#prequel series

[leviackermanscleaningbuddy]

SKZ DRABBLE-OT8

The one where presenting triggers an avalanche of unknown roles. And Minho was definitely not meant to be a scientist.

or

The Twenty Third Installment of the SKZ!Pack Prequel Series.

Tags: Skz, Stray Kids, Stay, OT8, SKZ!pack, SKZ!abo, Poly!Skz, Omegaverse, FemReader, SKZ x you, SKZ x reader, OT8 x you, OT8 x reader, Bang Chan, Lee Minho, Seo Changbin, Hwang Hyunjin, Lee Felix, Han Jisung, Kim Seungmin, Yang Jeongin, Y/N, SKZ!pack prequel, Pack!Prequel, prequel series, new, update, Skz drabble

Genre: Angst

Warnings: Mentions of vomit

Title: Scientific Method

“What do we do? Is there someone we should call?” Jisung paces frantically, his fingers buried in his hair, his expression panicked. 

Hyunjin scoffs from his spot on the couch, his arms folded over his chest, his whole posture stiff and screaming anger still. “What do you think there is? Some sort of ‘Presentation Police’?”

“Hyunjin.” Changbin warns in a low tone from beside the omega, eyes flashing to the distress obvious on Jisung’s face, in the souring of his scent. 

The distress flooding everyone at this point. 

“He’s right though.” Seungmin comments from his spot against the wall, watching everyone warily, as if he’s studying you all. “We will have to get the appropriate paperwork from the Heat Clinic to excuse him from studies.” 

The beta shifts slightly, clearing his throat. “And delayed presentations, from what I’ve read, are like a heat, but on steroids. So whether he knows it or not, he’s gonna need an alpha-a knot-sooner rather than later.” 

You don’t miss the way Changbin and Chan stiffen at his words, a muscle flinching in Chan’s clenched jaw. 

Minho sighs, reaching out a hand to stop Jisung’s endless pacing, tugging the beta to him and tucking him beneath the safety of his chin. 

Jisung’s body stills, but his foot still taps anxiously against the floor. 

“What do we do now though? At this exact moment?” 

Seungmin shrugs. “We’ll have to ask him-what he needs, what he wants. Every omega-especially newly presented ones-are different. No two are the same.” 

Hyunjin snorts from his position on the couch, anger flaring to life in the dark recesses of his eyes. 

“He’s in no fucking condition to talk, Seungmin. Kid can’t even keep water down. He’s miserable.” 

You know why he’s angry-and he has a right to be-but your alpha growls warningly in response at the slight bitter flare to his scent, as if he’s challenging you. 

You discreetly put a hand over your nose and breathe through your mouth, because the scents colliding in the room right now-heightened by uncertainty and rampaging emotions-are threatening to overwhelm you. 

You can feel a headache starting to pound behind your eyes. 

“He’s probably scared.” Felix whispers, eyes large and dark, expression grave and worried. He’s picking at a string on the blanket across his lap, and Hyunjin breaks his inactivity to reach out and place his fingers comfortingly over the other omega’s. 

Felix gives him a grateful look before he continues. 

“Someone needs to be there for him. I don’t know what late presentations are like, thank god, but I do know what heats are like, and he’s not going to want to be alone.” 

Chan clears his throat, resignation in his eyes as he steps forward, glancing between you, Changbin, and Minho. 

“We have responsibilities as the alphas of this pack to take care of our own. We need to ask him who he wants, before he suffers needlessly.” 

“He’s already suffering.” Hyunjin mutters bitterly beneath his breath, and Chan turns to him, eyes suddenly flashing, but his voice steady. 

“Hyunjin, you have a right to be angry on Jeongin’s behalf, we were boneheads, I get that, but no matter how stupid we’ve been going about it, we’ve always, always put this pack first, and that’s what we’re trying to do now. Please give us a little slack, and if you don’t have anything helpful to add, find somewhere else to be until you can get control of your emotions.” 

You see Felix squeeze Hyunjin’s hand, and finally the omega nods once, curt and short. 

Chan blows out a long breath and glances back to all of you, and you see the dark circles forming beneath his eyes, slowly bruising the tan skin. 

“Okay. How do we do this?” 

You feel something heavy sink into the pit of your stomach at his words, and you immediately hold out your hands, your voice quiet as you announce, “Well, he definitely doesn’t want to see me. So I’ll take myself out of the running.” 

Chan opens his mouth to say something-maybe to agree with you, maybe not-but Seungmin beats him to the punch. 

“Not necessarily.” The beta pushes off the wall and comes toward you, studying you with a sharp gaze that seems to look right into everything you’re so desperately trying to keep hidden. “You may have been a straight up alpha asshole, and Jeongin may be upset with you right now, but his omega is an entirely different story.” 

You stare at him, and he gives you a slight smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he shrugs. 

“Biology’s a bitch, remember?” 

You sigh. “So you keep telling me.” 

“I’ll just go and talk to him.” Hyunjin announces sharply, pushing up from the couch with a slight glare. “He’s used to my scent since I helped him down here to his apartment, so it shouldn’t trigger him too much or make him too territorial if I enter his nest-” 

Suddenly, the omega sways on his feet, and Changbin is up in a flash, steadying him with an arm around his waist. 

“Jin.” Changbin murmurs, his face pinched with worry and confusion as he stares at the omega. “You good?” 

“Fuck, I don’t-” Hyunjin starts to say, shaking his head slowly, before he groans and leans over to clamp his arms around his midsection. 

“Fuck.” He repeats again, and it’s a whimper this time, as Changbin takes all of his weight with a grunt and holds him upright. 

“What the fuck is going on?” Chan asks, voice tight, as he kneels down in front of Hyunjin and tries to look up into his face, his hands going steadily on the omega’s hips. 

There is the sudden sharp scent of lemons flooding out all the other smells in the room, and saliva starts to pool behind your teeth. 

Your wolf begins to pace in agitation. 

“I think I-” Hyunjin starts to say between gritted teeth, before doubling over once more. 

And then you smell it, clear as day. 

It makes your jaw ache, spit flooding your mouth, your wolf suddenly at full attention, hungry. 

Slick. 

“Aw, fuck.” Minho growls out, dark eyes growing more serious as he stares at Hyunjin. “Are you in heat?” 

Hyunjin shakes his head violently, as Changbin helps him toward the door with slow, unsteady steps. “No! I’m diligent with tracking, I’m not even close-” “Wait.” You say, hurrying after Changbin and helping Hyunjin slip his feet into his sneakers. You glance up at the pained look on the omega’s from where you’re kneeling and suddenly, you feel stupid for not putting it together sooner. 

“The same thing happened when Felix experienced his first heat as part of the pack.” You glance at Felix for confirmation, and he gives a quick nod, his eyes never leaving Hyunjin’s crumpled frame. “And now Jeongin-” 

Seungmin’s eyes light up like he’s just put the puzzle pieces together too. 

“Oh my god. We’re so fucking dense.” 

You nod, and Hyunjin lets out a harsh breath, glaring as much as he can between the two of you. 

“Spit it out. I’m dying here.” 

You smooth a palm down his thigh, and the muscle trembles a little less beneath your touch, your pheromones blooming in the air between you. 

“You’re our Luna.” You murmur, and your wolf growls with the rightness of it all. You can’t believe you hadn’t realized it sooner. You glance back up to Hyunjin’s pinched face. “You’re the Luna of the pack.” 

Understanding crosses Hyunjin’s face, followed by panic. 

“Fuck, I think I’m going to be sick-” He chokes out, and you don’t know whether it’s the sudden news of his position in the pack, or the impending heat, but he does suddenly look a bit green. 

You stand, and open the door so Changbin can usher him into the hall. 

“Take care of him, yeah?” You say softly as they pass you, and Changbin glances at you, nodding stiffly. 

“I’ve got him, baby girl. Don’t worry.” 

You nod back, holding his gaze. “I know.” 

Hyunjin whines, and you have to tamp your wolf back down from answering the call. 

You lean over once more to glance at his face, smoothing a hand over his hair. 

“If you need me, baby-” You assure quietly, staring at him unwaveringly, your scent backing your firm words. “-I will be there immediately. Okay?” 

Hyunjin nods, whimpering slightly beneath his breath, clutching his middle, and then you let them go, watching as Changbin helps him down the hall and out of sight. 

You glance back in through the open doorway, to where the rest of the pack is still discussing how to help Jeongin, and now Hyunjin, and feel something heavy and forbidding settle into the pit of your stomach. 

“Fuck.” You mutter beneath your breath, just to yourself and whatever God may be listening, before you go back into the apartment and shut the door. 

***************

In the end, you all come to the decision that it’s for the best if the two betas go in to talk to Jeongin and see what he needs from all of you. 

“Our scents are soft and faint, they won’t trigger him like the alphas’ or Felix’s would.” Seungmin had assured, looking between all of you seriously. “We’re also neutral ground, so his omega shouldn’t feel the need to be territorial over its nest either.” 

 And now Jisung was looking like he wanted to follow in Jeongin’s and Hyunjin’s footsteps and promptly hurl his guts up in the bathroom. 

“I’m having a fucking panic attack.” He chokes out, leaning over the sink, palms flat against the cold marble of the counter, face red and sweaty. 

You shut the door quietly behind you and approach him slowly, watching the way his chest heaves as he breathes in and out. 

Well, gasps in and out. 

“Jisung.” You murmur gently, coming up behind him and carefully sliding your hands over his, pressing your chest against his back, if only to ground him a little. “Breathe.” 

“I can’t-” He stutters out, fingers clenching beneath your own, his whole body trembling, as he drops his head and gasps for breath, repeating again desperately, “-I can’t.” 

“Jisung.” You echo, voice firmer this time, pressing more tightly against him, pinning him against the counter, hoping to settle him with your body weight. “Look at me.” 

He lifts his head, just enough to meet your eyes in the mirror from beneath the dark fringe of his bangs, and you hold him steady with your gaze, watching the panic swirl in the depths of his eyes. 

“Breathe.” You admonish again, softer once more, and Jisung manages to take in one deep, shuddering breath. You nod, squeezing his hands. “Good. Again.” 

He takes in another breath, followed by another, and you wait in silence, until his heartbeat is no longer thundering through his back and into your own. 

“Good boy, baby.” You praise quietly, rubbing your fingers over his own, as he ducks his head once more and takes a few more calming breaths. “That’s it. You’re doing great.” 

You watch him carefully in the reflection of the mirror, gauging his condition, and after another beat of silence, he lifts his head and says hoarsely in a halting voice, not quite meeting your gaze, “I’m sorry.” 

You immediately shake your head, snaking your arms around his waist now that he’s a tad calmer, squeezing him to you as you continue to both stand in front of the mirror. 

“You have nothing to apologize for, ever. Not with me, not with any other member of the pack. We love you, baby. That will never change.” 

You squeeze him once more, just for good measure, and he finally meets your gaze, his own large, dark eyes still slightly more shiny than normal. 

“Thanks.” He whispers back, taking in another long, trembling breath. 

You nod silently, still watching him, and then ask softly, “Do you want to talk about it?” 

Jisung blows out the breath he had been holding, and his fingers tighten again against the lip of the counter, his knuckles whitening. 

The scent of drying laundry filling the bathroom grows slightly moldy. 

His body tenses beneath your hold, and you sink your chin onto his shoulder, just to remind him you’re there. 

“I-” Jisung starts, biting his trembling bottom lip. “-don’t think I’m the right person for this job.” 

You say nothing, waiting for him to continue. 

He sighs, and releases his hold on the counter finger by finger, as if he just now realized how tightly he was clenching the stone for support. 

“I don’t know what to say, or what to do, and I’ve never even dealt with someone during their cycle before-well, that’s not true, I’ve been with Minho-hyung for rut, but a heat is completely different according to Seungmin-and a whole lot is riding on this going well, and I-” His panicked rambling dies off into a groan, and he leans over the sink once more. “-Fuck, I think I’m going to be sick-” 

You cling to him more tightly, and try to pull him back from the brink. 

“Jisung.” You say firmly, keeping your voice calm and steady, your expression never wavering from his as you stare him down in the mirror. You mimic a deep, long breath. “Breathe, baby.” 

He manages to pull in another breath at your words, and then another, and when he looks at you once more, he doesn’t look quite so intent on vomiting up his breakfast. 

You let him calm down in silence for another beat, and then you ask quietly, voice firm, “Who made you feel like that?” 

Jisung’s eyes flick up to yours, and there is surprise written on his face, mixed now with the panic. 

“Like what?” 

It’s your turn to take in a deep breath, something cold and final settling between your ribs now that you’re truly paying attention, as if your wolf knew what was happening before you did, growling low and threatening, ready to protect the beta enclosed in your arms with its final breath. 

“Like you’re not good enough. Like you’re somehow lacking.” 

You’re not just talking about the anxiety attacks either. You’re talking about the fact that someone made him feel as if he didn’t have anything to contribute to serious situations. 

The thought makes you see red. 

Jisung visibly winces, and you know you’ve hit the nail on the head. 

“Jisung.” You say firmly, reaching up a hand to cup his chin, so he can’t duck his head and avoid your gaze any longer, your palm against his throat, the rapid flicker of his pulse speeding up beneath your touch. 

His eyes are large and dark, and a silent tear rolls down one of his cheeks. 

“You are an important, valid, loved member of this pack. When I say you can do anything you set your mind to, I mean it. And there is no one, no one, better for this job than you.” 

His bottom lip quivers and you swipe your finger tip across it gently. 

“You were the first one to make Innie feel welcome. The first one to help him get comfortable. The first one to invite him to hang out in a casual setting. You were the only member of the pack he trusted from the absolute very beginning. You, Jisung, no one else, you. And he needs you now. And we wouldn’t have asked you to do this, if we didn’t believe that you could.” 

Jisung takes in one more deep, shuddering breath, and then nods, straightening his shoulders with a determined look. 

“You’re right. I can do this.” 

You give him the hint of a smile as he turns in your arms, and lean forward to press a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth, swiping away the track left behind by the rogue tear. 

The scent of laundry is cleaner now, giving hints of a warm summer day and fresh detergent.

“Yes, baby, you absolutely can.” 

*********

“Stop pacing.” Minho snaps out, glaring at Chan, as he takes another circle of the room. 

Chan shoots him an apologetic look and flops down beside you on the couch. “Sorry, Min.” 

He glances at his watch and then to the empty hallway. 

“They’ve been in there a long time. Do you think they-” “No.” You shake your head, knowing where he’s going, and let your hand rest on his jiggling thigh, stilling the nervous movement and hopefully keeping him place for a moment longer. “They’re okay. Jisung and Seungmin have got this.” 

Chan sighs and nods, sinking back into the couch, but he doesn’t look happy about it. 

The hand he covers your own with is trembling slightly. 

“God, you’re like a nervous mother hen, hyung.” Minho remarks with a slight smirk, though you can tell, by his grip on the arm of the couch, that he’s not as relaxed as he’s pretending to be. 

This whole thing has put everyone on edge. 

“I can’t help it.” Chan protests, throwing his hands out helplessly. “He’s always on edge, but today it’s like ten times as bad.” 

You know he’s talking about his alpha, and something in his words catches your attention, making you think for a moment. 

Hyunjin being the Luna of the pack made sense after you’d put everything together, maybe Chan-

Your train of thought is interrupted by the reappearance of Seungmin and Jisung, and a fresh wave of a scent you’ve never smelled before. 

Something yeasty, like rising bread? And spiced with cinnamon around the edges. 

Your wolf immediately pricks its ears, growling possessively. 

