wait for him to say something else, not moving a muscle as you take shallow breaths. Body tense in preparation, you’re afraid you might shake out of your skin. Being alone with Dokyeom was a stupid idea.

Realizing you're not going to leave, you hear him shuffle closer.

You jump when he speaks again, voice right over your shoulder. “Can we please talk?”

“What’s there to talk about?” You frown.

At his responding silence, you chance a glance over your shoulder, met with sad brown eyes.

“I just—,” he shakes his head, chin tipping towards the floor to examine his socks.

Prompting him again, “What do you want, Dokyeom?”

“You asked me if I liked you… and I do.”

You squash the seed of hope rooting in your chest, afraid that if he tramples it again you’ll never recover. Turning to face him, you cross your arms pensively. His confession should send your heart racing and your cheeks flushing. But why does he sound so sad about it?

Dokyeom scrubs a hand down his face in frustration. “I should have told you sooner but I— I kept waiting for the right time and then that night happened and I thought I messed everything up. But then we started fooling around so I thought ‘there’s no way she likes me.’ You know?

From where you’re standing, Dokyeom is exactly the kind of guy anyone would go for. Warm as a ray of sunshine, contagious laughter, thoughtful. Excited by life, and brimming with affection for anyone lucky enough to be considered his friend.

It’s a shame he can’t see himself the way you see him.

“I know all you wanted was to hook up and I was fine with that until you came to the cabin. Soonyoung had to run his mouth, and I thought you were trying to let me down easy in the hot tub so I got embarrassed.”

Biting your lip to stop the rebuttal simmering on the tip of your tongue, you feel the scowl melt off your face, morphing into a questioning gaze.

“You’re like, the coolest person I know. You’re funny and you’re smart and pretty, god you’re so pretty.” he breaths, finally looking at you. “And I feel like every time I get to see you I can’t breathe. And us hooking up made it worse because I’ve liked you since the first day of class when you sat down next to me and smiled at me. I thought I was gonna throw up.” Dokyeom raises his hands in defense as you scoff, quickly clarifying, “In a good way! You just— you make me nervous and stupid and now you hate me.”

He finishes the last part in a whisper, face vulnerable, looking at you helplessly.

“I don’t hate you.” You warble, launching yourself into his arms, tangling your limbs around him to squeeze as close as possible. It’s ungraceful, your head knocking into his chin, his feet scrambling to balance the unexpected shift of weight. But Dokyeom barely hesitates before pulling you into his chest, face buried in your neck while trying to force you into his skin by his arms around your waist.

Two puzzle pieces, carved to fit perfectly together.

“You don’t?”

Squeezing him tighter, you calm in the thud of his heart and the pine scent of his cologne. You both simply bask in the presence of one another. At a week and a half, this is the longest you’ve gone without the other since you started your arrangement.

Dokyeom presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, sweet as sugar. His lips ghost against your hairline as he starts to speak again. “I’m sorry for the way I acted. I shouldn’t have freaked out on you.”

“I shouldn’t have called you childish.” You apologize, tipping your head back to meet his gaze.

“I mean you were right. I was being a dick.”

“But I wasn’t in any shape to call you out when I was doing the same thing.”

“The same…” Dokyeom echoes, confused.

“If we weren’t so dumb we could have been dating for weeks by now.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?” You smile.

“We really are dumb.”

Pure unadulterated joy takes flight on his face. Dokyeom cups your face in his hands, forehead meeting your own as you smile at him, his own dazzling in return.

“Yeah, but at least we have each other.”

The bark of awkward laughter and shaky words are unstoppable as you cower in his arms.

“So you’re okay with me calling you my girlfriend?”

“You can call me whatever you want.” You sigh, biting your lip at the idea.

“Even my shmoopie poopie?”

Nose scrunching as you laugh at his ridiculousness, you shake your head vigorously in objection. “You can call me whatever you want besides that.”

“Baby cakes?” He asks, peppering a kiss on your cheek.

“No!”

“Honeybuns?”

Another kiss on the tip of your nose.

“No.”

“What about–”

A firm press to his mouth silences Dokyeom as you hum.

—

Soonyoung returns to his apartment after another failed date, eager to shoot the shit with his roommate over a few beers and some video games. But when he opens the door to his home, he finds a trail of clothes flung haphazardly across the furniture, leading straight to said roommate's room.

No fucking way. Soonyoung thinks.

Then he hears a thud from behind the door, followed by a familiar laugh he hasn’t heard in the apartment in well over two weeks.

No FUCKING way! He huffs, reaching for his phone.

—

Down the street, Seungkwan smirks as the expected ding of a new Venmo notification shrills through the silence of your dorm:

“Kwon Soonyoung paid you $50.00. – HOW DID YOU KNOW? – Your Venmo balance is now $135.00.”

Epilogue:

Finals season rushes forward rapidly. Two days before you’re set to fly back home for winter break, Chem grades are released.

Another pair of matching As to be celebrated in typical fashion but this time you’re Dokyeom’s girlfriend and he’s sweating like it’s his first time all over again. The night you both confessed had been you last night together. Dokyeom insisted you take things slow, his fear of messing up again forcing him to take caution.

It's sweet. How he wants to take you out, wine and dine you as if a certain video didn’t still exist on both your phones. And you’d enjoyed the full experience too; walks around campus with interlaced fingers, shy glances in class, and girlish giggles as he offered his jacket on a cold night. The innocent good night kisses dropped on your lips in front of your door that have Dokyeom insisting “just one more” for an hour before he finally lets you slip inside your room.

It’d been everything you dreamed of and more.

But you're both tired of make outs that lead nowhere. Of sitting in Dokyeom’s lap at parties and not letting your hands wonder like you’re both dying too. Waking up in his bed and pretending you don’t feel him nudging the curve of your ass as before he hides in the bathroom to take care of his boner; leaving you to stare at the ceiling, fighting the urge to follow him into the shower and lend a helping hand.

Tonight, you’ve reached the boiling point and it’s spilling over.

“‘s okay?” He asks into the curve of your neck, palms gliding up your stomach underneath the soft cream sweater you’d worn to dinner.

Humming as your head lulls against the interior of his front door, the warmth of his mouth and hands making your brain fuzzy. Tonight, everything feels like more. Your nipples peak at the smallest brush of his tongue, back bowing under the swipes of his thumb against your ribs; even when he pressed a chaste kiss to the back of your intertwined fingers on the walk to his apartment ripped the air from your lungs.

Dokyeom feels the nerves of that first night, but you’re acting like the desperate virgin he’d been. Drooling to touch and be touched. For your boyfriend to string you out one last time before you both return home for a few weeks of winter break only to pick right back up in the new year.

Snaking a hand down his front, you palm the half hard length with a firm pressure that pulls his hips forward like a magnet. A strained grunts sings in your ear as Dokyeom rocks firmly in your grip, pressing you into the wall under his torturous grind.

Turning to nudge your nose into his cheek softly, hot kisses dropping across his jaw as you bid him to take off his pants; pushing them down clumsily. You don’t bother with the brass button or rough zipper, blinded by desperation and simply clawing the stiff material downwards in an effort to get beneath.

You manage to trickle to your knees, slipping through Dokyeom’s hold like water. The hard floor biting into your skin as you kneel before him to mouth at the thin fabric of his boxer. Dokyeom’s elbows land against the wall, caging you in as he watches from above; entranced by the shallow dip of your lips over the covered head of his cock and the lash of your tongue where you taste him through the fabric.

Tonight isn’t the night for teasing, so you have his boxers landing atop his jeans around his ankles in a blink. Tongue following the vein bulging on the underside of his cock as your hand returns to allow your thumb to dig into his slit.

Dokyeom whimpers a pathetic “fuck,” as you play with him, eagerly lapping up his shaft before sucking him into your mouth; hand dropping to cup his balls, the other rest on his stomach to hold his own shirt out of the way.

You missed how responsive he is to your touch, melting in the palm of your hand as he chases the warmth of your mouth with his hips. Anyone who walks by the door would undoubtedly hear what’s happening on the other side, the choked whimpers from you and guttural moans from Dokyeom combining into a lewd symphony.

Head hitting the wall behind you with a dull thud, you let Dokyeom take over; humming as each press forward leaves the taste of his cock on your tongue. There’s something degrading in letting him fuck your mouth like this, sandwiched between his hips and the wall as he uses you to get off.

You gasp for breath when he pulls away, tongue sticking out to bid him back but his slender fingers cupping your chin distract you straight into his lips.

Pulling you to your feet, Dokyeom dips his tongue between your lips as he leads you blindly to the couch. His mouth is nothing but taking; stealing your breath away, your sanity. Things you’d happily let him have if it meant he wouldn’t stop. But Dokyeom was a giver too. A slide of his tongue lit a fire under your skin, fanning the desperation bordering on depravity.

“Fuck me,” you plead, grinding your aching cunt against his thigh.

Dokyeom responds by pressing into you harder, teeth tearing into your bottom lip as his cock drools against your thigh, staining your jeans.

You're so turned on it hurts, pussy painfully empty and panties drenched from heavy petting. If Dokyeom doesn’t do something soon, you have half a mind to get yourself off without him.

Dokyeom is trying, fighting to not to blow his load on your leg as you whine and arch beneath him. For him. But when you manage to close your fist around his length, giving a firm tug with the twist around the head you know he goes crazy for, it’s all over. Dokyeom’s core tightens as he spills on your sweater, streaks of his cum ruining the fabric as he pants into your mouth. Your tight grip doesn’t falter as you work him through it, teeth bruising his jaw as he paints you with his seed.

When Dokyeom gains sentience again, he winces in shame.

“Shit, sorry. I didn’t— I wouldn’t,” he tries to apologize, but stops when you part your lips to lap at your stained fingers; eyes trained on the pink of your tongue dipping out to swipe against the tips for taste.

Mouth wide as he stares, Dokyeom thinks he might come again without any help as you suck your fingers. His own dip into the pool of cum dimpling across your stomach, lifting to your mouth to replace yours. Dokyeom groans as your eyes never leave his, heated and heavy lidded as lick them clean and swallow his cum.

Dropping his hand to the back of your neck, he angles your head so his tongue can delve into your mouth. It’s messy and disgusting but you like it and that’s all Dokyeom cares about as he works to free you both of your clothes. He’s stark naked easily, shirt gone over the back of the couch in no time. But your clothes require more focus than either of you are capable of when Dokyeom is on top of you.

His feet hit the ground before he rises to stand, dragging you up to roughly undress you. You don’t seem to mind if the way you fist your jeans down is an inclination. Outer layers gone, Dokyeom finally gets a peek at the early Christmas present you’d been hoping to surprise him with.

Lacy maroon panties and a match bra hug your figure, accentuating your shape in the most mouthwater ways. Eyebrows raised to his hairline, Dokyeom heaves at the masterpiece you present him with.

Drops of your flesh peek through the holes in the lace, teasing him with what’s underneath. The high cut sides of your thong dig into your hips, making your legs look impossibly long and highlighting the sway of your thighs. Straining to pull his eyes up further, Dokyeom finds the bottom hem of your bra. Tongue rolling out of his mouth as the cups push your breasts up and together, teasing Dokyeom with ideas of fucking his cock between them as you lick at the tip.

You look like a goddess and Dokyeom is happy to get on his knees to worship every inch.

Dokyeom catches you smirking at his obvious reaction when he finally looks at your face. Stepping into his space, your fingers find purchase in the short hairs at the base of his head. A cold sweat breaks on his brow as you smile like the cat who got the canary.

“Do you like my outfit, Kyeomie?” You ask, tone deceptively sweet.

If he was capable of any thought beyond cataloging the swaths of naked skin and curves, maybe he’d answer more eloquently than grunting like a caveman.

“I picked it for you.”

Dokyeom lets his hands find your hips, squeezing the plush flesh in his palms as you continue to toy with him. His fingers pluck the thin elastic while his mind wanders down the extensive list of things he’s dying to do to you.

“Do you wanna see the whole thing?”

“There’s more?”

Falling to the floor, you dig into the pocket of your jeans for whatever the last piece of your outfit, if you could call it that. Rising again you present him with a thin piece of ribbon and a silver chain, both causing Dokyeom’s face to twist in confusion.

You prompt him to take the scarlet ribbon, a perfect match to the set you’ve donned, allowing Dokyeom to spot the clasp at the ends and the small silver charm dangling in the middle.

A sun is embossed on the front of the circular piece of silver. And engraved on the back is his name.

Having his name around your throat while he fucked you isn’t a kink he knew existed. But now Dokyeom is pretty sure he’ll be haunted by the idea for the rest of his life. The silver chain still in your hands has a similar charm but with a moon. Dokyeom’s vision goes fuzzy and his brain clouds at the assumption your name is on the back to match.

“Will you help me put it on?” You ask innocently, turn around so Dokyeom can slip what he can only describe as a mock collar around your neck.

Dokyeom latches the clasp with shaky hands, the strip of silk pulled taunt around your neck with each breath. When you face him once again, the charm sits in the hollow of your throat, silver winking at him seductively.

The icy metal of the chain bites into his skin erotically as you raise to clasp it around his neck. Your nose nudges against his jaw, a ghosting open mouth kiss landing on his jugular as the charm teases the muscles of his chest where it dangles.

You land on the couch with a squeak, taken aback by Dokyeom shredding the delicate fabric of your panties with clumsy hands as he struggles to get them off you. Bullying his way between your legs, he apologizes with a heavenly strip of his tongue through your slit.

He eats you like a man starved, nails leaving crescents in the tops of your thighs as he spreads you so wide the muscles in your hips scream in objection. Dokyeom’s tongue dips into your hole, collecting your essence on his tongue before spitting it back on your clit and digging in. The swollen nub slips against the flat of his wet muscle, and when his lips gently close around it he sucks just the way you taught him to you he’s rewarded with a wanton sob.

Whines fly from between your lips at the torturous pleasure, thrashing as Dokyeom uses all his strength to pin you and place. Spots dance along your vision, expanding as two fingers push past your folds to stretch you out. Dokyeom knows your pussy like the back of his hand and he stuffs you just right with his fingers.

All you can do is squeeze your eyes shut and hold on tightly as you fly over the edge. Racing forward under the heat of Dokyeom’s mouth and harsh thrusts of his fingers till you weep pitifully. You’re floating through space under his attention; mouth open over silent begs not to stop, eyes clenched shut. Every beat of your frantic heart carries satisfaction through tense muscles till you are pliant and boneless.

“Too much,” you whimper, thighs forcing close around his head.

Dokyeom takes it in stride. The combination of your essence and his saliva soaking chin, leaving a damp trail across your body as he kisses his way to your mouth.

His thumb finds the ribbon taunt around your throat, focusing on the piece of metal resting against your skin as you taste yourself on his tongue.

Panting into his mouth, you mewl something vaguely sounding like “want you.”

Luckily, Dokyeom is more than happy to give you whatever you want.

Nodding like a bobble head, he pulls you down into his lap as he kneels on the floor. The head of his cock proddes against your entrance, slipping in just enough for you to take the rest with ease.

The stretch is nothing short of bliss; so deep you can taste him in the back of your throat. Dokyeom fills you perfectly, the small nip of pain from not taking him in the past month only multiplying the satisfaction you feel at finally having him inside you again.

With herculean effort, you rise to allow only a few inches to exit before dropping back down. Hands searching for leverage, you balance on the cushions behind you as you grind into his lap.

Dokyeom doesn’t know where to look, overwhelmed by his options; your face twisted around gasping breaths; or your chest, still clad in your bra, tits bouncing with each movement; or where his cock disappears inside you.

But the silver heart around your throat seems to snag his focus easily.

Dokyeom isn’t possessive but the way it not so subtly declares you as his makes his cock throb. He’s the only one that gets to have you like this, and you him. The twin pendants remind him you’re his girlfriend and everything beyond slips away as he watches it jerk around with every movement.

Before long, your legs burn from effort, ruining your already unstable motions into nothing more than stuttered ruts. Dokyeom’s hands palming your ass assist in lifting you to the couch, limbs awkwardly sprawled off the edges but he doesn’t slow while your nails scratch deep lines into his shoulders.

“Oh, don’t stop! Fuck, please don’t stop.” You beg, head thrown back into the cushions.

