#I thought of it and now that I think about it I'm pretty sure one of the lawyers where I worked did take a vacation after only like 2 month

[lxnarphase]

sweet, sticky, thick, and pretty ๋࣭ ⭑

☾₊‧⁺...synopsis : toji wants to give you another baby

☾₊‧⁺...cw : toji fushiguro x fem!reader, smut, penetrative sex, pre-established relationship, overstimulation, unprotected sex, breeding kink, dirty talk, rough sex, begging, smug and cocky reader, feral toji

☾₊‧⁺...a/n : this is a post from my old blog but i revamped it and i really wanted to share this again because i was really proud of it. and yes, it's another breeding kink + pregnant kink. consider it a part two, since it takes place after megumi is born

toji never thought he’d get off on the idea of having another kid with you.

yet here he is, dick hard in his sweatpants as he thinks about you carrying his baby again...how you'd start to fill out all over again, that cute chubbiness coming back, how he'd have an excuse to dote on you whenever you complained about the simplest of things.

it starts off with how he sees you coo over megumi, calling him your sweet baby. you're such a good mother, too, it's clear you'd likely be the favorite parent to that little brat.

but god, does he find it attractive just seeing you be a mom to the kid that he gave you.

the day you ask megumi what he wants for his upcoming 4th birthday at dinner, neither one of you is prepared for the words that come out of your son's mouth.

“i want a baby sister,” he states bluntly as he chews on the steamed carrots, looking at you and toji. it was clear from how confident the little guy is that he's put a lot of thought into this.

“but, i don’t want her to look like daddy. he’s ugly, i want her to look like mommy.”

little brat. you straight up choke, trying to stop the laugh-coughs as toji looks at his son, offended. this really is his son, because who else but you and the kid he made with you could have the nerve to say shit like that to him?

“twerp, you look just like me, you realize that, right?”

megumi huffs, looking at his dad in the cutest little glare. “that’s 'cause i'm a boy, though," he explains as if it's obvious, his precious little cheeks puffed up as he stuffs more of his food in his mouth.

"my sister has to be like mommy. you’d be an ugly girl, daddy.” toji just rolls his eyes, pinching the cheeks of the mini him, ignoring his protests. as the two bicker, you think. would it...really be that bad to have another baby? you always wanted a girl, after all, and toji took such good care of you and megumi...it couldn't be that bad. “well, uhm,” you begin, catching the attention of toji, an unfamiliar smile on your face.

there's a mischievous look on your face right now, his eyes narrowing as he waits for your response. whatever you're about to say is either going to haunt him for the next few days or make him roll his eyes at you.

“i'm sure daddy and i can work something out for you, 'gumi, but let’s think of some other things, too, m'kay?” 

ah.

you went the haunting route.

ignoring the little cheer his son let out, toji can't hide the disbelieving look that crosses his face when he processes what you just said.

'daddy'?

you've said the word, sure, usually when you talk to megumi about him. but something was different about how you said it, the way you looked at him when you said it, the barely visible flutter of your eyes...a silent promise there'd definitely be a deeper conversation about it later.

the very day megumi has a sleepover with the neighbor's kid, yuuji, toji is mentally cheering. he loves his son with all his heart, he truly does, but having a toddler in bed meant limited contact with his pretty wife.

it's only been 3 days since that little comment you made and it's been on toji's mind constantly. every time he tried to bring it up with you, megumi would interrupt and toji was not being the reason his son ended up traumatized because he overheard mommy and daddy talking about making babies in the kitchen.

"bye, gumi! make sure you behave for mr. nanami, okay? have fun with yuuji," you coo as you press two kisses to your son's cheeks, snapping toji back to the present.

"see ya, kid, be good," toji says, giving a nod of acknowledgement to nanami. megumi barely says goodbye before he runs after yuuji to the car, his run a bit awkward because of his overnight backpack.

waving goodbye to nanami, you shut the door, turning to look at toji with that smile as you.

"hi, toj."

you think you're so cute, don't you?

"hey, mama."

toji can't even lie, you are. wearing his t-shirt and sweatpants? yeah, your the cutest thing he's ever laid eyes one. his hands rest on your hips, pulling you flush to his chest. fuck, you weren't even doing anything but he could already feel himself getting hard just from looking at you.

he's never been so whipped in his life.

"d'you wanna talk," you murmur lowly, your finger running over the thin silver chain on his neck. "we could go to the bedroom...and talk about the baby thing."

toji's eyes darken at the suggestion, knowing exactly what would happen the moment you both go into the bedroom. "yeah. think it's 'bout time we talked about it," he hums as he grips your wrist, tugging you to your room.

as soon you both step foot into the bedroom, toji hungrily presses your lips against his, letting out a deep groan. "had me thinkin' about knockin' you up again all fuckin' week, mama," toji sighs against your lips, tongue running over your lower lip.

"wanted to stuff you full so fucking bad."

feeling you sigh so prettily into the kiss, his doesn't hesitate to shove his tongue in your mouth, hands busying themselves as they push your (his) sweats down off your hips before guiding you back to the bed.

you knew he would get excited over your comment, but you didn't think it would be to the point where he was rutting into you as he practically devoured you, feeling your back hit the bed.

“you want to give our 'gumi a sister? wanna be a mommy again," he questions, breaking the kiss to press his forehead against yours. one of his hands slithers up under the oversized t-shirt to cup one of your tits and roughly knead it, his thumb just barely grazing over your nipple.

"wanna have another kid with big, bad toji? tsk, poor cunt missed gettin' stuffed full of cum?" 

you just hum a little breathless. your hand comes up to cup his cheek, looking from his lips back up to his eyes. he's so handsome when he's over you like this, his chain dangling right in your face.

“maaaaybe. megumi just made me think about it, 's all. you've been a good dad t' him, how could i not want to give you another one,” you coo, guiding him closer so you can press a kiss against the scar on his lip. 

“besides…”

toji grunts when he feels your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him flush against you so you can feel the thick, heaviness of his arousal through his sweatpants.

“don’t you want me to make you a daddy again, toji? c'mon, knock me up, big guy.”

after those words leave your pretty little mouth, toji is on you as he realizes that you're 100% going to give him the worse breeding kink ever.

"'m gonna fuckin' ruin you," he growls into your ear. you aren't given a second to protest before he's ripped your panties off, complaints falling on deaf ears. the tips of his fingers gently run over your puffy pussy lips, your slick wetness coating his fingers.

"fuck, mama, you're soaked already." his eyes are focused on your face as you squirm and whimper when he swirls little circles into your clit, an evil smirk on his face. "can't wait to fill you up 'til you're dripping with my cum, doll."

you can't stop your hips from trying to grind into his hand, eyes rolling back when he teased your entrance. "toji, c'mon, baby, i need you s'bad."

"baby, you know you can't take me without prep," he coos at you. he can feel how hot and slick you are, finally, finally slipping two of his fingers inside your cunt. and oh, the way you arch your back a little bit with a pleading whine of his name is so, so pretty, you're so fucking cute.

"mmn, maybe y'don't need prep, you just sucked my fingers right in," he says huskily before pressing a little kiss to the corner of your mouth. "you wanna try, mama? wanna see if you can fit my cock in you? really gonna feel that stretch, though, babe," toji warns, knowing you can't give a sensible answer when he starts pumping his fingers in and out.

when it seems like your about to answer him, the only thing that escapes your mouth is a shaky moan, his thick fingers curling to hit just the right spot inside of you that has you gushing. unable to form words, you tug on his shirt and nod frantically, just wanting to feel toji stuffing you full.

"yeah? you wanna try?" toiji pulls his fingers out of you, chuckling when you whine at the sudden feeling of emptiness. he pops his fingers in his mouth, cock throbbing at the addictive taste of your cunt on his tongue. "c'mon, we're both wearing too much, let's get you outta that shirt, ma."

you waste no time throwing the shirt off, not even giving him the chance to undress you. but once your shirt is off, you're practically ripping off his stupid black t-shirt that made his pecs look fucking delicious and those damn sweatpants and boxers that hid your prize.

as you fuss over his boxers, toji takes a moment to look at you spread out on the bed before him. you still had a bit of chub on you, tummy nice and soft and cute, just how he likes it. if he knew where his phone was, he'd take a picture of you right now; frustrated, horny, naked, and pretty. all for him.

"tojiiii, stop staring and kick off your stupid boxers, you're getting on my nerves!"

you can't even look him in the eye as you say that because you're too busy staring right at his cock, a thick bead of precum formed at the tip. the lick of your lips told him everything he needed to know, but he wasn't fucking your mouth, not tonight at least.

"what? i can't look at my own wife," he asks with a raised eyebrow, biting back a laugh when you swat at his hand that pinches one your puffy nipple. "tch, so rude, doll."

before you can snap back at him, he brushes the swollen head of his cock against your slick folds, smearing your wet over the tip. that shuts you up quickly and toji has to hold back another laugh. always so fussy until he finally gives you what you want. he's spoiled you rotten.

"toji," comes a soft whine, so soft he nearly misses it. your eyes are focused between your legs, lower lips between your teeth as he teases you with his cockhead. you huff, pushing your hand against his chest to give you enough space to shift positions, knowing exactly what would get him to stop teasing you.

once you roll over, you shift so that you're face down, ass up, you hand slipping between your thighs to spread your sticky pussy open, slick dripping down your fingers. "tojiiii, please? please, baby, stop teasing an' put a baby in me...please, hubby, give your wife what she wants."

any other whines or begs are interrupted when his hand comes down hard on your ass. he was going to give you what you wanted, what you both wanted. he was going to fuck you, fill you up with all his cum and whatever leaked out? he’d make sure to push it back in, whether with his fingers, mouth, or tip of his dick. 

when he finally pushes into you, he just lets out the most wrecked groan you’ve heard from him yet, each inch sinking into you stretching those tight walls just a bit more.

"holy shit...fuuck me, baby, too fucking tight, you're strangling my cock," he hisses, fingers digging into the fat of your hips as he gave you inch after inch.

god, just the thought of fucking you not just to feel good, but to fill you up, get you to take his seed deep inside to give him another kid? it's fucking with his head, his wife was gonna be the death of him.

both of you moan once he's all the way inside. you feel so full, his cock is too fucking big it doesn't make any sense and you genuinely think you should've let him fully prep you...but shifting your hips just a little bit has his tip pressing against something sinful. you whine and reach back to grab at one of his hands on your waist, turning to shoot him a mean glare as you demand, “stop stalling n’ knock me up, toji." 

who is he to deny what his wife asks?

using a hand to steady himself on the headboard, his hips begin to move slowly, pulling out just an inch and pushing forward again. "so tight 'n' warm..." each thrust hits deeper and more powerful than the last as toji begins to pick up speed, the thickness of his cock hitting every deep part of you.

it's almost too much, but you don't want him to stop, especially not when toji started running his mouth.

“shit, look at you, baby…takin’ it like a champ.”

now you really wish you stayed on your back, then at least you could've slapped a hand over his mouth to shut him up. you drop your head down against the mattress with a moan, starting to move your hips to match his thrusts, the room filling with the sound of skin slapping on skin.

“fuuck, c'mon, throw that ass back on me, thaaaat’s it, good girl.” 

he starts pounding into you harder when he feels you tightening up on him. the sweet moans and adorable words of “gimme more,” “baby, please,” or “s’ too good, toj,’” only pushing him to get even deeper, to get you to cum so he could stuff you full.

he coos when he sees you starting to scramble up further on the bed, away from his relentless fucking. he knows that he found that sweet spot that would have you creaming in minutes.

"tsk, you just never fuckin' learn, huh? 's always gonna be too much for you, isn't it," he huffs as his hand finds its way into your hair, tugging your head back to keep you from moving more. “hey. hey, nonono, don’t run away from it, lemme have it," he coos at you, following you up the mattress.

you never change, always swearing up and down that you wouldn't run from his cock, that you'd be able to take him. you wanted this, you wanted your precious husband to fuck another baby into you, t'give 'gumi a little sister, s’ i’m gonna give it to you.”

toji may sound like he’s still put together, but he’s just thankful you can’t see his face since yours is pressed into the pillows at the top of the bed.

you can’t see how he’s barely holding himself together, trying his hardest not to let himself go too much. the last thing he needs is to cum before you, knowing that while you wouldn’t mind, he’d be annoyed for breaking his streak.

he’s brought back into the present when you manage to turn your head a little, able to look him in the eye, and god, does he love what he sees.

your mouth is open as you moan for him, eyes lidded and focused on only him. he sees the little tears gathered in them, not quite spilling over but the fact that they’re there tells him he’s the one making you feel that good. 

“tuh-toji, ’m gonna cum, gonna cum—!”

"yeah?" hearing you moan so sweetly for him only makes toji smirk, fingers digging into your hips as he helps you meet each thrust. “gonna make a mess f'me already? poor little cunt can't handle gettin' fucked so good? mmn, shit, 's okay, baby. let go for me, mama, cum on daddy’s cock.” 

"t-tojiiiii," you shakily moan, nearly ripping the sheets as you cum suddenly. it was his voice, the way he tried to sound put together but you could hear how desperate he was to feel your pussy clamp down on him and get his cock nice and messy.

toji's deep, guttural moans mix with your cries when he unexpected is pushed over the edge, the way you desperately grinded back against him causing him to swear under his breath as he lost his pace, groaning your name as he emptied into you. it felt so hot, the pulsating warmth of his tip nudging against your cervix paired with his thick cum filling you up dizzying the both of you. 

you expect some kind of snarky comment from toji, trying to catch your breath so you could reply when he said it. but nothing comes (you have to stop yourself from laughing at the pun). you turn to look back, sighing when toji pulls out of you. usually he stayed inside, leaning down to tease you for cumming so fast...but he didn't.

something was wrong and for some reason, you felt like your pussy was in danger.

“toj…?”

he didn’t answer. he probably didn’t even hear you, not with the way he was looking so intensely at the mess between your thighs. the mess he made. toji doesn’t know what comes over him, his hands practically moving on their own as he moves you over onto your back, then moving his hands down to your sensitive hole and spreading. 

the scene in front of him just breaks him. you let out a soft whine, hips gently rolling into his hands. his eyes stay stuck between your legs—sharp and focused—as they watch the thick globs of his hot cum drip out of your hole and down onto the bed sheets.

the groan that leaves him is sinful, and once you make eye contact with him, you realize how fucked you are. he’s hard again, almost making you believe he didn’t cum if it weren’t for the creamy sheen of his cum on his throbbing dick and the hotness of his dripping out of you. before you know it, toji’s climbing over you, making sure your legs get pushed over to his shoulders as he pushes you into a mating press.

yeah.

you're fucked.

you keep making eye contact, and now that he’s so close to you, you see how crazed he looks. his eyes, completely black due to his blown pupils, have an unhinged look in them, and the half smirk on his face only makes you worry about your ability to walk the next day.

“t-toji, if you need a break to calm down, then-oh!” 

he shuts you up by pushing himself inside you, loving how your eyes cross so prettily. he has you now, you can't run away from the overstimulating feeling of him fucking you in this position. and when you feel his hands come up and lock together on your head to really keep you in place, you feel yourself gush all over his cock at the simple display of how strong he was compared to you.

you're so fucked.

all you can do is moan and cry out his name, hands grabbing whatever part of him they could reach. but he doesn't let you break eye contact, keeping you close to his face so he could see every little expression. and fuck, does he like what he sees.

“t-tojiii, t’ deep, t’ deep!”

“wan’ me t’ stop? t’ stop fuckin’ this messy hole?”

“fuck, y-you stop, and I’ll c-choke the shit out of yo-ouh!”

“that’s it, take it, take daddy’s cock, mama, lemme breed you.”

everything about this position is driving both of you crazy.

the closeness has you reeling, the way toji just cannot bring himself to break eye contact, needing to see what he was doing to you.

his thick cock is hitting deep, almost too deep, with the way each thrust of his hips causes the tip to press into the sweet spot inside you every. single. time. 

he has you for the whole day and the whole night, he's going to make sure you're stuffed entirely and doesn't plan on stopping until either you tell him you need a break or until he can't cum anymore. and even then, he doesn't think anything will be able to get him out of your cunt.

but with the way he just moaned into your mouth, thick spurts of more cum coating your insides…and the way he didn’t get soft, instead pressing you even deeper into the mattress as he began to pound into you with a groan of how much he loved your pussy…

you were sure it would be a while until he was done with you.

all rights reserved © lxnarphase | do not repost, copy, translate, or alter my work

#toji smut #toji fushiguro smut #toji x you #toji fushiguro x reader #toji x reader #toji fushiguro x you #toji fushigro x reader #jjk x you #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #🔪 ── toji. #𖤐 ── lxnarworks.

[yndrgrl]

your boyfriend, katsuki bakugo, loves you dearly, but you're scared you'll never be deserving of him

cute lil dabble. lowkey songfic. fem! reader. angst to comfort. fluff. established relationship. any au. overthinking! reader.

warnings: there are none :D

a/n: picture a "too sweet" by hozier girl x "i wanna be yours" by arctic monkeys boy relationship !

-

katsuki is always characterized as hostile yet calculating, a man who knows exactly what he wants. he's destined to be the top of the food chain, everyone knows it. he's powerful man with a deadly gorgeous face, his fangirls would describe.

& in comes you. plain old you.

you honestly have no idea what katsuki sees in you. like, if you're digging deep in yourself, maybe he likes your for your dark, crude sense of humor that always seems to make him belly laugh.

it's said that he's an early bird. he's awake before you every single day, asleep & sound by 8:30-- on the weekends, he'll push it to 10:00. before you've said your first words of the day, he's already made his side of the bed, made & ate breakfast, put away the laundry, & is off to his morning run after his morning workout. his good habits he's developed early in life has benefited him in every way.

he never procrastinated on chores, his paper work is flawless, & you could learn a thing or two from his time management skills. he's always making time for spontaneous dates you wanna go on, festivals you wanna visit, & he makes sure that the pantry is stacked with your favorite snacks. any of your interests are his interests, even if he doesn't fully understand it.

when it comes to katsuki, you ought to wonder if he ever wants to experience something different from his strict, repetitive lifestyle. you sometimes feel stupid for wanting more out; you want to travel somewhere far away, you want to go out clubbing with a bunch of strangers, you want to move to the country side & live in a cottage. katsuki always reels in your dreams, encouraging you but also reminding you that you need to stay consistent to achieve them. you're jealous with how fast he can accept reality.

"babe? you listening?" katsuki questioned, snapping you out of your thoughts. you blinked a couple of times then nodded almost-too enthusiastically. he let out a little chuckle & stroked your cheek with his thumb. "what're you thinking about?"

"nothing, i'm sorry," you sighed with your hands in your lap. you both were on the couch, doing your own thing. he was on his phone, & you were supposed to be doing some work on your laptop, but you found yourself spacing out again.

"don't apologize. i'm just curious about what's going on in that pretty, little head of yours," he told you before he took your hand & pressed his lips against your knuckles. you thought to yourself, i'm not good enough for this man.

you debated whether or not to tell the truth. on one side, he has been your devoted boyfriend for years now, but on the other, he could just be asking out of curtesy. like, what if he actually does not care at all- "(y/n)? talk to me. i know you have something you wanna say," katsuki commented, scooting closer to you. he set the pillow that you placed your laptop on the coffee table so he could get your undivided attention. he caressed your thigh to help ground you.

you stayed silent for a moment, & he waited patiently. you swallowed, your eyes darted from his piercing red ones to the floor to his hands. finally, you said, "you're too sweet for me." he laughed & laughed, & you couldn't help but crack a smile. "what? what's so funny?" you pouted.

"sorry for laughing, princess. it's just no one ever calls me sweet. like, ever," admitted katsuki as he settled down from his fit of laughter. what he said was true though, he didn't have a problem with it. he was not sweet at all, he was rough around the edges & egotistical with the skills to back him up. he only ever thinks about himself & you. "but what makes you say that, hm?"

"well, for one, you always treat me out & take me anywhere i want. we never go where you wanna go," you pointed out, jabbing your finger in his toned chest playfully.

"that doesn't make me sweet. i have the money, & i don't fuckin' care about where we go to eat."

you chose to ignore him, rolling your eyes at him because that was his excuse every time. "two, you're literally in the prime of your life, & you choose to go to sleep at 8:30? how do you sleep so well?"

"(y/n), what is this really about?" he questioned. katsuki brushed your hair away from your face, tucking the silky strands behind your ear. "& don't lie to me, i know you."

"ugh, fineee," you groaned as you threw your head back. maybe it was for comedic effect, or to gather your thoughts & regulate the tears that started to well in your eyes. "do you think i'm like, worthy of you?"

"worthy of me?"

"yeah, do you think i'm good enough for you?" you rephrased, pulling your hands away from him to rub your upper arm. it's embarrassing to admit something, it's scary too. what if, once you point it out, he'll agree & leave you?

"'course i do! i'm the best around & i got the best fuckin' girl, why are you thinking this shit?" katsuki exclaimed, his passion that you wish you had seeping through to his tone. a moment of thick silence followed, you took a deep breath. you suck at emotions.

"you're too good for me, okay! you're so much stronger than everyone, & if that wasn't enough, you're insanely smart! i'm just... here. average at best. people praise you like the morning after an eternity of darkness. you're the rain after a heatwave. everything works out for you, & i'm just the one holding you back from even better things-"

"babe, you're not holding me back or whatever. you've never held me back," he stated like it was a fact, but you felt as though he was just saying that to calm you down. it angered you, & you were ashamed that you were angry because it wasn't even directed at him, it was directed at the fact you felt unworthy.

"no, you don't get it! i aim low because it's realistic for me, i can't afford to aim for anything else because i'm destined to fail. you, on the other hand... you have so much potential. don't you get embarrassed about having a girlfriend like me?"

"no." he answered so quickly, like it was rehearsed, like he knew what you were going to say. "i've never felt embarrassed of you ever. you're so fuckin' dense, you know that?"

you paused just to stare at him. katsuki sure had a way with comforting people. even after years of being a hero, he never learned how to traditionally comfort people. tough love, everyone would call it. but with you, he forced himself to be tender because you deserve treatment no one else gets from him.

there were so many things he wanted to say to you. don't you realize what you do for him? god, katsuki would go mad living without you now that he knows what life is like with you, his missing rib. the two of you are meant to be, you're two sides of the same coin. so what if he's as bright as the morning? you were his darling night, the very universe was visible through your eyes.

"you must be dense if you really thing you're just average. would i go for an average girl?"

"i mean-"

"no, the answer is no. you're deserving of love, my love. everything you've accomplished, everything you've overcome, you're just diminishing it because what? you think you're dumb or something? you- you..." you're the reason my world goes round, you are so talented, he was so desperate to shout these praises at you.

he was never one for romantic gestures through words. if he did, he would've been the best damn poet in the game. "i am yours."

it was such a simple sentence, yet it shook you to the core. you stared into his lively, crimson eyes. the look he gave you in return made your breath hitch; he was so deeply devoted to you, as deep as the pacific ocean.

you leaned in, capturing him in a kiss. tears rolled down your cheeks, your despair melting away. you felt like the two of you were kids again, sharing your first kiss. how could you doubt a man who so clearly, who so desperately, loves every bit of you.

#anime and manga #bakugou scenarios #bakugou x reader #bnha bakugo katsuki #bnha x reader #x reader #bakugou drabble #bnha bakugou #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou headcanons #katsuki bakugo mha #bakugo x reader #bnha katsuki bakugou #bakugo fluff #mha bakugou #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugou #katsuki bakugo my hero academia #my hero academy fanfiction #mha headcanons

[uglyducklingofthe2000s]

Wanting What You Can't Have - Charles Leclerc

Dark fic - if you don't like this or the warnings/themes make you uncomfortable. I can't stress this enough, DO NOT READ THIS

Similar to I'll Never Date A Fuckboy for Lando, this is pretty damn dark imo to readers proceed with caution

Request from @erikasurfer - Hey girl I love your dark fics! Do you think you could do a dark Charles one and it involves kidnapping, like reader is Charles bestfriend and Arthur’s girlfriend but he’s mad,y in love with her but she’s all for Arthur ? Ignore if you want just an idea lovely 🥰

Themes/warnings: Kidnapping, manipulation, forced break up, public involvement, coerced into cheating, baby trapping, cockwarming, smut (rope is used, briefly)

Honestly everyone, even Arthur a little, was shocked when it came to light that y/n and Arthur had formed a romantic connection. The whole thing was...odd.

Y/n had befriended Charles a few years ago through mutual friends and everyone had sort of noticed a certain smile that Charles had reserved for her. Well everyone but Arthur and y/n noticed apparently.

When the relationship went public with a hard launch on Instagram, there was a lot of love and support. Very few were upset and the more they were together and posting all about each other, it became obvious that they're so perfectly together.

Though y/n still loves Charles...as a best friend.

"Charlie!" Y/n grins jogging to him as they arrive at his yacht. "How have you been? All the way on the other side of the world so much."

"Good. I have missed you." Charles smiles as they hug then he sees Arthur following and moving for a hug as y/n shifts back. "-Both of you."

"I told you I'm his favourite." Y/n smirks looking at her boyfriend who rolls his eyes at her.

Enduring seeing Arthur and y/n together is just not enjoyable.

Charles can paint a smile on his face and a pretend to be happy for them but instead he's never been more disgusted by a couple. But it's his best friend and his brother, he has to be supportive. They're happy.

Even if she should be happy with him and not his brother.

At some point Arthur has to leave, though not without a very big display of affection with y/n who looks like he hung the moon and stars in the sky with how much she seems to admire him.

"I love you." Y/n smiles earning a grin from the youngest Leclerc.

"I love you too. I won't be gone for long and I'll come see you first thing when I'm back."

"Ok." Y/n nods then sighing as Arthur leaves and her gaze remains on his shrinking figure before she feels the presence of yet another Leclerc. "You've got the best brother, you know."

"I know. He's not quite as good as you." Charles jokes, though he does mean it and she laughs nudging him.

"Don't be mean." Y/n giggles before she looks at him. "Anyway, now we have some bestie time. Just you and me."

"Yeah, what should we do first?" Charles asks making her hum in thought.

"Ice cream?"

Charles grins nodding and gesturing for them to leave and head to their favourite ice cream place.

"Oooh...actually can we go to your place for a movie night? I miss our sleepovers." Y/n pouts though the two have only had 2 sleepovers. One of which was a result of her being too lazy to walk any further from a club and Charles' apartment was the first one she could get herself to. The second time she'd got a tooth taken out and Charles offered to be the person who took her home and kept an eye on her to make sure she didn't chew her tongue off.

"You can always come for a sleepover." Charles smiles earning a grin before they get to his car, her holding the ice creams while he drives around.

Y/n is so innocent and gullible that when they get to his place and the thought dawns on him of the potential opportunity. He decides it's a now or never chance.

Arthur is over in Italy for some stuff for Ferrari for the better part of a week.

Charles ends up getting y/n pretty drunk, thankfully with little to no encouragement needed because she doesn't have the concern of alcohols negative effects on her life because she's not a race drive who ever has to be concerned about it.

"Do you really love Arthur?" Charles asks, taking the opportunity of asking while she's too drunk to remember.

"I love him so much, he's...so perfect-and I have you to thank, you-you are the second best. I have to give the best title to your brother. But we both owe you." Y/n smiles lazily, poking a finger at him before she sighs and leans back, sinking into the sofa. "I could get your a girlfriend if you'd let me."

"I'm not interested in anyone you want to set me up with, y/n." Charles states shaking his head earning a pout.

"Why?"

"Because I don't want to be set up with anyone."

"Mmm...I don't know if I believe you." Y/n laughs while picking up her drink to drink more.

