#(which it sounds like to me from the way he specifies ‘people’)

[lemon-natalia]

Nona the Ninth Reaction - John 19:18

message now reads: ‘THE/TOWER/HAS/R’. just speculating here, but the next word could be something like ‘risen’ or ‘returned’. or resurrected 👀

i haven’t been looking too much into the actual biblical passages in the title given that these titles mostly seem to be related to the hidden message rather than referencing specific biblical events, but it feels important to note that John 19:18 is the actual crucifixion

John being scared of bodies floating in the water makes sense, thats gross, but the narrator also specifies that he’s ‘always scared of the water’ which is interesting. i wonder if there’s any connection to the River there 

everything going on, with people going back and forth on evacuation plans, caring more about money than actual practical solutions, feels unfortunately realistic as to how people would actually act in this situation

John being upset about how the people evacuating ‘didn’t give a fuck about trying to save you’ really makes me think the narrator, who i’m pretty sure is connected to Alecto in some way, is the earth?? somehow?? or at the very least there’s a very heavy handed metaphor going on 

the bit towards the end of this chapter about how the narrator doesn’t remember anything that happened, versus how John can’t forget, reminds me so much of the ending of that short story with Palamedes and Camilla as kids where Camilla states ‘Palamedes remembers everything: That was his problem. I always remember him. That’s mine.’ nothing of substance to say here other than these books just tear my heart to pieces at every opportunity

okay so from this chapter it sounds like there was a plan for these ships to escape earth, and if they did then i guess its possible that because they’re not on any of the planets that become the Nine Houses, they wouldn’t be part of the Resurrection. i'm still very intrigued as to how we get from here to the point of everyone on earth apparently dying via nukes, or if that’s even what actually happened

[stellernorth]

i know i’m x number of years late to the party of talking about this buuuut i just watched paint it black and what else could he possible have meant. that he wants a wife and kids? he had that with lisa and ben and it was nothing. and it’s said like he’s thinking of specific people/person and buddy the only person you know is castiel. so. like either he’s coming to terms with liking men or he has the most bizarre way in the history of the world of expressing he thinks he should fill out his life experience by going to college or BASE jumping or something

[quin-ns]

Neighborhood Dilf (Joel Miller x Reader)

Word count: 2.7K

Summary: joel finds out he has a nickname and he asks you what it means

Tags: pre-outbreak this is a happy fic guys!! I didn’t specify a year but let’s put it at 2000 for funsies so sarah is like 11 and joel is like 30ish. also fluff, humor, flirting, age gap, goofy plot (I don’t know what this is honestly), joel being the definition of a dilf and not knowing it, crushes, overall cuteness. also suburbia

A/N: I saw a tiktok where someone said they just knew joel was the neighborhood dilf and they were so real for that I had to write it. and no I don’t care that the word was popularized online we’re using it here. I’m here to provide a cute fluffy fanfic not a historically accurate one lol. also sorry if your name is bee, I tried to come up with a name for the friend that was a nickname so if it was someone’s actual name they could just imagine their full name (I overthink)

cross-posted to ao3 • tlou masterlist • main masterlist

The loud music coming from outside woke you up from your afternoon nap. After spending a semester at college struggling to find even an hour of sleep, you were taking as many of those as possible. You were a little grouchy at first as you threw your covers off and stormed to your window, but quickly calmed down when you realized it was the annual block party your neighborhood hosted during the summer.

You’d gotten an in-person invite from Bee, another girl home from college who you’d been friends with in high school before going your separate ways. You still kept in touch since she was nice enough, which is how you found out her family was hosting this year. She’d confided in you personally that she would quote “go crazy if it was all kids and old people.”

As you looked out into their front yard, which was diagonal to yours, you saw that’s pretty much all it was. Since you were such a good friend, you decided that you’d go. 

You were getting dressed (at a leisurely pace) when your phone started to ring. You picked it up from your desk after you pulled your pink sundress on and flipped it open. The caller ID read Bee’s name and you answered, ready to tell her you were on your way.

“He’s here,” she said, sounding mistified, before you could even open your mouth. 

“Who?” you wondered, furrowing your brows a little to yourself as you went to the window.

“The neighborhood dilf,” Bee replied under her breath. 

The nickname made you laugh. It reminded you of high school. It had started as a joke, something you had started calling the new guy who’d moved into the neighborhood with his daughter a few years back. Later you found out his name was Joel Miller, but the nickname spread like wildfire to all the other girls in the neighborhood and it just stuck. 

Everyone knew about it; the girls of course, their confused parents, jealous boys who thought Joel was stealing their attention—the only person who wasn't aware of the moniker (as far as you knew) was Joel. Well, you hoped his daughter didn’t know either. Thankfully, after time, everyone forgot that you had started it. It was a bit embarrassing.

You walked away from the window to your closet and slid on your flip flops—it was summer in Texas, after all.

“You need to get over here, Y/N—what?” the last word sounded distant from the phone. “Yeah, she’s supposed to be on her way,” Bee replied, but to someone else.

“Um, hello?” you asked, waiting.

Bee was quiet for a few seconds, then whisper shouted into the phone, “you’ll never guess what just happened!”

“Let me guess, Joel just walked up and professed his love for you,” you teased, laughing at your own joke. “What, were my parents asking for me or something?” you guessed for real that time, recalling the small bit you had heard her say.

“Unfortunately no, and also no,” she sounded a little too disappointed about the first part, which made you chuckle again. “He did just ask me about you though.”

“Who?”

“The dilf.”

“Just use his name,” you told her with a roll of your eyes, heading out of your room to the stairs. “Wait.” You stopped for a second. “Joel asked about me?” 

“Yeah. I changed my mind, you’re not invited.”  If it wasn’t for her obvious sarcasm you might’ve thought she was serious. “He heard me say your name and asked if you’d be here soon. I—hey!” she yelled, causing you to pull the phone from your ear for a second. You continued your descent down the stairs as she yelled something about ‘kids’ and ‘stay out of there’. “I gotta go,” she said suddenly, then hung up.

You just shook your head with a small, amused smile and left your phone on the counter. Stupid dress and no pockets. 

You headed out the front door and walked across the street towards the party. 

It was in full swing. Music, games, food table—it looked like something out of a magazine. The Grants had a huge front yard—it was one of the nicer houses in the neighborhood—and it seemed like everyone was there. There were kids running around, adults all mingling—some sitting at the fold out tables, others walking around, others chasing their kids—there was also a group of dads surrounding the grill. You glanced that way and didn’t see Joel. You wondered where he was and if you should find him, but Bee found you first.

“The kids aren’t supposed to go inside alone and two of those little jerks went into my room,” Bee complained right away, straightening out her white blouse over her jean shorts. Her pinned back brown hair was a little messy, though. You wondered what happened, which she quickly answered. “I saw them jumping on my bed through the window.”

“Sounds like fun,” you commented sarcastically. Bee looped her arm through yours. 

“My dad set up ring toss and it’s all little kids, I don’t wanna be the only adult playing. Come on.” She dragged you along in that direction and you willingly went with.

You saw a few kids from the neighborhood playing, mostly the preteens who were too old for hopscotch but whose parents had told them they weren't old enough for the mini golf (one of the boys had overshared that little comment). 

“Y/N!” a girl's voice called. You looked that way and saw Sarah Miller walking towards you. A few days out of the week when her dad was working late, you’d go over to their house and keep an eye on her (before you left for college). It was the easiest babysitting gig you ever had; she was polite, always did her school work, and hardly caused any problems. Her dad had raised her very well. 

She looked older than you remembered her being, but you had been gone for both fall and spring semesters—well, you had been home for winter break briefly, but not enough to see anyone other than your parents.

“Sarah, hi!” you greeted, accepting the hug she offered when she got close. “How are you?”

“Good!” she said with a smile. “Are you guys gonna play with us?” she asked you and Bee. “I keep beating them and it’s not fun anymore.” 

You and Bee both laughed at that. “Sure, why not.”

“It feels weird playing with her after talking about how hot her dad is,” Bee whispered in your ear when Sarah went first. “You think he’ll come over here?”

“And what would you do if he did?” you challenged while hiding a chuckle, raising your brows at her.

“Um, probably nothing,” she admitted, cheeks a little pink. “He’s fun to look at though.” 

You hummed. “You’re not wrong.” 

The two of you played a few rounds of ring toss, although Bee got very bored quickly. “Can we go get some drinks?” she asked after not that long of playing.

“Sure,” you decided. You waved bye to Sarah and the others as the two of you walked off towards the cooler.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed some of the other girls in the neighborhood that hadn’t been in attendance before. For a couple that you knew, it didn’t seem like their scene. 

“What are they doing here?” you asked Bee.

“I may or may not have also told them the neighborhood dilf was here. They, uh, wanted to… see him,” she answered, avoiding eye contact.

You raised your brows in slight disbelief. “Are you serious?” 

“I wanted more people our age here,” Bee defended. “I wasn’t sure if you were even gonna show.”

You scoffed out a laugh. “You’re ridiculous,” you told her.

You reached the cooler and knelt down. You handed Bee a water, but she didn’t accept it. You looked up at her.

“Keep an eye out for the dilf, I haven’t seen him in a while. I’ll be right back,” Bee told you, taking off before you could say anything. You guessed the bathroom given her speed walking inside.

You laughed a little to yourself as you stood back up. You kept the water for yourself. You looked out amongst the crowd, realizing you were now on your own while everyone was in groups. You saw a couple people you were friends with and thought of maybe going up and joining them, but someone else spotted you first.

Joel Miller, the aforementioned neighborhood dilf, was walking towards you. Bee would be jealous, especially if she knew you and Joel were actually friends.

You had thought about telling Bee and some of the other girls that you were friends with Joel, given how much they just loved to gossip about him (how he was still single, how he looked really good in his pajamas getting the mail, that one time he took his shirt off while mowing the lawn—that was a big day) but then you thought better of it, not wanting to be run out of town by a jealous mob.

You were already getting glances by the time Joel stopped by your side so maybe your humbleness was pointless.

“Saw you all alone, thought I’d come keep you company,” Joel broke the ice with ease.

How long had he been watching you? The thought made your cheeks feel warm.

“Wow, what a gentleman,” you teased lightly, causing Joel to chuckle.

“I try,” he joked back, shooting you a small wink.

When you had first met Joel you were nervous around him. It was much easier to talk to him now that the two of you had become friends rather than acquaintances. He was an easy guy to get along with and you found yourself genuinely enjoying his company rather than just gawking at him in his yard from your window (like you used to do in high school). Your crush hadn’t disappeared though, so you joked around with him as a way to keep things casual and avoid getting in your own head. 

“Sarah told me you were finally here, she was happy to see you,” Joel mentioned with a light smile.

That made you smile back. “She’s a sweet kid,” you told him. “I was happy to see her too.”

You fiddled with the water bottle in your hand as you spoke, trying to unscrew the cap. The stupid thing was stuck and after a few seconds you gave up.

Joel gave you an amused look, glancing between your face and hands. “You want help with that?”

“Yes, please,” you handed it to him. “There you go again, proving chivalry isn’t dead. Thank you.”

Joel unscrewed the cap with ease and handed it back. “Happy to be at your service.”

“So, you guys been here a while?” you asked, sparking up conversation.

“Not too long, only an hour or so. It’s been fun though,” Joel explained. “More for Sarah than for me,” he admitted, glancing around to find his daughter. He spotted her and she waved, then continued playing with her friends.

“Why’s that?” you wondered, looking up at him just as he looked down at you. 

“Just… I mean, everyone is nice and all,” he started. “But I just feel like I got nothin’ to talk about with them, y’know? Except you.”

“Really?” You tried to not sound too thrown off by that, but you didn’t know he felt like that. It was interesting to say the least. 

“Is that such a surprise?” he wondered, raising an eyebrow curiously.

You shrugged. “Maybe a little. I get it though, I haven’t really talked to anyone other than Bee yet.”

“I don’t know if you’re friends with them, but I saw a bunch of girls your age walking around,” Joel said as a suggestion. 

“Nah, I’d rather just talk to you,” you said casually, before you could even think about what you had said. The look on Joel’s face changed a little, like he was trying to bite back a bigger smile.

“Well, that’s nice to hear,” he said after a moment. Your eyes met his and the way he looked at you made your heart skip a beat. You had to look away to be able to breathe, almost certain you were reading into things. You really, really did not want to be disappointed.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” Joel said, making you realize you hadn’t spoken yet.

“Sure, yeah.”

“You know… young person lingo, don't you?”

You laughed at the awkward wording. If it had been any of the other adults here using the word “lingo” you would’ve cringed, but there was something cute about the way Joel said it. You tried to snap that thought out of your head.

“Mostly, yeah,” you replied with a little chuckle paired with a curious tone. “What’s up?”

“Do you know what a dilf is?” he asked bluntly. That alone told you he had no idea. 

