#who let this motherfucker make music
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billy joel lyrics i will absolutely lose my mind over every time!!!!!!
#can you tell i really like laura guys#i get crazy about music quite often but never have i gotten as crazy as i am about laura like u do not understand#this song infested my brain like a parasite and it looks like it is staying for a WHILE#who let this motherfucker make music#who let him write lyrics#somebody lock him up#(positive)#hi mutuals who’ve only seen me post about billy joel one time before this week hope you’re excited for more#because i’m genuinely losing it over here#going absolutely bonkers crazy#rightfully so imho#like this is the most reasonable reaction to billy joel i think#billy joel#the nylon curtain#52nd street#the stranger#wiklm shitposting
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Is there a Fix-It out there where they explain to Jason what's going on and he not only believes them, but he does help with the plan hence why this time is works and no one has to die smily face????? Cuz I lowkey wanna read that.
#I just think life would have been easier if someone talked with Jason first#preferably before Patrick (or whatever his name) died. so when they are explaining that dude can be like 'i hear that clock' and they make#him listen to music and he's well :) or they find out too late and he dies anyway#OR even better Jason doesn't believe it until he sees Patrick die and blames himself for not listening to the others#anyway he could either be with Max and Lucas OR the bait team so he can help Eddie distract the bats :)#and they both end up a little bit fucked up but the damage is not that big (more of a Steve damage not I'm gonna die from blood lost#damage) so they all get out and to a hospital and Jason confirms that the person who killed Chrissy attacked him and Munson no don't ask#about the bites man just trust me bro that's what happen. and they do trust him cuz yk rich boy power or whatever (+the party agreeing)#and they lived happily ever after#(((but also like Jason and Eddie becoming besties after that over blaming themselves for Chrissy's death)))#gosh this fandom has so many opportunities and openings for fanfictions and yet#stranger things#stranger things jason#jason carver#I am sorry but if my girlfriend died in someone's trailer I would go haunt the owner of said trailer too#okok maybe I would let the owner explain first but if nothing comes out of that I would kill that motherfucker without hesitation#just saying#not excusing Jason. just yk. mood
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As much as I wanna come out to my mom, last time I tried that was at 13, and she immediately called me a groomer and freak......and I'm just not ready for that mind fuck again.
#it was literally me dating a then girl who i was older than by about a year or a few months like.....it wasnt that bad....#but oh yeaah lets call the 13 a groomer!! and thay wasnt even a popular term i didnt think back then whoooo!!!#yeah lets call me a whire and grooming freak and brainwasher for likeing girls at 13 mom wooo!!!!#mom kf the motherfucking YEAR#i need to learn gutsir so i can make angry but nice music sbout my life#vent...rant....meny thoughts.#head full remembering things...
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Steve has a problem. Not a big problem--not an Upside Down-sized problem--but still. A problem. In the form of Eddie Munson. And not the person Eddie Munson, who is second only to Robin in the hierarchy of Steve's heart, but his feelings in regard to one Eddie Munson. Namely, his enormous, devastating, gay crush on the guy.
And he knows, okay, he knows Eddie is gay, but that doesn't mean he wants Steve. Eddie is probably into other metalheads or dnd nerds. What could Steve, with his sports and his polo shirts, possibly have to offer?
He's coping, though. Or, at least, he thought he was until the
Family Video phone rings and Jonathan invites them to the New Year's Eve party he and Argyle are throwing at their new apartment.
"We have to make a no-date pact." He tells Robin as soon as the phone is back in the cradle.
"Or you could just ask Eddie."
"You could just ask Nancy." He raises an eyebrow.
She lets out a slow breath. "Yeah, okay. No-date pact. I'm down."
It's just as easy to get Nancy and Eddie on board. Nancy just laughs and says "yeah, like I'd bring a date to the party my ex-boyfriend is hosting with his new boyfriend. How you do you even start to explain that dynamic?"
And Eddie snorts right in Steve's face (it's not cute, it's not), says, "Right, cause my dating pool in Hawkins, Indiana is just ripe with guys who want to ring in the New Year with me."
Steve wants to say that he would be that guy, happily, giddily, but he can't risk blowing up his second most important friendship like that, not when Eddie's never given a fraction of a hint that he wants Steve too.
But that's his problem solved, right? The four of them aren't bringing dates. Easy-peasy.
Unfortunately, Steve's life hasn't ever worked out like that, and the party turns out to not be only their little end of the world crew and a handful of people Jon knows from his grocery store job, but an actual motherfucking party.
It takes almost ten minutes for him and Robin to navigate through the sea of strangers to find Jon and Argyle handing out solo cups in the kitchen.
"Who are all these people?" He shouts over the pounding music, nothing like Steve's ever heard.
"Argyle got a job at the record store down the street," Jon yells.
"Co-workers." Argyle nods. "And a few of their friends."
"A few, right."
"The more the merrier. Right, my dude?"
"Sure." Steve takes a cup. "You seen Eddie around?"
"Living room, last time I looked." Jonathan answers.
"See you around?" Robin asks.
"At least meet up for the ball drop," Argyle answers.
They push their way into the cramped living room, and Steve searches for that familiar cloud of hair, the ripped black jeans. It takes a minute just for the sheer amount of bodies pressed into the small space, and when he sees him Eddie's--
He's standing against a wall, next to the stereo (of course), but there's someone with him. Someone who is tall and leanly muscled in a way that Steve isn't. Someone with long hair pushed back from his forehead. Someone with facial piercings in places Steve didn't even know you could pierce and tattoos and a chain hanging from his worn blue jeans and a bandana in his back pocket, just like Eddie.
And Eddie he's--he's gazing up at this dude with clear stars in his brown doe eyes, body angling towards the other man like he can't help but push more into his orbit.
Steve turns hard, Robin colliding with his side. "Steve, what the--oh."
"I hate New Year's Eve," Steve sighs, trying to ignore the sick feeling in his stomach. It's always been the kind of holiday that is high on expectation and low on follow-through.
"C'mon, I think I spotted Nance over by the bedroom."
He lets Robin guide him across the room, steadfastly not looking back at where Eddie is very obviously finding himself a date. It's okay, Steve reasons. It's okay because that was obviously the kind of guy Eddie would be into it. He knew he had, like, no chance. He shouldn't be disappointed. He shouldn't.
The evening slips away in the shove of people, in the solo cup that manages to always be full in his hand, and he tries as hard as he can to ignore the way Robin and Nancy start sharing the same space.
So much for the no-date pact. He would laugh if a sort of deep loneliness wasn't seeping into his bones.
There's a girl, though, across the room. She's in a short dress and glances at Steve from under hooded eyelids. He could make a move; could have someone to kiss at midnight; have someone just for the night. But then--his heart makes a pathetic patter--Eddie.
Eddie who is practically in that stranger's lap.
He goes out for a cigarette.
When he comes back inside, it's five minutes til midnight and Nancy and Robin are dancing slow and sweet to a song that is neither.
He's happy for them, almost incandescent with it, but the loneliness sinks deeper, reaches marrow, especially after he fails to find Eddie in the crowd.
Steve thinks it might be time to give the whole failed endeavor up for good, but Jonathan and Argyle, both in tiny 1987 novelty top hats, appear at his side.
"Stevie-boy!" Argyle bellows. He lifts Steve at the waist, twirling him, and Steve laughs despite himself.
"Keeping busy?" He asks.
Jonathan pounds him on the back, just a little too hard.
A guest yells from deep in the apartment, "one minute to midnight!" and the music turns off, the TV tuned to Dick Clark and turned up.
Nancy and Robin find their way over, Robin mouthing "sorry," on her way. He pulls her into a side-hug; he'll never begrudge her any happiness, even on his worst day.
From across the room, there's a crash, a short yelp, and then a familiar head of fuzzy brown curls makes its way to them.
"Sorry, sorry." Eddie apologizes as he shoves through the other guests.
"Hi, guys!" He beams at them, cheeks flushed. Steve looks away so he doesn't have to think about how beautiful Eddie is; about how he's not the one who made him blush so pretty.
The countdown on the screen reaches 30 seconds, and the party goers start chanting.
"What happened to--?" Steve can't help but asking.
"Psh, that dude? He's a punk. Plus, I couldn't imagine ringing in 1987 without you guys by my side."
Steve blushes and rolls his eyes. "Sap." He knocks his hip into Eddie's.
"You love it," Eddie wraps him in a loose hold.
The count is down to 10, the ball almost dropped, Jonathan and Argyle and Nancy and Robin making soft eyes at each other.
"What's going on in that head of yours, sweetheart?" Eddie knocks his head gently against Steve's.
"It's nothing."
"You're pouting." Eddie mimics him with a poked out lip.
The count is down to 5.
"Fuck, I just--I wanted to have someone to kiss at midnight, you know?"
The ball drops, the year changes over, the room cheers. His coupled up friends cling to each other in soft, joyous kisses.
Eddie's eyes flick to their friends, to the guests, all kissing and embracing and celebrating, then back to Steve.
With two careful fingers, Eddie lifts Steve's chin, makes it so he can't look away.
"Fuck it," Eddie says. He leans forward, kisses Steve with soft authority.
And Steve just--he just fucking--crumbles into it. He makes a soft noise, curls his fists into Eddie's t-shirt.
Eddie's hands work their way into his hair, pulling him closer. Steve goes eagerly, crushes their bodies together.
They kiss and they kiss, and it's already so far from a friendly New Year's kiss, but then Eddie's tongue swipes into Steve's mouth, and the kiss breaks.
"Um," Eddie says.
Steve can't respond because all his focus is on not giving into the weakness in his knees and collapsing to the floor.
"I've wanted you to do that all night," Steve says.
"Oh." Eddie's face blossoms into a slow smile. "Me too. A lot longer than that, actually."
It's Steve's turn to smile, and he does, so hard it hurts his cheeks. "Me too."
Eddie presses their foreheads together. "Happy New Year, Stevie."
Someone starts singing Auld Lang Syne loudly and off-key, but they're quickly drowned out by a chorus of accompanying voices.
"Happy New Year, Ed."
Steve pulls him in for another kiss. 1987 is already shaping up to be the best year of his life.
#steddie#steve x eddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#new years eve#spicy six#ficlet#angst#fluff#mutual pining#angst with a happy ending#first kiss#nye party#ronance#jargyle#this is very loosely based on the nye episode of friends where joey kisses chandler#hold on to the memories they will hold on to you
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Everyone please take the time to listen to what is currently my favourite piece of music from a video game cause FUCK this music’s awesome
youtube
#wandering over the words#GOD THIS MUSIC FUCKIN SLAPS#even tho it made me absolutely shit myself the time I was like#''hey I haven't explored the whole desert I'mma check out that cliff in the distance!'' :D#AND THIS FUCKING MUSIC STARTED AS I GOT CLOSER#hauled ARSE to get onto the cliff to safety GNRNGN#(for anyone who hasn't played: the molduga's a giant lizard thing that lives underground#and if you don't spot the bulge in the sand moving around to tell you it's there#this fuckin music will let you know NGGRN#that peppy violin bit is when you've successfully gotten it out from the sand and can hurt it properly#the only thing that stops this motherfucker from being terrifying#is the fact that it makes rly stupid noises when you hurt it nrgnrng#just squeaky ''ugh''s over and over#almost makes you feel bad for it)
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Accidental Kidnapping [Reverse Trope AU]
FEATURING : CANDID MALE (OC) x male reader
How often does one check their car boot? No statistics for that but the same goes for our dearest (m/n) and maybe he should've opened it before driving home, unintentionally bringing an unwilling high-rank mafioso who thought the end of his life was in the trunk of your car.
reverse trope list (at the bottom), dubcon (on ocs end), con at the end, face riding, shitty inaccurate mafia depiction (i tried) profile
Find out more under the cut!
"Damn it! These guys aren't letting up-"
A bullet shot through the wooden pillar, effectively penetrating the man's head hiding behind it. Shouts and yelling of commands could barely be heard above the rain of gunfire at the entrance of the building.
Unfazed by the death of his associate, an individual crouched beside the waist-level brick wall. Strands of red hair that were loose from his hair bun tickled the nape of his neck, his sharp hazel eyes flickered before throwing a tantō behind him, killing a figure who tried to sneak up on him.
Half of his attire, premium Dolce suit, was drenched in blood, most of it didn't belong to him. His right heavily scarred hand gripping his sword's scabbath, his most famed weapon of choice.
Aito Sousuke.
Capo and a close associate to the underboss of a reknowned criminal organization. His dearest uncle, the caporegime, ordered him to settle a dispute and investigate a scheme their rival gang had carried out on the borders of their territory.