After a few more drinks, Charles ends up picking y/n's semi conscious body up and carrying her to his room. She's meant to be sleeping in his guest room but she won't care really.

-

Now it wasn't necessarily the plan. He really didn't intend to have sex with y/n. But when she semi-drunkenly climbed on top of him. Grinding down on him and kissing him in the darkly lit room.

"Y/n." Charles groans feeling fairly grateful that him and Arthur sound identical when they speak because really he knows she doesn't realise it's him.

"I need you, baby. I need you now." Y/n whines grinding down on him desperately.

And who is Charles to deprive her of what she needs?

"I'll take care of you." He states rolling them overly and while he'd like to waste time with foreplay, he can't risk any time.

The feeling of sliding into her feels like he's transcended into another realm and the moan that falls from her lips only makes him feel like this has to be a dream. But no dream ever feels this glorious.

Her scrambling for grip and pulling him closer, her moany breaths directly in his ear making her lose all control. He's like a man possessed and the moment she orgasms, sucking him in deeper like she's just begging for his cum, he can't hold it.

In fact he doesn't think he's ever came and felt like he's completely emptied himself into a woman like this before. He's certain he has to spend the rest of his life in this woman if he can and if it can't be a constant than it has to be as often as possible.

He rolls them so she's on top and he's still planting deep inside her, slowly softening but not wanting to lose the warmth of her surrounding him.

She places one last kiss on his lips before nuzzling into his neck, then she falls asleep. Growing heavier on top of him as she does so.

-

Y/n smiles waking up feeling the body underneath her, skin almost stuck together between their bodies and the unfamiliar feeling of waking up to something already semi-hard (seemingly growing hard by the second) seated firmly in her pussy making her hum as she eases from the depth of sleep. T

"Good mor-Charles?!" Y/n squeals, sitting up and hissing at the feeling of his dick poking very much deeper in her tummy from the angle. Even worse there's a wet stickiness which makes her stomach lurch.

After a moment of being frozen in that position she finally screams scrambling off of him and throwing the blanket onto him as she tries to grab for something to cover herself.

"What-What did you do?" Y/n hiccups making Charles sit up carefully looking almost unrecognisable with his cool persona, completely unbothered about what's happening.

"You climbed on me, y/n." Charles states simply while she shakes her head.

"No-I-I was drunk-and you should've stopped me! I love your brother-Arthur loves me. How could you?" Y/n hiccups as tears begin to appear. "I thought you were Arthur."

"You knew he wasn't here."

"I-"

"You just did what you wanted all along. I've seen the way you've looked at me."

"No." Y/n frowns not wanting to hear the lies. "No-I have to go."

Y/n tries to turn but almost in unnatural speed, Charles appears at the door. Slamming it as soon as she tries to get out.

"You're not going anywhere." Charles states with an expression dark enough to send chills down her back. "You're staying here until you will do what I say."

Y/n's lip quivers, eyes trying to blink back tears.

"You're not going to let me go?" Y/n whispers making his expression soften as he moves forward and cups her face with one hand, wavering slightly when she flinches under his touch.

"We're best friends and I know that you love me more than you ever tricked yourself into loving Arthur. He'll understand."

He won't. But he won't have a choice but to accept it. Quite similar to y/n.

"You're crazy-I will never love you." Y/n glares pushing him back.

"You'll change your mind." Charles shrugs as she steps back till her back hits the wall and she slides down.

-

Y/n wouldn't eat and even tried to avoid sleep, but eventually after 38 hours the lack of sustenance and sleep deprivation caught up to her.

When she wakes up Charles appears with some food that she glares at as if both him and the food are her enemy.

"Not eating isn't hurting anyone but you." Charles comments with a sigh as he sits down on the bed. "You know, that door hasn't been locked. You've made no attempt to leave. If you really loved Arthur and hated me, you'd have left by now-or at least tried."

Y/n swallows thickly, her whole body feeling so heavy with the dread of the fact he's right.

"You know I think you realised how much more you enjoy me than Arthur...We were always meant to get together. I think you were just scared I'd say no so you settled for Arthur." Charles states, not feeling right saying such things about his brother but he'd say whatever he needs to in order to force y/n to love him. "Actually I should call Arthur. Tell him that you cheated on him-"

"No!" Y/n gasps as Charles gets his phone out.

"No? Well he has to find out some way."

"I'll tell him."

"Can I trust you?" Charles questions making her swallow lip trembling as she nods. "Look at me."

Y/n tears her gaze up to look at him.

"I'll tell him the truth."

"And that is?"

"That I cheated on him with you when he left...and that I'm sorry."

Charles knows that trusting her is a risk but she looks sincere and y/n has physical tells when she lies. Which means even if she feels like she's lying while she talks to Arthur, he can't see them and Charles isn't even certain anyone else knows her tells.

He actually gives her her own phone making her realise that he's been replying to texts and messages all pretending to be her. But really she knew that had happened.

"Hey, baby. I was beginning to wonder if you were avoiding me." Arthur laughs as she puts him on speaker and out of genuine emotion, she sniffles. "Baby? What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry." Y/n chokes out taking in a jagged breath. "I cheated on you with Charles...and I'm sorry...I just...I don't know what else to say."

"You cheated on me with my brother. When? Why?"

Y/n looks at Charles who shows no remorse as he smiles at her.

"Because...it's always been him. I thought I could settle for you, but...I love Charles." Y/n states, the words bitter on her tongue. "I'm sorry."

The call cuts from Arthur's side, proving he hung up. Or possibly threw his phone and damaged it.

Y/n places her phone down throwing it away from herself before she curls up.

"I hope you're happy." Y/n spits making him smirk.

"I think we both know I am." Charles shrugs earning a grumble before she lies down but he sits beside her. "We have a long and happy future together. Just accept it and you'll realise how happy you can be."

He leans down kissing the side of her face.

-

Travelling with Charles out to the next race was an easy way to avoid the potential of running into Arthur now he's back. Not that y/n believes Charles would've allowed her out of his apartment. But even that held a risk of Arthur going there.

The whole paddock and online F1 community was in shock. Seeing y/n appear in the paddock with her supposed boyfriend's older brother.

They'd also noticed how sad and withdrawn she appears. But aside from not quite being able to make her face force a smile, she plays the part of his girlfriend well with Charles. Kisses, accepting of every touch and actually beginning to find herself being quite affectionate.

Out of public sight in the hotel is a different game entirely.

Charles knowing she's off birth control means that she's at his mercy of pregnancy. She's also learned he's not quite a vanilla as his favourite ice cream flavour would suggest, which is how she finds herself tied in ropes to the hotel bed frame as he thrusts in and out of her.

"Ah mon amour, you always feel so good." Charles groans brutalising her cervix and playing with her clit that is so overused that one touch feels like she's about to orgasm.

She hates to admit that of the brothers, who she shouldn't compare but can't help it, Charles is certainly more well endowed and seems to know how to make every touch feel like a blaze of pleasure rushing through her every nerve-ending. But he especially seems to enjoy using her clit like a button to set her off explosively.

Pumping another load into her and pushing himself beyond her capacity does make her wince a little. He's also bigger than Arthur was and whenever she's filled with his cum, only midway through his own orgasm, he's got a hand pressed to her tummy only intensifying the pleasure coursing through her.

By the time he pulls out she feels like he's pushed his cum deep enough that there's no chance that some of it isn't just in there forever.

"I should just leave you here like this. So I can come back whenever I am free and just so it all again." Charles comments running his finger over the ropes keeping her legs up and spread. He pushes his fingers down poking the cum back into her that's leaked out before placing it up onto her tongue for her to suck off the residue. "You're so perfect."

Y/n doesn't say anything as she looks at him, just swallowing the salty residue before he shifts forward to kiss her pausing before it does so.

"I love you."

"I love you too." Y/n whispers before he kisses her, something she returns the action of.

#f1 #fanfic #formula 1 #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x y/n #cl16 #cl16 fic #cl16 x reader #cl16 imagine #cl16 x you #cl16 one shot #cl16 x y/n #cl16 fanfic #cl16 smut #forza ferrari #ferrari #ferrari f1 #scuderia ferrari #charles leclerc 16 #dark!charles leclerc #dark charles leclerc #dark!f1 #dark f1

[hwaflms]

𐙚˙⋆.˚ nct dream reaction to you touching yourself!

‧₊˚ 💭 ✩彡 , , 2.5k, smut under the cut [cw: masturbation, degradation, voyeurism, fingering, very mild dubcon in jaemin’s, nudes, allusions to phone sex, established relationship in most, i think that’s it]

♡ mark . . . the poor baby had just gotten back from practice and was nearing the bedroom door when he heard some sounds of what he thought was you in pain or distress. being the sweet boyfriend he was, he hurriedly went to open the door, but the sight that greeted him was certainly not one he was expecting. you were laid out on the bed, your pants pulled only halfway off your legs as if you were too desperate to even bother taking them off fully, a hand stuffed in your underwear as you threw your head back and let out the prettiest sounds, looking so blissful and fucked out. your eyes shot open at the disturbance that was mark's arrival, the light blush coating your cheeks nothing in comparison to the bright, tomato-red one that decorated his. "fuck, um– i'm sorry, lemme just– i'm just gonna go", he mumbles his way into the bathroom, bumping into the door while trying to enter, but you both knew he looked for too long. now what was he supposed to do? it's not like that godly an image of you is going to leave his head anytime soon, no, of course not, he wouldn't be able to stop thinking about it for days, weeks, months even. sprawled out on the bed like that, lips parted and letting out such dirty, magical sounds– fuck, he couldn't help letting his hand travel into his pants in a similar fashion to you. before he knew it, he was jerking himself off to the thought of you (something he had definitely done before, but he had some wonderful new material now), pumping his cock up and down while his breathing became laboured, but in all his haste and pleasure, he had "forgotten" to lock the door. "um, need a little help there?"

♡ renjun . . . you thought renjun texting you “pleaseee baby, come over tn” meant that the two of you would spend time together until you eventually fell asleep, which did happen for a while until your boyfriend excused him to go play “one game with the boys”. though you rolled your eyes at him, you were fine with him playing a game or two, figuring you could just be on your phone for a bit. you weren’t, however, expecting to be sat on your phone for over an hour, with renjun now having his headphones on (you don’t know what the point was, though, you could still hear all the slurs being shouted mutedly from them). “renjun”, you grouched, but he doesn’t even turn to face you. “if you wanna leave me for a man, just say that.” he does laugh at this, but he pleads “one last one”, making you sigh and slump back down on the bed. you had chosen the pretty, new lace underwear you had bought the other day to wear tonight, but now you’re too salty to let him take it off you. deciding to take matters into your own hands, you shimmy out of your shorts, rubbing circles over your underwear with your eyes trained on his back. if he was too busy to touch you, what’s stopping you from doing it yourself? you try and fail to stifle your moans with your arm as you slip your hand into your underwear, rubbing your clit for a moment before dipping your fingers into your entrance. “renjun…”, you call out again, but both of you know it sounds different this time, and he glances over his shoulder at you. it’s almost comical the way he does a double take, pushing his headphones off of one ear, to get a clear look at you. slowly but surely, the tips of his ears and cheeks are dusted with red, but his eyes still shyly observe the hand concealed by your underwear. “oh…”, he sounds out while you throw your head back and whine, his headphones now fully off and you could hear whoever he was on call with distantly calling out “renjun? renjun, what the fuck we’re losing?” he shuts off his computer screen without even looking at it, getting up and slowly walking over to you, sinking down on the edge of the bed. “you just gonna sit there or you gonna help me?”, you grumble, but his eyes don’t miss the way your hips buck up. “wanna watch.”

♡ jeno . . . you swear you had meant to wait for him to return, you had tried your best to busy yourself while jeno was at schedules. he had told you the exact time that he would return, no earlier, no later, than 7:30 p.m. and there he was, promptly unlocking your front door at 7:29 p.m., expecting you to be reading a book in your room, or baking brownies-for-one in your underwear in the kitchen. he definitely wasn’t expecting the sight that greeted him. he had given you one rule for when he was away at work, to “not touch what’s mine”, one simple rule. you seemed eager enough to please him before he left, so he certainly wasn’t expecting to hear moans coming from the kitchen. he watches you for all of five seconds, back facing him with one hand disappearing into the waistband of your shorts, head thrown back a little as you leaned against the counter. “what are you doing?”, the sharp, gruff way in which he says it make you stop immediately, yanking your hand out of your shorts and holding it behind you. it was one thing if you were pleasuring yourself in the bedroom, but right out here? in the kitchen? jeno promptly walks over to you, reaching over and clasping the hand behind your back tightly, jerking it over to him. your fingers all but glisten when held under the ceiling light, and your cheeks redden at the short “pathetic” he spits while looking at you. not breaking the heavy eye contact, he closes his lips over your two fingers, swirling his tongue around them before releasing them with a ‘pop!’. the next thing you know, your face is being pressed against the cold granite surface of the counter hard, while jeno’s other hand holds both your wrists together behind your back. “you know how to count, right?”, he asks demeaningly, and while he lets go of your head, your cheek is still pressed against the counter so hard you can see the condensation form as you breath, nodding your head before he yanks your shorts down with such force that you can still feel the burn on your hips five seconds later. he places the palm of his hand flat against your ass, pulling your underwear up to reveal more flesh. “i’m gonna show you what happens to whores when they don’t follow a simple rule.”

♡ haechan . . . “well, well, well," you could practically hear the smirk in his voice, tone dripping, pouring with desire, just sounding so sultry. your eyes shot open at the sound of him, squealing shortly and rushing to cover yourself up with the blanket. "what do we have here?", he cooed from the door, one foot in front of the other and a hand placed against the doorframe, leaning against it. "f-fuck off, hyuck", you replied breathlessly, cheeks dusted with pink due to your embarrassment and also the rush you were feeling from touching yourself. he wasn't supposed to be back so early, you thought you were going to be alone for a little while longer; clearly you were wrong. "fuck off? did you mean 'fuck me'?", he drawled, letting out a half scoff and half chuckle, slowly sauntering towards you. “why don’t you show me what you were doing there?”, his suggestion sounds more like an order, and its like you lose the ability to think when he reaches over you to lead the hand straying away from your pussy right back, inclining his head to the side expectantly. under his urging, watchful eyes, you continue your previous actions, eyes widening when hyuck lets out an almost pornographic moan at the sight. sinking your fingers deeper into yourself, you whimper out of pure frustration from the fact that these were your fingers instead of his, and you swear you are almost in tears when he says, “stop”. he’s quick to replace your fingers with his own, coating his digits in your wetness before pumping two into you without any warning. “think you can give me three? maybe four orgasms?”, he cooes, tutting when you shake your head ‘no’. “i think we’re gonna find out.”

♡ jaemin . . . “aren’t you sweet?”, to say hearing your roommate jeno’s friend’s sultry voice startled you would be an understatement, fully believing you were home alone when you started pleasuring yourself. “jaemin– what the fuck–”, a blushing, bumbling mess, you’re quick to yank your blanket over your partially naked body, not knowing how long he’d been standing there watching you or how he had gotten into your house in the first place, choosing to ask about the latter first. “how the fuck did you get in? and did no one ever teach you how to knock?”. tilting his head to the side, jaemin raises his eyebrows but makes no efforts to hide the way his eyes scanned over your blanket-covered body, tracing your hips, collarbones, legs with his gaze. “jeno gave me the keys. and that’s not fair, the door wasn’t shut. besides, you called me”, he replies coolly, taking a step into the room but leaving the door wide open, as if you invited him in. “i heard you call my name in that pretty little voice of yours, but i thought you were hurt. didn’t think you were fucking yourself with your fingers to the thought of me.” you move to further cover yourself up as he walks closer to you, embarrassed out of your mind that he both heard you moan his name and watched you touch yourself. but what he does next really has you shocked– eyes never leaving yours, his hand snakes over to his pant-covered cock, gripping it with a satisfied hiss, a smirk curving on his lips when he sees your look of surprise and…desire??? “you see how hard i am for you, pretty?”, he all but moans out and you do see, the outline of his cock straining against the material of his sweatpants and making your mouth almost water at the thought of it. without another word, he’s in front of you, pulling his raging boner free from his pants. “what do you say we give jeno a little show when he comes back?”

♡ chenle . . . “damn, you started without me?” after enjoying the dinner you had cooked for the two of you, you suggested taking a shower together before slipping into bed to watch a show. following the routine that you had wherein one of you would cook and the other would clean, chenle grabbed your plate and his, placing them in the sink and telling you that he’ll be there in about ten minutes after he finished washing the dishes. figuring you could just get undressed and enjoy the extra space in the shower before your boyfriend joined you, you opted to start without him, but leaving the door unlocked for him. the second the hot water hits your body, you are relaxed, letting it soak your hair and cover your body. you trail your hands along your body to further spread the water, but soon you can’t ignore the dull thud coming from your core when you reach your inner thighs. grazing your fingers against yourself and testing the waters, you slowly begin your ministrations, spreading your folds with more intent now. another two minutes in and you’re blatantly touching yourself, head resting against the glass of the shower, steam engulfing its expanse while you sigh out of bliss. chenle, having left the dishes to dry, decided to join you, ridding himself of his clothes and finding the bathroom door to be partially open. when he’s greeted by the sight of you, your back is facing him, but it doesn’t take a genius to understand what you were doing. when you finally hear his voice, you look over your shoulder in surprise and slight embarrassment, but that is soon replaced with pure lust when your eyes mirror the look in his. “thought i’d get a head start”, you offer, slowly picking up the pace with your hand. “is that so?”, he muses, placing his hand over yours but not stopping your actions. “we both know that i can make you cum much faster than you can.”

♡ jisung . . . when you first started dating your boyfriend jisung, you didn’t realise just how much time you’d be spending on your own. if he wasn’t away at practices, he was busy filming various videos and content, so a large portion of your day was spent waiting for him. this was not to say you were unsatisfied with your relationship, you still got to spend time with him and when you did, it was time well spent. all you were saying is that you got a little lonely and bored at times, and that would explain why you were currently standing by the sink, debating whether you should hit send. you had just finished taking a couple photos of yourself during a moment of confidence and horniness and now they sat in the message bar of yours and jisung’s dms, waiting to be sent. you and jisung had gone there multiple times, but nudes were unexplored territory, yet you thought, fuck it, and hit send. even though you know he’s busy, it doesn’t take long before the ‘delivered’ changes to a ‘seen’, and you watch as the typing bubbles appear and disappear a number of times. after five minutes or so, you’re starting to worry and overthink, biting your lip when you see that jisung is now trying to call you. you pick up and play it off with as much confidence as you can, but jisung sounds the opposite– breathing heavy and voice quiet, like he’s trying to make sure no one hears him, and you hear the sound of a lock clicking. “why would you– are you–”, he blubbers, clearly at a loss for words and you can just picture him, cheeks coated with a sheen of red, eyes wide and mouth opening and closing. “what are you doing right now?”, he asks in a goofy manner and you can’t help your chuckle at the sound of his shy voice, cooing into the speaker. “i was missing you, sungie…”, you mewl, positively beaming when you hear him audibly gulp. “was thinking about you.” his breathing quickens and he mumbles “thinking of me?”, before he clears his throat. “what about me?” you smile at his inability to balance his shyness and desire, and you tell him what you were thinking about, soon hearing the telltale sound of a zipper being pulled down.

#nct #kflixnet #nct drabbles #nct x reader #nct headcanons #nct au #nct fluff #nct fic #nct imagines #nct dream #nct smut #nct scenarios #nct dream headcanons #nct dream angst #nct dream x reader #nct dream fluff #nct dream smut #nct dream imagines #nct dream reactions #nct reactions #mark smut #renjun smut #jeno smut #haechan smut #jaemin smut #chenle smut #jisung smut #nct blurbs #nct angst #nct oneshot

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

Part two to this story

After Jason's cruel display and your identity of Eddie's admirer being public knowledge, you're sure he will be disgusted. He hates you and your friends doesn't he?

Turns out you're in for a big surprise.

Minors shoo! Angst, fluff, sweet Eddie and reader taking no shit.

If you have any requests then send me an ask. My request rules are in my pinned post ❤️

🎀💌

Hellfire Slut. The words had practically burned into your brain as you tossed and turned in bed. Jason's cruelty was nothing new but you didn't think he'd ever go this far.

It was bad enough that Eddie's best friend had caught you in the act of delivering the notes and the thought he could spill all to Eddie, you didn't expect your secret to come out in such a public way.

The notes that you had poured your heart to Eddie had been clear to see by everyone and you felt sick to your stomach. You didn't care that people knew you were smitten with Eddie, it was the fact that he was probably disgusted that you had feelings for him.

You dreaded going to school but you knew you had to face Eddie and Jason at some point. It didn't stop nightmares plaguing your mind all night about what would happen come first period.

...

Homeroom was the first thing today before any other classes, you try not to draw attention to yourself as you slide into a seat at the back of class. However it feels like all eyes are on you today, Chrissy takes the seat beside you and holds your hand giving it a tight squeeze, it makes you feel a tiny bit better.

Mrs Jones isn't in class yet so chatter buzzes around you incessantly, your skin tingles as you feel Eddie's gaze on you a few times, try not to look up into those pretty brown eyes.

One of Jason's friends called Tyler smirks at you, he's sitting beside Jason and says loudly for all to hear. "So little miss perfect likes a freak in the sheets huh? Who would have thought?" there's a little ripple of laughter that's quelled by Chrissy's vicious glare. She's normally a sweetie so swing her pissed shut everyone up.

Ignore him. Just ignore him you chant in your head but he still continues. "You know I was going to ask you out but fuck that. You're a dumb little bitch"

There's a collective silence as you hear Eddie's metal lunchbox drop to the floor. To your surprise he's glaring daggers at Tyler, you also notice that his knuckles are bruised. What the hell happened?

"Oooh you're in luck sweetcheeks, maybe Munson likes you back and the two of you can be freaks together"

You're fraying control over being calm snaps. Screw this. You weren't going to sit and let him run his mouth or let anyone like him or Jason make you cry again.

"You can admit to everyone you're jealous Tyler it's okay. We all heard about the little problem you have, Stacy told us all about how disappointing you are" you fake a sympathetic smile at him and his eyes nearly bug out of his sockets.

Jason looks ready to say something but you don't give the satisfaction of listening to the bullshit he says. "I couldn't be less interested in what you have to say Carver, you're a pathetic, nasty little worm"

While sassing Jason you miss the look of awe on Eddie's face. Gareth snorts at Eddie's stunned look.

"Dude, I really do think I'm in love" Eddie murmurs sounding almost reverent. Gareth sighs. Maybe now Eddie knew it was you that sent the notes the two of you could get together and he could get a minute of peace.

Meanwhile you lean back in your seat relieved as Mrs Jones comes in. There's still a question that's nagging at you though.

"Chrissy, why are Eddie's knuckles bruised?"and that's when Chrissy launches into the tale of how Eddie punched Jason after you left yesterday.

Hearing this makes a small bubble of hope build up inside of you. Maybe just maybe Eddie feeling the same for you might not be as hopeless as you first thought.

...

After a few fruitless attempts Eddie manages to track you down as you're coming out of cheer practice with Chrissy. She gives you an impish, knowing smile as she leaves you and Eddie to talk.

Telling Jason and Tyler what you thought about them made you feel a little bit better for a while, boosted your shattered confidence but now Eddie was around and you could feel that confidence crack.

What was he about to say? Was he going to tell you he was disgusted?

"You don't have to be nervous princess" you feel your nerves dissipate at his soothing tone.

"I know you thought the notes were a joke but they aren't Eddie, I've really fallen for you. I was crushing on you for such a long time. That's why I wrote the notes in the first place, I was worried if I told you in person that you would be disappointed" the words all come out in a rush and you feel relieved getting it all out.

He shakes his head. "I mean I would have been surprised but the way you spoke in the notes...how could you ever think I'd ever be disappointed sweetheart?" His words fill you with hope, a warm and fuzzy feeling in your chest.

"You know because I'm from the dark side" you murmur and he frowns. His hand reaches out to hold yours and you wince at the bruising on his knuckles.

"You didn't need to do that Eddie, I don't want you hurt" he shrugs as if it's no big deal.

"It was worth it. You're worth it"

Eddie gently takes your hand and kisses it, "I fell in love with you through what you said sweetheart, I want to know all about you. I don't give a fuck about who you're friends with or if you're part of the dark side. I just want to be with you".

A slow smile works it's way on your face and you lean forward and kiss him, continue kissing him until you're both a little dazed and smiling goofily at each other.

"Uh maybe we could go out for Milkshakes after school, if you want princess?" you nod feeling the bubble of excitement in your belly.

After all that worrying you were going on your first date with Eddie and you couldn't wait.

Maybe happy endings were possible after all ❤️

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x cheerleader!reader

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

thinking about book 6 battle simulations

I was thinking a lot about book 6 lately! (Not for any particular reason, I was just ruminating, haha...)

During the examination segment, Riddle, Azul, and Vil were put into one group and Jamil and Leona were put in the other group. Idia then put them into VR simulations in which (simulated) Trey, Jade, Rook, Kalim, and Ruggie approached the subjects to upset them. This is for the purposes of STYX to gauge their combative capabilities and blot accumulation. What I noticed on another read of these parts was that Idia makes sure to inform all the subjects they are about to enter a VR simulation BEFORE they dive in... and yet despite this, group 1 (Riddle, Azul, Vil) was still caught off-guard when Trey, Jade, and Rook attacked them. Meanwhile, Jamil in group 2 automatically defers to Kalim but Leona is the one who notices something is fishy about the situation. Now, now... this is interesting 👁️ Why might this be, I wonder~ (You bet I'm going to analyze the heck out of these small details!)

***Main story spoilers up to book 6!!***

First thing to consider: it's possible that perhaps the characters don't fully understand what "VR simulation" is, as most of them did take a while to come to their senses. Of the 5 subjects, Riddle is the most likely to fall into this category. He seems to be slightly confused by the concept of a "virtual space" when Idia explains the examination to them (which likely conflicts with Riddle's very traditional understanding of "tests"). Furthermore, Riddle has expressed in Endless Halloween Night that his mother did not allow him to play video games or to watch TV so he'd usually do crosswords or solve other puzzles for fun. He's not completely technologically inept (like Malleus), but Riddle does have a somewhat limited scope of how items and procedures are to be used, especially if it lies beyond its normal means. It's likely that he has not thought of VR simulation being used in the scenario in which he finds himself in now.

The other 4 subjects, however, most likely understand what VR is and shouldn't be confused by the simulation. Azul is very savvy and keeps up with trends, which can factor into his business(es). He even brings up streaming as a potential source of revenue in book 6; man has his fingers on the pulse of pop culture to know what will sell. Vil, being a celebrity and the leader of the Film Research Club, must have an understanding of various technologies used to achieve certain effects (especially as director of his own projects). Jamil constantly deals with Kalim's requests and, being in Kalim's social bubble, must get exposure to all kinds of crazy technologies. Leona, being a knowledgeable prince, surely must understand the concept of VR simulation.

Okay, so... why did they (mostly) still get "tricked" by the simulation anyway? The key words today would be "trust" and "dependence".

Thinking about it, there's one thing that separates group 1 from 2: the boys in group 1 have a tendency to rely on others for support and validation whereas the boys in group 2 are consistently shown to be more independent than their peers (even if they, too, seek validation). Let's go through them one by one!