Stopping sounds like the worst idea he’s ever heard. Dokyeom needs this. Gloved snuggly in your heat after so long is the only cure for the constant plague of memories of pestering him day and night. He knows they won’t go away but at least he won’t feel like ripping his skin off every time you're within a fifteen foot radius.

The wet clap of your bodies grows to a crescendo, your orgasm on the horizon and tightening your muscles into a deathgrip on his length. Spots float in Dokyeom’s vision at the squeeze and he drops his mouth to yours to lap up all your high pitched whines.

When he rises again to gasp against his own pleasure, the chain you gifted him dangles right above your lips and a nuclear bomb detonates.

You cum again with Dokyeom’s thumb under the ribbon encircling your neck, a tease of choked breath as he rubs the charm like a lifeline. Voice cracking, earth shatter, mind numb pleasure from the tip of your nose to your pinky toe.

Dokyeom is babbling over you. Rhythm abandoned as he subjected to the tight squeeze of your worn cunt until that punch to his gut hits. Each rope of cum makes his cock throb as he plows you with a deep thrust, stilling to empty himself inside you.

You're fully crushed into the itchy upholstery as his arms buckle.

“Wow,” you gasp, catching your breath.

What else can you say? A month of no touching culminating into the best sex of your life with your devastating boyfriend while he wears a chain with your name on it.

Dokyeom cackles into your collarbone, chest tickling against yours until he leans back to look at you.

His hair resembles an electrocuted poodle, his lips are red and swollen, and sweat glosses his skin in the low light. But Dokyeom is glowing with life and happiness and all the things that make the world good.

“I love you.”

Dokyeom responds with a girlish shriek at your impromptu confession.

“Damn, okay.” You laugh, staring at his bare ass as he runs a lap around the living room stark naked.

“You can’t just— I wanted to say it first!” He pouts before flopping down on top of you.

“Are you serious?” Breathless from his weight, you fail to push him off you as he flails like a fish. “Is that what you’re focusing on?”

“Yes,” Dokyeom grouches into your cheek. “You’re the first girl I’ve felt this way about and I wanted to…”

He trails off, suddenly embarrassed. Your entire relationship was many of Dokyeom’s firsts. The first person he had sex with, first college girlfriend he told his mom and sister about, and now the first girl to make him truly understand loving another person. It wasn’t something you held over his head, and some of it he didn’t even tell you about but it all tallies up in his mind how unprepared he is for it all.

“Minnie, look at me.”

You don’t speak again until he finally meets your gaze.

“I don’t even remember what we were talking about.” You sigh.

Dokyeom doesn’t catch hint, “We were talking about–”

“Nope, can’t seem to recall.”

Finally, he catches the playful pout and the way your eyes cut back his as you look around the room feigning ignorance. And because he’s Dokyeom and you’re a sucker for anything he does, you can’t stop the smile mirroring his own when softly traces the apple of your cheek with his thumb.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

---

#svthub #lee seokmin #lee seokmin x reader #svt x reader #seventeen fanfic #svt #dokyeom #seokmin x reader #seokmin smut #dokyeom x reader #dokyeom smut #svt smut #seventeen smut #🫡 highvern

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hey-must-be-a-devilbetween-us · 8 months

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you guys don't understand how much I need for Crowley to survive in large part because people other than Aziraphale start actively caring for him,

I need Muriel to get an inventory of books about depression and break ups and they're like ooooh that's what's happening, starts looking up cures on Aziraphales old Amstrad and starts miracle-ing Crowley warm sweaters and ice-cream and hallmark movies and not knowing what to say to make it better but they're there.

I need Beelzebub and Gabriel to visit separately at first to check up on him cause they're grateful for what he and Aziraphale did but they don't want to hurt him with their happiness, until eventually Crowley tells them all grumpily its fine if they come together next time and they all go for walks and play boardgames.

I need Maggie and Nina to come over to just listen to music and let him cry it out and they probably starting crying too and drink wine (Maggie drinks tea😊) and even gasp talk about stuff other than Aziraphale, for hours.

maybe even the Them come around sometimes too, maybe Newt and Anathema got a letter from Agnes with big ol' script on the front saying 'DO NOT BURN' with clear instructions to not worry this isn't a prophecy Anathema just pop in and bring some cheer to thee Angel's bookstore and the Them ask to come along and they all become pretty close. (Somehow they bring Warlock too idk maybe they all go to the same school haha)

I need Aziraphale to come back and after everything is settled he is glowing with gratitude for everyone who was there for Crowley when he couldn't be.

I need for all of them to turn around and say 'hey we're here for you too, ya know?' because they can tell being in heaven separated from Crowley was just as bad if not worse because of how alone Aziraphale was, he didn't have a bunch of lovely humans and outcast angels and demons and anti-christ's and kids and witches to rally around him.

I need all of them to have a real big ol' party in the shop where everyone is being their totally authentic, joyful selves as Aziraphales thank you and he just starts crying he's so grateful because he looks at Crowley smiling and dancing and laughing with his very own friends that discovered what he did so long ago, how fucking amazing Crowley is.

He just can't imagine what would have happened if he had been down here all alone.

And Crowley hugs him and kisses his head and he starts crying because he's imagining what it was like for Aziraphale up there all alone, and its chilling.

Aziraphale just laughs tearfully and says, "I didn't feel alone, I was watching over all of you the entire time."

Crowley smiles back with tears to match, "Never again angel, no more watching over, you stay right here."

#and then they get married and move into the cottage and then the end!#and then I can die happy #good omens 2 #good omens #good omens meta #good omens speculation #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #aziraphale #crowley

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mahi-does-some-art · 1 month

Note

Any headcanons for how different Servamp characters prefer their smores

These may be the most important headcanons I'll ever write ever, anon.

Mahiru: Simple is best! Usually won't get too fancy with it-- Likes his marshmallow with that perfect golden-brown crust. Before he would be confused why some people would burn the marshmallow so much it caught on fire but Sakuya convinced him to try it once and was surprised that it wasn't horrible.

Kuro: Would either toast his marshmallow golden-brown or where there's be some black char spots but not where the whole thing is burnt. He had the idea to put ice cream on top of his smore once and started doing that without fail.

Sakuya: He burns the fucking thing like no tomorrow and swears its one of the best ways to do it. Other than that, also normally makes a standard smore with the gram crackers and candy bar chocolate. He'll also always have sticky hands no matter how careful he is. This boy cannot make a smore that doesnt ooze onto his fingers.

Tetsu: Is very skilled at getting the marshmallow perfectly cooked. Likes his marshmallow golden brown.

Hugh: He condems under roasted marshmallows like he won't eat a whole family pack of uncooked marshmallows straight out the bag. Something about the integrity of a s'more. He has a habit of roasting the thing, sliding the crust off and eating it and repeat till there's nothing left.

Mikuni: This pretentious asshole likes to use the expensive bar chocolate on his s'mores and will swear its better. He'd probably try to make his own marshmallows to roast and after that he's even more snobbish about it. He'll still eat the normal s'more he's offered. Likes his marshmallow with a couple small charred bits.

Jeje: Will fully burn the marsh. Mikuni thinks he's a psychopath for it and God Forbid he burns one of his Eve's homemade ones.

Licht: Will eat the marshmallow no matter as long is its not fully burnt. He has tried it burnt and he rambled on angrily about how it was a slight to such a deliciously holy treat. Using the normal candy bar chocolate and store-bought gram crackers are very special to him and he prefers it that way.

Hyde: Unintentionally scorched his marshy ONCE and got kicked out of his chair for it. Perfers his the perfect golden-brown. He'll get a little bowl of hot fudge to dip his in and it's perfection.

Freya: Doesn't like anything burnt when it comes to it. Will shake up a can of whipped cream and put some on the top of her s'more. It always gets on the tip of her nose and she can't eat a smore cleanly at all wwwww

Iduna: Golden-brown to somewhat charred. Her mess is even worse than Freya's and she always gets goopy hands. She says it's part of the experience.

Niccolo: Likes his with a few char spots and a side of ice cream. Doesn't mix them but likes to eat them both as a pair.

Ildio: It literally doesn't matter, he'll eat it. Even after he starts slowing down and is able to actually taste it, he likes all forms of marshymallow so he's not picky on this front.

Misono: Ate a burnt s'more once and swore never again. Likes his marshy golden brown or a little undercooked. The high quality ingredients the Alicein get makes for an extra yummy s'more. Guess that's where Mikuni gets it from.

Lily: Actually likes his marshy golden to burnt. He likes the flavor of it. Actually perfers it being in the form of a s'more's flavored macaron with toasty marshmallow fluff filling. He likes the texture of the macaron cookies paired with a bit of the crunch of the gram crackers.

I'm not gonna do the rest of Team M bc its 2am and I'm drawing lol. Plz add onto this if you have any opinions!

#servamp #ah fuck ok here we go #NO YOU KNOW WHAT FUCK YOU IM TAKING THE EASY WAY OUT OF TAGGING #sloth pair #pride pair #envy pair #wrath pair #greed pair #gluttony pair #lust pair

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lorcandidlucienwill · 6 months

Text

Lucien finally loses it and does something bat shit crazy part 3

“Only a Vanserra could outsmart a Vanserra.”

Lucien starts to execute his evil plan! *me cackling* Lucien stood before the shadowsinger and pretended not to notice the slight intertwining of Elain’s scent with him. Lucien knew the male hadn’t touched Elain intimately in any way, but he knew the bathole was crushing on her. From what he could see, it wasn’t entirely one-sided. Did the dumbasses really think he was so oblivious? He had earned the fox's reputation for a reason.

He resisted the urge to grind Azriel’s teeth to dust. Now was not the time to pick a fight. Even as the mating bond chanted, Now is very much the time for a fight. Crush him. Melt his bones. Destroy him for daring to lay a hand on your mate. He tried to take what is yours. Kill him. Make him suffer.

Shut up bond, he said silently. I have higher ambitions than the dog. I’ll topple the whole operation.

“Things have gotten worse since your magnanimous High Lord decided to kick a downed male. I’m trying to keep things more or less operational, but… the place is extremely vulnerable. Tamlin spends half his time as a beast these days. At this rate, the human lands will put up a better fight than him.” Lucien’s mouth tightened at the state of his home. It hurt-badly. “The human lands are great. Jurian and Vassa have done an incredible job corralling everyone. No sign of the other queens. But Briallyn is surely planning something; Eris visited, and I’m almost certain she is behind the disappearance of his troops. She has some kind of dark magic on her side, though I’m uncertain of its nature. Koschei’s threat looms nearer as well. I suspect Vassa only has a few months before he comes for her.” Lucien would find a way to save her. He wasn’t about to lose anybody else, much less to a loser lake monster.

Azriel nodded seriously, eyes intensely focused on his every word. Lucien might have found it unnerving if circumstances hadn’t taught him to survive and adapt. He didn’t like it though.

He still cringed when he remembered the insanely awkward flight where Azriel had been forced to carry him. He had been surprised that Azriel could even carry him; Azriel was strong, but Lucien was bulkier. And taller. Azriel was all lean muscle. He supposed it must be something in that Illyrian diet, for his strength hadn’t wavered even for a moment. Even as they had determinedly avoided each other’s eyes.

His flight with Cassian had only been slightly less awkward. Cassian was bigger than Lucien; he was obviously the muscle of the group. It hadn’t been difficult to figure out the dynamic between the members of the IC. Cassian and Mor clearly had something ages ago, but Azriel was into Mor which forced Cassian to act as the middleman. Which was ironic to Lucien because as far as he could tell, Cassian was terrible at all things diplomatic. Lucien despised his family, but he still laughed his ass off at the thought of Eris going face-to-face with this guy. Eris would absolutely cream Cassian and spread his ego on his breakfast and eat it along with a fine glass of faerie wine. Beron would bury him and keep his bat wings as a souvenir. Only a Vanserra could outsmart a Vanserra. Even if Lucien had rejected his heritage, that statement still held true.

“Is that all?” Azriel asked quietly. Lucien brought his focus back to the present. “Yes. How is…she?”

He knew the shadowsinger would know exactly who he meant.

“She is alright,” Azriel said quietly. “She spends most of her time gardening or baking with Nuala and Cerridwen.”

Lucien took a deep breath and nodded. Even if she wouldn’t let him check on her, he had to know that she was ok. Physically and mentally. He wished she would deign to have a true conversation with him, but for now, knowing she was doing well was enough.

Azriel disappeared into the shadows. Lucien took another deep breath. Now to implement his plan.

“Come in,” came a cool female voice.

Lucien walked into the apartment of Nesta Archeron. By the Cauldron, this place was a dump. Seeing this place made Lucien want to take a long, hot shower and buy new clothes untainted by the stink of this flat. But he managed not to cringe at the smell and followed Nesta to the tiny kitchen. Lucien couldn’t blame Nesta for opting to live in the slums as opposed to the finery of the palaces Rhysand owned. He, too, couldn’t bear to accept the charity from them. He was a male of pride and honor, and it seemed as if Nesta was the same. He supposed he may have misjudged the eldest Archeron sister. To be honest, his impression of her was mainly based off of what others had told him, and his own irritation that she kept shoving him away from Elain. But fine, he could understand why she had been so overprotective. He was some Fae guy, and she had grown up on stories spreading how horrible they were.

“We also dance with the spirits under the full moon and snatch human babes from their cradles to replace them with changelings—”

Lucien remembered he had said that to Feyre the first time they met. That felt so long ago.

“What do you want,” Nesta said flatly. The scent of her arousal was intertwined with the scent of an unknown male. She was in a long white shirt that certainly didn’t belong to her.

Lucien smiled in spite of himself. “If I said you, would you kick me out?”

Nesta just glared at him. The look in her eyes reminded him so much of…

“I don’t know why Feyre hates you. You’re so much alike.”

Nesta scowled. “Don’t talk about her.”

Lucien put his hands up. “Ok. No sisterly talk. Pinky promise.”

Nesta glared a moment longer, then sighed. “What brought you to the slums to talk to your friend’s bitchy sister?”

“I don’t think you’re bitchy.”

Nesta scoffed. “Then you’re delusional.”

“I just think you’re hurting. You were thrown into the Cauldron. You may have hated him, but it can’t have been easy to watch your father die in front of your eyes.” Lucien’s eyes teared up. “I know it was unbearable when my Jesminda died before me, and I was helpless to stop it. I’ve never forgotten the moment when I heard her heart stop beating.”

He rarely spoke of that moment. It was unbearable, even now, to speak of it. But Nesta was one of the few people who would be able to understand his pain.

Nesta paused. Then said, “I can’t take baths, because it makes me feel like I’m drowning in that Cauldron again. I use buckets and wipes instead. The crackling of logs…it’s unbearable. It sounds like my father’s neck snapping.”

Lucien’s heart cracked for the icy Archeron sister. She acted cold and aloof, but Lucien had a feeling she felt a lot more than she let on. Perhaps moreso than normal people. That’s why she constructed icy walls as a defense mechanism.

Lucien hesitantly offered a hug. Nesta didn’t protest; rather, she jumped into his arms and started crying silently into his chest. He gently rubbed circles into her back. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. Sadly.

Nesta pulled away after a long moment. “That’s the first time,” she whispered, “I’ve felt anything since the war.”

Lucien didn’t know what to say, so he simply stared at her. After what seemed like ages, Nesta cleared her throat and said, “Why are you really here?”

Lucien started. Right. He came here to do something. “I may have a solution to one of your problems: the mating bond.”

Nesta started. “What mating bond?”

Lucien smiled grimly. “The one between you and Cassian.”

#fanfic #lucien vanserra #pro lucien vanserra #nesta archeron #pro nesta archeron #anti inner circle #anti azriel #anti nessian #anti cassian #anti e/riel #elucien #nesta x lucien

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maithefluffychicken · 10 months

Text

Hazelnuts and blackberries, chocolate and lavender

Part 1 / Part 2

Omegaverse Steddie fanfiction, alpha Eddie Munson, omega Steve Harrington, strangers to friends to lovers, alpha beta omega dynamics.

Starcourt.

Small business owners complain about that hellish building that's going murder Hawkins' commercial economy. Or whatever.

Surely, it was going to murder Eddie's sanity, that's a fact. Since the mall opened its doors, the poor alpha’s life hasn’t been the same.