As soon as they had arrived to the building, a shootout occurred. And Sousuke's members retaliated with their own militia. Ultimately, they overpowered the mutts that creeped in on their area.
The redhead stepped over the pile of bodies, the building had an underground lab, his hand brushing over the white packets of powders on the metal table. Drug trafficking? That wasn't new to Sousuke. Did they lack clients in their own protectorate?
As his minions was sweeping out the rooms, one of them yelled in alarm, alerting Sousuke.
"Suicide bomber!"
Flashes of white struck his eyes as Sousuke was propelled to the floor by the explosions around the lab. It was an attempt to cover their tracks, getting rid of evidence in case of a blowout.
"Motherfuckers..."
Sousuke cussed, seeing his body was layered with the white powder that had torn and splattered all over him. Immediately, he threw his jacket off and abandoned the lab, the drugs effects were unknown so he didn't know how much of a danger he was in. He grabbed a piece of document his eyes laid on before abandoning the lab and his screaming minions.
Passing through the alleys, he attempted to make his way back to a safe place, their commute was jacked with bullet holes and Sousuke could feel his body slowly shaking and his legs becoming more heavy.
Reaching the end of the alley, he yelped when he tripped on the curb, his body now suddenly weak as he fell into a carboot that had been conveniently opened and it was closed shut.
"WHAT THE FUCK!"
Sousuke yelled out, banging on the cover of the hood, his surroundings now cramped with metal tools, making him panic even more with his arms suddenly growing limp.
"FUCKING LET ME OUT BEFORE I BLAST YOUR FACE OFF-"
A certain (h/c) hummed to the song he was listening on his headphones, the music blasting shielding your hearing senses, rendering himself unaware of the mafioso he had accidentally locked in the trunk of his car.
(m/n) (l/n) had just finished doing his shopping in a hardware store, buying screws, hammers, etc. to finish his mini renovation of his house. He lived in the suburbs so he had to travel quite far to reach the store. Blissful ignorance had coated him as he hopped inside his car and drove, unknown of the scared redhead in his carboot.
"Shit shit shit-" Sousuke cussed, trying to reach for his phone, he screamed in frustration having losing it in the shootout moments before. Backup is probably focusing on the target building and no one knows where he is currently. How the hell did this fucker got me?
Sousuke thought this guy was ballsy for targeting him, the culprit had to have planned this meticulously if they had managed to kidnap him out of all people.
"What should I have for dinner..." (m/n) hummed, blasting his radio as he turned his corners recklessly. The redhead shouted, his scabbard digging into his side, the side effects of the unknown drug was getting to him. His face getting hot and his body pulsing.
Finally arriving to his house, Sousuke thought it was a second location for torturing-, (m/n) exited his car, slamming his door as he took out a bag of groceries he had purchased as well. He entered his house, almost forgetting his items in the trunk as he left the door open and skipping to back to his car.
"I think tempura with udon should do nicely- WHO THE HELL ARE YOU??!!"
(m/n) screamed, stepping back seeing a redhead inside of his carboot. "HUH?? I SHOULD BE ASKING YOU THAT- WHO DO YOU WORK FOR AND WHAT DO YOU WANT WITH ME?!" The redhead screamed back at him, disorderedly searching for something inside of his drenched vest.
Is that blood- (m/n) panicked and reached for his phone to call the cops but the click of a gun stopped his movements as the bloodied stranger aimed the muzzle at him. "No cops." He hissed out, clenching his side.
The (h/c) stared at the muzzle, raising his hands. "...No cops." He repeated after the redhead. "Who are you?" "I-I'm nobody! Literally I have no idea who you are!" "You kidnapped me." Hazel eyes glared hard at him, his messy red hair now loose from his bun and his figure sitting up in the carboot.
"I didn't kidnap you?? YOU SNEAKED INTO MY TRUNK!" The average person would never have the balls to scream at a gun-holding bloodied person but (m/n) was flustered at the accusation of being a kidnapper albeit him only doing his errands.
Sousuke scanned the area, his breath heaving deeper and it was obvious he was far from his gang's territory. Either he was in the rival's or a civvie. He studied the (h/c), who was only wearing some long-sleeved shirt and slacks. This guy really tried to pretend he was normal-
"Fuckk-" He moaned in pain, the throbbing in his side worsening and the burn in his head increasing. Sousuke looked to the side and saw the open door of the suburban building. "That's your hideout?"
"Hideout-? YOU MEAN MY FUCKING HOUSE??" "Shut up. I need it. Help me inside." "And why would I do that?!" (m/n) yelled exasperated, his arms tired for holding it up for so long. Sousuke frowned. "You're willing to let your captive die? And here's this."
The redhead waved the gun in his hand, his finger resting on the trigger. (m/n) contemplated his choices, staring at the glock and the scabbard he just noticed underneath his hand.
Unwillingly, the (h/c) helped the redhead, supporting him as they walked inside his house while he loudly complained about Sousuke staining his shirt with blood and that he wasn't a kidnapper. The redhead was annoyed and was dumbfounded on how someone was casually cursing and yelling at him.
As they stepped in and Sousuke forcefully closing the door shut, he groaned, the weight of the drug crashing down on him as he knocked over a lamp and stumbling in the living room. "That's brand new..." He heard (m/n) whining about his broken lamp.
"I...I need first aid. Now." His head was hot and he feel like he could die at any time, his heart beating irregularly and his legs spasming. "Don't you need a hospital instead-" (m/n) immediately swooped in, holding Sousuke's body up when he suddenly went limp, he just noticed his scorching temperature and his shivering body. "Woah, did you get poisoned or something?"
Hazel met (e/c) as Sousuke weakly gazed at (m/n), his bottom lip quivering, his eyes dazed and his face red. "Poison...?" He suddenly remembered the document he had snatched before escaping the building. "The drugs-" "DRUGS-?!" The redhead numbed out the rest of (m/n)'s words as he hurriedly searched for the paper, crumpled near his scabbard as his blurry eyes tried to scan the words on it.
"Shit shit- hey don't fucking die here!" Sousuke went limp in (m/n)'s hold, the (h/c) unable to hold up his dead weight, laid him on the sofa, Sousuke barely conscious as he was draped out on the furniture.
(m/n) noticed the paper and grabbed it, reading its contents out loud. "-new batch, target audience in the upper-tiered , target victims for sex trafficking??" The (h/c) glanced at the redhead, disgusted. "It's not me, you fucking idiot-" Sousuke coughed as he wiped his face, blood dripping from his nose. (m/n) fastened his reading, seeing the red liquid.
"-registering a small dose can be considered lethal, effects include muscle spasms, heightened senses, drowsiness, nausea, increased libido?? If not treated, symptoms will lead to a HEART ATTACK??!"
The (h/c) clenched the paper in his hands, the stranger had almost half of the effects already. "Are you in the fucking mafia or something-" He paused, remembering the sword and the gun the redhead held which was now on the floor. There's no way.... No way that a mafia member was now in his house, dying on his couch.
Sousuke let out unintelligible noises, something of a groan with saliva mixed as he laid on his side, his face flushed. (m/n) was now desperate to cure him or something, he didn't want to face the consequences of a gang chasing after him thinking he killed their member.
"-no treatment has been developed-" FUCK. "-as the victim must ejaculate to rid of the effects in his bodily system-" HUH? (m/n) reached the end of the paper, crumbling it in frustration, his eyes wide, contemplating whether should he just let the stranger die here in his living room.
Sousuke was convinced he was going to die here. His vision was wet and blurry, tears slipping out and his face was burning so much he felt he was going to melt at any second. He doesn't have any regrets he could come up with at the moment. Only the thought of his father laid in his mind along with his uncle.
Feeling his shirt shifting, he moaned when his pants were pulled down as he struggled to focus his eyesight. "Wuh-?" "Wake up. I'm gonna help you so don't kill me after this." The supposed kidnapper was snapping his fingers in his face, catching his focus. Why does he look embarrassed?
"The drug you took- roofied? I don't know but it's gonna kill you if you let it sit any longer in your system. You have to flush it out before you have a heart attack." "...So do I have to piss it out or what?" Sousuke felt drowsy while giving out half-assed answers. The (h/c) looked exasperated.
"Y-You have to...cum it out?"
Sousuke felt his breath stopped as he squinted his eyes at the (h/c) who looks flustered and waving the document trying to explain himself. "Is this your attempt at molesting me?" "FUCK NO!"
A gasp escaped Sousuke as his bloody nose dripped even more, he coughed out while his chest was heaving. "D- Just do whatever-" He groaned as he clutched his head in pain. "You better not kill me for this." His kidnapper grumbled while shuffling down Sousuke's wide pants, looking away as he tugged his briefs down.
"A-aanh mmff!"
The redhead covered his mouth, surprised at the sudden pleasure when a hand tugged his erect penis and began stroking it with a fast pace. "That fucking hurts-!"
"Just go through with it!" (m/n) yelled, mumbling an apology as he jacked off the redhead slower, he couldn't believe he's touching someone's bare dick, much less a mafia dude, to save his life out of all situations.
If the redhead died here, the police would've questioned how the hell did he end up in his house in the first place along with the drug in his system and a crime organization would've been after him the second that news spilled and who knows who they're in kahoots with.
Hence, why (m/n) decided to assist this stranger danger in masturbating so he could kick him out the second his life isn't threatened by some weird sex drug.
"You're enjoying this a bit too much..." (m/n) mumbled, now gazing at the redhead who was crying and moaning while bucking his hips up every time the (h/c)'s hand squeezed his base, precum dripping down his cock.
The redhead's head was fuzzy, the rush of pleasure coursing through his veins and he tried to keep his moans muffled. Tears slipping out of his eyes even more at the sensual gratification as his 'kidnapper' jacked him off. He felt his body was so sensitive, his thighs trembling and his body twitching.
(m/n) was frowning, sitting on the edge of the couch, trying his best to distract himself as he pumped the- , he just noticed how big it is, -cock in his hand. The moaning redhead on his couch wasn't helping either as he felt arousal strike his pants. His cheeks were hot, the mafioso's expression was a sight to see, his tanned skin red and wet from tears and sweat. Fuck was he always this handsome?
"S-Shit- mmngg ahh!"
He didn't realise how close he was to the redhead until the redhead came, semen spurting from his cock and few bits landed on his face. (m/n) stroked him for a while longer, letting him ride out his orgasm as he wiped his face clean.
Sousuke's body trembled, better than earlier when he was shaking almost like convulsing, his mind blank as he felt his legs slack. A blanket draped over his bottom half as the 'kidnapper' walked over to him, crouching near his face.
"Your temperature seems better. Guess it really did work." Wiping the redhead's face with a wet rag, picking off the blood near his nose as he pressed another cloth on his neck, cooling it down manually. (m/n) flinched when the redhead leaned into his touch who was enjoying the cool, he shyed away as he continued to wipe down the stranger.
Is this considered aftercare?
He wondered as he took the first aid kit and placed it on the coffee table in front of the redhead. "Take this and get out of here."
Sousuke only blinked up at him, now drowsy as he closed his eyes shut, forgetting all the dangers of sleeping in his 'kidnapper's' home as he fell into a slumber. His body was now relaxed, only a few bruises from the gunfight and his scabbard jammed into his side earlier.
"Remember- I HELPED YOU!" (m/n) screamed into the sleeping man's ear as he went to wash his hands in his sink, scrubbing it ferverently. He did his chores, closing his carboot which was left open the entire time, and tried to scrub out blood on his rug and furniture the redhead had left behind.
He might need to get a whole new sofa, the previously pristine furniture now stained with red and possibly baby batter.
(m/n) tried to put trust that the stranger would leave as soon as he woke up, believing at the fact that there was a misunderstanding where he thought the (h/c) tried to kidnap him so it makes sense that he would want to leave right? After he had oh so graciously saved his life?
His words were true when a couple of hours later, he heard his front door open and closed while he had barricaded himself in his bedroom with a baseball bat while reading through a novel, waiting for the stranger to leave.
Images of the redhead moaning and crying still lingered in his mind as it fueled his shameful arousal, (m/n) cussing on why someone who was possibly dangerous had to be so handsome.
-
"How are you, my nephew?"
A tall man, with short slicked back red hair clasped the shoulder of his supposed nephew who bore a similar colour in their tresses only Sousuke's were longer and was left to drape on his clothed back.