GROUP 1

Riddle

Riddle is presented as a tyrant that rules with an iron fist, particularly in book 1 where he stars as the main antagonist. However, it's also pretty blatant that Riddle has become increasingly aggressive due in part to others enabling him. Ace specifically calls out Trey for this, saying that his failure to intervene or to quell Riddle's temper has resulted in Heartslabyul students suffering for it. Cater is also complacent, as he and/or Trey often follow Riddle's orders and remove Adeuce from the dorm multiple times in book 1. Riddle relies on these upperclassmen to listen to him and carry out his bidding, and he feels validated when they do. It's a lesson he has learned from his mother. He is the most powerful, and therefore he should be the most correct. Notice how Riddle is quick to anger when others refuse to obey him and how often he demands for them to conform. He becomes enraged when the Heartslabyul mobs rebel and chuck an egg at him. But what hurts him most of all is, perhaps, Trey turning too. Riddle was mad about the mobs acting up, yes, but he still did not overblot. Not yet, at least. No, Riddle overblots only AFTER he tries to attack Ace with the rose trees... and Trey steps in with his UM to overwrite Riddle's collar, turning it into cards. Trey's relationship with Riddle cannot be understated here. In this very moment, Trey, Riddle's childhood friend (one of his first friends), vice dorm leader, silent yes man, his most trusted confidant, has betrayed him. He is proving Riddle wrong, that the most powerful mage is not the most correct. "Are YOU going to tell me that I'm wrong too? After all I've done to protect the rule of law?! [...] I... I refuse to believe this!"

From these examples, we can clearly see that Riddle is someone who is reliant on others--not that he isn't a capable mage, but rather he is reliant on others for his own sense of self-worth. Indeed, even in his post-OB flashback, he indicates feeling proud and excited when his mother praises him for good grades or successfully performing a spell. This is reiterated many times over in book 1, in which Riddle feels satisfied and even smug when his students fall in line, and spirals into uncontrollable rage when they don't. There are a select few whom Riddle has chosen to place his faith in, and Trey is one of them. Trey, who gave him his first slice of strawberry tart and has been supporting him as his vice for over a year now (since Riddle became dorm leader in his first week as a first-year student; now is the start of Riddle's second year). That's why he feels so hurt when Trey is suddenly chastising him, telling him that he's behaving irrationally.

If we reexamine Riddle's post-OB flashback, you'll notice that Riddle says he is lonely without every outright stating the word "lonely". The phrasing makes it sound as though Riddle does not understand his own loneliness, like he doens't even know the word or want to acknowledge it as reality. He is awkward and unsure around Trey and Chenya, who invite him out to play. He follows his mother's rules because he believes that is what will bring him happiness. He wonders why, in spite of following all those rules, he still feels hollow inside. Then, once Riddle has awoken, he confesses that he always wanted to play more with Trey, and that he wants to talk with everyone after a meal. Riddle. at his core, craves companionship rather than dominating his peers. Trey was one of the few friends he ever had, and so Riddle puts a lot of stock into his support. This may be why he was quick to believe the fake Trey in the simulation, and why he looked so shocked when Trey started attacking him. Here is a boy who has already been betrayed once, experiencing that same betrayal again at the hands of his childhood friend. How scared must he be of losing his oldest friend, of Trey turning his back on him or seeing him as a monster? 😭

Azul

Due to the bullying he experienced in his childhood, Azul works very hard to maintain a new image of someone who is cool, confident, and composed. Part of that is passing himself off as someone who is large and in charge, while posing Jade and Floyd as his lackies who do whatever he tells them to. The reality of the matter is that the twins are very much... there to do their own thing, and they just kind of go along with Azul's schemes because they seem to be a lot of fun. When you stop to consider it though, Azul definitely puts a lot of trust into the Leech brothers even though they're both shady and can be flippant at times. It's the twins going around and advertising Azul's services to the student population. It's the twins who help him expand his business and acquire new items (as all three's Dorm Uniform vignettes are about the Octatrio conspiring to acquire the rights to and/or advertise their new drinks). It's the twins who are asked to run the Mostro Lounge whenever Azul is absent. Time and time again, Azul falls back on Jade and Floyd. They've been with him since middle school.

In book 4, both Azul and Floyd insist that they aren't really "childhood friends", but they do consider each other "equals". As Azul describes it, "I strongly doubt Jade or Floyd have any binding allegiance to me. This is all and elaborate game of pretend to them. [...] If I made a poor choice as leader--or even simply a boring one... They would turn on me instantly and seize the dorm leader seat for themselves." Floyd follows with, "We ain't got any plans to challenge him, either... for now, anyway. Aha ha! [...] We stick with [Azul] now 'cause it's fun. If it stops bein' fun, we drop him like a bad habit. Easy." The twins and Azul are both very aware that their relationship is a temporary and transactional one. Azul himself has even fully considered the possibility that Jade and Floyd may one day turn on him. This is all true--however, I also believe it's possible that the Octatrio are not being entirely truthful to themselves and do actually care for one another beyond the confines of their business ties or "having fun". In book 3, Jade and Floyd sense that something is wrong, and their immediate thought is to go check on Azul because of this gut feeling. Jade warns Azul of the consequences of misusing his UM. They are also the first to check on Azul after his OB and insist that he rest and find it within them to gently tease him over the situation. Even the way they address each other is "special". Jade and Azul have a tendency to be polite and use the honorific "-san" after everyone's name... except for each other and Floyd. Floyd, meanwhile, tends to give everyone a nickname... except for Jade and Azul. They drop these naming conventions within their group because that's how much they know and trust each other. Further proof of this is that when Floyd first meets Azul in the post-OB flashback of book 3, he calls Azul "Octopus-chan". Azul used to have a nickname, but no longer has one. This implies that a lack of a nickname actually indicates that Floyd is more intimate with someone than if he had nicknamed them. The same goes with Jade and Azul, who are usually so formal and polite.

I've already established that Azul acts in ways which indicate that he is close to the twins, as much as he tries to deny it and come off as tough. He drops the honorifics for them and he trusts them to do his bidding. What I find most telling, however, is when Jade and Floyd check up on him right as he's about to OB. "Jade! Floyd! Ahhh, you've finally come back to me," Azul says (if you listen to his voice, he sounds SO relieved). "Would you believe that thanks to these FOOLS, I've lost all of my contracts? Which is why I'm going to need your powers now. Come on, give them to me!" This is notable because, prior to this, he was forcibly ripping powers out of mob students. But now with the twins--Azul makes a CONSCIOUS decision to ask Jade and Floyd for them to willingly give up their powers to him. Azul is emotional and acting without tact here, but he STILL stops to ask the twins for them to surrender their magic. He cares about getting their consent specifically. When the brothers deny him and Floyd says Azul has become lame, that's when Azul snaps. His loyal henchmen are refusing his request and he's lost all his accumulated wealth. He's going to become the weak, friendless crybaby he once way all over again.

Knowing all of this, it makes sense why Azul was as startled as Riddle was when the simulated Jade attacked him. Azul claims that he anticipates this day--but he still seems to disturbed when it actually happens. It's true that perhaps this surprise comes in part from Azul having no indication that the twins were getting bored of him, so this is coming out of left field in his perspective. But... it could also be that he's hurt by the sudden shift, even if he and the twins have been telling themselves all along that they'd toss each other out without a second thought once they lose interest. This calls back to Azul's concerns right before he overblots: that his "business partners" (whom he refuses to call his friends) have lost interest in him and will now leave him alone and with nothing. He relies on the brothers not only for labor, but as his company and his confidants. When that's taken away from him... what does Azul have left that's worth anything?

Vil

Vil is another person who typically passes as very independent. He looks after himself quite well and is often the one nagging others to do the same. The thing with him is... he's still a celebrity at the end of the day, and a celebrity like him is always aware of his public image and the eyes on him. That's Vil's Achille's heel: as a celebrity, he is constantly concerned with how others perceive him. This is a lesson he learns in book 5--that he shouldn't let other people's judgment of him or a silly popularity contest determine his self-worth. Ah, but let's remember... book 6 begins like a mere DAY after book 5. Sure, Vil's character arc may be over, but that does not mean that he has suddenly completely changed. Up until yesterday, he was aggressively training to overcome his rival and to show the whole world his true beauty. Vil still, to some degree, finds value in how he looks and how others see him, as it strongly ties into his career. To this end, he sees Rook as a valuable individual.

Now, there's a lot of contention about whether or not Rook is a good influence on Vil or not, as some interpret his commentary as derogatory or unnecessarily critical. I'm not going to get into that; here, I am going to speak plainly about how Vil himself views Rook's feedback. In Vil's Labwear vignettes, he confides in Trey that he relies on Rook's keen observational skills to reflect the truth back to him. A celebrity must look at his best, and he can count on Rook to not mince his words and point out even the most minute of changes at a quick glance. (Vil himself is also extremely strict with himself, but lacks the superhuman abilities that his vice dorm leader does.) Rook has been doing this since long before he even transferred to Pomefiore, critiquing Vil's performances and such, not just his looks alone. This led into long discussions and debates between the two, which demonstrates how much Vil values Rook's perspective. Even back then, Rook was one of Vil's greatest supporters, but not exactly a totally blind "yes man". He is offering the kind of feedback that Vil seeks, not empty, sugar-coated niceties. This is why, in spite of his betrayal at the end of book 5, Vil eventually accepts it, as he trusts Rook's keen eye and judgment. What's interesting about book 6's examinations is that Vil seemingly takes charge of his group. When approached by the simulated classmates, Vil steps up and, after a moment of silence, says, "No... It's nothing. Let's go." (Vil is known as a skilled actor and can easily sniff out an act himself. Was the silence hesitation as he, Azul, and Riddle reevaluate the scene? Hard to say, but I'm assuming that STYX's state-of-the-art tech was able to perfectly simulate Rook, and thus confused Vil and co. for a while.) Rook strikes him with a spell, and that invokes a great emotional reaction from Vil, who seems to be the most aghast of the group. The fake Rook then declares that he's going to claim the dorm leader seat from Vil, which shocks him. "As you know, I appreciate beautiful things. Hence... I can hardly allow someone who's acted as ugly as you to occupy the Fairest Queen's throne!" The scene then cuts away to a battle. Now, while we don't get any extra dialogue from Vil to show his reaction, one interpretation could be that he was stunned into silence. Why is this a believable occurrence? Because the fake Rook called Vil out for "ugly" behavior. This is significant because back when Vil was overblotting, he was desperately shouting for people to "not look at him" because he's "so ugly". Here, ugliness does not mean literal ugliness or something that is visually unappealing. The "ugliness" being spoken of refers to being morally rotten, as Vil was speaking on his guilt after resorting to dirty tactics to try and take out his rival (when he had previously sworn to win on his own merits alone). The simulated Rook might be referring to this, which induces great shame in Vil, who is aware of the weight of his sins. Heck, book 6 even starts with Vil taking accountability and sincerely apologizing to the whole NRC Tribe for causing them trouble. Vil blames himself for their team losing, as it was his OB that forced them to fight and physically wore them out before their big performance. "What does it matter who forgives me?! I can't... I can't forgive myself!" He may still have lingering guilt regarding this incident, hence why he's the one predominantly reacting when the vice dorm leaders betray group 1. His mirror and huntsman, who speaks only the truth to him, now tells him of his ugliness. What else can that be, if not the truth reflected back at him?

GROUP 2

Jamil

To be clear, Jamil did not automatically go after the simulated Kalim. He automatically defers and tries to go along with his dorm leader (and only starts fighting once Leona declares the simulation for the sham it really is). Why? Surely Jamil is sharper witted than that. To this, I say... of course, it's just that Jamil's so used to being a servant that he reverts back to submissiveness as soon as he's put in a circumstance where there's a power dynamic. He’s not the one relying on Kalim—Kalim is often the one relying on him. You need proof of Jamil's servile mindset? He was intentionally talking down his own skills ever since book 4 and, according to Azul, has been purposefully maintaining painfully average grades (which, in of itself, takes a lot of effort). Admittedly though, those are conscious choices, not unconscious ones. But how about back in book 5, when Vil announces him as one of the lead vocalists and Jamil's immediate reaction is not to accept it, but to humble himself and insist that Kalim would be better suited for it (when Kalim actually isn't)? Jamil has to stop himself, back up, and accept the nomination, which he has earned for himself, rather than relinquish it to someone less deserving. Years and years of serving someone else, forced to play the part of the inferior servant, will beat that attitude into his mind, regardless of how much he resents the position.

Even now, Jamil feels like he usually has to follow someone else's lead. Leona, the upperclassman and dorm leader, provides that lead for him in the VR simulation. This leadership + independence is something they would butt heads over later in book 6, as Jamil begins to act overprotective of his current charge (Leona) as he does with Kalim. While Jamil has played the part of Kalim's attendant and childhood friend, the reality is that Jamil cannot stand those roles. He desires to stand out and to be recognized--something which is evident in book 4. Before he brainwashes the Scarabia students, he's always framing himself in a positive and helpful light to them and speaks humbly about his abilities. After he brainwashes the Scarabia students, he has them heap him with praise that he had never gotten in his childhood. In the post-OB flashback, we see Jamil's parents scolding him for outperforming Kalim, even in something as simple as a game. The headmaster of a great arcane academy overlooks him in favor of someone far less capable.

Jamil knows he can be great, but he's intentionally being told to not reach those heights. He feels stifled and trapped, and no one understands his plight that he cannot escape from. This results in Jamil distancing himself from others and coming to rely on himself and himself alone to make his wishes come true. He can't rely on his family, who are beholden to their legacy of being servants to the Asims. He can't confide in friends because none of them are quite like him, and Kalim would ignorantly brush it off. He can't tell third parties because, as Crowley as demonstrated, they dismiss him outright. Jamil, as he acts throughout book 6, is doing so in an effort to find his own strength and to be able to act on it with the freedom he seeks. To play support not because he has to, but because he, the individual, wants to. As Jamil states before overblotting, he wants to "be free" from these precarious circumstances where a wrong move could doom him and his family... but he only has so many liberties to work with. This leaves him in a strange limbo situation where he still isn't fully independent but desperately wishes to be. We see him fighting against the restraints, and to varying degrees of effectiveness depending on the context and his state of mind within that context.

Leona

From a young age, Leona seems to have worked tirelessly to obtain recognition. Like Jamil, Leona was in such a position (second-born prince) that, despite his efforts, he kept being rejected and beaten down again and again. As we see in his post-OB flashback, this is what eventually broke Leona’s spirit and made him develop a pessimistic outlook on his prospects for the future. The thing is, even though Leona does not really have hope for himself, he still manages to inspire hope in other people, from underclassmen to the students of his dorm. Book 2 is entirely about Savanaclaw looking to Leona to save their own futures, and him trying to do so for their sakes. His club mates extol how he can so quickly hone in on their best skills and advise them on how to sharpen those skills. Jack admires Leona’s plays, so much so that he wished to one day play alongside Leona. He’s even able to get beastmen of different species to get along and live peacefully under his rule when this has historically been difficult for his older brother to manage. All in all, Leona has all the makings of a leader. He stands out from the crowd, knows when to leverage his power and intelligence (playing smarter, not harder), and commands with ease.

… That being said, Leona’s presence can be so powerful at times that it’s also isolating. This was the case for his childhood, which is depicted to us as many palace servants being fearful of Leona’s devastatingly strong magic. He also uses this strong magic against his dorm mates when their intentions clash in book 2–and he comes close to killing someone in the process. He’s also just notorious in general for being grumpy or unfriendly toward others, including one instance in book 5 when he seems upset that you’ve showed up in his classroom. Leona drives people away from him, whether because of his strength or because of his prickly attitude.

At the same time, i would also describe Leona as a tactician that keeps some degree of distance from those he commands. He makes it clear he's willing to use others to achieve his own goals and does so many times over. Book 2, when he tries to take out Malleus to help his dorm leaders while also trying to prove to himself that he's capable. Book 3, when he helps Yuu and co. dissolve the contracts including one of his own he made with Azul, etc. Leona knows how to best use his own abilities, as well as those of others. That's what makes him so formidable--he can read others and judge the situation extremely well, and he knows when it is smart to fight and when to tactically retreat (such as in book 6, when he immediately surrenders to STYX agents rather than make a scene). Leona is a self-sufficient man.

There’s the question of Ruggie, of course. Leona is often depicted as lazy and relies on Ruggie to do many daily things for him, such as laundry or fetching food. This obviously throws a wrench into the claim that Leona is more "independent" than those in group 1, doesn't it? He doesn't even come close to Jamil, who actually does all of these tasks himself. Well, not exactly. I don't think "independence" here really comes down to that alone. Riddle, Azul, and Vil all relied on Trey, the twins, and/or Rook to some significant degree to inform their own senses of self. Jamil had this belief of deferring to his "betters" (the Asims) instilled in him, regardless of his personal feelings on the matter. And Leona? Leona does not significantly rely on Ruggie for his self-worth (dude was 100% going to sand him in book 2). Yes, Leona was likely looking to help his dorm members in part to prove to himself he is capable of leading a pack, but he gives up when he realizes it was a fruitless effort. He doesn't become reinvigorated to keep it up or to try again, even when his dorm members (Ruggie included) plead to him. Leona is acting selfishly, and he refuses to acknowledge their perspectives--he's set in his own ways and is driven by his own thoughts, not those of the people around him. Perhaps this is what allows him to discern truth from lies with such clarity, as it is Leona who rouses Jamil to his senses and leads the charge against the VR simulation Kalim and Ruggie.

#twst #twisted wonderland #Riddle Rosehearts #Azul Ashengrotto #Leona Kingscholar #Jamil Viper #Vil Schoenheit #Idia Shroud #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #book 6 spoilers #notes from the writing raven #Trey Clover #Ruggie Bucchi #Cater Diamond #Jack Howl #Savanaclaw #Octavinelle #Tweels #Jade Leech #Floyd Leech #Kalim Al-Asim #Scarabia #Rook Hunt #twst analysis #twisted wonderland analysis #twisted wonderland character analysis #twst character analysis #Ace Trappola #Dire Crowley

[oceantornadoo]

hii! can you do what it would be like asking price to put pads on the shopping list?? and then when price goes shopping he has to call you to ask for what size ?? 😭😭 btw i love love your work, hope u had a good day💞.

im pretty sure you're referring to this post but i decided to make this price x reader so :) enjoy!

bsf marriage pact!price x reader, he's slightly creepy but he's sweet (this is actually a bit dubcon but its in good spirit)

you had had a shit day. actually, make that a shit week. emotional the whole time, feeling lonely, depressed, and with the weirdest cravings. right when you were about to call your best friend and rant about how terrible you felt, you had went to the bathroom and- oh.

that explains a lot.

and now here you were, sitting on the toilet for the past ten minutes, contemplating. you were completely out of all period products and your flow was so heavy there was no way you were making it to the store free bleeding or with toilet paper as a makeshift pad. of course, that's when john decided to call you (let's be real, who doesn't take their phone to the bathroom. don't judge.)

"evenin', duckie."

"ugh john, i told you not to call me that. its so annoying."

john grunted a chuckle into the phone, swiping a hand over his beard. "you love it." silence. he could practically hear your eye roll. "dinner tonight?" he was pacing his apartment, uncharacteristic for a man like him. calm, cool, collected. never when it came to you.

"can't, sorry. maybe in a few days." he grunted. "could order a takeaway?" you sighed in his ear, the sound a melody he craved to hear over and over again. on lazy saturdays and in-between small fights over laundry. baby steps, though.

"its just not in the cards tonight, john, i'm sorry." you were never like this, withholding information. even when you cancelled on him, it was with a long-winded explanation with the names of about seven people he didn't know and plans you didn't want to go to. "'s wrong, duck? got a hot date or somethin'?" he mentally crossed his fingers, not allowing a physical expression. he wasn't that whipped. not yet.

"no, im just sick. and tired." his muscles relaxed. he started putting on his boots and grabbed a fleece, something gaz insisted was not too tryhard for someone like him. "i'll run to the store and grab ya medicine, hm? what'dya need?" you sighed again, rubbing your fingers to your forehead. he obviously was not giving this up and you did really need pads...

"ill text you a list when you get there. thanks john."

"anythin' for you, duckie."

list: pads, advil, that one chocolate candy you know i like, something for dinner

shit. price had been with a woman or two, but had never had to buy her pads. of course, he'd never let it get to that stage, not when he had you to take care of. but now here he was, staring at playtex and always and what the fuck was a diva cup? he'd better call you.

"all ok, john?"

"ya didn't give me a color on your pads, duck." you giggled. of course he paid attention to the green versus orange pads.

"its pretty heavy so some of the overnight and extra daytime ones would work." silence.

"...there's numbers." your cheeks warmed. you couldn't believe you were talking about this with john of all people.

"god, john. this feels so embarrassing. so weird to talk about with you."

"why? gotta know this for the rest of my life, duckie." shit. he was referring to that night a couple weeks ago, when you confessed to him you thought you'd never find love. when he said he'd marry you in a heartbeat, just say the word. when you compromised by telling him if you were still single in two years, you'd go to the courthouse then and there. when you didn't see him turn and write the date in phone, just as a reminder.

"5, john. there should be a moon symbol or something. and then 3. should be green, i think?" he grunted an affirmation, putting the respective pads in his cart. he turned around, having said goodbye and ended the call, and was subsequently greeted by three women, staring. paused in their product selection, staring openmouthed at how nonchalant he was about buying pads.

30 minutes later he was at your place, groceries and takeaway in hand as he used his spare key to let himself in. "duck?" all quiet. he stalked through your place and noticed the light on in the bathroom. one, two, three quick knocks. "john?" "'s me. can i come in?" "no i- need you to get me something." he waited patiently. "can you go to my dresser and grab a pair of underwear. something ugly, lots of coverage." who was he to say no to a free invite to your underwear drawer?

john dropped the pads outside your bathroom door and headed to your bedroom. finding your dresser, he had to give himself a second. calm down, old man. they're all clean.

that didn't stop him from sniffing a few, reveling at the scent of your laundry detergent. he almost groaned at the scent, imagining you in them. even in the "unsexy" pairs, your curves clothed in cotton and elastic, wrapped up in a lovely package. all his.

john selected a pair with "lots of coverage", whatever that meant, and headed to your bathroom. he opened the door with ease, setting your pads down on the counter. you shrieked.

"john! im half naked, you need to knock." obviously, the sight of your bare thighs and the top of your mound peaking out was most welcome, but he was more concerned about getting you off the toilet and putting food in your belly. "jus' me, duckie. come on, show me how to do it." he gestured at the pads. he couldn't be serious.

you slowly unboxed them, taking care to cover your naked body as much as possible. even while moving slowly, your shirt still shifted and he caught glimpses of your pretty pussy. an image for another day, when you weren't in pain. he focused on your fingers, deftly putting the pad on your underwear with years of practice. he memorized how you placed the pad, ensuring it stuck to your underwear before tearing the paper off the wings and tucking them on the other side. you looked up at him and he nodded, mission complete. "thank you, by the way." he kissed your forehead, so quick you could have missed it in a blink.

"turn around, i have to put it on." he sat back on his haunches, staring. "go'on. 've gotta learn somehow." you were too tired to care, ready to devour your dinner. you missed his hungry gaze as you revealed your cunt to him, wanting even though it was covered in blood. you missed his fingers twitching as you slowly pulled on your underwear, fabric caressing your skin like he yearned to. you got up, flushed, and washed your hands, missing how he tucked his fingers in belt loops and leaned back into the wall, a move he'd done many times in his tac vest.

"thank you, john. truly." he gave you a grin under the muttonchops, all satisfied. task finished, mission accomplished. you had asked him to do this, a husbandly duty. after you dried your hands, you made a move for the door, but he stopped you with a hand to the jaw. he brushed his beard against you, feeling the shiver in your bones. his mouth hovered near your ear, accent coming out low and sultry. "anythin' for my future wife, duckie."

--

ngl this got a bit weird but i like it??? had to struggle to not lean into my simon riley weirdness tendencies as im still learning john as a character.

#john price #price #cod price #captain john price #captain price x reader #price x reader #john price x reader #captain price #price imagine #price headcanons #price one shot #john price x you #captain johnathan price #john price x y/n #tornadothoughts

[sunflowerskies00]

too sweet, part 9

baby, now and then

series master list

liked by markestapa, edwards.73, and others

yourusername: in my soft launch era

taylorrose: i want to puke but this is actually adorable

taylorrose: also the flowers- THEY'RE GORGEOUS yourusername: I KNOW

_quinnhughes: at least his hand has better placement this time

rutgermcgroarty: imagine your friend getting a boyfriend and then no longer caring about you

luca.fantilli: she has no time for us anymore yourusername: I was literally just with you guys yesterday?? rutgermcgroarty: you left after like half an hour yourusername: I had plans with Taylor rutgermcgroarty: so you have time for some of your friends but not for others? yourusername: oh my goodness you are insufferable rutgermcgroarty: woah big word yourusername: need me to get you the definition? rutgermcgroarty: rude

lhughes_06: pretty sure driving with a phone in hand and legs across one's lap is illegal

yourusername: good thing the car was parked lhughes_06: that's what you claim yourusername: you're also insufferable lhughes_06: was that today's word of the day or what yourusername: no it's just a good word for describing most of the men in my life

jackhughes: is it really a soft launch if everyone can assume who it is?

yourusername: yes because assuming isn't knowing jackhughes: whatever yourusername: lame comeback jackhughes: you're a lame comeback trevorzegras: children please yourusername: you cannot say children please, you're the biggest child jackhughes: literally^ trevorzegras: so you stop bickering to gain up on me? yourusername: yes jackhughes: yes

texts with rutger

liked by luca.fantilli and others

yourusername: had to come appease the children

tagged: rutgermcgroarty, luca.fantilli, dylanduke25, edwards.73, markestapa

taylorrose: bunch of whiny babies

yourusername: fr would not leave me alone

quinnhughes_: the fact that your friends have a combined 4 braincells concerns me

yourusername: technically they were luke friends first I just continued to bug them after he ditched me edwards.73: 'ditched' as if he didn't leave you to go the NHL 😂 luca.fantilli: ^literally ditched is crazy yourusername: I prefer to think of it as he left me, his literal twin, for jack trevorzegras: does that mean Quinn and Jack leaving michigan was ok? yourusername: no jack ditched me for the girls in jersey and Quinn ditched me for freaking Canada jackhughes: now that's a load of bs and you know it yourusername: mmm I don't think so lhughes_06: hold up i did not ditch you for jack lhughes_06 you're a much better roommate than him jackhughes: that was rude lhughes_06: bro you know it's true, she can cook. and she's clean. yourusername: i'm just better jackhughes

dylanduke25: thanks for blessing us with your presence it's only been like a month

yourusername: bffr it's been like two weeks maybe you guys are just whiny and impatient dylanduke25: no i think it's been a month yourusername: mkay you keep thinking that. delulu.

rutgermcgroarty: thought you had forgotten about us

yourusername: i could never forget about you rut rutgermcgroarty: wait that was so nice yourusername: because you yap constantly and annoy the hell out of me rutgermcgroarty: that was just mean markestapa: damn she's ruthless

______________________

Note: quick little unedited, un-proofread post because I'm at a conference and wanted to get something posted

tags: @jdjgasidkgdf @bunbunbl0gs @love4ldr

#ethan edwards #rutger mcgroarty #jack hughes #luke hughes #quinn hughes #trevor zegras #ethan edwards x y/n #umich hockey #ethan edwards x reader #mark estapa #luca fantilli #dylan duke #nhl hockey #nhl imagine

[comic-sans-chan]

Fic I'll never write where Dukat decides the biennial Cardassian Festival of Whatever the Fuck (it is never actually specified) should be hosted on Deep Space Nine as a way of bridging the gap between the Cardassian and Bajoran peoples. Sisko and Kira are both Ehhhh about it, but Dukat is obnoxiously persistent until finally the Bajoran government and Federation higher ups are like “K”, on the condition that no Cardassian military (or Order) personnel be allowed. All security for the event will be handled by Odo and Starfleet. Dukat is suspiciously cool with this, which puts everyone on alert, but soon Cardassian vendors and decorators start showing up and they turn out to be pretty chill people, so they let it happen.

