#he would definitely be the type to do that through poetry

[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

[shawnxstyles]

personal 3

DATE: JANUARY 8, 2023

summary: as you begin to build your confidence, you try to learn some things on your own to surprise harry. you know, just as a little thank you. meanwhile, harry finally starts to think your unspoken arrangement is a little too personal.

request: yes!!

words: 6k

warnings: SMUT (m-receiving [hand-job, oral], dirty talk), language, and loads of overthinking! (will probably have angst in the next part!)

note: PLEASE tell me how you guys feel about this!! comment/reblog/send me a message! PREVIOUS PART.

bestfriendrry x inexperienced!reader

—

It’s barely been a few days since you last saw Harry in person, and quite frankly, you’ve never noticed how much time has passed until now. Until your mind was constantly occupied with thoughts of his hands on your body and his sweet, cocky words in your ear. You wanted to be sick of it, wanted it to be done and through. But your brain just could not let go of his touch. You must have released too many hormones during all that touching because time has never felt so prolonged and stretched. You have gone weeks without seeing Harry before, and although you’ve missed him in the past, you’ve never connected every little thing to him. Certain words and objects somehow prime your memory directly to Harry. Even thinking of your doll collection back at home sends shivers down your spine. He has seriously ruined you, and you hate that you don’t hate it.

After the last time with Harry, you swore it was the last time. You didn’t say it out loud but in your head. You knew that if you explicitly told Harry that that was the last time that it would be the last time and he would never touch you again. No, not unless you asked, not unless you begged. Which he would enjoy too much. What you found out was that you don’t have enough self-discipline to tell yourself no. So, it only makes sense that you’re still agonizing over his touch and how rough yet soft his hands are.

God, why are you thinking of his hands right now?

Your laptop is resting on your legs, warming you up as you try to finish your mid-term paper. At first, your fingers were flying around your keyboard, typing your ass off to submit it. But now you’re barely halfway through and you can’t even comprehend the last sentence you wrote because you keep thinking about Harry. Somehow, you managed to connect some Shakespeare poetry analysis to Harry.

Come on, how does that even happen without conscious effort?

No matter how many times you want to call up Harry and simply ask him for another “lesson” you can’t. It just feels too selfish to you now. He may have willingly offered because he felt bad for you, but now, you feel bad for him because he has to teach you. Maybe if you guys had a set time for all this you would feel less guilty. A schedule, just like your lectures! Then it would be like a real class.

You would never skip.

But you do recall the last thought that you had when you were with him. Would it really be so bad to learn the giving side of sex? Isn’t that the main reason why Harry is teaching you? Firstly, he wants you to understand your own body, which you feel pretty confident with after his sweet praises and words. Oh, and you won’t forget how he made you stare at yourself (or really him) in a full-body length mirror the first time. Yeah, that definitely still gives you chills. And a newly-found level of self-esteem, which is why you feel confident enough in your decision.

You’re going to do a bit of research on your end of the deal. A deal that is unspoken, so therefore, has non-existent rules. You and Harry never specified if you could pleasure him, but you would be getting the experience you needed, so what is the harm? It is in the unspoken rules. So, you’re going to surprise him with what you’ve learned.

After you finish your paper, of course.

Ugh.

–

Watching a variety of porn videos was extremely weird because you were watching them for a different reason than what they are made for.

Your eyes were straining at your laptop screen as you carefully inspected all the women’s actions. Sometimes, they would unbutton the man’s pants, sometimes they wouldn’t, but they always sank to their knees with their eyes on him. The women spit on their hands and stroke gently, or they would just put their mouth straight on him. It caused you to blink and swallow in fear because what if you didn’t like it? What if it tasted so horrible that you’ll never want to suck another man off in your life? What if your lack of blow-jobs is the reason you don’t have a boyfriend? Or why you don’t have a future husband in the running?

This is why you cannot be left alone.

From all the women you observed, they all had seductive expressions and alluring features that you were almost positive you did not possess. They had the most perfect bodies and that effortlessly flowing hair and cute little moans and they knew exactly what to do. It may not be the best thing to base anything off of, but you couldn’t help but feel a little insecure. Watching the videos gave you a little more knowledge, but also made you feel a little more self-conscious about your appearance. What if Harry didn’t even find you attractive? He definitely doesn’t want some girl mindlessly messing with his dick, especially when it’s not erect (which you have learned in health class in high school thankfully). All those words of reassurement and praise, were they just for the moment? Just to make you feel good and that’s it? Did he mean any of it? You couldn’t even manipulate yourself to an answer.

God, sometimes, you just wish that he would reach out to you. Wouldn’t that make everything so much easier? You would never say no if he just texted you first. But why would he do that? He’s doing you the favor, so you would have to be the one to text him. Fuck, how did he go from your best friend to your best friend that you’re obsessing over because he’s really good at sexual things? Maybe he hypnotized you in that mirror.

–

Harry thinks he might just die. Not from school or work, but from you. Out of all his friendships in his lifetime, even his relationships, he has never been thinking about a person so damn much.

He’s been friends with you for many, many years, and Harry has never once thought of you in a sexual manner. Or even in a romantic way. When you two were growing up, he definitely noticed you having some changes through your teenage years as teenagers do. But even then he always knew you were just friends. And that’s all it will ever be, so he never saw through that wall. Men are simple creatures; Harry realized you guys were friends, so that was it. End of story.

But for some reason, years later, he is being haunted by your sudden attractiveness? Harry’s not fucking stupid when he thinks this. You’ve always been gorgeous and funny and smart, so it made perfect sense why you didn’t have a boyfriend. You just checked too many boxes, right? The only possible solution of why men weren’t kissing your feet had to be because of your own expectations.

You’ve always been the kind of girl who thought every little thing to the tee. Harry even remembers you planning your wedding with your dolls when you were younger. You had a binder with all the people you would invite and colors that would decorate the walls of the church your parents got married in. Getting married in a church may seem basic to anyone else, but to you it was special because your grandmother also got married there. To you, it was a tradition, and Harry knows you love traditions and schedules. It’s like a plan that’s set in stone for you to complete. He just knows when you get married you’ll have the most thoughtful wedding because you would have put your heart into every single detail. You’re barely 22, finishing up your last year of college just like Harry, so you still have plenty of time to find your future husband.

Yet you think it’s the end of the world that you don’t have one in the running right now, and Harry has no idea why.

Thinking of the future like this used to make Harry feel happy for you because he knows it’s one of your biggest dreams, but there is something inside of him that’s blocking him from feeling like that anymore. It’s a nagging, sort of distant feeling in his chest that kind of makes him ill. He always knew he was going to be at your wedding in some form, but maybe he wishes it was…

No, that’s ridiculous. How did he overthink that much?

See? You’ve seriously fucked him up. This is exactly why he cannot text you. This is exactly why he cannot touch you anymore. No matter how badly he wants to. God, does he want to. You haunted his mind and invaded his soul until you were completely entwined within his consciousness, lingering like a flashbulb memory. He pitied you at first, so he wanted to help his best friend with her inexperience. That’s what friends are there for–to help you through the embarrassing times in secret, so when you go out into the real world it’s not so bad.

But now, Harry just wants to keep you for himself. He hates touching you knowing that it’s going to be for someone else one day. But he got too greedy to say no to himself, so he put you on his thigh the second day rather than fingering you. Fuck, he wishes he could slide his cock into you while whispering the sweetest and dirtiest words in your ear, just for your face to burn up in flames. He wants to hear your soft moans echo in the air from his cock because you want to be with him, not because you’re trying to “get better” at sex.

No, Harry doesn’t think he can do anything more with you without figuring his shit out.

–

Incoming call: Y/N

Harry wanted to answer it, but he hesitated too long. Fuck, what if you really just wanted to hang out this time? But fuck, he missed your touch. And your voice. And your face… How is he supposed to be around you without reaching out to caress you?

Missed call: Y/N

Voicemail: Y/N: “Hey, I just called to see what you were up to. I was just seein’ if you wanted to hang out. But clearly you’re busy, so it’s fine. I, um, have a surprise that I wanted to show you sometime. I… Well, I’ve been trying to learn some things on my own, if you know what I mean. I’ve been watching some videos, but you know, nothing is as good as a real life teacher! So, um, just call me back whenever you’re free. Bye!”

Harry was royally fucked. His mind couldn’t stop thinking about what you might have been learning about. You were also so cute in your voicemail that Harry just had to save it. He doesn’t think he’s ever saved someone’s voicemail before, but he’s never been more thankful for letting that call go to one. He took a single deep breath before he pressed the call button.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Doll. Sorry, I was in the shower…”

Now he has to rush to take a shower as you drive over to his house to present him with your little “surprise.”

–

As Harry stood up from his couch to answer the door, he regrets not jerking off in the shower.

He had an incredible hard-on, and it was embarrassingly from the voicemail. He was a little too excited for whatever your surprise was. You gave him no hint, but he’s assuming it has something to do with masturbating.

“Harry,” Your voice was chipper as you greeted him almost formally. But it was a little too high and squeaky. It was obvious to Harry that you were nervous, which made him feel a bit better in a way. You didn’t seem as distressed as you last had been, so maybe you did learn to get yourself off. Then you wouldn’t need him anymore.

That was the goal, right?

“Y/N,” he says as he widens the door and lets you in. You scurry past him and onto his couch, immediately heating up at the memory from before.

You swallowed the dryness that drained your voice, deciding how to bring it up to him. You take a deep breath and remember the confidence that he’s been trying to instill in you. You recall all the videos you’ve been researching and how assertive all those women had been. While you do so, Harry follows you to the couch and plops right down next to you.

If you hadn’t been so nervous yourself, maybe you would have seen how shifty Harry was. His eyes were darting all around, trying to look busy. His mind was scouring thoughts of things to say, but couldn’t settle on the right one. Maybe you’d see that he swallowed all the saliva in his mouth until his tongue was dry and he was biting his lip. Only then did you look up from your shivering fingers to see his bottom lip anxiously tucked between his bunny teeth.

“I wanted to talk about our…deal,” You started, tucking your calves underneath your body. Harry nods, but doesn’t say anything. “We never explicitly stated any details of what this contract entailed–”

“English, please, Y/N. You get all formal and chatty when y’nervous.”

Your skin heated, embarrassed. “Right… We never talked about what we were doing. So, if what I’m about to ask breaks some unspoken rule, just let me know. If you actually want to stop doing this, also let me know–”

“Just say it, Y/N.”

“I’ve been watching videos on how to pleasure you…” You speedily say, causing the room to go silent. You feel the heat from in between your legs grow whilst also flowing towards your neck and face. You wonder how hot a human can get before they just boil over and explode. Harry’s seemingly nonchalant face grows a smirk, which is comfortable to you now. “God, you’re a dick.”

After your mumble, you continue: “I felt… bad that you were doing everything. And I just thought that maybe I could learn something from this. And you could be… rewarded in a way.”

“So you’ve been learning what exactly?” His smirk never fades. Of course he wants you to be explicit with him, which you struggle with. He just loves making you nervous. He feeds off of it.

He’s selfish. He’s so selfish and he can’t control it. When he’s with you, it’s like driving a car without its brakes. He speeds right through all the stop signs without blinking twice.

Just one last time, he swears. Then he’s ending it.

“C’mon. Would it be easier to tell me or show me, hmm?” You swear his voice dropped an octave, just like your eyes dropped to the area on his sweatpants. There was a lump that you can’t recall being there before. Were you looking?

You took a deep breath and kept it there, unable to breathe normally at how straightforward Harry is. He’s always been like that, never changed. So why is he just now making you breathless?

Confidence.

“Okay.”

You move your eyes up to meet Harry, and he’s already looking at you. You feel your heart jump at his sudden stare, strikingly green and beaming with lust. Without removing your sight from him, you shift yourself off the couch and onto his carpet.

His eyebrows slightly raise as you hesitantly reach for the waistband of his pants. He’s enjoying this too much, he thinks.

“Go on. I want to see what you can do,” his simple words urged you to actually grab his sweatpants. As he lifts his hips, you yank the material down until his boxers are showing.

“Huh,” The noise left your mouth before you could stop it. Harry stares at you puzzled, blinking at you curiously. That’s the first time a girl has ever made that noise in front of him before. In this position especially…

“What?” Harry has never felt more self-conscious than right now. He was alright until you made that sound. That’s never something a guy wants to hear when a girl is on her knees in front of him.

“Nothing, I just took you as more of a ‘briefs’ guy.” Harry instantly felt more relieved.

“I’ave both. Haven’t y’borrowed my boxers before?” he asks. Your eyes widen as you look down. Maybe you have in the past, but the thought of that now sounds incredibly too intimate to you. Yeah, you’ll never be doing that again.

“Anyway,” You smiled forcefully while trying to rid the heat from your cheeks, “before I pull down your boxers, I have to ask you something.”

“Of course,” he agrees with sarcasm laced in his tone, which only makes you roll your eyes. You’re inches away from his cock, merely separated by a sheer layer of clothing and you have a question. He can bet it’s not going to be can I take this off now?.

“Do you find me attractive?” You had to ask. You bit the inside of your cheek, chewing on the nerves that you felt. Harry just stares at you, blinking. You always find a way to catch him off guard, he thinks. He doesn’t say a word, just two eyes lasering into yours as if he’s searching for the perfect answer. “It’s a simple yes or no. But if it’s a no, then I don’t want to do this. Because then you’ll be all-all soft in my hands or my mouth and then you’ll just be uncomfortable. Guys must not like it when they’re soft, right? You have to be hard, it means you like it… Right?”

When you got nervous, you got chatty. It was one of your most evident qualities. You had to fill the silence that Harry had created with his nonexistent answer.

Harry wishes that was a simple yes or no. Of course, he found you attractive, so yes. But only now are those feelings becoming more complicated, diverging from anything ‘simple’. It would feel like crossing a line if he said yes.

But Harry was great at brushing it off.

“Y’right. So why don’t y’pull these down and see for yourself, Doll?”

Your posture had been stick-straight and stiff unknowingly. But his hot words had your icicle-like spine melting in seconds, shivers cascading down your back like an avalanche.

You swallowed for what felt like the hundredth time since you’ve been here. You shifted on your legs on the ground, trying to get comfortable. You remind yourself that you are going to be confident and show Harry exactly what you have been learning. It should be simple. You should be able to do it without feeling all these emotions.

But it seems so hard when it’s Harry that’s tied to them.

Your fingers tuck into the waistband of his boxers and slowly pull them down. When the material is at his ankles, you finally acknowledge the hard length that sprung from beneath them. His cock was nothing like those porn videos. It wasn’t abnormally monstrous with loads of veins on the sides that looked impossible to fit into any hole. It wasn’t ugly and unappealing. Just the sight of his length alone made you want to touch him. Made you want to put your mouth on him…

You never thought you’d want to do that with anyone ever. You never thought you’d be attracted to that because of those unsettling videos. But of course, Harry is throwing you off, making reality much more fantastical and dreamy than it really is. How does he do such a thing?

You know whoever you fall in love with will not have a cock like this.