You were so stunned, all you could think to say was, “why?”

“Well, those girls I mentioned… I overhead some of them calling me that,” he explained, his eyebrows furrowing a little. “It’s not bad, is it?” 

Was this karma coming back to you for starting the nickname? It wouldn’t have surprised you. 

“It’s not bad, no,” you assured while also avoiding the main question.

“What is it then?” Joel’s interest was piqued now and while you couldn’t blame him, you also couldn’t think of a way to make this not weird.

“It’s an acronym,” you started. Joel watched you intently, waiting for an explanation. “It means dad I’d like to…” you trailed off, hinting at him the word to fill in the blank.

Joel just looked even more confused. “To what?”

Somehow he made cluelessness incredibly attractive.

Screw it, you thought. This was already weird. Rip the bandaid off, right? “Fuck,” you finished before you could think better of it. 

“Oh,” he stated. You knew it took a second for realization to hit. “Oh. So that means they, um,”

“It’s basically like saying you’re hot,” you explained, filling in when he couldn’t. You hoped he wouldn’t find it insulting or anything like that.

Joel looked a little bashful but found amusement in the situation nonetheless. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should,” you suggested, then sipped your water. You looked out at the people milling about rather than meeting his gaze.

“Do you think I’m one?”

You nearly choked on your water. “What?”

“Sorry,” Joel apologized quickly, trying to laugh it off. “I shouldn't've asked that.”

“It’s alright,” you assured him. You paused for a minute, contemplating what you might say to that. You got a rush of bravery. “If you’re asking if I think you’re attractive… the answer is yes.”

Joel couldn’t hold back his smile. He tried, but it was a failed effort. It was like he was trying to contain his anticipation. “What about if I wanted to ask you out? What would your answer be then?”

“Yes.”

Joel grinned. “I was hoping you’d say that,” he admitted. 

“Dad!” Sarah’s voice caused the two of you to look away from one another. You saw her running up to you guys and hoped she hadn’t heard a word of your conversation. “Can you come play with me? Mr. Grant just set up a bean bag toss!” 

“Sure, kiddo,” he told her. She grabbed his hand and started to drag him away. 

You smiled a little to yourself at the interaction—he was such a good dad.

Joel slowed her down a little bit to look back at you. “I’ll call you later, okay?” 

“Sounds good,” you replied, chuckling lightly. 

The Millers disappeared into the roaming people. You tried to follow them with your gaze but your attention got torn away.

“Waiting in a line for the bathroom in my own house is messed up,” Bee said, popping out seemingly out of nowhere. “What’s got you so happy?” she wondered, eyeing the smile on your face that couldn’t be erased.

“You won’t believe what just happened,” you replied. A part of you still couldn’t believe it. “I’ve got a date with the neighborhood dilf.”

joel taglist: @the-ice-frozen-ground-red-rose @dontphunkwithmylove @cilliansangel @amethystwonders11 @frogsmuahh037 @andy-rocks @melllinaa @alitaar @melanie451 @b00kw0rmsworld @reverieisaway @avengersfan25 @aheadfullofsteverogers @strangeh0rizons @spideysimpossiblegirl @shannonmariebee

if you would like to be added to the joel taglist just send me an ask or a message! <3

[weasleyreidstyles]

between the shelves

for @thatdammchickennugget's hogmarch challenge!!

prompt 1: "is it that, or is it because you're in love with me?"

pairing: theodore nott x reader (no house specified)

warning(s): none

~∞~ a short little drabble – i've never written anything for theo so i thought i'd give it a shot.

There are many beautiful mysteries within the castle walls. That includes Hogwarts' expansive library that holds every book one could think of, and more. It's earthy tones and the smell of ink on parchment paper permeates the air at all hours of the day and the rustle of books is the only sound, besides idle chit chat that fills the vast room.

Right now, you despise the library.

The table that you and your potions partner had chosen was small and crammed into a corner of two towering bookshelves and the heat that magically swept through the room seemed to be set to sweltering hot as you sat, clinging to the fabric sleeves of your cardigan, which you refused to remove. There are potions books strewn across the table, which you absolutely abhor to look at, especially as his deft finger trace featherlight patterns against the worn covers as he jots a note down onto a separate piece of parchment for the assignment the two of you have been tasked with completing.

It all seems physically impossible. The fact that you're totally abysmal at potions, paired with the way Theodore Nott made you so nervous. Sitting in the sweltering library with him, is the last place you want to be right now.

He was one of the most popular boys in your year. Star quidditch player; top of all his classes without even having to try; he had more friends than you had fingers and he was just so godsdamn attractive. Everyone either wanted him, or wanted to be him in some capacity. Sometimes when you looked at him, jealousy festered in your gut because how can he sit in lessons so nonchalantly, but still remain just below Hermione Granger in all of them? And how can someone be made to be that fucking attractive?

It was not fair.

But more often than not, when you catch yourself staring at him (it happens more frequently than you'd care to admit) you find yourself constantly picking out the little things about him that make your heart soar.

Like the way his nose twitches irritably when his slightly curled hair falls over his eyes, yet he refuses to get it cut shorter.

Or the way his mouth tilts into a devious smirk that has people swooning instantly.

When he's on the quidditch pitch, his agility could rival the professional. He was truely a real talent and he could have an amazing future career, you think.

But the most fascinating thing about him are his eyes. Theodore has the most captivating eyes you've ever seen. They are a kaleidoscope of blues and greys that you find yourself wishing to get lost in.

Unbeknownst to you, Theo looks up from his note taking and watches as you stare off into space, the potions book in front of you long forgotten. His lips lift into that arrogant smirk that you seem to admire quite a lot as he abandons his own work in favour of staring you down.

You must be miles away in your own mind because you barely concentrate on the fact that he's looking so deeply at you, that he may as well have been staring right at the makings of your very soul.

"Have you got a staring problem, dolcezza?" he asks, his deep voice a mixture of smooth and raspy. It makes your heartbeat pick up in speed as you're jolted from your wandering thoughts.

"I'm bored." You mumble, moving your hands, which are resting on your lap, to lay upon the table so that you can lie your head down. "Potions is so draining and it's so bloody hot in here."

"Is that it, or is it because you're in love with me?"

You sit up abruptly, eyes wide and mouth threatening to gape like a fish out of water as he merely stares back at you with his brows slightly raised. His smirk is widening, almost to a full blown grin. Gods he's so pretty, is all you can think as you roll your eyes at him.

He lets out the lightest of snickers as you ignore him and open your abandoned book, in favour of evading his gaze. But he could already see the blush crawling further and further across your cheeks.

"You can admit it if you want to, darling." He says teasingly, his voice is arrogant and silky and it makes you blush even more. "I don't blame you. Everyone seems to be in love with me."

He smiles prettily at you as you glare at him from across the table.

"No one like an egotistical brat, Theodore." you retort, but there's no bite in your words – there never is when it comes to him. And as he stares you down, you swear you can see the reciprocation in his gaze, but it's gone almost instantly when he turns back to his own notes.

One day, you'd tell him how you felt.

Today was not that day.

[daddyricsdoll]

You know ✭ Max Verstappen

Summary: Max got his 3rd world title and he had an idea on how to celebrate.

Warnings: Fingering, Unprotected sex, Oral (f and M receiving), Squirting, Dacryphilia, reader is virgin and there is an age gap, but not specified. Oh, and a little overstimulation.

Word count: 1.9k

A/N: Based off of this request. Sorry it took a while! And never forget, you can always reblog.🤭

People’s screams fill my ears and colours cover my vision as Max drives his car on the pedestal that lays there for his 3rd consecutive world championship. My body gets squished in between employees from Red Bull and to my advantage I end up flush against the barrier separating us from Max.

He finally gets out of the car and runs toward the crowd waiting for him, he starts hugging the team, making his way closer and closer to me. Ultimately when he makes his way to me, our embrace lasts longer than others. “Max! I can’t believe it. You’re so amazing! I love you” I shouted to him, hoping he heard from under his helmet. I hear the outline of his voice, but I don’t catch the words, still I nod my head and then watch him go and hug the others. I stand by as he collects his trophy, then make my way to his driver's room.

I was a few metres away when I saw Max walk in the room, which resulted in me jogging to the door. “Max!” 

“Oh hey dear” He turns around and grasps me in his arms. 

“You did great, my 3 time world champion!” I give him a million dollar smile and place little pecks along his face. “We need to do something to celebrate!” I cheer.

“I have an idea” Max’s hands slide down my sides and rest on my hips. He looks down at me with dark eyes. “I-um what’s your idea?” 

“Oh come on Schat…” His hands slip around to my back and he pulls me closer, with a tight grip on my ass. “I think you know.” He rasps to me in an unrecognisable voice that makes my breathing hitch and a chill run through me.

A smirk appears on his face and I shift my gaze away from his eyes. His hands start caressing my ass and slowly making their way down, closer to the place he has never touched. I revert my eyes back to him when he unexpectedly doesn’t stop, and all he does is chuckle and continue. He pulls the back of my dress up and his fingers linger around my panties. “M-max”

“Yes?” His blue eyes stare into mine as his fingers slip beneath the fabric. “I don’t-”

“Spread your legs” And I obey his command, my legs shifting wider, and the sound of my shoes against the floor breaking the tranquility in the room. I feel his soft fingers glide between my folds, and a groan releases from his mouth. Max removes his fingers and grips the back of both of my thighs, hoisting me up to his body before walking forward and pushing my body against the wall.

He pulls the fabric of my dress up and he eagerly pulls my panties down, throwing them onto his massage table. His hands return back to the place they once occupied, he lifts one of my legs up and presses it against his waist. “Anyone fingered you against a wall?” He breathed into my ear and then thrust a finger into me. A long whine mixed with a moan escapes my mouth and I shake my head side to side. “Use your words”

“N-no”

“Then where did the pathetic man finger you? Just in bed? Did you only cum once-”

“Maaaxxx” I wail out his name as his fingers become more rough. “Go, tell me, and I’ll do it better more than three times.”

“I-no Max- Fuck! I-I haven’t been…” As my voice quiets the smirk on Max’s face becomes louder and he shoves another finger in me. His thumb starts circling my clit. “Oh so I’m the first one in your tight pussy.” he grits through his teeth. “I get to ruin my little virgin.” His fingers start curling inside of me and tears leave the corner of my eye.

My back arches against the wall, forcing my body into Max’s. A tight, strong feeling blooms in my stomach and I whine to Max, questioning him on this new experience. He chuckles and leans into me for a kiss, it was hard and quick, and it feels like the thing in my stomach explodes and my hands go to the back of Max’s head, pulling on his hair.

Seconds later Max breaks the kiss and I feel an emptiness when his fingers leave me. He takes a step back and stares at me, his fingers that were just inside me, now being savoured in his mouth. 

The brunette pulls his fingers out of his mouth and places both of his hands on either side of his hips. “My Schat, oh you look so good. Come here.” Only then do I realise my appearance, my hair everywhere and tears adorning my face.

My hands splayed out against the wall and chest heaving up and down in heavy motions. I take slow and small steps to Max and he starts unzipping his race suit, pulling it down to his knees. “Look at what you did to me, crying over my fingers.” I spot the bulge in his pants and I look back up at Max, still unsure of what he expects of me. “Oh come on Schat. Get on your knees.” 

“Max, I ca- I don’t-” 

“I’ll tell you, but first you need to get on your knees” I nod my head and make my way to the floor, when I’m fully on the ground I look up at him with doe eyes. “Pull down my pants” I nod again and do what he says.

His dick springs up in front of my face and my mouth nearly fall agape at his size. The feeling in my core ignites again, and then I look back up at Max. He nods at me and this time I have a clue of my next move. I grab him in my hand and my fingers barely touch as I feel his thick cock in my small hand.

“Spit on your hand and then move it up and down” I gather up saliva in my mouth and then aggressively spit on my hand and wrap it around his dick. I reenact the motions he had encouraged me to do and hear the light moans spill out of his mouth. “I-the tip” He stutters, and my thumb rubs over the tip of his dick. “Ahhh, yeah. That’s it Schat.” Max praises me and I carry on the work of my hands, my pace starts changing and I look at to Max for some more assurance.

“Use your mouth, tongue.” And then very slowly I inch my mouth toward him, my tongue licks his tip and then I start circling it. Max’s hand then entangles itself in my hair, and with force, but lightly he pushes my head down. He hits the back of my throat and a few tears pool in my eyes.

Max tilts my head up so he can look at me in the eyes an then pulls himself out and rams back in. Pressuring the tears in my eyes to finally fall and Max’s agape mouth turns into a wide smile. “That’s it.” He continues controlling the speed of my head and I get barely get used to his size, frequently gagging on him.