While the preparations for the festival are underway, another operation has started. A motherfucker from Garak's past is doing typical motherfucker things on the station. One of these things is scouting Garak's quarters, learning the layout, tracking Garak's routine. It becomes clear very quickly that the rapidly increasing number of Cardassians on DS9 is putting Garak on edge, though, because he seems to be fiddling more with his security protocols, so the motherfucker realizes they need to make their move and they need to make it fast.

They succeed. Sort of. With the circumstances as they are, they had to get a little... creative, but it should do the trick.

By early next morning, every PADD, screen, and computer system on the station is streaming seventy-two different poems on a constant loop. Love poems. Ardent, anguished, often utterly indecent love poems, all with the central theme of being about one Doctor Julian Bashir.

Quark is one of the first to notice the problem, being the type of asshole who opens early despite this only increasing his bottom line by a fraction of a fraction. At first, he's furious that his systems have been tampered with, but after reading a few lines of what his normal menu and advertisements have been replaced with, he's laughing, and by the end of the third poem, he's on the floor.

"Odo!" he shouts, banging on the bastard's door twenty minutes later. "Odo, open up! We've got a problem!"

Odo slinks under the door and slips up between it and Quark's pounding fist with a glare. "Quark! I'm not on duty for another hour. What could possibly be so urgent?"

Quark's sharp little rat teeth are splitting his face clean in half as he holds up the PADD. "Take a look."

Odo scrolls through a couple poems, then squints and scrolls through several more. "Erotic love poetry? I didn't peg you for the type."

"To like erotica? Hoo, I thought you paid better attention than that, Constable."

Odo returns the PADD with a dry expression. "To read."

"Oh, you're hilarious." He taps Odo's chest with the PADD. "The whole station is filled with this stuff. My bar, the Replimat, the Celestial Cafe, the promenade. Someone's either desperate to make a statement, or we've been sabatoged."

Dramatic sci-fi music swells and we get a close-up of Odo’s eerily hairless face and nasal cavity.

The next few hours are dedicated to trying and failing to seize back the servers and briefing the bridge staff on the situation.

"Are we sure these are all about Doctor Bashir?" Sisko's voice booms across Ops. He's on his second cup of coffee and a pile of useless PADDs lay beside him.

Julian has remained stoic throughout the discussion and he remains so now, avoiding eye contact with anyone who's smiling a little too wide. Like Jadzia. "Oh, definitely," she says. "He's mentioned by name in three of them, and several others make a point of highlighting the subject's 'golden sand dune skin', 'aristocratic' features, and 'voice that never stops singing.' Sounds like Julian to me."

A few snickers break out, but Sisko is taking the matter seriously. Thank fuck, Julian thinks. It actually looks like it's giving him a headache, which would make two of them if Julian was capable of having headaches. The captain's rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. "And the source..."

"There's a clear data trail back to Garak's quarters. Whoever did this, they wanted us to know where it came from," Kira reports. A muscle jumps in Julian's cheek.

"I tracked Garak down for his statement on the issue," Odo says, gruff, "and he told me he had nothing to do with the virus. In fact, he denied ever having laid eyes on the poems in his life. He's claiming he's been framed." He rolls his eyes.

"Okay," Jadzia says, "we all agree he's lying, right?"

"But which part..."

"Oh, they're Garak's. I've read enough Lloja of Prim to be familiar with traditional Kardasi meter and syntax, and that isn't even going into all the parallels drawn between our doctor and Prime. Sand, heat, rainforests. Bit of Romulan imagery in there, too, if I'm not mistaken. A lot of flowers and vines. Wasn't Garak a gardener?"

"I see no reason why anyone would want to embarass themselves like this," O'Brien cuts in before Jadzia can make it worse. "Even if he is trying to distract us or something, this seems counterproductive in the long term. Everyone’s watching him now, not just us. The rumor mill is running rampant. Not exactly a spy’s MO."

"He did blow up his shop once."

"Because someone was trying to kill him," Julian pipes up for the first time, looking concerned. "Do you think this might be another cry for help?"

"Oh, it's a cry for something," Jadzia quips, and Julian shuts the fuck up.

"Dax," Sisko snaps, like the good benevolent Wormhole Alien Jesus he is, and Dax shuts the fuck up, too. Sisko gives them all the stink eye. "Constable, you're nearly as familiar with Garak as the doctor is," he says, and holds a hand up before any jokes can be made. "What do you think?"

"I don't think he's behind this, sir. None of the pieces add up, and he seemed genuinely agitated when I spoke to him, in his way. At present, I believe he is as much a victim here as the rest of us."

Sisko sighs. "All right. Do we have any idea who is behind this?"

The room is silent for a time, before Odo reluctantly answers for everyone, "Not yet, sir."

"Find out," Sisko demands, "and Chief, get these damn poems off of my reports. Dismissed."

Julian is out of the room before anyone else has stood up.

The rest of the day is spent ducking in and out of his office, only treating those who ask for him by name and keeping all conversations strictly professional. Any mentions of poetry, the festival, Cardassians, or Garak are firmly sidelined, and on a couple occasions, rewarded with a none-too-gentle hypo. He skips lunch altogether and extends his shift by two hours to avoid the dinner rush.

By the time he's leaving the Infirmary, it's late. Unfortunately for him, not late enough that the halls aren't still speckled with observers to his personal soap opera. With the Festival of Frank’s Hot Dogs less than a week away, DS9 is becoming increasingly crowded with tourists, mostly Cardassian, but a surprising amount Bajoran, too–apparently this festival was a rare bright point during the Occupation, when their oppressors were not only lenient with them for once, but generous with food and drink and freedoms. It doesn't hurt that the only Cardassians on board are civilian rather than military, so the atmosphere is rather more colorful, courteous and conversational rather than cold, dark and aggressive. It would make Julian smile if he wasn't so busy being gawked at.

"I don't see it," one Cardassian man grumbles and Julian's accursed augmented ears pick up. "He's even smoother than a Bajoran."

"Oh, yeah," his companion replies, "just think of how easily he'd slide around."

"Tanett!"

"Oh, hush, Grandpa. You're just xenophobic. He's cute."

"Well, you be careful who hears you say that. That Garak fellow is in the Order, you know. Ears everywhere. You don't want to know what things a man like that is capable of."

"Wasn't he exiled? Hardly intimidating now. Apparently all he's capable of anymore is whimpering over an alien like a pakrela."

Julian covers his ears and walks faster.

But that just brings him within range of a cluster of Bajorans. "Oh, there's the doctor now," one is saying, up on the balcony. 

"The one the Cardassian tailor wrote about?"

"That poor fool. He thought they were friends, but here this whole time it was perverse. I can only imagine how much that hurts."

"Happened to my friend once. He thought a glinn was being kind because he was having a crisis of conscience and wanted to help him escape. No, he just wanted to–"

He could go to his quarters, but a flash of memory - Garak's bright eyes at the end of his bed, his figure encased in shadow - sends him in the opposite direction. Before long, he finds himself on an oft-unused Observation deck, since it offers no view of the wormhole or either Bajor or Cardassia's suns. It's blessedly empty, as usual, and Julian settles on a bench and stares into the dark nothingness of space for a long time.

At some point, he finds that his hand has retrieved the PADD from his medical bag, and the screen is lit up automatically with the first poem.

He reads well into the night.

—

The next morning finds Garak with a tall glass of rokassa juice and two eggs, staring intensely into a mysteriously operational PADD at the far end of Quark's bar. Quark pops out of his backroom like a jack-in-the-box.

"Ha! Well, if it isn't the man of the hour himself, gracing my fine establishment so soon after nearly destroying it. Do you know I've had to have menus printed, like we're in the dark ages? Do you have any idea how extensive my menu is? I ought to sue you for damages." He catches a glimpse of the PADD's screen and its decidedly unpoetic contents. "Hey, you fixed it? How?"

"It was just a simple virus. Viruses can be purged," Garak says without looking up. He barely seems aware of Quark's existence.

When no other words are forthcoming, Quark huffs. "Well, can you purge it from the rest of the station, then?"

"I gave the program to the Chief last night."

"And he didn't immediately come here to fix my bar? I'll have to file a complaint.”

Garak offers no reply. Just continues to stare into his PADD.

There are other customers he could be seeing to, but Quark can't pass up this golden opportunity. He's known Garak a long time and known of him even longer, and now that he has the guy's guts all neatly lined up on several dozen isolinear rods, he's never felt closer to the man. He makes a point of knowing things about his customers, but before yesterday, the most he knew about Garak was that he was an assassin, a tailor, a mean, weepy drunk, and friends with Bashir, Odo, and a smattering of other shopkeepers. That was it. But now...

He leans over the counter, closer to Garak's unblinking face. "You know," he says, with a smile rising slow on his cheeks, "if it's humans you like, I have a couple holosuite programs that might be just what you need."

Garak's gaze ascends as if on a motor, smooth and mechanical.

Good. He’s considering the bait. Now he just has to get him to bite. "All completely customizable. Skin, eyes, hair. You like long legs, they've got long legs. Scrawny, they're scrawny. Whatever you want. Although if you're really hung up on the one face, that can also be arranged. For the right price." When Garak just looks at him, Quark switches tactics. "Or maybe it's the uniform that does it for you? I've got 'em, but I'd suggest something out of my lingerie databases. I've still got some little Cardassian numbers filed away that I think even a man with your discerning tastes could appreciate. Just imagine, Doctor Bashir in a–"

He doesn't see the hand coming until it's already crushing his windpipe. Quark claws at it for several long, desperate moments while Garak continues to look.

Leeta scuttling over and yanking him away is what ultimately puts a stop to it, and it's while Quark is gasping in dramatic bursts of air that Leeta says in a rush, "Garak, please! Whatever he said, he didn't mean it!"

"Oh, I meant it," Quark coughs out with a high, strangled laugh, "he just didn't like it."

"Whatever conclusions you've drawn in the last twenty-six hours, allow me to dispel them," Garak says primly, as if he hadn't almost committed murder in broad daylight. "I am not a xenophile and I do not have feelings for Doctor Bashir. There are no less than two-hundred Cardassians currently aboard the station, and I assure you, none of them like me. Those poems were obviously planted."

Oh, but Quark is a little pissed now, unwise as that is. "Please, Garak," he says, "who has time to write that many poems about Julian just to mess with you? Two or three, maybe, but over seventy? If you're going to lie, at least don't insult our intelligence."

Garak's eyes flash and Quark ducks behind Leeta, repentant. Leeta sighs. "Garak, what's so bad about loving Julian?" she asks softly. "I thought the poems were really touching. It’s sweet how much you care for him."

But he's already staring into his PADD again. "I'm sorry, Miss Leeta, but I am a bit busy. Perhaps we can discuss my hypothetical feelings for your paramour another time."

"Julian and I have never been serious," she tries to assure him, but he's engrossed again, or at least pretending to be. Her and Quark share a look and leave him to it. Lesson learned.

"Let the bastard be pent up and miserable, then," Quark grumbles from the other end of the bar as he pours Table 3's drinks. A prickle on his neck has him looking up and there Garak's eyes are again, piercing, and Quark rushes off to deliver the drinks.

The three young Cardassians there are much more friendly. One has their nose stuck in one of the useless poetry PADDs while the other two smile at Quark while he sets out their orders.

"Three Raktajinos, extra bitter," Quark says, and is thanked. Polite. One even praises the drink's exoticness. Klingon coffee, exotic. Heh. "Your food will be out in a few."

Before he can finish turning, though, a hand is touching his arm. "What is the title of this anthology you include at every table?" the young man asks.

"Oh, that's not..." He sighs. "It's new. I can't remember."

"Find out for us, please," he says. "Works like these can be hard to come by on Prime and we make it our business to collect them. Whoever this author is, they're very unique."

"If these aren't banned on Prime already, they will be soon," his friend comments with a giggle.

"No doubt."

"'In my desolation, I am as weeds: Cut my roots and Let the waters take me, To drown and bloom anew, in You,'" the one with her nose in the PADD reads aloud, and shivers. "They'd burn the whole Central Archive down just for this one. It's so explicit."

"Let me see that," the boy demands, as the other one is already surging over to read over the girl's shoulder. Watching them fight over the PADD has Quark thinking back to the isolinear rods in his safe, and he hums thoughtfully, glancing over his shoulder.

Garak isn't looking.

—

Glinn Halon Duvur. Former underling of Gul Dukat. Out of uniform, vacationing on Deep Space Nine with his wife and nine children. Spends his days gambling while his kids play unsupervised in the holosuites and his wife visits old friends. 

Beloved uncle sent to trial by the Obsidian Order in 2356 and executed that same day for crimes of attempted sabotage against Cardassia.

Garak watches the man wander down the promenade sans his proud lineage, jingling a fat little bag of gold-pressed latinum and yet-unconverted leks. He wanders out of range, so Garak switches to the next camera and there that unfortunate face is again. He drums his fingers on the desk. It won't be long now.

An alert rings in his ear and he almost initiates the shockfield on impulse, but the flash of smooth, brown skin on a monitor stays his hand. The knocking comes, and that haunting voice calls out, "Garak! Are you there?"

Garak rests his head next to the surveillance screens.

Predictably, the doctor tries to input his override, but the door remains shut. There's a long pause.

"Garak..." Julian sounds irate. Garak hums. "Did you deprogram my override code? Nevermind how illegal that is, that's dangerous! What if you're injured? Or fall ill?"

He says this just after attempting to abuse his station privileges for personal reasons. Infuriating hypocrite.

"Oh, my barging in at random, odd hours is no less than you deserve, Garak," Julian says as if in response to Garak's thoughts. "You set that precedent in our relationship yourself."

Terrible man.

"Fine. I'll give you some more time, since you want it so badly, but I'll be back and when I am, that override had better work. If it doesn’t, I promise there will be hell to pay, my friend."

Beautiful man.

"Goodbye, Mr. Garak."

Goodbye, Doctor.

Glinn Duvur dies two hours later of alcohol poisoning while his wife is in bed with Gul Rilimn's wife.

—

“I just can’t believe it,” Kira is bitching. Jadzia smiles and sips her drink, looking out over the Replimat balcony at all the happy brunchgoers. “A Cardassian writing poetry about something that isn’t conquest or the wonders of dictatorial rule or, at best, the pride of the traditional family nobly bowing and scraping. I’ve never seen it.”

“It would certainly seem to run counter to Cardassian values.”

“And about Julian!” she shrieks in her inside voice, slapping her hands down on the table. “Garak the spy, writing love poetry about Julian. Going on and on about his–his...”

“Ass?” Jadzia offers.

“Eyes. His eyes! Ohhh, I knew he wanted to have sex with him, everyone knew that, but to write about his eyes like... like that? It’s practically Bajoran.”

“That’s true.”

Kira stops long enough in her tirade to eye her, and presses her lips into a thin line. “How are you so calm about this?”

Jadzia takes another sip. “I’m just fascinated,” she says. “I’ll admit, I’ve been looking at this more through Tobin’s eyes than my own. Have I ever told you that he met Lloja of Prim during his exile?” 

“He did not.”

“He did, and Lloja flirted with him outrageously. It was embarrassing, looking back. Of course, nothing ever came of it, because Tobin was always hopelessly blind to those sorts of things even without the language barrier, but his children liked to joke that many of Lloja’s poems were about him.”

Kira’s jaw is hanging. “Were they?”

Jadzia grins and shrugs. Kira laughs.

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Perhaps,” Jadzia allows, “but I do wonder... Being able to call nervous, asexual Tobin the lover of Lloja of Prim would have been quite the notch in my belt. Think of the stories I could have told! And now here Julian is with the opportunity. I know it’s not the same, I mean, it’s Garak. But, you have to admit, to write about him like that...”

“He must really love him,” Kira finishes for her, stumped. “I just can’t wrap my head around it.”

“I didn’t see it, either,” Jadzia confesses. “I was still wrestling with the idea that they were actually friends. I thought their association was strictly professional and all the books and flirting were just a front.” She cradles her head in her hands suddenly and sighs. “Ugh, but those poems. The poems are so good! Kira...”

“I know,” she moans. “They’re heart-wrenching. Which one are you on now?”

“Thirty-nine. I came back home, but I came back gone.”

“Ouch.”

“I know.”

A shout from below interrupts them and they both shoot out of their seats. Below, a Cardassian man has just had a beam fall on top of him. Jadzia and Kira bound down the stairs to him, Jadzia already slapping a hand on her comm badge. 

“Dax to Infirmary, a man has just been crushed, possibly impaled. Send a medical team to Replimat and be ready for emergency beam out.”

“Acknowledged, we’re on our way,” Girani says, but already Kira is looking up at Jadzia helplessly, the man’s wrist laying limp between her hands.

“He’s gone.”

“Shit!” Jadzia hunches over, hands on her knees. “That’s the third one today. Are Cardassians always this accident prone? No wonder you won the war.”

“No,” Kira says. “They’re not. You don’t think...”

“I don’t know,” Jadzia says grimly, and looks around at the crowd that’s formed. All Cardassian, all terrified. “But we need to find out.”

—

A Cardassian is sitting at the bar. This isn’t an unusual sight now, with the Festival of 90s Funk and Beyond coming up, but seeing one so young and looking so hunted is odd. Quark approaches him casually.

“What’ll you have?”

The Cardassian’s eyes dart. “Uh...” He leans over suddenly, cups both hands over his mouth, and whispers, “E. G. Special.”

Christ, these kids are going to kill him. “Coming right up,” he says in a normal person voice, and reaches under the bar for a glass. A little drink-mixing magic later, a beautiful fizzy blue drink is sitting between them, with an isolinear rod tucked neatly in the straw.

The Cardassian takes the drink between both hands excitedly, and Quark snaps his fingers in front of him. “Oh! Right,” the kid stutters, and all but launches the latinum at Quark’s face. “Thank you!” And off he goes, out of the bar with the glass still tight in his grasp.

“Idiot,” Quark mutters to himself, crouching carefully down to pick the latinum up off the floor without dirtying his expensive pants. “You’re supposed to take the straw, not the entire glass. That’s it, I’m switching to plastic. These little rebel brats don’t deserve my ni—Oh, hello, Constable! I didn’t see you there. What can I get you?”

Odo looks as unimpressed as ever. “That’s a funny question since last I checked, I don’t drink.”

“Ah, right, because you’re a liquid. How could I forget. You know, one of these days, I ought to serve you up with a little umbrella, see how people like it. I’d bet you taste bitter.” Odo harrumphs, and Quark makes himself busy with wiping down the counter. “Well, out with it then. What nefarious scheme am I up to now? I love to hear your little stories.”

Four isolinear rods drop onto the counter, right where Quark was just cleaning. “Hey now,” he says, throwing a performative glare at the changeling. “Careful. If you shatter glass in my bar, you’re cleaning it up.”

“I just had the most interesting conversation with the Tokal family,” Odo says, steamrolling right over him. “It seems their four darling children had somehow come into some questionable reading material. They tried searching for it in the Central Archives and yet, despite it being clearly Cardassian in origin, they could not find it. And I don’t need to tell you that when a piece of Cardassian reading material isn’t in the Central Archives...”

Quark, from his plastered position on the floor, stares up into Odo’s face directly horizontal to his and smiles. “What?”

“It’s illegal,” Odo sneers, stretching his body even further over the bar and nearly sending Quark starfishing. 

“Okay! Odo! I get it! But what does that have to do with me?”

“Quark!”

“Okay, okay! Whatever it is you think I’ve done, I’ll stop! I’ll stop, okay?”

“I know you’re going to stop, because I am going to confiscate every copy of Garak’s poetry that you have absconded with and destroy them.”

Quark gasps. “Book burning? In this day and age?”

“Garak did not give his permission for you to sell his work! He didn’t even want anyone to see it in the first place! Those poems were stolen. Now, I expect a list of every person you sold a copy to and a full and complete refund to be issued by tomorrow morning. Do I make myself clear?”

Quark glowers. “You’ve made yourself something, all right.”

“Quark...”

“Okay! All right. Consider it done.”

-

Turora Lumok. Obsidian Order operative and old colleague. Usually in deep cover in the Organian sectre, but has abandoned post to explore the space station. Barren, unattached. Cold. A model agent, if you ignore her unfortunate habit of going rogue and eliminating civilians on a whim. 

Recruited into the Order by Enabran Tain’s former right hand, Euluk Bucun, who was assassinated by Elim Garak in 2341 under orders from Enabran Tain for suspicions of treason. Turora Lumok disciplined shortly afterward by Elim Garak for complaining that she had wanted to be the one to kill that bitch.

Garak watches as the woman pretends to touch up her makeup while scouting for cameras. “Oh, Lumok, you always were woefully obvious. Have you been expecting me? I wonder why.”

Satisfied with the positions of the cameras, she puts away her mirror and strolls out of sight.

Garak shakes his head. “Fool. You forget how long I’ve lived on this wretched station. I don’t need to see you every second to know where you are.”

But then, the smell of antiseptic. Starfleet issue soap. Herbal shampoo, unique, robust. Gels. Oils. Sweat. 

He’s near.

Forcing calmness with a deep, measured breath, he takes off his eyepiece and slips it into his sleeve. He pays for the food he barely ate. He stands. He turns.

And is promptly thrust into the dark, deep woods of Julian Bashir’s eyes. “There you are, Garak! I’ve been looking all over for you,” the doctor says as if it’s just a regular day on Deep Space Nine. His hot, mammalian body caging him tightly in place against the table betrays the ruse. “Who was it you were talking to?”

Garak tries to step around him. Julian steps with him. “Oh, only ever myself. Forgive me, but you’ve caught me just on my way out. I have a strict appointment at 2.”

There’s Julian’s hand now. On his shoulder. Garak is calm. This is normal. “Well, why don’t I walk you there then.”

“My dear Doctor, I couldn’t rob you of your meal. Clearly you’ve just walked in.”

“Actually, I’ve found I’m craving something a bit different now.”

Garak makes to step around Julian again, and still Julian’s steps match his. It’s like they’re dancing. He doesn’t let this deter him. He’s not sure he’s capable of letting anything deter him now, with his heart trying to pound out of his throat. He keeps stepping doggedly forward, and Julian keeps mirroring, still with that damned hand burning through his tunic. “Well, you only have so much time before you must return to the infirmary, I know. Do not allow me to delay you in securing a table at a different locale.”

“Oh, but you’ve already delayed me so long. What’s a few more minutes?” A peek of teeth, a hint of warning. “Though I will admit... I’m not sure how much longer I can wait.”

“Then don’t.” Finally, Garak manages to elbow past this madness and shoot out of the restaurant. The station is so crowded these days, it’s short work to get lost in it. In a sea of ridges and black hair, Garak slips his eyepiece back on and lets the wave take him. 

“Garak!”

Oh, for the Union’s sake—

He does not run. He does not stumble. He walks normally and not desperately, keeping his eye on both the path to the turbolift and Lumok. She’s down the corridor now, pretending to check her makeup again like an imbecile. Just a few paces more. Almost there...

“Garak, you’re the best dressed one here! You are not difficult to spot, you ridiculous dandy! Oh, no offense, Ma’am. Lovely scarf. Excuse me.”

There.

In the reflection of the mirror, Garak makes eye contact with the rogue and taps in the correct sequence on the device sewed into the seam of his pants just as the turbolift doors close behind him.

Like that, Turora Lumok is beamed into space and dies instantly, without a soul to mourn her, and Elim Garak walks back to his quarters with a hand over his mouth and a warmth on his shoulder, without a soul to mourn him, either.

—-

The Festival of Fierce and Fantastic Frogs is two days away and already it is being protested.

Outside Quark’s Bar is a growing army of dissident children with voice amplifiers and holoprojectors shouting to the stars that if they don’t get their porn back, they’ll tear it all down. Signs are projected in the air with essays cycling through them that look to be several pages each, a small holographic fire barely reaching ankle-height is lighting up the length of the promenade, and – perhaps most disturbingly – a comically inaccurate approximation of Odo is rotating at the center of the group, fitted in the typical regalia of the Cardassian military and holding a Klingon bat’leth. It is certainly... something.

“They’re Cardassians,” Quark is saying as he pours out some root beers. “They’ve probably never seen a protest in their lives, they don’t know what they’re doing. The Union puts an end to things like this pretty fast on the surface.”

“Heh,” Jadzia says, “what happens on DS9, stays on DS9.”

“Where’d you hear that?” Kira asks.

“It’s something Julian likes to say. Basically, they figure they can get away with speaking their minds here.”

Kira drums her fingers on the bar, staring into the flailing protestors thoughtfully. 

Right then, Odo arrives back on the scene. It looks like he’s trying to get through, respectfully, but the protestors are not making it easy. Jadzia and Kira come to his rescue just as about fifteen Cardassians start forming a blockade around him.

“I walked around as you do, investigating the endless stars,” one young woman is yelling at him while he stands there with big helpless baby eyes, “and in my net, during the night, I woke up naked, the only thing caught, a fish trapped inside the wind!” 

“I don’t know what that means,” Odo says consolingly.

“Clearly!”

“Okay, okay, let him through!” Kira wiggles her way between the crowd and Odo, snatching him by the arm like a fish with a hook. “He’s not your enemy here, he was just upholding your laws!”

“The Cardassian government has no jurisdiction on a Bajoran station!”

“He made his choices!”

“Beautiful Julian would be ashamed of you! Repent! Repent!”

Kira and Jadzia manage to reel him most of the way through the protesters and he shapeshifts the rest of the journey. The protestors try to follow, but Quark bustles over to stop them. “No, no demonstrations inside! Remember who your allies are,” he says, and they all cow back. “Thank you.”

Odo ripples his form a couple times to make sure everything’s back in the right place and harrumphs. “Allies, Quark?”

“Yes, allies. It’s terrible what you’ve done to them. You can’t police art, Odo–-this is culture we're talking about here, the very bedrock of society.”

“And I’m sure this virtuous attitude of yours has nothing to do with the incredible profit you made and lost at the expense of our mutual friend.”

“Oh, I did him a favor.” Quark uncaps another bottle of Kanar and gestures back to the entrance, with its swarm of frothing Cardassian children. “Look, he’s got fans!”

“How has Garak been handling all this?” Kira asks Odo, sharing a look with Jadzia. “I haven’t heard a peep out of him since he gave us that antivirus program.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Didn’t you have breakfast with him yesterday?”

“Hmmm, that would have been routine. Except he didn’t show. When I made it back to my office, I found a message from him apologizing, telling me he’s so busy with orders he’s lost all track of time.”

“How has he been getting commissions?” Jadzia asks. “His shop’s been closed all week.”

Odo rolls his eyes. “Oh, I’m sure the reality is he’s simply avoiding the issue. Dr. Bashir has informed me he’s been treating him like ‘the black plague’ as well.” 

“Julian’s one to talk. He practically pole-vaulted over a vedek the other day to get away from me.” 

“Speak of the devil,” Quark says, looking towards the door, and everyone turns just as the commotion starts–or, more accurately, the commotion abruptly stops. 

The protestors have all gone quiet, in apparent awe as they part around Julian like the red sea around Moses. He’s smiling stupidly as he stands in the center of them, nodding at something a Cardassian man is exclaiming. It’s an incredibly awkward scene, and Quark starts choking at some of the things his ears are picking up. “They’ve deified him,” he tells them, and Jadzia bursts into giggles at the idea, but Quark isn’t joking. “Really. He might as well be one of the prophets to them. You read the poems. You know.”

Ugh. Kira wrinkles her nose in disgust. The worst kind of blasphemy–horny blasphemy. “What is he even doing here?” she asks. 

“Getting his head inflated,” Jadzia says dryly, because now that Quark has mentioned it, it’s pretty clear from the shit-eating grin on Julian’s face that that’s exactly what’s happening. 