First, that awful morning when Eddie skipped his math class to buy a tape. Not just any tape but the ‘Marching Out’ by Yngwie Fucking Malmsteem, a tape that just released and it was already considered a worthwhile listen album. Eddie was ecstatic, a spring in his step, thinking about listening to his new tape for hours on end, just to find out that the little, cluttered tapes and vinyl store he loved - and where he used to spend a big part of his money - was closed.

Closed!

Eddie glared, gaping like a fish, at the closed door and blinded windows and the big cardboard placard with the word ‘closed’ in big, red letters. By its side, a note that said that the customers could still find whatever music they were looking for in the bigger and better record store at Starcourt Mall.

Since there were no other stupid stores to buy the tape - gas stations never had the new things - Eddie had to go to Starcourt.

Second, the stupid music store with a stupid cool name - Divinyl Madness Records - needed a stupid someone to hire as clerk.

Eddie was that stupid someone, it seemed. The owner of the store was nice, an older and intimidating alpha that sported a trimmed beard and a mane longer than Eddie’s; he saw the boy’s looks and his always present battle denim vest and, with a wolfish grin, as if he had found an equal, asked him a few things while Eddie was trying to buy the fucking tape! What kind of music he listened to (metal, mostly), if he played some instrument (guitar, d-uh!), if he minded talking with people (people usually minded to talk with him if he were being honest), and if he was interested to become part of Divinyl Records, as a clerk.

Eddie could save some money, help at home, and hopefully, Chief Hopper wouldn’t be such a present figure in his life if he worked there. That would be nice. He could always keep his other job - selling a few joints from time to time - but maybe he could start a new life. One that could let him out of here.

That day, Eddie came home with ‘Marching Out’ blasting from his van’s windows down and a new job.

Ok, all in all that had been a nice day after all. Sure, Eddie would miss the old store and his chaotic shelves and disarrayed style, and the owner's long stares at him, the beta glaring at Eddie for taking too much time deciding what to buy while waiting for new album releases. But at home that night, when he told his uncle Wayne about his new job, the man rewarded him with a proud glint in his eye and a pat on his shoulder, reassuring him that he didn't need to worry about their economics, that Eddie better save his money for his future, and made him promise to not go around skipping his classes again.

Third, and worse thing about Starcourt and working there, though, was Steve the King of the Jerks Harrington.

And if his persona wasn't bad enough, the real nightmare was the tight, small ridiculous sailor uniform he had to wear because the fallen ruler of Hawkin’s High worked in the silly ice cream parlor called Scoops Ahoy!

Divinyl Madness was situated right in front from Scoops Ahoy, Eddie had a perfect view of the former king's highlighted blonde mane ruined by the silly hat, his toned arms flexing every time he scooped ice cream. That alone could drive any alpha insane.

But his shorts. Oh boy.

The blue fabric clinged to his round ass perfectly, and left muscular, slightly hairy thighs on sight. And those long white socks that covered his calves.

Eddie maybe hated the guy, but fuck, he was hot. Really hot. Stupidly hot, ridiculously even, always has been, and the alpha hated the way his eyes lingered on the jock whenever he was nearby.

Eddie knew, because he had heard it at high school, that one of the reasons for Harrington's disgrace was the fact that he presented late and as omega. Captain of the swimming team, basketball star, and a bully jock turned into nothing just because of his secondary gender. Eddie couldn’t easily forgive the way Steve Harrington treated his people, the nerds, the outcasts and the misfits, but he never understood that hate towards male omegas or female alphas, as if they were less than nothing. Stupid old-fashioned social conventions.

Anyway. The real and only reason Eddie hated to work at the record store is that Steve Harrington was always there, too, in that small outfit, being hot.

Hot enough to distract Eddie from time to time, who started to stare at him when he wasn't busy and no clients were at the store.

Hot enough to start invading Eddie's dreams at night, and fuck it all, even his fantasies when he was wide awake at night and restless because Steve was a wet dream made flesh and bone and Eddie was just a guy. Just give him a rest. What if he had to knot his own fist, what else could he do about it?

Eddie was just a guy who ate a lot of ice cream that summer.

“Ahoy Ladies! Would you like to set sail on this ocean of flavor with me? I’ll be your captain, I’m Steve Harrington,” Steve’s cheerful and flirty greeting to every cute girl while he winked and used his sultriest voice was fucking unnerving to Eddie. Maybe an old habit from when he was expecting to present as an alpha.

Maybe Steve preferred other omegas, just because they were girls? Eddie frowns upon this and he feels suddenly sick. Every fucking time he comes for a stupid ice cream during his break the same thing, the same stupid line falling from these pink, flush lips and Eddie feels…

He fucking wants to growl and snarl at these other poor omegas girls that are unaware of his inner turmoil. He’s going insane, and he has been working at Divinyl Record for only three weeks.

The girls have their ice creams, ignoring the omega in his slutty sailor disguise but they all scrunch their noses when walking past Eddie, glaring at him and flushing themselves together, the way the omegas do to protect themselves against an alpha. Eddie, even enraptured by Steve, notices it and looks at them in confusion, until- fuck. His scent. Sour with jealousy and spicier with his own arousal, it’s a very distinctive and very alpha smell, no doubt the poor girls had felt the need to close their pack to protect themselves, leaving the establishment in a rush.

Fucking great, as if Eddie hadn’t enough in his plate already, now he smells like a predator. And it’s not like he can turn and say ‘hey babes, don’t you fret, you surely are all lovely and very enticing omegas, but I’m afraid my mind is set in this pretty sailor over here, I won’t represent any danger to any of you, and now I bid you farewell.’ Ha!

“Ahoy Lad-, oh Eddie, hi!” Steve greets him, a wide smile in those pink lips and Eddie can’t help but to think, it’s not fair. Why the fuck does Steve to smile at him like that, as if he’s happy to see him today, as if he’s happy to have Eddie coming for an ice cream every day since Eddie started working in the mall, right in front of Scoops Ahoy.

“What, no offer for me to sail this ocean of flavor, hm?” Eddie teases, he can’t help himself. “ You don’t want to be my captain, Harrington?”

Steve’s cheeks turn red and that’s such a good look on him. Eddie’s hindbrain yells mine and he has to shake his head, reminding himself he hates this guy and always will. People don’t change, Steve Harrington doesn't change, he’s still the same jerk, even if his scent is sweeter now and his hair is a bit longer, with blonde highlights…

“Pft, captain? Not even Private First Class, our dear Steve,” a chirpy voice says from the backstore, the blonde girl who works with Steve appearing and resting her arm on Steve’s shoulder, grinning wide while Steve frowns at her. “But he’s working hard. How are you, Eddie?”

“Hey, Robin,” Eddie smiles tensely at her, he doesn’t enjoy the way she treats the omega. From the record store, though, Eddie has seen that it’s just how their friendship is. He knows, he knows they’re friends, and Eddie is no one for them, for Steve. “Slow day at the store, I’m here for my daily dose of sugar.”

They’re not friends, Eddie has to remind himself, when Steve offers him a blinding smile, droopy eyes locking with his own when he asks if he wants a sample of their new flavor.

Fuck.

The thing is, and this is when Eddie realizes for real that he’s completely fucked - about this whole affair who involves Steve Harrington and his inner, loud alpha- the thing is, that Steve’s scent smells like hazelnuts and lavender. And since Eddie started working at the store and spending his money on ice cream, he has been asking for flavors that remind him of Steve’s scent. Almond and maple syrup, chocolate and peanuts - his favorite, since Eddie’s own scent is dark chocolate and blackberries, and -

He hasn’t noticed until now, until this exact moment when he shrugs and Steve offers him a disposable spoon with the new ice cream flavor: caramel and hazelnuts.

Eddie opens his mouth, inhaling the cold scent of the sample when Steve raises his hand, offering the spoon to him; the omega chuckles but shoves the spoon in Eddie’s mouth carefully. The omega’s own scent, warmer and even sweeter, the hint of lavender fills Eddie’s nostrils and makes his mouth water.

Fuck.

“It's good, right?” Steve asks him, eyes wide. Maybe ice cream is the ex-jock whole life, now. “Do you like it?”

Eddie nods, awestruck, forgetting where he is, wrapping his fingers around Steve’s wrist, gently. Steve flares his nostrils, inhaling deep too, and blushing right in front of Eddie’s eyes, who feels his blood boiling in his veins. The omega holds his gaze, his almond eyes bright and wide open, lips parted to taste whatever he’s smelling-

Robin clears her voice, “Steve, I think Eddie wants his ice cream so he can go back to work, and we have more clients waiting.”

The alpha almost snaps at her, turning his head to snarl, but her soft eyes and knowing smile are enough to keep his mouth closed. What the fuck is happening to him today?

“Yes, yeah, sure. What flavor do you want today, Eddie?”

Eddie comes back to the record store with two scoops in his cone, his usual chocolate and peanuts - the closest to hazelnuts until now - and… well, hazelnuts and caramel.

“Hey, pup, what’s wrong with you?” Joe, the alpha who owns the store looks at him and wrinkles his nose. “You smell like you fell into a chocolate fountain, like burnt sugar, you feeling ok, Munson?"

"I… I'm fine," Eddie lies, and the hours don't run fast enough.

When he reaches home, his uncle Wayne winces.

"Uf, son, your rut is early," he says, greeting him.

"Hng," Eddie agrees, flopping onto the couch, face first.

"Something triggered it?" His uncle asks, not unkindly, shuffling in their small kitchenette.

"What do you mean, Wayne?" He bristles, almost snarls, but his uncle simply laughs and puts a glass of water on the table for him.

"Do ya really want to go through the bees and the birds talk again, son?" Wayne asks, teases him, and Eddie grunts, hides his face against the plush, worn cushions that smell like him and his uncle. Their little pack. "Ya know what I mean, some pretty omega caught yer eyes?"

"Uncle Wayne," Eddie groans. Then, the younger alpha thinks about droopy, hazel eyes, about pink lips stretched in an open smile, and the smell of sweet hazelnuts. "Maybe."

His rut lasts three whole days, he spends them in his room, thrashing and growling and having half a mind to not destroy everything he has, his guitars, his amps, his books.

On the fourth day and feeling like shit, Eddie comes back to high school, to his band practice, and to Divinyl Records. At least his brain is not full of cotton anymore, even if his hindbrain is still louder in his mind.

Eddie apologizes to Joe for calling in sick for three whole days.

"It's ok, pup," the alpha pats his shoulder with such force that makes Eddie stumble. "It gets easier when you're older."

"Really?"

"Nah, not really," Joe laughs, putting a box full of records on Eddie's trembling arms and he picks another box, and points Eddie with his chin to follow him. "Just an omega, a good mate, it's the only thing that will make your ruts less miserable, pup. Find someone who sees that you’re so much more than a knothead and never let go."

Eddie snorts at these words, but during his shift, he can’t stop thinking about it. Fuck, he knows he’s far too young to think about finding a mate, and yet, something weird tugs at his gut when he glances sideways and sees Steve across the corridor, in his blue uniform and smiling to a kid. There’s this pup again, his curls under a cap, Eddie has seen him with Steve other times, they greet each other with a silly handshake that makes Eddie smile despite his best effort to keep his frown.

His hindbrain whines and Eddie reminds it, sulking, that they’re not friends, they’re no less than hereditary enemies. There’s no place in Steve’s life for someone like Eddie.

Eddie is focusing, organizing and reshelving some tapes behind the counter when a soft cough calls his attention and makes him turn around.

“Good ev- Harrington?”

Steve is in front of him, holding two cones in front of him, his blond hair is falling over his eyes but there’s no little white hat, and he’s smiling. Wide and beautiful. At Eddie.

“Hi, Eddie,” Steve greets him, his smile shy and tentative.

“What can I do for you, Captain Harrington?” Eddie teases, his eyes jumping from the ice creams to Steve’s eyes.

“You didn’t come for your ice cream today nor the last days, and I thought…” Steve blushes, his eyes leave Eddie’s. “I thought I could bring it to you, maybe we can have our breaks together?”

Eddie gapes like a fish, opening his mouth with nothing to say, and then closing it again. He manages to mumble something about letting his boss know and Steve’s smile widens.

Lavender and hazelnuts fill his nostrils suddenly when Steve’s scent peaks with joy, and Eddie feels far too weak after his rut, his mind wheeling before the alpha can look for his boss at the backstore.

When the older alpha appears, trailing behind Eddie, he looks at Steve and then at his employee, arching a brow. He doesn’t say a thing, but Eddie feels like Joe knows exactly who was the one triggering the rut that forced Eddie to miss three days of work.

Eddie clears his throat and takes the cone Steve is offering, leading him out the store to find some place where they can sit and eat their ice cream.

“It’s the hazelnut and caramel from last time,” Steve informs him, blushing. But if you'd rather have some other flavor…”

“Nope!” Eddie interrupts him, blushing fiercely but unable to stop his mouth. “I loved this one, honestly, my favorite one so far. Thank you.”

Too much information, too much honesty, but Steve gives him that sweet, flustered smile, and it’s worth it. Eddie stares at Steve licking his own scoop, the one Eddie used to order, chocolate and peanuts.

Eddie doesn’t want to hope.

Things change after that evening.

They start looking for each other to share their break time together. Sometimes, if Scoops Ahoy is empty, Robin lets Eddie spend his break with them, perched at the table in their backstore, the three of them eating ice cream. Eddie can’t help but to laugh at the weird friendship antics the young beta and Steve have developed.

Robin used to hate Steve Harrington The King, she confesses to Eddie one lazy evening, the summer is coming to an end and Scoops Ahoy has lesser clients, now. Steve is dealing with a pup that sounds terrifying, no doubt she’ll present as an alpha someday, and she’s demanding free samples for her and her pack of friends.

“And now you’re friends,” Eddie says.

“And now we’re best friends, Eddie,” she corrects. “He’s not like he used to be, I wonder if he ever was like that or if he was, you know, pretending, for survival.”

Robin looks at Eddie, expectant, as if she’s waiting for Eddie to understand some hidden meaning in her words.

“I don’t hate Steve,” Eddie feels the urge to say, and it feels weird to admit it out loud.

“I know,” Robin smirks, making Eddie frown at her. “You reek of sweet blackberries all the time when you’re here, Eddie, I know you don’t hate him.”

“I-... Well, we agree then, we don’t hate Steve Harrington anymore, isn’t that a sign for the Apocalypse that’s to come upon us?” Eddie decides to joke about it, not wanting to acknowledge his burning cheeks or how his belly churns at the mention of his scent when he’s around Steve. And definitely he doesn’t want to listen to his hindbrain and its constant longing for the omega.

“For the Apocalypse, then,” Robin raises her cone - strawberry - and Eddie does the same with his own, chocolate and peanuts and hazelnuts with caramel.

“For the Apocalypse.”

“Scoops Ahoy is going to close its doors, at least until next summer,” Steve informs Eddie.

“What?” Eddie asks, fear rising inside him.

Scoops Ahoy is what had transformed their relationship, from hate to an irresponsible crush (at least for the alpha) to a friendship that leaves Eddie breathless, filling him with longing and a burning desire inside and stupid thoughts about a kind of life Eddie had never wanted to think about before. But Steve is his friend now, Steve wants to spend time with him, even outside their working hours, just like they're doing now.

It’s Sunday and they’re both over the roof of Eddie’s van, watching the sun set, parked on the quarry. It’s quiet and still warm, even if they both have their hoodies ready, it’ll be cold at night.

“And what are you and Robin going to do, now?” Eddie asks. He doesn’t want to lose any of them, now that he thinks about it. Eddie realizes he doesn’t want to lose everything he has found this summer.

Steve and Robin, and the whole strange pack that comes with them. Dustin, the curly hair pup that is a total nerd and Eddie has met and discussed DnD with him and his friends. Lucas, Will and that stubborn pup called Mike. Max and El, the young teens like peas in a pod. And Erica, the strong pup that is Lucas’ little sister and the most terrifying person Eddie has ever met, always surrounded by her own group of friends, always leading them.

Eddie feels strangely overprotective towards them all, even if he met them just recently. It’s all because of Steve, he knows and he can’t stop it now. He wants to protect everything that makes Steve happy, even his underpaid job.

“Oh, don’t worry, Scoops Ahoy closes but Spoons Ahoy opens instead!” Steve half laughs, maybe because he’s witnessing Eddie spiraling on his behalf, because Eddie is looking at him with wide, panicked eyes. Steve’s hand rests on Eddie’s face, soothing him immediately, letting Eddie nuzzle his palm and inhaling deeply from Steve’s wrist glands.