“I’m gonna cum” Max grits out of his teeth. His hand on the back of my head becomes rougher and adds to the speed of his hips moving toward me. And in seconds his comes shoots out and hits the back of my throat. Max pulls out and bends his head down to examine my mouth. “Fuck you’re beautiful.” He holds my chin and then nods to me as an indication that I can swallow. And after I do, he prys my mouth open and inspects it once again before giving me a quick “Good” and pulling me back up to my feet. Max grabs my body and pushes me onto the massage table. “You ready Schat?”

I nod my head nervously and he strides toward me with purpose. He lifts me up a bit and pulls my dress over my head. And I sit infront of him, basically naked, a pair of thin lace bra covering my pebbled nipples. “Take it off Schat.” He demands me, and I take it off, fully exposed to him.

Max doesn’t say anything and harshly spreads my legs. I let out a nervous whine and my eyes become damp. “Fuck” He stares at my core. “You’re so fucking wet, and oh” He looks up at my face, and his hands come to my cheeks. “Can you take me? Or is it too much?” I stutter on a reply, not having a clue to what I can handle at this moment.

As I don’t answer immediately Max pulls my legs and my whole back lays on the massage bed. I let out a squeak and he lifts my legs so my feet point to the ceiling. And as his hands grasp my legs he pushes into me in one powerful thrust.

He whispers out a few curses and then he starts moving in me. Immediately hitting the right spot and going balls deep. My hard pants tribute to the slaps of our skin. Max places one of my legs over his shoulder and he somehow reaches places I never thought were possible. He starts ramming into my sweet spot and two tears leave the corner of my eyes.

The knot in my stomach becomes more vigorous than last time and every miniscule movement Max makes, emits a sound from me. I look at his face, full of emotions I hadn’t seen him wear before. His brows furrowed and mouth lightly parted, small droplets of sweat embelllish his beautiful face. I admire him, his features and oh the way he feels in me right now. I start fluttering around his dick and I finally release with a deep wail. Max makes unpatterned thrusts and then he pulls out. His cum shoots out and bedecks my torso. “Fuck Schat, I had to hold back, but next time…” 

He steadily lowers my legs, but still keeps them wide open. The brunette kneels down and comes in eye contact with my pussy, I sit up to watch him as his tongue licks up my cum, like a man deprived from food and that’s a feast. I start writhing my body as I know this time, I can’t take more.

“Oh come on Schat” Max’s hands firmly hold my thighs down and he delves his tongue into me again. He flattens his tongue out on my clit and then goes at it again. The very faint prickles of his shaven beard scratching the insides of my thigh and adding more effect to the work of his mouth.

I beg Max to slow down, even stop but it only makes him go more feral and then my hand goes to his head and pulls on the few strands I can grasp. He starts flicking his tongue over my clit and the sensation intensifies my release. I glance down with moist eyes and watch as I squirt onto him.

I gasp in embarrassment and Max grins. He stands up and pulls my body up into a sitting position. “My beautiful princess, fucking squirted on your first time.” His hands rest on either side of my body and our foreheads lean on the other. “Let’s get you cleaned up” He murmurs on my lips and then pushes away and leaves into the bathroom merely metres away.

He walks back in with the same confidence and used a damp cloth to clean me, he wipes his cum off my chest and licks my nipples before moving down and wiping my core and legs. “Wait till I get my fourth world championship, you’re gonna squirt 4 times.”

[comic-sans-chan]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But which part..."

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

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

"He did blow up his shop once."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Tanett!"

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

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

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

Julian covers his ears and walks faster.

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

"The one the Cardassian tailor wrote about?"

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

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

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

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

He reads well into the night.

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No doubt."

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

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

Garak isn't looking.

—

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

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

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

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

Garak rests his head next to the surveillance screens.

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

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

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

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

Terrible man.

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

Beautiful man.

"Goodbye, Mr. Garak."

Goodbye, Doctor.

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

—

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

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

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

“Ass?” Jadzia offers.

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

“That’s true.”

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

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

“He did not.”

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

Kira’s jaw is hanging. “Were they?”

Jadzia grins and shrugs. Kira laughs.

“That’s ridiculous.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Ouch.”

“I know.”

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

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

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

“He’s gone.”

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

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

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

—

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

“What’ll you have?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Quark!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Quark...”

“Okay! All right. Consider it done.”

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s near.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Garak!”

Oh, for the Union’s sake—

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

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

There.

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

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

—-

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

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

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

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

“Where’d you hear that?” Kira asks.

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

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

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

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

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

“Clearly!”

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

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

“He made his choices!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I wouldn’t know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

Garak smiles pleasantly. “I would be delighted.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kira glares at him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

That gets a reaction. “Vigilantism!”

“Well, what would you call it?”

“Self-defense.”

“They attacked you?”

“Possibly.”

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

Perhaps that is why Dr. Bashir blindsided him. 

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

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

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

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

Garak looks around for another food stall that serves alcohol. 

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

Oh no. 

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

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

No, no, no.

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

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

Oh, fuck no.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

“Explain,” Sisko commands.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” Garak bites out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sure.”

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

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

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

“I–I don’t–”

“Lke hell you don’t! Thirty-seven.”

Garak blinks several times. “What?”

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

Garak’s face shutters. 

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

“What would you have me say, Doctor?”

“I would like you to admit it.”

“Why?”

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

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

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

“Garak,” he starts to say.

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

Julian goes unnervingly still. “Excuse me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Doctor?”

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

“Doctor–?!”

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

Oh.

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

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

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

He feels insane.

“Doctor, you cannot truly be this naive.” 

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

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

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

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

Garak sucks in a wet breath.

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

His head is spinning. “Doctor?”

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

—

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

—

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

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

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

“About Miss Leeta…” Garak begins.

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

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

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

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

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

“So you were together then.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, hello there,” he says warmly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jadzia,” Julian barks. She laughs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[inklore]

roadside delight

premise: joel should have known you'd be trouble when he found you on the side of the highway. he should have known you'd taste so fucking sweet too.

pairing: joel miller x (f)reader

word count: 1.1k

contents: hitch hiking, set in the late sixties to seventies but please read it however you'd like, unprotected piv, tiny bit of degradation, dirty talk, threats of coming inside, age gap if you want it to be one but i didn't specify, marking.

note: i actually wouldn't mind writing more from this down the road because i love this concept and i'm forever loving this old man.

haunted hoedown day four.

If Joel Miller had been told this morning that he would end up with a stranger bent against the seat of his old pickup, a moaning mess, and begging him to do filthy things to her: he would have told you to fuck off. 

Would have scowled at them and moved on with his day because he had no interest in whatever nonsense they would have been spewing to him. 

But here he was, this pretty thing moaning into the worn cushion of his seats, your shorts sitting on the floor of his pickup. Your nails gripping his wrist as his fingers dig into your hip as he fucks you hard. 

His name on your lips sounding better than it should, coming from someone he just picked up three hours ago. 

He should have known, just by the look of you. 

Your shorts shorter than any pair he’s ever seen, a leather bag over one arm, the other arm bare and lifted with your thumb held out into the air. The sweetest smile he’s seen in the whole state of California—which he was happily driving out of. 

A happy exit you too were excited to make as he, possibly against his better judgment, pulled over and let you hop up in his truck. Throwing your bag to the floor, the trusting grin on your face making him happy he picked you up and not some fornate creep. 

You were headed to New York. 

“I’m sick of the heat,” you said, trying to start a casual conversation with him. Joel’s habit of being off putting and quiet went unphased by you as you talked his ear off. 

But something told him there was more to the story. 

More about why you were leaving California. Why you were in such a rush to get out that climbing into the car with a complete stranger seemed like more of a promise than it did to just wait and take a bus. The safer option out of the two. 

It wasn’t his business to know unless you wanted to tell him, so Joel did what he did best and didn’t pry. Left it as was and listened to you talk, his eyes softening slightly when you sang along to the radio and his throat tightening when his gaze moved along your exposed thighs. The lack of neckline of your shirt making him grip the steering wheel a little harder to reign himself in. 

Coming off like a creep, let alone ogling a woman, was not his forte. He had been raised with a little more gentlemanly dna inside of him. 

Maybe it was the heat or the way you talked to him as if you'd known him for years instead of less than an hour, or maybe it was the way you knew every song on the radio, the station that never changed in his truck. The station that served him the best comfort and reminded him of home. 

You were a rare breed to him. 

“You ain’t got nowhere to stay?” He had asked you after you had disclosed to him all to eagerly about your big dreams in the big apple, and the lack of real plan you had to achieve them. Flying on hopes and dreams and the hundred dollars you had in your bag. 

“Nope,” you said with a smile. A smile that both made Joel uneasy and his own lips twitch. 

“You ain’t got no one waiting for you? Lookin’ for you?” 

“Why?” Your brows raised playfully, “you got other plans for me?” The scoff that left Joel made you laugh before your tone turned serious, looking out the window as you spoke. “No one’s looking for me or waiting.” you sigh, “you ever been so sick of listening to what people tell you to do? They know what's  best, and they know what you should do because it benefits them. It’s not even for your own wellbeing; they’re just trying to be saints. To live through you. To control you. I was just so sick of it. So, I just woke up one day and said, fuck it, and I left.” 

“No better way to find yourself than on the side of the highway.” Joel joked drly, and the reaction he got out of you was one he thinks if he had to hear over every state line he would have zero complaints about it. 

“And here I thought you were some uptight old man.”

“And here I thought you were trouble.” 

“Who said I’m not?” You smirked, gave him the smallest of winks that made him grin. “Troubles fun.” 

That’s why Joel should have known then. 

Should have known when he saw you on the side of the road.

When you jumped into his truck.

When you had him questioning himself.

He should have known you’d feel so good.

“Do you like when I touch you like this? I can keep going if you want me to.” You had said when you reached over and rubbed his growing erection through his jeans. Your mouth soon found itself wrapped around his cock before he pulled off the road, no longer being able to control himself.

He should have known you’d sound fucking sweet saying his name as he fucked you. 

“Is this what you do? Stand on the side of the road waiting for strange men to pick you up and fuck you, huh?” Joel’s words are low grunts murmured into your neck, a hand curving around your shoulder to give him better leverage. “Like a little fuckin’ siren.” His teeth graze the nape of your neck as he bites and sucks at the skin there. Leaving you with something to remember him by. A mark on you the way you’re leaving it on him. 

Your pussy clenches around his cock. Your moans and whimpers settling in the pit of his groin, that has his pleasure building and building. That makes him fuck you harder when you cry out for more. 

“Yes.” 

“It’s a good thing I pulled over then, fell into your little trap, and gave this pussy what it needed. I deserve a thank you for being so kind.” Your moan is muffled by the seat, your head attempts a nod as your body trembles against him. “I deserve to come in this pussy as much as I want. Get my fill before I leave you to find the next sorry asshole.” Joel grunts, curses under his breath as he holds your ass flush against his pelvis, lifting your hips to a new angle to fuck harder into your tightness. 

“Or maybe I’ll just keep you. Take you home with me and use you as my lil’ fuck toy, would’ya like that? To be used every day the way you deserve?”

[corroded-hellfire]

Steve having a little sister (who’s like a first-time) senior who has a crush on Eddie. But she’s a cheerleader, her parents expect her to marry an Ivy League, senator’s son or something. She kept her crush a secret until Jason calls him a freak in front of the whole cafeteria- and she punches him.

I had so much fun writing this request! I hope you enjoy what I've come up with, and if you notice the joke I stole from Glee, no you didn't. Reader’s race is not specified and she could be adopted because adoption is a wonderful, amazing thing. Harrington!reader and Eddie 4ever.

Words: 3.1k

“Mr. Munson, late again, I see.” 

Mrs. O’Donnell heaves a disappointed sigh as Eddie gives her an over the top smile.

“Sorry, had a meeting with the principal. He wanted to know why you gave me detention again.”

Mrs. O’Donnell frowns. “I didn’t give you detention.”

“Oh, phew,” Eddie says as he slides into his seat. “Glad to hear it. I’ll try and be on time next time.” 

The class lets out a titter of laughter as Mrs. O’Donnell rolls her eyes and turns back to the board. The dopey grin is stuck on your face as you lean forward in your seat. Resting your upper body on your desk, you bite your bottom lip as you look Eddie up and down. From your vantage point, you can only see the back left side of him, but you’ll stare at that for the entirety of the class period if you can. 

“Miss Harrington?”

Begrudgingly, you tear your gaze away from Eddie’s glorious hair and see Mrs. O’Donnell watching you impatiently. 

“Um, yes?”

“I was wondering if you’d like to enlighten us about the Stamp Act?” the elderly woman says. 

“Uh…” you trail off, mind suddenly blank of everything that isn’t Eddie Munson. “I would not.”

A few people in the class let out snorts of laughter, but Eddie barks out the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard. It makes your stomach fizzle, and your head feel all floaty. Even O’Donnell’s disapproving scowl can’t dampen your giddiness. 