“Poor Garak.” Quark says it absentmindedly, but the comment gets several eyes turned on him. He’s shaking his head as he watches the scene unfold. “First, he falls for a human… humiliating… but then that love becomes public knowledge and several young beautiful Cardassians decide that he’s onto something, and now that human is going to get more action in a week than he’s seen his entire life. I’ve witnessed the rise and fall of more than a few star-crossed romances, but this might just be the saddest.”

“Julian wouldn’t have an orgy the same week the whole station found out Garak’s in love with him,” Jadzia says, insulted on his behalf.

Quark hefts a tray up onto his shoulder. “He just did,” he says as he leaves to go do his job, and Jadzia whips her head around to see Julian escorting two attractive Cardassians away from the protest. Her jaw drops.

“Bastard,” Kira spits, surprising everyone, herself most of all. Those poems must’ve affected her more than she realized.

Odo clears his throat unnecessarily. “I’m no expert on the behavior of solids, but it seems to me that neither party is handling this situation well.”

“I’ll tell you how the pakrela should be handling this,” an older Cardassian sitting at the far end of the bar cuts in, with a twitch to him that makes it clear he’s more than a few deep. “He should be settling his assets, because he doesn’t have long now. Whatever his human is doing is the least of his worries. Ha. Hehe. Being a traitor wasn’t enough for him. No, now he’s gone and corrupted the next generation with his degeneracy. Exile was too soft a punishment. Uh-huh.”

Kira opens her mouth to tell him to fuck off, but Odo touches her shoulder. “You speak as if you know him,” he notes mildly, because of course, the exact reason for Garak’s exile isn’t public record. It’s barely even private record. The Order doesn’t work that way–or didn’t, as it stands. It is interesting that this man is acting like he has classified information despite being a civilian. 

But then, sometimes day drinkers just like to spout speculation as fact.

The man looks into his glass and laughs at his reflection. “Who doesn’t know Garak these days? But that’s temporary. He’ll be forgotten soon enough, just like the Order.” He finishes his drink and gets up. He insincerely mutters some friendly Cardassian farewell and starts to walk past them, but Kira can’t let it go.

“Excuse me, but what’s your name, sir? You’ve been so informative.”

He looks at her for a long moment. “I don’t know,” he says, and elbows past the protesters.

—

“Solt Mebol, left behind a widow and child six years ago when he was tragically killed in a transporter accident. In reality, he accepted an undercover mission which required him to fake his death and have his bond dissolved. A significant sacrifice. Certainly not one many Cardassians could have made.”

The Cardassian stares at Garak sitting on his couch. Turning, he tries to exit his temporary quarters, but the door won’t open.

Garak tuts. “Oh, you know better than that, Mebol.” He taps his disruptor with his forefinger, resting harmlessly against his knee. “The festival isn’t for another couple days, yet here you are. Catching up with old friends before the festivities, I assume? Only I haven’t found you in anyone’s company but your own. You must be lonely. Please, let me alleviate your loneliness for a while.”

The Cardassian sighs at the closed door. “Solt, is it?”

“I can tell you the names of your wife and child as well, if you’d like, and the city they live in. Do you know your wife never rebonded? Unusual behavior for a Romulan. Quite dangerous, as I understand it.”

Solt steps carefully into the small living space and sits in the chair opposite Garak, with the coffee table between them. “As one of the last living members of the Order, I don’t suppose you would consider letting me go?”

Garak smiles pleasantly. “I would be delighted.”

“Would you? I had a deal with Central Command and they’ve been good to me so far. You, however, have been known to…” He eyes the disruptor casually turned in his direction.

“Yes, I imagine I must be something of a mystery these days to my people. I have been… squirrely, is what I suppose a human would say, and I must as well now that I’ve been painted with their brush. Oh, it is an incredible sin, I know. That I should enjoy the company of an attractive alien while in exile.”

Solt snorts. “You expect me to believe those poems were the natural result of a fling?”

“I don’t expect you to believe anything you do not wish to. I only say that it’s convenient that I should be seen as even more traitorous just as a swarm of Cardassians should enter the station.”

“What’s convenient is that you’re still alive. You have friends in high places willing to go to bat for you, in spite of everything you’ve done. It’s a disgrace. You are a selfish disloyal anarchist and no one is holding you accountable, because you just happened to be good at your job once and everyone likes the idea of having you as a potential weapon should the need for one arise. Until then, they’re content to keep you in a cabinet collecting dust and sentiment. You can wave that disruptor all you want, but we both know you make a poor operative now. You’re in love.” 

Garak is still smiling, but Solt can see the signs of a grimace. Dusty, indeed. Too passionate. Too human. “I’m hardly so foolish. You know better than I the dangers of such things in our line of work. You’re little better than a puppet now that you’ve had a whiff of the truth, Mebol.”

“You’re right.” Solt attempts to raise one eye ridge, despite it being unfit for such maneuvers, and leans forward towards that disruptor. “Pull my strings, then, and let’s test that grip Bashir has on yours.”

—

Kira crashes into Garak’s quarters and kickflips past all his booby traps like Indiana Jones’ hotter cousin.

“What the fuck, Richard?” is basically what she says, only it’s in character, so it’s more like, “What the fuck, Garak!”

Garak spins around in his maniacal villain chair with a look of surprise. “How did you get in here, Major?” Miles bustles his way in after her with his impractically enormous toolkit, and Garak lets out an, “Ah,” then, sedately, “I suppose Dr. Bashir filed a complaint about my tampering with the door codes. Of course, there’s a perfectly logical explanation. You see, it–”

“This isn’t about door codes, Garak,” Kira yells. “What I want to know is why our best suspect for the sudden influx of murders on the station was just found drowned in his own toilet!”

“Oh my,” Garak says. “What an unfortunate end.”

“Don’t play dumb. Not now. We know what you’re capable of, but we’re good people and we didn’t want to accuse a victim until we had exhausted the rest of our line-up. Only, interestingly enough, they’re all dead, so now…” she marches over with the fury of the Prophets on her heels and stands imposingly over him, her teeth clenched, “here we are.”

“That is interesting.” He runs a hand down a roll of fabric in his lap, smoothing it. “I suppose you must have some of that ironclad evidence that the Federation so treasures.”

Kira glares at him.

Garak feigns looking around. “Oh, but I can’t help but notice the good Constable isn’t here with you. What could that mean? Surely not that you broke into my quarters without due cause or a hint of warning–at your own word, not even to fix my glitching door. For all you knew, I could have been in here writing one of my vaunted Bashir epics.”

Kira’s hands are in fists now. “The evidence we have would be more than enough to have your face plastered on every viewscreen in Cardassia and you know it.”

“The Federation and Bajoran legal processes do seem a tad inefficient in moments like these, don’t they?”

“Okay,” Miles cuts in, because he has Turbo PTSD and is not in the mood for a flare up. “I think I'll just wait in the hallway, then. Holler if you need me. Good luck, Major.”

Kira and Garak spend a few moments watching him waddle out of the room and then go back to staring each other down. 

“Look, you ass,” Kira starts, “we couldn’t link every victim to the Cardassian government or some third-party organization, but we were able to link enough of them to recognize that these aren’t just random nobodies having ‘accidents.’ Someone was able to break into your computer and embarrass you and you don’t like that so you’re pitching a fit. I can’t have Odo arrest you – yet – but I can tell you to cut it out. This vigilantism isn’t helping–”

That gets a reaction. “Vigilantism!”

“Well, what would you call it?”

“Self-defense.”

“They attacked you?”

“Possibly.”

“Goddamn you, Garak! Just… don’t do this anymore, okay?”

Garak looks at her with innocent astonishment, like he’s still bewildered by her totally plausible accusations. “Well. You have my word, I suppose,” he says, bemused.

—

Gul Skrain Dukat. Blessed with a wife, seven children, two sets of living parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents, minus one father. Habitually cheats with lower ranked military officials, slaves, and barely legal adults, unbenownst to his family. Father was interrogated by Elim Garak and executed by the Union over live broadcast in the year 2350 for the crime of being a piece of shit. 

Elim Garak was shortly thereafter levied with an amateurish execution attempt by Gul Dukat. It failed.

The second attempt will succeed, but at a great cost.

The Festival of Filthy Fucking Foot Fetishists has officially begun, but Garak is struggling to feel any enthusiasm. He is surrounded by his people. The station has been dimmed by 15% to better suit Cardassian eyes and misting stations have been set up in limited locations. Extinct and invented flowers crafted by Cardassian and Bajoran artisans decorate the banisters and doorways. A wash of blue, green, and sparkling gold lights up every direction. There is the smell of freshly prepared Cardassian sweets on the air, a gentle warmth suffuses the atmosphere, and children are laughing on the promenade. It’s the first time the station has felt not just tolerable, but nearly pleasant, in years. 

But then, Garak has never felt particularly welcome among his people. As a child, he was an orphan generously cared for by service workers and sponsored by a government official, and as an adult, he was a member of the Order, which granted him more fear and loathing than it did admiration and respect. Companionship, in its truest form, was a rare thing to come by and not something he was encouraged to come by at all.

Perhaps that is why Dr. Bashir blindsided him. 

In any case, Garak is delicately balanced on the line between proper misery and numbness. He gave up imbibing around the same time that he gave up the implant—or rather, the implant gave up on him—but he’s on his third cup now, wandering through the festivities with no particular direction in mind. The exact spot of this last operation isn’t important, only the timing.

He finishes his drink while a group play a spirited game of cold moba in front of him. It shouldn't be long now.

All the nearby screens suddenly flicker from the event schedule to Dukat’s sharp grin and Garak hums. There we are. He knew the bitch wouldn’t be able to resist showing his face.

“Welcome everyone to the biennial Festival of–” a baby wails, “generously hosted here on Deep Space Nine by Bajor and the Federation, and of course organized by our own prodigous Detapa Council. Ah, that wormhole… quite the view, isn’t it?”

Garak looks around for another food stall that serves alcohol. 

There aren’t any stalls in his immediate vicinity, but there is a young Cardassian couple marching towards him while making dogged eye contact. 

Oh no. 

Garak starts to make a break for it. Not too fast, it won’t do to cause a stir, but there are a number of very good reasons for him to stay far away from any Cardassians who might recognize him right now. Especially if the source of that recognition is those damn poems he was too stupid and sentimental to destroy.

Before he can make it more than a few steps, however, he looks up to see another few Cardassians working their way towards him, also making eye contact.

No, no, no.

He makes to move towards the stairs then, only for his eyes to land squarely on him. 

Him, wearing the silky green outfit he lovingly crafted for him a few months ago. Him, shining in the festival lights, casting him in an even more arresting shade of gold than usual. Him, looking determined and coming straight towards him.

Oh, fuck no.

“Garak,” Julian calls out, likely reading the panic on his face and stance and soul.

“Today, I am not a Gul, though,” Dukat is saying. “I am but a humble representative of the Cardassian Union in its totality, and as such, I would like to thank Colonel Kira Nerys and Captain Benjamin Sisko for their hand in this week’s festivities. They have been nothing if not accommodating these last few weeks while our coordinators ran rampant through their halls.”

He should have accounted for the possibility of this. Thinking of Julian had become excruciating as of late, but that was no excuse. Whatever interaction Julian had been hoping to have with him couldn’t be allowed, not now, and not only for the sake of Garak’s traitorous, disgusting feelings. Even if it would give the sweet man closure, it would not be worth his life. 

“Now, it may be a bit unorthodox, but I thought it would be only fitting if the first Reenactment was carried out by our benevolent hosts, and the Lakarian City Acting Troupe were all too happy to take them under their wing.”

More eyes are turning towards the screen now, the laughing and playing and sloshing of cups quieting down. Julian is nearly with him, his approach halted only by the gathering crowd, and Garak can only pretend to be interested in Dukat’s speech while he racks his brain desperately for a solution. Any solution. Anything.

“I trust that the history of Cardassia is in capable hands.”

The screen flickers again and changes to a shot of one of Quark’s holodecks, where a lone Bajoran man stands in a beam of red light.

A hand grabs Garak roughly by the arm, and he nearly cries with relief when he sees that it’s Lumok.

Well, Lumok with the face and attire of a Bajoran, but that ever-present spark of unchecked malice in her eye is quite unmistakable to someone who worked with her for over a decade. 

“Surprised, you ugly old regnar?” she asks under the actor’s impassioned opening monologue.

He sucks in a breath as the sharp edge of something presses into his back. “Impossible. They found your body caught on one of the station’s spires.”

“A simple bait and switch,” she purrs, pressing the weapon closer, slicing through his tunic. A pity. This was one of his nicer ones. “You’ve gotten sloppy.”

He manufactures a smile. “A knife, then? A favorite of yours, I recall, but terribly messy for such a public venue. Not to mention if your aim is even an inch off, I’ll be in and out of the infirmary within the day, as if nothing at all had happened.”

“Don’t lecture me,” she growls. “You can’t do that anymore. You’re not anyone to anyone. Your master is dead, and what did you do the second you were off leash for the first time in your life? You went and choked yourself on the first Starfleet sotl you could find. You’re pathetic.”

It took incredible effort to keep his eyes from rolling to the back of his skull. “Oh, just stab me already.”

“I’m not going to stab you. I’ve done a bit of outsourcing, in fact.” She slid the knife from his lower back to his side and looped her arm through his, pinning him in place with a wide smile. “All I had to do was suggest to my new friend that you were infiltrating the Federation. That you were poisoning them against Bajor from the inside, uniting Cardassia and Starfleet in a secret alliance under the guise of wooing the CMO. No, no, you won’t be killed by one of your peers. Your death will be at the hands of a perfect stranger. A pointless death for a pointless man.” She leans in and whispers into his aural ridge, “It always was so easy to make people hate you.”

The next few seconds are a flurry of chaos. One second he’s watching as Human, Bajoran and Cardassian actors alike are all holding hands and reciting ancient poetry and the next he’s on the floor with a searing weight bearing down on him from calf to shoulder. There are screams and footfalls coming from all directions and Odo’s voice is immediately discernible shouting over the commotion. His back is on fire, he can’t breathe, and there’s a slash in his side, but he doesn’t miss the thump of Lumok’s body a few feet away, dead before she hits the ground.

“Garak? Garak?” the weight on him is speaking frantically, pawing at his head and shoulders. The weight shifts and the hands flip him onto his back. Those same hands pat him down, blazing a path down his chest and his stomach and his sides, stopping at the superficial gash near his rib, and Garak knows who this is before he even opens his eyes.

“Garak,” Julian sighs with relief. Garak was meant to be dead by phaser blast right now, but instead Julian Bashir is smiling down at him like he’s important, kneeling beside him, his hands on him, branding him with their incredible heat. It shouldn’t be possible. No one could be that fast. 

“Doctor,” he manages on a wheeze. One of his ribs might be broken, actually.

“Dukat,” Sisko growls from the monitor in billowing robes and a long flowing wig, surrounded by flowers.

—

“Explain,” Sisko commands.

Having decided that showing weakness right now can only help his case, Garak is sitting hunched to the side, holding his reeling head in one hand. It’s through a hiss that he replies, “A woman named Turora Lumok was responsible for sabotaging the station with those poems forged with my data signature. The Bajoran woman who was just assassinated–she was no Bajoran, but rather one of the last remaining members of the Obsidian Order. She was hired by Dukat to kill me during the festival under the guise of a hate crime. No doubt because of her indomitable reputation, I’m sure. A number of Cardassian casualties these past several days were at her hands.”

Sisko walks to the viewport to stare out into the stars for a moment, processing this. “All his talk of friendship between Bajor and Cardassia…” he trails off, the ghost of a sneer on his lips as he turns back around. “His goal was just the opposite. He wanted to destroy any hope of cooperation.”

“And get me out of the way in the process,” Garak grumbles. 

Sisko hums and wanders over to Garak’s side, looking down at him thoughtfully. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to tell me who assassinated Ms. Lumok?”

Garak stares at the floor through his fingers, his eyes glazed.

“Or who your informant is on Dukat’s involvement?”

“Captain,” Garak mutters, not looking up, “I have sat here concussed after an attempt on my life and shared with you everything that I know, and here you have not even told me who the tailor of your magnificent robe is.” He tugs half-heartedly at a strip of embroidery on the fabric. “I must admit, I am feeling a touch betrayed you didn’t come to me.”

Sisko flicks his eyes up to Julian, who has been standing in the corner with his hands behind his back. “Very well, Mr. Garak. I release you into Dr. Bashir’s care for now, but I expect to continue this conversation soon.” He massages his forehead. “Once I figure out what to do about this damned festival.”

Julian comes over to help Garak out of his chair, but Garak snaps upright and to the door before he can touch him. Sisko takes the opportunity to lean into Julian’s face and whisper, “Get more information out of him.” The doctor nods.

Julian isn’t angry when he steps out of Sisko’s office and sees that Garak is walking in the exact opposite direction of the infirmary, but he is disappointed. 

“Mr. Garak,” he says urgently once he’s caught up to the idiot.

Mr. Garak interrupts him in the same tone, “Now, now, my dear doctor, we both know I have a dermal regenerator in my quarters, so we need not extend–”

“And I think we both know this is about much more than a few bumps and bruises. I’m afraid the time for beating around the bush passed quite a while ago.”

“You’re right, Doctor,” Garak says, coming to an abrupt stop and rounding on him with wild eyes. “There is an urgent matter we must discuss.” Julian’s eyebrows raise, and Garak nods severely. “Oh, yes, let us not ‘beat around the bush.’ We should talk about how you threw yourself directly into the line of a lethal phaser blast on the one in a millionth chance that you might save my life. The cost of such an action being almost certainly your own life, and yet, here you stand, and here I stand. Will wonders never cease.” Julian opens his mouth, but Garak raises a finger. “Nevermind that I was in the middle of an altercation with a very dangerous, very volatile woman who would not have hesitated for a second to dispose of you. She had a nasty habit of that. Now I knew that you were naive, Doctor, Doctor! I knew that! What I did not know – what I never could have guessed after all these years – was that you are an idiot.” 

Julian stares back into Garak’s hissing face, unimpressed. Garak feels a wave of deja-vu and does not like it. It has no place here. And yet, Julian takes in a breath and smiles, raising his shoulders. “All right, Garak. If it’s really so important to you, we can talk about your suicide attempt.”

“What?” Garak bites out.

“You were going to let yourself get shot, yes?”

“I was n–” Garak starts to lie, disgusted, but is stopped by Julian stepping entirely too close. He stumbles back a step, then another when Julian attempts to crowd him again, and the familiarity of the routine has him shutting his eyes, rueful. They’re dancing again. It’s humiliating, the things this man makes him do, how effortlessly he can gain the upperhand. Most of the time without even having to lift a finger.

“You figured out Dukat’s plan and arranged for Lumok to die if she succeeded, but you expected her to. You didn’t expect to be saved,” the doctor tells his blank, unresponsive face. His eyes are still closed, his hands tense at his sides, but he knows Julian’s stepped closer again by the heat of his livid breath. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“Very well. I didn’t figure it out. I was informed.”

“So, the captain was right.” He sounds bored, but Garak seizes his chance. His eyes open in a sudden burst of animation.

“Yes, I had an informant. I believe the major was familiar with him, a fellow by the name of Damoc who was recently presumed dead? Though I knew him far better as Mebol. We first met on Romulus, you see. In the event of my death, he had strict instructions to reveal Dukat’s plot in my stead and protect my remaining assets. In return, he was to receive some valuable coordinates, which by now he will have long accessed. I suppose he’s already booked passage off of the station, if he hasn’t already gone.” 

“Quick to abandon you,” Julian says, completely off-script. Garak’s carefully measured breathing stutters.

“Surely Captain Sisko would like to have a word with him.”

“I’m sure.”

“Doctor…” Garak says, lost. “There isn’t time to was–”

Suddenly there are two hands slamming into his chest like they’re iron forks and he’s a slab of meat, rocketing him back into the nearest wall with a loud thud. Garak gasps at the strength of it, astounded, but all his attention is quickly monopolized by Julian’s snarling words.

“Stop trying to distract me, Garak! Stop racing away before I can even properly get into the room, stop begging off lunch, stop ignoring my comms, and stop acting like your bloody life is over just because it was found out that you have feelings for me!” 

“I–I don’t–”

“Lke hell you don’t! Thirty-seven.”

Garak blinks several times. “What?”

“Thirty-seven. That’s how many direct references to our literary discussions are in your poems. All chronologically concordant with the dates of those discussions, and six of which from that classic Earth album I recommended to you a year ago that you swore up and down sounded like a pack of voles had been crammed into a bucket and shaken around. I knew you were having me on. You love Mitski, and you love me.”

Garak’s face shutters. 

Finally, Julian takes a step back. His hands remain on his chest, pinning him in place, but he allows him some oxygen. Exactly twenty seconds pass like this, before the doctor becomes impatient and huffs, “You can’t possibly have nothing to say.”

“What would you have me say, Doctor?”

“I would like you to admit it.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve heard it from friends and coworkers and strangers and every tourist on this damn station, it feels like, but I haven’t heard it from you.”

Garak is silent for a long time. Finally, he quietly asks, “You would further humiliate me this way? Knowing what you do? My dear friend…” He, carefully, with only the gentlest of pressure, puts a hand over one of Julian’s. “Please. You’ve read everything I could possibly have to say. What more could there be?”

Julian’s hands are unforgiving, but his eyes soften at the simple lowering of the curtain. It’s not the direct confession he was looking for, the I love you completely, traitorously, ruinously that his poems professed and a deep, broken part of Julian desperately wants to hear, but it is, it is. For Garak, this is as explicit as it gets, and Julian can feel his heart trying to catch in his throat.

“Garak,” he starts to say.

Garak isn’t scowling anymore. His eyes are shining as he looks away and sucks in an aggrieved breath. “Oh, please, let us skip this excruciating precursor. I have no intention of remaining on this station.”

Julian goes unnervingly still. “Excuse me?”

“I will need time to pack up my shop and settle my lease, but then I promise, you will never suffer the consequences of my unfortunate… condition again.” When Julian only stares at him with mounting alarm in his lovely eyes, Garak grimaces. “You must know I had no intention of pursuing you.” At least, not after the implant had been shut off and he’d realized what horrors he’d stumbled into with the doctor while under its influence, and by then, it was already too late. He was too weak to stop speaking to him, but he was not a complete monster. “I wouldn’t have. My writing was never about nurturing the emotions, only managing them.” A bit of a lie, but only a bit. He does love to languish and he never could resist a good innuendo. Their friendship had been infinitely precious to him, though, and he couldn’t bear the slow death it would undergo now that everyone knew the truth.

The worsening rumors that would spread. The suffering of Julian’s reputation, career, and love life with the Cardassian spy’s drastic affections hanging over everyone’s heads. The danger it would place them both in, the damage it had already done. The way Julian would know every time Garak flirted now, it was never idle. It had never been and could never be. 

It would be a torture hitherto unthinkable. Better to sever the limb before it could rot.

Still, Julian is silent. The pressure on his chest is more a suggestion than a command now.

“Doctor, I…” he swallows back anymore hideous truths. “I apologize. Your rage is understandable, but I swear to you, I have every intention of righting this wrong.”

“Oh,” Julian says then, softly, as if he isn’t speaking to Garak at all,  “you don’t know.”

“Doctor?”

He makes a bizarre human gesture, skimming the heel of his hand off his forehead. “My God! Of course. I thought it was pride, or shame, or paranoia. Anything and everything but this, but of course you would be this ridiculous. Well. That’s an easy enough problem to solve.”

“Doctor–?!”

The hands on his chest are gone. Instead, they’re seizing him by the head and pulling him up to connect his mouth to Julian’s.

Oh.

If Julian’s touch was a brand before, this is lava running down his throat, into his stomach and down, down, down to eat through the twenty inch thick duranium floor. Slow, thorough, and final in its devastation. A transformation that cannot be persuaded. He grapples with it, hands scrambling stupidly over and across his doctor’s shoulders. Whether it’s to pull him closer or push him away, he doesn’t know. He’s too busy being brutally altered to give it much thought.

His hands settle for burying themselves in his hair at some point. When doesn’t matter. Time holds no power here. It happens, and then he knows how soft Julian Bashir’s hair feels, and there is no going back.

The loss of control becomes alarming enough that he finally manages to pry himself away, gulping in desperate, anxious breaths of frigid station air. It works. The fire and the madness that followed it calms down and he manages the strength to push Julian back, but the wet smack of their lips disconnecting will echo in his dreams for the foreseeable future, as will the dizzy grin on Julian’s face inches from his own. There’s a hand on his ass keeping him from tumbling through the hole in the floor and a couple unlucky passersby gawking at the gruesome scene and Garak is a different creature entirely, incandescent and strange, forged anew in the curious fires of mutual attachment. 

He feels insane.

“Doctor, you cannot truly be this naive.” 

Julian looks anything but naive right then. He can’t focus on that, though. He needs to focus on the fact he was nearly assassinated; the fact that the kindest man alive nearly died with him out of some misguided terran idea that all lives are of equal value and importance.

And yet, Julian is leaning in to kiss him again, so Garak puts a hand on his chest and says, “You know what I am.”

Julian’s expression turns complicated and it’s clear he understands. Garak’s roiling emotions can’t settle on being relieved or horrified. How to go on after this? After knowing intimately what he almost had, with the smoke of it still thick in his eyes and his throat and his heart?

A gentle hand on his jaw brings him back to the moment, where Julian’s eyes are serious. “I know,” he murmurs.

Garak sucks in a wet breath.

“The question is,” Julian continues, even quieter, “do you know what I am?”

His head is spinning. “Doctor?”

Julian just smiles sadly, and it's clear that there are some long conversations in their future. But for now… “About that dermal regenerator in your quarters,” Julian begins, and Garak is relieved to find out that whatever stupid, lovely thing he’s become can still appreciate an innuendo.

—

Not long after, in the middle of telling Sisko all about Mebol over Julian’s comm badge while its owner watches expectantly in a state of teasing half-dress, he’s horrified to find that whatever thing he’s become is also rather eager to please.

—

A couple days later, the two of them are picking from a generous cut of flaming taspar in the Replimat.

Or, Garak is picking, anyway. Julian is stuffing his face. Ordinarily, this would mildly scandalize him, but the fact it’s taspar, one of the most traditional delicacies of his homeworld, being shoveled enthusiastically into that pretty face makes it so he can feel only hope.

Rather than giving into that inadvisable feeling, he takes a dainty sip of his tea and tries to look nonsuspect. Cardassians from all sides and angles are staring.

“About Miss Leeta…” Garak begins.

Julian wipes his face with the side of his hand. Disgusting, but oddly compelling. “What about her?” 

“When will you be breaking the news to her?”

“Oh.” Julian smiles, bemused. “She knows.”

A tightness in his chest dispels slightly. “Does she?” he says faintly.

“She’s the one who first brought it up. We performed the Rite of Separation days ago. She said it was great timing, what with the festival and all. We didn’t even have to leave the station.”

“So you were together then.”

“Well, in a sense. We weren’t in love, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Garak takes another sip, lowering his eyes. “I wasn’t worried. Only concerned for the young lady’s feelings.”

Julian’s face is incandescent. A Cardassian to his far left is openly gaping. “Of course, of course.” He leans suddenly over the table then, moving a hand forward to rest on his knee. “So, should I take this line of questioning as an indicator that you’re open to a relationship with me?”

Garak shifts a little in his seat, moving his knee further under the table and its shadows, but otherwise doesn’t pull away. “It would be unwise,” he says quietly, without actually saying no.

The hand squeezes. “It isn’t as if people won’t assume anyway.”