"I feel better now, sir. I thank you for your concern." Sousuke had been recovering at his uncle's estate, who was his caporegime, aka his boss, who was worried hearing his own flesh and blood had gone off the radar for a whole day and finding him injured and flustered at the borders of their territory.
"My assistant found the man you were looking into. Although it's a wonder why you're suddenly interested in him." He gestured to the file on the table besides them. Sousuke picking it up and flipping through the contents. "You did a good job at busting out the rats' lab, albeit our boys received a number on their amount."
Their organization had strict rules in their territory, which was how they maintained their influence over their city. So when rumours flew that drugs that were not in their regulations were being passed out in their district, they suspected it was sabotage. And it was, a new sex drug that was tested on their turf, to be used for malicious deeds. And Sousuke so happened to experienced it face to face.
"Do we have any dirt on him?" Sousuke questioned, skimming through the texts.
"No." The old man puffed a smoke, his expensive suit hugging his body while Sousuke was donning a loose haori. He was the only one who would wear traditional Japanese outfits despite being in a foreign country. It was a tribute to his mother who contributed to his half-Japanese genetics.
"Looks like a civvie. Recently moved to the out of city suburbs after graduating. Parents are clean. Never contacted any of our boys too."
Sousuke glared at the picture, the small photo of a man smiling. His eyes read the name. (m/n) (l/n). So he wasn't really a kidnapper... The redhead ordered for a background check of the (h/c), thinking he was still someone out to kidnap him but let him go for who knows why. Although his footman was confused when he described him in odd details, mentioning a nice body, pretty (e/c) eyes, etc..
It caught the attention of his uncle, so he did it for him.
"Has he done anything to you?"
The old man would kill anyone who would touch a single strand of his boy, his nephew, although they lived dangerous lives and Sousuke had proven himself to become a caporegime, he still looks out for his flesh and blood.
"...No, sir."
The hesitation was clear in Sousuke's voice. So it was a misunderstanding? A coincidence that he had landed in the car trunk and driven off to a secondar location which was (m/n)'s home?
Sousuke couldn't forget his touch. His fingers stroking and jacking off his cock, squeezing his base. He wasn't one to divulge in sexual desires, he was raised that lust was a weakness so for someone like him to experience that, it was a change for him.
-
(m/n) definitely felt like he was stalked.
A week had passed since that...incident. And he was relieved to find that the mysterious suit-wearing redhead didn't appear in his surroundings, giving him a sense of peace that he lucked out and the mafia was not after his ass.
Until he started noticing a minor detail.
A car was parked two blocks down from his house. He thought it belonged to the neighbours, but he had just noticed it would disappear every time he returned from his errands and would linger whenever he was home. He suspected it was the redhead.
Is he here for revenge? After I jacked him off?
(m/n) groaned into his palm, seeing that the car was still there as he walked up to his porch, carrying a few grocery bags.
Those bags fell to his floor when he caught sight of a man sitting on his furniture, his posture relaxed like he had been waiting for him. "YOU AGAIN?!" He screamed at the redhead.
Said stranger only frowned, crossing his arms, no guns or swords in sight. "If you keep hiding your key under your welcome rug, even a toddler can sneak into your house." (m/n) flinched at his words, as he walked straight past the man to set his bags on the kitchen island, ignoring how he followed him behind.
"You bought a new couch?" The redhead asked, tilting his head. (m/n) noted that he seemed to be a lot less of a screamer when he was sober. "Couldn't get the bloodstains out." He huffed. Or the cum spots as well.
That took a pretty penny out of his pocket. "...I could've paid for it." The (h/c) glanced at him weirdly as he closed his refrigerator door. "No need. I don't want to be associated with you." "You saved my life." "No need to remind me." "It was brave of you to-"
He slapped his hand over the redhead's mouth, his palm brushing against his lips. "I said no need for reminders. Hell, I don't even know your name and what you did. Why did you come here?" The redhead was silent, before gently pushing (m/n)'s hand away.
"The name's Sousuke."
The warm kitchen light complimented him well, (m/n) noticing his heavily scarred hands and his upper lip was nicked. His long red hair, resting on his back, he was wearing a black button up, a grey vest and matching pants.
"I'm here to settle my score."
(m/n) furrowed his eyebrows. "What score?" "My score with you." "I don't want a reward or anything like that. Just leave me alone." Sousuke's grip on his hand tightened. "I assumed the worst from you and was convinced you tried to harm me but instead you saved my life. I am indebted."
"You did fell into my trunk and I didn't notice so I think it's fair." Sousuke frowned at that. It was normal for people like him to repay their debts and he was confused why (m/n) was rejecting him. "Do you know how I work?" "I can guess but like I said, I don't want to be associated."
Sousuke fell silent before he turned around and walked away. "My men will provide protection for you. At least until my debt is repaid." "I don't need it!" "You do. You look weak." "FUCK YOU??"
(m/n) was about to throw a vase at the redhead before said redhead had exited his house, closing his door. He hurriedly went to lock it and screamed in annoyance. Am I going to have more scary people following me now or what?
That's close to what happened. (m/n) noticed that scary men would follow close to him and it would be different people on a different day and they followed him almost everywhere. He caught them blending in the crowd, sipping drinks when he was relaxing at a cafe of pretending to go through the cereal section when he was shopping for the week's restock.
He had enough of it.
"Tell your fucking boss that I don't want his stupid protection!" He confronted one of the man when he slipped into an alleyway to corner him, said man only stayed silent and nodded before (m/n) left him.
The next day, he received a gift. An expensive table lamp that didn't suit the rest of his aesthetic but he remembered that Sousuke did broke one of his lamps. He used it in his bedroom's bedside table instead.
"Can you at least tell me when you're going to sneak into my house?" He scowled, seeing the redhead at his kitchen island, casually flipping through a comic book he owned as he sipped a cup of coffee.
"I see you carry your keys now." "Yeah. So how the hell did you get in?" "Spare." "MOTHERFUCKER-"
A few weeks passed by and this had become his new norm. Sousuke would drop in his house, every few nights or so, claiming that he needed somewhere to stay low even though all he did was lounge in the living room flipping through tv channels.
(m/n) at first was irked by this, threatening to kick him out or call the cops but he got used to it and sometimes would even make extra dinner so the redhead wouldn't finish his.
Sometimes, Sousuke would come in bloodied and that scared (m/n), him remembering who he was dealing with but the demeanour he carried was so different than the man he was supposed to be.
His words were straightforward and tone bland, he only seemed mad when he thought (m/n) was trying to kidnap him and now he was gentle? No, it was more like he was relaxed around the (h/c).
"Do you have a hairtie? I lost mine."
And somehow, (m/n) felt like he has a roommate now, buying stuffs that he thought Sousuke would need them such as more bandages or hairties or claw clips for his long hair. Slowly, he felt like he could call themselves friends with how often the redhead was around him.
Sousuke never brought the whole drug thing after that, not even mentioning it in the slightest and (m/n) was confused. Shouldn't he be mad that someone helped him masturbate when he was drugged? Was this normal for him??
And sometimes in the late nights, (m/n) would think about his twitching hips, his wet crying face and his guttural desperate moans and his large cock- He would get hard at times. Looking away whenever Sousuke gazed at him a bit too long, moving to a different room when he felt that the redhead touched him too casually.
He caught his face flushed a couple times and he didn't know what to make of it, only shoving it deep in the back of his mind. Into the vault it goes.
It was one of those nights, where Sousuke would randomly appear in his house and they would eat dinner together, with civil oddly enough.
"I'm trying to get the heater for my shower working again but I might need to contact my realtor for that since it happened way before I moved here." (m/n) rambled, slurping the noodles he had made as Sousuke wiped the edge of his mouth with his hands.
"Mhm. So what are you going to do next?" He would listen to the (h/c) long conversations, only chipping in an answer or two since he couldn't exactly contribute much to the talk as his life was far from a civvie's. His uncle was beginning to question why the hell did he spent so many time out of their domain.
Sousuke kept telling himself that he wanted to repay his debt, watching over him until he saved the (h/c)'s life in a similar manner to how (m/n) did but truthfully, he wanted to stick around. The peace he had around (m/n) was bliss compared to the havoc he had been born and raised in his crime-filled life.
And he couldn't help but think he was starting to fall for the (h/c), their petty arguments, their meals together was healing his soul. He couldn't help but think to that incident, the sinful pleasure (m/n) had brought him, his hand wrapped around his cock, he tried to recreate it by himself but it could never suffice.
There is the fact that the drug did amped the libido effects but he didn't want anything nor anyone else to do it, except for (m/n). But he didn't know if the (h/c) even desired for him. With his ugly scarred body.
Now here they were, sitting next together on the couches as a movie played in front of them, (m/n) focusing on the screen while Sousuke paid no mind and opted to subtly stare at the (h/c) instead, his eyes lingering on his lips and darting away when he caught sight of his (s/c) skin from the collar line of his shirt.
"F-Fuck, you're so good to me!"
(m/n) quickly grabbed the remote, speeding the movie up when a sex scene appeared. Anything sexual related was heavily avoided by the (h/c) whenever he was around Sousuke.
"Do you...abhor these things?" (m/n) raised an eyebrow at Sousuke's sudden question. "What?" The redhead pointed at the tv. "Action movies?" "Sex." He choked on his saliva, patting his chest as he calmed himself down. "I don't think much of it. Why the hell are you asking me that?"
Sousuke was silent, his hazel eyes not meeting (m/n)'s as he stared at the tv. "I don't...divulge in it. Not as much as the average person do." But every mafia movies always had girls around them. (m/n) wondered, cupping his chin.
"It was my first that I was touched. In this room." (e/c) eyes widened as he turned to the redhead. "That was your first time??" When (m/n) had stroked his dick...that was his first time ever doing so?
"I was taught lust is for the weak." Sousuke turned to (m/n), his face holding a monotone expression although something dark was in his eyes. "...Yet my strength wavers around you."
Heat crawled up his neck as (m/n) covered his mouth with his hand. Is this- a confession?! When he turned around, Sousuke's face was close. So close that their breaths mingled and his red hair was brushing against his face. The redhead's ears were bright red, complimenting his tanned skin.
"I want more." He whispered, his eyes dazed with desire.
(m/n) was stunned, his lips slowly moved to speak. "Are you drunk?" "I'm sober." Sousuke's hand moved to grip his thigh. "And I want you. Please." He spoke in such a low manner as he delved his face into the (m/n)'s shoulders, his breathing hot and heavy.
The (h/c) felt his arousal rise, his face flushed and biting his lower lip. Sousuke's body was heavy on his and he could feel all the muscle lying underneath. "J-Just this once, okay?"
Sousuke slowly pulled back as he gazed into (e/c), his face completely red as he gently pressed his lips onto (m/n)'s.
-
"Like this?"
A slurping noise struck and (m/n)'s moans followed. "Y-Yeah you can take it in deeper- mmff!" His pants were gone, his bottom bare and Sousuke was taking his cock in his mouth, the latter saying he wanted to try everything out and the second on his list was a blowjob.
Sousuke moved his throat further in, taking more of (m/n)'s dick as he calmly breathed in through his nose. His tongue swiping at the base of the penis, pressing and feeling its veins with his wet muscle, unintentionally applying light pressure which further pleasured the (h/c).
They were on the couch, a hilarious parallel as (m/n) laid on the other end with Sousuke pulling his hips up, pushing his face deep in between his thighs. His mouth sucked (m/n)'s cock, alternating between being gentle and full-on milking his precum, the (h/c) screaming having being so stimulated.
"Aanghh ah ah s-stop! You're so rough- mmff!"
Sousuke pulled himself off with a pop, gazing down at the sweaty (h/c) whose shirt was pushed down, revealing his (s/c) torso. The redhead's nose brushed (m/n)'s thigh and he bit into it, sucking and licking the mark making the (h/c) cry out.
"You good?" (m/n) nodded, taking in deep breaths. "Y-Yeah. Haa haa..." "I want to do one of those numbers." "Numbers?" He hummed. "Was it 127? Or 68?" "You mean a 69?" "Whatever it was I want to try it." The (h/c) readied himself. If this proclaimed virgin really tired him out at his first blowjob, he couldn't imagine him eating his ass out.
"Okay- ah!"
-
(m/n) was crying, his legs shaking as he tried his best to lick the dick in his face, only able to give the tip a messy kiss before crumbling on Sousuke's torso.
The redhead was having the time of his life, spitting, fingering, thrusting his tongue in (m/n)'s asshole, playing with his puckered hole until the (h/c) began to cry on his cock, choking and gagging saliva all over his penis as he numbly thrusted into (m/n)'s mouth.