“What the fuck is Spoons Ahoy,” Eddie mumbles, losing himself in Steve’s touch and scent.

“A coffee shop, Eds, they’re keeping our jobs, just as baristas now.”

“Hm, ok,” Eddie mumbles, feeling like he’s laying in a field of lavender and eating sweet, roasted hazelnuts, his body going pliant and weightless when Steve pulls him to rest his head on him, over the omega’s clothed chest.

Eddie inhales deeply, ignoring the last rays of sun to better nuzzle the omega’s preppy white and red polo, his arms wrapping around the omega’s thin waist. It’s good, so good, to just stay like this, knowing his omega is safe with him…

“Don’t wanna lose you,” Eddie whispers, not knowing he’s saying it out loud. His hindbrain swimming in a lavender field.

“You won’t, Eds, I promise,” Steve whispers back, his fingers playing with Eddie’s hair and lulling him to sleep.

It’s middle September when Spoons Ahoy opens its doors, Robin and Steve wearing matching sailor uniforms again, but long sleeves ones now. Eddie misses being able to see Steve’s pale skin covered in moles, even if the new, sinfully tight white slacks stretch deliciously against the omega’s round ass. The first time Eddie sees Steve’s uniform - at Steve’s house, because they’re friends who hang out almost daily, now -, the alpha wants to bite these clothes off until Steve is bare and underneath him, and Eddie has to force himself to laugh at the ridiculousness of the new uniform when Steve looks at him, expecting an answer to a question Eddie can only imagine by context.

He knows Steve can tell what is he thinking, the omega’s nostrils flaring everytime his scent peaks spicier and sweeter. Ripped blackberry and dark chocolate, as his own boss, Robin and his uncle Wayne had informed him, several times now. Even Gareth has told him about it, in a very Gareth way - that was basically shouting at him in the middle of a band rehearsal - to be an alpha and to start courting Steve already because, in Gareth words: ‘he’s sighing too much and it’s annoying’.

Everyone knows how he feels about Steve Harrington, former king of Hawkins’ High School and actual princess of Eddie’s heart.

Steve is just too kind to ignore it in favor of their friendship.

Anyway, Spoons Ahoy it’s a blast and during the first days Eddie can’t share his break with Steve. He waits in line until he can reach the counter and it’s Robin who’s free for him to take his order; Eddie loves the funny beta girl, but he wanted to see Steve. His deception must be obvious.

“Hey, Steve, this one is yours, actually,” she grins and winks at Eddie before he can even say his hellos. Instead, he mouths her a silent thank you that makes Robin shake her head, smiling softly at him.

“Eds!” Steve greets him with his sweetest smile, his scent peaking sweeter, and it’s like summer again and lavender fields. “I’m sorry, I can’t take my break now…”

“Don’t worry, big boy, just wanted to, you know, say hello,” Eddie mumbles, and knows that Steve is looking at his smitten expression, he can’t even disguise it nowadays, he can’t pull a straight face in front of Steve, not for dear life.

Steve chuckles, making Eddie’s chest puff, his hindbrain whispering the sweetest things in his mind. Perfect omega, so sweet and caring, so beautiful, so strong, perfect mate for me, laughing at my words, wanting me back.

But a beautiful dream, though, to have Steve loving him back.

Wait, what?

“I’ve been trying something new. Want to forgo your usual coffee and take a risk, Munson?” Steve asks him, his cheeks deliciously blushed. He seems shy, hopeful even, as if Eddie had told him no at anything during the last months.

“Aye aye, Captain,” Eddie smirks, making Steve snort at his antics. Fuck.

Eddie can’t stay once Steve hands him two steamy disposable cups, one for Eddie and the other for Joe. He rushes to leave the counter, wishing Steve a nice shift and hoping they could spend more time together. When Eddie retreats to the backstore after offering his boss the second coffee, he takes time to admire Steve’s handwriting in his cup. There’s a little heart instead of a dot over the i on his name.

The alpha smiles at it. Holding the cup with both hands, he inhales the warm aroma, expecting… not knowing what, exactly, but he’s rewarded with strong cocoa and roasted hazelnuts. Their scents mixed sweetly in this cup. It’s like holding scorching hot hope in his hands.

Eddie whines, rushing to give it a sip, burning his tongue in the process but ignoring it because Steve had given him hope and a silly, little heart in his name.

It’s Halloween.

Steve says his parents aren’t at home, and invites Eddie, Robin and the pups for a movie night. All the pups have been discussing what movie they should watch first, it’s all sci-fi and horror and Eddie sees an amused Steve, hands on hips and wearing a worn, well loved yellow sweater, playing mom with the pups.

It’s a sight that makes Eddie’s hindbrain go feral, providing him images he doesn’t even want to think right now because, well, he’s surrounded by pups and there’s no doubt they all would know exactly what Eddie is thinking about the omega.

“We can start with Jaws and Alien next and… Wait, who brought The Exorcist? You’re all too young for this movie.”

“Come on Steve, we’re not pups anymore!”

“You won’t be able to sleep later!”

“We’ll nest with you and Eddie, we’ll be fine!”

Steve looks at Eddie at this, blushing fiercely, and Eddie just shrugs. Yes, I want to nest with you and protect these pups that you love as if they were yours and maybe someday we’ll have our own pups in our own nest and… Yeah, yes, Eddie has been thinking about this, sue him - again.

The pups are all tucked on an improvised bed in front of the couch, where Eddie and Steve are sitting together. Robin has claimed the reclining chair for herself, a thick blanket covering from chin to toe, and smiling smugly when she reclines it and gets comfortable.

The movie starts and Eddie startles when Steve gets closer to him, a plush, giant blanket in hands, and smiles at him coyly, a silent question in his shy eyes.

Eddie smiles at him, heart hammering wildly in his chest, laying sideways on the couch and opening his arms for Steve to make himself a place between them.

“I don’t really enjoy horror movies,” Steve confesses in a whisper, covering their bodies with the blanket. “I mean, I’m ok with Jaws, I love Steven Spielberg’s movies, but, Alien?”

Steve wiggles and gets comfortable, taking Eddie’s arms to wrap himself with them, and the alpha has to suppress a purr, but oh, he flushes their bodies together without thinking. Hazelnuts and lavender surround Eddie and it’s summer again.

“Technically, Alien is sci-fi, sweetheart,” Eddie nuzzles Steve’s soft hair. “But I’m here and I’ll keep you safe, I promise.”

Steve lets out a happy chirp and one of their pups - because now they all are their pups - shush at them.

“Would you scent me if I’m scared?” Steve turns his head to whisper at Eddie, their lips brushing slightly. Eddie wants to growl and claim those lips.

“Always,” Eddie whispers back, no, promises him so earnestly it hurts him physically.

Steve pecks him on the tip of his nose and turns his head to watch the movie, seemingly unaffected by Eddie’s inner turmoil, and daring to intertwine their fingers togethers.

Eddie feels like he’s floating, his purr starts in his chest and it’s low enough that the pups wouldn’t hear it, but Steve can feel the rumble of it, pressed as they are back to chest.

A moment after, Steve’s purr starts too, lulling Eddie to a sated, safe state where even his hindbrain gets quiet. It’s the best Halloween of Eddie’s life..

It’s a rare occasion, Eddie and Wayne have the day off and they decide to drive to the city, see what’s new.

They take a look at the thrift shop, where Eddie spots a brand new denim jacket, in great conditions and so cheap, perfect for a new battle vest. He also finds a couple of t-shirts and brings them all to the counter where Wayne is waiting for him, his own bounty in his hands.

Eddie drops the clothes on the counter and it's when he sees it. Behind the glass, resting over blue velvet, there's a silver chain attached to a silver blackberry.

“It’s beautiful, right?” The girl at the other side of the counter says.

“It’s perfect for a courting gift,” his uncle Wayne agrees, nudging him with his elbow.

Eddie blushes, but he keeps his mouth closed. For now.

“You don’t strike me as the romantic type, Wayne,” Eddie teases, biting a chip dipped in ketchup.

“What’s yer real question, pup, spit it,” Wayne snorts, devouring his burger. “It’s about that Harrington boy?”

Eddie grunts, hides his face and makes some more grumbling noises his uncle takes as an affirmation.

“H-how do I court an omega?” Eddie asks with a trembling voice, muffled by his hands.

Eddie has a plan.

It’s a good plan, it’s a fucking perfect plan and he’s sure that Steve is going to say yes, he’s.. ok, he’s 90% sure that Steve is going to accept his courting gift. They’ve been getting closer and closer, Eddie has been dying to ask, but between their jobs and classes…

It’s an old as fuck tradition, the courting ritual, and nobody does that anymore, but Eddie is an idiot and a romantic and Steve Harrington deserves to be wooed, to be courted. Eddie just hopes Steve says yes. That this is not some kind of joke.

Eddie has the silver blackberry pendant, the one from the thrift store, in a neat, blue velvet box.

He just needs to wait two days. Two days and he’ll give Steve his courting gift on Christmas’ Eve day, during lunch, and he’s going to ask him if he accepts his courting.

No misunderstandings, not hey, I saw this and thought of you, or look! Early Christmas present! No.

A real proposition.

They’re working double shifts because of the holidays, and they have one whole hour for lunch. Eddie runs towards Spoons Ahoy, planning to ask Steve to spend their hour together - as they do now - and finds Steve holding to the counter for dear life, cheeks red and covered in fresh sweat. Thankfully, there are no clients at this hour.

“Stevie!” Eddie shouts and rushes behind the counter, Robin appearing at his screaming.

“Eddie? What… Steve?”

“Steve, sweetheart, are you ok?”

“It’s… too hot,” Steve sighs, tugging at the collar of his sailor uniform.

“Eddie?” Robin asks, scared and scrunching her nose covered in freckles. “Is he… Is he in heat?”

“Y-yeah, yes, smells like it,” Eddie says. Steve’s scent is sweeter than ever, dry lavender under august’s sun and roasted hazelnuts filling and dizzying Eddie’s mind, his own body reacting to his omega’s needs. “He can’t work like this.”

“Go with him, I’ll inform Joe, too.”

“Robin, I can’t… We’re not… He never…” Eddie doesn’t know how to say that he can’t go and betray Steve’s trust. Eddie can’t trust himself, not when Steve is so vulnerable. But Robin basically shoves them towards the exit, ignoring Eddie’s weak protests.

Ok, new plan. Eddie is good at improvising and he’s a firm believer that adaptability it’s a great skill. He has a new plan now.

The new plan is to leave Steve at his house, safe and sound, and then provide for whatever Steve could need.

“Eddie…,” the omega whispers, arching his back in the passenger seat of Eddie’s van. “Eddie, it’s too hot.”

“I know, baby, I know,” Eddie tries to soothe him. “It’s your heat, it’s starting now. I’m going to leave you at home, ok?” Eddie caresses the omega’s face, he’s burning as if in fever.

“Would you spend it with me?” Steve asks, whines hopefully and in pain. Fuck.

“I can’t, baby,” Eddie answers, swallowing around the lump in his throat and driving as carefully as he can while his hindbrain is howling. Steve is whimpering, so close to him, scenting his van. “I want to, you know… Fuck, Stevie, you know that I want to, but I can’t do this to you, not like this.”

“Like this?” Steve asks, frowning even if he keeps whimpering softly.

“You know…” Eddie makes a vague gesture with his hand. “Like this.” He repeats. “In heat, you’re like, hindbrain is in control and all that, right?”

Steve barks an angry, incredulous laugh at Eddie.

“Is that how a rut feels for you?” Steve asks.

The alpha looks at Steve sideways, blushing and feeling like the idiot he is. Nods sharply. All alphas are knotheads, after all, aren’t they?

“Eds… I’m in heat, not drugged,” Steve sighs, clearly annoyed and smelling Eddie’s scent, lips parted and nostrils flaring. “I know what I’m doing, and I’m asking you to spend my heat with me, if you want me.”

If you want me. If you want me.

Eddie growls at that, his hindbrain howling. He reaches to hold Steve’s hand, squeezes hard, the omega feels clammy and scorching hot because of the heat.

“I’ve wanted you for a long time, Stevie, baby.”

Eddie doesn’t remember how they made it to Steve’s house, only that he’s grateful that the Harringtons are always out of Hawkins, because Eddie can’t stop kissing Steve while the omega leads them to his room.

Steve breaks their kiss, their first kiss - not like Eddie had planned but he’s not complaining - and starts rummaging through his room, grabbing blankets and sheets and rearranging his bed. No, his nest.

“Fuck, fuck, I can’t get it right,” the omega sobs after a while, fighting against a pillow.

This is more what Eddie expected, if he’s honest. When the hindbrain takes control, logic goes away and instinct takes everything. Steve is now succumbing to it, groaning and snapping, and Eddie falls in love with him even more.

“Hey, hey, baby,” Eddie gets closer, calmly and with his hands raised up. “May I help you?”

Steve’s face is red, fat tears running down his cheeks. Eddie’s heart breaks a bit at the sight, the urge to fight against whatever it is that is making Steve unhappy too strong, his hindbrain too loud to ignore.

“I have nothing that smells like you,” Steve sobs again, wiping his tears with the sleeve of his uniform.

“We can take care of that, hm?” Eddie reassures and Steve looks at him. “I just, I need to… Can I get closer?”

Eddie’s body is reacting to Steve’s scent, to his heat, and when Steve flares his nostrils, lips parted to chase Eddie’s own scent, he knows the omega is tasting his own arousal. Eddie is already getting hard in his jeans, urgency tugging at him in a new, desperate way. There’s this sudden urge to close all the doors and windows, to make sure his omega is safe here. To make sure they have plenty of food and water and whatever Steve could need.

Steve’s heat is triggering the alpha’s deepest instincts, his own rut. Faster now that he’s with an omega in heat, more desperate if that’s possible, quicker the way his body reacts and his hindbrain shuts down his rational mind. If someone tried to enter the house now, Eddie knows he would fight them with teeth and nails.

The omega nods at him, offers Eddie his hand and the alpha rushes to take it in his, kneels in front of Steve and kisses his hand, nuzzles his warm, soft palm, noses Steve’s wrist glands. It’s so different from every other time, so intimate.

“Stevie, sweetheart, I want to give you whatever you could want,” Eddie whispers against the omega’s wrist, who gasps and thrashes, still fully clothed. His rut is overwhelming him and he needs to do something before he loses it completely. “I just want to know that this… that this is what you really want?”

Eddie’s speech is slurred, he can feel it, like he’s drunk but still thinking properly. Still in charge of himself but not for long, and hopes Steve is still in charge of himself, too.

No, of course they’re not drugged, as Steve said, and maybe it’s different for the omega. But Eddie? He knows he’s losing his mind, he needs to be sure. He needs to claim, the only way he can, now.

“Eddie, I told you, I know what I… oh.”

The alpha, who has been carrying the blue velvet box with him for weeks now, too anxious to leave it at home and yet patting it on his pocket every five minutes, is now holding it in front of Steve.

“Eds? Is this…?”

“Open it, please,” Eddie begs, his hips bucking, armpits stinging, his rut coming to him in waves of painful need. “You don’t have to say yes but fuck, I… I hope you say yes, Stevie, I just… I want to ask you… I’ve been wanting for a long time, actually, never sure if you… if you ever…”

He’s rambling, his hindbrain snarling inside him. If Steve rejects him, and still wants Eddie to stay, Eddie doesn’t know if he’ll survive that. If Steve wants him to leave, Eddie would leave the country, leave it for good and never look back.

Steve opens the box and his eyes widen, the light brown swallowed by the black of his pupils, his delicate fingertip caressing the simple pendant.

“A blackberry,” he whispers. “Eddie, is a silver blackberry.”

Steve is smiling when he looks at Eddie.

“It’s… a courting gift, Stevie,” Eddie reassures, his intentions clear, or so he hopes.

“You always smell like ripe blackberries and chocolate when we’re together,” Steve smiles, his eyes bright.

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, breathless. “Do you accept it?”

Eddie finds himself with a lapful of happy, chirping omega who is peppering kisses all over his face. They fall to the ground, Steve stradling him, and Eddie hugging Steve back, laughing, feeling weightless and yet like he’s a supernova.