His tip was a dark pink with a smidge of wetness at the top. He only had one prominent vein that ran down the left side that was throbbing from neglect. You didn’t even notice your mouth watering, salivating as if you were classically conditioned.

“Does that answer y’question, Doll?” Harry was trying his very hardest not to stroke himself. Better yet, to come. The doe-eyed expression on your face was priceless and would forever be framed in his mind. The glossy, wondrous glint in your eyes screamed lust and anticipation. You seemed excited, but Harry could never be sure because he still feels a tad vulnerable. He’s never felt so revealed before.

He guesses with you it would have always been different no matter what. Because it’s you.

“Yes,” Your voice was quiet as you placed your hands beside his thighs. You were unbelievably nervous now. You were trying to recall what the videos did at this point in your head, but you lost your train of thought. You were literally entranced by his dick. Also something you never thought would happen.

“D’you know what happens now? Or do y’need some help?” he taunts, subtly squinting his eyes as he leans the slightest bit forward. He’s attempting to ignore the throbbing of his cock as you lock your stare into his eyes. It twitches, but he continues to neglect it. He thinks that if and when you decide to touch him, he will come on the spot.

“I know what to do, Harold.”

“Then do it, sweetheart.”

You repeat his words back to him, mocking his tone before spitting on your hands aggressively. Once you feel like they’re not as dry, you put one hand on him without hesitation. His taunting tone fueled you with more confidence than you would have thought. Your legs were tightly squeezed together, so you didn’t have to worry about the tingle that slowly began to throb between them.

Harry hissed lowly, followed by a gentle growl at your touch. Your hands were colder than he had thought, catching him by surprise.

“Holy shit, your hands are freezin’. How did I not feel tha’?”

“Shut up,” You grumbled as you continued to stroke him roughly, not really paying attention if it felt good. You’re annoyed with him because his dick is so perfect, and he’s trying to rush you.

“Hey,” his finger goes beneath your chin and forces your eyes away from his cock. You look into his eyes with a serious pout on your face. He wants to believe you’re truly mad, but he knows you, and he knows that you’re not. You’re secretly frustrated because you don’t know what to do now that you’re actually in the situation. And he knows you hate not knowing what to do. “You’re on your knees for me. Don’t forget where y’are. Now, show me what ya learned, pretty girl.”

His words never failed to make you dizzy. He might as well have put you on the teacups ride and then spun you in a circle. His finger was grazing your chin, and you felt as if you could melt in a puddle before him. He had you weak. He made you want to say yes, sir and obey his every command. Every drop of feminism left your body at his very words, your body going all in.

“Yes,” The s sounded slurred because the word sir nearly fell from your lips. It felt automatic, it felt right. But you didn’t want to cross any boundaries that you guys failed to cover.

Your hands continued to move up and down his length, feeling more comfortable with him in your hand.

“Can I…” You leaned forward, your mouth nearing his cock. He was leaking more than before and his tip was pulsing red. You didn’t even wait for his answer because you knew you already had his consent to do whatever you wanted.

Your mouth dropped down to his cock, sucking on just the tip. Harry doesn’t hold back his moan as it echoes throughout his living room, bouncing off his walls. You don’t move yourself any lower. You just swirl your tongue around the rutty tip and consume all of his juices. The taste wasn’t bad. Maybe a little salty, but it was nothing like you would have assumed. In a way, it was a little addicting. You had hoped that’s what cum tastes like, and you hoped that you would taste his.

Was that a weird thing to hope for?

“Fuck, Y/N,” Harry grumbled as his large hand slotted in your hair, in need of some stability. You didn’t mind, instantly loving the feeling of his hand on you. He didn’t pull or tug you, but just kept you in place. Almost as if he didn’t want you to go any lower in fear of you choking.

“Use y’hands for the rest,” Even with his eyes half shut, he was still able to instruct you on your technique. While his hand was strong, you went lower onto his cock, taking more into your mouth than before. The weight of his tip on your tongue was heavy and hot, but it didn’t stop you from slowly moving it in and out. Your hands eventually found a rhythm with your mouth, understanding speed and pace.

The louder Harry’s sounds got, whether they were breaths or moans or growls, hinted that you were in the right direction. You knew technique and skill was all learned from experience, but also being attentive to your partner. When Harry was pleasuring you, he always listened to you. Almost too well. Even just after a few sessions, he knew what got you off the fastest better than you ever did (obviously).

“Doin’ so good, Doll,” his fingers curled in your hair and you released some type of moan around his cock. The sound vibrated throughout his body, sending a shock to his core. “Gettin’ off on this, huh? ‘Course y’are. Just desperate for whateva you can get.”

Harry was completely right. Your clit was throbbing in your underwear and your nipples were beyond their peaks. But you didn’t seem as hopeless as you usually are because you finally had a reasonable distraction. Your neck was beginning to ache as your jaw felt like it was about to lock. But your hands never stopped, and your tongue continued to explore his circumference, even after swirling around it a million times.

Harry had been holding off for too long. He twitched every time he thought he was about to come, attempting to make it fade. But your mouth was just so warm, so wet, and so, so desperate to be filled, it was impossible to stay calm.

“D’ya want me to come, baby? Huh? Want me to come down your pretty, little throat? Gonna swallow it like the good girl you are, right? It’s the last step,” Harry was nearly choked from the way you moved on his cock. Yes, you were sloppy, but you were determined.

He could feel your nod along with the halt of your hands. You rested your hands on his bare thighs, clawing gently at the tiger tattoo. To his shock, your mouth went as deep as you could go, his tip nudging the back of your throat. He felt your gag, which he had expected for how fast you went down on him. Just as he was about to pull out of you completely though, you persevered, which made him go over the edge.

Before he knew it, his orgasm was spurting down your throat, coating your tongue. When he was all empty, you finally pushed him off of you to catch a breath. Harry was still in shock. He did not expect you to exceed your own limits and swallow all of him without hesitation. You have always had a good work ethic, though.

“Holy fuck, baby, are you okay?” Now, his hands grab your aching jaw in concern, pulling you up to sit on the couch. You didn’t realize how much your knees were going to hurt, but now that you’re up, all you are is achy.

The pet name made your skin hotter than it already was, wondering if he realized what he had just called you. Maybe it was an accident, but it had your heart accelerating at a speed that did not seem remotely healthy.

“Y-Yeah,” You croaked out, throat immensely dry. Harry quickly puts his boxers and pants back on before leaving to the kitchen. You’re left on his couch in shock while you rub your aching jaw.

Harry’s back with some water that you chug without thought. He can’t help but chuckle a little at your nature. He observes you doing a simple task, drinking water for your parched throat. But even with the mundane action, he’s somehow in awe. When you seem finished, you put the glass down and look at him.

“Well, that was difficult,” You sigh, leaning back on the couch. You believe that if you just pretend that what you’re feeling is normal then everything is normal. Harry’s concern for you still echoes in your head; the word baby is never going to be the same.

“I bet,” Harry’s response was dry, but only because he feels like he has to.

“Was it… horrible?” You asked, cringing in fear of his response. You know Harry’s going to be only honest, which means he could be brutal.

It felt way too fucking good for your first time and made me see you in a way I’ve never seen you before is what Harry wanted to say. But he settled with, “It was fine, Doll.”

“That’s it? Oh, c’mon! Give me something honest. I need to learn, don’t I?” You sounded like a little child. Harry rolled his eyes as you scooted closer to him on the couch. He swallowed at the proximity, which you didn’t bat an eyelash at. “C’monnnn.”

Truth be told, your heart was still racing, but you were too immersed in how off-put Harry seemed. You liked that he didn’t have some charming, witty comment hanging off the tip of his tongue. It was enjoyable to watch him get a little nervous.

“Don’t be so stiff,” his arm falls on the back of the couch, “probably why y’neck hurts so bad.”

“Pfft. My neck does not hurt,” You bluffed as you rolled your eyes, avoiding eye contact. Harry knows you too well, though, and didn’t believe you for a sliver of a second.

“Really.”

“Mhm.”

His hand moves to cup the back of your neck, absorbing its warmth. It was almost embarrassing how hot your neck was, flush with the aftermath of sucking him off. You won’t lie and say that it wasn’t attractive. You won’t lie and say that you didn’t get off on it. Everything that Harry had said had been true. It was evident that you were turned on by pleasuring him, just like he you.

You swallowed with his hand caressing your neck. His soft touch slowly turned into a gentle massage, squeezing the aching muscles between his fingers. You couldn’t stop the whispered moan that left your mouth at the relief. The slight roughness from his callouses was doing wonders to the soreness at the base of your neck. Your eyes had shut now, fully encompassed with his hand rubbing your skin.

If it didn’t feel so good, maybe you would worry about how this is too intimate and you too were way too close. But his touch wasn’t as electrifying as it was calming right now, soothing you until your mind’s thoughts were lulled asleep. You were amazed at how his hands could be both. You felt your shoulders drop in peace, teeth pillowing into your lips.

You weren’t conscious of all your movements, but each made Harry go mad. His touch was simple and light, but he could see it really relaxed you. Maybe you weren’t just sore from this, but from school as well. Sometimes, Harry felt like he hadn't talked to you as much because you too were so busy doing… this.

You guys lost time to just being friends.

Maybe Harry was too in his head, but he hated that. He hated that you hadn’t been texting him as often or even coming over as much. Every time you did now, it only had to do with sex. Don’t get him wrong, he loves that, but with you, it’s always more. It’s always been more. And he hates that there’s no ‘more’ anymore.

Should you two stop doing this? Harry already feels guilty enough. He feels selfish because he wants you in ways he knows he can’t have you, so why is he tempting himself? Each time you come over he knows what you want and he selfishly gives it to you because he convinces he’s doing you a favor. At first, he innocently was. But now, he doesn’t see you as a friend as much as something more. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to back petal his way back into a comfortable friendship with you as long as this continues. Losing his best friend because he was horny and thoughtless is unreasonable to him. That’s what it is, he concludes. That he is just horny, and he’s thinking with his dick.

But there’s a certain pattern of his heart that continues to beat your name in a rhythm that’s new and unfamiliar to Harry.

It feels like a crossed line, a boundary overstepped. If he were to officially cross the line, you would have your back turned on him unknowingly because there is no way you feel the way he’s feeling. He fears he is subconsciously trespassing an area of your friendship with these feelings that are bubbling in his chest. It’s hard for him to say he’s just a horny college boy when it comes to you, but that’s all he’s got.

Harry was so caught up in his head, he hadn’t realized how close you two had gotten. Your face looked beyond serene, basking in the warmth and comfort of his hands. But Harry felt guilty. He couldn’t stop feeling selfish for touching you, even if it’s what you wanted. You don’t know his intentions, so each massage on your muscles feels wrong.

Suddenly, Harry removes his hands off of your shoulders and your eyes peel open. You sigh with a gentle smile on your face, very thankful for the time he put into massaging your neck.

“Thank you. I guess my neck did hurt a little–”

“I, um, actually forgot I have work,” Harry blurts as he removes his hand from your neck entirely. Your smile fades as you shake your head. His words brought you back to reality instantly, taking you away from your sweet serenity. One where his hands are on you all the time, lulling you to sleep whenever you’re stressed. It was a great daydream, truly.

“Oh. Yeah. Did you say that before?”

“Don’t know. Must have slipped my mind. Sorry,” His responses were short and clipped, a tell that something was up.

“Hey,” You stopped him from getting off the couch. The worry laced in your voice seemed to slow him down. “What just happened?”

With anyone else, he would ask what do you mean? as if the other person was stupid. But he knew you weren’t stupid, and you knew exactly what was going on. Something had changed within that moment and you weren’t just going to have him kick you out because he had some random thought.

“I don’t think I can do this anymore. M’sorry,” he sighs, shoulder drooping.

You no longer felt serenity as the words fell from his lips. It’s always your best friends that know where it especially hurts. Right after you have done something vulnerable he drops that shit on you. Unbelievable.

This is why people should never do sexual shit with their best friends. Or better yet, any of their friends. It’s just way too complicated. It can never be as simple as a favor.

No, it’s way too fucking personal.

—

AHHH HOW DO WE FEEL??

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[pedgito]

MILLER'S GIRL ✎ SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter Four: Under Your Skin

Chapter Summary: An implosion that changes everything, leaving results devastating but unseen. [5k]

[student/teacher relationship, age gap, no outbreak, power dynamic]

Chapter Warnings: fem!reader, professor!joel miller, inappropriate behavior, reader is delusional lol, background tess/joel (mentions of infidelity), technical infidelity on joel's behalf, unprotected piv, f!oral, angry sex, lack of aftercare, belt as restraints, inappropriate use of a tie & desk, semi-public sex (sorta), angst at the end i'm sorry.

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There’s a deep ache in your body and between your legs as you toss in bed that morning, rousing from a less than relaxing sleep, the faint smell of Joel still lingering on the clothes you fell asleep in, not bothering to change. Licking at chapped lips he’d kissed you so feverishly the night before, you recollect the night in flashes, rubbing sleep from your eyes and feeling riddled with anxiety. 

You reach for your phone blindly, stuffed under your covers as you scroll through your phone, expecting some type of change—an updated grade, a note or two on your follow-up essay. But, there’s nothing. The big, glaring fucking zero staring you back in the face. And for a moment, you feel guilty. You wonder just how badly you screwed things up by doubling down and approaching him so boldly in his office. In his space.

You threatened him and he attacked. Not you.

You never intended for things to unfold the way they did, but you wanted to get your feelings across clearly, even if that meant getting under his skin. 

Joel. Not Mr. Miller. 

Those were two entirely different entities now.

You take your morning slow, enjoying the relaxation of the weekend and taking your time—researching and looking into things you definitely should not be. First, it’s his name. 

Unfortunately, it doesn’t bring up much. His job history was fairly public, no local or national awards, nothing note-worthy and only a few small non-fiction pieces to his name, though you knew there were more—there had to be. With his taste in poetry and fiction you expected something, but came up with nothing. He’s so inexplicably boring to the naked eye and maybe that’s what he wanted. He wanted to blend and disappear.

Curiously, you do more digging on his wife. Who—yeah, it was definitely his wife. A few links later and you stumble upon the marriage certificate, nearly ten years strong. No kids, either.

It was impressive, more than what a lot of people could be prideful about. But Joel, he wasn’t prideful about Tess. He was secretive, dismissive, and shot a look of disgust at his phone every time he received a text, whether purposefully or not.

You find that she works at a law firm, relatively small and headed by two partners. One significantly older than the other—father and son? You squint slightly, searching through the website carefully but not coming up with much. She was a lawyer, that much was obvious.

Still, it didn’t explain the rift. 

What happened?

You try and struggle to find anything rational or tangible, feeling like you might drive yourself insane trying to find out and you spend most of the weekend trudging through the obscurity of things you could find online, very little compared to what you could find out by just asking him.

There’s a tinge of dread in attending class that Monday knowing that no matter how hard you tried, Mr. Miller would never see you the same. He wouldn’t treat you as he had, pedestaling you up above the rest and, though he’d never admit openly, admiring you.