"T-Too much mmngghh urgh angh mmn!" He sobbed out, feeling one of Sousuke's knuckles rubbing his rim while the tip of his fingers were pressing against his sensitive walls, trying to find his prostate.
Easily pulling him up, Sousuke pushed (m/n), letting him grip onto his arms for balance as he forced the (h/c) to sit on his face. His nose brushing his ass crack and his tongue massaging his balls. (m/n) tried to raise himself only for his thighs to be pulled back down and gripped tightly as Sousuke ate his ass out.
His butt was dripping with saliva and precum by the time Sousuke released him, he heaved and whimpered while the redhead held him close, wrapping his arms around him and shoving his tongue down his throat, drawing more of those cries that he realised he loves so much.
-
The (h/c) refused to believe that Sousuke was a virgin. Not with how he pushed his legs up to his chest, his knees touching his shoulders while sloppily fucking him up, pressing his full weight on the (h/c).
Sousuke wanted to see his face while they commit this sin, his face hot as he licked (m/n)'s salty tears, kissing his eyes and nose and he bit his earlobe too.
"S-So good! You're fucking me so good, Sousuke- aanggh!" He cried out, digging his nails in the redhead's clothed shoulder whose hair was now free and framing his face, intensifying the look of pleasure on the redhead.
"I'm glad- aanhh mmng! You're so hot, (m/n). So fucking handsome- hngg ahh!" He praised the (h/c), tears slipping out of his hazel eyes while moaning ardently into the (h/c)'s ear. His hips met (m/n)'s ass at a fast pace, wet squelches filled the living room as the sofa was slowly stained again with disgusting baby batter.
(e/c) eyes rolled to the back of his head as he clenched himself around Sousuke, feeling his orgasm pull through as his cum stained his own stomach and Sousuke's shirt. The redhead came as well, seeing (m/n)'s expression as he defiled the (h/c)'s ass for the third time that night.
Cum dripped out of the rim of his ass, Sousuke pulled out to see the naked (h/c) trembling under him, his cheeks wet with tears, his chin coated with drool and his skin littered with hickies and bitemarks in contrast with himself, Sousuke was still fully clothed except for his exposed crotch as he felt his knees almost buckling from the intense sex they had.
"Y-You're a liar. You're definitely not a dumb v-virgin." (m/n) pointed to Sousuke, his finger shaking while the redhead only hoisted the (h/c) onto his back, intending to carry him upstairs into bed. "I'm not lying." He almost stumbled down the staircase, quickly holding onto the wooden rail as he pulled himself and (m/n) up and recklessly staggered into the master bedroom, crashing onto the lush bed.
His legs were shaking lightly, this was truly his first and overboard was a statement of his performance. Sousuke laid like a starfish on a bed, pulling (m/n) under his armpit while grabbing a duvet and covering them both.
"We'll clean up in the morning. Now sleep." He shushed the (h/c) who was about to retort, immediately succumbing to slumber, not even giving a second to stay awake any longer as the post-sex was as tiring as it is.
(m/n) frowned, adjusting himself under Sousuke's hold, letting himself drift to sleep as well. This might not be the last time he lets Sousuke fuck his body. Who knows, maybe getting involved with a mafioso isn't all that bad.
[END SCENE]
[unedited]
Afterthoughts:
Sousuke a munch frfr
I'm aware of the similarities in Daisuke's and Sousuke's names- ITS RELEVANT TO FUTURE PLOT OK
This fic kinda sucks ngl💀
I'm a PARENT atp for feeding you guys for the past two weeks since i made this acc😭
If i have to write a part 2, i would either write about how m/n got upset and ran away to sulk and smutty sex scene next or just them messing around w the sex drug (some bdsm???) HOHO comment for more ya sluts.
Oh and follow my tag pretty please
more of aito sousuke! 𖤓
#oukabarsburg#aito sousuke#bottom male reader#sub male reader#x bottom male reader#x male reader#male reader#male reader smut#reader smut#oc x male reader#oc x reader#oc x male reader smut#oc x reader smut#male oc#oc smut#reverse tropes#oc#uke male reader
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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#fics I'll never write#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
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frat!miggy headcannons !!
frat!miguel masterlist
—
sfw !!
frat!miguel is the type to giggle and kick his feet up in the air when you tell him simple things like ‘i am so proud of you, baby’ or ‘look at how handsome you are, my big boy!’
frat!miguel gets jealous of small things. your fictional crushes. your girlfriends. your pet. your back spotter in the cheerleading team. gloria.
frat!miguel is also protective. very. to an extent where even you’re only standing five feet away from him at a party, his eyes will be locked in on you. arms crossed, nodding along to whatever his friend is saying in front of him. smiling like a lovesick puppy when he sees you laugh.
frat!miguel who would in seconds, kneel to tie your shoes when they see them undone. you don’t even have to ask.
frat!miguel plugs into his laptop, spending hours on his free time to look up cheerleading sports when both of you started dating. learning about the rules, routines, physical training, winning teams, tumblings, pyramids, etc. why, you ask? no idea.
frat!miguel is your own personal scary dog privilege. there is nothing about this man a golden retriever. especially at the gym. since you love wearing tight shorts and sports bra on leg days, he would stand a few feet apart behind. glaring to those who stares at his girlfriend’s juicy butt.
frat!miguel brings you flowers every weekend and send ones for your mother too. every once a week he goes out to play ball with your dad too. the man is surprised at how well your dad could throw.
frat!miguel who keeps stashes of condoms in his ‘special’ drawer since you stay over almost every day at the frat house. he figures that it’s better to be prepared than nothing. when really, he’s just one horny motherfucker.
frat!miguel who is so damn clingy that you have no clue on how to deal with it anymore. you could send this man a text of ‘bye, talk to you later, baby’ because you’re leaving for practice and he would spam you with
my miggy<3 : what? no!
my miggy<3 : wdym bye?!
my miggy<3 : princesa please don’t leave me!!!
my miggy<3 : i’d die💔💔💔
my miggy<3 : omg pleasepleaseplease come back
my miggy<3 : so you’re just going to let me die:(
frat!miguel who spends almost his entire junior and senior being fawned and gushed by other girls that he didn’t even think for a second to actually try. but for you? ask him to get you the moon, and he gives you saturn
frat!miguel asks you one day if he could be your boyfriend. not the other way around. not ‘can you be my girlfriend?’ because he’s threading lightly and he needs your permission
—
nsfw !!
frat!miguel is a large, large, man. he’s jacked bro. 6’9 and built like a damn linebacker. he’s big down there too, so it did take some time for you to get used to his size
frat!miguel loves fucking you. to no end. his stamina could go on for hours and he’s lucky enough to have you as his perfect match. ‘always fuck like damn rabbits’ is a review from glen
frat!miguel doesn’t care about whereabouts. if he’s horny and needed you, then you better get to it! (but of course, only if you’re comfortable)
frat!miguel prefers taking you from behind, he loooves seeing your ass bounce against him. it makes him lose his mind. guaranteed that it would be hard enough for him to last
frat!miguel is a sucker for eating your pussy. day and night, this man could have it for his five course meal. he loves it when you’re sitting on a chair, legs spread and tucked upwards while he’s just on his knees lapping at your cunt
frat!miguel loves having control but even more when you’re in charge. bouncing on his dick, not allowing him to touch you while rather just let him watch your tight pussy swallowing his cock.
frat!miguel gets off to your moans. they’re like music to his ears. how could one be so angelic and pornographic at the same time, shits crazy.
frat!miguel who has a breeding kink. he would go on about how he’s willing to knock you up during fucking, whispering in your ear that he’s going to put a baby in you.
frat!miguel is obsessed with your mouth. the head you give is top notch. you could do so much shit with your tongue around his cock than half of the girls he had before with their hands.
frat!miguel who’s lock-screen wallpaper is a selfie of you in the shower. hair wet, one arm covering your tits, puckered lips and doe eyes at the camera. head tilting to the side. it’s one you sent when he had texted you ‘what’s my girl doing today?’ during football practice. you look so damn cute and sexy, he just had to do it.
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Heyy hope you are doing well! Can you pls do Rafe as a bully and then fem/rafe sleep together.
i know you probably wanted something a little more in depth but this was all i could do blurb wise😭 Rafe isn't really a bully but more of an asshole here but i still like how it came out tho
implied dub-con, swearing
The party was in full swing at this point. No one could hear one another over the bass of the music but they continued to talk like they could regardless, the endless chatter adding to the deafening noise inside of the Figure Eight mansion.
You'd never been to a Kook Party before now. Living on the Cut for most of your life meant keggers, kickbacks, and beach bashes. Not house parties and nightclubs. Kook life was new to you but you couldn't find it in yourself to complain, really.
You'd found a good group of friends, the same ones that had drug you out of your house in the first place. Right now, you were off your rocker, mindlessly playing beer pong with one of your friends that you'd been glued to all night.
You'd just beat her in your third round, hands drunkenly thrown up in the air, completely forgetting about the half-full cup that you had in your hand. "Boom, baby! Three in a motherfucking row-"
"Yo, what the fuck?!"
Your head whipped around to find a fuming Rafe Cameron standing behind you, beer dripping down the side of his face and length of his neck, dribbling into his half-buttoned polo shirt. Party-goers started to 'ooh' around the both of you.
"Oh shit, I'm so sorry-"
"Are you fucking stupid?" Your face fell at his words, morphing from one of genuine concern to a nasty, offended snarl. "Shouldn't your ass be bussing tables down at The Wreck or some shit?" He spat, using a napkin handed to him by one of his yes-men to wipe his face.
A few people laughed, the mild embarrassment making your cheeks and ears grow hot. "It was an accident." You scoffed, eyes fleeting around you nervously before tilting your chin up. "You don't have to be a dick about it..."
"Yeah, you've seen plenty of those haven't you?" He chuckled meanly, looking around at his friends with a smirk before turning back to you. "Maybe I was wrong. The waitress vibe doesn't suit you but I could see you on your knees for a couple bucks. Girls gotta eat somehow, right?" He joked, the guys crowded behind him breaking out into laughter. He leaned down, face just inches from yours as he spoke to you lowly. "Why don't you go back to the slums where you fucking belong?"
You bit the inside of your lip, looking down at your feet for just a moment before something inside prompted you to reel your arm back, splashing what remained inside the plastic red cup into his face. The people standing around watching and egging you on with cheers and sounds of amusement.
You wasted no time in throwing the cup to the ground, looking the boy up and down, and stomping off into another part of the house, less crowded and hot. "Hey!" You heard a voice boom behind you, peering over your shoulder as you walked away to see Rafe hot on your tail, ducking through the cliques of people, basically shoving them to the side.
"Fuck off!" You shouted back, picking up speed and heading for the stairs inside of the house. Reaching them, you practically bolted upstairs, as fast as you could in the mini dress you had on.
Rounding the corner, you were about to enter an unoccupied bathroom before a rough hand grasped your shoulder and turned you around, pinning you against the wall.
"You throw a drink in my face and think I'd just let you walk away?" The Cameron boy spat in your face, staring down at you like an angry bull.
"I told you, it was just an accident. You were the one who had to go and call me broke slut in front of every body as if you're some kind of upstanding citizen yourself."
"Do you know who the fuck I am?"
"There isn't a single person on this island who doesn't." You told the boy. "But I'm not everyone else. I couldn't give two shits about who you are, Rafe." You spat.
He clearly wasn't fond of your answer, using his grip on your shoulder to roughly shove you into the nearest room, shoving the door shut with the bottom of his shoe and guiding you over to the bed until he was close enough to throw you on top of it.
Your body bounced as you hit the mattress, eyes finding Rafe standing to the side fiddling with his belt buckle. You couldn't help but chuckle in your semi-drunken state. "You're seriously going to try to fuck me after the shit you said to me?"
"Try?" Was all he laughed out in response, shoving his pants down his legs and throwing off his polo shirt, the action leaving his hair messier than before.
"And what makes you think I want to fuck you?" You spat, sitting up straighter on the bed, leaning on your elbows for support. He simply eyed you down and licked his lips.
"There isn't a single person on this island who doesn't."
©loveharlow.
heads up: i added emoji anons to my blog, so feel free to send an ask to take one if you frequently send in asks!
#harlowhasmail💌#req. ♥︎#rafe cameron x reader#obx rafe#rafe angst#rafe outer banks#rafe cameron#rafe x you#rafe fanfiction#rafe smut#rafe x reader#rafe imagine#rafe fic#rafe obx#outerbanks rafe
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Bittersweet
Love is: Missing each other.
a @steddielovemonth prompt Thank you @oh-stars for betaing this!