At the same time, Chan covers his nose beside you, pupils going wide and dark almost immediately. 

“Fuck.” Jisung goes directly to Minho, curling up into his arms and snuggling his head against his chest, and Minho rears back, hissing slightly between his teeth. 

Jisung glances up, expression offended. “What the fuck, hyung?” 

Minho carefully deposits the put out beta onto his own cushion of the couch, and scoots closer to you and Chan, his own palm going up to cover his nose and mouth. 

“No offense, Sungie, but you’re gonna have to shower before you come near me again.” 

Now all three of you are crushed onto the furthest end of the couch, and Seungmin is watching from the doorway, open amusement on his features. 

Jisung glances at the other beta with annoyance on his face, and Seungmin takes pity on him, coming to sit beside him as he pats his hand once in sympathy. 

Minho practically climbs on top of you and Chan to get away. 

“It’s Innie’s scent, hyung. It’s all over us.” Seungmin says, glancing over to the three of you with humor in his dark eyes, his brow arched. “He didn’t have one before, but now that he’s presenting, it’s kinda strong.” 

“Kinda?” Chan chokes out, trying to breathe through his mouth, and you have to agree with his outrage. 

You literally can’t take a breath of the yeast laden air without your entire body prickling with want. 

“Well, fuck me, I guess.” Jisung grumbles, lifting the hem of his shirt to his nose as if to smell what Seungmin is talking about, then letting it fall in open disgust. 

“Oh, I will.” Minho retorts back, his hand never leaving his face. “But only after you shower.” 

“Well?” Chan asks impatiently, and Seungmin gives him a sharp look, to which he slumps back on the couch. “Sorry.” 

“Wow, first you say we stink, now you’re taking tones with us?” Jisung wails dramatically, flinging himself over Seungmin, even as the other beta wrinkles his nose and tries, unsuccessfully, to shove him off. “The pack is being torn apart by this!” 

“You don’t stink-” You start carefully, glancing at Chan and Minho, who look just as desperately frazzled as you feel. The saliva in your mouth echoes the truth of your words. “-quite the opposite actually.” 

Jisung immediately ceases his wailing and sits up right. 

“Oh?” He arches a brow, and a saucy look comes over his face. “So you’re telling me I shouldn’t do this-” 

He makes a move to playfully lunge toward the three of you, piled on the end of the couch, and swear to god, you all visibly flinch. 

“No!” You all shriek at the same time, and Minho’s elbow hits you square in the face and Chan takes your knee to his ribs as you all scrabble to get away from the smirking beta and the overwhelming, incredibly tantalizing scent of warm bread. 

“Fucking hell, Jisung.” Minho groans, pinching his nose and screwing his eyes closed as if he’s getting a migraine. “Do you have a death wish?” 

Jisung’s smirk grows wider. “Death by fucking? It’s my ideal way to go.” 

“Yeah, well-” Chan sighs deeply. “Don’t play with fire right now, okay? Or our alphas are liable to jump you and never let you go. They’re-” He shifts uncomfortably beneath you, and you feel his hardness between your legs. It makes your mouth water more. “-incredibly riled.” He finishes lamely, and Minho scoffs and rolls his eyes at the obvious understatement of the century. 

  “Speaking of,” You turn to Minho, who is practically sitting on top of you, Chan on the bottom of your unfortunate dog-or wolf-pile. “Can you get your boner out of my face?” 

He levels you with an even gaze. “Only if you get yours out of mine.” 

Chan groans. “Seungmin, for the love of god, please just tell us who Jeongin wants so the other two of us can get the fuck out of here.” 

Jisung’s face grows serious, and Seungmin lets out a long breath. 

“He doesn’t know.” He lifts one shoulder in a shrug, even as your stomach plummets at the grave words. “You’ve all gotta go in there and see who his new omega responds to the most favorably.” Seungmin’s face darkens slightly. “But hurry up, because even if he doesn’t know it, he’s gonna need a knot, and soon.” 

Chan nods resignedly. “All right. Do we get Changbin?”

“We can’t.” You immediately shake your head. “You know how Jinnie is in heat. He won’t let anyone else near him for the first twenty four hours.” 

“Guess we’re the lucky Three Musketeers then.” Minho grunts, shoving himself up from the couch and offering you and Chan a hand. “C’mon Porthos and Aramis. Let’s get this over with.” 

“How come you get to be Athos?” You grumble beneath your breath at the other alpha, but allow him to pull you to your feet regardless. 

Minho arches a brow at you and gives you a look that brooks no argument as he pulls Chan to his feet as well. 

“Because I said so. Now quit your whining and c’mon. Let’s go.” 

********************

When you enter Jeongin’s bedroom, the first thing you’re hit with is the wave of scent. 

It’s so thick you can taste it, warm and spicy on your tongue, saliva instantly pooling, teeth aching.

Your wolf is instantly pacing your insides, whining long and low, begging you to do something. 

You clench your hands into fists at your side and glue yourself against the wall, because you’re not sure you can trust yourself to take another step. 

Not yet. 

Minho files in after you, his expression neutral, the only signal he’s taken notice of the new omega’s scent a slight flaring of his nostrils as he steps inside, leveling his gaze on the curled boy on the bed. 

He crosses without hesitation, and crouches down beside Jeongin, careful not to disturb the carefully curated nest of blankets and pillows surrounding the omega, lining the edges of the small twin bed. 

You admire his calm confidence, back hard against the wall. 

“Hey, pup.” Minho says in a low, gentle voice, and Jeongin cracks open an eye, staring at Minho in slight confusion before recognition dawns on his features. 

“Hyung?” He croaks out weakly, not moving from the fetal position, his arms curled around his middle. 

His scent flares in response to Minho’s presence, and you grit your teeth, willing yourself to remain firmly in place. 

Chan appears at your side, the last to come through the door, and you glance sidelong at him, noting the immediate change in his demeanor as the scent laden air washes over him. 

His whole body stiffens, and you can see it, the alpha coming to life in the depths of his eyes, erasing the dark circle of his pupils as fiery gold washes in. 

“Chan-” You start to say, not sure if you should reach out and touch him in his current state. 

Minho reaches out to swipe a hand across the sweaty hair plastered to Jeongin’s forehead, and Chan growls, low and threatening in the back of his throat, the dangerous sound filling the room and making your every hair stand on end. 

Minho glances over his shoulder at the other alpha, expression hard, lips pressed into a thin line. 

“Christopher.” The name Minho always uses for your mate must snap him out of his alpha mindset for just a moment, because Chan is suddenly back, stumbling backward to plant his back firmly against the door beside your own, his eyes wide and dark, chest heaving, expression panicked. 

A harsh wave of thunderstorm, so thick it threatens to choke you, rolls over the room. 

This time, you reach out and lay a hand on his arm, and his frantic gaze snaps to your own. 

“I can’t be here-” He chokes out, eyes flicking around the room, as if he’s looking for an escape route. He clutches at the fabric of his shirt covering his chest, as if his heart is pounding so hard he has to stop it from escaping. “-not with the two of you. Fuck, I need to go-” 

Minho stands, slow and certain, staring Chan down. 

Behind him, Jeongin whimpers. 

“Do you want to rip my throat out, Christopher?” Minho asks so calmly, you have to double take on his words, his fingers pinching the skin of Chan’s wrist, his whole body stiff once more. “Rip it out for touching your little omega?” 

Chan gulps, the sound loud in your ears. 

“Minho, don’t.” You warn in a low voice, hand tightening to keep the alpha beside you in place. 

Minho ignores you, cocking his head and arching a brow at Chan, completely relaxed. 

“C’mon then. I won’t resist.” Minho smirks, baring his throat for Chan and going completely still. 

Beside you, Chan freezes, and when you glance at him worriedly, his entire pupil is swallowed in a sea of roiling gold. 

Minho snorts. “Oh? So you don’t care if I-” 

He holds Chan’s gaze steadily, and reaches out to swipe a hand once more across the sweaty, pink skin of Jeongin’s flushed forehead. 

A low growl emanates from Chan, and all of his muscles coil, as if he’s readying himself to pounce on the other alpha. 

“Minho.” You repeat, harsher this time, and Minho finally looks at you. You stare him down. “Don’t.” 

“I’m testing something, sweetheart.” Minho murmurs back, his gaze flicking back over to the other tense alpha practically vibrating beside you. 

You have the silent thought that he could probably ‘test something’ when none of your lives are in danger, but you don’t say it out loud, choosing to keep a steadying hand on Chan instead. 

“He’d just as soon rip your throat out too, you know.” Minho remarks, taking a step forward now, his searching gaze scanning Chan’s face. “Just because you’re his silly little moonmate or whatever Seungmin insists on calling it, it won’t stop him from turning on you with teeth bared if you so much as touch that omega currently on the bed, sweetheart.” 

You glance to Jeongin, still curled into a ball, and then back to Chan, eyes wide, every breath a pant through his parted lips. 

“Minho.” You try one more time, staring down the other alpha, who looks triumphant now. “Please stop.” 

Thankfully, Minho listens to you this time, shrugging his shoulders easily, before he steps away from the bed and Jeongin and back toward the door. 

Chan’s hackles slowly lower. 

Minho smirks. “C’mon, sweetheart. I think I’ve proved my point.” He takes your hand off Chan’s arm and leads you around him to the door. “We’re not needed here.”

You stumble after him, still in a partial daze from Jeongin’s scent and Chan’s behavior, and let him pull you from the room, glancing over your shoulder as the door shuts behind you. 

In the hallway, your head clears, and you’re whirling on Minho in an instant. 

“What the fuck was that?” You demand angrily, the other alpha leaning against the wall and holding your gaze steadily, ignoring your obvious fury. 

“What, you don’t know?” Minho inquires cockily, arching a brow, and you suddenly want to punch him in the face. He jerks his chin toward the room where you’d left Chan and Jeongin. “That, sweetheart, was a little test for Christopher, just to prove my theory right.” 

You stare at him, something itching at the back of your brain, and Minho rolls his eyes at your silence and sighs, like he needs to walk you through it. 

He pushes off the wall and closes the gap between you, reaching up to take your face in his hands and shake you a little. 

“Sweetheart. Let me spell it out for you.” He slows down his words dramatically and you glare back at him, even as his lips curve upward into a smirk. “Christopher is a Head Alpha. More specifically, our Head Alpha.” 

It clicks into place, and you remembered wondering, briefly, earlier. 

You continue to stare, and Minho sighs again, releasing his hold on you. 

You instantly miss the warmth of his skin and the sweet smell of bergamot in your nose. 

You realize with a start that you’re still slightly riled from Jeongin’s overly strong scent, your wolf pacing restless, relentless heat slowly building beneath the surface of your skin. 

“Minho.” You say as he turns to walk back to the living room, and he pauses, glancing over his shoulder at you with a raised brow. 

The itch is growing, spreading over your body in prickling waves. 

Staring at the full swell of Minho’s lips, bitten slightly between his sharp white teeth, is certainly not helping. 

“Yes?” Minho goads, and you realize you’ve gotten lost in your own thoughts again. 

You shake away the cobwebs and stare him down. 

You can feel the gold creeping in, your alpha emerging. 

You glance past his shoulder to the living room where the betas most likely wait, then back toward the spare room of Jeongin’s apartment. 

Minho follows your gaze, and something predatory comes into his own. 

“Oh?” You shrug a shoulder and take a step backward, toward the empty bedroom. 

“I mean, they’ll expect us to be gone a bit longer-” Minho smirks dangerously, taking a step in your direction, and your pulse picks up, anticipating the game as the spicy scent of amber hits your nose. 

“You’re absolutely right, sweetheart.” He purrs, taking another step as you take a step back to match, watching him warily. 

His tongue darts out to wet his lips, making your core clench pitifully.  “And lucky for you, kitten, I’m in the mood to take my time.” 

********************************************************************************

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[ms-gallows]

Haven’t gotten to do a study in a while!

#anakin skywalker #sw #revenge of the sith #star wars #clone wars #prequel series #jedi #sith #swcw

[bloomingdarkgarden]

i want a prequel series approximately 7000x more than a crossover series.

We're talking the first war with hybern. Talking the lush budding, forbidden romance of Helion and Lady of Autumn. Talking rhys and tamlin being war buddies and their heated pre-feyre hookup that definitely happened lol. All that shit with rhys’s parents. AZ’s parents? *clutches pearls*

Amren freeing herself from the prison? The rebellion of the winter, day and summer courts?

I do not care about Bryce showing guns to Mor and aelin or whatever.

P r e q u e l series.

#sjm do u hear me #acotar #prequel series #sjm #lets go

[mickey-gomez]

Gentle

Chapter 8 of Fade Into You

Warnings/tags: Fluff, soft smut, 

Pairing: Rita/Reader

A/N: Picks up right after Chapter 7, click through for a refresher, because it’s been a year a while since I’ve updated. Covers the “Oh fuck. Do that again.” square of @prentiss-theorem​’s bingo. It’s a rush job, partially because I wanted to at least attempt to participate in bingo, and partially because I’m sick of this story and not updating. 

Brief summary of why I haven’t updated. 

Where last night had been frantic, fast and rough, and so very desperate. The dawn that this morning brought was a stark contrast, soft and gentle, both of you finally allowing yourselves to show your vulnerability, without hesitation. Your eyes were glued to the others’ as you watched the swirls of pleasure darken them, soft words fanning your necks as your pupils dilated, and lips parted. 

It was so very different from the night prior, where your eyes had been scrunched so tightly shut, or looking away, focusing on something else, out of some innate need to protect yourself. 

It was as if Rita could read your mind, that last night she knew exactly what you wanted, what you needed, without you even having to hint at it, you hadn’t needed to speak or contort your bodies, she just knew. This morning was no different, as your guard lowered to allow her to see you fully like this, soft kisses and intense gazes as you chased your peaks together. 

Afterwards as you both laid there, the tips of her fingers travelled up and down your back, no clear path or pattern to the movements, and when they traced over your neck and into the nape where your hair met, you moaned softly and shivered against her. 

She leaned in, as her hand wrapped itself in your hair, softly tugging against the roots as she started kissing and sucking against the skin below your ear, every so often delivering a bite before soothing over the mark with her tongue. 

And later when she laid her knees next to your head, arching her back as your nails ran down her toned stomach, you’d never thought you’d seen anything so beautiful. The sun rose above the curtains and the windows, through the clouds and buildings, casting a luminous orange glow over the room, and the two of you. 

The light pierced through the windows as she came undone, on top of you, and that’s when you knew, for certain, you’d never seen anything so beautiful. The glow from the sun spread across her chest as her hands gripped your head tighter and her mouth formed the perfect ‘O’, as she shook above you. 

You both let out low laughs when she came down, and rolled over next to you, swollen lips meeting for kisses as your eyelids leisurely closed, soft breaths as you fell asleep once more.

When you finally roused that morning, you did so with a lopsided grin on your face, the images of the night gone, and the early morning just been, flashing through your mind. A shiver travelled up your spine as your body remembered what she had done to it. The feeling of her tongue and hands as they memorised the length of you. 

You rolled over, expecting to find her asleep beside you, instead finding the sheets pulled back and no sign of her. You rubbed the sleep out of your eyes, sitting up, and craning your neck towards the door, listening for any sounds of life on the other side. You stretched out, raising your arms and rolling your neck. That’s when you spotted the note on the bedside table, ‘Gone to get breakfast. Be back soon x’. You smiled and breathed a short sigh of relief that she hadn’t panicked and left you here. You laughed silently to yourself and shook your head, of course she hadn’t fled and left you in her own apartment.  