But, god, it ails you. Sickens your mind and keeps you from focusing on anything else.

You needed more answers, more clarification. But, more importantly, you still needed him.

That deep, gnawing feeling of desire in your gut had only grown stronger since your encounter in his office and you feared—knew, it would only worsen as time went on.

-

Joel knew that night that he needed to follow through on his plans.

His lack of trust in Tess, his instability in his life now, and how he couldn’t get you out of his head. The three were a volatile mix and he knew if he didn’t start somewhere that things would quickly grow out of control.

He makes the call to his lawyer the following morning, hungover and tired. Nursing a headache in his open palm as he conversed quietly over the phone. Tess was home, far off and distant in another room but he can hear her shifting around, moving about, and he feels like he’s betraying her. He doesn’t know why he’s filled with guilt and shame—maybe that was partly because of you, his willingness to cross that line for just a moment and kiss you.

It was a momentary slip, his want clouding out his sense of rationality.

You were conniving and manipulative, using his own selfish thoughts against him, his eagerness to aid you in your progress but also allowed a level of vulnerability between you both. Joel should’ve known, he should’ve seen it in the way you looked at him. 

It was admiration and obsession and he fed into it. 

It was something he never had, not even with Tess.

He loved her, sure. Cared about her, absolutely. But the physical connection—sexual or not, had never truly been there. And Joel figures that was why she did what she did, despite how badly it hurt him. He felt at fault for a while, like he had caused it. 

Maybe he did—but he would never have betrayed Tess like she did so easily, even if she swore it meant nothing at the time. Late nights for her were fickle, but they still happened. And that’s when Joel allowed the doubt to seep in and eat away.

But, he just couldn’t do it anymore. He felt like an intruder in his own home.

Tess would be served the papers on Monday evening and Joel would face the wrath when he arrived home, but there was still time. Time to prepare and settle, commit through his day and do his job, even if you lingered in his peripheral as class went on.

Your lack of reaction and response to his unchangingness of your grade gives him a false sign of relief—had you finally moved on from the idea? Joel was clueless to how preoccupied you actually were, chewing on the end of a pen as you sifted through tabs as he droned on at the front of class. Discussion days were always long and dreadful, and as most of the class was discussing the troubled assignment Mr. Miller had given you the week prior, your silence was…required. He avoided you like the plague and you were thankful, to some degree.

Still filled with frustration and simmering rage, you can’t ignore how despite everything—Joel still glances your way. And where his looks before were restrained, subtle and less driven…these were not. Like he was replaying the events in his head every time he looked at you, wondering if he’d tossed your panties out or kept them, if he still tasted you on his lips—at this point, fucking you was the least he could do.

And you know it’s in poor taste, but you approach him at the end of class with a revered look on things—hopeful, even. Apologize, fix your grade, and move on like things never happened.

He straightens a stack of files on his desk as you approach, jaw tense as he swallows and his gaze follows the last few lingering students as you neared on him, like prey. But, your face softens when he looks at you and whatever retort he has on standby dissipates for the moment.

“Um,” You start, unsure of how he would react, “I—can we talk?”

“I don’t think that’s the best idea,” Joel offers logically, “not…now.”

End of day, he thinks. In his office. Privacy. Secrecy. He didn’t feel like airing things out in the middle of the day, not with his divorce on the forefront of his mind.

“I just…I wanted to apologize.” You tell him quietly, “For everything.”

Was it genuine? Not really.

“I can’t change your grade,” He admits, “I’m not going to and it’s beyond the deadline for that assignment.”

You breath sharply through your nostrils and intertwine your fingers in front of you—Joel can see from the way your grip tightens that you’re holding back and nothing has changed.

Unstable and volatile, you both stared at each other for too long, an eerie silence settling.

“That’s—”

He interrupts without much care, “Unfair? Unethical? Don’t start with this. Not now.”

He doesn’t have any leverage here either, but you quiet down under his gaze slightly.

You begin to speak again, but he holds up a careful finger. Like scolding a child for their actions and you bite back a venomous retort as he talks over you, “Meet me in my office at six. Fifteen minutes. That’s all you get.”

He’s on edge, jaw flexing around a tense swallow that feels impossible to get down. He turns back to his desk, ignoring you and ultimately ending whatever conversation you were hoping to have.

He wants you to wait and despite your stubbornness to address the situation now, you settle with his words and nod, a quiet “Okay.” in response.

“Don’t be late.” He stresses, eyes flicking up towards you briefly.

Your insides twist ominously in anticipation, but you feel yourself throbbing with need.

“Yes,” You respond, “Of course, Mr. Miller.”

There’s an urge for praise that Joel bites back.

-

Joel is already opening the door as your footsteps approach later that day, anticipating your arrival and eyes glancing over your figure in the darkened lights of the classroom, the warm glow of his office blanketing you both as he welcomes you in with a gesture, moving out of your way slightly and closing the door to his office as you trailed toward his desk, lingering quietly.

“You can sit.” He directs, thumbs digging into the waistband of his slacks as he adjusts them slightly, the uncomfortable press of his belt pressing into his stomach. Normally he’d undress a little, relax, but he couldn’t allow that. Not with how anxious he felt, knowing what he faced at home, sure that the divorce papers had already been delivered to Tess.

He’s tried to ignore it—and he doesn’t know why he’s worried, but her refusal to cooperate is always an option and that isn’t something Joel thinks he can handle calmly.

“Okay,” You listen, taking a seat in one of the two leather chairs placed in front of his desk, watching as he leaned against the edge of his desk a few inches away, hands clasped in his lap as he looked down, unsure of how to begin, or where, “Um, I can—”

“You need to understand something,” Joel begins suddenly, interrupting you again—it really, really fucking bothered you. He did it on purpose, as a way to assert himself over you, and you felt it in the way he looked at you, down and scrutinizing, “this—whatever this is, or was—it’s inappropriate.”

As if he had a proper moral compass to explain his actions.

“I don’t need a lesson in appropriate behavior,” You counter, “if that’s what you’re leading into.”

“No—”

It’s your turn to interrupt, sitting up straighter in your chair.

“And truthfully, it’s a little unprofessional of you to continue to fail me after I did the make-up assignment.” You respond, a tinge of condescension in your tone, “and you kissed me, if I remember correctly. So—if this is because you’re upset, then I’m allowed to be too. I want a fair grade. Not what you’re punishing me with now because you—for whatever fucking reason, can’t get passed the idea that you had those thoughts too, but can’t accept it.”

“I’m not punishing you.” Joel responds lamely and you squint your eyes slightly as you look at him before huffing out a breath of defeat, chuckling softly under your breath.

“You know—we talked for weeks. Back and forth. And you reached out to me first. So, if you want to deny that then let’s talk about you abusing your power and holding it over my head now after all of that. Genuine talks. You had to care, to some degree.”

“You’re not the first student I’ve talked to outside of class—”

You roll your eyes, feeling the conversation stalling out quickly.

“Do you still have them?” You ask curiously.

Joel doesn’t need to be told. He knows what you’re referring to.

And the guilt on his face as he looks away briefly, tongue pressing into his cheek as he glances at his watch, avoiding your question.

“Am I out of time already?” You ask patronizingly, leaning over in the chair slightly as you struggle to meet his gaze, his eyes pointed elsewhere. “Tight schedule today?”

“What are you expecting out of this?” Joel asks, arms crossing over his chest, biceps stretching under the dark button-up, licking at his bottom lip anxiously. “Are you that fucking stubborn that you think this is somehow going to work in your favor?”

Your face twitches in frustration and you cock your head slightly, rising from the chair and into his space, close enough that you can smell the faint waft of his cologne, looking him over slowly as his eyes fall on you.

“Where are they?” You ask curiously, squeezing yourself between the small space, thighs rubbing against his own as you walk around him, trailing by his desk. “Here?” You point toward the stack of closed drawers nestled in the wood and Joel glances over his shoulder, quick to move as he pushes you away gently, palm flat against your chest.

“The fuck are you doing?” He asks, “You came here to talk. So talk.”

You click your tongue against the roof of your mouth and test your limits once more, “Oh, so they are in there? Kept them for yourself? You know, this whole moral high ground thing is really fucking annoying, Joel.”

He speaks your name as a warning, but it only makes you feel more at ease.

“What?” You ask innocently, “Do you have somewhere to be?”

Joel chews at his bottom lip and removes his hand from the center of your chest, feeling it sting like a hot brand as his fingers curl around the edge of his desk, feeling oddly small as your eyes track him and watch like he’s some type of prey, a devilish smile pulling at your lips.

He made a mistake underestimating you—or even allowing you back into his office. He was screwed.

“Stop.” He warns, watching as you sucked your bottom lip between your teeth and reach behind him quickly, yanking at the drawer but he draws your hand up, tight in his grip and forcing you against his chest, your unrestrained hand falling against the desk to catch yourself.

“What’s going on?” You ask softly, feigning genuine emotion. The crease between his brow growing deeper—you’ve spent enough time with him to know when something is bothering him, someone, and it’s written all over his face. “Come on, I won’t say anything.”

“It’s not your business.” Joel offers lamely, feeling you create a small amount of distance as you push away, your wrist still held firmly in his grip, but lower by his waist.

“Is it her?” You ask carefully, “It’s her, isn’t it?”

Another breath of your name—stop here, stop now.

“Did you tell her?” You ask suddenly, eyes widening. “God, are you really that much of a —”

“No, fuck—” He interrupts, “I’m—not that it’s any of your goddamn business, I served her divorce papers today.”

“Oh…” It wasn’t what you expected, not by a longshot. “Was that—is that because of—”

“No,” His eyebrows quirk up slightly, amused that you thought you were the cause of his marriage's untimely dismantlement, “not at all, actually.”

He doesn’t know why it feels like a weight lifting on his chest, but talking about it with you feels…less imposing than he expected. And your eyes soften slightly at the mention, still beckoning something dark but he can see the genuine reaction that flashes momentarily.

He loosens his grip but doesn’t quite let go, thumb rubbing over the vein of your wrist. 

Joel doesn’t understand why he can’t just let go, like he’s weirdly tethered to you.

“Do you…want to talk about it?” You ask, feeling the need to reassure some comfort.

You didn’t really care, but he seemed so pathetically sad. It spilled over and flooded into you, that small tug at your heart. It quickly fades, his mouth opening to speak.

“Not really.” He doesn’t feel the need to bother, glancing at his watch briefly again.

The minutes were ticking down and he knew you were overstaying your welcome—and he was allowing it. But, you here—it feels good. 

“I can’t change your grade,” He reiterates again, “but if you promise to not do something like that again—I can offer some extra credit, something to help make up for it.”

And ultimately teach you a lesson and punish you in the process. Did you really have a choice?

“Extra credit,” You stress, saying slowly as you consider the word, the implication—you don’t think he means it in a nefarious way, it just feels ridiculous, “seriously?”

Joel nods, “Consider it a…lesson learned.”

A small laugh bubbles from your chest but you ignore it, staring down at his touch and speaking.

“You know—I did appreciate the recommendations you made,” You admit, “if that counts for anything.

Joel stares at you, despite your preoccupied gaze, speaking directly.

“I wasn’t lying when I said I care about that,” Joel says, “I give recommendations to students all the time. But, you seemed more interested so–I gave you more.”

“Right,” You say with finality, “and all those nights at the coffee shop?”

“I’m there quite a bit anyways,” He admits, only a half-truth, “you’re not the first student I’ve had meetings with outside of class.”

He’s trying to reiterate to himself that his actions are justified, but his body is saying otherwise.

“Mr. Miller,” You start softly, “can I ask you one more question?”

Silent, he nods again.

“Why are you still touching me?”

And he doesn’t know why, but something in him snaps. The quickening of your pulse under his fingertips, your eyes finally flicking up to him. He does have your panties tucked away in his desk, he doesn’t meet with students outside of his class like that, and he can try and convince himself all he wants, but him reaching out to you was a personal, selfish decision that had nothing to do with anything but his own curiosity. He sees the subtle catch of your breath and doesn’t stop you when he sees you moving closer, quick and determined.

Fuck his time limit, you think.

 If he wanted you to leave he would’ve forced you out by now.

Your lips are soft but forceful, pressing against his with fervor as you slip your wrist from his grip and bury your fingers into his shortened curls, trimmed down at the base of his neck but there’s still just enough to tug, swallowing down his soft grunt as you pull and bite as at his bottom lip.

Joel has the thought to stop you, but he can’t. 

He feels guilty, appreciating the touch that he’s lacked for so long. But, there’s a creeping sensation of frustration that fills him, vexed with you. And it snaps, completely.

His hands finally touch you, releasing a breath into his mouth you didn’t realize you were holding. One hand cradling the back of your head, the other wrapped firmly around your neck. Just a solid weight that he uses as leverage when you get too eager, nipping at his lip. 

Joel moves you easily, silently as he turns and presses you against his desk, mumbling a soft “Up.” as he aids in the lift of your thighs, taking a seat on his desk as it shakes with the movement and he slots himself between your open legs and kisses you fuller, selfishly.

He’s eager to slip his tongue into your mouth once more, like beforem and you welcome it with ease. Giggling into his open mouth as he squeezes at your throat, the sound breaking his focus.

“So, is this the extra credit?” You speak against his lips, a soft puff of his breath over your face as he keeps his eyes closed, face pressed against yours. “Because I think my fifteen minutes is up.”

Joel can’t do conversation right now, the noise grating in his ears as he blindly reaches for his tie and loosens it, yanking it away from his neck and balling up the material, his eyebrows shooting up slightly in response as he catches your gaze, momentarily confused until you quickly catch on.

Oh, he wants you to shut up. Noted.

He’s guiding the fabric to your mouth before you can properly speak and that’s what he wants, stuffing it between your teeth and forcing you to bite down, his eyes darkened as he squeezes your cheeks between his fingers, shifting a hand under the hem of your dress where it tickles your thighs and you legs widen instinctively, even more. There’s an obvious absence of fabric that Joel notes as his fingers dig into your hips, your eyes brightening at his realization.

And that’s how Joel knows—you never came here to talk. You always had some underlying intention or reason and it drove him insane, but he was a raging hypocrite, wanting it just as selfishly. His fingers drag over your pussy with intention, gliding through your slick and pressing a single digit inside of you with little resistance and you gasp, muffled by the fabric.

“You didn’t come here to talk,” Joel surmises, though it was obvious from the start, “did you?”

You shake your head weakly, eyes squeezing shut as he pumps his fingers and quickly adds another, hand flying to his wrist as he quirks his fingers inside of you and hits a spot that has your stomach coiling in anticipation.  

“What do you want?” He asks hotly, hand squeezing at the base of your neck while he uses his other hand to rub messy, slow circles over your clit. Your hands reach for his belt without question, palm flattening over his cock that was held tightly behind the stiff material of his slacks. “Yeah?” He questions, the subtle squeeze of your hand against his shaft in response.