“Rumors can be dispelled. Redirected. Altered.” He reaches forward to take a small saucière and pours a bright red sauce over a couple groatcakes. “There would be no coming back from a confirmation.”

Julian’s hand falls away. “Would it be so bad?”

“I don’t know,” Garak says, splitting a cake up into three neat sections. “Would it, Doctor?”

A Bajoran couple walks past their table then, and while one purposely avoids eye contact and seems to be giving them a wide berth, the other throws a meaningful glare Julian’s way. This is the fourth judgemental or pitying look he’s received since they came in for brunch. Julian calmly returns the look, refusing to be the first to look away, until finally the man averts his eyes and Julian looks back to Garak with a stern smile. Garak inclines his head.

“Be careful, Doctor,” Garak goes on. “Rumors can ruin lives. End careers.” He scoops up a bite of his cake, dripping with red sauce, and lifts it to his mouth. “Kill,” he finishes, and eats.

At that, Julian leans back in his seat with his arms crossed tight. Garak gives him his time. It’s a relief to have finally made a dent in Julian’s lovesick, idealistic conviction–and Garak can admit, after the last few days, that it is lovesickness. Julian’s decided he loves him back and there will be no stopping him from pursuing this, but there may yet be some tempering. A small, equally stubborn, sentimental part of Garak despairs at the whole horrid affair, but the behemoth of his good sense squashes this part down with little difficulty. 

It’s this moment that a smattering of young Cardassians, accompanied by one Jadzia Dax, arrive at their table. Immediately, Garak recognizes them as the ones that nearly intercepted his meeting with Lumok and his stomach drops. Julian, on the other hand, brightens back up.

“Well, hello there,” he says warmly.

Jadzia responds first, with each elbow leaned on a Cardassian’s shoulder and a knowing sparkle in her blue eyes, “Hello to you.” The Cardassians all echo with similar greetings, some shy, others giddy.

One young woman standing at the front, with her hair in three elaborately plaited braids and little makeup, is looking at Garak with particular interest. “You’re the one who wrote the poems about Julian.”

Garak looks at the girl coolly. “Do you mean Dr. Bashir?”

She goes blue. “Oh, um. Yes. I do.” She tucks an imaginary lock of hair into her perfectly coiffed hair and lowers her head respectfully. “My apologies, Doctor.”

“Hey now,” the doctor scolds with good humor, “none of that. We’re all friends here.” 

The girl throws another searching glance Garak’s way. “Friends?”

That’s enough of that. “This is certainly quite the surprise,” Garak says genially, plastering on his most pleasant smile. “Is there something you needed? As Deep Space Nine’s resident Cardassian tailor and reputed troubadour, I’m always happy to be of service.” Julian sends him a sharp look, which he ignores. 

Jadzia is looking as foxy as she ever does, with a grin nearly to her spotted ears. “Julian asked me to bring them here,” she says too happily, and Garak has to sit back in his seat to process that. Julian scratches his neck with a guilty smile, obliviously alluring. It cannot be overstated that there are, still, eyes on them from all directions and angles.

“Garak, sir,” the Cardassian woman-child begins again, earnest, “let me start over. My name is Inia Milam. I am the President of the Ivory State Liberation Library. We collect–”

“Madam,” Garak interrupts her quietly, stunned. “This is hardly the time and place.” He blinks, still shocked stupid by her brazenness, and leans towards her, peering into her distressingly young features with beseeching desperation. “And I am hardly the audience.”

Milam doesn’t appear to process his warning at all, though. She just continues to look inquisitive. She has that gleam in her eyes that is common in Cardassian women, calculating and intelligent, but there’s something else there. Something indefinable that he’s seen hundreds of times over an interrogation table, but without the fear to staunch it. Without the hopelessness. It makes his stomach flip. “On the contrary, you are exactly the sort of person we look for.” She bows her head. “Dr. Bashir promised that if we assisted him a few days prior, he would introduce us so that I could formally welcome your book of poems into our shelves. I apologize if this comes as a surprise. I wish only to thank you for your excellent contribution, E. G., and tell you that we hope to welcome many more pieces from you in the future. I’ll be in touch. Dr. Bashir.” She nods to him, returns his gentle smile, and walks confidently away. The rest of the group mirror her, voicing similar words of polite farewell and appreciation, and leave.

Garak forces himself not to track their departure and instead picks up his fork again, as if nothing world-shattering has occurred at all. The cake is tasteless in his mouth.

Julian is concealing nothing of his thoughts, however. He’s staring openly at Garak, as if he’s a bomb and he’s trying to figure out which color wire to cut.

Ultimately, it’s Jadzia that breaks the tension. “Well,” she says, “that is some harem you’ve got there, Julian.”

“Jadzia,” Julian barks. She laughs.

“I’m teasing, I’m teasing.” Uncharacteristically, her impish smile turns regretful. “Now that that’s out of the way, I do have to bring your friend in for questioning,” she says, and that explains that. “I’m sorry, boys. I stalled Ben as long as I could.”

Garak polishes off the last of his meal and takes one last gulp of his tea to wash it down. With that done, he stands with a placid, conciliatory smile.

Julian puts a hand on his shoulder before he can take a step. “I’ll come see you after my shift.” Those lovely, dark, deep eyes search his, pinning him like a moth above his fireplace. “Okay?”

Garak inhales. “Without end,” he murmurs, waits for Julian’s eyes to light in understanding, and then aloud says, “I am at your disposal, Doctor. Good day.” With that and a firm, friendly pat on Julian’s hand, he limps away.

Jadzia rather pointedly watches him limp to the exit for a few long seconds before throwing Julian a rakish grin. “Well, well,” she says largely. Julian pretends not to notice, and Jadzia pivots on her heel after Garak.

“Before we lock you up and throw away the key, could you sign my datarod,” Julian hears Jadzia asking, and he shakes his head, unsuccessfully trying to rub away his smile.

Without end Do I think of you and so Come to me at night. For on the path of dreams at least, There's no one to disapprove! Ono no Komachi

#my posts #garashir #I wanted to post this on April 1st but LONG SIGH it didn't work out #at least it's still april. pranking people on the 1st is so predictable anyway #not a fic #credits to ono no komachi cynthia cruz and pablo neruda #really weird how tumblr just lets you publish blank posts like this one #this entirely blank post with nothing in it at all #very strange

[starberry-cupcake]

I've been reading, but didn't have time to sit down and do this, so you're getting a bit of a mess in this one, sorry about that!

I want to clarify, before starting, that if I ask questions to the void in these posts, or if I wonder very loudly about something, I'm not really looking for answers immediately nor am I doubting that things will be explained later, I promise I trust the process. If something's going to be explained, somewhere in the books, I'll get there eventually, I promise I will. You have probably noticed by now but, if you give me a hint, I'm gonna grab onto it for dear life, so better not give me anything at all. Just leave me here to die, I beg you.

previously, in harrowberry the ninth:

this happened

currently, chapters 17-19:

I'm gonna start by the end, actually

which maybe is fitting for this book

but I'll start by the end because I have a new theory and I feel this one in my bones

(pun intended)

I might be totally off but I'm gonna say it anyway because I'm excited about this one

so much so that you'll get no memes while I explain it

it's about G and P

yes, I know, I'm fixated with that, but hear me out

I think Lyctortus isn't actually called Ortus

I think his name is Gideon

let me explain

at the end of chapter 19 (I'll get there, but I need this off my chest, I really do) harrow asks mercygirl why ortus the first wants her dead

to which mercygirl distractedly answers "who?"

that's the last thing I read so far, but it got my wheels turning so fast I came running to write it down

I thought "wait, what if, just like ortus is replacing gideon in the gideon-less re-telling, the name is also a replacement?"

so I went to the character list and lyctortus's cavalier was called pyrrha

so what if they're G and P

Gideon and Pyrrha the Second

and what if the Gideon in the paper was this guy

so this is not a case of Ortus 1 and 2 but of Gideon 1 and 2

not!dulcinea told our gideon "you're very brave—a bit like another Gideon I used to know. But you're prettier in the eyes"

which is, all things considered, actually funny, because it's a reversal of what mercygirl was saying, that yandere twin and harrow aren't as pretty as their predecessors

I'm gonna risk looking like a fool later and calling this now because I really feel this one

again, let me clarify, I'm not asking you to tell me whether I'm right or wrong or anything at all, I'm just placing my bets with myself

and I know starting by the end isn't really the best way to go about a recap, but I think I'm on to something

MOVING BACK, to chapter 17

harrow starts looking into mercygirl for her new and probably not improved diary, because she knows less things now

augustine the saint of annoyance tells harrow that mercygirl and him are the oldest lyctors in the band and that it took generations for these space planet destroyers to assemble

emperor john silver tells harrow that his stupid nicknames that don't fit were meant to represent the cavaliers and not the necros

of course augustine's brother was patient, he had to put up with augustine

mercygirl is also a body expert

an anatomist, if you will

which will come in handy later/earlier (later in the reading order, earlier in the timeline order)

augustine says that he didn't bother learning that because the only use for it would be to kill lyctors

tbh it'd come in handy right now that I want to kill him, but I digress

here, harrow again mentions that ortus the first (also known as lyctortus, also known as allegedly gideon the first, also known as I'm super super sure of this you guys) wants her dead

CHAPTER 18

we're back on canaan house in the gideon-less version

these are the chapters I'm having the most fun with, which wasn't what I expected

I don't know why, I really like this whole re-written mystery thing

the slasher film vibes have doubled this time

I keep drawing parallels and enjoying my time with these old and new friends

and, talking about old and new friends, judith is dead

remember judith? remember how she died?

it wasn't like this

in this gideon-less version, instead of becoming besties with the sixth, harrow and ortus have become besties with the fifth

because 1) the fifth didn't die and 2) the fifth is in a polycule with ortus

with gideon there, they befriended the sixth because gideon saw camilla fight 5 seconds and was like "she's friend shaped :)"

so, the fifth and the ninth are taking care of judith's corpse

she was shot repeatedly with a carbine rifle

harrow says "it would have been like being set upon by a ghost out of time"

gonna put that in the 3d model

martita is outside and she's the only pseudo witness to this situation

the gideon-less version of the deaths so far is being handled like this

martita says to harrowbean "why am I here?"

she explains that they were doing the two door test thingy and, while she was in the other room, judith was shot

now, here's the thing

I thought the Sleeper that had been mentioned was the construct thing but no, it's not

it's a new thing

I'm picturing sorta this

it very well could be a person though

it's person shaped

huh

it's in a coffin where it sleeps unless it's woken up, but they don't know how it wakes up, because martita went to town kicking and punching the coffin after judith was obliterated and nothing happened

and what keeps it contained, snow white style, isn't plex glass, plex or glass

ortus proceeds to say a eulogy

martita says "Is this really how it happens?" like we've been hearing all this time

harrowbean tries to make her feel better by telling her that, at least judith died quickly

mmm...about that

martita says "No. That's not...Don't know why I thought...No."

martita doesn't know judith died slowly and painfully and wrong about everything btw, she died first, it memory serves

but still, savage

harrow regrets not telling ortus to take the pledge of silence and says "but only a very obedient idiot of a cavalier would have stuck to that"

she's your obedient idiot, though, harrow

so, the rundown is this:

the sleeper can move

the sleeper can pass necromantic wards

the sleeper shouldn't be waken

people don't know what wakes it

it has a rifle

the sleeper is lying on top of sword that's a two-hander

me, having breakfast while reading this

I didn't mention this but

harrow and abby say that judith was killed by a deadly shot and then was subsequently used for target practice and left like a colander without any reason for it

judith disrespected camilla, so

that's what you get, bitch

CHAPTER 19

we travel in time, but in the timeline of the emperor's bolthole

because WHY NOT, AT THIS POINT

we're keeping track anyway *picks back up the timeline I keep discarding and re-using*

this one is 10 months before the emperor johnny boy is ended, so this is before what we've been reading

we are told the following essential info:

harrow has written a letter for yandere twin in case of harrow's death that says: "Get what joy you can from my corpse, you devious bitch"

filed under potential resignation letter drafts

apparently a lyctor can live without food but not without water

so harrowcita is getting herself a sopita

and then lyctortus also known as I'm sure he's gideon the first stabs her

this tiny baby kitten with her sopita

man has no heart

no decency

no decorum

not his real name, according to me

mercygirl helps harrow with a lot of skill (those anatomy skills we talked about) but not much empathy

she tells alleged gideon who goes by ortus, when he says "I do things face-to-face" that "that is what got you into trouble nineteen years ago"

HELLO TIMELINE

nineteen years ago takes us back to the whole leader of the BOE going missing and gideon's mom drifting into space and the person sent with the eggs and all that

well, the eggs thing isn't directly related yet but I'm relating it

especially since there were lies involved and somebody sent to placate another somebody

DUDE CAN YOU IMAGINE

IF HE WAS INVOLVED WITH GIDEON'S MOM IN SOME WAY

AND OUR GIDEON IS NAMED AFTER THIS GIDEON????

LIKE ON PURPOSE????

HELLO?????????

AGAIN, NOBODY TELL ME, I'M ASKING AT THE VOID

YOU'RE GONNA HAVE TO LIVE WITH THE IMPULSE OF TELLING ME BUT DON'T DO IT

I'm making up telenovela theories about how this gideon could be involved into our gideon's mom business and our gideon being named after him

and gideon's superpowers of being hercules having something to do with all this

I need to stop before I say too much and then feel embarrassed at my theories

ALSO

gideon ortus wants harrow's sword

harrowbean doesn't want to give it to him

it is at this point when mercygirl says "who?" at harrow's question about "ortus", so we end how we begun, because today it's that kind of day

also, another day without her coming home

I may be late but boy do I have theories. And yeah, nobody tell me any spoilers, please. Let me make a fool of myself.

#luly reacts to tlt #harrow the ninth #harrow the ninth spoilers #tlt spoilers #the locked tomb #long post #gif cw

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

Request: Velvet, Eleanor, and Magilou with a shy S/O who is trying to hide the hickeys their girl friend gave them.

(Tales of Berseria) Velvet, Eleanor, and Magilou's S/O trying to hide their hickeys

Gotta say for all three of them, ow.

Velvet's S/O struggles to look at her directly, one hand gently rubbing their neck.

Velvet has a smug grin as she crosses her arms.

(Velvet) "I think that looks good on you, personally."

(S/O) "I-It's really obvious where they are!"

(Velvet) "I'm pretty sure that's the whole point of a hickey. Besides showing you're mine anyway-"

Honestly, she doesn't really care what anyone thought about the marks. And seeing S/O get this flustered over them was pretty amusing.

But there was one problem with her carefree attitude about it.

(Laphicet) "S/O? What happened to your neck?"

(S/O) "O-Oh! Well, t-that's!-"

(Eizen) "Why are you that flustered about-...Oh."

Eizen sighs, making Eleanor walk over to the group and realize what happened.

(Eleanor) "Oh my-VELVET!"

She gives Eleanor a glance, raising an eyebrow.

(Velvet) "What?"

(Eleanor) "It's...just so indecent! Why did you-"

(Laphicet) "Did Velvet do something to S/O?"

(Eizen) "No boy, don't ask questions about it. You'll learn when you're older."

(Laphicet) "...Huh?"

S/O had their face buried in their hands, making Laphicet even more confused.

Eleanor crossed her arms and looked extremely disgusted.

(Eleanor) "I cannot believe you two would-"

(Velvet) "S/O, go wash those marks off your neck. And Laphicet, it was from bug bites."

(Laphicet) "What kind of bug would...?-"

(Eizen) "One you shouldn't ask about. Here, let's ask Rokurou about it, and leave the ladies at...this."

Eizen quickly rushed away Laphicet from S/O, Velvet, and Eleanor.

(S/O) "I want to die..."

(Eleanor) "Well...at least wear a scarf!"

(Velvet) sigh "Pride still intact, S/O?"

(S/O) "No..."

Eleanor may have...gotten carried away in the moment.

Truthfully, if she had hickeys on herself, she would absolutely panic.

So to see that she had caused very noticeable ones on S/O's neck and shoulders.

(Eleanor) "...Oh my-..."

Eleanor and S/O struggle to look each other in the eye, both blushing a scarlet red.

(Eleanor) "I am so sorry...L-Let me find you something to cover it up! Or at least some makeup!"

Despite her best efforts, it is extremely noticeable.

(Rokurou) "Hey, S/O? Think ya got something on your neck."

(S/O) "D-D-Do I?!"

(Rokurou) "Yeah, looks like bite ma-...Oh."

Velvet turns around to both Eleanor and S/O, noticing both their expressions.

(Velvet) "Should've just let that lie, Rokurou."

(Rokurou) "Yeeaaaah, didn't realize till it was too late. But hey, didn't think you had it in ya, Eleanor!"

Eleanor facepalmed and swore under her breath, making S/O stare at the ground even harder.

(Velvet) "It's becoming our business when we can hear you two clear as day."

(S/O & Eleanor) "WHAT?!"

(Rokurou) "They're already dead, Velvet. No need to drive the dagger further."

Magilou did that shit on purpose.

Sure, there were other ways of saying that S/O and Magilou were a couple.

But those ways are a lot less interesting and hot.

And Magilou bit hard.

(S/O) "M-Magilou, I'm covered in bites!"

(Magilou) "That you are. And?"

(S/O) "AND?! I CAN'T GO OUT LIKE THIS!"

(Magilou) "Sure ya can! Here, let's go show the others right now!"

(S/O) "N-NO NO NO! WAIT-"

Magilou does not help with S/O's flustered reactions at all, in fact she made it worse.

The first people to see them was Velvet and Eleanor.

(Eleanor) "Good morn-..."

Eleanor's voice was caught in her throat as her eyes widened, looking at S/O's neck.

(Velvet) "...I'm even more glad I had my room far away from you two."

(Magilou) "Come now, you should be rejoicing at the healthy love blossoming between your two companions!"

Both Eleanor and Velvet's glance turned to S/O, who was on the floor, arms in their knees, and face in hands.

Accompanied by a noise that either sounded like a whine of agony, muffled screaming, or a mixture of both.

Then, the two looked back to Magilou.

(Eleanor) "Ugh, too much information."

(Velvet) "Doubt she really cares about that."

(Magilou) "I don't!~"

#tales of berseria x reader #tales of berseria imagines #tales of berseria headcanons #velvet crowe x reader #eleanor hume x reader #magilou mayvin x reader #velvet crowe #eleanor hume #magilou mayvin

[smileysuh]

ghost house

🌙 starring. Lee Donghyuck x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. You stand up, going to inspect the out-of-place panties lying next to your hamper. When you bend down, you see a translucent sort of outline, and it’s not your own spunk marring the fabric. It’s undoubtedly ghost cum, which is the oddest thing to realize- and you’re pretty sure it’s fresh. Your skin tingles at the notion. Somewhere in this house, Hyuck is coming down from a recent orgasm that he’d clearly achieved by using your panties. You’re a witch, but this is sinful, even for you.

tw/cw. Voyeurism, unprotected sex with a ghost, Hyuck is a repressed perv, he’s not a virgin but he’s not experienced either, pantie sniffer Hyuck, Hyuck watching y/n masturbate using ghost powers, Hyuck using y/n’s panties to cum in, weird ghost cum, Hyuck is a switch but leans more submissive at parts, self asphyxiation/choking, y/n punishes Hyuck for being a naughty ghostie, making Hyuck watch her masturbate without touching himself, fingering, oral (f receiving), pussy drunk/addict hyuck, overstimulation, hair pulling, hyuck cums and y/n decides to keep riding him, hyuck likes to be choked, dirty talk, hyuck has a good boy kink, praise kink, degradation/humiliation, finger sucking, face riding, hair pulling, multiple orgasms, etc… I pet names: (hers) princess. (Haechan’s) ghostie, baby.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 8.3k

🍭 aus. ghost!hyuck, witch!reader, supernatural au, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. I've never written Hyuck this subby/switchy, but I think it worked, he still has his dom moments, but this man is a near virgin, little, repressed for 20 years ghost shit head who wants to be told he's a good boy, and I'm not even mad about it

Prologue:

“It’s a little unusual for prospective tenants to bring a pet along,” the shy man showing you the house murmurs, watching the way your cat follows you through the halls of the old building.

“Well, it’s important that Pluto likes it here,” you muse, casting your gaze down to your little dark shadow as he darts here and there, chasing orbs and specks of dust that illuminate in the rays of sun streaming through the murky windows. “How long has it been since you had a renter?”

“Too long,” Mark Lee sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “In all honesty, I’m sure you know the reputation this place has.”

“It’s the Ghost House,” you respond, turning to stare at the relative of a man who’d lost his life in this location twenty or so years ago. 

“My family hasn’t even tried to rent it out in recent years, but then you found me on Facebook and asked for a showing, I figured, what could it hurt?”

“I guess you don’t believe that this place is haunted?” you inquire, studying the tired, mundane man while Pluto curls around your feet.

“I haven’t spent enough time here to decide what I think,” Mark admits. “My family needs income, and if you’re willing to rent this place out, for half of what you could find anywhere else, we’d love for you to take it. Ghosts, or no ghosts.”

“I’m betting on the ghost aspect,” you tease, looking down at Pluto and following his gaze to a shadowy form at the end of the hall. “I’ll take it.”

One

You’ve been in your new Ghost House for over a month, and in that time, Hyuck has realized you’re no ordinary tenant.

It had started with the way your cat reacted to him, following him around, not scared in the slightest. And then, Hyuck had noticed the way you’d tracked your black cat Pluto with your own eyes, using the animal to try to focus in on Hyuck himself.

At first, he’d thought you were some sort of clairvoyant or wanna-be ghost hunter, but then, you’d pulled out a Grimoire and a cauldron and Hyuck had realized you were more along the lines of a witch. 

When you’d first moved in, Hyuck had relished the idea of haunting you out of the house, but now he finds himself to be the one that’s haunted.

He can’t get a moment's peace without your cat following him all over the place, and where your cat goes, you quickly follow. Hyuck has taken to going to the attic, where the door can’t be pushed open by a determined kitty. He fucking hates the attic.

He’s sitting amidst some cobwebs, contemplating how badly he’d fucked up in life to get to this situation, when the attic door creaks on its hinges.

Your head pops through the hole. Your gaze shifts around, and Hyuck could swear your irises look exceptionally feline-esque when they land on him. “Why are you hiding?”

You can’t actually be talking to him. You can’t actually be seeing him- it shouldn’t be possible, and yet, here it is, happening.

“Come now, Donghyuck, are you skulking?”

“Fuck off,” he mutters.

“Is that any way to speak to a witch who’s here to help you?” you laugh.

You’d definitely heard him, and the realization makes a cold shiver run up his spine. Hyuck stands up, approaching you. He waits for you to flinch or pull away, but you don’t, you simply watch him until he’s a few feet away.

“How are you seeing me right now?” he asks.

“I’ve been testing out spells with personal objects of yours that I’ve stumbled upon in the house, nothing works quite like a photo, I’ve found,” you explain. “It’s good to finally see you. I’d hoped to meet you properly within the first week, but it’s been a whole month now of us living together, which feels awfully rude of me.”

“What’s rude is your stupid cat following me around everywhere.” When Hyuck takes a peek down the attic entry manhole, he finds your feline friend at the foot of the ladder, looking up at him with inquisitive eyes.

“Pluto is just doing his job, he was raised to see spirits. The Roman God of the Dead is his namesake after all.”

“The Roman God of the Dead?” Hyuck’s nose scrunches up in distaste. He flunked grade twelve, not that Roman deities were on the learning agenda.

“Forget about it, would you like to come down and talk with me for a while? Now that I can see you and communicate, I think we should have a chat.” You study him carefully. “Although, I will note that until I find a better spell, I’ll only be able to see you like this until your photo stops burning, which could be ten minutes or twenty.”

The pathological demand avoidance in Hyuck makes him want to refuse you, but at the same time, he hasn’t spoken to anyone in over twenty years, not since that night when everything had gone so wrong- 

It helps that you’re a cute girl.

With a sigh, Hyuck agrees, following you down to the living room where he finds a makeshift alter, his picture in the center of it, its edges charred. The space smells like some sort of incense, Hyuck can’t pin it, and for the first time in twenty years, Hyuck actually feels something akin to fear.

As the Ghost of the House, Hyuck has always been the one with the power. He’s been the one who scared off the first few tenants with knocks late at night, phone calls in the early hours, and even wearing a sheet to scare off the children young enough to be susceptible to seeing him.

But in this situation, sitting on the nicest chair in the room, your cat lounging on your lap, Hyuck realizes that the power of a ghost is no match to that of a witch. You look like a Goddess, or a queen- energy radiating off of you now that you’re near your alter, and it makes Hyuck’s skin tingle.

“So?” Hyuck asks after sitting in uncomfortable silence for what felt like ages.

“So?” you echo, quirking a brow.

“Why are you here?” he clarifies with a huff of frustration. “Why are you trying so hard to communicate with me?”

“I’m mostly here because the rent is less than half of what I could get anywhere else, and it’s a whole house, so that felt like a no-brainer in this economy,” you laugh. “Although, seeing as you’ve been dead for over twenty years, I’m not going to give you a lesson on rent increase and the cost of living in this day and age. As a witch, I thought this would be a very interesting house to live in, and I’ve been trying to communicate with you, because the way I see it, you’re practically my roommate. We share this house, and I’d like for things to go smoothly.”

“Smoothly,” Hyuck lets out a laugh.

“If you’d rather I exhume your remains and send you to Hell, that can be arranged too.” 

Hyuck feels his throat go dry. 

“That’s what I thought,” you grin. “So what do you say, roommates?”

“Fine. But I’m tired of the attic.”

“You put yourself there,” you point out.

“Look, you be nice to me, I be nice to you,” Hyuck suggests. “Fair?”

“You’ve got yourself a deal, Ghost boy.”

Two 

Living with you actually isn’t so bad. Hyuck’s gotten used to Pluto following him around, but you generally keep to yourself, and he appreciates that trait.

Sure, you get up to witch mojo, and the house smells like all sorts of herbs and shit half the time, but Hyuck has taken to living mostly in the room that used to be his own. He prefers the south-facing space to the dark attic, and although life is boring most of the time, it’s still better than whatever afterlife Hyuck could expect as a man who accidentally took his own life at the ripe age of twenty-three.

Sometimes he likes to come see what you’re up to. He’s taken to watching you cook breakfast and dinner for yourself. You play music he’s never heard before, and the way you shake your hips always has his heart racing.

Pluto notifies you of his presence, but without an alter burning, he’s pretty sure you can only see his outline at best. You clearly don’t mind an audience, and Hyuck spends hours every week simply enjoying you.

It’s interesting to have a roommate that acknowledges him, a roommate that keeps the peace. But at the same time, part of Hyuck misses his old poltergeist ways.

You’ve reformed him. He’s a reformed ghost now, and Hyuck isn’t quite sure what to make of this peaceful living arrangement. It’s much more peaceful than things had been when he’d been alive.

He’d never had a girlfriend. Never had someone to create a sense of belonging, and somehow, he finds that much-needed peace with you. He wonders what life could have been like if he hadn’t taken those drugs that fateful night, if he hadn’t been so lonely that it hurt everywhere, if he hadn’t tried to dull the ache with pills.

“Come on, Donghyuck,” your voice draws him out of his pining thoughts, and you turn from the soup you’re making to stare in his general direction. “I can see your outline, dance with me. You always just stand there and stare, be a good Ghostie Boy, and shake your ass a little.”

Your words make Hyuck’s skin heat. He’s a ghost for Christ's sake, you can't go around objectifying him like this-

“Just a lil swivel,” you grin, showing him with your own hips.

Fuck. You’re hot. You’re so fucking hot, and Hyuck is tired of pretending you’re not. 