“I thought… Eddie, what took you this long?” Steve pouts before grinning again. “Of course I accept it, silly alpha, help me?”

They stand clumsily, clawing at the last moments of rational thinking to enjoy this moment. Eddie closes the chain around Steve’s neck, takes his chance to kiss at the moles right there in his jaw, the omega shivering under his touch.

After that, it’s all a blur. Steve undresses himself hastily, tossing the uniform somewhere, leaving only the new silver blackberry, and urges Eddie to do the same. The omega steals Eddie’s handkerchief and puts it on his nest, next goes Eddie’s t-shirt, faded and soft and comfortable, and the alpha knows Steve is going to keep his favorite t-shirt when he nuzzles it, pressing it against his face and inhaling deeply. He feels a deep rush of pride, smiling wolfishly, thinking: mine.

“Better?” Eddie manages to ask when Steve deems the nest good enough.

“No,” Steve answers, takes his hands and pulls at him until Eddie is on the nest, laughing, laying barenaked for Steve to touch and scent and enjoy. “Ok, now, perfect.”

They can’t keep talking after that, their needs far too urgent to deny them now that they’re together. Eddie is not a virgin, but he has never shared a nest with an omega in heat, nor has he spent his rut with someone, and it’s so intense, so overwhelming.

It’s so good. So fucking amazing, he’s not ready for something like this, and yet, he can’t believe he’s been living without this.

Steve’s skin is burning and dripping wet when Eddie gets his mouth on him, his little cocklet throbbing in his tongue under the alpha’s ministrations while his own cock is aching, leaking precum all over the nest.

“Alpha, alpha, I need you,” are the last coherent words Steve pronounces that night. Eddie has half a mind to grab one of the condoms Steve tossed into the nest.

Eddie kisses him while he breaches him, his cunt so wet and ready for him, swallowing him to the hilt, until he’s buried deep in the omega.

“Omega,” Eddie worships him, and knows he’ll always worship Steve.

The omega thrashes and bites him in his shoulders and arms, leaving the marks he can while avoiding his mating gland. Eddie hopes they can claim each other in the future.

They wail and whine, their moans and breath mingling, Eddie rolling his hips chasing Steve’s pleasure again and again, the feeling of his walls clenching around him making him believe in a higher power.

“Alpha, alpha, alpha,” Steve chants, and tugs at Eddie’s dark curls, making the alpha growl, his hips stuttering, the knot at his base swelling and catching at Steve’s entrance.

A powerful, earth-shattering orgasm hits Eddie and leaves him breathless, knotting them together. The alpha howls at the sensation, Steve all around him even if he’s still underneath the alpha. The omega is milking him, riding his own pleasure, and Eddie loses himself in their mixed scents and the overwhelming truth that is to admit at last that he actually is in love with Steve Harrington.

Eddie awakes to the sound of a rumbling, loud purr. His muscles are sore and he’s thirsty and hungry as never before, but he’s also sated and happy, his own purr starting happily when he remembers the night before.

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” Eddie whispers, kissing Steve’s rumbling chest, nuzzling him and feeling absurdly proud of their mingled scents, plus the mess of sweat and slick and overall smell of sex.

“Hngmng,” Steve mumbles, his fingers tangled in Eddie’s fingers and playing idly.

Eddie props over his elbows to look at the magnificent sight that is Steve Harrington, completely naked in the morning light, in the mess of a nest they made together last night. The alpha smiles, completely smitten.

“Is it still too hot, baby?” Eddie asks, and kisses Steve’s lips, softly.

“Hm, not now, but… soon,” Steve answers, biting his lower lip, his soft gaze locked in Eddie’s eyes. He touches his own chest, finds the silver blackberry, and a shiver runs down his spine, Eddie feels like shivering, too. “You meant it?”

“The courting gift? Of course, sweetheart.”

Steve nods, biting his lower lip. Eddie has the need to kiss him again.

“And that you want to give me everything I want? Would you scent me when I’m scared? All that, you meant it?”

“Yeah, omega, I meant it, I mean it… Do you still accept my courtship?” Eddie needs to know, needs to be sure. He’ll probably need to hear it often, still feeling like a dream.

“Yes, Eds,” Steve’s laugh sounds like a chirp, far too adorable. “Do you realize that I’ve been flirting with you since you started working at Divinyl Records, right?”

Eddie blinks once, twice. Wants to say that, yes, that he knew all this time, but the truth is that he’s still wondering if all this is really happening.

“I- Sure.”

Steve chuckles, wraps his legs around the alpha’s waist and pulls at him until they’re kissing again, the urgency rising slowly, letting them enjoy their kiss.

During their lunch on Christmas’ Eve day, Starcourt bursting with people doing last time shopping, Eddie and Steve sit closer than usual. The omega is almost sitting in Eddie’s lap, and the alpha can’t stop nuzzling at his boyfriend’s hair and neck. He feels invincible.

Steve shoves a black velvet box towards Eddie, and kisses him right in his scent gland under his ear, making the alpha growl in pleasure.

“What’s this?” Eddie asks, lips curling in a smile.

“Just open it, Eds,” Steve smiles.

Eddie obliges and opens the box to reveal a silver hazelnut.

“Yes, Eddie Munson,” Steve whispers in his ear. “I accept your courting.”

#steddie fanfiction #steddie #alpha eddie munson #omega steve harrington #alpha beta omega dynamics #fluffy chicken writes #Hazelnuts serires

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swampstew · 1 year

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Doffy doing Doffy things

Oh shiiit its Yandere time! Actual human garbage Donquixote Doflamingo laid his shielded eyes on your frame and his mask of indifference turned mischievous. With a flick of his wrists, you're entangled by the puppet master who steals you away to be a part of his family, murdering yours along the way.

WC: 641 CW: Spicy; not-gender specific reader; Yandere Donquixote Doflamingo; kidnapping reader; consent/non con/dubious consent and maybe Stockholm syndrome?; bdsm/ doffy dom and reader sub; orgasm denial/edging; murder and very unhealthy/somewhat abusive relationship dynamics; reader is a captive with privileges. Minors DNI - you will be blocked

He might already be canon Yandere? Anyways its no secret the Doflamingo considers himself a god amongst the filth, taking whatever or whomever he wants. I mean, he took over an entire kingdom ffs. So the day he happens upon you is also the last day of your old life as he snatches you away with his strings and so begins the rest of your life at the mercy of his puppet strings. He was content with simply taking you but you had some loyal allies who tried to fight him – they’re all dead now and he is not sorry about it.

Why did Doffy take you? Simply put, he saw something in you that made you stand out from the trash. And he’s a pirate first and foremost so he saw your shine and took you. Being his love doll is a bonus (for him). You’re treated with the utmost respect amongst his staff and lower subordinates. The inner circle is a bit…guarded…so you always feel like you’re walking on eggshells. They’re also all assholes, every one of them, so it’s a sucky time for you. Its not until Doffy gives you executive privileges and makes you in charge of punishments that they finally fuck off, since you’d get to see out their punishments for bullying you specifically which was now a punishable offense. Baby 5 is the closest thing you’ll have to a close friend but she’d sell you out to Doffy for an ice cream cone so keep secrets close to your chest.

The first rule is that you have no boundaries with Doffy. Boundaries mean secrets (it doesn’t and we wholly endorse them here at Swampstew Inc.) and he won’t have you betray him. Not when he feels like he’s asking for so little while giving you more than you could ever imagine. Imagine him to be your insane, sugar daddy and give him his due love if you want to survive him. Obviously you’re not to see or sleep with anyone but him, he’ll do his best to uphold his side of this agreement between you (and does make an effort which shocks everyone). You’re not really allowed to say no to him. Saying no implies you don’t love him and if you don’t love him…remind him why he keeps you around for? Doffy doesn’t feel convinced until you make a dramatic statement.

Adjusting to Doffy’s tastes is harder for you to do but by god do you do it. He has privileged and expensive taste so its not entirely terrible. The other bit is more complicated. If you thought Doffy was insane before, he’s a sadist in bed. That’s not to say you won’t find or achieve orgasm! It will just be so prolonged that you’ll think you’ve gone mad and he is providing you with heaven when he finally gives it to you. Or if he’s feeling particularly nasty, he’ll break out the whips and other leather toys, ready to verbally humiliate you over several hours.

Your life gets better and worse in equal balance. You’d never had wealth or privilege like you did with Doffy, at the same time you’re still basically his captive. He did say you’re free but you’re his and you’re never to leave his side. Don’t run, he’ll enjoy punishing you. And then he’ll enjoy manipulating your actions with his power for days, weeks, months even depending on how petty he feels. He’s a real demon and you’re his favorite toy. Scratch that, a pet maybe. Toys can break but a pet gets spoiled when its good and punished when its bad. Yes, he likes that much better.

#donquixote doflamingo #cw yandere #doflamingo x reader #swampstew bedtime stories #cw dubcon #doflamingo x you #swampstew #swampstew stories #cw bd/sm #oh yandere!#cw noncon #doffy x reader #op doflamingo #doffy #one piece doflamingo #dofl

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mattzerella-sticks · 8 months

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doth protest - ao3 link

Batman fanfic, Jason Todd-centric, with Batfamily fluff & humor

Jason will show the others how 'not like Bruce' he is. Except even the best laid plans have their own way of coming undone.

Part I

Jason is not the most like Bruce. He isn’t! It doesn’t matter that no one thought similarly, because they did this just to annoy him, because he’d been the first to say, to joke, that Tim was a miniature version of Bruce only for Tim to reverse it back onto him with everyone dogpiling on in seconds, so fast that it gave Jason whiplash.

Except Jason was joking. The others weren’t.

“You’re cunts. Cunts! The lot of you!”

“You started it,” Stephanie says, hovering over his shoulder from behind the couch. Cass stands beside her, behind his other shoulder. “And don’t call us cunts because you can’t take what you try and dish.”

“I can call whoever I want a cunt if I feel like it!”

Damian sighs through his nose. “Real mature.”

“I’m mature-er than you, shorty.”

“I’m not the one pouting like a petulant little child,” Damian asks, briefly glancing up from his video game to smirk at him. “Am I, Todd?”

“I’m not pouting.” Jason unfolds his arms and buries his hands into the couch cushions then he flattens his bottom lip, so it isn’t puckered and bulbous. “I’m saying that… you’ve got to be blinder than a –“ Don’t say it Don’t say it Don’t say it, “ – a bat –“ Dammit! “if you think that I’m anything like… like… him!”

Tim leans against the arm of his chair to better peer at Jason, better creep him out and make his skin crawl, and he begins counting, listing his evidence using his fingers. “You two fight the same, look the same, brood the same… are the most stubborn, the most sensitive. I know you both happen to like that dumb vampire show that was based off those books but’ll never admit it when confronted.”

“It’s not dumb!”

“You’re the only two who order Neapolitan when we go out for ice cream,” Tim continues, “you both have the same taste in women –“

“But not –“ “And men.”

Tim waits, watching him with an arched brow and the barest hint of a curve to his mouth. Jason sinks deeper into the couch. He tells himself not to pout but he’s not sure if that works.

“I can go on,” Tim says, “if you want me to, that is?”

Jason huffs, “I think you’ve made your point…”

“And you both can’t take a joke!” Stephanie slaps him on the shoulder, “That should’ve been the first thing you said, Tim.”

“Well, it was so obvious…”

“Like I said,” Jason rises and brushes his hands down his chest, flicking his hands at its creases, at imaginary dust, at them, “cunts. I’m surrounded by cunts.”

“You’re the one acting like a cunt!” Stephanie slaps him again. Hard. It echoes in the lounge where they’d gathered and has Jason biting his cheek to keep from yelping. “So why don’t you quit acting like a brat and sit back down.”

“No! Better I act like a bratty cunt than him.”

“You say this as if Bruce doesn’t behave like a bratty cunt sometimes?” Cas asks him. She had enough genuine curiosity in her voice that Jason’s only response is to deflate and return to where he’d been sitting. His plop was louder than Stephanie’s slap. “Doesn’t he?”

“Whatever,” Jason grumbles, low and under his breath, instead of answering. He folds his arms. He pouts, fuck what Damian might say, he pouts! “Would Bruce sit here and let himself be spoken to like this? I don’t think so…”

Stephanie perches herself on his shoulder, brings her face close enough to his ear so that her whisper sends a shiver running across his spine worse than being in the same room as Mr. Freeze. “He absolutely would, and you know it.”

She was right. Jason hated her for it. He hated pretty much everyone right then.

Even Duke, who’d kept mostly silent until now.

“It’s not a bad thing,” he said. “Being like Bruce.”

“It is when I’ve spent so much of my life making my brand about how not Bruce I am!”

“Must suck,” Stephanie chuckles, “Trying so hard to do a one-eighty that you ended up pulling a three-sixty.” She throws herself onto the couch next to Jason and drops her legs into his lap, wearing an awfully smug grin Jason wants nothing more than to claw off her face.

He glares at her. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

She says, “Can’t I?” and revels in how it causes the veins in his neck to twitch, to bulge, to almost burst.

Cass soon drops onto his other side and layers her legs over Stephanie’s, probably because she anticipated how he would have thrown Stephanie onto the floor if she hadn’t intervened. His theory is confirmed with how Cass cocks her head at him and smiles bigger than Stephanie.

“Face it, Jay,” Tim says, “you are… your father’s son.”

He is not. He’s not! Jason is so much not like Bruce that he wants to scream it from the rooftops so loud they hear it in Metropolis, but he doesn’t since it wouldn’t matter to them how hoarse he became while denying it nor could his ego handle it if Clark heard his claim as a challenge and flew to Gotham for the sole purpose of lecturing him how admirable it was being compared to Bruce. Words wouldn’t make a difference.

Actions however…

“I’ll show you,” he says. Jason leaps to his feet and knocks both Stephanie’s and Cass’s legs off him. “I’ll show you all I’m not Bruce by doing something Bruce would never do.”

“Killing?”

“No. Not killing.” Jason rolls his eyes. For once, killing wasn’t the answer. “I’m gonna do something even better.” He leaves the room without revealing anything else, slamming the door as he exits.

The group looks between themselves.

��What do you think he means by that? Better than killing?”

“Isn’t that… most things?”

“I think the better question is,” Damian starts, this time maintaining his focus on his video game while he speaks, “do we really care enough about whatever harebrained scheme Jason whipped up to bore ourselves thinking about it?”

No. They don’t. So, they return to what they’d been doing before Jason interrupted their day.

Part II

THE NEXT DAY

Jason doesn’t feel very much like Bruce at this moment. In fact, he doesn’t feel much of anything other than a light, fluffy serenity that runs through his veins like molasses, that weighs heavily on his eyelids, and that stuffs his poor, dry mouth with cotton.

Why is he standing again?

“Right,” Jason mumbles to himself, remembering. “Water.”

He floats out of his room, smoke trailing him as he makes his way down the manor hallway and towards the kitchen. It is an arduous journey. The manor is a humongous beast and, since Jason had last considered it, somehow grown larger between when he went inside his room and when he left it. His path seems longer than it should be, fraught with more twists and turns that threw his sense of direction into frenzy. His latest error has him shouldering open the door to the gym, stumbling inside it and catching Dick, who takes pictures of himself in the mirror, by surprise.

“Jason!” Dick hisses. A warm blush colors his body, save the parts Jason can’t see covered by the flimsy pair of gym shorts he wears. “What are you doing here?”

Jason ignores him. He glances around the room and mumbles, “This isn’t the kitchen.”

“Course it’s not – what made you think this was the kitchen?”

“I’m trying to get to the kitchen…”

Dick strides over to Jason and studies him, their faces inches apart. Jason doesn’t blink. “Dude,” he says, scrunching his nose, “you reek. Are you high right now?”

Jason scoffs, then laughs. “What? Why would you – are you high?”

Dick isn’t high. He knows that. But Jason is, like Dick rightly suspected, very, very, very high. Which explains why he hadn’t thought of a better deflection than an accusation, and why he was in the gym and not the kitchen, though Jason isn’t able to understand this connection while he’s high.

“You are,” Dick says. “You are high.” He takes a step back. “Why are you high?”

He scoffs again and folds his arms across his chest. “Why do I need a reason to be high? Can’t I just be high… if I were. NotsayingthatIam. High.”

“Wait. Does this have anything to do with yours and Tim’s fight yesterday?”

“My…” It takes Jason a minute for Dick’s question to click. “How do you know about that,” he asks.