The rest of class, you’re riding on a high. You made Eddie laugh. Out of all the accomplishments in your life, you’re not sure if one has ever meant more to you. Making honor roll? Eh. Becoming a cheerleader? So what? Doesn’t compare to making the cutest guy you’ve ever seen laugh.

Okay, you tell yourself. When class is over, you’re going to talk to him. The bell rings, and you’re scrambling to get your things together. Tossing them into your bag, you sling it over your shoulder and follow Eddie out of the classroom. 

“H-Hey, Eddie?” you manage.

He turns his head to look over his shoulder and gives you a smile that has your heart stuttering.

“Hey, Harrington. What’s up?”

“Did you see A Nightmare on Elm Street Part 2?” you ask, somehow not stumbling over your words. You’d had Steve bring the VHS tape home for you to watch just so you could ask Eddie about it.

“Freddy’s Revenge?” Eddie asks, wrinkling his nose up. “Such a letdown after the first one.”

“Yeah,” you say with a chuckle. “The first one was pretty good. This one made me want to fall asleep.”

“Ironic,” Eddie says with a smirk. He opens the school door for you, and you give him a grateful smile as you step out into the parking lot. You watch as he digs his keys out of his pocket. “See you tomorrow, Harrington.”

“Bye, Eddie.” You’re staring at him as he walks away, and you know you need to stop. But how can you when his ass looks the way it does in his jeans? Once he hops into his van, the trance is broken, and you make your way to your brother waiting in his car at the other end of the parking lot. 

You groan as you yank open the car door and slip inside. Steve looks less than thrilled himself, but it has nothing to do with you. Your parents are forcing the two of you to join them at a company party tonight, which both of you are vehemently against. But Steve was tasked with picking you up from school, taking you home so both of you can get ready, then to the party. 

“Think I can fake an epileptic seizure and get out of this?” Steve asks on the way home.

“You’re not epileptic,” you say.

“That’s why I said ‘fake’ it,” Steve says with a scoff. 

“They’d find a way to make you come anyway,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest. 

The party is just as horrible as you and your older brother imagined it would be. You’re forced into an itchy blue dress and Steve looks like he’s about two seconds away from ripping his tie off. The stuffy guests walk around with their noses in the air, only deigning to talk to those they deem successful enough. You want to throw yourself out of one of the windows as you see your parents approaching you with an older couple that they’ll probably expect you to remember from somewhere. 

“Well, look at you,” the older man says. “All grown up.” The way he says it makes a shiver go down your spine. 

“You must have all the boys chasing after you,” his wife says with a wink. It’s like they’re competing to see who can make you the most uncomfortable. Before you can open your mouth to speak, your mom jumps in.

“Oh, we have high hopes for her,” she says with a chuckle. “Going to go to Yale or Stanford and find her an Ivy League man to settle down with.”

And when exactly did we decide this? you think to yourself. 

“Someone well-to-do,” your father adds. “A senator’s son, maybe. Who knows? We could be raising a future First Lady here.”

You want to gag. Steve must sense your temper rising, because he rests a hand on your shoulder and gives it a reassuring squeeze. 

“Remember us when you’re famous,” the older man says. 

I don’t even remember you right now. The words are on the tip of your tongue, but your dad changes the subject to something about profit reports. 

Steve drives the two of you home before your parents, the two of them insisting they were going to stick around a little longer. The minute you get into your room, you throw your heels towards your closet. Your brother hears you banging around and comes to stand in your doorway, leaning against the doorframe and crossing his arms over his chest. He’s taken his tie off and undone the first few buttons of his white button up shirt. 

“What’s the matter, First Lady? Didn’t like getting signed up for an arranged marriage?”

You whirl on him, practically shoving a finger in his face. “Do not call me that. I am not some prized pig they can sell at the fair.”

“Technically, I think the pigs are judged at the fair, not sold.”

Groaning, you rub your hands down your face. 

“I’m running away,” you say, throwing your hands in the air. “I’m joining the circus. Or a motorcycle gang. Anything! As long as it’s not here.”

“Oh, relax,” Steve says. “When you go off to college you can date whoever you want. They’ll never know.”

“Why do I have to wait until I go off to college?” you demand. “Why can’t I date whoever I want right now?”

“Do you want to date someone right now?” Steve asks, furrowing his brows.

“That’s not the point,” you say, but you feel the heat rising to your cheeks.

“Holy shit, you do,” Steve says with a huff of laughter. He pushes himself off the doorframe. “Who is it?”

“Goodnight, Steve.” You shove him out of your doorway before slamming and locking your bedroom door. 

“The fuck did you say, Freak?”

Jason Carver’s voice grates on your nerves as you make your way down the hall. Unfortunately, there’s only one person the jock douche would be calling that name and it has you seeing red. You were still steamed from your parents’ comments last night, and this is just going to push you over the top.

“Who, me?” 

You walk into the cafeteria to see Eddie grinning at the basketball playing asshole.

“You’re the only freak here,” Jason says.

Your white cheer sneakers squeak to a stop on the linoleum floor, and you drop your bag down by your feet. The clatter has Jason’s gaze shifting to you. Most of the cafeteria’s attention shifts to you, actually. But you don’t notice as you stalk up to the bully. Normally, you might say something snarky to him, but you’re done with words. All your pent up frustration is taken out on Jason’s chin as you serve him a right hook. He stumbles back a few steps and there are gasps around the cafeteria. Your hand is throbbing, but the pain is nothing compared to the satisfaction you feel at shutting that jerk up. The small smear of blood above his upper lip has you smirking.

“Miss Harrington!”

With a groan, your satisfaction wanes when you see Principal Higgins glaring at you. His glasses are perched low on his nose and his hands are high on his hips.

“My office. Now.”

Thankfully, Principal Higgins’s secretary is kind enough to give you some ice to put on your knuckles. Some staffing emergency took precedence, so you’re stuck sitting on a bench outside his office while he deals. 

“You’ve got some arm.”

The voice that you’d know anywhere sounds from above you and your neck cracks from how quickly you look up. Eddie stands there with his hands in his pockets, a sheepish smile on his lips. 

“Oh. T-Thanks,” you say. 

Eddie takes a seat next to you on the bench. He yanks a black bandana out of his back pocket and smooths it out across his lap before folding it lengthwise. 

“May I?” he asks, gesturing to the ice you’re holding against your hand. 

“Sure.” You extend your injured hand out, and Eddie secures the ice against your knuckles with the bandana, then ties it tight enough to keep everything in place.

“How’s that?” he asks. 

“Better. Thank you.” You find it hard to meet his eyes, so you keep your focus on your hand as you bring it back into your lap. 

“So,” Eddie says, turning himself sideways on the bench and making himself comfortable. “What made you punch ol’ Carver? I mean, I know we all want to do it, but no one’s been quite so brave. Not until you, that is. And from a cheerleader? One of his own?”

“I’m not one of his own,” you say, looking up at him. But Eddie has a playful smirk on his lips.

“Nah, I know you’re not. I’m just teasing you. But what did want to make you do that? Couldn’t have been all on my account.”

“Why not?” you ask with a frown.

Eddie lets out a chuckle and shakes his head. “Listen, Harrington. I don’t see you as someone who goes around punching people for the hell of it. You’re one of the nicest people in this hell hole of a town. The jackass must’ve done something to deserve it.”

“He did,” you say. “He called you a freak.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” he says, leaning in towards you with a conspiratorial whisper. “But most people do.”

“Well, they shouldn’t,” you say with a frown. “You’re not. And I hate how Jason always does it in front of a crowd. It’s like he needs to put you down in front of others to prove he’s this king or whatever. So, someone needed to knock him off his throne in front of people, too.”

“My knight in shining cheer skirt,” Eddie teases with a wink. He’s shocked when your face goes red and you’re unable to look him in the eye. “You okay?”

“Y-Yeah,” you say, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. The heat in your face is getting worse by the second and you feel it’s only a matter of time before you crack. 

“You sure? I didn’t make you uncomfortable?”

God, that’s the last thing Eddie could ever make you feel. You immediately shake your head, refusing to let him think those thoughts even for a moment. 

“No, no, not at all. I’m sorry, I guess I’m just an…awkward person,” you say with a wince. 

“Maybe I like awkward,” Eddie says, gently kicking his black boot against your white sneaker. Butterflies erupt in your stomach, and they have plenty of room to buzz about, seeing as you hadn’t gotten to eat your lunch.

“Maybe I like awkward, too,” you say softly. 

Eddie smirks. “Oh, then you must adore me, Harrington.”

“Maybe I do,” you say with a shrug, forcing yourself to maintain eye contact with him. 

“Well, maybe I like sweet, pretty cheerleaders who can sucker punch like Bruce Lee and talk to me about horror movies.”

Your mind stopped listening after Eddie called you “pretty” though. Did he really think that? Or was he just saying it to be nice? 

“Hmm,” you muse. “Guess I should send Hailey Hudson from the team your way to talk about Halloween then, huh?”

Eddie chuckles and the same sensation as when you made him laugh before fills your body. 

“Nightmare on Elm Street is more my cup of tea,” Eddie says. “Plus, talking to any other cheerleader bedsides you doesn’t seem very appealing to me.”

“Miss Harrington,” Principal Higgins says, sticking his head out of his office. “You can come in now.” He steps back inside, and you release a sigh. Of course talking to Eddie would have to come to an end eventually, but why now?

“Well,” you say, standing up from the bench. “Guess it’s time to hear my sentence.”

“Maybe if you get released early for good behavior, we could grab pizza sometime?” Eddie looks nervous, and that alone makes you want to laugh. Why on earth would he be nervous asking if you wanted to hang out? 

“That sounds great,” you say, the euphoric smile unable to stay off your face no matter how hard you try. 

“Yeah?” Eddie asks, seeming shocked. 

“Why do you sound surprised?” you ask with a giggle. Taking courage from the fact that he seems to be getting nervous around you as well, you decide to be a little bolder. “I don’t just throw punches for anyone, you know.”

The most endearing smile grows on Eddie’s face, and he places one of his ring-clad hands over his heart. 

“I am very honored to have the most beautiful girl in school defending my honor.” He outstretches his hand out to you as you begin to walk backwards towards the principal’s office. “I’ll wait for you.” 

You can’t help but giggle. “I’ll have my parole officer contact you.”

“Should be easy since I’m in the phone book.”

“I’ll make sure to let her know. Bye, Munson.”

“See you later, Harrington.” He gives you one last smile before you step into the office.

The worst part isn’t the detention you were given or that you have to apologize to Carver. It’s that you’re told to call your parents to come and get you. Apparently, the school nurse is out for the day, and they can’t have you staying in school with a potentially injured hand. It hardly even hurts anymore, but you’re not going to let them know that. Let them think that you’ll be headed to the hospital for all you care. 

When you pick up the phone from the desk, your finger hovers over the numbers. Principal Higgins is sitting right there, making sure you’re going to tell your parents exactly why you need to be picked up. At the last second though, you dial a different number. 

“Thank you for calling Family Video, this is Steve. How can I help you?”

“Uh, hi, Dad,” you say, gripping at the receiver pressed against your ear. 

“Dad?” you hear Steve ask in confusion. “This is—”

“I-I know,” you say. “I’m just calling, Dad, because I need you to pick me up from school. I’m in Principal Higgins’ office. 

You can tell Steve understands now by the sigh that comes across the line. “What did you do?”

“Well, my hand is injured, and the nurse isn’t on duty today, so they don’t want me staying at school while I’m hurt and no one can check it out.”

“Tell him why it’s injured,” Principal Higgins says.

“Yes, tell me,” Steve echoes, obviously being able to hear his former principal’s words.

“I, um, I punched Jason Carver,” you say.

“You did what?!” Steve all but screams.

“He called Eddie Munson a freak in front of the whole cafeteria.” You say this piece looking Higgins dead in the eye. Are you going to do anything about that? you want to ask. “So, I punched Carver to shut him up.”

“Honestly, I’m impressed,” Steve says. 

“Thanks. So, uh, can you come get me?”

“My shift is over in ten minutes,” Steve says. “I’ll head there as soon as I get out of here.”

“Thanks, St—uh, Dad. I’ll see you soon.” You hang up the phone and Principal Higgins stares at you over the rims of his glasses.

“He on his way?” he asks.

“He’ll be here soon.”

“I can’t believe you punched Jason Carver,” Steve says, shaking his head in amusement as he drives you home. 

“He’s an asshole,” you defend with a shrug. 

“Over Munson, though?” Steve asks incredulously. “Seriously? Couldn’t have picked another hill to die on?”

“Nope,” you say through gritted teeth. Crossing your arms over your chest, you stare out the passenger window. 

“Why Munson, though, I—” Steve cuts himself off with a groan and shakes his head. “Oh, no. Please tell me I’m wrong.” 