WC: 891 | Rating: T
ao3 link
Steve hurries in the door, throwing his bag down and rushing to the phone, snatching it off the hook. “Eds?”
Eddie’s voice rings through the line. “Hey, Sweetheart.”
Steve sighs, slumping against the wall, heart still pounding in his chest. “Thought I was going to miss you. I got out later than I thought.”
Eddie sighs. “You kind of did, baby. I’m sorry. I’ve been calling for like twenty minutes. We have to leave soon. I just…really wanted to hear your voice so I’ve been stalling.”
Steve feels a lump form in his throat and he tries to push back the tears welling in his eyes. “Fuck. Okay, I’m sorry. I uh– fuck. I miss you.”
Eddie pulls away from the phone and Steve can hear a muffled argument happening on the other end of the line, probably with one of the guys from the band. Eddie comes back, full volume, and clearly frustrated. “I miss you too, Stevie. I’m sorry, I have to go. I’ll try to call tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay, I lov–” Steve sighs as the dial tone rings out in his ear, and slumps against the wall.
He hates this. Hates that he only gets to talk to Eddie for a few minutes every couple of days. Hates that every conversation is rushed. Hates that he feels anxious if he’s out of the house for too long, not knowing when Eddie might get the chance to call.
He hates that he kind of hates the band. That he hates this tour. Because he’s thrilled for Eddie. He is. He’s so glad that he’s getting to live his dream. That the band got signed. That the tour is almost sold out. He is. Eddie deserves for all his dreams to come through. It’s just– things are moving so fast. And they were just really settling into a life together and now…
Steve just misses him. He misses him so fucking much. Misses coming home to his crazy loud music. Misses falling asleep in his arms. Misses the way he would hop up from whatever he was doing to give Steve a kiss goodbye. He misses him all the time.
So, yes. He’s so happy for Eddie. And wants nothing more than for this to go well. He hopes he’s having the time of his life. It just also…really sucks.
–
Eddie shoves Gareth who just hung up on Steve, and tries to grab the phone back from him. “What the fuck, man. He’s going to think I hung up on him!”
Gareth rolls his eyes, holding the phone out of Eddie’s reach. “We’ve been waiting on you for like half an hour, man!”
Terry sticks his head out of the bus. “LET’S GET A FUCKING MOVE ON!”
Eddie sighs, dropping his hold on Gareth and rolling his eyes at him when he just stares at him, waiting to make sure he’s actually heading back. Eddie turns around and jogs over to the bus, hoping they make a pit stop early tomorrow before Steve heads to work.
No one ever tells you that having all your dreams com true is going to like, kind of fuck up anything good you already had going on in your life. And Eddie had it fucking made, okay? He landed Steve Harrington. Steve motherfucking Harrington. And this tour is fucking it up.
Sure, it’s fucking amazing. It’s everything he ever dreamed it would be. Playing to thousands of people a night, hearing them scream the lyrics to his songs back at him. Getting to do the whole rockstar thing. Which, okay. That’s maybe being a little generous still. They’re not playing sold out stadiums or anything. They’re not fucking Metallica. But like, they have fans. They’re selling out venues. Sure, small ones. But a sold out show is a fucking sold out show. And they’re making like, actual real money. Eddie can say that he is a professional musician. Because he is currently supporting himself with his music. And that shit is cool, okay. He is goddamn ecstatic about that shit.
But he misses Steve. A lot. And he hates that he can hear the hurt in his voice every time they talk. He would never tell Eddie. But he can tell. That this is fucking killing him. And he’s not doing so hot himself. Turns out you get used to it when a pretty boy is constantly smiling at you and giving you kisses when you walk by. He’s in fucking withdrawl, okay? Plus like…he was getting laid. Like, regularly. That’s not something he ever thought he’d have. He misses snuggling up to Steve at night, their hands wandering, and getting to hear Steve’s voice turn all breathy.
And it’s not just the sex. He misses the sex, okay? He’s only human. But he misses Steve. He misses their shitty little apartment. He misses going to pick him up from work and take him to dinner. He misses the way Steve hums in the shower. He misses when he gets all sleepy when they watch a movie on the couch, clearly dozing against Eddie’s chest but insisting that he’s still watching. He misses the way he lights up when Eddie walks in the door, going all puppy eyes and smiles.
So, yeah. He gets to be a rockstar. But he misses his fucking boyfriend.
#steddie#eddie munson#steve harrington#steddie fanfic#steddielovemonth#day 10#love is missing each other#long distance#rockstar eddie munson#lady lostmind
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After finding out Bad was paying for the server I can’t help but wonder… what did Dream really do???
Because well… he wasn’t paying for the damn thing, ergo he didn’t really own it. He was just the guy who wanted to play vanilla minecraft with his friends on stream. But beyond that… what did he do?
Tommy and Tubbo for kept the server alive. The second they got whitelisted they were streaming every day, finding new shit to do (like walking up and down the prime path, searching for music discs, adding Wilbur and Schlatt for shits and giggs). Meanwhile everyone else was loosing interest, letting the server die.
And of course there was Wilbur. Tommy and Tubbo brought life, Wilbur brought soul. He saw a cool server that had potential and by God he was going to get himself whitelisted and construct one hell of a Hamilton fanfic story, one that would inspire countless people to create their own silly stories for years to come.
And even after c!Wilbur’s death and the end of the L’manberg era, we still had creators putting their all into this goddamn server. We had more amazing stories like Tommy’s exile, Ranboo’s enderwalk, Doomsday, the prison, Tales of the SMP, the egg AND of course Las Nevadas!! Special shout out to Quackity here, motherfucker was making cinematic experiences with those last few streams!
And that’s what I love about the DSMP. That’s why I hold it so close to my heart. That’s why I’m still writing fanfiction about it 3 years later. Because all these streamers sat down and turned this silly little Minecraft server into something magical.
And Dream’s name is slapped on the front despite the fact he barely lifted a finger.
#dream smp#dsmp#wilbur soot#tommyinnit#tubbo#badboyhalo#quackity#mcyt#big long rant about silly minecraft servers :)
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💜 Oh, Distant You. 💜
Summary: Tommy asked what happened between you two.
a/n: hello! i was in the mood to make a short angsty fic, so i present this to all of you! this was (obviously) based on "Oh Distant You"
contains: angst, a break-up with you & Wilbur, crying, flashbacks, cursing, a cliffhanger ending, mentions of presumed death, the reader is said to have had mental health issues in the past, & mentions of suicide.
words: 651
tags:@zuuriell @somebody-v @vibestillaxxx @ax-y10 @joviepog@themonsterunderurmom @ogelizasoot @wilburstan@smolsleepykitten@funnyreally2009@crows-death@dykepunz@aresriiots@0miamor0@defonotval@chipch0p@mazzistar16@unmellowyellowfellow@thosecolorfulsheets@vopix@aine-lasagna@merianakross@veeislost@urfav-sapphic-siren@shazbaz58-blog @wifiatthetrainstation@mcr-pr-fob@shd454@rqvii@idioticion@m0thza@artistphantom @lexx-the-gay-rubber-ducky @finleyforevermore @poraphia @radio-to-trenchcoat-demons @mysticalsoot @21-cats-in-a-trenchcoat @strangleetomz (let me know if u don't or do wanna be tagged)
[Wilbur's {3rd person} POV]
Tommy had invited Wilbur to his house for an "intervention". He'd been locking himself in his apartment for days without messaging or calling anybody, streaming, or going to the studio. The Lovejoy members called him & messaged him uncountable times, but he never responded. Some of his friends thought he had killed himself. Nobody had heard from Y/N, either; they were an active streamer, usually streaming twice or thrice a week, but they hadn't streamed for two weeks. Y/N wasn't on tour with their band, either, & hadn't announced a break, so it worried Y/N's followers & fans.
"What's going on with you?" Tommy asked him. "Nobody's heard from you or Y/N in a few weeks. Did you two have a secret wedding & a honeymoon without telling anybody?" While the light-hearted joke was obviously intended to make Wilbur feel better, it just made him feel worse.
"We broke up, Tommy," he murmured, covering his eyes with his hand.
"You what?" Tommy raised his brow, not hearing Wilbur correctly.
"We broke up, Tommy," Wilbur repeated, louder this time.
Tommy was shocked. "I thought everything was good between you two! Why did they dump you?"
"I dumped them, Tommy," Wilbur said shakily, holding back tears.
"Why the fuck did you do that?" Tommy asked.
"Because I'm an idiot, Tommy, that's why!" Wilbur shouted, removing his hand away from his now red & glossy eyes. "Because I'm an idiot who thought prioritizing my music & my career over them was the better option! & they could be dead right now, for all I know! Their mental state was terrible when I broke up with them, so for all I know, they could be hanging from a noose right now, dead as a motherfucking doorknob."
"Woah, woah, woah, Wil, take a breath," Tommy said, his eyes wide from how Wilbur reacted. "Tell me what happened."
"I just--I got in over my head & started panicking & being an anxious idiot like how I was when I was a kid & I thought that my career & my band needed to be prioritized over them," Wilbur explained shakily.
"Why did you think that?" Tommy asked.
"Because I thought my career was better than them," he said softly.
"Is your career better than being with them?" Tommy asked, his eyebrows raised slightly.
"God, no, Tommy," Wilbur said with a catch in his throat. "I hate the way I talk when I'm trying to compliment or praise them because it'll never give off the praised esteem they have. They're two stars from grace & I'm convinced that this world turns for them & nobody else." He paused. "No offense, Tommy."
"Were you looking for somebody better or--" Tommy started.
"If the Lord or the universe or whoever fucking controls everything were to whip up a clone of them," said Wilbur, "I wouldn't even glance at it, so, no, Tommy. & if I did date that clone, I'd have to take a month off work & everything to sit down in the kitchen, & explain all our in-jokes, & cry with them to Wall-E, & still, I'd fuckin' miss Y/N."
"So you regret it all?" Tommy asked.
"Of course I do!" he exclaimed. "I thought I was creating the solution to their problems, that I was being the fix-all, but I was just the villain. & every single modicum of energy that I gave to all the little things compounded all my placidity, & I drove out all the good things & made life so fuckin' heavy, & now I can't wake up & talk to them." He was crying at this point, having to pause a few times to calm himself down.
Tommy held his phone up & pointed at the screen. He was on a call. He was on call with Y/N. He had been this whole time.
"Hi, Wilbur."
reblogs > likes
#wilbur soot#wilbursoot#wilbur#wilbur soot imagine#fanfic#wilbur soot fluff#wilbur soot fanfiction#wilbur soot fic#wilbur soot headcanons#wilbur soot x reader#wilbur soot x reader fluff#wilbur soot x you#wilbur soot x y/n#cliffhanger#angst fic#angst#my story#my writing#my work#wilbur x reader#x reader#wilbur x you#x you#x you angst#reader insert
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Alcohol and Alleyways
Pairing: Han x reader
Word Count: 1.6k
Genre: Smut 🔞, Friends to lovers
Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, drinking, swearing, fingering, unprotected sex (don't be dumb)
When a night out with your best friend to cheer him up takes an unexpected turn all you can do is just hang on tight and enjoy the ride.
Three drinks deep and you were loosing yourself to the beat to the music, Han pressed against your back as you both danced to let off the weeks steam. It wasn't the usual for you to actually go to clubs but after a small disagreement with both Changbin and Chan you knew Han needed to go somewhere they would never be so a fucking nightclub it was.
You had done most of the drinking Han sticking to soda even though he was upset since you both knew he would get tipsy in less than a drink and stone cold drunk after two, but that didn't stop his enthusiasm to just escape into the anonymity of the dancing tipsy bodies that packed out the dance floor. His hands were firmly holding your hips as you moved tethering you to him despite the fact that you were not going to ditch him in his hour of need.
"I'm not going anywhere Ji promise" you called over your shoulder as he pulled you even closer to him.
"I know but I don't like how that guy is looking at you" he explained in your ear as his fingers dug into your short skirt.
"No one is looking at me Ji, I'm just here dancing with my best friend who is mad at his best friends because of a song" you pulled his hands from your hips and spun to face him letting him grab you once more.
"Oh yeah well the guy with the tattoos definitely wants to fuck you" he complained until you placed one of your hands on his chest.
"Well I don't want to fuck him" you grinned "I want another drink" you took his hand and pulled him through the packed floor to the bar where you plopped yourself down on an empty stool letting Han cage you in with his body. You had always known him to be protective of you but tonight was more than usual he would normally just tell you to be safe and have fun but the obvious jealousy and the slight aggression that he spoke with was doing things to you that you didn't expect but were starting to like.