“He texted me about it.”

“About what?”

“About your major meltdown from being called Bruce’s doppelganger.”

“I’m not though,” Jason says, “because Bruce would never get high in the middle of the day. If at all.”

“And you do?”

Not recently. Not until now. But once the thought came to him yesterday he couldn’t deny its sound logic so during patrol last night he made a quick stop over at a dispensary – it’s legal here in Jersey – and purchased a few dubs worth of marijuana using cash he swiped off a would-be child abductor. No harm, no foul. The challenge was working up the nerve to actually follow through with his plan. He spent that entire morning staring at the pre-rolled joint, squeezing the orange bottle it came in, nervous since he wasn’t sure how smoking it would affect him. He’d never done anything harder than liquor before. It showed when he nearly hacked his lung onto the floor seconds after his first toke.

He’d rather die than admit that, especially to his family.

Jason chuckles and shrugs on a cocky expression, “I’m such a stoner that it took me twenty joints to even feel the slightest bit of a buzz. At least!”

Dick’s gaze meets Jason’s. “Sure.” His skepticism was obvious. Jason still missed it.

“Great. Glad we got that covered.” Jason jerks his thumb backwards, “If you don’t mind. I’m gonna head to the kitchen now.”

He might trip over his feet as he exits, but only because he’s too cool to care about lifting his feet off the ground. Honest.

Dick catches him before his face hits the floor. “Why don’t I go with you to the kitchen,” he suggests, “I was about to grab some lunch anyway.”

Jason snorts and snickers and doesn’t think how coincidental Dick’s stomach was being. “Sure. That's where I was heading, too.”

He assumes his search will take longer with Dick beside him. However, in his next blink, he realizes they’ve arrived at their destination.

“Whoa,” he mumbled. “Was the kitchen always this close to the gym?”

Dick brushes past him and towards the fridge. “Yeah. They’re actually the same room.”

“They are?”

He stifles a laugh and says, in his most exasperated tone, “Always. You don’t remember?”

“No, I do… I do.”

The kitchen and gym are actually two wholly separate rooms that exist on different floors, and Jason will realize this later on. Now, he believes what his brother told him and shuffles along to the fridge as Dick leaves it for the microwave.

He opens the fridge door and stares. He stares. He stares for quite a while, the chill air caressing his face and the background hum causing Jason to forget exactly why he was in the kitchen to begin with. Jason smacks his tacky lips together in thought. He cannot recall his reason why.

Then, Bruce enters the kitchen with a grunt and a passing “You’re up early,” from Dick and all that serenity Jason felt shatters into a puddle of broken glass at his feet.

What is Bruce doing here in his own manor?

Jason listens as Dick converses at Bruce while he putters around the kitchen, his grip on the door’s handle becoming tighter and tighter with every second that ticks by with Bruce in the room. He can’t do this. He can’t be near Bruce and high at the same time.

Why should he be afraid? Jason is an adult. He can make choices that Bruce wouldn’t approve of. He has made choices that Bruce didn’t approve of! This is not unfamiliar territory for him.

That doesn’t ease the paranoia gnawing on his brain in the slightest. Its teeth sink deeper into his grey matter, and it shakes its maw wildly, sneering, growling at Jason that if Bruce catches him high, catches onto the fact that he smoked in his manor, the worst thing ever will happen. What could that be? The worst, that voice says, so bad you don’t want to know what it is!

Oh God.

There’s a hand on his shoulder and Jason jumps. He whips around. It’s just Dick holding an empty bowl. When did he finish?

“Dude,” he says, “you good?”

Jason attempts to smile. “Course I am.” It was more of a grimace.

Dick didn’t push. Rather, he asks, “What were you looking for?”

“I was –“ The answer hits him with urgency, “– water! I came down here for water!”

“Okay…” Dick glances over his shoulder, “Don’t you need a glass for that?”

He does. Unfortunately, the glasses were in the cabinet Bruce was standing in front of like a gargoyle. If he goes for the glass, Bruce will surely see him and see how high he is and, and…

So bad you don’t want to know what it is!

“Earth to Jason? Hello?” Dick waves his hand in Jason’s face. “Seriously, space cadet – how much did you really smo –“

“I’ll go get the glass!” Jason shouts and pushes Dick out of his way, hoping Bruce didn’t hear him.

He hadn’t even flinched. Good.

Jason can do this. He can walk to where Bruce was, excuse himself, grab his glass and maybe exchange a few words with the old man, make him laugh once or twice, then dart away to the fridge and to his room after he pours himself some water where he can smoke another of his joints to calm the nervous flutter of his heart. It’ll be easy.

Bruce won’t know anything about him being high at all.

Besides, he’s too busy staring at the toaster he –

He becomes sidetracked by it, too. Jason frowns at the toaster, at the limp slices of bread sitting there not being cooked, instead of getting his glass. “What are you doing?”

Bruce shrugs, “Making toast.”

“You are?” Jason reaches for the lever in front and pushes it. The lever, and the toast, spring back up. Bruce takes a slice and complains that it’s not cooked to his liking, placing it inside the toaster once more. “I don’t think that’ll help,” Jason says.

“Why not?”

“Well… it’s not working.”

“It’s not?” Bruce squints at the toaster, scratching his chin. “Why isn’t it working?”

Jason spies the cord from the corner of his eye, the toaster’s plug sitting beneath the outlet forlornly. “I don’t think it’s plugged in.”

“Huh?”

“It’s not plugged in,” Jason repeats. He takes the plug and jams it into the outlet, then presses the lever again. It locks in place. The toaster glows orange as it cooks the bread.

A smile appears on Bruce’s face. “I was wondering why that was taking forever.”

“How long were you just standing here, waiting for toast?”

“I… don’t know.”

Jason turns to him and, when he does, he notices aspects of Bruce’s appearance, his expression, his attitude, and his posture that led to a certain conclusion Jason is unable to stop himself from screaming, “Hold on – you’re high, too!”

Bruce panics, tenses, and begins backing away from Jason. “What? That’s – why would you…” Then, as if he finally digested what Jason said, he raises his own finger. “Too? Are you high?”

Jason bites back his groan. He pales, “I – uh… no?”

In the background Dick, who had seated himself on one of the center bar’s stools soon as Jason neared Bruce, laughs and goes for his phone. “Oh, this is… I’m telling the others what’s happening. They won’t believe…”

Jason glares at Dick. “Don’t you dare tell them –“

“Tell them, what?” Dick mocks. He talks while he lights the signal for everyone else, “That you are so much like Bruce that even the things you think he wouldn’t do, he does? That what you want me to keep secret?”

“No, it’s –“

Bruce sniffles at his side. “You want to be like me?”

“No!” Jason denies as Bruce scoops him into a hug, “No! That wasn’t the point of this at all!”

“This is adorable. I’m taking pictures.”

“You do that and consider yourself dead, Dick!”

“I’ve lived a good life,” he says. The flash goes off on his phone. “This is worth it.”

Jason, trapped in Bruce’s arms, is helpless. All he can do is sulk and pout – he has every right to pout – and grumble to anyone who might listen that he is not like Bruce, no matter what anyone says, no matter that even he believes the tiniest bit that he and his father are similar. It’s the hill he’ll die on.

Which, hopefully, will be soon. Before the others can flock to the kitchen and add to his misery. Jason at least deserves that dignity, doesn’t he?

#jason todd #batman #red hood #batfamily #batfam #batfam fanfic #bruce wayne #tim drake #stephanie brown #cassandra cain #damian wayne #duke thomas #sibling shenanigans #jason thinks he's cool which is unfortunate because no one else does #dc comics #dcu

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thelastofharrington · 1 year

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you’re the one that i want (pt 2)

pt 1!!

an: hi!! here’s part 2!! this is my first time writing slowburn anything lol so feedback is greatly appreciated! (posting on my phone again so sorry about any weird formatting!)

warnings/tags: eventual smut in later parts, king!steve, friends to strangers to lover, loosely grease inspired, this is gonna be fun

wc: 1.2k

You spent all of your homeroom in shock. Steve Harrington, your Stevie, is an asshole. “King Steve” they apparently call him now. Known for parties, womanizing, and overdrinking. He had a whole host of cronies he hung out with too, apparently. They traveled in a pack and it was almost impossible to get to him without getting through his laggies first. Complete delinquents, according to Nancy.

You couldn’t believe this. Sure, nine years had passed, but you knew him at one point. At one point, you knew him better than anyone else. Maybe you were delusional to think that some things never change, it’s not like you thought you would pick up where you left off, but you never imagined that he’d be so far out of your grasp.

You turn around at the feeling of Nancy tapping you on the shoulder and passing you a note.

“Forget about him!!!” It says.

You sigh and write back: “It just doesn’t make any sense!”

She rolls her eyes and starts to write again, “What part of rich basketball playing douche bag is hard to understand?”

You turn around and shrug at her, a look of defeat on your face. She sighs again and make sure that Mrs. Peters isn’t paying attention before saying, “Look, I know he was your best friend, but that was nine years ago. Things are different now. He’s changed, you’ve changed, it will be for the best if you just move on.” She takes one more look at Mrs. Peters before continuing, “Men are rats. Worse than that, they’re the fleas on rats. You’re better off without him.”

Before you could respond, the bell rings. Nancy gives you one last sympathetic smile before heading off to her next class while you’re off to biology with Mr. Kaminsky. Nancy said his classes are ridiculously hard, but you’re up for the challenge.

You walk in and take a seat at a lab stool near the front of the class. As the passing period approaches its end, the class fills up. It fills up to the point where every seat is nearly taken, besides the one directly next to you. You’re feeling self conscious as you look around and realize everyone is staring and whispering. You know that you’re new and that Hawkins is small, but is this really the response you’re going to be getting all day? You did not sign up to be the newest social pariah of Hawkins High.

The bell rings and your lab partner is still missing. You’re fantasizing about a lonely year of dissections as Mr. Kamisnky drones on about lab safety when there’s a knock on the door. He rolls his eyes and groans before opening the door. Nothing could have prepared you for what was on the other side.

“You’re late, Harrington.” Mr. Kaminsky scolds flatly before turning back to teach the class.

And there he was, looking like a movie character leaning up against the doorframe. Cigarette behind the ear, arms crossed, backpack nowhere in sight. He was in tight light wash jeans, a tight polo tee, with perfectly coiffed hair. He was almost just like you remember, but with an aura that did not match the sweet boy you once knew on swing sets and ice cream truck pursuits.

“Sorry Mr. K, I just didn’t want to come.” He saunters into the room, nodding at a few of the kids at the back of the class who were all trying to keep their laughter under wraps. The smile he flashed them was the only thing about his current appearance that did ring true. That smile was something you knew well.

“Lucky you, Steve, you get a front row seat for the semester since you finally decided to grace us with your presence,” Mr. Kaminsky says, gesturing towards the empty seat next to yours.

It’s at the point where Steve acknowledges you for the first time. You notice the smallest falter in his step as you make eye contact, his gaze zeroing in on you. It felt like a lifetime from the time between him stepping into the class to this moment right here, the moment you had been waiting for.

He covered up the falter in his step easily and broke the spell he had cast on you by turning back to your teacher, “Thanks, Mr. K. You know I wouldn’t accept anything less than the best seat in the house.” He slides onto the stool next to you, practically ignoring that you’re there.

But you know he recognized you, you just know it. You could tell by the way his eyes widened for a millisecond, the falter of his feet against the aging linoleum floor. For a moment his guard was down, for a moment he was your Stevie, but then he was gone. Then, he was just a stranger on the lab stool next to you.

You tried to fight the feelings of loss all over again as Mr. Kaminsky starts your lesson. Normally, you’re a great student. Normally, you’d have your eyes glued and ears on high alert for this lesson, but instead you’re fighting every fiber in your being not to look to your right where Steve sat. Doing everything you can not to reach out and touch him, just to make sure it was really him. You were doing so much of this muscling through the lesson, you almost missed what Mr. Kaminsky had to say about your midterm project.

“I know you guys are probably lightyears away from thinking about your midterm projects, but I don’t want you guys to waste too much time, so we’re going to go ahead and get our partners today.”

There is a loud groan amongst the class, including Steve. You see him look to you out of the corner of your eye when he does it, as if he’s gauging your reaction. You swear you see him straighten up and brush his annoyance off with a cough when he notices you aren’t in agreement.

Mr. Kaminsky waves everyone down at the front of the class, silencing the herd of annoyed teenagers. “Yeah, yeah, you’ll thank me later when you’re not knee deep in thesis statements and dioramas. And just to make it easier on me, and probably to the delight of you guys, your partner is the person you’re sitting next to. Congratulations, don’t make me regret it.” And, with that, he turns around and writes today’s chapter information up on the board.

You’re sure he’s droning on about anatomy or earthquakes or whatever it is you learn in twelfth grade science, you really can’t remember because there’s two dark brown eyes peering into the side of your skull so intensely you’re sure they’re scanning your brain for your deepest, darkest secrets. After a solid minute of this, you grow brave enough to turn your head and look back.

You are about to whisper something to him when he raises a hand and stops you. Your breath is caught in your throat at the size of his hand so close to your face. Close enough to reach out and touch, if you were careless and stupid that is.

“We’ll talk later.” He pauses long enough to make you think that’s the end of it before he says, “We have a lot to catch up, don’t we?”

tag list: @luna-munson83

#steve harrington fic #steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington my beloved #my writing #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things

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leclerced · 5 months

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I feel like, of all the other guys, Max is the saddest/in the most withdrawal from not having Bunny around when she pulls back to just Lando and Oscar

he was around first, goddamn it, and if he had known he could just *ask* to be her boyfriend, he definitely would have done that ages ago, long before Oscar even entered the conversation

part of him feels like it’s a personal rejection, not only because of the feelings Bunny knows he has for her (she knows that what he’s muttering under his breath when he cums inside her is that he loves her but she doesn’t want to broach that until he says it with his chest) but also because of everything he’s done for all of them - the parties, the lingerie, everything

one day she runs into him at the supermarket in Monte Carlo or something like that and they’re actually alone together for the first time in a month or three and he asks if he can just hold her for a minute and that’s how Bunny manages to stay warm in the ice cream aisle

-〽️

um go away. (pls dont) im gonna cry im in such a max mood ive been watching nothing but max edits on tiktok before i sleep

bunny just waiting for him to talk about his feelings but he doesn’t before they pull the plug on things and like. i think she’d ask for one more night w him to say goodbye and she’d barely make it out of his room before she breaks down crying and the boyfriends are in lando’s room for the night and she’s supposed to join them but she goes to oscar’s and cries alone bc she can’t feel things for max anymore. both of them hiding feelings bc it’s too late. she’d plan on going back to them but cries herself to sleep and they just assume she decided to spend the night w max but when they see him the next morning he looks like shit and they ask where bunny is and he’s like idk she left me. and the words have a deeper meaning than just leaving his room.

oscar searching for her and finding her curled up in his bed alone, willingly sleeping alone for the first time in months bc even her boys couldn’t make her feel better.

max avoiding them for awhile bc he doesn’t know what how to act around them anymore but then months later has a bad race like maybe gets crashed out and he immediately seeks her out and can’t find her and is more disappointed. goes to his driver’s room and she’s already there laying on his couch. she just opens her arms and he lays with her and finally he gets to enjoy being around her for the first time in months. neither of them say anything and eventually someone comes to get him for an interview and she’d look so sad watching him leave but he wouldn’t realize it’s because she misses him, he thinks its just because she feels bad for him for being crashed out.

he wouldn’t even know how to ask them to hang out bc that used to mean fuck but now he just wants to be around her bc that’s all he can do. ill SOB. bunny and him cuddling all the time after he stops avoiding them and him secretly (not) being in love with her but not saying it bc he doesn’t want to overstep. but its worse once they’re almost back to normal bc he has to see her every day and think ab the chances he didn’t take every time she’s cuddling into him.

#ask #〽️ anon #canon friendly blindfold universe #blindfold universe

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gonzo-rella · 11 months

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The Queer Best Friends of Steve Harrington | Robin Buckley (ft. Steve Harrington) (pt. 1)

MASTERLIST | AO3 | KO-FI

PART ONE | PART TWO (COMING SOON)

Relationship(s): Robin Buckley x gn!reader (romantic), Steve Harrington x gn!reader (platonic), Steve Harrington x Robin Buckley (platonic)

Summary: Whilst coming out to Steve, Robin reveals something equally shocking to the revelation of her sexuality.