You walked into the ensuite and as the bright overhead lights clicked on, and you were met with your reflection in the mirror, you gasped at the sight of the purple hues of bruising that were so vivid on your chest and neck. You traced your fingers over them, feeling where teeth and lips had met skin. 

You took a moment to comb your fingers through your hair, settling it, sweeping it to one side and over one shoulder. You turned your head ever so slightly, as the light bounced off the mark she’d left on your neck, you circled it delicately with the tip of your finger, remembering the feeling of it, and how you desperately wanted her to leave more. 

After freshening up, you reached for the first piece of clothing you saw, Rita’s oxford button down that laid neatly across the armchair in the corner. Slipping it on and buttoning the bottom buttons up until they stopped at your sternum. 

When you walked out and down the hallway, you almost jumped out of your skin when you saw her seated at the kitchen island, demitasse cup in one hand, newspaper in the other. 

“You’re awake” she smiled softly as she set aside the paper and cup, leaning forward and resting her head in her hand as she looked over at you. 

“Well I was cold, and lonely.” you yawned “Why’d you let me sleep so long?” 

“Seemed like you needed it.” She shrugged, then she drank you in, noting the tiredness under your eyes and the third yawn that escaped you as you stood there, leaning against the counter. “You get used to the long hours, don’t worry.”

“Thanks” You reached over to the sink, grabbing your glass from the night prior, rinsing it before filling it from the tap, trying not to gulp down the water. “Somehow I don’t think the reason I’m tired is because of work.” If you weren’t paying attention, you would have missed the quick flash of her lips that turned into a smirk, and the way her eyes flashed fleetingly with something that resembled a frantic mix of excitement and smug pride. 

“Lonely huh?” she raked her eyes over you. The tension between the two of you was building again, like it had done last night, and for years prior, like a bubble waiting to burst. “Do you want coffee?” you heard her ask it, but it was faint, your mind elsewhere, you took a breath and blinked, shaking your head lightly, and when you met her eyes again, you simply smiled quickly and nodded. 

You turned your head, looking for the pot, and your eyes widened when you saw that she had an actual espresso machine, and not a drip one like you were used to. “I don’t know how to use that” you pointed and she laughed. 

Rounding the island, coming to stand behind you, her arms wrapped around your waist as she leant in and kissed your neck, and then the spot just below your ear. “I’ll show you” she whispered and you broke out with goosebumps when her breath hit your neck, and her words lingered on your skin. 

She put her hands on your hips, gently moving you out of the way, and you could hardly focus, your stomach doing somersaults every time she touched you. You tugged on the bottom of your shirt, pulling it down to cover the tops of your thighs before hopping up onto the island, crossing your legs as you watched her. The marble was cold under the bare skin of your thighs, and sobered you momentarily, like plunging into the ice. 

“Milk?” she hummed out in question as she flitted around, pulling out the beans and turning on the machine. 

“Please” you answered before the whirring sounds of the machine and grinder filled the room. You took her in, your eyes tracing all the way up her frame, glued to the sway of her hips, the perfect curves she possessed, and her long hair that cascaded down her back. She stole a quick glance over her shoulder and she simpered, looking pleased with herself, much like she always did.

“Are you paying attention?” 

“Hmm?” you ran the pad of your thumb over your lips and when you looked up to find her looking intently at you, a perfect smirk plastered on her face, you blushed and ducked your head down. 

You uncrossed your legs when she turned, mug in her hand, wrist outstretched as she presented it to you. You took it from her, your fingers running over hers when you gripped the handle. She looked down at your thighs, and then back up at you, taking a few steps until you uncrossed your legs and she was standing in between them. Your breath hitched in your throat when she ran her palms over the bare skin. 

“Nice shirt” She ran her hands further up your thighs, gripped down, as you sipped from your mug, she stopped abruptly when she reached the crease where they ended and your hips began. Realisation on her face when her fingers felt what was missing, “You’re not wearing…” she trailed off, and you placed the mug down on the counter, biting your lip as you felt the tension begin to bubble over, and when she swept her eyes up to meet yours, you gave her a coy smile, and that was all it took. She surged up, forcefully claiming your lips with hers. 

Your legs wrapped around her waist, reeling her in closer as tongues battled, and lips rolled together. She unbuttoned the shirt and swept the seams off your chest, pulling back, she reached her fingers out, ghosting them over your nipple, watching the way it stiffened as it bloomed, before pinching it. Not hard enough for it to sting or burn underneath her fingertips, just enough for her to amuse herself at the way your body reacted, at the soft moan that escaped your lips, and the way your eyes changed colours as they slowly rolled back. 

She trailed her fingers down your chest and stomach, watching the way you reacted, your skin pricking as goosebumps formed. You both let out moans when her fingers entered you, breaths swirling together as they danced between lips and mouths. Your hips rolled in time with the movements of her wrist, and when she pulled them forward deep inside of you, you almost came undone. 

“Oh fuck. Do that again.” you sobbed through airy gasps and breaths, and you knew she was smirking, without even having to look at her, the arrogance radiated off her. 

“Can you take another?” she husked and you couldn’t speak, a strangled sob leaving your throat as you nodded furiously. “Good girl” she bit your earlobe and in that same moment, flicked her thumb up to your clit. You swore you could have come right in that moment, and as embarrassing as that was, you probably would have, if it wasn’t for her pulling her fingers out, a huff of laughter on your neck as she took in your reaction. “You like it when I call you that, don’t you?” and when you didn’t answer she bit into your neck, into a bruise she’d left the night before. “I asked you a question.” 

“Yes.. yes..” you closed your eyes, and bit down on your bottom lip, almost hard enough that it drew blood. 

“Open your eyes, I want to watch you when you come.” you moaned involuntarily at that, but kept your eyes firmly closed. She pinched your thigh, forcing your eyes to come flying open, a wicked smile gracing her lips. She eased back into you with three fingers and your mouth flew open, breath hitching in your throat, at the stretch and how amazing it felt, this delicate swirl of pleasure and pain. She stared intently into your eyes and then dropped down to your lips, watching the way they arched as she fucked you. 

When she pressed her thumb to your clit, rubbing intently, your eyes rolled back into your skull, screaming out as your entire body convulsed and shook, your hips almost levitating off the counter. You wanted to cry, scream, and even laugh. How was she so good at that?

She pulled her fingers out before you could continue to ruminate on it, drawing your attention back to her standing in front of you. You gripped her wrist, looking at her through hooded lids, raising her hand to your mouth as you cleaned off her fingers, one at a time. 

“What am I going to do now?” she murmured, as she watched you take her fingers into your mouth, your tongue swirling around them.  

“Hmm?” you were only fractionally listening to her, too consumed on the taste in your mouth and the look on her face as she watched you.

“I still want a taste” she purred, and you simpered as you laid back, blissed out. Wondering if it would always be like this, that every time she touched you, would leave you this breathless, this bone-weary. 

“So, dirty talk huh?” she ran the palm of her hand over your stomach, and you could hear the infliction of laughter as she spoke. 

“Shut up” you giggled, swatting her hand away. As you laid there, you heard her moving around and then the sound of something being put on the floor in front of you. You sat up, and laughed when you saw it was a stool. She raised her eyebrows at you, smirking as she pulled it forward and sat down, gripping onto your calves as she pulled you forward, and rested them on her shoulders. 

“You can try, but I won’t be able to come again so soon.” You murmured softly as you gently wove your hands through her hair. Scratching at her scalp and tugging on her tresses as she kissed up your thighs. 

“Yes you can.” she gazed up at you, a smug smile firmly in place as she spoke directly and frankly, even somewhat delicately when she kissed the inside of your thigh, resting her head where she had just kissed, gazing up at you, as if she was asking permission to continue. 

“Knock yourself out” you shrugged in disbelief, being polite and not wanting to damage her ego, you expected her to tire herself out after half an hour or just there after, but instead you were shocked, and almost excited, when less than ten minutes later, you were crying out once more, shuddering as you gripped her hands, spilling into her mouth and once more onto her tongue, another wave washing over you.

“So last night was a lot” she spoke softly from her position across from you, leaning against the counter, her eyes not yet meeting yours, staring into the distance as she raised her mug to her lips.

“Pent up sexual frustration, Rita.” you rolled your eyes, and she laughed for a moment before her tone changed, becoming softer and quieter as she looked at you. 

“It wasn’t too much was it?” she hesitated “I mean, I should have probably…” 

“What?” 

“Asked you before I-” Oh, so that’s what she meant. She was skirting around saying it fully aloud, maybe out of some form of prudishness or out of some innate need to protect you, or maybe it was because despite her brash outward demeanour and facade, this was who she truly was at the core of her being, tender and gentle, and maybe just a little demure underneath it all. 

“-Strapped me?” you brashly interrupted her, shrugging as you reached for your mug, and she started choking on her own breath, much to your amusement. “You did ask” 

“I should have been slower… more gentle… checked in with you more.” she fiddled with the handle of the mug in her hands, and you could recognise the seeds of doubt she was planting in her own head.

“Rita” you said her name gently, coaxing her attention back to you. “If I had wanted that, I would have stopped you, and we would have had a conversation.” you watched as she exhaled and her features softened, some of the tension she was carrying beginning to ease. 

“Is that what you really wanted last night? Something more akin to earlier this morning?” you searched her eyes, trying to catch a glimpse of the truth, and when she didn’t give you anything, you spoke once more, with more assertion this time. “You told me… well showed me. You showed me what you wanted, it was hot.” she smiled then, and the light in her eyes changed. 

“So do you want pancakes?” she asked as she put the now empty mug down, and pushed off the counter to stand in between your legs. 

“You made breakfast?” you looked at her perplexingly, she wasn’t, by her own admission, the greatest cook. You winced a little internally at the thought of having to feign interest in whatever she had prepared, or attempted to prepare. 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” she laughed “I put an order in at Bubby’s.” and with that admission your stomach settled and you let out a quiet sigh of relief. “Okay, you don’t have to look so relieved.” she huffed, partially annoyed and partially amused. 

“Come here” you tugged on her shirt “Thank you for not making breakfast.” you whispered teasingly as you kissed her.

The two of you never managed to leave her apartment over the weekend, seemingly losing track of time. When you weren’t in bed, you both snacked, and ate where you could, take out dropped at the door, pizza consumed on the living room floor. 

The nights were spent drinking red wine and listening to her record collection, talking and debating, much like you had done for years, except this time, you couldn’t control yourselves, and neither of you wanted to. You both yearned to learn every part of one another. You’d make it maybe halfway through an album, or a conversation, if you were lucky, before your eyes would consume one another, and your lips would devour the others’. 

@storiesofsvu @imlike-so-gay-dude @wannabe-fic-reader @alexusonfire @momlifebehard @annegilletteslostwh0r3 @drduckthief @giftedchildturns40 @holycrapraewth @when-wolves-howl @ladysc @itwasrealtome @fanfictionfangirl04 @upsidedowndanvers @jetaimedarling  @red1culous

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[jaguarys]

Maybe it began way back when, back when Dooku first met Jenza. His sister. His blood. Back when he first learned of the dragon that held his planet together. Back when he first connected, so briefly, with the Tirra’Taka.

Even once they’d been recovered, even when they’d left the planet, even back on Coruscant, he had not been able to forget it. Not the roar that shook his bones, echoed in his mind, woke him from a dead sleep for months afterward.

Master Yoda had told him he’d been distracted. And he had been. He’d flitted from lesson to lesson, his mind on a planet so far away, and it had showed.

Master Yoda had asked him what was wrong. Dooku had not known how to say that he felt the thoughts of a mind not his own, the thoughts of a creature. He had not known how to communicate what was nothing more than growls and roars.

Sifo had understood. Sifo understood that which couldn’t be explained. Sifo understood how it felt, to have your mind rendered not your own.

It was months, then, that he ripped himself away from the desire, the bones-deep urge to run, to find his way back to Serenno no matter how he did it, to hop on the next shuttle off-planet no matter how much trouble it got him in.

He did. Once. He’d heard Sifo and Master Kostana discussing a mission, preparing to leave, and the urge was just inescapable.

He snuck on board just as they were leaving.

He was returned a few short days later, spitting mad much as it wasn’t befitting of a padawan and roaring in his ears and a dressing-down from Master Yoda.

He never touched down on the planet itself, and he wouldn’t again for many years. By then, he convinced himself it was the folly of youth and nothing more.

>> 

He still remembers when Sifo-Dyas first told him what he would become. He was barely a master, then, first finding his footing before accepting his first student. Sifo-Dyas was still traveling with Master Kostana, then, and Dooku was still pretending he wasn’t a bit jealous.

It was an evening, and lovely, and about to be ruined. Sifo looked to him–– never at him–– and said, in his way, “You’re going to be awful, Dooku.”

Dooku couldn’t help but laugh, more taken off guard than anything. He asked him what he meant, thinking it ridiculous. (Always thinking it ridiculous, until it wasn’t.)

Sifo-Dyas told him, told them all, about massacre and ruin and a burnt temple. And Dooku watched younglings run past a glittering mural, one testament of so many to centuries of prosperity, and laughed at the mere idea.

It all seemed so impossible, and yet it was not.

Sifo frowned, and out of his mouth spilled memory after memory. Because they weren’t visions, not to him. They were lived. They were memory.

It dug under Dooku’s skin, and he pretended it didn’t. He didn’t believe it–– he never would, not even as he was living it.

(Maybe he did believe it. Maybe everything was just a convoluted attempt to convince himself he was in the right.)

(Maybe quite a lot of being a Sith is convincing yourself you’re right.)

Knowing would not save him. It would not doom him, either. He could at least admit that.

>> 

He thinks perhaps Master Yoda’s opinion was a bit warped by the centuries. He had never had that luxury. Never had the luxury to think about what his master would call the big picture.

         In a lot of ways, maybe, he maybe never got over that. Never got over the idea that there was so much in the galaxy he would not know of, not have access to.

It itched under his skin, this offense, much as he always pretended it didn’t.

(Pretended until finally, he spilled it, like the greatest of secrets, to a man who promised the galaxy to him with no intention of giving it.)

>> 

Sifo-Dyas had always known how it would end. Now, with what he knows, Dooku only wonders how Sifo had beared him for so long.

There came a time, after year after year wracked with visions, when Sifo-Dyas lived more in the future than the present, when he had only been able to look at Dooku as the man he would become. They had been decades away, still, from when Dooku would first be tempted, first be distracted, first be cruel, and his closest friend could only see him as such.

It had angered him, and scared him, and driven a wedge where there never should have been one.

>> 

Some small part of him cursed Mace for not recognizing it, not the same as Sifo had.

Mace had always believed in him in ways he shouldn't have. They were too similar, and too different, and in the end that was why they'd ended up so far apart.

Mace and Sifo had never seen eye to eye, in many ways. Dooku never blamed them for it. They had been much too alike for it to be comfortable for either of them. He doesn't think they ever realized that was the reason.

Mace thought Sifo was soft. Sifo thought Mace too set in his ways for his own good. They were both right. Dooku blamed both and neither of them, and did not blame himself as much as he should.

>> 

            The trick of a Sith’s student is to convince yourself you’re important. To convince yourself you’re not like the others. To convince yourself that you will succeed where the others have failed. Being a Sith, being a student, is an exercise in believing yourself above others, believing yourself to be exceptional where you should damn well you're not.

Tricking yourself, tricking others, pretending until you're convinced the same as everyone else.

He had thought himself too old for those trivialities. Unfortunately, being old was not the same as becoming wise to the ways of the world. Being a Jedi was not the same as becoming wise to the ways of the Sith.