“I’d love to,” you reply. “But I need to know what you’re wrong about first.”

“Munson isn’t the guy you want to date, is he?” Steve asks nervously.

Your face gets hot for what feels like the millionth time in the past few days. But that’s all the confirmation your brother needs, because he’s letting out a groan that makes it sound like he’s in agony.

“You really have a thing for the Freak?”

“I have one good fist left,” you say. “Want me to use it on you?”

“I’ll tell Mom and Dad about your detention then,” Steve says with a shrug.

“Then I’d tell them about you moving the dirty magazines from beneath your bed into the air vent,” you counter.

“How do you even know about that?” Steve asks, shooting you a glare before looking back at the road. 

“Your room and mine share the same vent and I can hear the pages rustling when the air is on.”

“You’re the worst,” Steve grumbles. 

“You also have no room to complain with some of the trash you’ve dated,” you point out. 

“Are you and Munson…a thing?” Steve asks, sounding like he hates every syllable of the question.

“No,” you tell him. “But he asked me to go get pizza with him. So, maybe soon.”

“And that will make you happy?” your brother asks.

A smile comes to your face just thinking about it. “It would.”

Steve nods his head and lets out a deep breath as if he’s resigning himself to the fact that you have feelings for Eddie. 

“Okay, but you’re telling Mom and Dad.”

[crxss01]

hi! im not sure if you’re taking requests, but if you are, could you maybe write something of miles being jealous of like someone you’re working on a project with or someone at your job? thank you!! <3. (I love you’re writing sm)

— Can’t Help Myself

pairing ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝ 42!miles morales x reader, 1610!miles morales x reader.

summary ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊ miles wasn't so fond of you having to do a project with a boy he knew so well.

warnings ✧˖ ° flash thompson, possessiveness, kisses, casually kissing while arguing, 42!miles threatening to beat up people, cursing.

m. list, main m. list.

translations ✧࿓☾ princesa: princess, bonito: handsome/pretty boy, mi amor: my love, bebé: baby, hermosa: gorgeous.

a/n . . ◟੭ hey, sweet anon! you didn't specify which miles so i did both, but please do specify in the future! and thank you for loving my writing, i hope you love this too ♡.

42!miles morales

"i'm telling you, princesa." miles said for the tenth time. "tell your teacher to change your partner, i don't want that lil boy around you."

"miles, flash is nice. drop it." you rolled your eyes.

"you're only saying that because you don't know what i know, mami." miles sounded frustrated now.

"how i'am supposed to know if you don't tell me?"

"just trust me on this one." miles shook his head, refusing to give you a reason.

"bonito, i'm not going to switch my project partner just because you're jealous of him." you took his cheeks in your hands, taking a sit on his lap. "you do know that i could be partnered with another boy, right?" you pecked his lips.

"it’s not about the fact he’s a boy, is about who he is and jealous? me?" miles scoffed then stole a kiss. "i'm not jealous of flash thompson's little white ass, have you seen him?"

you laughed. "don't be mean!" you playfully hit his shoulder. "and yes i have, which is more reason for you not to worry." another kiss was stolen from you.

then miles took your hips in his hands, "flash is going to try and get in your pants. i know him, princesa."

"you say that about every boy you see me with." you said incredulous.

"yes, but this is different. is flash we're talking about." he placed a frustrated kiss on your lips.

"yeah, yeah." you nodded, pulling away from him and standing up from his lap. "i'm going to the library now, bonito."

miles groaned. "can i at least come with you?"

"no. you will just sit there, glaring at him, the whole time which wouldn't allow me to concentrate, because i will be too busy thinking about the thousand ways i would beat your ass once we were out of the library." you said simply, with a small smile.

“come on, mami.” miles took your hand in his, playing with your fingers. “i won’t bother you, promise.”

you sighed, giving up too soon for your liking. “fine.”

you knew you shouldn’t have believed miles’s promise, you knew better than to think that he would keep it.

there he sat, in the chair next to you, glaring at flash thompson as the boy told you a lot of stuff about the subject of your project but he wasn’t making any sense at all so you just pretended to understand.

miles’s arm was around your waist, pulling you to him, his hand gripping your hip in a tight hold. it didn’t hurt, but it wasn’t exactly comfortable. you kept tapping his hand, a silent message to let him know that he should control his face but either he didn’t get it or chose to ignore it. you could bet all your money which was the answer.

“look at this, y/n.” flash said, moving his chair closer to yours and leaning in which was unnecessary to show you something on his computer.

you knew the boy wasn’t dumb enough to not feel miles’s gaze on him but apparently he was dumb enough to not get the message behind the gaze.

“back the fuck up from my girl.” miles’s dark tone made flash visibly flinch, moving away from you immediately. “yeah, move fast before i beat your fucking ass.”

flash raised his hands in the air after a minute, letting out a nervous chuckle. “come on, my man. lighten up! i was just showing her something.”

“i ain’t your man,” miles stood up and made you stand up along with him with the arm around your waist. “we are leaving, ma.”

“but my project!” you protested.

“fuck that shit.” miles said, grabbing your bag and pulling you to the exit. “i’ll do your homework for that class when your grades drop.”

1610!miles morales

miles was pouting and looking at you with those beautiful baby deer eyes that made you melt for him. a couple of minutes had went by where he just kept that expression.

“what is it, mi amor?”

“why does it have to be him? why not me?” he covered his face with his arm, groaning into it.

“what are you talking about, miles?” you laughed. “i’m just doing a project with him, i’m still your girlfriend.”

he peeked at you through his arm. “really?”

“yeah,” you nodded.

“then tell the teacher to change your partner.”

“miles, be for real.” you shook your head. “flash is the last person i want as a partner, but you heard the teacher if i switch he takes 5 points off. it may be a little to you but that’s a lot to me.”

“i don’t like the way he looks at you, though.” he took his arm off his face, looking at you clearly now.

“and i don’t like the way some girls stare at you but we can’t all have what we want.” you shrugged.

“then i won’t go near them, you don’t go near him. everyone wins. everyone is happy.” miles clapped his hands, a winning smile on his face.

you laughed and placed a peck on his lips. “it’s not that easy, but we could try—”

“sweet! then let’s go, hermosa!” he started to stand up.

“after i’m done with this project.”

“but, bebé—”

flash sat back down at that moment, cutting miles off.

“sorry, the line for this was long.” he shook the shakes in his hands, before placing one in front of you. “hey, morales. when did you get here?”

“just now.” miles replied flatly.

“thanks, flash but i don’t want this.” you gave the shake back to him and pointed at the trash can where the one that miles had gotten you was empty in.

“oh…” the boy nodded, failing to hide the anger in his voice. “so… you two are together?” he pointed at you and miles.

he knew damn well the answer to that.

“yes, i was sure the whole school knew.” miles faked a frown. “weird.”

“well i didn’t, you must have not been obvious about it.” flash shrugged. “i thought you two were just friends.”

“now you know we are not.” you said to him, already feeling annoyance.

“since that’s the case, i’m sorry for hitting on your girl, dude.” he said to miles, acting as if that was necessary. “but she didn’t say anything, so i thought she was available.”

“we literally kiss in front of the whole school everyday,” you snapped. “there is no way you wouldn’t have known that we were dating.”

“and she shouldn’t have to tell you that she is dating someone for you to back off when she shows no interest in you.” miles said.

“now, can we get on with the project?” you raised an eyebrow.

flash pursed his lips and nodded.

taglist: @anikaluv @janaeby @queerponcho @laylasbunbunny @onginlove @all444miles @fiannee @sp1dercunt @milesandcorysupermacy @loonalockley @dxille @miguelslefteyebrow (if you asked to be added to the taglist and you’re not on here is because your @ didn’t appear!)

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝ reblogs are really appreciated!

[kiss-me-muchoo]

𝐈𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬 || 𝐄𝐧𝐳𝐨 𝐕𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐜 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲_ have you seen the MV of wildest dreams? If not… you play the romantic interest of Enzo’s character in a movie and the sparks begin behind cameras too. But he turns you down and finally sees you years after that, realizing he missed you and now he’s jealous.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠_ age gap, angst, fluff, Enzo is a little bit of an asshole, Enzo’s ex is NOT specified, okay? Definitely not trying to imply anything by that, Spanglish, ANGST AGAIN. We have a Mexican carne asada here y soporten. BIEN CRINGE ESTA MADRE

𝐀/𝐍_ people from Uruguay and Argentina can correct me all they want about the accent, please start listening Cedar, then Widest Dreams for this… BOTH SONGS IN MY PLAYLIST FOR ENZO.

♪ ♫ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝟒 𝐄𝐧𝐳𝐨 𝐕𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐜 ✰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐱 (+fics here)

_________________________

Your character was close to his. They were lovers. So you had to spend a fair amount of time with him consequently. Enzo was a humble and kind man. He was so random and yet so peaceful. Which facilitated the connection.

In the beginning, you thought it was weird that the production of The Society of the Snow had decided to keep more than 50% of the cast for a short film that would promote the movie and create speculation. You didn’t say no because it meant flying to the shores of Spain and enjoying more time with the boys.

So you give in, you take the director’s advice to stick to Enzo and build a connection.

He’s older than you, more mature, more experienced in many ways, but yet you seem to be able to make him laugh.

“Tenés que estar bromeando,” he says laughing.

“No es joda, de verdad me multaron y se hizo un desmadre” you explain giggling, drinking at your water bottle.

Both of you are having a little moment on the beach. It was warm, and it was a free day. The rest of the boys decided to spend the afternoon playing video games and you were not willing to melt watching a TV.

“Recuérdame jamás salir con vos” you roll your eyes.

“Ay vete a la verga, todos saben que soy el alma de las reuniones y fiestas” he shrugged, eating from his sandwich and smiling.

“Si, tenés razón quizá”

“¿Quizá? No, no mientas, Enzo” finally, he laughs loudly.

“Bueno está bien, lo acepto”

“Así me gusta, obediente, mi niño” he blushed. And it made you blush too.

The sound of the waves swiftly colliding makes you feel at peace. It’s been great so far. Filming an action short film, playing the damsel in danger who turns out to be the villain, and having lots of fun with your workmates.

“¿No extrañas tu hogar?” he asks, and you sigh, looking at the sea.

“Trato de no pensar en eso. Dependo mucho de casa, de mi familia. Me cuesta el cambio, pero me adapto rápido” he nods, smiling, and you hate to admit you like how good he looks with his hair slightly shorter.

“Eso es bueno… adaptarse. Aunque cueste… creo que al final es bonito el cambio” you start laughing. Because you remember his Instagram captions and the pauses he always wrote. But he’s think that you are also very pretty, not only the change he mentioned before.

“Si, es bonito el cambio” You keep laughing, and he shouldn’t be smiling so much at you. But you were so funny, you always had something to share and talk about. Enzo was very close about sharing things about him. But with you, he could make an excuse.

So you also stare at him, and you feel your heart start beating faster.

You can’t fall in love with him. But you’re miserably failing.

…

You look at yourself in the mirror. Your character had a disguise moment, where she had to pretend to be a dancer to get information. So there you are in a bejeweled attire with feathers.

“No mames, qué buena me veo,” you say laughing. Loving how your waist looks and how your hair looks so fluffy. The costume department did an outstanding job of making you look hot

“Como que si… ¿eh?” The annoying twink of Juani had to be there.

“Ponme la de perdió este culo de la Bad Gyal, por favor” Juani starts cackling, already filming you for some random tweet.

“Pero si vos tuviste un ex hace siglos, ya no queda” you roll your eyes, checking on the glitter decorating your eyes.

“Ay, pero no por eso, Juani. Nomás por mamona lo digo” There’s a knock on the door and you turn to see who’s standing there.

“¿Y esa diosa?” You blush, smiling at Fran being the person who knocked at the door before.

“¿Dónde que no la veo?” Of course, Juani had to be an idiot and ruin the moment, but soon he blows you a kiss.

“No es cierto, linda” You roll your eyes and turn back to see Fran giggling. You give him a sweet smile and scratch the back of your neck. He helps you get your robe so you won’t have to cross the whole building with your exhibitionist outfit.

“Tenés escena conmigo” Fran says offering you his arm, which you gladly take.

“Adiós, naco perdedor,” you say to Juani, who starts laughing loudly. As you start walking with Fran across the hallways of the building, you start feeling your heart beat faster. You were going to have a heated scene with Enzo, which made you cringe a lot. First, you appear with Fran’s character in the club which ends with your character tangling up with Enzo.

“¿Nerviosa?” You shake your head, sighing.

“I don’t know…Digo, no lo sé” he nods, as you two walk out of the building to get going towards the set. The shores of Spain were beautiful, Cádiz was warm and it suited your overwhelmed mood.

“Va a estar bien. Que igual si no, nos vamos a dar la vuelta en la noche” that immediately makes you smile. You nod, hugging him.