Warnings: Coming out scene. (Let me know if I need to add any)

Word count: 1.4k

(A/N: This has been an idea I’ve wanted to write for literal years. I found this as a semi-finished draft of my old plus-size-reader-insert blog from back in the day (by that I mean, a few years ago). I haven’t yet finished Stranger Things season 4 (I’m hoping to rewatch the show in its entirety soon, possibly after I’ve finished Yellowjackets), but I still really wanted to write this. Also, as a nonbinary person, I really want to write more gender neutral reader-inserts for Robin, so let me know if there’s anything you’d like for me to write. Also, ignore the fact that Steve uses gender neutral pronouns for you but fails to immediately comprehend Robin’s queerness.)

Cheating death was sure to bond two people, and that’s how you and Steve- a pair of reluctant babysitters- were able to put your differences aside and keep a group of misfit kids out of harm’s way. He didn’t care that hanging out with you meant he was no longer cool, and you didn’t mind that a few girls were insanely envious of you. If anything, it inflated your ego, even if they did whisper about you behind your back.

Over the summer, you saw Steve as much as possible. After all, you were too broke to go on vacation, you didn’t want to hitchhike around the country and you had no one else to hang out with. So, you decided just to hang out with your best friend as much as possible. And, what are friends for if not for allowing their friends to abuse their friends and family discount at their place of work? After all, he abused your 7/11 discount over the past year, so of course you abused his Scoops Ahoy discount. Every. Single. Shift. Hell, you only ever really showed any interest in his work when you were asking when his next shift was. Then you’d make sure to go and pay him a visit, like the good friend you were.

You were often so busy talking to Steve at the campy ice cream parlour that you didn’t notice the curious, gazing eyes of the beautiful girl behind the counter. You remembered Robin from many of your shared classes. You exchanged the occasional comment in class, earning quiet laughs from one another. Little did you know, she’d found her gaze wandering to you long before she started working with your best friend. In fact, other than the fact that she was in the school marching band, you knew very little about her.

That was until the end of the second week of summer, when Steve was in the back room of Scoops Ahoy.

“Hey, Robin,” you greeted casually, as though you were good friends rather than just barely acquaintances.

“Oh...um...hey, Y/N,” she greeted awkwardly, straightening herself into a nonchalant-looking pose rather than her bored, hunched-over position at the counter. “H-how’s it going?”

“Eh. Could be better, could be worse, y’know?” you shrugged. “What about you?”

“Um... I’m fine, I guess. Well, as fine as you can be when you leave the house dressed like this,” Robin answered with a small gesture to her outfit, earning a laugh and smile from you that made butterflies flutter in her stomach.

“Your uniform looks better on you than Steve’s looks on him,” you shrugged, the compliment heating up Robin’s cheeks. “To think he was once the king of Hawkins High.”

Robin smiled a little and chuckled.

“Speaking of the king of Hawkins High, do you want me to get his highness from the backroom?” she asked.

Luckily for her, you hadn’t noticed the way she was staring at you, because you had been too busy flicking through and counting dollar bills in your wallet.

You glanced up at her and flashed her a smile.

“Yeah, thanks.”

After that day, you spoke to Robin a lot more often. In fact, you asked her if she wanted to go to your house and watch the copy of A Nightmare on Elm Street that you’d finally been able to rent. Following that, you hung out with one another far more often, be it at the movie theatre, somewhere else in the mall or at one another’s houses. Steve was definitely a little jealous that his best friend was being stolen, something that you and Robin most definitely noticed and most definitely teased him for.

It was shaping up to be a normal summer, but that’s just not what you get in Hawkins. At least after you’ve been roped into the town’s self-appointed team of defenders.

Of course, it wasn’t long before you were in charge of a very drugged-up Steve and Robin, as well as Robin and Erica. You clearly weren’t as good a babysitter as you’d thought when you lost the elder two of the four, who you would later discover were now sat in the bathroom.

Whilst you were rushing around the mall like a frantic parent in search of their children, they were having a surprisingly emotional conversation.

“Do you remember what I said about you and Y/N always being so close? About me being jealous and, like, obsessed?” Robin asked.

“Yeah,” Steve nodded, curious to see where this was going.

“It isn’t because I had a crush on you,” Robin confessed and bit her lip gently. “It’s because... they don’t stop laughing at the stuff you say. They look at you like you’re the greatest guy in the world.”

“Huh? Y/N?” he said.

Robin chuckled lowly.

“Yeah. Y/N.” She paused. “I want them to laugh at the things I said and I want them to look at me as much as they look as you... but they’re always with you, laughing at the stupid things you say and looking at you and your stupid hair. And, I don’t understand because you-you picked on them about everything since you were kids until you guys just suddenly became best friends. And, you’ve always been way stupider than them. And, you’re a douchebag. And-and you don’t even like them like I always did even though they were always the funniest and coolest person and...I’d just go home and just scream into my pillow.”

“But Y/N’s-” Steve responded, confused.

“Steve,” she said softly, tilting her head a little in mild frustration at the fact it hadn’t clicked in his mind quite yet.

“Yeah?” he asked, breathing out a confused laugh.

She looked at him, and then it hit him. His eyes widened a little, but he never looked disgusted, which she’d feared.

“Oh,” is all he could say.

“Oh,” she mimicked softly.

“Holy shit,” Steve breathed out, leaning back in disbelief.

“Yeah. Holy shit,” Robin repeated half-heartedly, also leaning back as she looked to the ceiling. She then looked down at her thighs, sighing a little at the silence they now found themselves in. Filled with nerves and slight relief, Robin looked up at Steve.

“Steve...” she said softly. “Did you OD over there?”

“No, I just, uh...” Steve said almost breathlessly. “Just thinking.”

“Okay,” Robin whispered, scratching her neck awkwardly.

“I mean, yeah,” Steve said. “Y/N’s cool and all, but...I mean, they’re a total dork.”

“So what?” Robin asked.

“They’re in the chess club and they watch Star Trek,” Steve answered.

“They have passions. It’s cute,” Robin defended.

“Look, they’re my best friend, but... if you ever wanna be more than that with them, I gotta be sure that you’re prepared to handle all of their nerdy...ness. Like, we saw the Karate Kid 7 times when it came out because ‘it was the coolest movie since Return of the Jedi’. We saw the Breakfast Club 10 times because ‘it’s, like, the best movie made since the Karate Kid’,” he said, imitating you with an unflattering voice.

“They don’t talk like that!” Robin laughed.

“That was a great impersonation,” Steve responded. “Oh, and when they’re listening to music, they try to sing the words and the instruments.”

“I think it’s cute!” Robin exclaimed in protest, laughing even harder when Steve started singing some Rush song you’d sung to yourself several times, whilst also vocalising the guitar, bass and drums in intervals, not unlike someone trying to do all the parts to Bohemian Rhapsody on their own. Steve laughed just as hard as Robin when she joined in, with the both of them knowing it solely from your renditions of it. Eventually, they were just both laughing with one another, making Robin feel accepted by her friend. When the laughter faded away, and they were both smiling.

“For what it’s worth...I think you should ask them out,” Steve told Robin. “They’ve spent so much time with me and they don’t seem interested, so they must be into girls. And, looking back on it I think they have a crush on Princess Leia.”

Robin chuckled and sighed. “I’m not... you. I can’t just go up to them and ask them out.”

“Well, luckily for you, you’ve got a totally awesome wingman.” Steve said.

Robin rolled her eyes.

“I’ll tell them when we’re not in dange-”

She was interrupted by the door slamming open, and you were standing in front of Dustin and Erica.

“Okay, I’m really mad at you guys right now, but I’ll be pissed at you when our asses aren’t on the line. Let’s go.”

#robin buckley #robin buckley x reader #robin buckley x gn!reader #robin buckley x gn reader #robin buckley x gender neutral!reader #robin buckley x gender neutral reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x gn!reader #steve harrington x gn reader #steve harrington x gender neutral!reader #steve harrington x gender neutral reader #stranger things #x reader #x gn!reader #x gn reader #x gender neutral!reader #x gender neutral reader

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hope-to-hell · 23 days

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Wash it Away. Hector Munday x Reader. What do you think he does in his downtime? Surely he doesn’t just bathe in the blood of innocents; there’s got to be something of the mundane to balance all this out. Maybe he takes his coffee with cream, watching morning mist roll across the lake. And maybe you can find him in the bath after a long night’s work. Smut.

———

How was last night?

Even reflected in the shaving-glass, his gaze cuts deep. But there’s the slightest crinkle in the crows’ feet that have begun to gather at the corners of his eyes; a bruise blooms beautifully down his side, but he moves with almost languorous fluidity. The last few strokes of his straight razor are precise, steps in a long-perfected dance. Went well enough. He leans to set aside the tray that holds his shaving kit, soap and water sliding slickly down his back. Hn. A sigh— a letting-go— slips free as he reclines in the bathtub.

Could be better, could be worse?

As it is with all things.

It’ll be a few days yet before another batch of guests arrives. There’s wallpaper to hang, fuses to replace, and a thousand other little tasks that come with a place like this. Later this afternoon he’ll surely be out working in the curing shed, sleeves rolled to the elbow, surrounded by the sick-sweet odor of formalin and meat. It’s messy work that somehow always gives him an intense appetite for the pleasures of the flesh. As likely as not he’ll chase you down and have you right there on the path, stones and twigs digging bruises into your hands, your face, your knees and thighs— everywhere, really— as you drool and pant into the dirt.

But right now— go on. Get in the tub. Take advantage of this all too brief time when there is no pressing business to take care of yet. Enjoy this. Enjoy him. These moments are so few that each is precious, to be treasured in the long dark nights when he sends you to your room and says stay gone til morning. Well, what are you waiting for? Don’t get lost in pleasure’s absence while it’s right there in front of you. He lifts a hand just so and it's got you stripping down like your clothes are on fire. Climb on in and settle back against his chest. Flick that last little bit of soap from his jaw.

This feels nice, doesn’t it? He’s so warm, so broad, thicker than you ever would’ve guessed before you first saw him out of those clothes— bloody after an unlucky night, stitching himself up with fishing line and looking thunderous like you still living was the icing on the fucking cake— remember that look? Remember what you said to him? You haven’t got a suture kit? What kind of mickey-mouse operation is this? Remember how you could practically hear the gears turning in his mind before he shrugged and turned back to his work?

Remember when that bravado of tired-beyond-tired mouthing-off gave way and left this in its wake? It’s strange how these paths branch and reconnect, how the fearful thrill of survival turns into anticipation. Remember— He chuffs and wraps an arm around you. Don’t get lost in it. The water’s just this side of scalding, such that somewhere beneath these mountains of bubbles he’s rosy-pink except for where he’s a deeply pulsing red. Oh. Oh. Even though you know he’s hard and wanting, it still sends that shock of anticipation down to your toes when he brushes against your ass.

Go on, then. Raise up just a bit, just enough to reach for him and guide him home. There’s a slowness to the drag and burn of him inside you, but give it a moment, won’t you? Relax. Feel his arm barred across your ribs. Watch the subtle clench of his jaw as his free hand traces down your belly and beyond, and with the delicate pinch and roll of his fingers he gives you exactly what you need.

Keep your eyes on him. He remembers how you like it, how to pin you on him, how to coax your thighs just that little bit farther apart. Watch his lips part. Keep your eyes open. It’s tempting to invite the dark, to erase everything but pure physical sensation, but you don’t want to miss this. You’re going to come on his cock one way or another, but think of how sweet it’ll be to see him follow you down; if you watch his face you might yet see the moment when he comes undone, when just for a moment he’s stripped down to his purest self. He's close, seeming to grow somehow even thicker and Fuck. I’m so full of you. I can’t—

You will.

Go ahead. Fall. There’s nothing left to do but feel it happen, so greet the little death and let it in. And that’s a growl, deep in his chest; he grips you tight and pulses inside, but his hand doesn’t stop, not til you’re thrashing in his grip from overstimulation. Shh. That’s it, relax. This is good, isn’t it? The comedown’s slow and shaky; he will hold you tight until he softens and slips free, but for now you remain pinned here, filled with his seed. Breathe slow and deep. In, out. In, out. That’s it. That’s good.

#hector munday #hector munday fic #Hector munday smut #munday #munday x reader #munday x you #the devil in me #the devil in me fic #the devil in me smut #supermassive games #Hector munday x reader #hector munday x you

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cpunkwitch · 8 months

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answering my own questions

[pt: answering my own questions]

dont really get sent anything and not many people sent in the questions when the games were posted and reblogged, and i wanted to talk about stuff, so here we are.

this might end up being a multiple part post series?

ask game one (link)

(if comfortable) tell us about your condition? as much info as youre comfy with sharing.

i have a defect in the base of my spine, since i was born its caused me chronic pain all throughout my development and in recent years its only gotten worse, twisting my spine, headaches, jaw issues etc. i've also got highly suspected rheumatoid arthritis, fibromyalgia and ive been diagnosed with a pretty bad case of anemia so bad that everytime a doctor looks at my results after bloodwork they give me a pained look and say "heyy...did you know your iron is low? like...really really low?". that and a hand full of other things, vitamin deficiencies, etc. i dont mind talking more about this

2. do you know about the spoon theory? if yes, what do you think of it?

i'll be honest, the majority of my knowledge of spoon theory off the top of my head is that "drawer with limited supply of spoons" is the disabled way of saying i only have so much motivation and energy (phys, as "battery" usually refers to social and emotional) in me. i've read up on it ages ago but would not be able to put into better words what i still remember about spoon theory (esp since we had a different host back then), i like that its just so much quicker and easier to convey my amount of ability to do things for the day by saying whether or not i have the spoons for it.

i do like to joke that my drawer is always stocked with knives and forks for the ablests, but sometimes that requires spoons to handle too. /silly

3. do you have mobility aids? if yes, which ones? if no, do you want any in the future?

i've mention how i really wish i could have a wheelchair if i were in a different situation, i dont know if i'll ever get one and i almost cried when my brother responded to my joke of "would you make on for me?" with an "i would if i could", i really would like a wheelchair of some kind in the future if the world were more accessible and i were in a safer place. right now though, i've just got my cane that still needs repainting. i guess my moms back brace counts too, i take it with me to work sometimes.

4. how did you find out about cripplepunk? what drew you to the community and movement?

i dont exactly remember but i've known about it for years. i (prev host) might have come across it looking up different punk aesthetics, though im not completely sure why it showed up in a punk aesthetic list, possibly because its punk and people misinterpreted it? my first glimpse was seeing patches on jackets, spiked customized aids, cripples/phys disabled people in your classic punk attire (piercings, dyed spiked mohawks, ripped jeans and fingerless gloves) and i loved it. im a sucker for self expression through appearance and customizing things and then when i found out it was a whole community for support and centered around being physically disabled in general and slowly came to terms with my own disabled body and started accepting myself, i kinda fell in love with cripplepunk in the "this feels like home" sense.

i could probably ramble way more but i'll stop there.

5. if you deal with any kind of pain, what's your method of pain management?

i use hot packs, ice packs, voltaren cream, sometimes i take a cbd gummy, i do little stretches when i remember them, i take walks and hot baths/showers, im trying to go back to the chiropractor and my favourite instructors in rehab (theyre trans friendly and complimented my cane when i first came in with it i love them so much), and i take whatever meds i can, normally anti-inflammatory like ibuprofen but because i cant swallow pills i either take liquid (yeah, childs liquid meds works, the couple hours of mild relief is still worth it) or powdered tylenol or something. the hot/cold stuff depends on the pain and where on my body the pain is.

6. do you stand or sit in the shower or do you prefer baths/find bathing easier rather than showers?

i take baths for my muscles and during the damn monthly ouch in order to relax my body. i take showers just for my shoulders and when im feeling icky and wanna rinse off or something, i take showers on a "regular" basis and i normally stand because the only way i sit is if im crouched in the tub and if i do that i get extra dizzy standing up to get out when i turn the water off. thankfully im no longer near passing out when i take a shower but i still have to sit on the floor matt after because my legs demand rest. i gotta be careful with hot water cuz not only will it make me overheat quickly (i will not realize if in standing in blood-boiling hot water and turning myself into a cooked lobster until after im out) but it can also cause me to literally fall asleep in the bath which can go wrong.