Being clever was not an antidote to the pitfalls of ego.

>> 

            He had first met Sheev Palpatine on a mission to Naboo, back when he had just been made master, just had his padawan braid cut.

            He had, of course, met Sidious then, and many years afterwards. He had not thought much of him, then. Hardly anything at all.

>> 

Contrary to popular belief, his leave from the Jedi wasn’t any more than that. It wasn’t part of a master plan, and it was months before he was contacted by Sidious, besides.

No. Dooku loved his planet, much as he shouldn’t. Loved Jenza, despite it being, undeniably, an attachment.

He had never been able to ignore his sister.

            He had never been able to ignore the dragon-call in his bones.

He had never been able to ignore the need to be someone, when he had the opportunity to be.

And then he slayed the dragon. And something within him had snapped.

>> 

            The trap of the Sith is the same as its appeal: it is not possible to go halfway. It is not possible to give it up. It is not possible to unlearn what has been taught.

            Being lied to and believing it often feels like having your eyes opened for the first time. Often feels like you’re privy to something special the rest of the world is not.

            Being a fool often feels like being something of a genius.

            Dooku, a few short years from the Jedi and increasingly bitter, lapped up lies like a parched man finding an oasis.

            He was not so egotistical as to think he could trick the Sith. He was just egotistical enough to think he could get away before it was too late.

            Perhaps that was what every Sith thought, in the beginning. Perhaps they all thought they were special, that they could look away before it was too late. That they could get away before they were drawn too far in.

            Dooku had had decades of growing disillusioned with the Order. It was all too easy to replace it with something else.

He could see now, in ways he wouldn’t have even known to look for before, the spiderweb cracks that marked Sidious’ meddling in the Order. It saddened him in ways he didn’t expect, to think maybe he had hardly been able to appreciate it without influence.

He didn’t think much about that.

>>

            Maybe, if he could admit it to himself, he had been, in some small way, a bit in love.

            Not with Sidious. But with what he represented, perhaps. With the sheer freedom of it all.

            (Always the promise of freedom. Never its delivery.)

            Dooku had always been weak to flattery. He believed himself intelligent, wise. Sifo would have called it his royal blood. Would have mocked him for it–– and did, for decades.

            He’d not been there. Not anymore. And Dooku was flattered.

            Flattered, and then some. Swayed. Convinced there was no harm in hearing him out, just a little. Like a frog in a pot, by the time he realized what was wrong, it had been far too late.

            (Unlike the frog, he hadn’t wanted out.)

(Maybe he’d been in love with Sidious. Just a little.)

>> 

He had not thought himself capable of any real cruelty. He found it almost laughable. He had been a master Jedi! For decades! He had trained some of the best!

            It came so easy that he would have balked at it if he hadn’t been so exhilarating.

            Sidious knew just how to push him, to make him feel as though it was necessary, to make him feel as though it wasn’t Dooku’s fault, it was the Jedi, it was the galaxy. It wasn’t Dooku’s fault at all.

            He remembers being on his knees, Sidious taking Dooku’s shaking hands in his own, tipping his chin up into soft eyes. He remembers feeling two seconds from collapse. He remembers being asked in a gentle voice, “What has you so concerned, my apprentice?”

            The voice was a calming draught after months of preparing for war, after years of training, and Dooku rested his head in Sidious’ hands with the fervor of a man come to face his savior.

Dooku drank in any moments he could get of Sidious’ softer side. It felt worth it, to suffer so much, if only for moments like this.

“I fear...” he started, and paused for a moment to wet his lips, finding his mouth suddenly dry. “I fear I am no Jedi anymore.”

What he meant to say: I’m in too deep. I can’t get out now. I don’t know what I’m doing. I miss the Order. I hate them. I want to make this galaxy suffer. Why didn’t anyone stop me? I would do anything for you. I don’t remember why I started any of this.

He was shocked by the bark of laughter from his master’s mouth. Carefully manicured nails bit into his cheeks. “Of course you’re not, my student.”

>> 

Dooku died disgraced, and stupid, and a fool. He died having gained nothing, and having lost much.

Realizing, in that one terrifying, blazing moment, that he had never been anything at all–– nothing special, nothing new, nothing smart enough to outwit Sidious, that his role was done and he was dead–– had not sanctified him. Had not purified him. Had not saved him.

Dying was not the same as redemption.

#type: fanfic #fic: working for the knife #fandom: star wars #star wars #sw #dooku jedi lost #master dooku #yan dooku #count dooku #dooku #yoda #mace windu #sw sifo dyas #star wars sifo dyas #sifo dyas #jenza star wars #sheev palpatine #sw palpatine #palpatine star wars #star wars palpatine #palpatine #darth sidious #sidious #prequel series #sw prequels #star wars prequels #revenge of the sith #sw clone wars #star wars the clone wars #fanfics

[tavyliasin]

A Prequel? Haarlep, is that you?...

Hello darlings~ I have landed where all writers who love Haarlep end up eventually, imagining their first meeting with Raphael, how they came to be in the cambion's service, what they were like before taking his form. Both are probably around 120 years old, so they are well established in their own rights, but by their races' standards they are young and inexperienced. I'm only half working on this between my request list for now, because the idea won't let me go, but have a few little previews below the cut, including a version of their appearance that a very talented Tav-maker has made with their lovely mods~ Other renditions of them based on my imagined description are more than welcome, I do very much enjoy seeing different interpretations. Preview below the cut! If you'd rather wait for the first chapter to drop, give me a few more days while I work on a few deadline pieces ahead of event exchanges and I'll publish it on AO3 <3

The first appearance of the un-named incubus.

A young fiend stood before a glimmering doorway, uncertain of when precisely they were meant to cross the threshold. They were dressed in a black silk outfit that gave them an appearance of masculine androgyny. Dark tan skin and bright green eyes might have looked human, if it weren’t for the 4 short horns protruding from their brow, slightly parting black hair that cascaded down their back and over their shoulders almost blending with the silks they wore. The other tells of their demonic nature were more obvious, however. Huge wings with blackened edges, claws at the tip, coloured in sunset hues of red and gold stretched out behind them, quivering with nervous anticipation. A long tail with an arrow-tip end pawed at the ground behind them, kicking up a little infernal ash. All they carried was the clothing they wore and the instructions they had been given. A simple enough task, and they were hardly inexperienced, but their first meetings were usually within a dream. Subtly watching their target, learning their desires and their fears, finding every intimate secret they hid in their subconscious before they would ever appear before them physically. They sighed. They didn’t even have a name to bring with them. Whatever it was had been taken, a simple exchange for a promised reward. “Let him name you,” the instructions had been clear, “let him do as he wishes. Get close, learn all you can, and deliver it back to me. You are no fool, incubus, and neither is he. But play the game well, and you will have the life of your dreams in the end. A home all of your own, whatever meals you desire delivered to your door, complete power over the domain I shall grant you.” It was tempting. It would be tempting to any incubus or succubus. They also couldn’t deny a small amount of pride at having been chosen. It sounded like the advances of succubi had already been rejected, so they relished the thought of a challenge. Besides, the son of Mephistopheles was hardly without any power of his own. They took a deep breath, steeling their nerves before they stepped through the portal.  ------------

The sass starts early with this one...

The cambion put his feet on the floor and straightened up the papers, putting them in a neat stack on the table. He stood, walking towards the invited invader in his home, stalking around them to observe and assess them. “I’m not a piece of meat, Raphael.” They stood still nonetheless, allowing him to pace and take in all of their form. They flexed their wings and tail to put on more of a show. “Do you like what you see?~” “Passable.” The cambion grunted, the highest praise he had given any attempt yet. “And good you finally recognise your master’s name. So, why are you here?” “You know that much. Your dear father sent me. You are well aware that many of your kind take ours as advisors, partners in pleasure, or allies for whatever purposes you might have for our abilities.” The incubus grinned, the hint of slightly sharpened teeth glinting in the light as they looked down on the smaller human form of their supposed master. “You’re a spy.” Raphael said simply. “Obviously.” They replied, pleased that they were not being expected to work for a complete fool. “Do you wish to refuse me? Send me back?” “Honesty is a commodity that few of your kind trade in. You may stay. However, ground rules must be set.” He turned to walk away, beckoning for them to follow. “Come.” “Already?” The incubus laughed at their own humour. “It takes more than that, Raphael.” 

-----

The First Rendering of The Presently Un-Named Incubus

Lore Time

The description, appearance, and other details I'm using here are all from established lore for an incubus in 5e. The main source is an article titled for the succubus, but they are very similar beings. Click here for Incubus/Succubus Lore In the article there's a lot of binary gender talk and heteronormativity which irritates me, so I'll also be taking the literal latin descriptions here: Incubus - To lie on top of Succubus - To lie below Concubus - To lie beside (The literal Top/bottom/vers, where a Top gives, bottom receives, and vers is either. As an aside, this is not the same as Dom/sub/switch, as you can have a sub Top and a Dom bottom) From this line: "Legend held that incubi and succubi were wholly separate sexes,[1] and the males were significantly rarer than the female of their kind.[5][6] In fact, with their shapechanging powers, incubi and succubi could both change their sex with ease, though most had a preference for one or the other." I headcanon that Haarlep feels more comfortable in a masculine or androgynous form, but has no issue taking a feminine form or body. However their attitude to gender in general remains "stop boring me with the details and tell me what you desire, all that matters is pleasure. Gender is a boring mortal construct. My nature is an incubus, my form is immaterial." So the article also shows that incubi and succubi also have a more human range of skin tones, much smaller horns than cambions, and the distinct pointed triangle at the end of their tails - something which isn't present in Haarlep's scenes when he's in Raphael's form. I'll definitely go into more detail on these things later too, particularly the changing of forms for the first time.

This is an incubus from the lore page images, so you can see a difference between this and a cambion's fully reddened look. They are much closer to a human in all but the wings, tail, and horns. So that's where I'm leaning with dear Haarls, before they take the form of Raphael.

What about Raphael? What is he like now?

Well...he's younger. Not long taken ownership of the mansion that will later be known as the House of Hope. --- Quote --- Fine leather boots paced across stone floors, the click of heels echoing around the halls of the largely empty mansion that floated through Avernus. It was a start. A place of his own, somewhere to work with his own contracts and plans. The owner of the boots was a cambion, son of Mephistopheles, and already a powerful fiend in his own right. Raphael, if you were to ask a mortal, looked like a human in his mid 20s. Chestnut hair was swept back neatly from his brow, the ends curling a little just below his shoulders. His brown eyes were deep set but sparkled with ideas, face clean shaven and expression darkening by the moment. --- End Quote --- So as you see, Raphael is still finding his feet, working out the beginnings of far grander plans. He has already rejected several "gifts" sent his way, so that's why our dear incubus is nervous. They have to work to get his attention and approval, but they're not sacrificing everything of who they are to do so. As soon as I wrote the two of them in a room together again, it was flowing. I love their dynamic as they exist in my head, the push and pull, the absolute sass and shifting of power between them. I'm going to lean heavily on how this builds up, how they find the balance that leads to where they are in my game-era works with them.

Is this all an excuse for more Raphael and Haarlep? A self indulgent dive through their history just to keep writing their stories?

...Yes. I'm not sorry. I earned this. I love them both too much. I hope you'll join me in my endless adoration for the very best of fiends~ I can't wait to share the first chapter and begin proper work on the series in 2024!

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 raphael #haarlep #bg3 #fanfic #prequel series #how Haarlep and Raphael met #Haarlep's “true” form #gods help me Haarlep is hot in any form they take #Haarlep remains gender neutral with a masculine leaning to me #but Haarlep can be whatever gender you wish them to be #as long as you give yourself over to them and to pleasure...this could be forever~ #what do you think Haalep's name was before they traded it away? #someone suggested Jeff in Discord and I.... JESK! #the other idea we had is that their name is unpronounceable by mortal tongues which makes a lot of sense #I don't know if I'll ever reveal that name or even decide on one #they can find meaning in a new identity perhaps... #oh dear am I relating to them with my psuednym ways?

[im-overstimulated-and-im-sad]

Fic Anniversary post

(If I could make banners there would be such a neat banner here - but my technological ineptitude puts me a step above luddite lol)

A year ago (not today, March the 29th, but here we are) I started this fic because I wanted to write about TK's early life and I loved the idea of him not being an only child - specifically of him having a younger sister. Sophie is born when TK is five, and while this is divergent of canon because in the show he is an only child, I try to keep it as close to canon as I can given the details we've been given in the show about TK's life.

It's called Growing Up, Strand Style - it starts in 1999 when Sophie is born and TK is five years old.

it's up to 48 chapters now. It has a lot of run-on sentences and a lot of pop culture references that are era-appropriate.

Currently, TK is seventeen and Sophie is almost twelve. This is from the upcoming chapter -

 “They have champagne? This is a fancy place”. TK said as he took two off a passing tray.

“TK!” Carson hissed with alarm as TK tried handing him one. “My parents are gonna see!”

“Your dad’s already had like, four,” TK protested, downing his in one gulp. “See? No one noticed. Have you ever had it? It’s really good. It sort of tingles going down your throat”.

“Nuh uh”. Carson shook his head. “Your parents let your drink?”

“Definitely not”. TK laughed. “But my parents aren’t here”. Behind Carson, the ball drop was on the TV, and people were counting down. “I’ve got a way for you to taste it, though,” TK said, stepping closer to his boyfriend. “But only if you want to”. As the new year rang in, TK felt his boyfriend’s hand cup the back of his head as he leaned down to put his mouth on TK’s. Tk’s eyes fluttered closed as he leaned in to Carson’s kiss.

TK actually forgot that they were in a room full of people. He would’ve sworn that he and Carson were the only two people on Earth.

He had never felt a moment so perfect.

“You know, no one wants to see you two do that”. A jeering, and unfortunately, all too familiar voice cut through the noise.

Normally my take on my own writing is something akin to this (I'm sorry I truly never run out of references it's a problem) but I'm lowkey proud of this and can't believe it's been a year since I started writing it, and wanted to share it.

Read on Ao3

#911 lone star #tk strand #prequel series

[katlyn1948]

I get it… there are fans that are still bitter about how GOT ended; trust me, I’m one of them. But HOTD is a COMPLETELY DIFFERENT story. Sure, it basically leads up to GOT, as it is a prequel, but I like to believe that’s not how Martin wanted it to end (let’s be real here, D&D fucked up royally).

HOTD has this fresh air about it that I’m here for. There are new writers and producers on this show and I believe they’ve listened to the fans. After watching the first episode, it has remnants of the OG GOT with having its own style altogether.

At least give a chance. Don’t assume it will turn out shitty. I get it, there’s that fear, but I highly enjoyed it and can’t wait to see how it plays out.

#hotd #house of the dragon #gameofthrones #got #prequel series

[rhymingwithpurple]

Prequel dynamics: Chucky & Eddie

#prequel series #chucky #child's play #charles lee ray #eddie caputo

[swiftreylo0402]

A reminder that the Star Wars saga ended with NOT ONE SINGLE couple getting their happily ever after

Source: EllaLisa15 via Twitter

#star wars #anakin skywalker #darth vader #hayden christensen #padme amidala #natalie portman #prequel series #original trilogy #han solo #harrison ford #carrie fisher #leia organa #the sequel trilogy #sw rebels #obi wan kenobi #ewan mcgregor #satine #sw the clone wars #kylo ren #ben solo #adam driver #rey #daisy ridley #the rise of skywalker #the force awakens #empire strikes back #attack of the clones #revenge of the sith

[butw0rldenough]

— Richard Siken, Editors Page: The Long and Short of It

#woke up thinking about them today and now here we are #anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi #darth vader #obi wan kenobi series #kenobi series #prequel trilogy #prequel series #star wars #attack of the clones #kenobiedit #revenge of the sith #richard siken #swedit #starwarsedit

[leviackermanscleaningbuddy]

SKZ DRABBLE-OT8

The one where some rules are meant to be followed and others are meant to be broken.