He begins to shimmy, and he’s rewarded by a melodic giggle that escapes you and fills the kitchen. “That’s it,” you encourage him. “I know you’re not used to this kind of music, but it’s fun!”

Hyuck has to admit that he’s been enjoying the crash course in new media you’ve been giving him. From music to movies to books he haphazardly reads over your shoulders- this new age is something else, and it’s full of uncensored raunchy sex that makes him hornier than he’d ever been when he was alive.

The music you’re listening to is full of explicit lyrics, lyrics about eating pussy, and a pretty girl riding a man’s face- it’s been driving him wild, and in the late night hours, when you’re peacefully asleep one room over, Hyuck hasn’t been able to help himself.

He’s been stroking himself to the thought of you lately. He’s wondered what you’d taste like, what your body would feel like under his hands- He wonders what faces you’d make, the sounds-

This life is a little bit of Heaven, but a little bit of Hell too. 

He can’t touch you, can’t taste you, can’t fuck you the way he’s been wanting to-

Leave it to him to fall in love with a sexy witch and add to his own torment. 

Three 

Hyuck can hear your whimpers through the wall. The sound makes his entire body tingle, and before he can stop himself, he’s shrugging his jeans down and wrapping his hand around his aching cock.

Your sex drive hasn’t been as… intense as his, in fact, he’s not sure if you’ve ever touched yourself since you moved in. Or maybe, you’ve just been quiet, it’s hard to tell.

When you’re in your room, Hyuck gives you privacy. Pluto would probably alert you to his presence if he ever did try to get a look at you naked, and Hyuck doesn’t want to risk your witchy wrath.

But tonight? Fuck, hearing your sounds makes him want to risk everything.

Going to Hell would be worth it for a look at your form.

The ghost shuffles closer to the wall, taking deep breaths as he strokes his aching cock. 

One peak won’t hurt, will it?

Hyuck doesn’t often walk through walls or make use of his ghostly powers, but it’s simple enough for him to push his head through the wall. He just goes as far as his face, keeping himself half-suspended in the barrier between rooms.

Your space is dark aside from a few candles burning, and it takes Hyuck a moment for his eyes to adjust. His gaze lands on you, tangled amidst your bedsheets.

You’re naked, head dipped back against the pillows, one hand between your thighs while the other pinches at your nipples.

Fuck, Hyuck almost busts then and there. He has to stop the motions on his cock, taking a deep breath to steady himself.

Pluto is nowhere to be seen, and with your eyes closed, the room mostly dark, Hyuck doubts you’d see his outline even if you did look directly at the one space along your wall that he’s watching from.

This is the perfect scenario for him, and he licks his lips as he watches the way you tease your clit, letting out soft whimpers.

You’re wet, Hyuck can see how wet you are, and it makes his mouth water with need. His cock throbs as he begins to slowly stroke it again, teasing his thumb along the tip.

The way you’re pinching at your nipples is making the ghost want to mark you up with his teeth. He wants to bury his face in your chest and lick you, sucking your perky-looking buds until you’re begging for him-

A movement of your other hand captures his attention, and Hyuck watches as you slide one finger into your core, releasing a moan that has his entire body shaking.

One digit quickly becomes two, and as you stroke your inner walls, the sound of your wet heat becomes audible to the fly on the wall, who pumps his shaft even harder. 

Your hips begin to wiggle against your own touch, and Hyuck wonders how good you’d look on top of him, writhing against his cock-

You release your breast in favor of playing with your clit, both hands now between your beautiful thighs. From the sounds escaping you, Hyuck thinks you’re close, and his entire body aches. He tries to slow himself down, he wants to match your speed, wants to reach that climax with you-

Something brushes by Hyuck’s leg and he jumps, tearing himself out of your room to look down at the cat who’s appeared by his foot. “Fuck, not now, Pluto,” he hisses.

Pluto purs in response, and with an exasperated sigh, Hyuck decides to ignore your cat. Fuck it, he needs to cum, and he needs to be watching you cum-

Pushing his face back into your room, Hyuck manages to catch you just in time to see your back arch. A soft gasp of contentment leaves your lips, your hands shaking as your orgasm rushes over you-

Hyuck can’t help himself, his own body simply reacts, his cock throbbing intensely as his own release hits him. He bites down on his lip, pumping his shaft with his eyes glued to your form.

You ride out your orgasms together, and yet, apart. 

You’re a scary witch, but you’re none the wiser about the ghost voyeur committing every one of your movements to memory. 

Finally, Hyuck can’t take the sensation anymore, and he stops, pulling his head out of your room. He’s no stranger to ghost cum, it’s this odd, translucent goo-

When he looks down after pulling up his pants, Hyuck realizes he’s sprayed the wall, and narrowly missed Pluto, but the cat is looking at his spunk as if he can see it-

Hyuck’s never had an animal in the house before. He knows that usually, his ghost jizz disappears after a while, but if the cat were to try to touch it-

“Pluto, no!” Hyuck whispers, trying to block the animal with his hands.

The cat has brushed by Hyuck before, so Hyuck’s pretty sure the cat won’t go through his hands-

Instead, Pluto tries to go around Hyuck’s hands, and the ghost’s heart lurches in his cold chest.

“Fuck, stop!” he says, voice getting louder. 

The cat meows obnoxiously, and Hyuck hears a sound in your room-

Hyuck doesn’t have time for this, he’s not about to get caught one room over after you’ve just orgasmed. The ghost does the only thing he can think of doing, he jumps down to the ground to hide behind the bed. 

Luckily, Pluto seems more interested in him than his ghost cum on the wall, and begins to follow. The bedroom door is pushed open, drawing Pluto’s attention from following Hyuck.

“Pluto?” you call. “What are you doing in here?”

Hyuck can feel his heart in his throat, and he cowers further under the bed, afraid that if you see any of his shadowy figure, you’ll exorcize him or something. 

There’s a few moments of tight tension, and then Pluto pads away from Hyuck to join you at the door.

“Silly kitty,” you coo, picking up your pet. “Let’s go make you some dinner.”

The door closes behind you and Hyuck lets out a deep breath.

That had been much too close for him.

Four 

It’s been about a week since Hyuck watched you finger fuck yourself to completion, and he’s doing his best to avoid you. He gets a half-chub every time he looks at you for Christ’s sake, and while part of him feels justified in his voyeurism - he is a ghost after all - another part of him feels dirty about it. 

Hyuck feels like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders every time you leave the house, and today, he watches you get into your car and drive off before he heads to your room. He’s been curious about a few things, but you hardly ever leave the property, so he hasn’t had the time and the balls to follow his wishes until now.

Your bedroom door is closed, and it’s as easy as stepping through it for Hyuck to invade your space.

He tries to calm himself, tries to take his time looking at items you’ve collected. There’s a stack of books that thrum with power, he stays away from them. Jewels and crystals litter a vanity table also covered in various perfume bottles, and Hyuck bends down to smell one, overcome by the scent of florals that always follows you through the house. Lastly, Hyuck goes over to the laundry hamper. 

The ghost is overjoyed by what greets him. Sitting on top of a pile of sweaters, is a lacy thong. Hyuck sinks to his knees, bending over the hamper and bringing his nose as close to the panties as possible. He takes a deep breath, eyes closing as the scent overwhelms him: this is so much better than florals.

Now he really feels dirty, but there’s something so freeing in it. He’s a dirty little ghostie, and Hyuck is beginning to revel in it. 

He’s been a spirit for so many years, and he’s gotten adept at poltergeist-type activity. Sure, he’s usually only ever used it to throw books around, or open cupboards, or… you know, wear bedsheets to scare the shit out of the kids who show up and trespass around Halloween, but… grabbing a pair of panties shouldn’t be that hard. 

With a shaky hand, Hyuck reaches into the hamper. He focuses his energy to his fingertips, and after a deep breath, when he touches your panties, he can feel the lace. Hyuck lifts the fabric out of the hamper, collapsing onto his knees next to it and shimmying his pants down.

Then, he wraps his panty-clad hand around his cock, throwing his head back to let out a sigh of relief. There’s something so sexy about jacking off using your underwear as friction- there’s a small, juicy spot along the fabric, and Hyuck’s majorly tempted to lick at it, but he feels like that’s a line he shouldn’t cross. 

Instead, he pumps his cock harder, letting out soft whimpers. Hyuck’s head lolls forward again, chin tucked down to his chest. His eyes open so he can stare at your cute panties as he strokes himself off with them, and the sight alone has his dick twitching. 

Hyuck grits his teeth, his abdominal muscles flexing with effort. He can’t help but rut toward his hand now, and each stroke of your lacey thong against his aching cock has him closer and closer-

There’s a sound downstairs, and it makes Hyuck’s heart leap in his chest. You’re home again already?

He tightens his grip on his length, determined to cum before he gets caught. He can’t stop now, not when he’s so close to a much-needed release- 

As the sound of you coming up the stairs limits his time more and more, the idea of getting caught actually adds to Hyuck’s pleasure. Before he knows what he’s doing, one of Hyuck’s hands is raising to his throat. He throws his head back, applying just a bit of pressure- it’s enough to have him grunting, the cord in his stomach snapping as his orgasm takes over.

Waves of pleasure wash through his entire body, his grip tightening on his throat and making it all the more intense. He can feel his spunk shooting onto your panties, which he holds over his tip as he pumps his aching cock, getting out every last drop-

He can hear you humming as you come down the hall, and in Hyuck’s post-orgasmic haze, he doesn’t have time to think. He simply drops your panties on the floor and stumbles to his feet, stepping through the wall just as your door opens.

He collapses again in the other room, pulling up his pants and trying to catch his breath.

Five 

It had been a quick run to get cat food for Pluto, and when you arrive back at your room, you hardly even notice that something is out of place. First, you open your blinds, peaking out at the evening setting sun. Then you go to sit on your bed to take off your socks, as you’re about to toss them to your hamper, you notice something on the floor.

It’s a pair of your lacy panties, and you’re a hundred percent sure they hadn’t been on the floor when you’d left.

With your bedroom door closed, Pluto couldn’t have gotten into your things, which leaves one culprit.

Hyuck.

You’ve suspected the ghost has had a growing crush on you for a while, after all, he is a man who’s been alone in this house for years, but this is your first real evidence of it.

You stand up, going to inspect the out-of-place panties lying next to your hamper. When you bend down, you see a translucent sort of outline, and it’s not your own spunk marring the fabric.

It’s undoubtedly ghost cum, which is the oddest thing to realize- and you’re pretty sure it’s fresh.

Your skin tingles at the notion. Somewhere in this house, Hyuck is coming down from a recent orgasm that he’d clearly achieved by using your panties.

You’re a witch, but this is sinful, even for you.

For a moment, you simply stare at your panties, and then, you decide to do something about it. Going to your Grimoire, you open to a page bookmarked by multiple photos. They’re pictures of Hyuck that you’d found in the attic. You’d saved them for a rainy day when you’d need to contact him with a full-body apparition again, and it looks like today is the day.

Grabbing the largest one, you take the photo and your Grimoire down to the alter in the living room. While you have an alter of sorts in your bedroom, the one powered by the direct sun on your table by the south-facing window is the most appropriate for something like this.

You make quick work of a spell to bind the ghost to the waking world, and with a last few sprinkles of spices and some dried herbs, you place the photo in the center, using a lighter along the bottom edge.

“Hyuck?” you call, turning toward the room. “Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

You hear someone whisper, “Fuck,” and you turn to see Hyuck scampering toward the staircase. 

“Are you seriously going to make me chase you?”

“Don’t exorcize me!” he screams, taking the stairs two at a time.

His words make you laugh. “I have a different type of exercise planned,” you retort, but it doesn’t do anything to slow him down. “Seriously, Hyuck, calm down!”

You make it to the second level, and you know where he’s snuck into. He may have closed the door quietly, but you’ve lived with the ghost long enough to know which room he’s staked a claim over.

Taking an amused breath, you knock gently. “Hyuck,” you sing-song, “I’m not mad. Just let me in.”

“You’re gonna exorcize me.”

You sigh again. “Hyuck, open this door, right now.”

You hate to use your dommy-mommy voice on him, but he’s trying your patience, and you only have as long as it takes for his photo to burn, which, due to your magic, probably gives you about half an hour, give or take.

“If you do not open this door, I will open it for you, and your punishment will be worse,” you warn him.

A moment later, the door creaks open ajar, and you push it the rest of the way.

“I’m sorry,” Hyuck tells you, standing there with his shoulders hunched.

“For what?” you enquire, leaning on the frame and crossing your arms over your chest.

“For running.”

“And?” you prompt.

“For uh…” you watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows thickly, bowing his head, “for uh… using your panties.” 

“Using them how?” You’re kind of enjoying watching him like this. He might have his own weird kinks, but this might just be one of your own.

“Well, you know…” his skin is turning pink.

“I don’t know. I want you to tell me what you did with them. Don’t leave out a single detail you bad ghost boy.”

Hyuck’s gaze lifts to meet yours, but he’s quick to look away again. “Well, I mean, I was just looking at them at first.”

“At first. And then what?”

“Well, I just wanted to touch them.”

“Liar,” you scoff. “I bet you wrapped them around your cock and jerked off with them, didn’t you?”

Hyuck’s ears have turned pink now, and when his hands go in front of his body, you realize he’s trying to hide a half-chub that’s growing in his pants.

The little freak is into this.

God, he’s endearing. 

“Admit it,” you instruct. “If you admit it, I’ll go easy on you.”

Hyuck takes a breath. “Yes, I used your panties to cum.”

You study the ghost.

“Good boy,” you say finally. His eyes lift to meet yours, his lips parting. “Come to my room.”

You don’t wait for him to respond, you simply turn and expect him to follow. When you get to your room, you collapse onto the bed. 

“Close the door,” you instruct next. “Be a good boy and light my candles for me too.” 

As he begins to follow through with your commands, you stretch, letting out a sigh from the feeling of your tight muscles. Then, you lift off your shirt, tossing it at Hyuck while his back is to you, his fingers fumbling with a lighter.

Hyuck freezes, then turns to look at you.

“Have you watched me before, dirty ghostie?” you ask, going to remove your pants next.

The way he swallows tells you everything you need to know.

“Well, you are a bad, naughty, dirty, little ghostie, aren’t you, Hyuck?” you grin, tossing your jeans at him.

Laying in your bra and panties, you watch him finish lighting your candles, then he comes to stand at the foot of the bed, clearly waiting on instruction. He’s trying to cover the front of his pants again, and it makes you laugh.

“Move your hands,” you tell him. “You know, honestly, I’m a little surprised at how easy it was for you to get hard again. You came, what? Ten minutes ago? Fifteen?”

He’s so bashful he can hardly answer, and it’s an adorable sight.

“Here are the rules,” you say, “I’m going to make myself cum. After that, I’ll let you make me cum. And if you can get through all of that teasing without touching yourself, if you can prove to me you’re a good ghostie who can follow instructions, I’ll fuck you. How does that sound?”

Hyuck’s gaze watches your hand slip between your thighs, your legs opening wider, and he unconsciously licks his lips. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay… mistress?”

You laugh at his attempt to please you. “I was looking for a thank you.”

“Right, yeah, thank you, I can follow instructions,” he fumbles to correct himself. 

“Then be a good boy and put your hands behind yourself. I don’t want you touching anything. Don’t want you covering anything either, got it?” Your words come out breathy as you begin to stroke your core through your panties. “I especially don’t want to see your hands all shaky, that’s just embarrassing, ghost boy.”

Why are you enjoying this so much? Why are you enjoying the degradation of a man who died over twenty years ago?

From Hyuck’s reactions it’s clear he’s never been spoken to like this. Sure, domination and submission were things back in the day, but there must be something about your specific 2020’s brand of degradation- 

Hyuck slots his hands behind his back, letting out a deep breath.

“Good boy,” you coo, pushing your panties to the side so you can touch your pussy directly. Teasing him like this has already made you extremely wet, and it’s easy for you to glide your digits up and down your soaked slit, drawing soft circles on your clit.

“Can you see from there, ghost boy?” you sigh, spreading your legs even wider.

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“I don’t like Mistress or Ma’am,” you admit.

“I’m sorry.”

If you got him to call you Goddess you’d risk hubris, so instead, you tell him, “Call me princess.”

You’d considered ‘Angel’ as a term of endearment, but with the deities you pay tribute to, even that had felt like a step too far. No, Princess works- You feel like a royal girlie who’s having fun with a servant boy, abusing the power you hold over him, for mutual benefit. 

“Okay, princess,” Hyuck breathes, and you can tell from his reaction that he enjoys the feeling of the word on his tongue. 

You like the sound of it coming from him too, and you throw your head back, getting more comfortable against the pillows. You tease one of your fingers into your wet hole, stroking your sensitive inner walls. 

Hyuck lets out a shaky gasp, and you grin to yourself, keeping your eyes closed so you can enjoy the sensation. Although that doesn’t stop you from saying in a sing-song voice, “You better not be touching yourself, ghost boy.”

“I’m not, princess, I promise.” 

“Good ghostie,” you coo slipping another finger into your pussy. You open your eyes to look at him. His gaze is fixed on your core, and he’s got his bottom lip pinned between his teeth. “Is it a nice view?”

“The best view in the whole world,” Hyuck breathes, almost panting.

“Should I make myself cum so you can finally touch me?” 

“Fuck, yes please, fuck, yes-” Hyuck’s eyes meet yours, and you see the desperation, it’s practically throbbing off of him in waves. “Please, princess, I wanna watch you cum.”

“You’re being such a good ghostie for me,” you muse, pulling your fingers from your core and holding them out for him, “Come here, have a taste.”

Hyuck falls onto his knees on the foot of your mattress, grabbing your hand with both of his and drawing your digits to his mouth. He sucks on them, his eyes fixed on yours as his tongue licks and strokes your skin, cleaning up every drop of your juices.

“Now back to your spot,” you prompt, pulling your hand away. “The moment I cum, you can join.”

You watch him swallow thickly, and while he doesn’t talk back, Hyuck is clearly reluctant to get back to his feet, standing at the edge of the bed and watching you.

His hands go behind his back, and when he’s in proper form, you slowly slip your panties down your legs. Then, you throw them directly at him. They land on his shoulder, and Hyuck turns to look at them, breathing deeply.

He’s rock hard in his pants now, and the sight turns you on as you bring both hands to your core. You begin to finger yourself while you rub tight circles on your clit, your toes curling at the sensation. 

“Hyuck,” you whimper, arching your back, building the pressure deep in the pit of your abdomen. 

“Princess-” he echoes, sounding even more desperate than you are.

You open your eyes, staring directly at Hyuck as you work yourself closer and closer-

“I’m gonna cum,” you tell him. “Fuck, I’m almost there, almost there, baby-”

Hyuck releases a moan at the new pet name, and you can see him twitching. He’s doing his best to follow your instruction about not moving until you’ve cum, but you can see it’s getting harder and harder-

You let out a gasp, your orgasm slamming into you, and that’s when Hyuck finally pounces.

He wastes no time jumping onto the bed, burying his face between your legs while his hands grab at the flesh of your thighs, fingers digging into your skin. His mouth devours your core as your orgasm surges through you, and each lick and suck has you crying out, muscles tensing as Hyuck intensifies your high.

Your fingers thread in his hair, and he groans when you tug on him, unrelenting in his task of eating you through your orgasm. The ghost is eating you like a man who’s been starved of pussy for twenty years, and you suppose that’s accurate, so can you really hold the whole pantie-sniffing thing against him?

You’re not sure how he does it, but one orgasm that you’d given yourself quickly becomes a second orgasm that Hyuck has coaxed out of you by sucking on your clit, and you gasp loudly as it slams into you, riding the tail end of the first high. 

“Fuck, I’m cumming-” you whimper, thighs tensing around Hyuck’s head-

He simply pushes them apart, tongue diving into your hole to stroke your walls as they spasm around him. Hyuck groans, and the feeling of the vibration on your clit has you whimpering even louder, your grip tightening in his hair. 

“Hyuck-” you moan, pushing at his head, “I’m done, that was two-”

“I want three,” he tells you, taking his mouth from your pussy so he can suck marks along your inner thighs. “Can I have three? I’ve been a good ghostie for you.”

“You can have three when you bury your cock inside of me,” you tell him with a laugh, your body still buzzing in the after-effects of two orgasms that had happened in quick succession.

“I want three now, and four when I’m fucking you stupid, princess.” 

Well, this is a switch-up. 

He’d been so subby before, but one taste of your pussy has him trying to be more dominant? Fuck it, you don’t even mind, the words that have just come out of his mouth are too hot to even handle, so you let out a small, whimpered, “Okay.” 

“Okay, what?” he prompts, teeth grazing your inner thigh.

“Make me cum one more time with your mouth before you fuck me.” 

Hyuck doesn’t waste any time swiping his tongue along your slit again. He flicks at your clit and your thighs shake around his head, your nails dragging softly against his scalp. 

Your hips begin to wiggle, and Hyuck looks up at you, holding out his tongue and staying still so you can grind against him. You toss your head back, closing your eyes as you ride his tongue, using him for your own pleasure.

Hyuck groans, tilting forward just enough for his nose to bump your clit, and your muscles clench at the stimulus. You’re sensitive after two orgasms, but fuck, Hyuck feels so good.

“I just want you to fuck me,” you confess, relaxing back against the bed again while Hyuck takes the cue to begin to lick your pussy. “Make me cum so you can fuck me.”

Hyuck practically growls in response, his lips suctioning around your clit. Your legs quiver around his head, thighs squishing in on him- this time, instead of pushing you away and spreading you open, Hyuck allows you to practically crush his skull, his fingers digging into your soft flesh.

“Hyuck-” you whimper, body beginning to shake as he focuses all his attention on your clit.

There’s no pushing the ghost away, no crushing his head with your thighs- he’s locked in on his target, and all you can do is take what he’s giving you. 

Your moans fill the space, your back arching as he sucks your clit closer and closer to another high-

Then, out of the blue, one of his hands snakes up to your throat. Hyuck adjusts so he can squeeze your neck, his tongue flicking at your clit, his breath hot against your skin-

The pressure on your throat makes your entire body freeze for a moment, mind short-circuiting- and when you’re able to think again, all you can think about is the pulsing between your thighs as your orgasm crashes into you like a bullet train.

You whimper, the sound obstructed in part by the hand still gripping your throat. Your own hands fly to Hyuck’s wrist, encouraging him to apply even more pressure as you begin to thrash under his touch. Your hips are bucking toward his face, your pussy throbbing like it’s never throbbed before- and there’s not even anything filling you.

Your clit feels amazing, but your poor inner walls have been neglected, you’re aching for something to throb around, aching for an intrusion in your sinfully wet hole-

“Hyuck, please,” you gasp, letting out a shuddery breath when he pulls his mouth from your core, looking up at you. “I need-”

He squeezes your throat tighter, cutting off your words. Then he begins to kiss up your body, finally making it to your lips. He stops just a millimeter away, looking down at you as he releases your neck. It’s as if - even after all of this - he’s asking for permission.

You throw your arms around the back of his throat, tugging him the final distance to your mouth. His tongue clashes against your own, and you can taste your pussy there. Your core throbs, and Hyuck begins to grind down against you, rolling his hips expertly.

“Fuck,” you groan, breaking the kiss so you can shove your hands between your bodies, pushing at his pants. 

Hyuck, meanwhile, begins to mark up your neck in love bites, his fingers slipping under your back so he can unclasp your bra and tear it off.

You’re naked for him now, and you make quick work of his pants, briefs, and shirt. You’re caught in a whirlwind of need, kisses, and touches. Finally, he’s slotting himself between your thighs again. This time, when he grinds against you, his bare cock glides past your clit, and your legs shake, your fingers clawing at him.

“Do it,” you encourage him, gasping as he kisses your throat. One of your hands snakes into his hair, massaging his scalp. “Fuck me.” 

Hyuck reaches between your bodies, grabbing the base of his cock. He begins to tease his head along your pussy lips and you both groan at the feeling. “Princess-” he moans.

“It’s okay,” you assure him. “I’m ready, I can take it. You’ve been such a good ghostie being patient for me and making me cum- it’s your turn. Use me, baby, fill me up.” 

He’s panting against your neck, and he pulls back to look down at you. You can tell there’s hesitancy, but a need too, and when you grab the nape of his neck to draw his lips to yours, you feel his body immediately relax.

He presses the tip of his cock to your tight hole, and as he kisses you, he begins to push into your pussy.

You groan at the feeling of him. For an average-sized man, his cock is no laughing matter. He’s thick, stretching out your inner walls with each inch that sinks into you. 

Your thighs quake around his hips, and Hyuck licks at your tongue, moaning and kissing you until his front is flush with your own.

Only then does he break the kiss, rubbing his forehead against yours. “Princess-”

“I know, baby, it feels good for me too,” you assure him.

He grabs at the pillow next to your head, squeezing it roughly while letting out a shuddery breath.

Your pussy is still throbbing, trying to accommodate his large size, and when he buries his face against your throat, beginning to thrust, your entire body lights up with pleasurable energy.

“Fuck,” you groan, closing your eyes and stroking his shoulders, “Just like that.”

He picks up his pace, fucking you harder and harder until your bed begins to rock against the wall with each rough motion from his hips. 

Hyuck continues his barrage on your throat, licking your sweet spot while you mewl into his ear, holding him tight. One of his hands sneaks up between your bodies, grabbing at your breast. He pinches your nipple between his fingers, rolling it and panting against your skin.

“Hyuck-” you whimper, pussy throbbing around him, earning a deep groan.

“I don’t know if I can hold it,” he admits, pulling away to look down at you with beautiful chocolate eyes.

“Then don’t hold it,” you tell him. “Just don’t assume we’re done when you’re done.”

His gaze darkens, his plump lips parting in a silent question. Instead of saying anything else, you draw him in for a kiss, wrapping your legs tight around his hips. 

The hand that had been on your breast finds your free hand, fingers lacing as he presses you down into the mattress, fucking you even harder.

Each thrust has him hitting perfect spots, and the way he’s rolling your hips adds stimulus to your clit, which throbs with sensitivity.

The throaty moans escaping him are driving you mental, and the way his tongue strokes your own has you dizzy with lust.

Your other hand tangles in his pretty hair, tugging gently, dragging his mouth away from yours so you can begin to speckle his throat with kisses.

Hyuck lets out an absolutely sinful moan, and you realize he’s very sensitive in this area. It makes you want to make it even more, so you begin to suck small purple marks into his flesh while he shakes above you, bicep muscles flinching with effort.

“Keep fucking me,” you remind him. “Want you to cum.” 

Hyuck squeezes your hand, his pace picking up again.

“That’s it, ghost boy,” you coo, licking his throat. “Cum for your princess.”

He lets out a strangled gasp, thrusts faltering. A moment later you can feel his cum filling you up, and it makes you moan, your core throbbing with desperation. You need one more high, and you’re sure he’ll help you get it.

Hyuck rides out his orgasm, and then he collapses on top of you, his lips seeking out your own.

You allow him to kiss you for a while, cock still buried deep inside of you. Then, you begin to stroke his body again, making him shiver.

“Can you roll onto your back for me, ghost boy?” you prompt, looking up into his eyes.

Hyuck is quick to comply, and you can tell from the way his lips part, that he’s not expecting you to mount him as soon as he’s on his back. You put his cock back inside of you before any cum can drip out, and you sit there, staring down at him with your hands on his chest.

“Your recharge time is pretty good, isn’t it, ghost boy?” you tease, gently rolling your hips while he whines, grabbing your thighs from the sensitivity. “I bet I could just kiss you for a few minutes, and you’d be rock hard again in no time.”

“Princess-”

“You want to please me, don’t you, baby?” You trail a finger down his chest, teasing your nails across his abdomen and watching the muscles jump there under your touch.