And part of you really doesn’t think he has it in him to go through with it, but then he’s pulling his hand away from you to manipulate and manhandle, yanking you off the desk sloppily and pressing your front against the edge, fumbling with his belt behind you and pulling it off in a sharp snap, hand flattening against your back as he presses you down.

“Give me your hands.” He tells you, a soft whine of protest coming from your mouth, but then he’s pulling himself from his briefs, cock in hand as he tugs at himself slowly and glides along the center of your pussy, dragging through the wetness. “You want me to fuck you, right? Give me your hands.”

You had control on just about every aspect of his mind—he needed this, the physicality stripped from you.

You oblige silently, face resting against the cold wood as you offered up your hands and allowed him to constrain them tight and snug—he does it with ease. Practice and perfected and he uses it as leverage to pull you back toward him, “So, we have a caveat here. No condom.”

You nod deftly, eyes closing as he tightens his grip and ultimately squeezes the belt even tighter.

“But, something tells me you don’t care—” A shake of your head in response, “—don’t tell me you’re that fucking naive.”

You shrug lamely, wiggling your ass in an effort to move closer, eyebrow furrowing as he moves his hips away slightly. You growl in frustration and spit out the tie, “Fuck you, I’m on birth control. Do you really think I’m that irresponsible?”

His lack of answer is enough of one and he stuffs the fabric back into your mouth with a grimace, “Given your behavior, yes.” He fists himself tightly and slips inside of you with ease, a snug fit but you mold around him perfectly.

And it shouldn’t feel right, but it does. Joel breathes a soft breath of relief as he uses his free hand to fist into the fabric of your dress and use it as a perfect leverage to fuck into you with fervor, disregarding of your own pleasure for the time being—though the angle and the intensity of your thrust doesn’t have you far off, snapping his hips with a furiosity that strikes something inside of you with each harsh movement.

He’s huffing behind clenched teeth, a low growl emitting from his chest as he feels you tighten around him instinctively, sobbing brokenly around the fabric in your mouth, eventually allowing it to slip as you feel his grip shift, pulling you upright by your dress and pressing you back against his chest.

“Why the—sudden change of heart?” You tease, an underlying suspicion in your mind that you don’t speak aloud. He wanted a distraction and you were proving to be a great one. His hips slow suddenly, almost like he’s contemplating a response.

He huffs out a bitter laugh, snapping his hips sharply and forcing a gasp from your chest.

“Do you ever shut up?” He asks, “If I knew you’d be this annoying I would’ve just shoved my dick in your mouth—maybe that would do you some good. You’d like that, huh?”

You giggle softly but it falls off into a broken moan as Joel buries his face into your neck, biting roughly at your skin as he feels himself reaching his peak, knowing it’s been far too long for him—years of lacking sex that quickly divulged into nothing. “I think you would like that, Joel.”

You’re waiting for a chastise that never comes, knowing he hates when his name falls from your tongue—he makes a muffled sound as he loosens the belt with fluid, practiced fingers and discards it to the floor, relieving the growing ache in your shoulders as he crosses an arm over your chest, palm flat against it to hold you in place as he snaps his hips once, twice, before his other hand is digging into the flesh of your own hip as he comes, deep inside of you and with a muffled grunt, teeth leaving a faint impression in your skin—and you’re only slightly disappointed in his lack of attention in making you come, but then he’s pulling out and spinning you around, hands coming up under your thighs to spread you out over his desk, silently pressing for you to lean back, dropping to his knees with his pants pooling low on his thighs. Too impatient to redress fully.

You gasp when he dips a finger inside of you, catching the slow spend that slips out, stuffing it back in as he presses his tongue over your clit and groaning at how you clench tightly around his fingers, spasming at the pressure.

“Quiet,” He warns, “put the fucking tie back in your mouth if you can’t control yourself.”

You can admit defeat, pathetically stuffing the fabric back in your mouth—haphazardly as half of it drapes over your chest, eyes locking on Joel’s as he laps at your clit, fingers stuffed inside of you to keep his cum from dripping out. And it’s so overwhelming that when you do finally come, you feel your vision blacking out, biting down roughly on the silk tie as you claw at the hand he has braced against your stomach, desperately trying to keep your writhing body still.

The aftermath is quiet, jaded—shifting on his desk silently you watch as he redresses, tucking his shirt back into his pants as he slips his belt through the loops, the fingers that were just buried inside of you working so easily against the leather. 

“Satisfied?” He asks suddenly, into the silence as you both lock eyes.

He slips the tie from your fingers, placing it back around his neck and tying it diligently. 

“Are you going to try and convince me you did that for my benefit?” You retort in annoyance, despite how satisfied you actually may be, this wasn’t just on you, “How about you apologize for using me as an outlet for your troubled marriage?”

“You’re not an outlet–”

And as if you spoke it into existence, the knock comes a few moments later. The door opening.

This is the part where Joel’s life finally implodes.

You on his desk, compromising as he still stands halfway between your legs in the middle of shifting his tie and Tess is…stoic. Silent.

“This is what’s been keeping you so preoccupied?” Tess asks, the dooming stack of papers gripped tightly in her hand. “Fucking a student?” Her eyes flicking to you briefly but quickly back to Joel and he nods toward the door, beckoning for you to leave. 

You do, without question. 

 And the aftermath is abysmal.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #tlou fanfic #joel miller smut #professor!joel miller #the last of us fanfiction #my writing #miller's girl #pedro pascal characters

[verysium]

ACT 1, SCENE 2: blue lock headcanons

nagi found out amazon product testers were a real thing, and he had never been more happy in his entire life. if he wasn't training to become a professional football player, that would have been his dream job.

sae became a victim of the cat distribution system the moment he moved to spain. he left his window open once, and he came back to a whole secret society of strays on his fire escape.

aryu used to watch his mother do her makeup in the bathroom every morning. after she left for work, he would use her hair curlers and nail polish to bedazzle himself. if you ever ask him to do your makeup, he would tilt your chin up with one hand and ever so gently swipe on your lipstick for you.

kaiser is a whore for attention, even if it is bad attention. if you're not listening to him during dinner, he would most definitely steal the food right off your plate whilst maintaining eye contact. gives you the most shit-eating grin once you catch him.

rin genuinely cannot function around the female species. sometimes his aunties make small talk during family gatherings, and he just sits awkwardly with his baby cousin in his arms. the baby almost always cries.

sae still uses his ipod from 2005. he doesn't have any interest in music, so he mostly uses it as a white noise filler during long flights. if you send him a song recommendation though, he will listen to it.

rin kept a diary as a teenager with some of the entries completely filled with angsty scribblings about sae. he definitely had an entire section somewhere dedicated to death and existentialism. the second half of his journal is reserved solely for you though. he sometimes doodles flowers in the margins.

raichi is chronically online. he would be the type to have an entire four-page argument with a stranger in the youtube comment section. sometimes you have to remind him that the outside world actually exists, and he needs to go outside and touch grass.

sae is secretly intrigued by artists. like how can you just transfer an image from your head onto paper? is it some sort of magic? he cannot wrap his mind around anything that isn't concrete and tangible. he sometimes walks through the streets of madrid just to spy on the old people painting the sea. if you made a drawing of him, he would internally malfunction.

isagi used to help his mother with knitting and sewing. he even learned how to crochet one summer but forgot all about it once he got into football. would not complain if you asked him to do laundry or iron clothes. he is (most of the time) very sweet and kind.

bachira does not have a sleep schedule. what is sleep? he only knows 24/7 hyperactivity and the demons under his bed. would wake you up at the crack of dawn just to go hang out in some random abandoned parking lot.

sae has to physically restrain himself whenever he does shoots for brand endorsements. he would definitely tell the truth if the product was low-quality while literally being on set for its commercial. this man does not lie. cannot model for the life of him. he lost his ability to smile a long time ago, and he feels viscerally ill every time a camera is shoved into his face. if you're there to accompany him though, he will straighten up and at least attempt to look enthusiastic.

rin is terrible at any sort of class that involves creative writing. however, he does enjoy reading haikus. it's the only form of poetry he can understand. definitely sends you one when he misses you.

reo is clueless whenever you tell him that you feel ugly in your outfit. like where is the ugliness? all he sees is the most stunning person in the world. definitely recommend taking him shopping. he would go into the fitting rooms with you and give you the most encouraging confidence boost you have ever felt.

sae has the strongest enamel in existence because he bites his popsicles right off the stick. rin tried to do that once and ended up getting brain freeze.

yukimiya is the type to go from 0 to 100 in less than a millisecond. if anyone says anything remotely negative about you, he will definitely make sure they do not live to see the light of day. he does all this with the most charming smile on his face too.

shidou has no table manners. he would be the messiest eater in existence. if the dining hall looks like a velociraptor just barraged through, you know shidou was there. he only uses a napkin because you told him to.

rin wears chelsea boots and women's clothing. he has a collection of trench coats in his closet, and they're one of the only things he's incredibly proud of. at least he beats sae when it comes to fashion sense.

ness would pack you lunch every day without you even asking for it. he also uses those glittery animal toothpicks and cuts your apples into hearts. his paper notes are little menacing though. usually it has your name written a thousand times in blood red ink.

sae would let you braid flowers into his hair, but he would wrinkle his nose in embarrassment if you ever took a picture of it. he tries to act nonchalant when you gush about how pretty he is because in his mind he looks incredibly stupid. will keep that photo by his bedside and look at it when he's lonely though.

isagi is incredibly clumsy. sometimes he will act like an egomaniac before falling right on his face. the world has an interesting way of humbling him. he does keep his mood swings in check when you're around though. your presence gives his mind inner peace.

otoya has color-coded folders for every girl he has dated. he keeps their names, likes, dislikes, and contacts all separately filed so he doesn't confuse them. however, on your night out, he got so caught up in talking to you, he forgot to even update your file. the date ended with him smiling like a damn fool. you're always the exception.

aiku is the type to just be casual about everything. he just got into a car accident while on call with you? that's okay because he got to hear your pretty voice on facetime. he took a tidal wave straight to the face while ogling you at the beach? that's no problem because he got a sneak-peek at your cute little bathing suit. this man literally has no sense of self-preservation when it comes to you.

bachira was the kid who tried to mix up weird concoctions at the school lunch table. now it translates into drinking both an energy drink and americano at once. you had to pull him away from the soda fountain because he kept trying to add every single drink combination possible into his red solo cup.

sae would blatantly stare at your ass and then tell you it was for research purposes. if you press further, he will pull up the statistics showing how buttock size correlates with athletic ability.

rin is obsessed with tea only because he saw his brother drink it at family dinners. he always sat up straight on the zabuton and sipped the bitter leaf juice as a way to impress the grown-ups. unfortunately for him, he developed a caffeine addiction in his late teens.

niko would be the tech-savvy person in your relationship. he doesn't believe in traditional flowers, so he codes you an entire HTML webpage with roses on the user interface. he also wholeheartedly believes that virtual pets are real pets.

shidou is an adrenaline junkie. he has six piercings, two of which are helix. he also snowboards during the winter and speeds on the highway for fun. (don't be like shidou, kids.)

© verysium 2023 / please do not translate, repost, or plagiarize any of my works

#blue lock #bllk #fics #nagi seishiro #sae itoshi #shidou ryusei #oliver aiku #michael kaiser #alexis ness #aryu jyubei #raichi jingo #niko ikki #rin itoshi #bachira meguru #otoya eita #yukimiya kenyu #isagi yoichi #nagi x reader #sae x reader #shidou x reader #aiku x reader #kaiser x reader #michael kaiser x reader #ness x reader #aryu x reader #rin x reader #rin itoshi x reader #sae itoshi x reader #raichi x reader #bachira x reader

[g1rld1ary]

tell me when you're sober ; sirius black x gn!gryffindor!reader

➻ yayay my first sirius fic !!

➻ word count: 2042

➻ synopsis: drunk at a house party, sirius calls the reader and confesses something he shouldn't have

➻ warnings: mentions of alcohol & being drunk, swearing, a little angst (maybe??), happy ending, kissing, gn pronouns (lmk if I've missed any!)

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

You were lying on your bed at home, content with your cozy night in. The newest Ella Fitzgerald record playing softly from the corner; a candle burning on your nightstand. You’d completed an extensive self care routine, feeling fresh, healthy and calm as you settled into your newest novel — a romance that had you dreaming of one of your closest friends.

Sirius Black was one of your best friends in the whole world. Both being Gryffindors, you had pretty much grown up together, and somewhere along the way you’d developed feelings for him against your will. But how could you not? He was beautiful, charming, and always managed to make you laugh; even the longest nights studying in the common room weren’t quite as tedious when he was hanging around — as much as you’d complain about him ‘bothering’ you. Whilst you knew he wouldn’t ever reciprocate your feelings and you would remain just friends, you were mostly content with that fact. You were filled with the type of love for him that was somewhat satisfied as long as you could express it, regardless of if it was under the guise of platonic affection. Still, that resignation didn’t stop you from imagining Sirius as the love interest in the novels you read; reciting poetry and executing grand gestures in your head.

The phone ringing down the hall brought you from your daze, and you tried to focus on the words written on the page until your mother knocked on your bedroom door, saying the call was for you. Curiously, you crawled out of bed, straightening your pyjamas as you hurried to the phone attached to the wall just outside of the kitchen.

“Hello?” You didn’t know what to expect, but your face softened to a smile when you heard the reply.

“My gorgeous y/n!” Sirius sang, consonants slightly slurred. You knew your friends were at a house party tonight, one that you’d politely declined despite Sirius’ insistence in you being there. It wasn’t your scene, and the group had organised a quieter games night at James’ place the night after, so you weren’t worried about missing too much.

“What are you doing, Black? Shouldn’t you be dancing on a table somewhere?” You teased, laughing lightly at the memory of one party you did attend, and the absolute fool Sirius had made of himself to Bennie and the Jets. He hummed in agreement.

“I was. But I wanted to talk to my favourite person — ‘ve missed you.”

“You’re seeing me tomorrow, Sirius. I’m sure you can hold on sixteen more hours?” You could practically see Sirius shaking his head no, childish pout on his lips. That was how you knew he was pretty drunk, he always got whiny and overly affectionate.

“But that’s with everyone, I miss you,” You both loved and hated when he flirted with you like this; you knew it was a joke but it still made you weak in the knees. “Tell me about your day.” You sighed, knowing that it was chatting to him or worrying about the dumb inebriated decisions he would no doubt make, so you started.

You gave him a run through of your day, sliding down the wall to be in a seated position as you realised it would probably be a long call. You told him about the summer deep clean you’d powered through and the subsequent self care night you had definitely earned. He listened intently, and you could occasionally hear him hum into the phone or interject with a one word response, just so you knew he was paying attention. You’d launched into a recap of your novel so far when you realised he hadn’t spoken in several minutes. Worrying he’d passed out or lost interest in your ramblings you tapered off.

“Sirius? You there?” He hummed an affirmation. “Oh. Is everything ok?”

“Yeah, ‘course. It’s just…” He trailed off and you frowned, holding the silence so he’d continue. “I love you.”