Or the twentieth installment of the skz!pack prequel series.

A/N: This one is rough, folks, buckle up. (It ends okay. I promise.)

Tags: SKZ, Stray Kids, Stay, OT8, SKZ Drabble, Skz!pack, skz!abo, poly!skz, omegaverse, pack!prequel, skz!pack prequel, prequel series, skz imagines, skz reactions, skz scenarios, ot8 x you, ot8 x reader, skz x you, skz x reader, bang chan, lee minho, seo changbin, hwang hyunjin, lee felix, han jisung, kim seungmin, yang jeongin, y/n, skz angst

Genre: Angst, Hurt, Comfort Ending

Warning: Mentions of Non-Con and Assault (no details)

Title: Love and Other Drugs

To be fair, you’d only gone to the frat party to piss him off. 

Parties-particularly ones hosted by drunk, dumbass alphas who thought they were hot shit-were not typically your scene, but your blood was running hot and you were feeling a little impulsive, and without even thinking about it, you’d hopped the next bus to the frat house. 

Which brings us to the present, where you’re sitting at the edges of said stupid party, sipping on a lackluster cheap beer, and trying to keep a headache at bay as the bass of some fast paced techno song blares from the speakers in time with the lights overhead. 

God, it’s hot in here. 

Your phone buzzes in your back pocket, and you shift your cup to your other hand so you can fish it out, glancing down at the brightly lit screen. 

When you see the name appear on the caller ID, you immediately grit your teeth and hit ignore, stuffing the phone once more back into your pocket. 

It’s the fifth time he’s called you since you stormed out of the dorm, and the fifth time you’ve ignored him completely. 

Fuck him. 

You take another swig of the bitter tasting beer and glance across the living room turned makeshift dance floor, taking in the crush of bodies as everyone sways to the music, a new song blasting from the heavy speakers in the corner. 

You don’t recognize this one either, and your headache is starting to pound behind your left temple. 

You feel eyes on you, and glance to the doorway to your left, leading to the hallway of the house, to see a group of frat boys leaning casually against the frame, staring you down. They’re openly ogling you, smirks on their faces, eyes trailing down your body, and you berate yourself for not grabbing a jacket to throw over your tight tank top before you left the dorm. 

You turn your face away, ignoring them, and down the last little bit of your beer. 

Probably time to leave anyway. 

Tossing the cheap red cup into the nearby trash can, you skirt around a group of giggling, drunk sorority girls swaying to the music, and head for the kitchen and the escape of the back door. 

You narrowly avoid running into an alpha leaving the kitchen, arms full of beer, and the liquid sloshes over the rims of the cups, getting your shoes wet, as he utters a hasty apology and continues on into the living room you just left. 

You slip past the few couples in the kitchen, making out and grinding against the counters, and finally reach the back door. 

You step out into the dark, cool air of the night and immediately breathe a sigh of relief. 

It’d been too hot in there, and it’s refreshingly cool outside, the music nothing but a low thump of bass beneath your feet now, laughter and chatter drifting distantly through the open doorway. 

It’s cold, making your skin prickle, but it’s only a short walk to the bus stop from the frat house. You’ll survive. 

Your phone buzzes once more in your pocket, but you doggedly let it ring until the vibrating dies out, feeling something akin to hot satisfaction flush low in your stomach at the slight act of open defiance. 

Good. You hope he’s worried. 

There’s a shorter buzz, an alert to a text message, and with a sigh, you give in, digging your phone out and pulling up the notif preview on the lock screen. 

(Y/N) answer the fucking phone. 

No, you don’t think you will. 

You stuff your phone back into your pocket, feeling smug, and take a step in the direction of the bus stop. 

A sound in the open doorway behind you has you spinning around, your wolf suddenly on high alert. 

“Well, well, well.” 

The trio of frat boys from earlier stand in the doorway leading back into the house, lit from behind by the faint light coming down the hall from the kitchen. They’re smirking at you, just like before, but you don’t like the predatory glint in their gazes, eyes fixed on you from where they stand. 

“Look what we have here, boys.” One of the boys steps off the porch and takes a step toward you, and you tense, ready to fight or flee, you’re not entirely sure. 

He lets his leering gaze drop slowly down your body, lingering on your breasts, and you resist the urge to try to cover yourself with your hand. 

He cocks his head, studying you with wicked amusement, and his lips quirk into the start of a wicked grin, blonde shaggy hair falling into his eyes, obscuring his expression. 

“Why so tense, sweetheart? We’re not gonna hurt you.” 

You swallow, your wolf growling, and stare him down as he takes another step in your direction. 

“Really? Because your intentions seem less than pragmatic.” 

“Ooh.” The guy mocks-the leader of their little troop if you had to guess- and looks over his shoulder to the other two guys still lingering in the doorway with a sly smirk. “Hear that fellas? She’s smart.” 

He turns his attention back to you. Takes another step. 

You take one backward, keeping the distance between the two of you. 

“We’ve been admiring you all night, honey. Pretty little thing, aren’t you?” He tilts his head again, narrowing his eyes, watching you like a bird of prey cornering a rat. “Haven’t seen you at one of these things before.” 

You hold your ground, staring him down. 

“I don’t usually come to these things. And now I’m remembering why.” 

The guy chuckles, tugging at his letterman jacket, puffing his chest, his eyes glinting. 

“Well. Maybe we need to show you a good time then, huh?” Another step. “Show you how fun these little get-togethers can really be.” 

The guys have left the doorway now, inching behind the taller man, eyes trained on you, and you risk a quick glance over your shoulder, seeing the illuminated bus stop through the trees to your left. 

Run, your wolf whispers in a low warning, and you don’t even have to think twice. 

You take off in a sprint, your sandals slapping the ground hard, and once again, you curse yourself for having left the dorm in such impractical clothing. 

You can hear the boys whoop behind you, like this is some sort of sick game, but you don’t look back, pressing yourself faster, harder, your lungs burning and your heart pumping. 

And then, cold fingers loop around your wrist and yank you backward, and the momentum is sending you flying, tumbling to the ground on your ass with a startled shriek. 

The taller kid, the leader, is standing over you, chest heaving, eyes flashing. 

You scoot away from him on your hands, ignoring the tenderness in your tailbone, and run right into another pair of legs. 

You don’t even have to look up to know that it’s one of his goonies. 

He crouches in front of you, eyes glinting wickedly, lips pulled into a sneer, and the stench of damp, decay-like a marsh in the middle of summer heat-is washing over you, strong enough to make you gag. 

“Hold her.” 

You try to get up and dart away again, but the goony behind you traps your arms at your side, his fingers digging into your skin, holding you frozen in place as you swear. 

“You motherfuckers-” You growl out between clenched teeth, staring daggers into the leader, who simply chuckles and stands, taking a menacing step toward you. 

“Ah, c’mon now.” He croons in a voice that makes you want to vomit, crouching down once more in front of you, reaching out to take your chin in his fingers. The smell of rotting reeds fills your nose. “Don’t be like that.” 

You gather up a mouthful of saliva, and spit in his face. 

His cocky smirk falters, and anger darkens his eyes, but only for a brief moment, before he laughs and reaches up to wipe your spittle from his cheek, clenching your jaw so tightly in his hold it hurts. 

You bite back your whimper behind your teeth. You won’t give him the satisfaction. 

He regards you for a moment, eyes dark, and then flicks his fingers at the guy still holding you still. 

“Pin her down.” 

You struggle as the other guy appears now, both goonies pinning your arms to the ground under their knees, and you kick and flail, but to no avail, finally resorting to screaming, hoping to god someone will hear you from the frat house and come to your aid. 

“Shut up.” The tallest boy hisses, slapping his hand over your mouth so hard it hurts. He smiles then, like he hasn’t just assaulted you, and starts to peel off his letterman jacket, his knees on either side of your hips. 

“Here’s the thing-” He remarks casually as he strips his jacket and throws it to the side, leaning back over you and pinching his fingers into your cheeks so hard it makes you whimper. 

He grins, tapping a finger along the bridge of your nose, like you’re a naughty child being caught doing something they shouldn’t. 

“-I like my women submissive, ya see? Pliant and quiet and docile. Of course-” He grunts, reaching down to undo the buckle of his pants, sliding his belt from the loops. When he looks up at you again, his eyes are golden, dangerous, scary. He grins wickedly. “-I allow them to speak eventually. If only to beg for my cock.” 

You growl against the palm of his hand, thrashing beneath him, and he grins again, sliding his other hand around your throat, pinning you to the ground. 

He leans in, breath ghosting your jaw. 

The smell of bog is overwhelming.

“Now, little birdie-” You see the flash of his teeth in the dark, the sharp edges of his canines, and you tense every single muscle in your body beneath his weight as he slips his fingers between your lips. 

“Beg.” 

It all happens in an instant. 

You bite down hard on his fingers, tasting copper, and he cries out, swearing vehemently as he struggles to tear his hand free from your teeth. You hold on doggedly, like a pitbull locking its jaw, and the salty, warm feeling of blood coats your tongue, sliding down your throat. 

The goony on your left releases your arm to come to his leader’s aid, and you suddenly release the guy’s fingers from between your teeth as you take the open opportunity and death roll to the unguarded side, wrenching your arm free from the other guy as he lets out a cry of alarm. 

You’re up and on your feet before the three of them have had the chance to recover. 

The leader is still swearing up a storm, kneeling on the ground, clutching his bleeding hand to his chest, but he motions with a jut of his chin for his dogs to chase after you in the direction of the bus stop. 

“What the fuck are you doing! Go get her!” 

You hear the pounding of their feet behind you and veer around a tree, catching the first guy off guard as you round behind him and send him to the ground with a swift knee to the junk. 

He collapses, groaning, holding himself, and you take the opportunity to kick him in the face, just for good measure, his nose crunching beneath your shoe. 

“Asshole.” You mutter beneath your breath, before you turn back in the direction of the bus stop. 

Arms go around your waist, and you’re lifted off the ground, kicking and struggling, as the third guy catches you just before the sidewalk. 

He wraps an arm around your throat, and tries to land a clumsy punch on your face, but you turn your head at the last second and take it on the jaw. 

It stings like a bitch, and you taste blood again for the second time tonight, but you don’t let it phase you. 

He’s struggling, gasping for breath after your run, and you use it to your advantage, putting an elbow right into his solar plexus, hard enough to make him drop you and collapse to his knees, just like his two buddies, on the sidewalk at your feet. 

“You bitch-” He gasps out, leaning over on his hands, coughing hard enough to go red in the face, spittle dribbling from between his lips. 

“Fuck you.” You hiss out vehemently, spitting on the sidewalk in front of his face, your own saliva tinged pink from the blow he’d managed to land on you. 

You turn without a backward glance and stalk toward the bus stop. 

Fucking fraternity alphas with their fucking god complexes. 

You’ve almost reached the bus stop, glancing at your phone to check the time-the next bus doesn’t come for fifteen minutes-and hoping the guys won’t have enough time to recover by then, when a car pulls up to the curb next to you and a door is whipping open fast enough to make you jump back. 

Anger reignites in your stomach as Changbin leaps from the car, stalking toward you, his hands in fists at his sides. 

All the previous adrenaline from the struggle with the frat guys feeds into the white hot anger suddenly coursing through your veins. 

He comes to a stop in front of you, chest heaving, and stares you down. 

“Where the fuck have you been?” 

You shrug and glance to the side, away from him, ignoring his obvious fury, if only to spite him just a little bit longer. 

“Out.” 

“Out?” Changbin echoes dangerously, voice shaking, and he steps toward you, grabbing your upper arm with enough force to hurt, turning you back to face him.

 You meet his gaze head on, holding your ground. 

“Out.” He repeats again with a slight scoff and an angry shake of his head, as if he can’t believe you, fingers digging into your upper arm hard enough to make crescent moons in your skin. There is rage dancing in the gold of his eyes, but you can’t bring yourself to care. “That’s all you have to say for yourself? We’ve been trying to reach you all goddamn night, (Y/N), we were fucking worried.” 

You have to stop yourself from laughing in his face. 

Worried? Really? 

His words from earlier, from the fight, echo in your head. 

‘You’re a goddamn fool if you think that changes anything.’ 

You don’t say anything, turning your head stubbornly to the side. 

You hear him suck in a sharp breath through his nose, and then there’s fingers on your chin, roughly turning your face to his once more, and when he pinches a little bit too hard, and you let out a hiss between your teeth, he looks at you like you’re the absolutely stupidest person on the planet. 

He probably thinks you are. 

“You’re fucking bleeding.” The fury swirls in his gaze, hot and angry, his fingers hovering over the cut by your lip, as if he’s not quite ready to touch you tenderly just yet. “What the hell happened?” 

You yank from his grip and stalk toward the bus stop. 

“I handled it.” 

There are harsh footsteps behind you, and then Chanbin’s hand is around your arm once more, yanking you to a stop as you whirl to face him. 

“Where the hell are you going?” 

You stare him down with all the coldness you can muster. 

“I’m getting on the bus and I’m going home.” 

Changbin scoffs, laughing in disbelief, the sound sharp and bitter and anything but humorous. 

“You’re not getting on the fucking bus, (Y/N).” 

You glare at him, hoping you can make him combust with your mind alone. 

“Like hell I’m not.” 

You pull from his grasp once more and turn. 

This time, you don’t make it more than a step before he’s pulling you back. 

The air smells like smoke, your throat burning as you breathe-in and out, in and out, in and out. 

You don’t turn around, and your voice is dangerously low when you say, “Let me go, Changbin.” 

He ignores you, tugging you back with him in the direction of the car, and you plant your heels, desperately trying to release yourself from the death grip he has on your wrist. 

You’ve got just as much anger fueling you, but Changbin’s a hell of a lot stronger than you. 

He stops in front of the waiting car, shoving you toward the door. 

“Get in the fucking car, (Y/N).” 

You cross your arms over your chest and glare him down. 

“No.” 

“(Y/N).” 

You glance up in slight surprise, and Minho is standing on the driver’s side of the car, leaning on the open door, watching the two of you with a dark expression of weary resignation on his face. 

He holds your gaze, his voice quiet, but firm. 

“Get in the car.” 

You swallow, and you can feel Changbin practically vibrating with rage beside you as you stare at Minho, unsure of what to do. 

But your feet are sore, and your jaw is starting to ache from the goony’s punch, and it’s fucking freezing outside, and so, reluctantly, you yank open the door and slide ino the back seat, slamming it shut behind you, just to make a point. 

Minho gets back in behind the wheel, and Changbin drops into the passenger seat, slamming his own door to make his own point. 

Minho lets out a sigh. 

You fume quietly, slouched in the back seat, arms over your chest, as they pull the car away from the curb and merge onto the road off campus and back to the dorms, and you’re determined not to talk to either of them, until Minho glances in the rearview mirror and asks, “What happened to your lip?” 

You stare out the dark window, watching the lights flash by. 

“Just some stupid frat boys.” You finally say, not meeting his gaze in the mirror, trying to ignore the sting in your lip as you grimace. 

Changbin whirls in his seat, pinning you down with a fiery glower. 