“Eso me encantaría mucho, Fran” You are on set now. There’s no way back, and when you turn back, you see Enzo, and he’s already looking at you.

You blush, and offer him a little smile before turning away so rapidly. The whole action is watched by Fran and he has his own opinion.

“Has pasado mucho tiempo con Enzo…¿No crees?” You shrug, greeting the makeup staff who are going to retouch your look.

“Teníamos que conocernos a fondo para que esto resultara” he nods again.

“Creo que si se ha dado lo de la conexión” it was weird, because you knew it was true. you had developed a special connection with Enzo. Hours spent talking and having long walks across the beach. The days you decided to cook for the boys and he always was the first to arrive and try to help you set up everything.

“Si se diera la oportunidad… ¿Te quedarías con él?” His question makes you wonder. It took you aback, and while you have full trust in Fran, you don’t know what to answer.

Well, you do know what to answer… but you are afraid to admit it.

“Si… aveces siento que si es con él, Fran. Me hace muy feliz… pero, no creo que Enzo sienta lo mismo” you confess. He smiles, taking your hand.

“Tenés que decirle. Se llevan un par de años, pero… se ven tan bien juntos” he says looking at Enzo.

“De verdad… ¿Tú crees?”

“Es que ve cómo te mira, y/n” In disguise, you turn to your side, and you confirm Enzo is still looking at you.

“Decíle… anda” you smile, a warm feeling growing in your heart. You feel loved, you feel like it might be meant to be. So you plan something.

“Hay que hacer una carnita asada” Fran laughs.

“Pero vos le pones mucho al asado. Jamás había visto uno así” you laugh. Since your type of asado was a northern Mexican carne asada. They all believed it was a great change of style of cooking.

“No lo niegues, Fran. Mi asado es grandioso” he tries to deny it but at the end, he smiles nodding.

“Ey… ¿estás lista, linda?” Enzo asks, appearing with a gorgeous smile. He was wearing a dark suit, his hair looked amazing, very hot.

“Creo que si…” you let him know. After some brief exchange of words with the production, you take your position along with Fran to start filming. And you never miss the way Enzo was looking at you.

Maybe he felt the same.

…

You started the carne asada before taking a shower and getting ready. Now, everything was ready. The big patio that connected the apartment complex was decorated with a table that Juani and Matias helped you set, with chips, salsas, guacamole, beans, and agua de tamarindo that you had to mix with some alcohol.

Everyone is having fun, and you have helped to serve the food to everyone with Blas. It seemed to be going well, you have a sundress and sneakers on the feeling of the alcohol has you tipsy and you can’t wait to make yourself some tacos with the asado.

You feel someone hug you from behind, and when you turn back, you end up caged around Enzo’s arms.

“Hey… you made it!” You cheer after seeing him, trying to ignore the blush on your cheeks. You hoped nobody had seen the interaction. Or else they would start with cheesy rumors.

“No me lo perdería” you smile, offering him a glass of agua de tamarindo.

“Hice verduras asadas y queso fundido para ti” he wanted to hug you so tightly again after hearing you say that. You had thought about him and cooked specifically for him. Enzo had been in some dilemma, where he questioned if you could be the one. Although, he still had many obstacles to get to you. And he didn’t know yet that those obstacles would draw him apart from you.

“Ehh.. y/n linda, ¿hay más mas cubiertos?” Agustin asks you suddenly.

“Creo que hay servilletas y popotes en el cuarto de lavar. Voy a ver” you say laughing.

“Te acompaño…” says Enzo, which makes you blush again.

“Gracias…”

Both of you walk inside the building, and the laundry room is very near, so in less than a minute he opens the door to let you in. With the distance, you finally are able to distinguish the song playing on the patio. You hum along trátame suavemente playing in the background.

No quiero soñar mil veces las mismas cosas

Ni contemplarlas sabiamente

Quiero que me trates suavemente

Enzo can’t help but think you look so adorable. He remembers the way he had to touch you for the scene earlier. Half of him hated himself for feeling that way about you, and the other half questioned if it could possibly be correct.

“Enzo… no alcanzo las servilletas” When he turns back, he sees you trying to climb the washing machine to open the drawers.

“Así no, chiquita.” He laughs and stops you, making you sit on top of the washing machine while he grabs the bag with napkins and straws inside.

“Ay, si… humillame pues” you complain crossing your arms. He drops de bag beside you, and then gives you a silly smirk, which makes you laugh.

“Nada de eso, sis vos sos bien linda así” You cross your arms, avoiding his eyes. This was the closest you’d been around him. It feels alright like having him close to you was normal. Making you realize, you could get used to his aura being so damn close to you.

I like him…

“¿Tú crees?” You let yourself play a little dumb, pretending innocence. And you have the excuse of being under the effects of alcohol.

Te comportas de acuerdo

Con lo que te dicta, cada momento

Y esta inconstancia, no es algo heroico

Es más bien algo enfermo…

you keep humming the song as you try to keep the conversation normal with the man.

“Si… muy linda vos” The outrageous side of you let your arms get tangled around his neck. And it caught him by surprise but he let himself feel the moment. He shyly placed his hands on your hips, and you squirmed.

“¿Qué estamos haciendo?” He asks, accepting that he was getting lost in your eyes.

“No sé” you admit, feeling how his chest was touching yours.

“Bésame, Enzo…” you close your eyes, and seconds later, you know he’s kissing you. Your fingers trace his hair and it’s so soft that it makes him groan in pleasure.

You let his hands caress the plush skin of your hips and legs as you keep pushing him towards you.

This is it, you are falling in love with him.

…

It’s one of the last days of filming, but for the past two weeks, you have been spending a sickening time with Enzo. He spent two nights with you, he even agreed to go out to the city just for you. You could say the feeling of falling in love was growing very rapidly.

He made you feel safe and every smile he offered was enough relief for your days. He held your hand once while walking through the crowded streets to not lose you and it felt right.

And you hadn’t seen him in two days because he had different scenes to film.

Until now, where your character holds hands with him as she confesses she’s the villain. You feel the air shift, you feel the distance he’s making and you wonder if it was because of the scene or if he was actually being cold to you. The setting is on one hill with a gorgeous sunset in the background, making the scene very dramatic and tragic for the romantic partners.

“Dime que me amas y me entregaré. Por favor…” your character says. Enzo looks at you, and the look he exchanges with you is sad, making you confused on camera.

“Yo te amo, pero sabes que no podemos estar juntos” his character had to say. And for some reason, you felt like Enzo was actually saying that to you.

“CORTE!” The director said. Everything keeps going on. But for you time stops. You look at him, hoping to find some sense of tranquility. That nothing had changed.

Slowly, Enzo dropped your hand and after a brief look… he walked away.

…

You spend the afternoon collecting shells. You are confused and slightly sad because filming is coming to an end. You don’t know if Enzo actually wanted to give it a try on distance. Because after the kiss on the carne asada, none of you had given status to the relationship.

But it’s not necessary to keep thinking about it, because you see him walking towards you, and your immediate reaction is to offer him a smile.

“Ey.. te perdiste todo el día” you try to sound calm.

“Estaba ocupado.” He says with both hands inside his hoodie. His hair looks disheveled and he seems tired.

“Entiendo…”

“Volví a hablar con ella” There’s no need to address it, you know who he meant, his ex-girlfriend. You don’t say a word, opting for hearing him before talking.

“Hablamos mucho. Quedamos de vernos cuando vuelva a Uruguay” you gulp, each word hurting you more.

“¿Entendés, verdad? Vos sos más joven que yo, somos de lados muy distintos… no iba a funcionar” your eyes get watered immediately. Rage invading you and sadness flooding you.

“Decí algo, por favor. No quiero lastimarte…” you laugh, shaking your head. There are some seconds of silence. You need to choose the right words.

“Alguna vez me miraste, sonreíste y pensaste que… tal vez, ¿tal vez pudo haber sido conmigo?” He sighs, looking away, at the sea.

The longer he remains quiet, the more you have the answer. He never felt the same as you, but he never tried to stop you either. He played along.

You just start walking away, hand on an extremely tight grip, the shells and sand irritating the skin on your palm.

“Nunca quise hacerte daño” he yells as you have walked a fair amount of steps away.

“Si nunca sentiste algo por mi, nunca debiste haberme dejado encariñarme contigo.” He lowers his gaze and you feel even more enraged.

“No puedes ni levantar la cabeza. Fucking shame on you…” you spit with disappointment.

“Y jamás debí haber aceptado conocerte tanto” you finally say. Walking away at once and fighting the tears as you try to pass the boys who are playing video games again.

“Ey… ¿estás bien?” Juani asks and you nod, but he follows and once his hand touches yours, you can’t help but collide on his chest, letting the tears fly away silently. Juani doesn’t say anything, not yet, he just hugs you tightly.

…

The next afternoon, Enzo goes to find you in your room, but he’s surprised by the fact that you’re gone.

“Filmó su última escena y se ha ido a casa” Santi told him.

“¿Cómo?” Enzo is in shock, he just sighs, closing his eyes.

“Se quiso ir antes…”

“Le dijo… muchas cosas a Juani y a Fran” Santi adds, and Enzo can tell what had happened. And of course, he accepted being guilty.

“Necesito hablar con ellos” and with that he lefts.

But the talk didn’t help a lot. He just realized you were gone by the time he was able to be alone in his room again. Enzo was confused and tired and he also just wanted to go home. But as he understands you’re gone and he won’t see you in a long time, he feels a little lost. And empty…

…

A lot of things change. You grow, you forget, you change. You go back to your normal life, college goes great, and everything is normal until it’s time to give a promotion to the movie and the short film. You kept a lot of contact with Fran, Juani, and Matias, but it won't be the same as if you didn't end up on good terms with Enzo.

About him, you learned he didn't make it with his ex-girlfriend. He was single and apparently good. You don’t hate him, but there’s a lot of resentment. And as the premiere was around the corner, rumors had appeared on the surface of social media. Rumors of you and Enzo, and all the drama. You didn't pay attention to those, but you were expecting at least one question regarding the issue in the upcoming interviews.

You were offered to be dressed by some perfect designer who had similar ideas to you. He made a silk dress in a champagne color for you. With tiny crystal beats and a gorgeous skirt. You loved the dress, it suited you so well too.

So at the beginning of the night, you don’t think about anything but making a good impression on the cameras. All that mattered was the promotion of the movie.

As soon as you arrive at the gala, you start shivering because of your nervousness about seeing your friends again. You were the last one to arrive so you weren’t able to greet them.

And that’s when you see Enzo. He seems fine, in a completely dark suit and his stupid perfect hair. When he finds your sweet eyes, his heart beats faster, you look so perfect. Your hair, your brows, your eyes, the pink lips, everything seemed to make you look so perfect. And he can tell you look older, your childish and plush cheeks are gone, and your short hair too. He remembers all the good memories he made with you and he feels sadness taking over. He missed you so bad after going back home. And he wasn’t able to hear anything from you because he didn’t dare to ask Juani or Fran for example.

“Te ves preciosa,” says Agustin hugging you. You smile at him and thank him. All the boys want to greet you and all is being recorded. The only one you don’t greet is Enzo, who stays afar posing for the cameras. Until most of the photographers keep asking to take a picture of you and the man who broke your heart.

“No te acerques si no querés” Juani advises you, whispering in your eye. You sigh, looking at how Enzo is getting closer.

“Creo que ya no tengo de otra…” you whisper back, pretending to have a big and honest smile on your face.

Enzo exchanged looks with you, and he was able to sense how awkward you were feeling, which didn’t soothe him. So he pretended to place his hand on your back but he never touched you, and you didn’t even glare at him a second the flash hit your face. You ignore the growing pain of having him so close but being so far away at the same time.

They want you to do a little interview with him. So you get close to the cameras to answer some questions.

“Entonces y/n… ¿qué crees que fue lo mejor de grabar el largometraje?” You giggle, easy question.

“Definitivamente que pude volver a estar con los chicos. Fue mas sencillo y podíamos divertirnos con mayor libertad” the woman nods, assuring that she was recording your answer.

“Y Enzo… ¿fue difícil grabar estando en una relación?” You know he didn’t like the question, and you suddenly felt worse or awkward.

“Eh… no. La verdad es que llevo rato soltero.”

“¿Hay alguien que podría llevarte a dejar de estarlo?” He laughs and you just want to run away. You really don’t care, and you don’t want to know the answer.

“Hubo una chica con la que estuve en Cádiz hace casi dos años. Nos la pasamos muy bien y las cosas no se dieron, mi culpa. Me gustaría hacer las cosas bien por ella…” it must be you, and it can’t be. You don’t believe him, you just turn around and look for any of your friends. So when you see Matias making you a sign to join im, you take the opportunity.

“Me llaman por acá. Un gusto, y gracias…” you thank the woman with a smile and leave quickly, knowing Enzo has eyes set on your back.