You sighed in relief. You two, and the rest of the friendship group, said ‘I love you’ all the time, it was never something to be apprehensive about.

“You know I love you too, Black. I’m still on the phone aren’t I?” You laughed, twirling the yellow cord around your freshly painted (but almost definitely dry) fingers. You heard him groan over the phone and faltered again.

“No, y/n. I’m fucking in love with you.”

You almost dropped the phone you were so surprised. You felt your heart beating against your chest, both in excitement and panic. He didn’t mean it, he couldn’t. Maybe Remus had broken his promise and told Sirius about your crush on him and this was all some kind of sick joke. Sirius Black was not in love with you — you had seen him grinding and making out with Marissa from the year above at the end of year party, and that was only a few weeks ago. All the possible joy that had crept into the edges of your heart was extinguished, and instead anger bloomed, spreading to the tips of your fingers, which brought the receiver back up to your face.

“Hang up and tell me when you’re sober.” With that you slammed the phone back on the wall, hot tears building behind your eyes, threatening to fall. You stumbled blindly back into your bedroom, both red hot rage and crushing sadness obscuring your vision.

Safely in bed, you let the tears fall. How dare he? You were the one who had pined after him for years, made peace with the fact that you would never hear those words out of his mouth for you, and for what? For him to rip out your heart because he was drunk and bored? Did he think it was funny? Did he even know what he was doing to you? You sobbed into the stuffed dog Sirius had given you for your last birthday, before the anger resurfaced and you launched it across the room, slamming your head into the pillow as the toy made a dull thud against the wall.

You almost didn’t go to James’ game night the next evening. You reasoned it would just be too humiliating, Sirius would crow about the girl he had hooked up with after you’d ended the call — or even worse make fun of you about the supposed confession. No, you were more than ready to call in sick and spend the night pitying yourself over a fat bowl of ice cream. However, when James called around midday begging you to bring your ‘world famous’ white chocolate brownies “And your sweet face, of course,” how could you refuse? And so you got dressed in your confidence outfit; pulling your hair into your favourite style. You needed all the help you could get today.

Standing in front of James’ door you sucked in a breath. Trying to put an easy smile on your face, it faltered when Sirius was the one to welcome you inside. He grinned when he saw you, which made the flicker of anger spark once more. How could he act like he didn’t just say he was in love with you?

“Hey everyone, y/n’s here!” He called, and you could the hear the stampede of footsteps as your friends all came out to greet you. Your smile returned involuntarily as Remus pulled you into a strong hug, which was copied by each of the girls. James, conversely, dropped to the floor in a position of worship as you presented the tray of brownies.

You all sat around the fire, chatting easily as James painstakingly set up the game of Monopoly in front of you.

“Man, I don’t remember a thing from last night,” Sirius said, reclining back in an armchair. Everyone laughed but you, and you fought with your brain to keep your features relaxed as you stared at him.

“Be grateful for that,” Lily laughed, counting out game money in piles. “You made an utter tool of yourself.”

“Yeah, rambling about Merlin knows what all bloody night; you were nonsensical,” Marlene teased and you cast your eyes down to study your fingers, picking at the already chipping polish. That’s why Sirius had acted like nothing was wrong, he didn’t even remember he’d said it. Only you were left with your whole world changed, and the bastard didn’t even have to suffer the memories of it. Suddenly you were overcome with the urge to take the beer Peter was offering you, downing half the bottle in two gulps.

“What’s got you all riled up, love?” Remus asked and you stuttered, unable of course to tell him the truth. Eyeing James’ finished set up you created a lie.

“Getting ready to dominate you all in Monopoly, duh.”

After that night, you couldn’t face Sirius. You weren’t avoiding him, per se, you could never do that. But you weren’t making any effort to see him, and you were proud of that self restraint. At dinners you’d sit next to your other friends, not looking at him unless he addressed you directly. Between classes you’d take off without waiting for him, claiming you were already stressed about the workload. Your friends could tell something was wrong, but no one could figure out what — seemingly not even Sirius.

Until one Friday night. It was unusually quiet, no parties planned or adventures to be had, and so you and your friends had taken over the Gryffindor common room, laughing and talking over the radio and the crackling of the fireplace.

“Firewhiskey, Pads?” James offered, but Sirius shook his head.

“Not tonight.” He smiled, sparing a casual glance to you. You weren’t looking at him, pretending to be engrossed in Lily’s conversation, but you couldn’t help but be slightly concerned. When did Sirius ever turn down a drink? Especially on a Friday night. You shook your head slightly, it wasn’t your problem anymore, you were still mad at him.

Eventually the night wound down, everyone heading back up to their respective dorm room one by one, tired out by the week. When you look up from the novel you’d been engrossed in for the past half hour, you were shocked by the fact that it was just you and Sirius left. Stranger than that was that Sirius wasn’t even doing anything, just staring blankly at the fire as his leg bounced aggressively.

You got up quickly, collecting your things in the attempt of a smooth escape. No such luck. Sirius stood to stop you and you stepped back carefully.

“What are you doing, Sirius?” You asked, forcefully avoiding his steely gaze.

“I’m in love with you.” You faltered, meeting his eyes to search for hidden meaning. You found none.

“What?”

“I’m in love with you, stupid. And I’m sure as hell sober right now, you can ask anyone.”

You felt your cheeks grow hot as you realised what all this meant. He had told the truth on that phone call and you had not only hung up on him, but also got mad and avoided him. Despite his feelings being more than reciprocated. The burning anger that had made a home in your stomach recently dissolved into butterflies, and a smile grew. Sirius relaxed as he saw your body language change, and chanced a tentative step towards you.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear you say that,” Your eyes shone in the firelight and Sirius couldn’t help but pull you closer towards him, arms wrapped around your waist.

“I thought, I mean I was worried—” You cut him off by holding his cheeks in your palms, pressing a soft kiss on his lips, one which he hungrily chased. You laughed and indulged him, the two of you holding each other carefully, lips moving slowly, exploring the other.

“Just so we’re clear,” You teased, “I’m pretty in love with you too, Black.”

#giasfics˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ #the marauders #marauders #marauders era #dead gay wizards #james potter #the marauders era #sirius black #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black x reader #marauders fanfiction #sirius black fic #sirius black fluff #sirius black oneshot #sirius orion black #mild angst #fluff #love #harry potter #remus lupin #lily evans

[tosahobi-if]

How would the ROs react to an MC who leaves them cutesy little love notes hidden in their stuff? I just want to spoil all the babies (they are all some kind of baby)

jinwol would be confused at first and not really know how to react. think he’d first react as if it was a prank and find the mc with the note like “what is this supposed to be about?” and then get REALLY embarrassed once he realized. he’d probably start digging through all his papers and things as part of a routine and inevitably get pouty if he doesn’t find anything else. <- guy who gets conditioned easily

yul would be so delighted they’d start doing it back. little treats, drawings, gifts, all of them would start popping up in the mc’s pack or on their bed. they’d sincerely start trying to outdo the mc HAHA forget cute little notes you’re waking up to find several pages of a love letter tucked into your robes.

iseul would be incredibly starry-eyed over it. very much of a “mc that’s so sweet of you!” and she’d very carefully collect and preserve all the notes. probably chases down the mc to kiss them on the cheek every time she finds one of those (she’d literally run several kilometers just to do that and leave again.) definitely pulls the notes out and looks at them to cheer herself up once in a while.

??? is ABSOLUTELY the type of person to start doing that before the mc, not that they’d ever admit that. they’re probably the most scholarly out of the four, and adore composing verses of poetry when the mood strikes them. they probably have an entire booklet of poetry inspired by the mc but they’d rather die than hand it over. i think they’d be a liiiittle gruff about getting love notes (you’re wasting paper, mc) but you’ll still catch them carefully tucking it into their sleeves.

#anon #ro: jinwol #ro: yul #ro: iseul #ro: ??? #jinwol can be a little dense at times #he’ll get a note from the mc that says #i love you and think you’re handsome and talented #and he’d still be like 🤔 what could this mean #it must be a PRANK

[bladeweavedance]

I decided to do one of those ship template meme thingies. There is no official height for either of these characters that I have seen, but they appear to be about the same size, so I kind of gave 'em an average-ish height. Wyll's age is his official age. Gale does not have any official age - he looks to be in his early-mid 40s, but I can't discount the idea that the orb might have prematurely aged him a bit, so I put him in his late-30s.

I figure Wyll and Gale take turns being the big/little spoon hence why I kinda halfsies it for both of them.

For the lends clothes / borrows clothes thing… Well, first of all, I headcanon Gale as being stockier than Wyll weight-wise - so it's likely Gale would not fit in any of Wyll's clothes (which seem rather tight on him anyway). Additionally, I just have this thought in my head that Wyll is sort of used to not being near a water source for washing his clothes for days at a time - so, he might sort of have this habit where he ends up running out of clean clothes and where normally he'd just wear the same thing over again (sort of a young bachelor-type of mindset almost), he just decides to borrow Gale's clothes instead. When they get married, Gale tries to gently break him of this habit. Though, he does like seeing Wyll wearing his clothes. It does things to him. LOL

I feel like neither Wyll nor Gale are the type to really excessively use pet names, but they might use a few simple ones with the occasional unique one sprinkled in. Wyll uses darling, dearest, my love - and maybe "my sweet wizard" and "my king" - playing into the sort of fairytale romance thing with that. Gale is put-off on using darling himself because he's heard Astarion use it too much, but he also uses dearest, my love, my hero, my Blade, and he uses "my king" back to Wyll as well.

Wyll is very charming and he seems really sociable when he's in a good mood (he mentioned dancing a bunch of sarabandes with the ladies and gentlemen of the Gate, and he's really a Man of the People sort, I think - he likes interacting with people and inspiring them) - so I put him all the way on the extroverted side. Gale is a bit harder to judge - on the one hand, he enjoys a lot of solitary activities (reading, he stands off to the side at parties, etc.), but he also exhibits a lot of very social traits as well - seeming to enjoy conversation and hanging out in bars. So, I headcanon him as being the sort that's kind of in the middle in terms of extroverted and introverted.

Wyll and Gale are not only both service-oriented people, but they're also rather eloquent and enjoy romantic phrases and poetry and building up people around them (especially their partner). So, I see both of them as being in-between when it comes to Affection through Words and Affection through Actions.

I wasn't really sure what to put in regards to Confesses First and Waits for Confession. On the one hand, they both tend to play the slow-burn in terms of romance, but on the other hand, they're both also rather eager and bold people… Sooo… I kinda just put them both on the same level. They seem like they'd both confess their feelings first at various points in their relationship (Gale might be the first to say "I love you" but Wyll ends up being the first to propose or what have you).

The bugs question… ROFL While I don't see Gale as really being the scream-y sort about anything really (he's pretty level-headed in the face of danger), he does seem to harbor some wariness towards bugs, particularly spiders (Not just the "Stop licking the damn thing!" but he has some words about phase spiders and Kar'niss). Wyll meanwhile is absolutely fearless and will definitely squash bugs or anything else that might set Gale on edge without question.

More to come for the rest of this! Darn character limit…

#bladeweave #wyll ravengard #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bg3 #ship meme #understand my ship #this got very long and i'm still not done #please forgive me #more to come #darn character limit

[mossymandibles]

How did Kraw's mom and dad meet? What drew them together? What was their relationship like? What did they talk about? Wait, did she even speak the same language as him? She seems pretty wild and solitary from what we've seen of her...

I haven’t honestly thought about languages and linguistics yet, if I ever do. It seems very daunting and I don’t have the brain power for it right now. For a sort of lazy aside I’d like to think the primordials have some form of common tongue that they all understand, idk what to call it yet though.

Yuna ended up solitary but she used to have a pod/matriline where she stayed with her own mother, brothers and sisters and their families. Their hierarchies are kind of like most whales. She wasn’t able to have calves of her own because of a faulty uterus but she would often help hunt for the pod, at times helping the calves of other mothers in her pod, or protecting the pod from any threats, proving herself to be very ruthless when it came to anything threatening her family.

She met Sobehk much later in life, when he found her on his wanderings after being exiled from his Rook on Zenith.

He was a prince but most found him strange, a romantic somewhat detached from reality, even somewhat immature and full of himself. His mother, the matriarch/Empress, found him to be a bit of a disappointment in terms of running things. He didn’t express any type of desire to learn politics. If he wasn’t showing off his fighting skills He would often wander off on long flights by himself, exploring or…writing very bad poetry.

He had developed a sort of obsession/fixation with the ocean. He definitely feared it, but felt drawn to what was down there because of an experience he had happening upon a leviathan in the throes of death, lying on the shore of an islet. He would spend hours looking across shorelines in search of anything that would wash up, any indication of answers for his burning curiosity.

He’d never seen a creature like Yuna before, only hearing stories about sea serpents and drakes at the edges of the world.

She was in the midst fending off two ‘whaling’ boats(merhunters/poachers), unable to dive away from them as they had several harpoons hooked into her side. She seemed to be fine on her own but Sobehk took it upon himself to help her, raking through the two boats like they were paper. Yuna didn’t stay to say thank you, but instead swam away to the nearest shore she could find, leaving a foamy trail of blood in the water. Sobehk ended up following her. She thought he was looking to pick her apart once she was dead.

He actually did think she was feral at first. He mostly wanted to observe, finding her to be graceful as well as beautiful.

Yuna, of course, was snarling and snapping the moment he decided to approach her, calling him a vulture and telling him to fuck off. (Sea drakes don’t especially care for Furies or other flyers.)

Finding out she could talk, he became even more enamored and interested and was determined to help her despite her reservations. He felt that “something as beautiful as her shouldn’t die like a hunted fox at the hands of whalers and their rusty harpoons” in his own words.

She was amused by this, and told him if he could fetch a specific kind of blood clotting kelp for her she would allow him to help. Even more amusing to her was finding out Sobehk was essentially afraid to go into the ocean despite his professed love of it.

Since they were closer to some populated islands, he ended up taking a fungal nymph doctor hostage from a nearby island village, close to where Yuna’s sea cave was. He was able to help Yuna and safely cut out the harpoons albeit nearly shitting himself the entire time.

During her recovery she stayed in her sea cave. Sobhek continued to hang around and made the mistake of impeding on her territory. There were several time that she actively tried to kill him when he would hunt for her and bring her live fish he stole from fishermen nets. Even in her weakened state she came very close to biting his head off. She distrusted him but Sobehk still seemed determined to help. Eventually he would leave the fish at the mouth of the cave and wait, safely perched nearby where he could still speak to her without being swiped or snapped at. He realized she just wanted her space/privacy. Long story short, during her recovery, Yuna eventually began to find Sobehk’s presence tolerable, realizing it was nice to have someone to converse with after so many years of keeping to herself. Where he was such a different archetype to her, she found it somewhat entertaining. His insistence to adorn and flatter her was a change of pace for sure. She did not care to be fawned over.

Yuna had never really had any lovers. Most prospects would end up avoiding her because she couldn’t bear any young and seemed cold/short tempered. After a few miscarries she would end up forgetting the whole mating thing altogether, finding it draining and redundant. I’d say her relationship with Sohbek was a sign of her settling down tbh, not that she didn’t end up caring for him in the end ofc.