“See, this is why you never should’ve went to that stupid party on your own in the first place-” 

You jerk upright in the seat, red hot anger coursing through you. 

“Do you even fucking hear yourself?” You accuse, narrowing your eyes into a glare as you stare him down, his nostrils flaring in anger. “I’m an alpha, Changbin. An alpha! Just like you, just like Minho, but just because I’m a girl-” 

“And would they have attacked you if you hadn’t been a girl?!” Changbin roars, eyes flashing, and you swallow down the bile suddenly rising in your throat, watching the way his chest heaves in the dim light from the dashboard. 

Changbin sucks in a ragged breath, and folds his large arms over his chest, but he doesn’t take it back. 

You drop your gaze from his and stare out the window again.

‘Sometimes it’s not that fucking deep, okay, (Y/N)? Sometimes it just is what it is!’

Your hands are trembling, and you clutch the fabric of your pants between your fingers to stop them, forcing back the sudden urge to cry. 

Your eyes burn, but you won’t let the tears out, not for him to see, not when it would just prove his point. 

You feel Minho’s gaze on you through the mirror again, but you don’t look up, doggedly keeping your own eyes on the window, staying silent for the rest of the ride home. 

*******

When Minho parks Chan’s car in the parking garage, you get out without a word and head for the elevator without a backward glance. 

You’re sure they both have some choice words for you, but you’re exhausted and cold and upset and you really don’t want to fucking cry in front of either of them, so you step into the elevator and close the doors without waiting. 

Neither of them tries to stop you. 

You barely make it into your apartment, the tears blurring your vision as you fumble with the key in the lock, and slam the door before you’re collapsing onto the floor, arms going around your knees as your body heaves with silent sobs.

You stuff a fist into your mouth and bite down on your knuckles, hoping the pain will help ground you, help you get a grip, but it only serves as a reminder for the sting in your lip, the ache in your heart. 

It magnifies everything. 

So you let yourself cry, cry until your eyes are aching and your body is sore and your heart is breaking, and when the sobs have finally died down into shuddering breaths, you roll over onto your back and stare at the ceiling, not really looking at anything. 

Fuck. 

You reach blindly for your phone, seeing all the missed messages and calls from earlier, but there’s nothing new, and you don’t know why, but that fact sends a sharp stab of pain right to the middle of your chest, leaving you gasping for breath once more. 

You hadn’t expected him to check on you, but still, expecting and witnessing are two very different things, and the latter hurts more than you thought it would. 

You let your phone clatter to the floor beside you and fix your unseeing eyes on the ceiling once more. 

Your body hurts, and your jaw is throbbing, and taking the place now of the hot anger that had fueled you all night is exhaustion-heavy, stifling, numbing exhaustion.

‘I can’t tell you what you want to hear.’

Changbin’s words echo in your head and you screw your eyes shut, trying to make them evaporate. 

Tears start to creep from under your eyelids once again. 

It had all gone to shit, simply because you couldn’t keep your goddamn mouth shut.

And you were scared. Because you didn’t know how to fix it. 

‘I love you.’ 

It had slipped past your lips unbidden, your voice breathy, barely above a whisper, your hands palm down on his chest to keep yourself steady. 

Maybe it wasn’t the right moment-you still straddling his hips, him still buried inside of you, both of you still coming down from the high-but it had escaped before you could stop it, turning into something real and visceral in the air between you, and there was nothing you could do to take it back. Not now. 

You found you didn’t regret it. 

Changbin stared at you with wide eyes, lips slightly parted, skin still flushed, dark hair swept back from his forehead, still bearing the waves from your fingers, and when he didn’t respond immediately, you felt your face flush, embarrassment curling in your gut. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

You slid off of him-your skin sticking to his, hot, sticky, bare-and avoided his gaze, darting to the bathroom as wetness started to slide down your leg and shame crept across your cheeks. 

It was probably only a few minutes, but it felt like years before Changbin appeared in the doorway. 

You didn’t look at him, in the reflection or in the present, and continued to wipe yourself off. 

There was an awkward moment of silence, and then he stepped to the sink, clearing his throat as he began to wash his hands. 

You tried not to look up at him. 

“Listen-” 

You laughed uncomfortably before he could say anything else, meeting his cautious gaze in the mirror as you tossed the used washcloth into the hamper, hurrying to fix this before it could get worse. 

“It’s fine. Don’t say anything. Just forget it.” 

Changbin stares at you, clears his throat once more, and nods, before glancing back down to the water running over his hands. 

You’re standing up to find your clothes when he speaks again. 

“I can’t tell you what you want to hear.” 

You freeze, hand on the doorknob, and something inside of you collapses. 

“What?” You question, keeping your voice from wavering, though your fingers are trembling on the knob. 

He turns and stares at your back, you can feel the heat of his gaze, and then he says carefully, “You know what I mean.” 

You breathe in and try not to let it back out. 

He sighs, long and hard, and you hear the counter creak as he leans back against the sink.

“Why’d you say it?” 

You’re caught off guard by the question, and you turn to face him now, brow furrowing. 

“Why wouldn’t I say it?” 

He stares you down, gaze hardening, and blows out his breath. 

You feel irritation start to replace the embarrassment in your stomach. 

“Why didn’t you say it?” You retort, crossing your arms over your chest. 

He rubs at the bridge of his nose with his fingers, clearly annoyed now. 

“Don’t make this emotional.” 

“Excuse me?” You gasp, irritation giving way to the start of anger. “Don’t make this ‘emotional’?” 

He sighs again, stepping past you to leave the bathroom. 

“You know what I mean.” 

You stalk after him. 

“Pretty sure I don’t. Why don’t you explain it to me?” 

He pulls on his shorts as you stand in the doorway, angrier than you’ve ever been. 

He barely gives you a glance. 

“Sometimes it’s not that fucking deep, okay, (Y/N)? Sometimes it just is what it is!” 

You stare at him like he’s grown a second head. 

“Me telling you I love you ‘isn’t that fucking deep’?” 

He stares at the ceiling for a moment, seeming to gather his patience, but when he glances at you once more, his eyes are flashing, dangerous, warning. 

“Don’t, (Y/N).” 

“Don’t what?” You snap, pushing past him to look for your clothes. You find your pants and tug them back on violently. “Oh, right, don’t make this emotional because it’s not that fucking deep and I’m just a stupid girl who said a stupid thing and has stupid feelings that you don’t reciprocate.” 

He sighs, long and frustrated. 

“(Y/N)-” “Don’t.” You whirl on him so fast you nearly lose your balance. You take in a deep breath and stare him down. “Don’t talk to me like I’m a child you’re disappointed with.” 

His gaze grows hooded. “Fine.” 

“Fine.” You snap back, pulling your hoodie over your head and searching for your shoes. 

You feel him watching you, but you don’t care. 

Tugging on your other sneaker, you snatch up your phone and stalk toward the door, throwing it open and heading down the hallway. 

You want to get out of here as fast as humanly possible. 

Unfortunately, Changbin has other ideas. 

He stops you at the door, fingers looping around your wrist, and you glare at him over your shoulder, throwing daggers in his direction. 

“Let me go.” 

He raises his chin and stares you down. “No.” 

You growl and try to shake his fingers off of you. 

“Changbin, Let. Me. Go.” 

He shakes his head, and you feel the anger rising in your gut. 

“Not until we talk about this like adults.” 

You scoff and sneer at him, clenching your free hand into a fist behind your back. 

“There’s nothing to talk about. You made that incredibly clear.” 

His eyes darken and a muscle ticks in his jaw. 

“No, I said I couldn’t tell you what you wanted to hear-” 

“Oh my god.” You huff out a humorless laugh, starting to feel slightly insane. “Can you please not repeat your obvious rejection over and over? Kinda sucks.” 

His gaze hardens. “I’m not-” 

“Oh, you’re not?” Your voice is verging on hysterical now, and you can feel yourself shaking, and you know he can too, his fingers still looped around your wrist. “Then what are you doing, Changbin? Hm? Please, enlighten me.” 

He stares you down, and you stare right back. 

The air is heavy with frost and soot. 

Finally, he lets out an annoyed breath between his teeth and releases his hold on your wrist. 

“Does it change things? Me saying it back?” 

You stare at him in open disbelief, dumbfounded. 

“Are you seriously asking me that right now?” 

“Of course I am!” He exclaims in angry exasperation, clenching his teeth and hardening his jaw. He growls in frustration and clenches his hands at his sides. “Because I don’t fucking get it, (Y/N), if it does, because why?” 

You cannot fucking believe him. 

“It changes things because right now, I don’t know where I stand.” You reply, keeping your voice level, though it’s strained, barely shaking. 

He stares at you like you’re stupid. 

“Where you stand?” He repeats, and you resist the urge to hit him square in the face. “You stand the same place you always have! Why does that have to change?” 

You groan long and low in your throat in frustration, and turn toward the door. 

“Whatever. This is clearly not working. I’m leaving. Just forget about it.” 

Changbin grabs your wrist again and you growl as you whirl back to face him. 

“Let go of my fucking wrist, Changbin.” 

His eyes are fiery, his lips pressed thin. 

When he stares you down, not saying anything, you feel the anger bubble over into something deadly, pooling in your stomach. 

“Do you wanna know why it matters?” You hiss out between clenched teeth, clenching your hand into a fist in his hold. You step toward him, but he holds his ground as you go toe to toe. 

You pin him with your glare, dropping your voice, low and dangerous. 

“It matters, because right now, what we’re doing here?” You motion between the two of you, your chest brushing his as you both breathe-in and out, in and out, in and out. “Could mean absolutely nothing more than an easy lay-not a single fucking thing.” 

His lips pull up into the start of a smirk, and it’s not amused. 

“And you think if someone tells you what you want to hear, that that changes things?” He leans in close, his breath brushing your lips, and you almost choke on the wave of smoke. “You’re a goddamn fool if you think that changes anything.” 

His words fill the angry, cold air between the two of you, growing bigger and bigger by the second, looming large and formidable and unforgivable

The only sound is your heart shattering into a million pieces on the floor at his feet.

You stare at him for another tense moment, and then you spin on your heel, and leave the apartment without a word. 

******

When you wake up, you’re still curled on the living room floor, the light streaming in through the blinds hurting your eyes as you slowly unfurl. 

Your back hurts, your muscles are stiff, and your lip is throbbing like a fucker. 

You risk a tentative brush of your tongue across the aching skin, and hiss through your teeth at the sting, your bottom lip clearly swollen and bruised, still tasting faintly of coppery blood.

You force yourself up from the floor, groaning as your joints slot back into place, and stumble toward the bathroom. 

You’re cold and achy and heartbroken and you need to shower. 

You can still faintly smell the scent of marsh on your skin from the frat guy, and it makes you want to violently gag into the toilet. 

Running the water as hot as it goes, you step into the shower and let the stream scald your skin, washing away any residue left from the night before, including the musky scent still stubbornly clinging to your skin.

The sound of your front door opening has your wolf perking its ears, but you’re not worried, because the only people who know your code are members of the pack, unless, of course, it’s him. 

Your stomach tightens at the thought, but when the light footsteps entering the bathroom aren’t immediately accompanied by a wave of smoke, you relax, turning your head into the water and closing your eyes, blindly reaching for your shampoo. 

You wait for the mystery person to speak, and after a moment, Hyunjin’s voice floats above the sound of the running water. 

You smell the tang of lemon cut through the floral of your shampoo.

“He’s kind of stupid, you know.” 

You know who he’s talking about, but you play dumb anyway, staying silent, waiting to see if he goes on. 

A long sigh, and then, “But even he’s not stupid enough to ever hurt you on purpose.” 

Your fingers freeze in the suds of your hair, and you let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding, resuming your movements after a brief moment of stillness. 

“He told me what happened.” 

You huff out a humorless, sharp laugh, as you lean your head back to rinse the soap from your hair, scrunching your eyes shut tightly, telling yourself it’s to keep the shampoo out, but in reality, it’s to hold back the new burn of tears threatening.

“Shocking.”  

He’d probably told the whole pack by now, so they could all laugh at your stupidity together. 

You see Hyunjin hoist himself up onto the counter by the sink through the foggy glass of the shower door, and you turn to shut off the shower, immediately shivering as the hot water stops rolling over your skin. 

Hyunjin waits in silence as you slide open the door and step out, wrapping a towel around yourself, your skin prickling in violent goosebumps. 

You don’t look at him as you towel off your dripping hair, but you feel his gaze on you regardless. 

Finally, he says gently, “He has a rule you know.” 

You flick your gaze up to him, unsure of what he’s talking about, and not certain if you actually care. 

He sighs and pushes long back hair from his face with an agitated movement of his hand. 

“To not say it back.” 

It takes a moment for your brain to catch up with the omega’s words, and he’s still staring at you, waiting for you to get it, and suddenly, you realize what he’s telling you. 

You glance at him sharply, voice sharper than you intended. “Why?” 

Hyunjin smiles sadly, kicking his legs against the cabinets as you fling the towel you used on your hair into the laundry hamper. 

“Because what happens when you tell people that kind of personal shit?” 

You huff a breath, halfway to a scoff, and roll your eyes, anger bubbling just below the surface of your skin once more. 

You slam a drawer open to find your face cream, and stare doggedly ahead in the mirror. 

“Oh, I dunno, maybe, relationships advance? Grow deeper? Novel idea, but maybe being open and vulnerable is a good thing when you care about someone?” 

Your words are staccato, acidic on your tongue, but Hyunjin doesn’t seem phased, staring at you until you return his serious gaze. 

“Let me rephrase the question.” He arches a dark brow, lips pulled into a thin line. “What happens when an alpha specifically shares something like that?” 

You stare at him, the anger making it hard to focus on what he’s asking you. 

Hyunjin heaves a sigh-he seems to be doing a lot of that-and points at you sternly. “You’re doing it right now, actually. Just in the opposite sense.” 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” 

You don’t mean to get sharp with him, but your head hurts and your jaw is starting to sting again, and you really wanna do nothing but lay down in your bed and never get back up. 

“It smells like a goddamn floral shop in here.” Hyunjin bites right back, his eyes flashing, and then he takes in a deep breath through his nose and closes his eyes for a brief moment, and when he reopens them, his composure has returned. “Don’t you get it?” 

You stare at him, feeling stupid and altogether too worked up for this conversation. 

“Pheromones.” He spells it out slowly, holding your gaze, his pupils large and dark. “You put out pheromones depending on the emotion you’re feeling strongly in the moment-good or bad-and those emotion driven pheromones have an incredible effect on the people close to you-again, good or bad.” 

It’s starting to click into place in your brain, and your anger is swirling away down the drain with every completed piece of the puzzle. 

Hyunjin must notice the recognition in your eyes, because he hops down from the counter and comes to stand in front of you, reaching up to wipe a stray droplet of water from the arch of your cheekbone. 

His gaze softens, and his lips turn up into the start of a sardonic smile. 

“He has a rule-to never say it back-because he never, ever wants anyone to feel like they owe him anything, just because of his secondary gender.” 

His tiny smile turns sad, and you feel your stomach hollow out at his next words. 

“Changbin is so insanely terrified of being a stereotypical asshole alpha-someone who just takes whatever they want and damn the consequences-that he never even lets himself consider having what he deserves.” 

It all makes sense. 

You feel like a grade A asshole. 

Hyunjin lifts your chin with his finger and gives you a soft smile, one that reaches his eyes. 

“Maybe he didn’t say it back, but he’s been showing you, all along, every step of the way.” 

You feel all the breath leave your lungs in one fell swoop. 

He’s right. 