"Oh here comes the motherfucker now" he snapped wrapping one arm around your waist possessively.
"Ji it's just you and me tonight, forget him and just keep your eyes on me. Unless you find someone you want to take home" you grinned cheekily making him roll his eyes at you. After another drink for you and half a beer for him he was at least smiling his hand still firmly attached to your wait holding you against him even though the other guy had totally gotten the hint and disappeared back into the crowd without even speaking to you.
"You going to tell me what the argument was over?" you raised your eyebrow at him as he took one last large gulp of his beer before pushing it away from him.
"No" he laughed "not ever going to tell you that".
"Why not?" you pouted batting your eyelashes at him making him giggle.
"Because you would get mad as fuck at me" he grinned back, you could see the alcohol affecting him more as the time ticked on he was now starting to relax now so you had gotten him to at least the tipsy point now.
"Why on earth would I get mad? your 3Racha arguments have nothing to do with me" you shook your head at him like he was losing his mind and dropped it until he was ready to talk about it which would probably be tomorrow morning at this rate. His hand squeezed where it was resting on your thigh as he seemed to be pondering what to do next.
"Come dance with me again?" His toothy smile and puppy eyes made it impossible to say no so you didn't you just laughed and nodded as he helped your from the stool and led you back onto the dance floor his hands not leaving your body even once you found enough room for you to actually move around in. With his hand splayed against your stomach you both moved in sync with each other and the music until the song changed to something decidedly sexier his hips pressing against you as he encourage you to grind to the music, his breath fanning across your bare neck and shoulder.
"Ji?" you groaned feeling his hands begin to wander from across your stomach to one holding your hip and the other grazing up your rib cage until it was ghosting along the underside of your breast. In your entire friendship he had never touched you like this and you weren't sure if is was the alcohol or the frustration from earlier but you liked it more than you were ever going to admit as you felt wetness pool between your thighs.
"Tell me to stop touching you and I will" he groaned into your ear rolling his body to the beat shameless it letting you feel the semi he was now sporting while he continued running his hands all over you. Your breathing sped up as the warmth started igniting in your belly and you were sure you didn't want him to stop even though you probably should, Han took your lack of answer as permission to do as he pleased now gently cupping your breast and massaging it as you moved making you shiver against him before he continued its path up your body resting it loosely around your throat to pull your body even closer.
You knew he could feel your body reacting to him by the way you gasped but when you accidentally moaned when his lips met your shoulder you knew it was going too far for you to be still in public even though the people around you seemed to either be enjoying the show you were putting on or ignoring you completely.
"Ji we're in public" you pleaded making him stop his movements.
"I can fix that" He smirked his voice deeper than you had ever heard it before he pulled you from the dance floor and out the front of the club. As soon as the cool night air hit you he stopped crashing his lips into yours messily his lips and tongue desperate to claim yours.
"My place is closer than the dorm" you breathed when your lips parted.
"Can't wait that long" he grinned wickedly once again taking your hand and leading you down the street for another minute before turning into a deserted alley between the buildings where you could still hear the music from the club you have just vacated.
"Need this now, need you now" he growled kissing you again and backing you against the rough brick wall not even giving you a moment to think as he hiked your tight skirt up and cupped your heat.
"Ji, you've had too much to drink" you gasped feeling yourself grind against his hand the wet fabric of your underwear obvious to him as his eyes closed and he took a deep breath.
"I'm not drunk I just need you, I've always needed you" he admitted sliding his fingers past the damp fabric to slip between your folds "Feels like you need me too". Whimpering at the feeling of his fingertips teasing your slit he kissed you again groaning into your mouth as your mouth fell open when his fingers found your clit.
"Just like that Ji" you mewled bucking your hips into his fingers as his circled the swollen bud before he replaced them with his thumb his fingers moving to tease your dripping entrance before his pushed two of them in without any resistance curving them to find the spongy spot that made your eyes rolled back.
"I'm going to make you come on my fingers baby, then I'm going to fuck you" he whispered into your ear making you clench around him moving to kiss down your jaw and along your throat.
"Please Ji, please" you whined as you hurtled towards your release.
"I never would have guessed you would let me fuck you like a whore in an alleyway" he muttered against your throat making you moan loudly "Gonna show the boys who's pussy this is. Let them watch you cum on my cock like a good whore".
"Jisung!" you wailed breathlessly as you came hard hearing him groan as he helped you through your high pulling his fingers from you and sucking them clean before kissing you deeply his tongue sliding against yours tasting of beer and your own juices, while he tugged his cock free of his jeans and hooked one of your legs around his hips.
"My girl now" he moaned impaling you with his length as he fucked into your still quivering walls deeply. "Mine".
"Yours Ji" you whimpered as he snapped his hips into yours feeling lightheaded with each thrust.
"Only mine, they cant have you, only my cock can fuck this tight little cunt" he babbled as you felt another orgasm crash over you at his words you whole body convulsing as he continued to chase his own high biting down on your shoulder to quieten his groaning.
"Fuck baby" he moaned as he came his warm seed filling you before staring at you panting eyes glassy and satisfied he slowly pulled his softening length from you before helping you to stand again.
"Ji" you whispered your voice hoarse from your unabashed moaning "what was the fight about?" you pulled your skirt back into place watching him closely
"I don't want to share you with them" he admitted almost shyly his voice quiet "I want you to myself, I'm in love with you".
"You love me?" you repeated smiling as you leaned forward to kiss him, trying to pour everything you felt for him into it even if you weren't sure it was love.
"Can I please take you home and take care of you" he smiled "I need to make sure my girlfriend is pampered after letting me treat her so roughly".
a/n: Thank you for reading even though this one wasn't as good as my others, as always your likes, reblogs and comments keep me motivated xx
Taglist (open): @christopher-bangnaldoskzz, @armystay89, @damnyouficc, @roamingpolar, @tara-skyhold, @bakedlilgoonie, @krishastumblernow, @mrsseals16, @fawnpeaks, @leeknowinggg, @uno7, @tanzen-ist-gold
#han jisung x reader#han x reader#han smut#han jisung smut#stray kids imagines#skz imagines#stray kids fanfic#skz fanfic#stray kids scenarios#skz scenarios#friends to lovers#18+ content#18+ minors dni#stray kids#skz#alcohol and alleyways
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route 66. BANG CHAN — 방찬
pair. dom!chan x f. reader | warnings. language, filthy talk, degradation, rough sexual intercourse, unprotected sex, exhibitionism, slight daddy kink, angst, anger issues, manipulation, mentions of violence, mentions of cheating | word count. 2.8k | for @skzseasons !S week
tags. @ughbehavior, @cb97percent, @hyuneater, @lix-ables, @byskzfilms, @danyxthirstae01, @enluc <3
synopsis. you should’ve known, the moment you’d enter route 66, you’d be his. chan isn’t a generous man—he doesn’t share well.
He spots you across the room.
Chan would find you with his eyes closed, amongst a hundred people. Your body called out to him like nothing else. Many times, he’s had you underneath him, begging—for him, for what he can give you. For what he does give you, without a second thought, all you want, if you behave.
And you do. You’re such a good girl for him, every time. But you’re not his.
He can feel his anger burning in ripples through him—that motherfucker is with you, his hands on you like he has a goddamn claim on you. Chan was sure—if it came down to it, you’d drop that fucking prick in a heartbeat. What Chan also knows—he’s not good for you. He’d never let you ruin your life to be with someone like him.
He averts his gaze, the thought of you being in his club, his blood, sweat and tears, with another man driving him fucking insane with need—to fucking ruin you. Show you who the fuck you’re disrespecting.
Minho was working the bar, making drinks silently, studying his boss, but most importantly—his friend. You’d gone earlier to greet him and pay for two Long Island’s. He knew you brought your boy toy on purpose, had witnessed the fight between you and Chan two weeks ago.
You both were extremely possessive, hotheaded, and would probably never be a complete match. But, fuck, if you two weren’t entirely crazy about each other. The fact you’d come to tease Chan like this, knowing exactly how he’d react, was proof enough.
His boss neared the counter, keeping an eye on the customers. If the customers were you and no one else. Still, Minho couldn’t fault him. This game had been going on for way too long—one of you was bound to crack. He just wishes he doesn’t have to involuntarily witness the inevitable explosion.
“Make sure she doesn’t get too drunk,” Chan growls over the music to the purple haired man.
Minho nods, mixing a Cosmo. “Cool it, yeah? We don’t need a repeat. You got a full house tonight.”
Chan glares at him but says nothing. His eyes say it all—just do as you’re fucking told. Minho chuckles, amused.
“I hope she breaks your fucking heart, Bang Chan,” he mutters, staring straight at him. His friend could fool everyone else around him, but Minho knew him the best of all.
You’d destroyed him for any other girl. He’d never get over you, no matter how many times you screwed his heart over. Because he didn’t even have to admit to it—Chan had it fucking bad. Before you, he couldn’t seem to give a single fuck about any of these other women. As soon as you stepped foot on Route, he was done for. Absolutely. It was written all over him.
Chan was scheming. How to get that leech off you? He’d have to get Changbin involved, probably say some shit to get him all riled up. All he needed was to get you alone. Bury his cock in you and have you scream his name. He’d been aching—to hear it from your mouth, the way your lips wrapped around the sound of it. The thought of it alone, got him rock hard. Fuck, he needed a drink. He needed a taste of your cunt; he craved his arms wrapped tightly around your thighs as he fucked you with his tongue.
But you deserved none of that tonight. What you did deserve—a rough fuck against a goddamn wall. Perhaps that would pacify you, make you stop messing with his goddamn mind. His palms were itching for a fight.
A devilish grin spread across his face. Maybe if he beat that little boyfriend of yours to a pulp—maybe then you’d learn not to fuck with him. How fucking dare you come to his club dragging along that scum with you?
Chan wasn’t an unreasonable man. He didn’t just hate him because he warmed your bed every night. No, him and that asshole go way back. His face alone made Chan’s blood boil.
And the fucking way you danced on him. He hadn’t realized how tight his grip on the bar stool was, until the tips of his fingers went numb. Your ass was rubbing all over him, the black tiny fucking dress barely covering anything. You might as well be naked for everyone to see—and you knew it, gave everyone a good fucking show with your wining hips and head thrown back on another man’s chest.
No, Chan may be worth shit all, but he’d never let you get away with something like this. His girl, flashing her panties for strangers? Plump breasts spilling over a microscopic piece of cloth? He’d bruise your fucking ass for that, teach you who’s supposed to be seeing that slutty body of yours.
“Say, Bang Chan, ain’t that your girl?” Changbin nodded over at you. He’d barely switched from door duty—Seungmin was to take over after midnight.
“Does that fucking whore look like she’s anything to me?” He was absolutely seething, barely containing himself from pouncing on you, and dragging you away.
Then, he could kill that son of a bitch on the spot, something he should’ve done the first time he crossed him.
Changbin sensed the murderous intent. “Do you want me to start some shit, man? Just say the word, boss.”
Chan put his fist over his mouth, weighing his options. He’s a calculating man first and foremost, but safe to say, all reason goes out the window with you. And what was he risking, anyway? Nothing. He owns this fucking place—whatever he says goes. He can do whatever the fuck he wants. Isn’t that why he refused to work for others?
“Fuck it,” he grunted, lunging forward. Changbin followed, lifting his sleeves up, and cracking his knuckles.
They hadn’t fought like this in a while.
Chan was first to throw the punch, his friend holding your boyfriend down as Chan shot his hand out, forcing you behind him. You screamed, hitting his back, pulling on his shirt, scratching the sides of his face.
“Let him go, Chan! What the fuck?”
All the motherfucker did was fall on the floor, moaning like a little bitch. What could you possibly see in him? He’s a weak, pathetic excuse of a man—a good for nothing piece of shit, that needs to be taught a fucking lesson.
Felix is in a fucking wheelchair because of him, and his piss poor driving skills. He didn’t even have the decency to fucking stop. A hit and run. When he got identified, all Chan could see was red.
And now he gets to have you? What if he hurts you too? That. That he couldn’t possibly risk.
A crowd had gathered around them, phones out, shouting encouraging exclaims, eating the whole thing up. Chan spit on the bloody man’s face, leaving Changbin to finish him off.
Turning to look at you, your blood froze. His eyes had gone completely black, the red neon lights hitting him sharply, giving the illusion of the Devil. Handsome, deadly.