“Yes,” he admits. 

“And I think we both deserve to cum one more time, don’t you?”

He nods again. 

You lean over him, pretending you’re about to kiss him, as his eyes flutter shut, lips parting in anticipation- you push his face to the side, attacking his neck instead.

“Fuck,” Hyuck groans, grabbing at your hips, squeezing you.

“Such a sensitive neck,” you muse, lips moving to his ear where you lick the shell, enjoying the way he shudders. “I wonder if I just…” you slip one hand up his chest, and Hyuck immediately arches his head, giving you full access to wrap your fingers around his throat. “That’s what I thought.”

Hyuck whimpers below you, hips pushing up, looking for friction-

“Did that make you hard, ghostie?” you laugh, sitting up and looking down at him. “Just a little choking and you’re already good to go again?”

This poor man has been repressed- you’re happy you’re the one who gets to free him. 

You begin to slowly move your hips, and Hyuck lets out a desperate moan, arching his head back even more. You tighten your grip on his throat and he responds by digging his fingers into your hips, urging you to ride him faster.

He looks so good like this.

Then, one of his hands moves, his thumb finding your clit. Your core throbs around him and you both moan loudly. Hyuck opens his eyes, looking up at you. 

“You’re being so good for me,” you tell him, rutting faster on his cock. “Make your princess cum.”

He rubs your clit harder, beginning to buck up to meet you while you ride him. 

Then, Hyuck pushes your hand from his neck, sitting up so he can latch his mouth onto your breast. He holds you close, wrapping his arms around your lower back and moving you on his cock. His teeth skim your nipple and you cry out, threading your hands in his hair and moaning in his ear.

He groans in response. This new angle has your clit rubbing against him, and you ride yourself to an intense completion, your head thrown back when your orgasm rushes over you.

As you cum, Hyuck flips you onto your back, taking over and thrusting into you with newfound energy. Your pussy throbs around him as he fucks you stupid, and when he buries his face against your throat, marking your skin, he cums too.

You can feel him shoot a second load deep inside of you, coating your walls to the point of nearly being too full, but part of you kind of loves it.

You hold him as he fucks you through your highs, listening to his panting and whining.

Finally, he stops, all but collapsing on top of you, lips feverish against your skin.

You pet his hair, trying to catch your breath. 

You’re cognizant of the fact that you don’t have all the time in the world for aftercare, and you’d rather talk with Hyuck now than address a shadow.

“Ghostie?” you whisper.

He releases a grunt. 

“We don’t have much time left,” you say sadly.

He pulls away from your throat, looking down at you. 

“Listen,” you cup his face, “being interested in a ghost the way I’m interested in you has never been something I saw for myself in this life,” you admit. “But, I am interested in you. I only have so many pictures of you that I can use to make you physical like this, but I’m going to find something to make this longer lasting, I promise. Until I do… I’m okay with you sniffing my panties, or watching me masturbate, or anything you want-”

Hyuck cracks a smile at your words, and you find yourself giggling as well.

“So you’re not going to exorcize me?” he jokes.

“Never ever,” you promise.

“You’re going to find a way for us to be together,” the ghost says softly.

“If anyone could find a way, it’s a witch like me,” you assure him, leaning up to press your lips against his.

He kisses you gently, and you get lost in it.

You’re not sure how long you stay lip-locked, but after a while, the feeling of his lips disappears. You open your eyes to find yourself alone, well- you can still see a shadow of him, but his warmth is gone, and the sensation of his kisses too.

You sigh. “I’ll find a way, ghostie,” you promise.

You’d like to think he responded, maybe with a word of encouragement, but there’s no way to know for sure.

Rolling onto your side, you imagine him behind you, close but unable to physically touch.

Leave to a witch to fall in love with a ghost.

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! writing this style of Hyuck was way too satisfying

🍭 support me by. sending a tip here or here - or become a patron to access monthly bonus content and extensions for fics like this one :) find the Patreon teaser below! 

🔮 preview.  Hyuck kisses you, grabbing your face as he does so. You can taste something unsaid on his tongue, but you do your best to ignore it as he pulls you from the sink, turning you around until your bum hits the island table. He lifts you up, setting you onto the old wood, then, he sinks to his knees. You’re wearing a dress, Hyuck loves dresses, they make it easy for him to have access to your pussy. He’s downright kitty obsessed these days, lifting up your skirt just enough to get under it. His lips make contact with your panty clad core and you let out a sigh of relief, leaning back on your palms and letting your head fall backward.

cw/ tw. Dominant leaning switchy Hyuck, unprotected ghost sex, kitchen sex, sex on a table, pussy eating, fingering, pussy obsessed Hyuck, slight ghost angst, hair pulling, choking, praise, dirty talk, kitchen quickie, multiple reader orgasms, mentions of dark magic/bones, panties as a gag, finger sucking, sex while wearing a dress,  etc…   I petnames. (hers) princess (his)  baby

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.2k I teaser wc. 250

🌙 staring. Hyuck x afab!reader

bonus

The answer to your ghost conjuration problem had been shockingly simple. If burning a picture could draw Hyuck to your existence for as long as it was alight, you realized that burning one of his bones would last substantially longer.

Most crematoriums burn bones at 1000 degrees Celsius for two or three hours. At a much lower temperature, using a Bunsen burner set to 300 degrees, you could burn one small fragment for a lot longer. 

The worst part was going to the graveyard across town, with no one but Pluto as company, under the light of the moon in the dead of night to exhume Hyuck’s body. It’s been so long since his death that you weren’t worried about finding anything other than bones in the casket, and with a spell, you didn’t even have to put in the effort to dig- but something about uncovering Hyuck’s supposed ‘final resting place’ just hadn’t sat right with you.

You’d been aware, as you had driven home with a bag full of bones, that you were teetering on the side of a darker shade of magic. But for love, you decided not to care.

The first night you’d lit up a small bone, Hyuck had appeared right behind you, and the two of you had fucked on the floor right next to the altar. 

It’s been three or four months since you began to burn Hyuck’s bones, and your lust for each other hasn’t diminished.

He’s insatiable, and you are too.

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[yesimwriting]

I love ur felix fics sm!! ur one of my fave writers on here<<333 and no I don’t think itd b crazy to write for Nate!! I’d love to see how u would write him!! (Maybe grumpy x sunshine hehe)

hi!! this is such a nice ask :)) i'm so happy you like my felix fics

omg i love ur train of thought for a nate fic!! i've been thinking about that kind of dynamic for them, but in a really niche way

anyways let's have some thoughts on nate jacobs and sunshine/kind of sheltered reader!!

----

thinking about the moment in which you find out nate jacobs is your assigned partner for a project that's worth 35% of your final grade. if this was happening to you a year ago, maybe even two or three months ago, you might have been nervous for an entirely different reason.

but you're not that version of yourself anymore. you go out to parties now; you wear shirts to school that your mom buys for you the same way she used to buy you impulse barbies, with a wink as the cashier scans them, making you promise that you won't show dad what you got at the store; you're friends with maddy and cassie...you're on your way to best friends with maddy and cassie.

so you can't dismiss the gossip and the stares nate gets in the halls as a standard part of high school, not the way you used to. you can't just see him across the hall at his locker and mentally acknowledge that you get why girls talk about him the way they do. you can't just get paired up with him for an extremely long assignment and think oh, at least he's cute.

every story maddy's ever mentioned during sleepovers, everything she's teared up about after one too many drinks hits you at full force when your teacher reads your name and then his off of her list.

would she see this as a betrayal? it's not like you picked him and asking for a new partner is out of the question, a fact your teacher made clear at the beginning of the year. but maddy's loyal...fiercely loyal, and she expects that kind of commitment to be symbiotic.

you don't move, can't move until jules leans towards you, so close her hair spills onto your desk. "no fucking way." she whispers it in a way that'd make you laugh if this was about someone else.

you're silent, eyes finally pulling away from a brightly colored poster explaining the roles of each branch of the US government. you turn your head enough to look at where nate sits, the back of the room with a few other football players.

he's already looking at you. and when nate realizes you're finally staring back, he has the audacity to let the corner of his mouth pull into a smug sort of smile you're sure another version of you would have considered swoon worthy.

you're all instructed to use the last few minutes of class time to talk to your new partners, to make some kind of preliminary plan. nate's standing up and you're still recovering from the whiplash.

helplessly, you look over at jules who's clearly trying to get to the other side of the room before nate can get to you. she mouths a "sorry" that feels genuine, and points at the girl she's supposed to work with in a way that feels like over kill. you roll your eyes, picking up your pen and pressing the pad of thumb against its side to have something to do.

nate's in front of you before you know it. he's so tall it's a little intimidating when he's right there, especially with you still sitting. "you're everywhere now." a reference to the fact that you were both at the same party last weekend. you can still hear maddy's slurred i can't believe he's fucking here, before she dragged you out to the house's patio.

he's probably seen you more places. you're around maddy pretty regularly these days and from what you've heard, you wouldn't put stalking above him. he's probably a stalker in the way guys from the news are stalkers, calm and untouchable until they feel like the girl they're watching is moving on. then they snap and some news anchor reports that there were warning signs for months beforehand.

you're partially aware of your potential exaggerations, but you can't bring yourself to care. you've never really interacted with nate, but you want to hate him as more than the monster you hear about when maddy feels like ranting. you want to viscerally hate him. it's such an instinctual tug that you can't pretend it's all about morality. you're craving innate repulsion the way an elementary school girl wants the other half of a magnetic necklace with the word "best" etched into cheap metal. it's kind of pathetic, but then again...

"not last year, or last semester--"

he's baiting you and you're completely aware and you still can't help yourself. "what? it's illegal to make new friends now?"

your tone surprises you more than the fact that you interrupted him. you've never been overly shy, but you've also never been much of a fighter on your own behalf. maybe this is like the parties and barbie-style-bought-shirts, just another facet of the improved you.

nate seems surprised too, only he wears it like there's something funny about it. "no, you've always been friendly."

he says it like there's a joke in there that'd make the football players a few rows back laugh. it digs at you more than it should. he gets under your skin in a way that bugs. maybe that means genuine hatred is on its way.

you look up at him, eyes as unimpressed as you can manage. "so," the word is definite, intentional. "the project..." you're glad for the excuse to turn your attention back to your notebook, "i don't know if you want to work out a time to--"

"i'm leaving in like five minutes." you're about to point out that class doesn't end for another when he explains, "football game." ugh. another thing you can decide to be annoyed about. your homework schedule is now going to revolve around high school football. "can i get your number?" the idea of existing in nate jacobs's phone feels so wrong you can't immediately reply. he picks up on your hesitation, because he tacks on the one phrase that could get you to do anything, "35% of our grade."

you nod once, expression as blank as you can manage as you write out your phone number on the corner of a page. You tear off the bottom corner and hand it to him. "don't save my number."

it's so rude, your jaw almost drops, "what?"

"you're going to see maddy before the project's over, right?"

the implication immediately makes your stomach knot. you're not--you can't not tell maddy. she won't like it, but she can't hold a random partnering against you. and--and it's worse if you don't tell her, because then it's like you're sneaking around with nate. and it's--it's all for school.

"i'm not going to lie to her for you." it's so ridiculous, you can't even hold eye contact. his silence adds a second loop to the knot in your stomach. "why would i lie?" your own genuineness sickens you, you're backtracking immediately. "and--and it's just a dumb school thing, so she probably won't care that much."

"and you're sure she's going to believe that?"

"yes," the word is firm because it has to be. "because that's what it is."

"she gets paranoid."

no, no--he's doing this to get into your head and cause problems. "if she's paranoid it's because you're crazy."

"fine." he shoves the scrap of paper into his pocket. "save my number, don't save my number. tell maddy, don't tell maddy."

you sigh. "why do you care?" they're broken up...even if maddy takes it the wrong way, the fall out will be a you problem.

"she's going to think i fucked you to hurt her." you hate this--the situation, the conversation, the fact that you can't completely dismiss his train of thought. "who's known maddy longer?"

you're about to try again, to defend your friendship with maddy and call him crazy again when the static of the intercom speakers interrupts you. all football players are being called out of class to leave for an away game. nate gives you one last look before turning towards the door.

when jules slips back into her seat and asks if you're okay with everything, you nod and attempt a joke about catching fuck boy germs, but it doesn't come out the way you want it to. she still laughs, so you do too, but that's not as natural as it should be, either.

----

lmk if you like this concept/want more of it!! i had fun writing this :))

#euphoria x reader #nate jacobs x reader #jacob elordi #jacob elordi x reader #nate jacobs

[crownofgildedlilies]

i would love a percy blurb w the horrible summer party prompt! maybe like he floods the house a lil so it causes a distraction and the two can get out lmaoo. thank u i love ur writing <3

that just screams Percy I'm obsessed

based on this post opening requests up for blurbs with certain prompts!

take me away!

pairing: percy jackson x greek demigod!reader

Really, if you thought about it, you could blame the horrendous party on Ares.

You weren't even sure which of his children had the brilliant idea to throw the party, a desperate attempt to win the favor of someone else at camp you couldn't remember the name of, but you figured Ares had caused enough strife in your life that it was completely fair to blame him.

At least, Percy agreed with you.

"If we leave now, they'll notice," You hummed, hand tugging on the hem of Percy's shirt to keep him close to you. Not that your boyfriend had any intentions of going far, at all, but he had already taken a step towards the cabin exit.

"How will they notice?" He countered, frowning down at you, and you couldn't help the grin on your lips as you pushed forward and kissed his chin quickly.

"Because you're Percy Jackson at an Ares party." You pinched his side. Just because you had forced Percy to try out the party with you, didn't mean it wasn't strange that he had willingly gone. "I think everyone is waiting for Clarisse to come fight you."

"All the more reason for us to leave," Percy emphasized his words with a gentle squeeze of his hands on your hips, and you only rolled your eyes. "Seriously, it's so lame here. They didn't even get anyone from Hermes to steal snacks from town!"

You couldn't help but agree. The music was dry, there were barely any refreshments, and the Ares cabin had an energy like at the start of a fight. Sometimes it was energizing, but now it only felt stifling.

"We can't just walk out. We need to think of an excuse—"

The words had barely passed your lips before Percy was grinning and a sudden round of screaming rose from the back of the cabin where the bathrooms were.

"What did you do?" You hissed with narrowed eyes at Percy, but he just winked and slipped his hand into yours, tugging you towards the exit while everyone else moved to find the source of the commotion.

You were pretty sure you heard someone shout something about broken pipes, but you and Percy were long gone, sprinting across camp with him leading until he came to a stop at the edge of the canoe lake.

"Percy!" You laughed, a little high on adrenaline, and he wrapped you in his arms as he caught his breath, chuckles vibrating in his own chest along with you. "Please tell me you didn't do what I think you just did."

"You said we needed an excuse!" He defended, pulling back slightly from the hug to grin in a way that definitely got him out of trouble more than it should have with you. "Broken toilets spraying water everywhere is a pretty good one. Besides, I gave everyone else at the party an excuse to leave, too."

"I could have just pretended to be sick!"

And maybe it was a little ridiculous to find his logic so endearing, but you held his face between your hands and kissed him soundly, the only sound being the gentle waves lapping against the shore and crickets in the trees.

His hands fell to your waist, warm and strong, pulling you flush against his front. He tasted like sea salt and the Diet Coke he'd drank at dinner, and you thought you could kiss him forever, but soon enough your giggles interrupted and you broke apart.

Percy was grinning at you, so wide you couldn't help but brush the pads of your thumbs against the corners of it. He was the first to speak, voice low and filled to the brim with admiration.

"Maybe I should break toilets more often."

"Just wait until Clarisse finds out it was you, Jackson."

#pjo #percy jackson #percy jackson x you #percy jackson x reader #Percy Jackson blurb #rays of sun #percy jackson fic

[pin-k-ink]

Kageyama Tobio X Reader

CW: teeny weeny age gap, mention of face-sitting (this is basically the whole plot), horny kags, highly suggestive themes

There were only a couple of things that could faze Kageyama Tobio, and he took great pride in that fact. With his blunt demeanor, lack of social graces, and complete disinterest in the opposite sex, he was far from your typical hormonal teenager.

But if anything could get under his skin and set his heart racing - aside from volleyball - it was you. His stoic upperclassman who had somehow gotten roped into being his tutor, much to your initial chagrin. Teaching Kageyama was an uphill battle, as it seemed almost impossible to get anything through his thick skull that wasn't related to his beloved sport.

And yet, as much as you may have resisted at first, you found yourself not minding the arrangement so much anymore. There was something undeniably cute about Kageyama's single-minded intensity. For you, the tutoring sessions had become routine, even a bit boring - but for him, they were anything but.

Unbeknownst to you, Kageyama's mind was in a constant state of chaos in your presence. He was hyper-aware of everything about you - the subtle scent of your perfume, the silky sheen of your hair, the creamy porcelain of your skin. And much as he tried to focus on derivatives and English verb tenses, he couldn't stop his imagination from wandering to the tantalizing way your uniform skirt swayed with your every movement...

"Kageyama? Are you listening to me?" Your voice cut through the haze of his thoughts. He blinked and shook his head, realizing he'd been staring blankly at the same page for the past five minutes.

"Sorry, what were you saying?" He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling his face heat up.

You sighed, tapping your pencil against the textbook. "I was explaining the quadratic formula. Again. Honestly, where is your head today?"

"Nowhere! I mean, uh, I'm paying attention. Promise." He ducked his head, hoping you couldn't see how flustered he was. This was getting ridiculous. He had to get a grip on himself before he did something monumentally stupid.

"Alright, if you say so..." You still looked skeptical, but thankfully let the matter drop. "Let's try a few practice problems then. I'll walk you through the first one."

Kageyama did his best to follow along, keeping his eyes firmly on the page and not on the alluring curve of your neck as you leaned over to point out the key steps. But each brush of your arm against his threatened to short-circuit his brain. It took every ounce of restraint not to inhale the sweet scent of your hair...

An hour later, you closed the textbook with a thud and started gathering up your things. "I think that's enough for today. You're actually making pretty good progress!"

"Huh? Oh, uh, thanks." He blinked, trying to reorient himself. "Will you sit on my face?"

"Yep, sounds good." You stood and stretched, your skirt riding up dangerously high on your thighs. You had taken exactly two steps before you finally realized what he’d just said.

"Wait, what?"

Kageyama felt his heart stop as your eyes met his, wide with shock. The words he'd been holding back for so long had finally slipped out, and now he was left to face the consequences. "Um, nothing! I mean, uh, you didn't hear anything, senpai," he stammered, his palms growing sweaty as he tried to backtrack.

You raised an eyebrow, your lips curling into a teasing smile that made his knees weak. "No, I'm pretty sure I heard you ask me to sit on your face," you replied, your voice laced with amusement.

"No, you definitely heard wrong." Kageyama gulped, feeling like his face was on fire. The heat crept up his neck and spread to the tips of his ears, making him wish he could disappear into the ground. "You must be losing your hearing in your old age," he added, trying to deflect with humor.

"Ha, ha. Very funny." You sat back down next to him, crossing your legs and leaning in closer. The scent of your perfume filled his nostrils, a tantalizing mix of vanilla and something uniquely you. "So why did you say that, Kageyama?"

He squirmed under your gaze, unsure what to say. His heart was pounding so loudly he was sure you could hear it, and his mouth felt like it was filled with cotton. "Because I, um..." he trailed off, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes?" you prompted, your eyes boring into his.

"I really like the way you look, senpai." Kageyama hung his head, cheeks burning with embarrassment. The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them, a confession he'd been holding back for months. "You're really pretty, and you smell nice, and you have a really cute ass-"

He clapped a hand over his mouth, mortified by what had just come out of it. What was he doing? You were going to think he was a complete creep now, a perverted underclassman who couldn't keep his thoughts to himself.

"Well, thank you, Kageyama. That's very flattering." To his surprise, you didn't sound angry or disgusted, merely amused. Your voice was warm and inviting, with a hint of something else he couldn't quite place.

"I didn't mean to be creepy!" he blurted out, desperate to explain himself. "It's just, um, you know, when I'm around you, I can't help but, uh, think about, um..."

"About?" you coaxed, your fingers brushing against his knee.

Kageyama took a deep breath, bracing himself for rejection. "I really want you to sit on my face, senpai," he confessed, his voice trembling slightly. "I want to taste you and make you feel good. I've liked you for so long, and I can't keep pretending that I don't have feelings for you."

The silence that followed his confession was deafening. Kageyama felt his stomach drop, sure he'd ruined everything. But then, you surprised him yet again by chuckling softly.

"Kageyama, look at me," you commanded, your voice gentle but firm.

Slowly, he raised his head, not daring to hope. His eyes met yours, and he was stunned to see the warmth and affection reflected in them.

You were smiling, your eyes sparkling with mischief. "I'm not mad," you assured him, brushing a strand of hair out of his face. Your touch sent shivers down his spine, and he leaned into it instinctively. "In fact, I'm flattered that you think so highly of me."

"You..you are?" Kageyama asked, his voice filled with wonder.

You nodded, biting your lip in a way that made his heart race. "So, do you really want me to sit on your face?"

"Yes!" He cringed at his own eagerness, worried that he was coming on too strong. "I mean, yes, please," he amended, trying to sound more casual.

"Good boy." You leaned in, your lips mere centimeters from his ear. Your breath was hot against his skin, and he suppressed a shiver of pleasure. "And maybe if you're really good, I’ll even return the favor."

Kageyama felt his mind short-circuit at the thought. Images of you on your knees, between his legs with your mouth stuffed-, filled his head, and he had to bite back a groan. "Oh god, please," he whispered, his voice hoarse with desire.

"That's what I like to hear." You smirked, standing up and tugging on his tie. The silk slid between your fingers, and Kageyama swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. "Now, come here and show me what else that tongue can do."

Kageyama followed after you, his pulse racing as he eagerly obeyed your command. He'd always known you were going to be the death of him, and now it seemed he was about to find out just how literal that statement was. As you led him out of the room, your hand firmly grasping his, he couldn't help but marvel at his luck.

He couldn't wait.

#haikyuu smut #haikyu x reader #haikyuu x reader smut #haikyuu x reader #kageyama tobio #kageyama x reader #haikyuu kageyama #haikyuu tobio #tobio x reader #kageyama smut #tobio smut #kageyama tobio smut #kageyama tobio x reader

[scribblestatic]

Because I like to make stuff up just from the most vague of associations, I recently talked about COTL and I'm writing an SVSSS fic on my other AO3 account, so now, we have Sheep Yuan.

Basically, Shen Yuan transmigrates and is gonna get put into Shen Qingqiu at an earlier time, but Shen Qingqiu's soul is a tenacious motherfucker, so it doesn't give up despite his qi deviation. Without a good vessel to put Shen Yuan's soul in, the system finds the nearest body that can accommodate him.

It ends up being in the body of a spirit sheep on Xin Ya (fan-made) Peak with all the rest of the beasties being studied and/or eaten (they do animal husbandry and farming, too).

Sheep Yuan doesn't quite remember his past life at first because yeah, the little lamb brain needs time to process human thought. Like, sheep are smart, but not quite able to compute to the same level as humans, so the sheep body's gonna have to adapt. So, he kinda follows through the usual sheep things after he manages to stand up, not realizing he'd been a stillborn lamb just a few moments ago.

He also doesn't immediately realize that his "mother" in this world died during childbirth until later because he was supposed to be a twin. But he and his twin got impacted and the spirit sheep couldn't handle it. All three had died, but somehow, he survived. So, now, he gets hand-fed. Despite the peak lord of Xin Ya telling the disciples not to name the animals or get too attached since they provide food for many of the peaks, one disciple does start calling him Shēng Huán (生还 = To Survive).

He's being raised and monitored on Xin Ya like other farmed spirit animals, and he's alright as long as he gets his food and has a nice place to sleep. Despite spirit sheep being herding creatures, he's not the most popular amongst his peers, so he tends to dwell around the humans more. But as he becomes more aware, he realizes that some of the lambs and sheep have gone missing, and because he's not only a sheep, he puts two-and-two together and realizes he's on the menu.

So, he starts trying to escape, despite the fact he's not even fully weaned off his milk yet. When he can't manage to escape, he tries acting cute so no one thinks about eating him just yet.

Also, as a spirit sheep with more intelligence, he figures out how to cultivate, which is something most spirit and demonic creatures figure out naturally. Since he was born a spirit sheep, he got a head start rather than a mortal cat or dog or something. So, he starts cultivating to try and acquire a human body to avoid getting eaten.

One day, he's finally put on the roster for slaughter because of a larger meat order (Dammit Bai Zhan!! Stop eating so much meat!!!). In his panic as he's led to the slaughter room, he uses qi and manages to escape, fleeing the mountain as quickly as possible.

The problem now, though, is that he's terribly lost and he's not sure he got away from Cang Qiong. In fact, he's almost certain he's still on the mountain somewhere because the qi is still quite dense! He has to escape before he's put on someone's plate!

What he doesn't realize is that he fled to Qing Jing Peak.

The grass there is tasty, so he gets a bit distracted while eating it. But then he hears a scuffle and, despite being a prey animal, goes to see what's going on. There, he sees a fluffy-haired boy getting beaten up by a bunch of older kids while a younger girl cries out beside him.

I'm sorry, human girl, but I'm sure this "A'Luo" whose name you're calling out would very much appreciate it if you did something other than that! Maybe throw a punch or a kick or something!

Anyway, he sees the boy get pretty beat up and watches as the group leaves, satisfied. The boy and girl talk, and he only kind of understands human language--he's still learning, okay? He's looking for some sort of jade guanyin? There's so much greenery around, how is this A'Luo supposed to find that?

But, well, 'Yuan,' as he calls himself (not sure why he insists on that...hmm) decides to help. With his superior animal senses + cultivation combo, he sees the guanyin hanging off a branch. He's not sure how to get it down, though...

Well, he has horns, so maybe he could knock it down!

Once the children head off, he starts knocking his head against the tree. And, yikes, it kinda hurts a bit, but good thing he's got a thick skull and nice curved horns growing in! So he smacks the tree until he manages to use qi through his horns and crack the trunk. The branches shake, and finally, the jade guanyin falls!

...Now, how is he supposed to get it to that A'Luo? And why does he even care that much? Sure, the kid looked so cute and sad, like a little bun, but he's a prey animal and those children are predators that could eat him!!

Still...just the thought of leaving the fluffy black sheep without the guanyin made his little heart hurt. Maybe he felt kinship toward that fluffy little boy.

Following the boy's scent as he trailed through the bamboo and forest, he found it strongest at a woodshed of all places. How strange...he must go there often. It's almost night time, so he likely wouldn't return. Anyway, he'd just leave the guanyin on the ground in front of the door and--

Luo Binghe returned to the woodshed with his unhealed bruises and ruddy eyes, having spent some more time searching for his guanyin. But he stopped, seeing a sheep on the mountain. Different animals went around the peaks as they pleased, but there definitely weren't any spirit sheep on the peak. So why was--

But his thoughts stopped when he saw the guanyin in the sheep's mouth.

Caught in the act, Yuan gives up and slowly approaches the boy, keeping his head low and legs ready in case he needed to run away. The boy felt...strong somehow, and it made him feel cautious.

Feeling too afraid to get too much closer, Yuan put the guanyin on the ground and backed up. Of course, the boy practically pounced on the jade, making Yuan stumble back and almost bolt. But he managed to wait, watching as the boy sobs profusely over the guanyin and thanking him.

Yuan stared at him for a bit, then his nerves get to be too much, and he fled. He needed to find his way off the mountain, after all.

#why am i like this... #eh it's at least fun #svsss au #svsss #shen yuan #luo binghe #static drabbles #errr...let's call this... #sheepzun au #au post 1