You won’t cry, but you can’t help but feel so weird about everything. You had been great without him. Seeing him back made you go back to that summer in Cadiz and how great it was your life at the time. But that is gone, and so are the memories you made with him.

…

Everyone knows you disappeared after the projection of the movie and the short film. You don’t like feeling his eyes across the dark room. You can’t rest knowing the party that followed the projections was going to be very painful. By showing clips of the behind-the-scenes, everyone saying words to each other. You are not in the mood for that. And it’s all because of him. Because he had to be an asshole and not think clearly. You couldn’t even call yourself stupid because he gave all the green lights that actually looked like green flags.

And as you question everything in pajamas, looking at the open balcony of your hotel room with red swollen eyes when there’s a knock.

You drag your feet to the door, and once you open it, he’s there.

The suit is still on, but he has a specific gesture on his face.

People often said looks said more than words, and Enzo was the perfect example.

You tilt your head, reading his face. His face says that he’s sorry, he feels sad, and he’s desperate to have you back. And he frowns after seeing your sad face. Your red eyes and look that said how confused and hurt you were.

So both of you stare for a little longer, literally glorifying each other faces. Remembering the soft touches, all the things you talked together. How happy you made each other.

“Podemos arreglarlo…” he finally says.

And slowly both of you smile, sad and broken smiles.

You open your arms and he immediately goes to hug you. His hands find their way to your waist, his face hidden in the warmth of your neck.

“Tú recuerdo jamás me dejó” and you smile again, closing your eyes, letting your face get comfortable on his chest, letting more tears fall.

“Si es contigo…Siempre fue contigo” he admits, knowing he’ll never let you go again.

____________________________________________________________________________

Antes de que me digan que que pendeja esta la y/n por perdonarlo tan fácil, pues en mi cabeza cuando Enzo la fue a ver a su cuarto fue como muy fuerte. De esos momentos donde la tension es mas fuerte y no se necesitan tantas palabras para saber que la persona está literalmente a tus rodillas suplicando so…

I already have an idea for a new fic with Enzo that it’s going to be AHHHHH. hint? Everyone loves you, that’s it

[max1461]

Would you say that the distinction between high-context and low-context languages is real? I was skeptical at first, but japanese seems to leave a lot more information implicit in a typical utterance than english.

No such distinction is used (or at least commonplace enough that I have heard of it) in linguistics. If one were to introduce such a distinction, they would have to put forth some way to measure or operationalize "low/high-contextuality"; in the absence of that there's very little I can say about it scientifically.

What I can say is that laymen's subjective impressions about "what different languages are like" are very often more grounded in bias than in fact. There was a good post that went around here a few months ago to the effect of

People everywhere: "[Language I learned in childhood] is so subtle and emotive, whereas [language I learned in adulthood] is so cold and logical".

Often, these subjective impressions then get filtered through the cultural-theorizing-industry and elaborated more and more, becoming more entrenched as "established wisdom" about X or Y language among non-linguists, and in the process getting farther and farther from any real or verifiable truth.

Well anyway, I think the claim that "Japanese is more contextual than English" is probably one of those. Until someone comes up with a real metric for "contexuality", at least, I will probably continue to judge that to be the most reasonable hypothesis. Here are two ways such an impression could have come about:

For English speakers who learn Japanese as adults, things which are left to context in English but not in Japanese will not appear to be "absent" and they won't notice any gaps, whereas things that are left to context in Japanese but not English will strike them as "absent" and they will be more aware of them.

English speakers who speak some Japanese but are not proficient will not in fact be fully familiar with the rules governing the interpretation of utterances, and so things which are actually grammatically determined may appear to rely on nebulous "context".

Here is a salient difference between English and Japanese: in Japanese, any noun phrase may be dropped "when its meaning can be contextually determined". For example, you might say

(1) kinou inu ga nikki tabe-chat-ta! yesterday dog SUBJ diary eat-COMP-PST "yesterday my dog ate my diary!"

(2) wanpaku da yo naa naughty COP ASS TAG "he's sure naughty"

In (1), we see that where English has possessive pronouns ("my"), Japanese doesn't use them. In (2), the noun phrase referring to the dog is dropped entirely. In fact, in both of these sentences, not dropping these things would be considered unnatural and stilted. Overuse of pronouns and NPs is a common marker of non-fluent Japanese as spoken by Westerners. Saying

(3) kinou watashi no inu ga / yesterday me GEN dog SUBJ / watashi no nikki tabe-chat-ta! me GEN diary eat-COMP-PST "yesterday my dog ate my diary!"

instead of (1) would technically not be ungrammatical, but would be markedly foreign sounding and corrected immediately in any intro Japanese class.

However, this already tells you something: the fact that (3) is unambiguously unfelicitous tells you that there are some underlying rules here, it isn't just "drop when you feel it". These rules are called information structure rules, and every language has them. In fact, Japanese explicitly marks information structure in a number of ways that English does not.

Some of the basic rules in Japanese of relevance here (this is a fairly crude analysis and does not account for various things, but it's probably good enough for our purposes) are:

Every discourse has a topic

If no topic is specified, the speaker is by default assumed to be the topic

A non-topic subject may be introduced into the discourse with ga

A noun already in the discourse may be made into the topic with wa

A salient subject already introduced, but not explicitly topicalized with wa, may be implicitly topicalized

Empty NP positions and unmarked possessors should be taken to refer to the topic

Items that are (semantically speaking) likely to be possessed should be interpreted as possessed before they are interpreted as indefinites

These rules are not inviolable, and in particular (5) requires some contextual definition of "salience" and (6) is certainly not this simple in reality (there are often multiple empty NP positions and the full ruleset for interpreting them seems complex; for instance subject positions are favored for topics over object positions and so on), so there is still some amount of combinatorics with referents and syntactic positions that presumably is going on somewhere in speakers' brains or whatever. But the point is that these rules narrow down pretty starkly what interpretations are "reasonable", and the actual role of context in disambiguating between reasonable interpretations is not so vast.

Anyway, using the above rules, it is not so hard to go through (1) and (2) again, and see that only a single reasonable interpretation actually presents itself.

As mentioned, Japanese very often makes information structure explicit using the particles wa, ga, and wo (not mentioned above, but the object equivalent of ga), which is somewhat uncommon among the languages of the world. English, on the other hand, does not do this. English speakers do not drop noun phrases, but they still replace noun phrases with pronouns very readily, and disambiguating pronoun referents uses pragmatic and information structure rules of exactly the same type! Consider, for instance

(4) My boyfriend went on a "boys trip" with Will and Tod last weekend... I told him not to let them pressure him into skinny dipping again. What was up with that anyway?

Think about what you're doing when you assign referents to these pronouns. It's automatic so you don't notice it, but is it unambiguous? Not at all! You know, for instance, that "him" refers to the boyfriend and "them" to Will and Tod, and you know in the second sentence that "that" refers to peer pressure skinny dipping. Some of this (in particular the referent of "that") I think has to be chalked up to pure context; it's the semantics from which we derive the correct assignment. But some of it is mediated by syntactic or information structure rules as well; for instance consider

(5) Jacob went on a "boys trip" with Will and Tod last weekend... I told him not to let them pressure him into skinny dipping again.

We are still able to produce the correct pronoun assignments in this sentence, even though the semantic context which informs us about which one of these people the speaker is most likely the closest to has been removed. This is, again, a product of information structure rules: Jacob is the topic here, and so (by whatever rules operate in English; not identical but not dissimilar to those in Japanese) we infer that "him" refers to Jacob.

Anyway, the point is that all languages make reference to context very freely in matters of interpretation (which is a big part of why language models had to develop implicit world knowledge before they could speak convincingly), and also languages make reference to context in a structured way which can often be described fairly precisely, and which leaves less open to chance and misinterpretation than might initially be assumed. The gulf between English and Japanese is not so large here. It might be the cases that the [pronouns + unmarked topicalization]-English system is more explicit than the [empty NP positions + marked topicalization]-Japanese system, but I don't know. And of course it might be the case that in some other domain of grammar Japanese is more explicit than English. So one must be careful with any broad assertions.

[thisismeracing]

okay but a request for a new face around the paddock and Lando having a huge crush and gets some assistance to ask her out 😔

Hi, love!! <3 Since you didn't specify if it was a smau, a blurb, or a full imagine, I decided to go with a blurb, 'key? I hope you like it!! *mwah*

New girl | LN4

― Pairing: Lando Norris x reader (sher/her) ― Warnings: mentions of alcohol, getting stuck on the roof, and typos; ― my masterlist | my taglist | patreon guide ― check some exclusive pieces here ― you can support my writing by reblogging, leaving a comment (don’t forget to follow me if you like the piece), or buying me a coffee

Someone was playing early 2000s remixes, the sound escaping to the roof where Yn was sitting, nursing a half-full red cup. She was a bit tired. It was her first week attending a race, and things were more hectic than anticipated, though Charles told her it was crazy when you weren't used to the pace.

Still, she was looking for the next Sunday. The next plane ride, the next country to explore.

"Oh- hey," Lando waved after opening the door and finding her sitting in one of the small couches. His face read surprise with a tinge of confusion, but, in reality, he knew she would be there. Carlos told him as much. His friend actually encouraged him to go after her. Lando was infatuated the second he saw her, and when he discovered she was Charles' friend he was quick to ask Carlos for help, which coming to think about now wasn't the best idea.

Maybe he should have asked Charles instead. He probably knew her better. She was the new girl for Carlos too, having just met her the same day Lando did. Or just tried to get to her without any help, but then again, she was so beautiful and so cool, he felt like the whole paddock stopped the first day Yn showed up, though rationally he knew things kept going as usual. He was the distracted one.

"Hi," she waved back, a small smile gracing her lips before she took the cup to her lips sipping whatever drink she was nursing.

"Can I- huh- Can I stay here too?"

Yn nodded, "It's a bit packed in there, huh?" she asked before patting the spot beside her. "Carlos told me I could get some air here instead of in front of the house, the air is flowing good there, but there's still too much noise- and drunk people," she ranted, and Lando thought it was cute the way she would explain things he hasn't even asked yet.

"I'm Lando," the British extended his hand to her, and they shook it right before she said her name as if wasn't etched on his mind, and he sat beside her.

"I know," there's a hint of amusement in her voice. "There's only twenty of you, and you happen to be really close to my friend's teammate."

He chuckled, taking a pull from his beer, and sensing someone behind him. When Lando turned he saw Carlos and Charles at the door, and before he could stop them both, the noise of the door closing echoed around.

"Shit."

"Was it the door?" Yn asked, getting up.

"I think the wind closed it," he tried to keep it cool, even though he was finally understanding why Carlos had asked to borrow his phone.

"Can you call one of the guys to open it up?" she asked, and then added, "For when we want to get back...I'm fine for now."

He smiled, and then his face twisted in a grimace, "I forgot my phone with the guys."

"Mine doesn't have any signal here," she stated, but didn't seem too worried.

"Do they know you're here?"

Yn nodded, "You?"

"Carlos will probably come looking for me any minute now," he tried to convince himself, taking another pull from his beer.

They sat in silence for a beat, the wind making their cheeks cold and the noises of the party muffled by the distance, until Yn started talking about racing, Lando following the train, catching the ride and the opportunity to talk with her and not embarrass himself trying to figure a good topic.

"How do you keep up with all the traveling?"

He chuckles, "Sometimes you don't."

"Oh-"

"Yeah, it can be tiring for the drivers as well, but we just...get used to it I guess. Most of us- all of us, have been driving since we were kids."

"mmhhh, so a bunch of outlaws?"

"What?"

"Driving when it wasn't even legal yet," and she answered with a straight face, no hint of amusement, so much Lando thought she was talking serious, and when he opened his mouth to explain, a nervous look crossed his features, Yn started laughing.

"That was a terrible joke, but you fell for it so..."

"Horrible," he shook his head with a small smile, tipping his bottle upon his mouth. "How about you? How are you keeping up? Are you coming for the next race?"

"I'm exhausted. But I'm also excited about the next stop. I'm definitely joining. I'm just getting my maps ready because Ferrari has a bunch of media stuff this next week and Charles won't be able to be a huge company in exploring...not that he was a big one this last week, but, yeah."

"I can go with you...that is if you want, I can keep you company, I know the next stop pretty well, I used to go there on vacation with my family during my teenage years," Lando shoots his shot, half expecting her to let him down gently, but Yn gifts him with a bright big smile.

"Would you?"

"Yeah, totally."

"Perfect then," she crossed her legs sitting more comfortably on the couch, neck resting on the headrest, while she watched the dark sky above them. "Now, tell me about your side gig- Carlos told me you're into DJ stuff?"