“Is this who you want?” he raised his voice at you, gripping your arm tightly. “Do you even know what kind of a man he is?”
Your brows furrowed, anger flashing through you like lightning. “He can’t be worse than you! Let me fucking go,” you snapped, trying to pry your arm off his fingers.
Was it… hurt? Something passed in his eyes, before he chuckled— a dry, humorless thing, and dragged you away from the crowd, turning left to the hall where the bathrooms are located.
Your back hit the wall, as he slammed you on it. Chan towered over you, his broad shoulders menacing in a way that made you press your thighs together. His gaze swept your entire body, checking for any injuries. Slowly, his fingers lifted the strap of your dress back to its place, his eyes slowly locking with yours.
His breathing was hard, and labored, sweat coating his forehead, light brown hair sticking to it. A vision that crawled its way up from Hell. You smiled up at it, hand lifting to rest on his cheek. He saw it, then.
The intent. Your plan had worked.
“You fucking slut,” he leered.
“I have to say, Bang Chan—you’re quite predictable.”
A warning, then. His entire body alert, closing around you, fingers stripping the necklace from your neck, his hand replacing it, squeezing exactly right. His gaze was intoxicating, piercing through you with lethal need. He was looking to hurt.
“Take that shit off,” he snickered. “It’s fucking fake. If you were my girl…” his jaw tightened.
His hands left your skin for a moment, unclasping the chain around his neck, before passing it over and around your neck, letting it fall just above your breasts. Real silver, crystals adorning parts of it.
“Wear it for me, will you? Fifteen thousand, right there. Let me see you.”
Your arms hooped around his thick neck, bringing him closer. His hands fell to your waist, groping, eyes undressing. For a moment, you thought he’d turn all soft for you, lean in for a kiss. Instead, he smirked. And turned you around, pressing your face against the wall, fingers buried in your hair.
“Ask me,” he growled in your ear. “Ask me to fuck you, baby girl. I know you like it rough. How about I take you over his fucking corpse, let him hear the way your scream for my fucking cock? Huh?”
You laughed manically, immobile and loving it. His hands bared your ass to him, dainty panties ripped off your body in an instant. You moaned at his manhandling, wanting more of it, feeling your pussy getting wet for him. Chan could have you in the palm of his hand if he wanted to. The fact that he was allowing you the freedom to mock him, must play into the little fantasy he has of you being a fucking whore, and him the victim that fell prey to your witch ways.
You were terrible, you never denied it. You were a cheater, and a manipulator. You’d also never felt so strongly about anyone else before in your life. The way you feel about Chan—its gasoline. It’s a lit matchstick in a gas station.
“Fucking answer me, you goddamn bitch.” He landed a slap, and then another, relentless, each touch stinging. But welcome—so very welcome.
“You hate me, don’t you? How I make you feel? Show me, daddy,” your tone was innocent, but your intention was anything but. You clenched around nothing, your cunt feeling entirely too empty.
“Oh, keep fucking testing me, baby girl, I will rip you open.” His mouth ghosted over your ear, his breath sending goosebumps down your arms.
You knew the name would send him over the edge. It’s what you wanted.
The music drowned out everything again. Chan looked over at the main floor, mood lights turning purple, the hall then, by default, getting darker as he grabbed his leaking cock, pumping himself to the shadow of your semi naked body. His hand kept you in place, thoughts rushing in a jumbled mess. He wanted to tear you apart, make you feel the pain you’ve put him through, make you understand—that you belong to him, that your cunt was made for him, that he needs to be between your legs like he needs oxygen to breathe. But also—
That you should stop this, now. That he meant every word he said. That chain is yours now, if you take him, if you’re up for the challenge as he thinks you are. You’re a wildcat, wanting nothing more than to play. He could give that to you. He could give you a lot of things.
With no warning, he put his hand over your stomach, bending you so that your ass was flash against his shaft. Then, in one swift move, he bottomed out in your cunt, hand getting lost in your hair again. And you felt like you always felt—pure fucking paradise, your pussy enveloping him, your hands scrambling to hold onto the wall, knees shaking. He could feel everything; your wetness dripping down your thighs, the way you screamed as his cock teared through your entrance. His movements grew quicker, sharper, drilling into you, fingers digging into the sides of your hips, fucking you dumb, the stretch feeling amazing, for him, for him, for him—
“Say my fucking name,” he demanded leaning on you, lips on your shoulder blade. “Look at you—a fucking mess. My fucking mess.”
“Make me cum, please, please make me cum, fuck—please.”
He tells himself—it’s because you said please, it’s because you asked nicely, it’s because you can cheat, and patronize, and ruin every inch of him, but the trust you have on him for this one thing, the way he could always bring you release, the way he’d carved in you—he couldn’t betray that. But your brat behavior wouldn’t just pass over his head, he had to show you he wasn’t to be messed with. Especially by you, especially because it’s you.
“Say—my— name, (Y/N),” he paused all movement, hovering over your body. “Say it, or I’m walking away.”
You huffed, your limbs shaking, and backed your hips. One hand came down hard on your ass, the other gripping the nape of your neck. You stilled, heart leaping out of your chest. You were trapped. Completely.
“Chan—please.”
“Please what?”
“You’re going to make me spell it out?” You half turned your head, glancing behind you in desperation. Tears stained your cheeks, already missing the friction of his cock.
“If I have to, baby. I got all night.” His tip teased you, slowly slipping in and out of you in an excruciating pace, that was so unlike him.
“Fuck you,” you spat, fighting his hold.
“Your boyfriend might be looking for you, sweetheart. Should I call him over, hm? Show him how to fuck a whore like you?”
“Do whatever the fuck you want. Just move,” you screamed, stomping your heel, crying out.
He did. He did, because he, himself, could not stand it anymore. He resumed his speed like he’d never stopped pounding into you. And it was bliss, it was mercy, it was fucking in its truest form, filthy and sweaty, bodies smacking together, taking and taking, pulling and pushing, begging and pleading and goddamn your body, you fucking bitch, you have me by the balls. He wanted to kill you for the way you made him feel, his mind lost, half of him gone, digging, digging, deeper, faster, harder. Chan acted on pure animal instinct, his own release so close he could taste it, so he pushed, and by that point you were crying, sobbing, an incoherent string of words escaping your mouth, give it to me, you have to cum, Chan, please, I can’t, I fucking can’t, I’m fucking done—
“(Y/N).”
Both of you turned to the voice, as you came, lights blurring your vision, ears deaf, faces bewildered. A bloody, bruised version of your boyfriend stood there, shocked, horrified.
Chan pulled out of you, tucking himself back in his pants, as a guttural laugh tore itself through his throat. You, on the other hand, stared at the pathetic man looking over at the two of you, and where there should’ve been shame, and guilt—there was none. Instead, your gaze fell back on Chan, the way his hand brushed his hair back, nonchalant, completely calm.
You laughed, then, as well.
“Take that as a last warning, yeah?” Chan neared your, what could only now be assumed to be, ex-boyfriend. He cowered in fear, but there was still clear anger. Understandable, but not enough. Not next to Chan.
Not everyone witnesses their girlfriend being fucked raw after they’ve been beaten to near death.
You and him would be toxic; you’d be terrible for each other. There’d be a lot of fights, and neither of you would back down from them. Your friends will hate him, and his friends—well, they’ve seen worse. But in that way, you work. In between the cracks, in dark rooms. You’re shadows, recognizing the worst in each other, and accept it as is.
Chris couldn’t wait to figure you out. Not your body, but you, as you speak to him. What makes you, beyond sex. He was fucking screwed, and he couldn’t care less.
“Don’t fucking dare mess with what’s mine again. You hear me?”
#!s week#stray kids scenarios#stray kids smut#bang chan scenarios#bang chan smut#chan smut#skz scenarios#skz smut#chan scenarios#kpop scenarios#stray kids#kpop smut#bang chan fanfic#chan x reader#skz fanfic#stray kids imagines#stray kids fanfic#—mine.#( this is…subpar i’m not gonna lie )#( not my best work. I wrote it in two and a half hours bc i felt bad not making the deadline for the event )#( i can do better than this so perhaps a sequel one day? but for what it is it’s good enough )
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salvatore part 3.5
richie jerimovich x reader
warnings: age gap, cheating, alc, swearing.
here's the second part to part 3 of salvatore. ty for all the love guys!! leave me any suggestions
you walked into the dimly light bar with tina as she flung her hands into the air to make your guys' presence known. you immediately spotted richie eyeing you down from his seat next to carmy at the bar, sipping on a beer slowly. you walked up to the group with tina, still feeling his eyes on you. it's not that things had been tense since that night, rather now all his comments felt like he was playing a game with you. like he knew something worth making you feel guilty over. "ok girl, we see you!" sydney pronounced giving you a proud look, you let out a grin at the compliment taking a little spin around yourself, "what can i say". "okay baby, it's tradition that the newbie has to buy everyone a round of shots." marcus looked over at you, you sighed dramatically throwing your head back. "make it a body shot" richie yelled out, earning a shove from carmy. "fine, i'll get to it." you approached the bartender asking for 6 tequila shots. "alright, cheers to... me!" you giggled, throwing back your first shot. after a couple drinks, compliments from the bartender who kept staring down your dress, and begging sydney to join you on the dance floor, you were out there twirling around yourself with your hands gliding over your own skin that was shining under the lights. "baby gets fucked up fast" carmy laughed into his drink. you turned your head at the sound of his voice, meeting eyes with richie's. they looked dark beneath the bar lights, a deep set look on his face as he gripped his beer. you walked towards him, a little wobbly as you made your way through the floor. "richieee" you came up to him, tugging on his arm and pulling him up from his chair. "what do you need from me, sweetheart." he let out a low snicker, looking down at you and your intoxicated state. you feign a hurt gasp, "i just want you to dance with me, what are you too old?" you giggled, letting out a small hiccup. richie grinned, "old? motherfucker, you hear this?" he looks back at carmy, "let this old man show you a good time then." he pushed you slightly towards the floor. you made him spin you a couple times till you got dizzy and eventually were gripping onto his strong forearm and throwing your head back onto his chest. richie could smell the alcohol coming from you being laced with your sweet strawberry perfume he had familiarized himself with. your hand slowly began making it's way up richie's arm, tracing it with your fingertips you let out a small laugh. "what's so funny, doll?" he spoke beside your head, letting the hot breath fan over your ear. "nothing," you stay swaying, hands still all over his arm. "well it can't be nothing, you can tell me..." he spoke to you with that tone in his voice that felt like he was coaxing an answer out of you. "your arm's just really nice" he bit down on his lip at your response, "oh really?" he replied amused almost. "and your hands, i like watching you in the kitchen, cutting shit up you know." he swore he could hear you let out a small shudder at the end of your sentence. it made him smirk, watching you spill your secrets so easily when asked. he looked down at your face and captured your eyes fixated on the trail your fingers left along his arm, the lost look you held in them making him let out a quick 'fuck' beneath his breath. not before looking over at the others at the bar and making sure they were busy chatting amongst themselves, he collected your hair and brought it all to the side of your neck. feeling you shiver at his touch, he clasped the back of your neck with his big hand and leaned down, "what would your uh boyfriend think if he saw you like this, y/n?". you pray he doesn't notice the low whimper you let out at the close proximity and the threatening use of your name. unfortunately for you, it's music to his hears, "you'd like that, huh? god you're sick, sweetheart". you turn around to face him, your breathing heavy. you felt like his energy was consuming you, the way his jaw clenched, the light smirk playing on him lips, it was all too much.
“i’m getting another drink” you rip your body away from him, swallowing hard. “i think you’ve had enough to drink, baby.” his voice follows you, “fine then take me home, richie”. he sighs and brings a hand to his forehead, “you know i can’t do that” he looks back at everyone, noticing tina and carmy had already head home and only marcus and sydney were left chatting at the bar. you suddenly take his shirt gently between your hands and look up with him, your lipstick shining and eyes glossy “please richie”. he couldn’t resist the slight whine your voice held. he wanted to do the right thing, but you make it so hard. you both make your way back to the bar, “baby’s off her ass, i’m gonna call her boyfriend and make sure she gets home.” richie says to the two, as they take in the image before them. sydney and marcus knew richie could be, well richie, but they trusted him enough to not let anything happen to you. "take care of her richie, please.” sydney gestured towards you. “bye guys, love you!” you let out quickly before making your way out with richie guiding you. standing outside in the cold you hugged yourself, “what’s your guys number so we can get you home?” richie said as he pulled out his phone. “i don’t want to go with him right now”. “what, why the fuck not?” he asked puzzled, “i just want to go with you richie, please?”.
who was he to deny you?