I’d say they would mostly talk about their past lives, their separate cultures etc. Sobehk had thought sea drakes were just wild beasts so he was very interested to learn about her, even if she seemed reluctant to talk about herself. He would often ask tons of questions about what it was like whenever she’d make dives for hunting. (which is coincidentally what non-aquatic partners would ask Kraw a lot) the ocean was another world to him.

It wouldn’t be until towards the end of their relationship that he’d bring up eating the celestial’s flesh. Then things kind of ehhhh. Went to shit ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.

But hey, then comes Kraw.

I’ve wanted to draw out their meeting for a while but you know how that goes. Here’s a wip of one of the pages. I’ve been having fun drawing Yuna’s expressions and such.

He’s so smitten over this giant mean dragon lady. “You come from the ocean?? I’m a HUGE fan.”

#asks #yuna #sobehk #lore #wahoo! lopsided romance #i get it’s probably tropey but idc #I’ve been starting to design Yuna with more seal-like features because it makes sense to me #its not as visible in this page tho

[mega-punani]

I absolutely am in love with your one piece/ pirate AU!

May I request some head canons about how the boys fell for MC or what their ideal date mate is? If not it’s perfectly fine, have a good day/ night :)

THANK U!!! And I'll just dabble in the ideal date, mate. (Not gonna do how they fell for MC cause I'm tryna be as loosy goosey as possible)

Ideal Date Mate:

Sans: Sans longs for someone who is transparent. Someone who is not afraid to tell the truth and will communicate with him. Although he denies it, he needs someone to depend on. Preferably someone who can ground themselves and teach him a few things about good mental health. His ideal is a goofy, loving person!

Papyrus: To Papyrus, the most important trait his date mate would have is kindness. He cherishes the good in the world, and he would love to find that in his spouse as well. He's also prefers someone who has a strong moral compass as he has one as well. His ideal is a kind and compassionate person!

Blue: Blue prefers people who are shorter than him, lmao. But joking aside, Blue needs someone who can bring him down from the clouds. Whether that be gently or not, he needs someone who can translate social interactions and communicate what he should or not do. He also wants someone with a strong moral compass as well as a more optimistic point of view. His ideal is a moral and straightforward person!

Stretch: The most romantic boi. He definitely needs someone who's patient. That's fo sho. Stretch needs time, a lot of time. Whether it is to think or process, either or, he wants his spouse to want to give him that space. He would also prefer someone who enjoys music and poetry. Then there would be some common ground in hobbies. His ideal is an artistic and patient person.

Red: Red wants a fighter. They don't need to be physical (although that would be pretty sexy) but just emotionally. He wants someone who's going to get back up after every blow. He admires that preserverence in people. Confidence is a big thing for him as well. He wants to see the best in his spouse, and he wants his spouse to see that, too. Of course, there is a line between cocky and confident. HIs ideal is a determined and self-assured person.

Edge: Loyalty is #1 to Edge. If you are loyal, that's a giant checkmark in his book. His standards are HIGH. But as long as you strive to be the best you, that's enough for him. He's also super big on self-improvement, so if you have goals and aspirations, it's very attractive to him. Edge's type is someone capable and loyal.

Razz: Honestly, Razz never really sits down to think about romance. He has no type. He for sure knows what he DOESN'T want in a partner. But a partner that would be good for him is a partner who is patient and willing to give him love at a slower pace. He needs a partner who is as headstrong and stubborn as him to get him to take a break or rest. But overall, he doesn't really got a type.

Cash: Oof. This boi has a LOT of internal guild and genuinely does not believe he deserves a spouse. But the type he dreams about is a person who has a good sense of humor. He wants a partner he can do mischief with, hand in hand. He wants a partner who has his back and will talk to him instead of leaving. He wants someone who can help work through his problems with him. He knows he needs to change. He just needs help. Allota trauma for the boi,,, Cash's type is someone who is funny and understanding.

Bear: Sweet sweet Bear just wants someone to hold,,,🥺. He wants a partner who will hug, kiss, and hang off of him as much as possible. In shorter terms: a clingy partner. He is big, so he doesn't mind carrying someone around 24/7. Bear also would prefer a foodie so he can see the wonder on his partner's face when eating his dishes. He wants to have something in common with a spouse, and cooking is a huge thing for him. Bear's ideal partner is a clingy foodie.

Cinnamon: Cinnamon needs someone who will tell the waiter, "he asked for no pickles ☝️🤨". He needs someone to be his biggest advocate, and while his brother is there to intimidate anyone who's giving Cinnamon a hard time, Bear never really tells Cinnamon why what happened is wrong. Cinnamon needs to stick up for himself and figure out his self-esteem enough to understand that he's not a doormat. A partner who can cheer him on and make him feel worthy is his ideal type.

#pirate au #self insert #sans au #sans x y/n #papyrus au #papyrus x y/n

[pokemenlovingmen]

Could I request some headcannons of the ScarVi boys with an agender s/o who struggles a lot with dissociation and stuff? Like maybe how they’d comfort them. Preferably it/its and nym/nyms pronouns please. I personally don’t like being seen as super human due to how often I dissociate if that gives any ideas for writing.

Hello~ so sorry for how long this took. Life has been. A lot. I don't know how much use of pronouns I'll have since I generally write in the second person but I'll do my best! I also have issues with dissociation, but not a lot, so I hope I represent things as best as I can for you. I know everyone's dissocciation manifests differently as well as what helps, some folks need to be put into a lot of activity while others need isolation for a bit, at least from my experience, so I just want to represent all I can. :)

Also if I left anyone out you were looking for please let me know! There's a lotta guys so I left out a few, you said "boys" so I went with the academy guys.

ScarVio Boys x Agender S/O Who Dissocciates!

Arven

🥪 - Arven is definitely a little confused when you first dissocciate around him. First he's worried it's something he did. Then he's worried you're sick or something. So he doesn't handle it super well the first time it happens. But once he realizes what's going on he falls into a rhythm.

🥪 - He's always incredibly communicative but tries to keep himself from grilling you with questions. He handles things with a fair bit of caution as he gradually gets a feel of what dissocciating looks like for you and what you need.

🥪 - Arven always has your back when it comes to your needs. He makes sure you're well-fed and hydrated. If you can't bring yourself to cook for yourself, of course he's going to be doing it for you. (And speaking from personal experience god wouldn't that be the best)

🥪 - Mabosstiff is always hanging out with you too. Sometimes Arven will help guide your hands through the Pokemon's long, coarse fur as a grounding device. Or if you need a lot of sensory input to help, he can also totally just let Mabosstiff jump on you and lick you half to death.

🥪 - He gets restless when there's not something he can do for you at all times and he needs to take time to learn sometimes the best thing he can do to help is just sit with you in silence. Though, occasionally, he'll ask if you'd feel better if he talks. He'd talk for hours if it meant helping bring you down to Earth.

Giacomo

🔈 - Music is one of the best grounding tools and you can bet your ass Giacomo is using every last bit of his musical knowledge and gear to help you.

🔈 - He gets you your own pair of custom headphones, whatever kind you want, one of those types that have noise cancelling you can switch on and off if you're dissocciating for reasons of being overwhelmed.

🔈 - He puts together all the very playlists of all your favorite songs, organized by vibe ofc.

🔈 - And if you need it he'd be happy to share an earbud with you if you need the one-on-one connection of listening to music together.

🔈 - If you're in a public space he's also very swift and on the spot with getting you somewhere calm to decompress.

🔈 - He doesn't really have many words for you, but he'll squeeze your hand and remind you with gentle touches that you're here, and so is he.

Atticus

🧵 - If talking helps guide you through dissocciation, he's probably the one for you. You ask, and he'll just sit next to you and wax poetry for hours. It can help if you're someone who just needs words or conversation, it doesn't matter what the content is.

🧵 - If what you need is a quiet place to come back down to earth he'll whisk you to the very best right away. He has some good spots he finds ideal for meditation that he finds would be ideal.

🧵 - Atticus has lots of little one-on-one activities he offers to do with you. He'll paint your nails, let you try things on or model for him, even just hold up a sleeve of one of his current projects for him to stitch.

🧵 - Or if you need him to just sit next to you in silence, he can do that too. Or if you need him completely gone he'll leave you alone for as long as you need. I think Atticus understands better than most what you might need and to be patient with you, and he never takes your distance personally if it needs to happen.

🧵 - He can also put together some kind of garment like a sweater or hoodie that's sensory-friendly and he will take every last one in your preferences into account. Colors, weight, length, especially material, if you ever make a request expect it to be followed to a T.

🧵 - No matter what it is, if there's one thing you can be sure of it's that Atticus will be patient.

#pokemon x reader #arven x reader #scarvio #pokemon #atticus x reader #giacomo x reader #gn reader

[vulpisnocturna]

NSFW alphabet for Obito please *~*

Aww, the secret sweetheart <3 Here we go. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Obito is an absolute simp. You will find him cooking you breakfast in the morning, burning the eggs. But it’s the thought that counts, right? He will want to cuddle with you and will probably require you to hold him like the baby he is inside. Props if you play with his hair and he can put his head on your chest or your thighs. To be honest, he will try to provide aftercare, but you will have to baby him too. He’s clingy AF. And he gets incredibly soppy after, telling you how much he loves you and how you saved him over and over again.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Obito likes his height a lot. He loves hugging you and putting his chin on the top of your head. It makes him feel as though he’s protecting you. He loves bear hugging you. As for you, there isn’t something about you he doesn’t find absolutely perfect. You are practically a goddess in his eyes. He’s the type of person who would stand outside your window with a stereo and a dozen roses and try to write poetry about you (he’s not that good with it, but you think it’s cute).

Obito is definitely a boobs guy. He loves putting his hand under your shirt when you two spoon so he can hold onto one of your boobs for comfort. He will also ask you a ridiculous number of times if he can lie down with his head on your chest. He thinks your boobs are so soft and comfortable. 

when he fucks you, though, his attention to your boobs is almost obsessive. He will leave hickeys on them, lick your nipples, suck them until you’re a moaning mess, grazing them with his teeth until you can’t help but beg him because they’re too hypersensitive.

‘Just a little more, love. Give me another moan’ he’ll say, pushing his thigh between your legs to make you chase your own release. 

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

Guess what. You already know it. The Uchiha breeding kink is back. And it’s pretty strong with this one. Obito will always fuck you a second time after cumming inside you, just to push his own cum further into you. He wants you filled to the brim, and he will get so feral watching it he will not last long. When he fucks your mouth, he loves cumming on your tits. 

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He’s a bit of a yandere. He will spy on you, probably watched you sleep and stole at least one of your panties from your drawer. He has that stalkerish vibe about him. Definitely keeps tabs on all your guy friends and gets into fist fights with them. He’s a bit insecure that you might fall for one of them instead. 

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Obito doesn’t have that much experience. He doesn’t trust easily after all he’s been through, so he rarely got into those situations. However, he’s been with two or three people before you. He dedicates himself to finding out what you like and he can learn quickly. 

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

Definitely likes having you on his lap or cowgirl so he can fuck into you and watch your tits bounce with every thrust, as well as seeing all of your body in front of him. 

He likes seeing your expression as you grind on him, feeling like you want him and crave him, feeling as though he can make you feel good.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

Obito can definitely act like a clown (cough cough Tobi) but when he’s fucking you, he’s completely entranced. He will lose his jokes and easy-going attitude and become serious.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Obito tries his best to keep clean, especially with the scar tissue. He tries to keep his skin moisturised so it doesn’t feel calloused and rough under your fingers. He definitely forgets to trim his downstairs area sometimes. 

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Obito is the ultimate simp. He will light candles on the bedside tables, pour you a glass of wine and gaze at you adoringly before he slowly takes off your clothes and takes his sweet time letting you know how much he loves all of you. 

Alternatively, when he’s feeling possessive and jealous, he will spare no time in ripping the clothes off of you and lifting you onto the kitchen counter before he fucks you roughly until you’re both panting, heads buried in each other’s necks.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

Obito definitely masturbates at the thought of you even outside of a relationship. That man’s been pining for you since he first saw you, and he’s taking every chance to let out his frustrations with a few fantasies. 

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

He wants to hear you say you’re his. He is jealous and possessive, and telling him that he’s the only one and that no one else can fuck you as well as he does sends him spiralling towards a mind-blowing orgasm. 

He’s also big on praise kink. He does it for you as much as for himself. He likes telling you how good you are and how no one knows how loudly you moan for him. He likes hearing you whisper pleas and seeing you come undone when he marks your skin with lovebites. 

He’s also on the edging train: if he gets jealous, sees you talking to some other guy and being a little too friendly, he will definitely sit you on his lap and use his fingers to bring you close to your breaking point over and over again, until he’s satisfied that you’ve been reminded you’re his. 

‘No one gets to see you like this, begging and begging until I give you what you want. Do you want my cock? Do you want me to fuck you until you scream my name and beg me to cum inside you?’ 

He wants to hear you cry out with desperate longing so badly he will go absolutely feral on you. Expect sore muscles and ruined makeup.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

Obito doesn’t want anyone to see him without his mask and clothes on, so he’ll only let loose when you two are alone. He would also never allow anyone to see your naked body. That’s something only he can see.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Anything ranging from you breathing to you getting down to suck him off after a long day. If you wear a skimpy outfit for him, he will definitely pounce on you, fling you on his shoulder and take you to bed. 

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Ranging from threesomes to exhibitionism, that’s a hard pass. 

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

He loves the feeling of your lips around his cock. He loves when you look up at him and moan when he fucks your mouth. He’ll praise you and tell you just how good you are and how much he wants you to keep going. 

‘Swallow all of it for me, and I’ll return the favour, love. That’s it. I can’t wait to lick you and feel how good  you taste. That’s my good girl’ he’ll say as he fists your hair and urges you to look at him, panting and groaning in his gravelly voice.

P = Pace (Are they fast  and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Obito is more often on the slow and sensual side. He will want to savour the feeling of your cunt around his cock, how tight and wet you are as he kisses you slowly, his hands gripping your hips and fondling your breasts.

He’s not against the occasional rough fuck, but don’t expect him to be quick about it. He needs to enjoy you fully. 

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

He won’t have one often. Sex with you is an out of body experience for Obito, and he needs a few hours to make you come undone. He needs you to get so desperate you’d do anything to have him. And then he’ll fuck you. 

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Obito gets shy when he’s asked to do something he’s not confident about. If you have something you want to try, you’ll have to coax it out of him when he’s in the moment, because otherwise, he won’t even be able to look at you. 

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

The Hashirama cells did wonders for his stamina. Obito is insatiable. He will want to go for four rounds one after the other, and only when he sees you can’t take any more will he relent. 

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Obito doesn’t use toys. Neither does his partner. If you want fun, he’s there. Day and night. Just give him his cue and he’ll be happy to satisfy your every need. 