Changbin had never once made you feel bad about helping Hyunjin through his heat without him, even though you knew, without a measure of a doubt, that he cared for the omega. 

Changbin had worried about you every time there was a thunderstorm, had let you sleep in his bed, held you until you stopped shaking. 

Changbin always arrived first to the campus cafe, and when you’d inevitably show up several moments later, he’d always already ordered you an iced americano, sliding it across the table silently and waving away your thanks. 

Changbin had called you five times last night, trying to make sure you were safe, that you weren’t hurt, that you weren’t being stupid. 

Changbin, Changbin, Changbin. 

It didn’t matter that he didn’t say it. He loved you.

A tear drops down your cheek unbidden, and Hyunjin swipes it away without a word. 

You sniff and rub at your nose. 

“God, I’m so stupid.” 

Hyunjin smiles ruefully and knocks you playfully under the chin. 

“Yeah. But so is he. So I guess you’re even.” 

******

You let yourself into Changbin’s apartment via keycode and make your way silently down the hall to the open door of his bedroom. 

You glance inside, and he’s lying on his back on his bed, reading one of Jisung’s mangas, held above his head as he idly flips the pages. 

He glances up as you enter the room, but keeps silent, as you sit down beside the bed and tuck your knees into your chest, wrapping your arms around yourself. 

You both sit in the silence for several long moments, and then you glance up at him, instantly noting the dark bruising painted across the knuckles of his right hand, the torn, angry looking flesh mottling various shades of black and blue and dark purple. 

“What happened to your hand?” You ask in a quiet voice, biting your lip, and Changbin barely flicks his gaze up from his reading to glance first to you, and then to the hand in question. 

He shrugs half heartedly and turns back to the comic. 

“Just some stupid frat boys.” 

You bite back the hint of a smile, and stare at the carpet beneath your feet, trying to ignore the warmth starting to curl deep within your belly. 

There are another few moments of quiet, and then Changbin surprises you by letting the manga drop to the bed, the noise startling you, as you glance at him once more from the corner of your eye and see his chest heave in and out with a long sigh. 

He reaches up to rake a hand through his hair. “Look, I know I should apologize-” 

You cut him off, turning to face the bed as you wave a hand in his direction.

“You don’t need to apologize.” 

He sighs again, and when he speaks once more, his voice is curt, clipped, as if he’s irritated. 

“Yes, I fucking do.” 

You push up to your knees and lean over the side of the bed on your elbows, staring down at him, his eyes widening slightly as you both come face to face. 

You stare him down seriously, holding his gaze, not letting him look away. 

“No, I’m serious.” You breathe out, long and steady, and offer him the hint of a small smile. “You don’t need to apologize.” 

He stares at you, brow furrowed in confusion, eyes dark and guarded. 

You huff a laugh and reach out to smooth the crease between his eyes. “Don’t look so worried. I’m not gonna hold this against you forever.” 

His expression grows slightly pained at your words, and his voice is a bitter murmur when he says, “You should.” 

You shake your head. “You were right though. You don’t have to say it. It doesn’t change anything.” 

He himself up onto one elbow, and you hurry before you can lose your nerve. 

“Look.” You wring your hands together, staring down at the comforter beneath them, avoiding his gaze now. “I get it. Why you have a rule about not saying it back.” 

Changbin shifts and then growls out, “Dammit, Hyunjin. I’m gonna fucking kill him.” 

You laugh and look up once more, and his lips are curved into the hint of a tiny smile now.

“No, it makes sense. And while I totally get it, I do, I also don’t think you should worry about forcing me into doing anything or saying something against my will just because of some stupid pheromones.”

 You take in a deep quivering breath, and look him straight in the eye. 

“Because I’m already pretty hopelessly fucking in love with you as it is, and I don’t think any amount of biology is gonna change that.” 

You swallow hard as he continues to stare at you in silence, and then he laughs, he laughs. 

“So you meant it then.” 

You shoot him a half hearted glare and cross your arms over your chest. 

“Of course I fucking meant it! Why do you think I got so pissed off when I thought you were rejecting me?” 

Changbin smiles ruefully. “But I told you I wasn’t.” 

“Yeah, okay!” You throw your hands up in exasperation. “I get that now, but I was a little too devastated to consider it in the moment!” 

Changbin chuckles again and tugs you to him. You let out a little yelp of surprise as you topple onto the bed, nose going into the side of his throat. 

He’s warm, and he smells like smoke, and the embers of a waning campfire. 

Comforting. 

He puts his hands on either side of your face and tugs you back just enough to meet your gaze as he arches a dark brow and looks down at you with open, affectionate amusement. 

When he speaks, his voice is sincere, warm, and it sends your bones to jelly and your heart thudding against the walls of your chest. 

“I’m sorry that I made you think any of that. I’m sorry that I hurt you by being a stupid asshole. I’m sorry that you ever thought I didn’t feel the same exact way about you that you feel about me.” His lips curve up into the start of a smirk. “And I’m also sorry that you didn’t get to watch me kick those frat boys’ asses to hell and back, but I’m not sorry I did it.” 

You laugh, slightly wobbly and watery, and swipe at your eyes with the back of your hand. 

“I’m also sorry I didn’t get to see that.” 

Changbin chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest, and he leans over to brush his nose against your forehead. You close your eyes, breathing him in for a moment, fingers clenching the material of the front of his hoodie. 

“Also. I had a rule. But I think it’s about time I start living a little less by the rulebook, and a little bit more by the trust you all seem to have in me, however misguided.” 

You open your eyes, and are met by the swirling gold of his own. 

His lips curve into the start of a smile, and his voice is barely above a breath, warm as it washes across your skin. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t say it back.” His brow arches up in question, lips parting. “But I can say it now, if you want?” 

You shake your head slightly with a disbelieving little laugh. 

“It’s not gonna change anything important.” 

Changbin slips a finger beneath your chin and raises your gaze to his own. You can feel your heartbeat pounding in your ears as he lets his thumb gently trace over the divot in your lips, the tender, healing bruise along your jaw. 

“I know.” His eyes flick back up to your own. “But what if I want to?” 

You let out the breath you’ve been holding. 

“Okay.” 

He leans into your space, his lips brushing your cheekbone when he speaks, and the the low, warm tone of his voice has your body instantly zipping with giddy electricity. 

“I love you too.” 

You glance at him sidelong, heart thudding against your ribs, and catching your breath, ask teasingly, “My alpha pheromones didn’t make you say that, did they?” 

He growls playfully and nuzzles his nose into your throat, tickling you, holding you tight as you giggle and try to weakly wriggle away. 

“No fucking pheromones were used.” He says softly, voice filled with relief, and you feel him grin against your skin. 

“No pheromones were used.” You repeat back quietly, cheeks sore from smiling, almost drunk with happiness, before you lean over to fit your lips to his and kiss him like you should’ve the first time. 

********************************************************************************

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[vyncentevelyn]

Preview of “And When I’m Gone, Remember to Tell the Bees”

This is a preview of my WIP. It’s an excerpt from my project focused on Eddie’s mom, Winnie. This preview is from 4-year-old Eddie’s POV.

CW/TW:  Indirect reference to child neglect/abuse, indirect drug use reference

Eddie likes when the nice lady comes.

She is always happy.

She brings nice things with her. She smells like flowers. She cooks yummy, warm food. She washes Eddie’s hair, makes it feel light and bouncy. She washes Bear. Sometimes she makes mommy smile. Sometimes she makes mommy smell like flowers too. And the whole time she is there, dad doesn’t come home.

She wraps Eddie in a towel, which smells like flowers too. She smiles at him, dries his face.

“How old are you now Eddie?” She asks.

Eddie thinks. He knows someone told him. He wants to get this right. He wants the nice lady to smile at him and tell him he did good. Tears sting his eyes because he does not know the answer.

The nice lady smiles, “Hey now, this is nothing to be sad about.”

Eddie looks up at the nice lady, the tears fall anyway. But Eddie knows to be quiet when he cries now. Knows how to be sad without any sound.

The nice lady’s smile widens showing her gapped front teeth. Eddie thinks she has the prettiest smile. She holds up a slender finger, then another. And another. And another.

She wiggles all the fingers she holds up like a wave and says, “Four.”

“Four.” Eddie repeats.

“That’s how old you are now.” She smiles and then she says, “It’s ok if you forget Eddie. I sometimes forget my age.”

Eddie smiles even though the tears still fall. Sometimes Eddie wishes she would take him with her. She never makes Eddie feel sad. She never makes Eddie feel bad. She never leaves Eddie trapped in the bathroom.

She kisses Eddie’s forehead.

Eddie smiles. Wants to hold on to the nice lady and never let go.

She wraps the towel closer around his shoulders and pulls him into her chest. Squeezes him and Eddie feels so happy the tears fall even more then when he was sad. Which doesn’t make sense. Eddie tries hard to keep the tears quiet but it’s harder when the nice lady holds him.

“It’s ok Eddie.” She says.

And for a second, it is ok. But Eddie knows when she leaves it will all be not ok again.

“Are you hungry?” She asks, still holding Eddie.

Eddie nods.

“Ok, well let’s get you in some PJs. And then we’ll eat some lasagna.” She says carrying Eddie out of the bathroom.

They go out to the living room of the trailer. She helps dress Eddie in PJs that also smell like flowers and fit better than his other ones. Then she sits him at the table and fixes him a plate with a food Eddie doesn’t know. He knows it smells good though. It makes his tummy rumble. And he’s so hungry that he’ll eat it even if it is those tiny green trees he doesn’t like.

She sets the plate down and sits beside him. Eddie smiles, there are no tiny green trees. She helps Eddie eat the food. It’s warm and cheesy. It’s yummy. Eddie thinks it is his new favorite food.

“You know,” she smiles as she watches Eddie chew, “this is your uncle’s favorite dish I make too.”

“Uncle?” Eddie says, mouth still full.

She nods.

“Bear!” Eddie smiles when it clicks. Mommy told him once Bear was from his uncle. And Bear is his favorite toy.

“That’s right.” She smiles and nods her head. “Good job.”

The words make Eddie’s heart feel heavy and warm, like his belly.

“Where is uncle?” Eddie asks.

“He’s in Hawkins. He misses you dearly.” She says.

“Can he come with you?” Eddie tilts his head, looks up at the nice lady.

She looks sad for a second but then says, “He would love to. Maybe he can come with me next time.”

“Ok.” Eddie smiles. He doesn’t want the nice lady to leave.

After dinner, the nice lady cleans the trailer. She makes the whole place smell like an orange. Eddie likes the smell just as much as the flower smell. He watches her clean as he plays with Bear on the couch. As she works, she turns and talks to Eddie, or smiles at Eddie.

Eddie watches her go into the dark room in the back. Hears whispers. Knows that mommy is in there. He wants to tell the nice lady she can’t go in there. But the nice lady never seems to know that. She always goes in and gets mommy. She takes mommy out of the dark room and into the bathroom. He hears the water turn on. Then the nice lady comes back out.

The nice lady looks sad when she helps mommy. Eddie understands. Sometimes Eddie tries to help mommy too. But mommy never wants him around. Maybe mommy doesn’t want the nice lady around too.

The nice lady cleans the dark room. Makes it bright with light and orange smell. And even though Eddie wants to be where the nice lady is, he stays on the couch. He’s too scared of the dark room.

When she stops cleaning in there she goes back in the bathroom. He can hear mommy and the nice lady talking. Can hear mommy cry. He doesn’t understand why mommy cries when the nice lady is there. But maybe the nice lady is holding mommy like she held Eddie and Eddie cried when she held him. So, he understands.

Eddie holds Bear to his chest like the nice lady had held him and how he thinks she’s holding mommy. He wishes to Bear that it fixes mommy. He falls asleep on the couch still holding Bear tight to his chest.

#stranger things #eddie stranger things #eddie munson #eddie #wip #wip excerpt #fanfic #winnie #Winnie Munson #wayne munson #steddie #stranger things pequeal #st #prequel series #appalachain gothic #appalachian eddie #bees #remember to tell the bees #appalachian shit

[flimsysquid]

For the star wars doodle requests:

Draw Darth Maul being happy; he never really gets to experience joy in canon 🙈

Hopefully I’ll get some time to colour this one soon! But it was so fun to draw him happy 🥰

#darth maul #star wars #star wars fanart #prequel series #fanart #drawing #art #doodle requests #doodle request #darth maul fanart #sketch #zabrak #myart

[mickey-gomez]

Chapter 9 of Fade Into You

Warnings: Word crimes, thesaurus crimes, soft smut, fluff.

Pairing: Rita/Reader

A/N: Picks up directly after chapter 8. It's a little long sorry. I tried to write it the best way I could to describe what it feels like when you're hopelessly in lust with someone. But it's a little muddled. It wouldn't let me put a chapter title/header in, so idk, I guess it's untitled? Also I strongly dislike the series title, so if anyone has an idea for a new title please let me know.

I have most of this series written in dribs and drabs on a big working doc, but I don't really have a structure, so therefore I don't know how to connect it all yet. Also I don't think I'm very good at writing smut, and it sort of intimidates me. So it's hard to update more frequently because I overthink it and constantly rewrite.

The two of you performed a delicate dance throughout the week, hidden glimpses as you passed one another in the halls, fleeting and restrained touches as you slipped past each other in doorways, lingering looks shared in an office wide meeting.

You caught her gaze once more as you walked past her out of the meeting, walking in the opposite direction, rounding the corner of a dimly lit hallway, the soft glow of the wall sconces illuminating your path, casting shadows as they danced across your features. 

You leant against the wall, nearing the exit, as you waited. And for a brief moment, you considered giving up, with the thought that she hadn’t followed you, or had gotten caught up in conversation, then you saw her out of the corner of your eye. 

You ran your eyes over her as she approached you, her long, warm and rich brown hair cascading down her back, her tailored suit that clung to her in all the right places, and the faint smile that tugged at the corners of her lips. 

“Hi” she said in a low, husky voice, as she stood in front of you. 

“Hi” you replied, your voice a little breathless. 

You both stood there for a moment, your eyes locked in a silent exchange that spoke volumes. You felt a rush of heat spread through your body as you watched her gaze flicker down and then back up again. The attraction between the two of you was undeniable, and it hung in the air like a tangible force. 

“Are you free on Friday evening?” Rita asked, breaking the silence, though her voice still held that seductive tone. 

You nodded, or at least you thought you had, your words momentarily escaping you, before realising you hadn’t actually spoken or given her an answer. “Maybe, why?” you eventually answered.

“Rafa, against my many protests, has organised farewell drinks with some of the other staff at Whiskey Tavern.” 

“That place is so not your scene.” You were right about that part, but you knew Rafael had most likely organised drinks there because it was a block away from the office, it was cheap and a pretty popular bar amongst the young District Attorney’s office staff. Exactly the sort of place that Rita would never be caught dead in.

“I know, but at least they have halfway decent scotch.” She took a step closer, closing some of the distance between you, her fingers brushing against your arm, the touch sending shivers down your spine.

“Plus you can’t really call yourself a New Yorker unless you’ve made out in their photo booth.” your eyes shone as you said it, and her gaze dropped down to your lips once more. She leaned in, just slightly, as if she was testing the waters. “I’ll see you on Friday” you whispered next to her ear as your cheeks brushed together, and you slid out from between her and the hallway. 

You pushed open the heavy wooden door, the soft ambient hum of conversation greeted you. Warm, dim lights bathed the room, revealing a mess of weathered wooden tables, each one crowded with company, and littered with peanut shells. 