7. do you have a sort of comfort item or safety blanket that helps you feel better, especially on the worst days?

a couple things. a few of them are stuffies/plushies, or music, games or books to help me keep my mind off it i suppose.

8. name 3 things you hate about hospitals/doctors/nurses/the medical system

a) a lot of them refuse to take people seriously or actually listen. sure maybe theyre tired or heard the same shtick before and wanna make sure this person isnt just a drug user trying to pity their way into getting more, but even then all matters a patient presents them with should still be taken seriously and never brushed off or mocked.

b) the fact that the er, the place you take a ticket and wait, is called the Emergency Room, when its normally scheduled appointments and people taken in by the ambulance that are top priority. sure its called the er because most visits through the er are rushed "emergency" last minute visits, people going there because they couldnt schedule an appointment and needed to see someone on that day, but still it feels wrong to call it the emergency room when its really just a waiting room and regardless of the visit they arent actually treated as emergencies. the whole system of just going to see a doctor feels messed up and most of the time you end up just going to see a nurse, get a check up and leave when they tell you what they got after a talk and examination or they schedule to see you again when a doctor is available. because of this i tend to prefer walk in clinics.

c) the fact that they charge to damn much, no matter if youre insured, it still charges so much. no matter what they do. and yeah, healthcare in canada is free to an extent if youre insured but a lot of times they charge more than your insurance can cover and not everyone can get/has insurance. not to mention the medical debt so many people have in america. i get that staff and hospitals need pay and funding but the government should have that covered and not have the patients charged so much for getting help. i almost got charged over 3k just for my short visit to the ward because there was an issue with my insurance and thats a whole angry story for another time.

9. whats an accessibility tool you wish was more accessible/that you had access to?

one of them is aac, the one i have on my phone i have to disconnect my phone to and has a limited amount of phrases i can pick from. id like it better if the app or just aac programs in general when directly to your device speaker by default, had more options for more ease conversing and none of them were behind a damn pay wall, in-app purchase or otherwise. i rarely use it for several reasons but i'd love if i could use it more with less limitations.

also wheelchair ramps. i dont have a wheelchair ramp but i wish people stopped walking on them when theyre clearly able-bodied, i wished my parents taught me and my siblings what the ramps were for and not to run up and down them as well as other parents to their kids because those things are supposed to be clear for a wheelchair user. i also think the corners should be rounded for ease of turning and that wheelchair accessible paths in general should be firm to the ground (not a wimpy matt on the sand that flips over and gets buried on the beach unmaintained), maintained and cleaned regularly, not have any gaps (ive seen so many of the small ones installed in doorways that have a height gap above the ground which causes trouble getting the wheelchair on the ramp let alone through the damn door) and not have railings made of metal if theyre outside (they can often reflect light into peoples eyes and get too hot to touch in the sun both of which are not good issues to have no matter how small they seem.)

those are at least the first to come to mind.

10. whats the worst accessability cockblock you've seen ableds do/make?

theres quite a few i've seen but atm nothing significant comes to mind other than overpricing mobility aids or placing paywalls in front of aids in general.

however there was the few times in more than one school i went to you had to go to the office, provide a 'valid' reason and ask them for a key to the elevator, otherwise they make you take the stairs. i know they do it because they dont want able-bodied kids messing with it n shit but its stupid, it should be accessible to everyone regardless. thank fuck both collages ive been to so far give free elevator use to any staff or student but in the schools i went to i was only allowed have the access key because i couldnt walk up the steps on my sprained/twisted ankle and i had to give it back at the end of every day. the last school even limited my use to just the morning or 1-2 periods that i had on the second floor. nevermind if my locker was up there.

11. whats an accessibility tool youre very thankful for?

screen readers. my little brother uses/used em more than me and i dont use them too often but im glad they exist in general i used them when i was younger and my english teachers gave us work on the computer, i used it like an audiobook and it helped me majorly. i hate that people dont always provide translations to things and make things harder on screen readers by using coloured, tiny, non-serif font-ed or 'quirked' text but ever since i was a kid i was just as happy they existed as i was about braille.

12. name 3 things you like about hospitals/docs/nurses/the medical system

a) that there are some people there who are actually hoping, willing and ready to listen and help others.

b) that they provide things for kids like toys in the waiting room, people who specialize in caring for kids in the hospital, some doctors even have their office decorated. one doctor i went to had her entire office winnie the pooh themed and it helped me out a lot when i got blood work done n stuff, it was really comforting to stare at pooh bear instead of the sharp pokey in my arm.

c) that things are usually kept quiet with low voices, as it reduces risk of overstimulation as well as avoids hurting anyones head and protects privacy of those talking about whats going on. voices are usually only raised to a normal talking level when in the privacy of a nurse or doctor office and its something i dont see really acknowledged anywhere.

13. do you have any favourite disability rep? (media or character)

not picking from my own sources, when it comes to physical disability rep, its hard for me to pick something that involves a realistic character because most of them arent very well portrayed or i cant personally relate to. i can list Freddy freeman as one, hes a crutch user and how the shazam movie portrayed him does well in expressing what ableism can be like for some visibly disabled kids in school. i could probably list some shows that handle disability well through other means if i thought of them, i know theres a few that handle it through super heros being disabled (the one spider-person who's got both a wheelchair and a cane from the recent spiderverse movie for example) or non-human characters having differences that are implied to be disabilities, and i adore that creativity, especially with showing disabled super heros as it tells disabled kids theyre still strong, not broken, they can still be cool and do great things just like able-bodied people. hard for me to name specific things off the top of my head though, guess i like specific tropes around disability rep more than anything. it helps normalize disability and thats what really makes me happy with it. (thats a big reason why i made @/your-fave-is-crippled)

14. least favourite/worst disability rep?

not phys disabled but sia's fucked up movie right off the bat still angers me. i cant name any specifics once again, normally if theres some rep that i dont like i purposely forget they exist to begin with, they arent worth remembering if they arent gonna do it right, y'know? id rather forget and move on than linger and rage about it if i can help it.

15. list some creators (youtubers/bloggers etc) that are disabled and/or cater to a disabled audience that you enjoy? (if any)

@crippled-pvp, @cripple-culture-is are a couple blogs i follow that i enjoy seeing on my dash (sorry if you dont want to be tagged!)

there was a deaf/hoh girl i used to frequent the content of as she talks a lot about signing and i really enjoyed her videos, shes such a sweet person but i never remembered her name nor any of the other creators i watched/followed. no one else comes to mind atm

16. favourite aspect about the general disabled community?

i like that there are people with advice at the ready, whatever question you have or info you need etc, theres always going to be someone with the words you need. i just like how helpful people can be in general in this community and how easily support is accessed through the community.

17. least favourite aspect about the general disabled community?

the fact that theres in-fighting, fake claiming, judgment, quick assumptions, and general internalized ableism still going on when we're supposed to be a community helping each other out not tearing each other down. im not just talking about the fight over "inclusion vs exclusion" on cripplepunk and other sub/separate communities in the disability community.

18. favourite aspect about cripplepunk?

i think my answer to "what drew you to cripplepunk" also answers this.

19. least favourite aspect about cripplepunk?

honestly? none. i hate the people forcing themselves into a space not meant to include them nor benefits them in the first place. i cant actually think of an issue i have with the cpunk community, only issues with people outside being upset over how "exclusive" it is because they want in.

20. free space:

feel free to ask me about any of my answers! i'll make a second post for the second ask game some other time. its currently 11pm and i have to get up early for morning classes yuck

[ID: banner reading "dni if... proship, transx/id, syscourse/discourse blog, anti-mspec lesbians/gays, anti-lesboy/turigirl more in pinned rentry. this blog is protected by the addams family, the de rolo family and co." in all black lowercase text. It has a grey cloud background. On the left is the De Rolo coat of arms with a cobweb in the top corner and symmetrically flipped on the right is the symbol of Vox Machina with the same cobweb in the bottom corner :End ID]

#cass rambles #disability blogging #actually disabled #physically disabled #cripplepunk #physical disability #cpunk #disabled #cripple punk #cpunk blog #answers

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ashintheairlikesnow · 1 year

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The Lights

CW: Pet whump, whump of a minor (OC is 17), some conditioned internal ableism, Oliver Branch is a goddamn creepy intimate whumper, isolation, captivity, referenced drugging

For @amonthofwhump day 4: Holiday light show

Chris’s masterlist

The grounds of the governor’s mansion are nearly silent as Baldur moves nervously, following his Sir. The blindfold - really a sleep mask, soft as fur against his eyelids and with elastic holding it on - keeps him dependent on Sir’s hand in his. It feels like being led by a leash. It should be comforting but it only makes Baldur shiver harder as a chill breeze seems to find its way up his sleeves and underneath the hem of the perfectly draped blue sweater his Sir had allowed him to wear with his usual soft pants.

His feet are bare, and the ground is so cold it makes his toes burn and tingle. Eventually, though, he doesn’t feel the grass very much at all.

“S-sir-”

“Ssssshhhh. Be quiet, sweetheart.” Sir’s hand squeezes his, once and then again. There’s laughter in his voice, and Baldur turns towards it like a flower finding the sun. If this is a game, he hasn’t given Baldur the rules. Not that it matters - even when he does know the rules, Sir almost always makes sure he loses anyway. “Remember your most important truth, darlin’?”

“Statue boys… are good boys,” Baldur says. His tongue hates the words, moves thick in his mouth around them, but he doesn’t have a choice. He says it anyway. It’s the first thing he learned from his handler, beaten so deeply into him he could say it in his sleep, he probably does say it in his sleep. “Silence is better than… than stammering. Stillness is better than what-... I do.”

“Good boy.” Another squeeze, and warmth that feels like rotten honey blooms in his chest. He finds a smile, but he doesn’t know if Sir can even see it or if he’s even looking. It feels good to be praised, but it feels like poison, too. Like the news story he saw on how sometimes animals eat antifreeze because they think it tastes sweet.

He can’t remember what antifreeze is.

But he knows what it means to have poison given to you like ice cream.

The two of them move over the grass, the blades tickling Baldur’s bare feet. Dew hasn’t set in, yet, the grass is still dry. Then he is stopped, and Sir puts hands on his shoulders, turning him around in circles until he cries out with dizziness and tries to grab on to anything he can to keep his balance.

Sir’s hand claps over his mouth to muffle him as he comes to a stop, the man’s warmth and solidity just behind him, something to fall back against as his chest heaves with rough breathing. If only Baldur could trust his Sir to catch him if he fell, and not simply to watch him, and laugh, and bring his belt down again.

“Did I not just tell you to shut that pretty mouth?” Sir whispers against his ear, slowly pulling his hand away and back to his shoulder. Baldur’s eyes close as tightly as they can behind the blindfold to try and keep back the rush of hot tears, the only part of him that feels warm. “I still have security here at night, you know.”

“I, I know-”

“If they found you, I would go to prison, darlin’.”

“... Sir-... I’m sorry, sir-”

“And you know what would happen to you?” The whisper is suddenly vicious where before it was soft, and Baldur’s spine straightens, every muscle locking. But he can’t even begin to remember how to pull away.

“... I, I do, I know-”

“You’d go right back into WRU. They’d wipe you and start over again, only you’d be even worse off this time, sweetheart. Do you want to go back to WRU?”

“No! No, sir, please no, please-”

The hand claps tightly again. “I said be quiet, Baldur!” This time those fingers clamp painfully, jamming his lips against his teeth, until he whimpers. Only then does Sir slowly lift his hand, hovering, ready to press down again.

Baldur swallows, his voice thick, heart racing just beneath his breastbone. His hands are shaking, his stomach has frozen inside him. “I’m s-sorry, sir, I’m, I’m, I’m-”

“Baldur.” His Sir’s voice drops, suddenly low and threatening.

“I’m… sorry.” He fights his voice to keep it calm and low, soft and even, only a little trembling and not stammering at all. “Silence is better than stammering, silence is better than… I’m sorry, sir.”

“That’s better. Now… I did the unveiling officially earlier, I couldn’t show you that, but…” He lays a hand over Baldur’s eyes and pulls off the blindfold in the same smooth motion, keeping him in the dark. “One… two… three.”

Sir pulls his hand away.

There’s a pause.

“Well?”

“Um… Sir, may I… open my eyes now?”

Sir laughs, harsh and mocking, and Baldur feels blood pool hot in his cheeks. “Yes, Baldur, darlin’. That’s the idea. Oh, you stupid pretty thing. Look!”

Baldur opens his eyes, embarrassed that he didn’t understand that the game had changed, but then all sense of being worried and frightened fades as he takes in the sight of the governor’s mansion, just over the swell of the small hill they stand on.

It’s lit up, not only the warmth of the lights inside and the grand Christmas tree in the big window, but with strand upon strand of lights hung from every conceivable surface all along the outside. His hands creep up to cover his mouth, instinctively muffling his own gasp. There are white lights, blue lights, red and green. Baldur’s eyes follow the shapes they create, draping from awnings and curving over the high doorways. His mouth drops open without him knowing it, and he leans back against the support his Sir provides behind him. There are warm arms over his chest and around his stomach, and he slowly rests a hand on each of them, ignoring how his skin crawls.

That’s less important than the lights, than the gift he is being given of getting to see them from the outside, not trapped within.

“Sir… the house-”

“Mansion,” Sir corrects him, voice low and affectionate. “Let’s not sacrifice accuracy just because we’re a little bit starstruck, darlin’.”

“I’m sorry, Sir.” He whispers, but he can’t be frightened enough of the words. He can’t feel the fear he should feel. All he can see is the beauty of the lights. His eyes follow the trail of one set. It’s decorating the window to the room Sir eats breakfast in sometimes. Baldur has peeked through that curtain to watch the school buses come and memorize the knock-kneed nervous stride of the teenagers, so like him and so entirely different than he will ever be. “It’s… beautiful.”

“I know.” Sir rests his chin on top of Baldur’s head, and it’s the gentlest and sweetest he’s ever been. The pet closes his eyes briefly in something that would be contentment, if he wasn’t still terrified of the man who holds his entire life in his hands. His collar is buckled safely around his throat, a sign that he can’t be hurt too badly, not with it on.

He’ll be safe, as long as Sir doesn’t take off the collar.

He never really feels safe, though.

“I’ll get some good press for this,” Sir murmurs. His voice is a low rumble, the vibration traveling through his chest into Baldur’s back right through the thin sweater. Baldur is still shivering in the cold, but Sir doesn’t seem to notice. “I was able to get some local businesses involved, so it didn’t cost the taxpayers extra. It’s good for my reputation. I’ve got an interview with the morning show tomorrow, Baldur darlin’, so you’ll need to sleep in a little bit until I’m done, hm?”

Baldur takes a breath, the beauty of the lights fading.

Sleeping in is a code, he knows, for being given extra pills to keep him unconscious in the bed while Sir sits across the room calling in using a camera on the television. Sir likes to flirt around the edges of being caught with Baldur, likes the adrenaline rush of it. He doesn’t care that it gives Baldur headaches when he wakes up, leaves him helpless and weak and nauseous, unable to eat and throwing up into the toilet sometimes, crying on the bathroom floor until finally he feels able to crawl into the shower and lay there under the hot water until it turns cold.

No, Sir doesn’t care about any of that.

He likes Baldur that way. Likes to be the one who carries him back to the bed.

“Maybe if you look at them long enough,” Sir says, his smile in his voice - Baldur doesn’t even need to see his face. “You’ll dream about them while you’re sleeping through my interview. What d’you think, sweetheart?”

Baldur bites back and shoves down any honest answer that tries to fight its way out. Instead, he says softly, “I hope… I do dream of it. Thank you, Sir, for… showing me.”

Maybe if Sir is distracted enough, he can palm the pills, let them sit under his tongue and then spit them out and hide them behind the bed. Even if he has to lay still under the covers and pretend, curl up in the shower and plead feeling sick and listen to Sir laugh at him for being so weak, it’s better to pretend to feel those things than to actually have to feel them.

But, for just a second, when the hand first came off his eyes… he had seen only the lights. He had seen only the beauty of the house, and he hadn’t thought, in that second, at all about the ugly days he lives through inside.

Baldur stares at the Christmas lights until his eyes blur with the tears he hopes his Sir cannot see and punish him for.

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