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Obito doesn’t tease much. He’s too greedy, and he wants to see you cum for him. He loves the sight of it. And he wants to touch you. He can’t keep away for too long. But if he’s in his edging mood, he enjoys getting you to the edge and then denying the orgasm, until you can’t take it anymore.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

He’s definitely vocal, but don’t expect him to be loud with his moans. He will quietly moan and grunt, but he’ll do so pretty quietly. He’ll do anything to let everyone hear you, though. 

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Obito hates being tied up. He can’t stand the feeling of helplessness, and even if he trusts you, seeing you touch the body he despises so much gets him out of his good mood pretty quickly. He needs to have control of the situation. 

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Obito’s quite tall and has toned muscles, big palms and slender fingers. His cock is around 6 inches, more thick than long. He’s a grower as well. 

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

When it’s for you, he could stay in bed all day every day. Every time you two are naked in each other’s arms, that’s like a reward to him. 

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He’s conked out by the time your fingers start playing with his hair. He is only able to fully let go and relax with you, and when you gently stroke his hair and hold him, his exhaustion washes over him and he’s clinging to you in his sleep.

#fanfiction #writing #naruto #creative writing #uchiha obito #obito uchiha #obito #obito headcanons #obito x you #obito smut #obito imagines #uchiha #uchiha smut #uchiha headcanons

[verosvault]

🚨SPOILERS FOR FANTASY HIGH JUNIOR YEAR EPISODE 7🚨

Dimension20 "Fantasy High Junior Year"

Episode 7 "Stress Tested"

Timestamp: 1:50:43

Video Length: 3min. & 50sec.

Fig incepts Ruben's dreams with Wanda Childa 💀

Brennan: "Let's do any Mystery rolls that we have here at the very end."

Emily: "I have a mystery thing I wanna do."

Brennan: "Cool."

Emily: "I basically want to- if we can't do it on campus, I don't have to do it on campus. I can do it around the town. I basically want to disguise myself as various eligible high schoolers and probe about Ruben's dating past."

Brennan: "Oh-hooo! Go ahead and gimme a Mystery roll. This is your third roll, so the DC's 15, but successes past a certain point will get you even more. You can give me Perception, Investigation, or Insight."

Emily: "All right, I think the goal is that I was gonna try and use my Actor feat, but okay, I'll do that."

Brennan: "I'll let you use the Actor feat to get advantage, but not to use your Performance skill. Cool?"

Emily: "Okay." *rolls dice* *scoffs*

Brennan: "You could take a stress." (Why is he so evil?! 😭✋)

Emily: "I'll take a stress. I'm gonna take a stress."

Lou: "You can take a stress."

Emily: "I want this."

Ally: "Ah, a stress pusher."

Lou: "You could take a stress."

Emily: *rolls dice* "That's 19."

Brennan: "That definitely passes. You ask about Ruben's-"

Emily: "And like, I wanna go through all of his lyrics and basically get a profile of what he might be attracted to."

Brennan: "You talk to a student. There's a Triton student at Aguefort whose name is Lashra. And you see she says like,"

Lashra: "Oh, Ruben's dated a lot of people. Like, he's in everyone's DMs. He's, like, constantly talking. I haven't heard anything that's, like, that gross beyond, like, what you would expect for someone who, like, got famous quickly."

Fig: "Yeah, no, I meant more like, does he have a type?"

Lashra: "I would say anyone who thinks he's cool, straight up. I haven't seen like a strong type. Oh! He talked a lot about this girl at the beginning of the year, Wanda."

Fig: "Yeah. Yeah. Yeah, yeah, I heard she's super hot and mysterious."

Ally: "Wanda Childa?!"

Lashra: "Yeah. Oh! He asked me if I knew if Wanda was gonna be at Frosty Fair."

Fig: "Okay. That's crazy. I'm so jealous of Wanda."

Lashra: "Yeah, he was like, 'I hope she's there.' 'Cause he's- I dunno if you heard, he's headlining."

Fig: "Is he?"

Lashra: "Yeah, he's headlining at Frosty Fair."

Fig: "Interesting."

Lashra: "Mm-hmm."

Fig: "Cool"

Emily: "So I wanna use that information to...I took the Dream spell and I wanna, just every night, give him dreams of Wanda."

(Ally laughing 😂😂)

Emily: "Just dreams of Wanda saying how good he is. Dreams of like-"

Ally: "You're invading a teenage boy's dreams. Inserting your alter-ego."

Emily: "My alter-ego."

Brennan: "My alter-ego."

Murph: "Alter-emo." 😂😂

Ally: "Alter-emo!"

Emily: "I think it's like- who did 'Tree of Life?' Like, Terrence Malick, kind of flashbacky. Her in fields."

Brennan: "Yeah."

Emily: "Her showing him her poetry tattoos, her putting hair behind her ear. It's just, like, everything is montages of that."

Brennan: "So you're incepting Ruben with Wanda Childa."

Emily: "Like a buildup of this crush on Wanda Childa."

Brennan: "Incredible. You successfully do that."

Siobhan: "Why is she always under a white sheet?"

Emily: "It's always like, yeah. It's always over her shoulder, like that Instagram travel."

(Siobhan and Ally laughing)

Lou: "Your mouth is talking, but it's just the sound of waves crashing."

Zac: "She's on the end of a pier?"

Emily: "Yeah. It moves in and out."

Siobhan: "Are there piers? Aren't we in a landlocked city?"

Emily: "Just like, her in the passenger seat doing this in the window."

Ally: "omg."

Brennan: "Incredible. Like a week after that, a single hits the thing of 'Not All Who Wanda Are Lost.'"

(Emily, Zac and Siobhan laughing)

Ally: "omg." 😂😂

Brennan: "Incredible."

#dimension 20 #dimension20 #blog #fantasy high #fantasy high junior year #stress tested #fantasy high stress tested #fantasy high junior year episode 7 #fhjy ep 7 #fantasy high scene #fantasy high junior year scene #dimension20 scene #queue #fig #fig faeth #figueroth faeth #emily axford #ruben hopclap #lashra #brennan lee mulligan

[guxciestone]

✧ CELEBRITY BIRTH CHART ANALYSIS ✧

— drake.

i’m very interested to look into drake’s natal chart because he has very unique placements. he’s a venus retrograde native like me! i hope you are having an amazing day and enjoy 🤍😊

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✨🦉 Aubrey Drake Graham was born on October 24, 1986 in Toronto, Canada. Drake is one of the most popular rappers of this generation known for his melodic/rhythmic sound and soft image. Drake started off his legacy and gained recognition from his acting career as Jimmy Brooks in ‘Degrassi: The Next Generation’. After his acting efforts, he started his career in rapping and music. He easily gained recognition and popularity after his debut album ‘Thank Me Later’ which published in June 2010. A list of a few of Drake’s popular songs are: Hotline Bling (2016), God’s Plan (2018), and Marvin’s Room (2011) Additionally, Drake also gained recognition for his meme-able character.

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he identifies as:

࿐ a scorpio sun, cancer moon, & leo rising.

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ㅤㅤ— his personality.❞

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Water Grand Trine indicates that Drake has a talent in expressing his emotions and relating to others, especially through creative pursuits such as writing, poetry, and music since his trine are in air houses. He is deeply empathetic, sensitive, and mostly isn't afraid to do so. Drake has a reputation of being a guy who is in touch with feminine side, and he owns it with no apologies. You can definitely see his comfortability with his sensitive side with his Moon in Cancer.

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Sun conjunct Pluto shows that Drake is an intense, powerful, and introspective guy who often undergos tons of transformations in his life, especially when it comes to his values, thoughts, and opinions on things with his aspect in the 3rd house. These are the types of people who go through different personas and different periods. I bet if you looked back at one of drake's older photos, you could easily identify what type of era he was going through in his life. One thing I can say is that he is a man who is willing to change and learn for the better. On the other hand, this does show someone could have control issues and have an intense obsession with power. On the darker side, if this person has power, they have the potential to use it for the worse just to establish respect for others and satisfy their ego. I definitely do think his obsessive need for power shows in Mars square Pluto, especially when it comes to routine and how he wants things to be. He might like things to go his way and only his way, and would do anything it takes for it be so (Pluto in Scorpio), even in unconventional ways with his Mars in Aquarius. I'm not saying that this is true, but there are rumors that Drake orders hitman on several artists in the past. I think it's fascinating how this aspect aligns with that allegation.

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Mercury square Ascendant shows that Drake struggles with communication and expressing his thoughts and opinions with associates and strangers during conversations. It is possible that Drake is an awkward person who he struggles with socializing a bit. On the other hand, he might just struggle with gettin his point across and could be easily misunderstood. Since his Mercury is in Scorpio and his Ascendant in Leo, it is possible that since Drake is a deep thinker and isn't uncomfortable expressing his intense feelings, people can almost be put off with how sudden his words are. This comes into conflict with his confident and bright disposition.

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Saturn square Ascendant can indicate that Drake struggles to express his natural personality around strangers and associates. With Saturn in the 4th house, Drake could've had a childhood that dealt with some type of restrictions, scarcity, or extreme responsibilities. Perhaps there was a strained relationship with the parents, financial hardship, or anything else. This could've caused Drake to develop a inherited shell in which he hides himself from others within the fear of being judged or criticized. He might be seen as too serious to individuals around him.

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Mercury conjunct Venus shows Drake's incredible talent in music, singing, and songwriting. He is also a beautiful communicator with his Venus in the 3rd house. In tons of interviews, Drake talks as though he is speaking poetry. He truly knows how to use his words. Not to mention, he is a good songwriter.

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Neptune trine Ascendant that Drake has the ability to shapeshift and become any type of character he wants to be. It is almost as though anyone can project their own fantasies and thoughts onto him and he'll become just that. Not to mention, Drake is undeniably talented in many areas considering that his Neptune is in 5th house. He's very versatile and has a performer quality with his Ascendant as Leo.

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ㅤㅤ— his relationships.❞

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With Moon trine Jupiter, Drake is a man with a huge and generous heart. He loves receiving love, and spreading love. People love to make jokes about how Drake is such a nice guy because he is from Canada. Astrologically, this aspects shows that. At one of his older concerts, he instructed everyone in the audience to give a person, even if they were a stranger, a hug. If that isn't Moon trine Jupiter activities, I don't know what is. With his Moon in the 11th and Jupiter in the 7th, Drake is abundant of any relationships and social connections. He could be very extroverted and has tons of friends and relations with people making him popular. He could also have a fruitful love life too and be very charming, especially with his Venus trine Jupiter. He is very popular with the opposite gender especially, and knows how to pursue them. However, due to these individuals being used to getting what they want in regards to love, pleasure, and materials, they could believe they could get literally anything they desire with no efforts or realism. Drake could struggle with believing that he cannot in fact have anyone he wants. At some point he could've lacked realism in his love life. These people tend to be extremely humorous too. Drake is a figure in the pop culture that is easily meme-ified nowadays.

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Moon trine Pluto shows that Drake is also an intense person when it comes to his inner world. He feels very deeply, especially towards his loved ones and friends since Moon is in the 11th house. He is probably the type have many associates but a close-knit group of friends that he calls family. It must be hard to get into his circle because he values his privacy and exclusivity so much.

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Moon opposition Neptune that although Drake is a compassionate, selfless, and charitable guy when it comes to his loved ones. He is also capable of being taken advantage of, or he is someone who takes advantage of others. He might be susceptible to projecting onto others or struggle to make sense of the people around him and his environment. Perhaps he has an issue with understand who is and isn’t his friends, which can cause him be surrounded by around a lot of fake people with Moon in the 11th house. It is best advised for him to make sense of it and keep his circle small as mentioned above.

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Venus Retrograde shows that Drake is a guy who feels love differently than others. He feels it deeply and in his own unique way. Consider the fact that this retrograde only takes about 8% of the population—a pretty rare placement. Drake, generally, has a bunch of karmic lessons surrounding love, material things, and self-love in this life. He has to deal with karmic relationships and scenarios in order to improve his views on love and the idea of it in general. With his retrograde being in Scorpio in the 3rd house, Drake could be someone who struggles with possessiveness and clinginess. He could even be someone who is flaky, flighty, and might have an issue with committing. It’s his lesson to learn how to truly connect with others on a deeper level and get to know people genuinely without leaving at every new interest. According to Drake in one of his interviews when people said that he cannot be single forever, " I love my space and my routine. For me to break that it would have to be a really special person." This quote is the epitome of a venus retrograde individual. 

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Jupiter square Chiron shows that Drake has life lessons that will change his views and beliefs, particularly in this relationships since Jupiter in the 7th house. His career and his image will be the reason as to why. Chiron in Gemini in the 10th house shows that Drake will experience wounds and traumas surrounding being heard in the public eye. Again, he may have to deal with being misunderstood by the people, which can cause the wound of feeling as though he can't express his thoughts and say what he wants to say. This causes Drake to have a different view on relationships and connections in general.

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ㅤㅤ— his legacy/image.❞

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Sun sextile Midheaven shows that Drake is a pioneer in his area of occupation—Music and the arts. It is almost as though the talent of songs, writing, versatility, and creativity comes natural to him, especially since his Sun is in the 3rd house. Additionally, he receives tons of attention, fame, and popularity. He is also highly respected in his industry due to his glamorous persona.

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Sun trine Chiron indicates that Drake is a confident, determined, and highly motivated man. Most importantly, he is incredibly versatile and talented with his Sun in the 3rd house. He used these traits to help himself gain respect in his industry especially with Chiron in the 10th house. This is allowing him to finally be heard and understood like he always wanted with his Chiron in Gemini. Mercury opposition Midheaven also shows how Drake has to deal with struggling with expressing his thoughts and opinions correctly to the public; hence, being misunderstood or not expressing himself at all.

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Venus opposition Midheaven shows that Drake finds his true pleasures in his private life. His personal life is where he truly finds satisfaction. With Venus in the 4th house, Drake definitely his pleasures in his home life, family, and security. He must also find pleasure in his privacy and people not knowing much about him and his life circumstances with his Venus in Scorpio. He prefers to invest in the luxuries of life with his loved ones when no one is watching.

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With his Leo Ascendant at the 29°, the 29° is the degree of maturity or near completion. With Drake, he probably at a point where has achieved ultimate full growth in how he perceived life, how he responds to his environment, and how he presents himself. In the past, he might have struggled with an ego or selfishness. Now, he is at the level where he is truly self-confident and secure in himself and he owns who he is with no apologies.

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#astrology #natal chart #astro observations #celebrity readings #guxciestone #astro community

[luvfy0dor]

Bsd and Book Tropes/Types!

╰┈➤ Atsushi, Dazai, Kunikida, Ranpo, Yosano, Akutagawa, Chuuya, Higuchi, Fyodor, Nikolai, Sigma

CW: None!

Description - Book types and tropes I think various bsd characters would enjoy. These are just some of my opinions, if you feel I've incorrectly characterized any of them please tell me! Also, this is based off of the main storyline, I haven't read Stormbringer, 55 Minutes, etc yet.