“Got stuck at the precinct, sorry I’m late.” you said brightly as you approached the table.

“Hey!” Rafael’s eyes widened as he greeted you excitedly, standing from the table to embrace you in a friendly, but hasty hug. “Sorry I haven’t had a chance to say hello at the office yet.” 

“Don’t be sorry” you touched his arm and smiled sincerely “So, will we see you at Thanksgiving again this year? You know, to protect Rita from the wolves?” you teased and he grinned, from a mix of liquor and playful amusement. 

“I think my mom would probably beat me senseless, if I missed another year.” 

Across the table, Rita sat relaxed in her chair, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. Her hair was pinned back with her natural waves flowing down over her shoulders, and her hazel eyes framed by dark lashes, locked onto you with an intensity that made her almost impossible to ignore. 

Your eyes finally met, and a jolt of electricity seemed to pass between you both. The air thickened with anticipation as your gaze held for a moment too long. Rita’s lips curled into a knowing smile, as your heart raced just a little faster. 

You tore your eyes away before it became apparent to everyone at the table that there was palpable tension between you both, saying a quick hello to people you didn’t quite recognise or remember, before offering to buy a round for the table, pointing at everyone one at a time as you memorised their order. 

You settled into the open chair next to Rita’s after you dropped the tray of drinks into the middle of the table, leaving everyone to reach for them, while you and Rita exchanged false pleasantries. Rafael introduced you to the group as you sat, and Rita’s hand moved to your thigh, out of sight, something reserved for the two of you.

The hours melted away as her peers continued to share stories and amusing secrets, while the two of you shared stolen glances, your connection growing stronger with each passing moment. The bar’s dim lights cast shadows on your faces, enhancing the intrigue of the situation. 

And when the conversations seemed to pair off and you found yourself speaking directly to her, your conversation danced on the edge of intimacy as you exchanged stories, lingering touches, and smouldering glances. The playful banter masked your desires, but every word and gesture secretly revealed the simmering passion that threatened to consume both of you.

“Alright” you stood from your seat at the table, “Does anyone have a silver dollar?” you asked, holding your hand out flat and waving your fingers. One of them handed you the dollar out of their pocket, and after a thank you, you turned to Rita and tilted your head towards the opposite end of the bar. “You can’t leave the DA’s office without a memento.” you said with a glimmer in your eye, she knew almost immediately what you were alluding to, and so without hesitation, she followed you with intrigue.

As you both stepped inside the booth, the heavy curtain fell behind you, cocooning you in a private world of dimmed, flickering light. The soft hum of the booth’s machinery enveloped you, drowning out the noise of the crowded bar. 

The camera counted down - three, two, one. The flash illuminated your faces, capturing a moment of shared vulnerability. And as it started to count down once more you both turned your heads, gazes heavy as they fell over one another’s lips, three, two, one. The flash went off and in that moment, you crashed together. 

Your lips were greedy and you could taste the sugar that coated her tongue, a low moan escaped you and your arms wrapped around her shoulders, your fingers threading through her hair as you consumed one another. 

Three, two, one. You both moved together, as the flash went off once more, your hands now scrambling for the others’ body, desperate to feel the touch of skin on skin. 

“Do you want to get out of here?” she whispered against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. You swallowed, hard, and nodded in response. With that, you both knew the night had just begun, and the tension that had been building between the two of you was about to ignite into a fiery passion that neither of you wanted to resist, finally feeling free after all these years. 

Rita reached for your hips and you swung your leg over, fingers gripping onto her shoulders as you held yourself upright. She ran her hand along your cheek delicately, and her thumb traced along your lower lip, and as your swollen lips parted, you drew the digit in, encasing it and running your tongue over it. She was powerless not to moan at the sight, and ever so quick in arching her shoulders and craning her neck, exchanging her thumb’s place with her own tongue. 

Rita reached down in between your bodies, her fingers moving through you, and into the pool of desire that awaited her, grinning at the wetness she found. Her thumb curled up to rub with intent over your clit, and you moaned into her mouth.

Your hands joined at the base of the toy, as you both lined it up with your entrance and you slowly sunk down, both of your gazes fixated on the sight of it, and you let out a shallow breath you’d been holding in your throat.  

She felt the exact moment you relaxed and for a moment you were both still, your hips flush, eyes locked on one another. Until Rita gripped your hips and you rose up on your knees, as she drove a little further, a little harder, into you. Your eyes fell closed, and your mouth flew open and you went slack jawed. She shifted her hips slightly, allowing herself to feel the friction at the base of the strap, and the movement caused a loud moan to spill from your throat. 

“Right there” you gasped, your nails raked down her back and she moaned in response, before reaching a hand around to deliver a sharp spank. The feeling of her hands on your skin, the soft contact, your chests pressed together, and breaths and moans fanning over skin, it all promised to overwhelm. 

“Do that again.” you groaned, and instead of acting on your demand, she pinched you suddenly, and roughly on your inner thigh. You let out a high pitched whine and before you could even think to question her, you realised why she had done it. “Do that again, please.” you said slowly and deliberately, and you could almost hear her smirking with your eyes closed. 

You moved your hands, one down to your clit and the other alternated across your chest, pinching and twisting. Her gaze followed your movements and she moaned as she watched you, feeling herself falling closer to the edge. She watched when your breathing started to become more erratic and frantic, and pulled your hand away from your clit, and you let out a loud whine, your eyes flying open, gazing down at her through hooded lids.

“Not yet” she said breathily, and you leaned back down to kiss her, your hands weaving around her neck. The kiss was a mess of teeth with little control or coordination, but it didn’t seem to bother either of you as you chased your peaks together.

She moved two of her fingers down to rub your clit, “Be a good girl and come for me”, and the combination of her words and her movements pushed you over the edge. When you came, your knees tightened against her hips and your back arched, right at the moment you heard her let out an almost feral sound. 

Your tongues slid together lazily as you both came down from your highs, floating back. The room was filled with a serene stillness, a stark contrast to the frenzied passion that had just consumed you both. 

Your hearts continued to race in tandem, gradually slowing down as you basked in the shared intimacy of the moment. You traced your fingertips gently along the curves of her body, your touch mirroring the depth of your own emotions, and everything left unsaid.

She raised her head up to look at you, her eyes filled with a soft, affectionate gaze. But it was fleeting, you noticed the moment she trapped her vulnerability from spilling further, and when the light in her eyes changed.

“Well that was a spectacular farewell.” she smirked and raised her eyebrows, and giggles erupted from both of you. 

“You should quit every day.” and you both laughed

“You wanna go again?” 

“Knees” you said, a mix of sighs and laughter.

Rita understood, and so she gently gripped your hips and shifted you both until you were on your back, with her on top of you, the heels of your feet resting against her back. She pulled all the way out and you groaned a little at the loss, and just as you went to ask for her to come back, she slid back in, with more force this time, and at a more intense pace.

The room was cast in a tranquil hush, the remnants of your night still lingered distantly in the air, the warm sheets and her arms enveloped you. Then the shrill and incessant ringing of your phone shattered the fragile peace, jarring you from your shared cocoon of intimacy. 

You blindly reached for it, feeling around the nightstand until it was in your hand, holding it up to your ear as you whispered in conversation with the detective on the other end. Your voice still carried the remnants of sleep, and their words, a blend of apologies and urgency, rudely awakened you to a new day. Rita kissed your shoulder, as you hung up the phone, and you turned in her embrace to drop a chaste kiss against her lips. 

“I have to go get a warrant” you whispered as you pulled back, and she let out a drowsy sigh in response, nestling into the pillow beneath her head, you smiled as you drank her in. Her tousled hair that spilled across the pillow like a dark river, and her eyelashes that cast delicate shadows on her cheeks. You traced your fingers along the contours of her face, marvelling at the peaceful expression that adorned her lips. 

Reality, however, began to nudge at the edges of your cocoon of affection. Responsibilities beckoned, and the detectives in the world outside were awaiting your arrival. 

“I can feel you staring”, she murmured, stirring as her eyes fluttered open, and a sleepy smile met yours. 

“Can I borrow some clothes?” you hummed, the urgency of time bore down on you, as you tried to savour this precious moment, etching it into your memory. 

“Only if you come back with breakfast” she teased, another smile tugging at the corner of her mouth as she fought to repress a yawn, “Bagels.”

You knocked softly on the car window, handing over the warrant to Fin as he wound down the window. “Brought you this as well” you smiled as you extended the coffee tray, he plucked one of the paper cups out with a thank you, as he stepped out of the car, and the two of you leaned against the doors, waiting on the other detectives and officers. 

You looked off into the distance, taking in the city around you as it unveiled its quieter side. The occasional taxi hummed past, its yellow hue a vivid contrast to the still muted palette of dawn. A lone jogger, headphones in place, raced past you both, his feet pounding against the pavement, as if the sound was the slow heartbeat of the city, still in transition from the night’s revelry and the day’s responsibilities. Your mind cast back over the night, and you couldn’t help the involuntary smile that graced your features at the flashes of memories.

“You’re in a good mood.” Fin commented as he watched you, “You get laid last night?” and when you didn’t give him a verbal response, instead glancing down, a soft breath of laughter leaving you and your smile growing wider. He let out a low laugh, “Good for you.”, he commented with genuine candour. “Is it serious?”

“It’s all still relatively new, but it doesn’t feel new.” you reflected “It feels like we were always going to end up here. I don’t quite know how to describe it.” 

“The two of you friends?” he asked, and you nodded softly. 

“I don’t know if we were ever just friends though.” you murmured in thought, losing yourself in the threads of the past. “Sorry, I’m oversharing.” you shook your head, pulling yourself out of your own introspection.

“It’s cool.” he said without hesitation, and with authentic sincerity. “My old partner, back in Narcotics, was a woman. So, you can talk to me, if you want.” he tipped his head over to look at you “You’re part of the squad, we like you, you know? Stabler just has a hard way of showing it.”.

He was trying his hardest, and persisting through his stammering, to form a deeper connection with you. One that extended beyond the surface level of professionality that you all operated with. 

“Thanks. I appreciate that.” You smiled at him, and put your hand on his shoulder for a brief minute, before the moment you were sharing was interrupted with the arrival of squad cars, and that same earlier responsibility beckoned. 

You returned back to Rita’s, letting yourself in with her keys as you juggled the brown paper bags cradled in your arms. You carefully set everything down on the counter, and bent down to remove your shoes. 

Quietly walking down the hall, you ran your hands over the bedroom door, gently prying it open. You watched her for a fleeting moment, the soft rise and fall of her chest, and the peaceful expression on her face as she slept soundly. You hesitated on whether or not to wake her, but before you could make your mind up, she stirred amongst the sheets. 

You walked over to her side of the bed and gently brushed a strand of hair from her forehead, planting a soft kiss there. “Good morning” you whispered, keeping your voice as soft and gentle as the morning light streaming in through the curtains. “Breakfast is on the counter.”

“Where’d you go?” her eyes flickered open, and she rubbed at them, trying to remove the traces of sleep.

“Well first I went Russ & Daughters for the bagels and appetizers, then to Ray’s for beignets, and then I dropped by the newsstand on the corner to get you the paper.”

“Mm thank you” she murmured with a suppressed yawn, she sat up, the sheets pooling around her, as she ran her hands through her dishevelled hair. “Which Judge did you wake up?” 

“Ridenour” 

“I bet he was mad.” her eyes widened just slightly for a moment, and she held back her laughter. 

“That’s… putting it politely.” 

“Judge Taten lives about ten blocks from here, and isn’t as cranky, for future reference. She even puts on coffee, and sometimes she’ll give you pastries.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me that four hours ago? I went all the way uptown!” you hit her arm as your face contorted in irritation, and you looked at her with your mouth agape. 

“I was asleep.” she shrugged, but the brief glimpse of a smile gave her away, revealing it was far more likely she had deliberately withheld that information. Presumably for her own amusement at the thought of you uncaffeinated, with a throbbing headache after a night of drinking and sex, being shouted at and scolded while she slept soundly. 

She climbed out of bed, stretching out her arms and rolling the muscles in her neck as she suppressed a yawn. When she walked into her wardrobe, your eyes were glued to the back of her. 

“Follow me” she tied the belt of her robe tighter around her waist, and beckoned you with one finger. 

You did as she commanded and followed her down the hall and into what you presumed was her office, glancing around the room briefly as she unlocked her desk drawer and pulled out a worn leather notebook.

“This is my black book” she closed the drawer and turned back to you, holding the item in both hands, looking at you expectantly. 

“Okay..?” you looked back at her confused, your eyes narrowing and your expression motionless. 

“Let me rephrase.” she smiled as she looked away for a moment, then back to you. “This is a notebook with every sitting judge’s name, phone number, address. As well as the names and phone numbers of their clerks and assistants. There’s also notes under each Judge, their kid’s names, pets, hobbies, political affiliations, and so on.” She raised an eyebrow as she took in your reaction. 

“How did you get this?” your eyes went wide and your mouth opened, almost in disbelief. It was a secret roadmap, one that would help you not only pick and choose which judge to grant you a warrant, but also how to pander to them in court and build up rapport with them; she was giving you the keys to winning. 

“I didn’t ‘get’ it, I made it.” she scoffed “It took me a couple of years which is why-” 

“Gimme” you reached for it, snatching, almost childlike, and she pulled it back, staring at you with a stern but amused expression. 

“-Which is why, I have never ever shared its contents.” 

“But… you’re now going to share it?... With me?” you spoke slowly, tilting your head to the side, trying to ascertain her intentions. 

“You may borrow it for one week, to copy it and to make your own. But you are not to share it with anyone else, and I expect it back this Friday.” She slowly extended it, and right as you reached for it she pulled it back, and you looked back to her. “And you now owe me.” She smirked, knowing you had no choice but to agree to that term. 

“I hardly think that’s fair considering I just brought you breakfast.” you rolled your eyes, and she went to put it back into her desk drawer until you snatched it. “Fine! Fine. I owe you.” 

“And?” she looked at you expectantly. 

“Thank you” you leaned in and kissed her, backing her into the desk. Your hands blindly reached for the tie on her robe, fingers gracelessly undoing the knot. “So this is how you always win.” you teased, whispering against her neck and you heard her scoff loudly before she smacked you. 

“I always win because I’m the best.” she mumbled, her breath catching in her throat as your fingers swept over her stomach, tickling her. 

“Yes, yes you are.” you murmured as you sunk down onto your knees, winking at her as you pulled her leg onto your shoulder. 

Taglist: @storiesofsvu @imlike-so-gay-dude @wannabe-fic-reader @alexusonfire @momlifebehard @annegilletteslostwh0r3 @drduckthief @giftedchildturns40 @holycrapraewth @when-wolves-howl @ladysc @itwasrealtome @fanfictionfangirl04 @upsidedowndanvers @jetaimedarling  @red1culous @daddy-heather-dunbar @svushots

Taglist link here

#rita calhoun x reader #rita calhoun #svu fanfic #svu fanfiction #wlw fanfic #l&o: svu #law and order special victims unit #law and order svu #prequel series #reader insert #x reader #my fic writing #this is terrible ok thanks bye

[jaguarys]

Hnnngnghghghg thinking about suitless Vader AUs...... thinking about what a mercy it is to be able to look at a mask and pretend it's not your brother, your teacher, your hero

#HNGH having to look him in the face would be so much. worse. yaknow #personal #darth vader #anakin skywalker #anakin and ahsoka #obi wan kenobi #ahsoka tano #anakin #vader #star wars prequels #sw prequels #prequel series #star wars #star wars the clone wars #sw #fandom: star wars #type: meta