#richie jerimovich x you#richie jerimovich x reader#richie jerimovich imagine#richie jerimovich#carmy x reader#carmen berzatto imagine#carmen berzatto x reader#carmy berzatto#sydney adamu#the bear#the bear fanfiction#the bear x reader#the bear hulu#the bear fx#syd adamu#sydney x carmy#the bear imagine
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My Valentino thirst is killing me. I must quench!!!
Combining these two asks so I can babble about both of em at the same time lmao, this is kind of just different ideas all smashed around lol
ALSO CAN I JUST SAY THE ABSOLUTE NERVE OF SHOWING VAL IN THE NEWEST TRAILER BUT NOT HAVING HIM SPEAK 😩 but we can hear Vox so I guess that's something?
- first off, ok, let's just get this out right now: the newest episodes of helluva boss showed that Ozzie can shift his height, THEREFORE THIS MAN IS A SWITCH AND HE'D BE DELIGHTED IF YOU EVER TOPPED HIM SEND POST
Like seriously that's obviously how he can manage to have sex with Fizz despite their extreme height difference, meanwhile, do you guys ever think about the huge height discrepancy between Angel and Valentino in like...., ok. There's literally one specific thing that's been in my head for ages as a "how did that even work or was that just for visual effect". The Addict music video had that shot of Valentino like, you know, behind Angel, but. Like. Angel wouldn't be tall enough to just be bent over even if Val practically bent himself in half, right? Unless I'm remembering Val a lot larger than he actually is, I'm pretty sure angel is over 6ft and Val is like. 10-12 or something?
-Anyways So, saying all that, I think sex with Valentino in general involves him having you set you up onto things like counters or desks or stools or makeup vanities, you get the point. Your standing height is basically like. His waist. And yeah he'd probably be gross about that
-could you EVEN Fucking Imagine I mean it like seriously actually the grossness of it, standing near this nasty motherfucker and you can tell he's bricked up and maybe he's even like deliberately talking to you and shit knowing you're like, you know, in proximity to your boss' absolute rager that you're dying to not look at and he's just, SOAKING in your humiliation and secondhand embarrassment
-I just feel like 99% of interactions with yandere Valentino are him thinking it's cute/funny/sexy/entertaining to fuck with you. Make you embarrassed, make you drunk, make you cry, horny, whatever. He's either fucking with you, wanting TO fuck you, or wanting attention from you. But I've also been thinking about like, what are some more darker things he could do
-partially inspired by myself but do you guys hate people who turn off read receipts and stuff. Imagine the whole "Val gifts you a phone" scenario and then he starts setting the standards of what he actually wants you to do with it, like always having your read receipts on, always answer his texts within a REALLY short amount of time, don't ignore his calls (do you think he'd give you a phone that literally can't ignore his calls like Mammon did to Fizz because like I'm sure that was a throw away gag but, lowkey hot)
Imagine you're just getting to know Val, maybe even a sort of, situationship with him, and he sends you a text, just something super innocuous. I'm talking something like "don't forget you have a shift tonight" or "limos broken down, leaving for the club later than usual", like, something that doesn't outright require some sort of immediate reply, and you hop in the shower and you come back to like a text bomb and 12 missed calls, like obsessive drug addict alcoholic rage escalation from "you there?" "answer bitch" "pick up the goddamn phone" "you better be kidnapped, beaten, or dead right now"
Imagine hopping out of the shower and you had your phone open in the other room and you exit the bathroom in a towel and he's sitting there on your bed and your entire room's been trashed like shits BROKEN and he's, got a cigarette lit and his arms are crossed and he's got your phone in one of his hands , he can clearly see you were in the shower, and instead of apologizing for like going absolutely manic, he just, either, gets gross about how you're wearing a towel and how you got him so worked up and you need to make it up to him, or, he just basically whines that you should've just waited until he was done talking to you to shower
-Val's a yandere who will give you something, break it in a rage to punish you or when he's feeling hurt or betrayed by you, and then replace it with something nicer and more expensive. But then he'll also break things he didn't give you to try and replace everything you own with things he's provided and you'll hate those things, they aren't sentimental to you and maybe not even to your tastes. Oh what's that, you made a new friend? You guys want to Lu Lu Land and he got you a shitty little ring from a carnival game and it's sentimental and important to you? That's cool, don't mind Valentino ruining it or throwing it away the second you take it off and "consoling you" in your grief of "losing it" by getting you a ring from HIM
-genuinely I could see him being one of those guys where if he somehow did manage to pull off enough bullshit to convince you to date him and he's not a total freak, he'd pull some shit like that and then you realize what a huge mistake you've made. he's trying to backpedal and make it up to you but, you've seen his true colors now, and maybe he actually broke something that was really special to you and you really liked him for
-I just don't know how anyone would, realistically, be able to resist Asmodeus in a scenario where he offers you safe harbor from Valentino. A new place to stay rent free? He'd help get you food and clothes and whatever you need? Val would have you so terrorized that, unless you basically had, uh, an unhealthy attachment to him, or insecurity issues, you wouldn't even consider staying with Val over your new "friend". Ozzie is Mr Steal Yo Girl
- i was kinda thinking "how would a yandere Ozzie hypothetically get sex out of you in a scenario where he wants consent" and I feel like he'd just kinda, lovebomb you and maybe manipulate you a little bit and maybe have some blurred ethics on how drunk or high he thinks you're allowed to be while it's still in his definition of consensual. Yeah you said yes to sex with him but you'd taken molly and had some drinks!
Godddd would it be considered gaslighting if, afterwards when you're feeling like embarrassed and regretful, because maybe he's a good friend and you feel it's ruined now, he fakes how remorseful he feels with intentions to, in turn, emotionally manipulate you into thinking he's not as creepy as he actually is. Like, oh gosh, he just seems SO upset over this, can't you let him make it up to you 🥺
- also like. Uh. Having the ol "i liked you as a friend but I was vulnerable and I'm really embarrassed i slept with you even if I liked you so I can't talk to you right now or maybe ever again" reaction with Ozzie would uh. Not work??? It'd be bad??? Like imagine if nothing else you kind of ghost him because you're really embarrassed and insecure and he's like freaking out you were fucking kidnapped or something or WORSE, meanwhile he finds out, like. You're just really embarrassed he saw you naked and couldn't face him and he'd think that's SO CUTE YOU HAVE NO IDEA 🥺❤️
-Ozzie is obviously sex positive and I think you getting flustered and horny and embarrassed would be like his cookies and cream. Even if you have no experience he doesn't mind and he loves to teach you all kinda of things or even just talk about, naughty stuff with you. Imagine he's just like reading a book across the room and suddenly he looks over to you, "hey have you ever had anyone tie you up before? Just curious uwu"
- on the flip side I feel like Valentino needles in at all your insecurities amd with a chubby Readet he'd definitely flip flop between treating you nicely and then mocking you in front of other people. Like, a "good" yandere Val would get incredibly defensive of you as much as he would himself, but one on the meaner end of the spectrum would actively neg you and knock down your self esteem so that it feel really, REALLY good when he finally praises you and flirts with you
-I just picture you offhandedly telling Asmodeus some of the stuff that's happened between you and Val and Ozzies just sitting there, "baby can I be real with you? This guy wants to fuck you so bad he makes himself look stupid" and it's Ozzie's "feedback" that makes you kind of lose your temper with Val one day and, yeah you just deadass repeat some shit like "you wanna fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid" and Val is just AGHAST like where did this ATTITUDE come from. And I picture you kinda get into it, like he kinda sputters a bit but is clearly pissed at you and he gives some like, threat that in full context makes you realize he really DOES have some kind of thing to you. Like it's weird that a THREAT could convey that, he just says some shit like "you better stop running your mouth before I take a paddle to that fat ass of yours" but it's also like, if you're taking potshots at his self esteem and getting personal digs, it's really kind of being let off that he just makes threats and doesn't, like, do something right then and there
You just take a shot of the rest of his drink, "yeah you would like to spank me wouldn't you 😘 you're always commenting on my ass all the time, you don't have to be embarrassed if you like to look" and maybe you like sneak some backhanded compliment in there, before being like, covering your tracks, or sarcastically being like, "ok Daddy love you too 🥰" and giving him a peck on the cheek like really being cheeky with it before you fuck off to another part of the club and then later on when you've sobered up and the Oh Shit What The Fuck Did I Do stage kicks in, you eventually have to give him a refill or something and he's like, oddly silent while you're like a shrinking violet, all bravado just GONE, and at the end of your shift he like, actually beckons you closer and you think you're being punished and he just. Smirks and crosses his legs, "don't get too cocky with me, k sweetie?" and just silently threatening you, but, also, shoving a larger than usual tip directly under the waistband of your pants.
I've also thought about that as well? Like Val shoving tips in your clothes, like in your bra or even in your panties/boxers/whatever as like, a double-sided threat/reward/threatening flirting. You mouth off and tease him about him being thirsty for you and later on he's practically got an entire hand in your bra to leave some 5s there and deliberately grazing your nipples the entire time (swear to God if he pinched I thought I'd go aggressive crazy on his ass)
-but Val saying some shit like you're too gross to be a hooker or a porn star and that's why you just wait tables and later on down the line you've ditched him and you're modeling or shooting like female oriented porn down on the Lust Ring. Lmaoooo Valentino trying to neg you and 6 months later he's being cucked and hating himself as he's cranking it to like softcore porn of a maintenance guy being super nice and respectful to you after making some repairs around your house before eating your pussy and then. Straight up leaving. Vals just over here "why am I even-- this isn't even hot" as he beats his shmeat because he wants to see someone "Break My Choker" you and you just, you didn't even suck the guy off he just rocked up with some tongue action and left like You're Living Your Best Life, Angel Dust is over here like "goddamn I wish I could get paid to just have someone go down on me and leave 😭"
-Ozzie's over here having like safe sex meetings before the porn shoots and making sure everyone is in the right headspace and feeling OK and meanwhile up in Pride you've got shit where like, one of Vals pornstars didn't show and when you briefly enter the set to bring him a lemonade he makes a split second decision to have you restrained and have a train ran on you because he'd rather psychologically scar you then come out of this failed filming session empty handed with wasted money
-I just have this visual of, you're not anything "with" Valentino or Ozzie and, maybe they've encouraged you to be more sexually free, but then you actually start being more adventurous and they're like "oh you know what? Thanks i Extremely Hate this Actually". You're sitting on the couch at the club next to one of them and your phone buzzes and you're answering it, getting kind of flirty sorh whomever is on the other line as your cohort gets more and more jealous, and then you're randomly dropping, "so hey not to be horny but what are you doing tonight? I could use me a deep dick pizza with an extra helping of cuddles afterward" and Val/Ozzie is just, SPITTING HIS DRINK
-like you go from sitting in Vals limo or sitting next to him and he's constantly shamelessly watching like nudes or porn or snaps on his phone right next to you and you're forced to endure that, and one day YOUR earbuds aren't connected properly and Val gets blasted with 5 seconds of something like a male or female or whomever, someone who isnt you, "ugh god I love the taste of you 😩❤️" and he's, the attention is ON, eyes on you IMMEDIATELY, just, "what the fuck was that???"
Imagine you're straight up looking up D/P pics on your phone and suddenly you sense a presence and he's like. You've got Valentino's massive form leaning practically from one end of the couch to the other to look at your phone from over your shoulder/above you. The notoriously narcissistic attention seeking loudmouth drunk just, having been silently whisper quiet watching you for who knows how long, you're not sure if he can even read or see what's going on bit he definitely sees the picture
Goddd can you even think of it, he finds out you're fucking around with someone because he snatches your phone out of your hand as like, a tease, because he saw you looking at dick pics and he's all "oooo, giiiiiirl what have you got HERE", but then he starts going through your entire gallery and all your messages and the smile is wiped off his face. Imagine the like. 30 second pipeline of "teasing you, snatching your phone as a joke, going through your phone, immediately chucking your phone directly at the floor"
Ozzie thinks you're fucking GHOSTING HIM and he's getting PANIC ATTACKS over here because, you know, you make his heart do the flippy thing, meanwhile it's like, nah, Valentino has just shifted into Ultra Possessive "Someone Touched My Shit" Mode and you literally aren't allowed to have a phone or so much as be alone anymore amd the next time Asmodeus is seeing you, it's on Sinstagram, being made to hang off Valentino as he had the picture captioned something about, "some of his bitches he just doesn't like to share"
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