Atsushi Nakajima ☆

╰┈➤ Comic books, found family, childhood friends to lovers ☑

I feel like these are a no brainer, but I think Atsushi, if given the chance to read them as a child, would have really liked comics and grown up with them. I think he would like super hero/action stories. Specifically because of the Odasaku-Man show/series/franchise in BSD Wan. He'd probably enjoy DC, Marvel, The Avengers, etc.

Atsushi, to me at least, seems like the type of person to really want to connect to whatever he's reading and be moved by it. I think found family is probably a big thing for him because of Dazai bringing him into the agency and all. I think he likes sentimental and happier story lines that can make you cry solely because they have to end at some point.

Atsushi would probably like to watch the characters grow up together, probably torn apart by some unforseen event and eventually rekindling. Like I said, I think he would really like sentimental stuff, and seeing people rejoice and fall in love is probably really heart warming to him.

Osamu Dazai ☆

╰┈➤ Poetry, soulmates, MAJOR plot twists ☑

To be honest, I feel like if Dazai were to sit and read anything, it would most likely be a poem. I don't think Dazai is the type of guy to analyze poetry for fun, but I think he has a subconscious habit of doing it. Either he's pretty into it or he's skimming through it and tossing it to the side the second he's bored.

If I had to pick a romance trope that Dazai would like, I do think it'd be soulmates. Or maybe like, right person wrong time. I think he would like the angst of it should the book take a turn and end in tragedy, or he might also enjoy a fulfilling and satisfying ending. I think he likes the idea of two people being destined to be together, one soul two bodies type thing, you know? ;]

I think he likes major plot twists but only if they catch him off guard,which is probably pretty rare. He likes the feeling of surprise when a book takes an unexpected turn.

Doppo Kunikida ☆

╰┈➤ Slow burn, historical fiction ☑

Kunikida likes slow burn because it's something he can read through for a while. I think he likes trilogies and series, especially if he really enjoys the storyline and characters. He probably likes the reliability of being able to pick the same thing up for a while after dealing with whatever nonsense takes place at the agency.

I think he likes reading about things that he has at the very least surface level knowledge about. He likes when authors stay true to the actual events while creating a storyline around it. Like, for example, a love story that takes place between two soldiers in a war. So long as it stays true to the actual events, I think he would read it.

Edogawa Ranpo ☆

╰┈➤ The "Chosen One", Found Family ☑

Ranpo definitely has a hard time finding books that he'll actually enjoy. I can't remember if he said he did or didn't like mystery books though because they were to easy for him to solve? I don't remember, so I'm not gonna include mystery books for him. I think he would really like books where the main character is a "Chosen One" though. I don't really know why, it just seems like the type of story he'd sit through while simultaneously making fun of it.

"This guy thinks he's so special all because he can ____! I can do that too."

I think he'd also like found family because, like Atsushi, he found his family in the detective agency. He and Yosano are like sister and brother and Fukuzawa is like his father. I think they would have a special place in his heart for sure.

Yosano Akiko ☆

╰┈➤ Bad Girl/Good Boy, one of us is famous ☑

I think Yosano would feel as though the good girl/bad boy trope is way over done. She would probably be happy to see it switched up once in a while. I think she really likes the contrast of the two types of personalities and characters, but she also wants to see the characters be smart rather than immature or stupid. She probably wouldn't want to read the same stereotypical "Character A trips and falls, landing right on top of Character B." She likes when stories can stand out and be unique.

She also probably like the idea of one of the characters in the relationship being able to uphold themselves without their partner, that independence seems like something she'd find interesting to read. I think she would really take interest in the plot and how it could come out, maybe angsty because of the famous ones busy schedule? Maybe it ends with the famous one's career coming to retirement because they felt it's more important to make time for their partner? I think she'd find all of the possibilities interesting.

Ryunosuke Akutagawa ☆

╰┈➤ "I hate everyone in the world but you", childhood friends to lovers, nonfiction ☑

Honestly, I have like, a big list of tropes in front of me and it was really hard to pick for him because none of them really seemed very him to me. If you catch him reading a romance book though, it's probably "I hate everyone but you" or childhood friends to lovers. I think they could both go hand in hand for him. The "I hate everyone but you" trope reminds me of like, only being able to trust this one person thoroughly. Trust like that is gained through years of companionship such as childhood friendships into adolescence and adulthood. I think his childhood probably would have an effect on this preference.

"We've already been together so long, you know me and I know you and there is trust. Why would I ever want to start all that over?" Type of thing.

While I think he doesn't mind fiction occasionally, I think he prefers to read about real things. It's more serious.

Nakahara Chuuya ☆

╰┈➤ Workplace romance, second chance romance, secret romance ☑

Chuuya seems like the type of guy to like romance and moderate thrill, so I think he leans towards romance stories that could build up suspense or get the characters into a little bit of trouble. As for office romance, I think he likes the idea of falling in love with someone in a place he kind of has to be every day, that person making his day better. It also means he would get to be close to his s/o and I think he'd knowing that they're okay, which is why I think he'd like that trope. The thrilling part is that maybe it's against a code of conduct in the office? Maybe they get caught dating, what happens after that?

Second chance romance to me is exciting because you get to see characters learn and grow from their mistakes, and I think Chuuya finds acknowledgement on wrongdoings really important. But characters might also mess up again, which is always interesting to watch go down.

Secret romance is self explanatory on the thrill factor. It can give you so many questions that are most likely answered in the book itself, like why is it a secret?

(I also think he enjoys super hero comics but wouldn't admit it in fear of being called immature because of that Odasaku-Man scene in bsd wan)

Ichiyō Higuchi ☆

╰┈➤ Workplace romance, YA rom-com, bad boy/good girl ☑

She definitely likes the idea of workplace romance because of her massive little crush on Akutagawa. Like Chuuya I think she'd like the idea of being around your s/o even while having to work, whether the work is boring or not. I think her crush also influences the bad boy/good girl thing, although I don't know if I'd call her a good girl. I think she would like to consider herself a good girl.

YA rom-com also seems like her thing, like she would read it while laying in her stomach, kicking her feet, twirling her hair, and giggling.

Fyodor Dostoevsky ☆

╰┈➤ Philosophy, poetry, life's hardships ☑

Oh boy. He doesn't even get tropes, I don't think he'd read fiction. I do think he'd read philosophy books though, like he's probably read up on Confusious and Aristotle or something like that. Even if he doesn't agree with the philosopher he's reading about, I think he'd find it interesting.

He definitely appreciates poetry, HE'S the type of guy to analyze it in his free time. I think he'd find poetry beautiful when done right.

Because the real Dostoevsky grew up poor, I think bsd Dostoevsky has an appreciation for books written about struggles an author has faced. Fyodors past hasn't been mentioned in the main storyline of bsd atleast, so I'm just going assume he grew up poor until other information comes out. I think hearing about other people facing the same thing he did in childhood might give him a sense of humanity. He said during his "happy group counseling hour" that only he and Dazai could understand each other because of their levels of intelligence. Maybe seeing other people having something in common with him would be something he would like.

Nikolai Gogol ☆

╰┈➤ Independent mc ☑

Nikolai doesn't seem like the type to read a lot, but because of his ideology associated with freedom, I think he'd like books with a strong lead character. I don't think he'd like books with main characters that rely heavily on other people or have a bland personality outside of their significant other. He'd like characters that solve their own problems and obtain their own goals.

Sigma ☆

╰┈➤ Magazines, cook books, friends to lovers ☑

I think Sigma reads like, the people magazine so he can understand what's going on in pop culture and have some knowledge of what's going on. He probably likes knowing what's trending. I think he'd also like the "Home Decor" sections of the magazines or like the scratch and sniff parts. I don't know why, I just do.

He'd also probably read cookbooks occasionally and memorize recipes when he's not memorizing every detail about his customers.

I think Sigma would find romance stories endearing, specifically friends to lovers. Kind of similar to Akutagawas, I think he would like the idea of already having that trust built through friendship. Because Sigma is so naive and how much he's been used, he likes reading about characters who already have a good friendship that is built on reliability and trust. That friendship turning into a romance eventually.

#bungo stray dogs #bsd #bsd dazai #bsd atsushi #bsd ranpo #bsd yosano #bsd akutagawa #bsd chuuya #bsd higuchi #bsd fyodor #bsd nikolai #bsd sigma #bungou stray dogs dazai #atsushi nakajima #bungou stray dogs atsushi #bsd kunikida #bungou stray dogs kunikida #ranpo edogawa #bungou stray dogs ranpo #bungou stray dogs yosano #akutagawa ryuunosuke #bungo stray dogs akutagawa #bungou stray dogs chuuya #higuchi ichiyo #fyodor dostoyevsky bsd #nikolai gogol #sigma #bsd headcanons #headcanon #bungou stray dogs

[muertawrites]

Yeah Eddie’s love language definitely biting and/or licking you, he’s “marking his territory” and I also believe his LL is also acts of service, he’ll do things for you simply because he wants you to be happy.

I think his love language to receive(?) love is physical touch and quality time. He doesn’t mind the other things but revels in those in particular. He would physically melt if you touched him, scratched his scalp with your nails, stroked his hair, hand on his shoulder or arm (he definitely try to flex if you did that), head resting on his shoulder

i don't know much about love languages. i know that everybody talks about them and everybody has theirs but i'm like. as lost as i am about the myers-briggs types (which are actually just bullshit pseudo science BUT that's not what this post is about). i think it's because i've never had a healthy relationship to base my answers off of so any time i try to take the test i'm like "people are supposed to do this shit for the people they're dating? lmao that's wild"

but i do agree with everything you said

i think eddie is kind of like a needy cat. a siamese. he likes to be close to you at all times, even if you're doing separate things, and if there's free space, he will be in your lap. he gives you little love bites at random because he's a feral rescue and chomp = ♥️

and yes, omg, touch his scalp. run your fingers through his hair and give him a kiss on the forehead and his brain cells stop working. he becomes goo. could lay for literal hours with his chin on your chest while you stroke his hair.

he also loves to shower with you. not even for sexy reasons, he just likes feeling your skin against his and being in a place that's warm and safe and confined. gives you so many forehead kisses.

he really likes reading with you too?? like even if you're in the same room reading different books he loves to just snuggle up and enjoy the quiet and the comfort and hear your opinions about whatever story you're into right now. definitely the kind of romantic motherfucker to ask you to read poetry and classic lit to him. loves poe. does not cry every time over annabel lee who the fuck told you that.

and yeah this man will do anything for you. up to and including murder. if you need something, he will provide it. as sticklery about your car's maintenance as your average dad ("have you checked your oil?" "how are your wipers working?" "it's almost time to renew your registration babe don't forget"). he just cares a lot about your safety.

the only thing i can't see him agreeing to is getting you tampons / pads if you need them. he's still a guy and still gets kinda squeamish about that stuff. hiding a body for you? sure, easy. arson? he'll make it look like an accident. telling the difference between a panty liner and a pad? taking that shit to the register and having someone actually see him with it? he's ostracized enough he doesn't need another reason for people to judge him.

and yes he does flex his arm when you touch it. you've been dating for years but he still tries constantly to impress you. he's actually surprisingly muscular so you're not complaining

#eddie munson #eddie asks #eddie munson headcanon #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #writing fic to distract from the ✨problems✨

[hydrangeyes]

love language

So if you don't know, Yes this already existed, my old account was deleted (accident but I can tell I won't be getting it back), and am reposting my old x male reader works!

I don't know if I saved all of them but here is one that was saved to my AO3 account.

Edit: So shuffling through my docs It's been brought to my attention that wattpad (who I use as backup) Cut a lot of my fics in half??? anyway I'll be trying to fix that also

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lego monkey king character love languages

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Wukong:

- It's physical touch

- like come on it's so obvious frfr this man is emotionally constipated

- that and gifts of any kind

- one day you get a shiny rock the next he's giving you an ancient and precious golden pendant or something

- more times than not you can find each other cuddling and sun bathing on his island or temple

- if he's feeling particularly soft or something that is when he speaks up, pulling you aside to play with your fingers as he nervously asks if you know just how much he loves you. (This def feels more constant after the lbd deal)

- at first it was sweet but towards the 3rd hour of him describing everything you basically kiss him silent

- work out around him and all that goes through his head is "buddah I'm so very gay, gay gay gay, my mate is so fucking hot."

- I whole heartily believe he would recite that audio of spike saying "I love a person who can beat him up, I want it to get embarrassing." Just towards you and it's so fucking funny.

Macaque:

- He's vocal and physical.

- vocal in a round about way but def the type to fuss when you have to get up from the cuddle pile for even a sec

- feel like Mac would recite poetry or lines from a play

- will beat someone up for you, a single frown and he's already plotting murder

- in turn melts when you give him a kiss anywhere

- his favorites are on the cheek

- anyway, he wouldn't give you gifts unless its during festivals and such, very much a practical use gift giver

- he doesn't want there to be any doubt that he loves you and knows you love him, and if there's a smidgen of doubt he's blunt in asking

- Besides sandy idk why but probably the most to be very hands down "communication is key" in the relationship

- idk why but he likes hanging or being on your shoulders, whether your short or talk my dude, he's on your shoulders in some way

Tang:

- I head canon he's demi on all accounts cause I want too, so everything starts as friendship

- as time goes he starts dragging you about to his fav places to eat or snack

- seems like the type to bring you back really good food

- he can't cook for shit but he just found this new food place and thinks you might like it

- in a non yandere way keeps tabs on everything you enjoy

- so I guess also a gift giver

- the gifts are food (I would say folklore books but I feel like that's more something you give him and you both read it together)

- hard to say what else as I've convinced my mind that tang is happily married (platonic or not) to pigsy and then both dating sandy, speaking of which-

Sandy:

- everything, he's a giver

- cuddles, gifts, kisses, cooking you meals, talking

- sandy I feel is very loving, just a big old cheese ball

- Just imagining him waking you up with a kiss on the forhead and the smell of your favorite tea and breakfast, mo purr on the bed as you guys talk about what to do today

- I def wanna say he's definitely a "look at my awesome handsome boyfriend/fiancee/husband/partner!" Will Smith pose style

- leaves stick notes of love letters and I love yous everywhere when he is in a rush for work or helping the gang somewhere

Pigsy:

- Easy

- he cooks you meals, he's great at it and it's something he's most confident in

- not just any but handmade and usually family recipes he doesn't make for the shop

- Spending time to show you how to make his family recipes

- a "Why would I buy you chocolates when I can make you chocolate from scratch for sweethearts day?"

- the calmest around you, not that you mind when he's being passionate (about hobbies and a new recipe he's thought of)

- his secret taste tester, before tang he let's you try all the new meals he has planned

- he tries to flirt but he sucks at it, you are kinda into that, it's cute

- He's very vocal but nervous when it comes to affection but gives it in abundance

- the way he proposes is asking if you wanna help parent mk

- if you ever fight (usually on work and taking breaks), you both give each other the silent treatment; pigsby usually caves first (hes hot headed but once he cools down its liek why was i even mad???) and goes to talk things out, usually the shop is closed next day and you both are on a date

#male reader #x male reader #Lmk x male reader