Lando crossed his legs too, his shoulders aligned with hers, staring at the sky as well. He turned his head to the side, and she was already looking at him. He bit his lips to keep the infatuated smile from showing and started telling her about the things he liked to do besides racing. Yn shared with him as well. She told how she and Charles had met, how she loved music, and though she was into sports, she didn't practice any. She told him about her family, studies, and job. And Lando listened to everything attentively, feeling his silly little crush grow with each giggle and look she shared.

A couple hours later, when Carlos and Charles went to check, Yn had her head on Lando's shoulder, both were sound asleep on the couch. The Ferrari duo snapped a picture, and a high five for playing cupid to what would eventually become one of the paddock's favorite couples.

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Duncan Vizla X Reader: Too sweet for me

A/n: Mads has no right looking this hot

Warning: smut, porn with little plot, oral (f receiving) , face sitting, penetration (p in v), fluff, little bit of angst, age gap (not specified) no use of y/n, pet names (dove, darling)

“You must be bored out of your fucking mind.”

That's how you’d picked up his call. No ‘hello’. No ‘how are you?’. Just straight to the point. He supposed he deserved it. It had been his call to end all forms of contact and you hadn’t been too pleased with the decision. He had to admit he was starting to regret it too. The cold was making his miss your warmth and the silence that surrounded him, making him crave your voice.

“I want you to come here.”

“Where? To that fucking cabin in the middle of nowhere?”

You heard Duncan let out a sigh. He sounded tired.

“I miss you.”

Your brows furrowed at his confession. He had ended the relationship. It had been his decision. The reason being that he was too old for you and that the company was going to let him go soon, so there would be no need for you two to be around each other anymore. You’d fought him until you couldn’t take it anymore. Until you realized you were only breaking your own heart. And now here he was, calling you on the second day of his retirement telling you he missed you. The right thing would have been to tell him to fuck of. It's what he deserved for hurting you. But instead you’d hopped into your car and drove over to him.

He heard your car in the driveway, causing him to put down the cup of whiskey he had been nursing. He opened up the door for you watching you stomp your feet on the deck in an attempt to remove the snow from your shoes.

“Its fucking freezing. Of course you had to pick the coldest fucking place to retire.”

“The cold keeps people away.”

“And you just love keeping people away don’t you?”

The comment stung a bit but he brushed it off. He knows your mad at him but you came anyway which means you’re not as pissed as you had been when he first broke it off. You moved into his house shivering as you placed your bag on the ground. He watched you walk over to the chair he had been sitting on. You grabbed his drink off the table before throwing it down your throat. Duncan shut the door before making his way to you. You were glancing around the room, clearly judging the lack of decor.

“This place looks so depressing. No wonder you called.”

“I didn’t call you for a distraction.”

“Oh yeah? So why am I here then.”

He moved closer to you, his frame towering slightly over your smaller one. You looked up at him impatiently, waiting for him to tell you why you’d driven to the end of the world for him. Duncan placed his hand on your cheek. The coldness of his palm made goosebumps appear on your arms.

“I miss you.”

“Should have thought of that before you broke it off, old man.”

“Come on, don't be like that.”

“No fuck you!”

You push him away trying your hardest to ignore how your body craved him. Duncan looks at you with hurt eyes but he doesn’t interrupt.

“I said we could make it work. I told you i’d quit and go with you but you didn’t want that. You had to come with the ‘oh i’m too old for you’ routine. Well guess what Duncan? I didn’t give a fuck about that when we stared going out and i sure as shit don’t care about it now.”

You were moving from one side of the room to the other as you spoke. Duncans eyes followed your movements with an overwhelming need to tug you to him. But he knew you’d only push him away so he decided to let you calm down a bit first. You finally seemed to tire yourself out, your body leaning against his chair as you glanced outside. He moved over to you slowly.

“You know all I wanted was to be with you. And I thought you wanted that too but I guess I was wrong.”

“No, little one, you weren’t.”

You turned to look at him, your face slightly damp from your angry tears. He placed his hand on your cheek once again and this time you leaned into his touch. You closed your eyes as he caressed your cheek.

“I missed you too.”

You let out your confession in a whisper, followed by a small sigh as you felt Duncan press his lips to yours.

“Let me make it up to you, hum?”

“What were you thinking?”

His nose was pressed deliciously against your clit as he ate you out. You had your face pressed up against the cold wall, hands braced on the headboard. Duncans fingers dug into your thighs as he tried to keep you from squirming away. Your pussy was getting sensitive from his movements but you don’t want him to stop. And he didn’t plan to. You’re always worried he might not have enough air with your cunt resting on his face but the way he continuously tugs you down when you try to raise your body off his tells you he can breathe just fine. Unconsciously you rocked your hips against his face searching for your release.

“Oh Duncan…ah fuck.”

“Taste wonderful little one. Want you to cum on my tongue.”

You wanted that very much too but you didn’t know how much more you could take. This was the third orgasm he was trying to pull out of you and your thighs were starting to hurt. You could feel your release coming but something about it felt different this time. More intense in a way. You placed your hands on the sides if Duncan's head trying to remove your body from his.

“Baby something’s… I don’t know whats-”

“Shhh dove let it happen.”

Duncan suspected something was about to happen. He suspected your sudden need to get off him meant you were about to give him what he’d been wanting for a long time but had never manned to get out of you. You were about to squirt all over his face. His dick twitched at the thought. Your moans became more and more high pitched until you were screaming his name. Your hands wove around his hair as your orgasm washed over you. You’d barely had time to register what had happened before you heard Duncan groan beneath you. You looked down at him only to find his face covered in you slick.

“Holy shit.”

“Told you to let it happen.”

“What the fuck was that?”

“You squirted. So good for me, dove.”

“I didn’t even know I could do that.”

You smiled at Duncan causing him to give you a lopsided grin before releasing your legs. You groaned as you removed your legs from him. You laid down beside the older man, your hand moving to his face. Duncan let you tug him into a kiss, moaning into your mouth. You nudged his nose with yours as you moved your hand to palm at his dick. He called out your name in warning.

“What? Don’t wanna fuck me anymore?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then fuck me.”

He rolled over your body, trapping you beneath him. You felt his dick rub against the inside of your thigh before he lined it up with your entrance. You let out a small whimper as he pushed your legs up. Duncan gave a kiss to your temple rocking into you slowly. Your nails dug into his back being careful as to not touch any of his scars. Which was hard considering how many he had but you managed. He sped up his pace hitting your g-spot perfectly as he moved.

“Fuck i missed this pussy.”

“She missed you too.”

“I can tell. Sucking me in-ah fuck- Won’t last long.”

“It’s okay. Just don’t stop.”

Duncans grunts echoed your moans and pretty soon he was asking you where you wanted him to cum.

“Inside-ugh shit- cum inside.”

Two more thrusts and he was painting your walls with his seed. His body sagged onto yours, the exhaustion finally hitting him. You combed your fingers through his hair lulling him to sleep.

The next morning you woke up to an empty bed and the smell of coffee. You grabbed one of Duncan's jumpers not bothering to put on anything else before leaving the room. You made your way to the kitchen. Duncan had his back turned to you far to focused on the eggs he was cooking to notice your presence. You made your way to him, wrapping your arms around his frame.

“Good morning dove.”

“Morning. You cook breakfast now?”

“Thought you might be hungry.”

“You were right.”

You grabbed your mug off the counter taking a sip as you continued to watch Duncan cook. He felt your gaze on him causing him to look over at you.

“What is it?”

“Oh nothing. Just thinking.”

“About what?”

“This feels awfully homey. Waking up to you cooking breakfast. In your little cabin in the middle of nowhere. Wearing your clothes. Got me thinking is all.”

“Come live with me.”

You raise your head to look at his eyes searching for uncertainty in his words.

“You mean it?”

“Why wouldn’t i?”

“Cause you’re too old for me. Cause you like to keep people away.”

“Not you. I never liked keeping you away. I just didn’t want you to get hurt.”

“You really want me to live with you?”

“Yes. I really do.”

You smile at Duncan making your way over to him. He leans down to place a kiss to your lips causing your smile to grow even more.

“Okay then. Let’s do it.”

[circyexistforcontent]

SAGAU: WHEN YOUR FRIEND JOINS YOUR WORLD

❀ synopsis: the characters are forced to watch as you and your friend frolic around Teyvat unaware of the storm brewing inside of them.

❀ notes: So recently I raised my adventure rank to 16 (I'm at 17 now) and people can now join my world. After my friend discovered this she keeps pestering me to log in to my genshin account so we can fight enemies together. I main Aether while she mains Venti so most of the time we're in Monstadt we would chill together at good hunter which looked like a dinner date. The brain rot immediately hit my head on how the sagau characters would be like with this so here I am writing about it.

❀ pronouns: none specified.

VENTI/BARBATOS:

Envy. That was all he felt as he watches the impostor skipping beside you as you possess Aether. The worst part is he couldn't do anything, no matter what he did the arrows would never be able to hit the other Venti. It was like the winds were obeying the other Venti's orders, making sure it never hit the impostor which infuriated him even more. And he can't just run toward the other and strangle them either because his body would suddenly freeze up and force him to stand in a singular place when the both of you are close. When you and the other Venti are not in his peripheral vision he would be able to move again.

His knuckles turn white as he clenches his bow with strength that is enough to snap it into two. You and the impostor are currently in good hunter sitting across each other on a table, the impostor's voice sounded different from his (which was expected since it wasn't the original anyway) but you didn't seem to notice, or at least didn't care about its voice. He hid behind one of the houses as he stalked on the both of you, his pupils dilating as he watches the other Venti feed you radish stew.

'It should've been me' his breathing became more shallow 'it should've been me' his bow snapped into two before disintegrating into dust and manifesting on his back in pristine condition. His nails dig into the flesh of his palm causing it to bleed, his blood starts to form a puddle next to his foot as he continues to watch the two of you laughing and smiling together. While it shows it was Aether smiling and laughing he knows that Aether is under the influence of your emotions. Meaning if Aether is happy, so are you.

He wishes he could just run up to the impostor and rip off its vocal cords so it may never be able to laugh alongside you. He wanted to pummel its face until it was unrecognizable to anyone seeing its corpse. Its face was never it's own anyway, from what he remembers he was the one who made the promise to take the form of his friend. Not that thing.

DILUC RAGNVINDR

When he saw you and "Venti" walking together while talking he was in shock. How was Venti able to talk to you so normally without him being stuck in one place? Did he find a way to break the code? How? He was going to rush towards the both of you before he found himself slowly freezing and shifting to his idle stance. "Damn it" he thought, Venti better tell him how he broke through the code or he's gonna riot-

What he discovered next shocked him before he felt an inkling of fear inside of him. He saw another Venti, but this one seem to be in a trance of anger and jealousy. The blood on his palms stained his fingers and created a puddle below the ground, but he didn't seem to mind as all of his attention was on the Venti spending time with your host Aether. If Venti was over there then....who is the one talking to you?

When the two of you passed by Diluc he stalked from afar to observe you and "Venti" fighting slimes and exterminating hilichurl camps. While observing he imagines the one fighting beside you was him, slashing any enemy going too close to you and saving you when your health bar goes low. Sadly, dreams are just dreams, and somehow this thing was the one doing what he wants. He freezes when "Venti" suddenly shifted to Kaeya when a pyro slime was approaching the both of you.

The sight of his brother fighting alongside you...he feels his scowl deepen. Was it mocking him? It must have known he was stalking the both of you, why else would it shift to Kaeya conveniently after Diluc was done daydreaming of fighting with you? He couldn't stand the sight of Kaeya being with you and quietly left back to Monstadt. He seems to be more focused on serving the visitors of Angels Share because he was ignoring anything and everything that wasn't related to his work. he didn't even bat an eye at Venti who was sobbing about an impostor stealing you away, chugging a bottle of wine while slurring out words of heartbreak and woe.

[etheries1015]

Hellooo 1st I just wanna say that I love how you write! The fics you post almost always puts a smile on my face when I’m stressed and I just wanna thank you for that <3

Anyways I’ve been accidentally rizzing my friends up lately on accident with sweet words and I ended up thinking what would the biggest tsundere (literally) in twst do with an s/o who’s very generous with compliments and poetic with words and is shameless with how cheesy they can sound sometimes

I’m so sorry if my request is too vague huhu, have a good day! <3

THHAANNKK YOU *SMOOCHES* *GNAWS ON UR LEG* I LOVE U and may happier and less stressful times come ahead for you!

although you didn't specify which character...I picked who I believe to be the top three tsudneres of the game. Heuheuehu.

The prefects muse~

In which you find yourself utterly bemused by him, throwing out compliments and lines of infatuation that leave him a flustered wreck. How does he react to someone as valiantly passionate as you regarding your sweet words of honey?

Featuring: Idia, Riddle, Azul

Idia

Idia convinced himself you were just another introverted loser who had no care in your mind for other people, keeping to yourself, enjoying video games, and always open for degernate hours of playing video games.

what he did NOT know he was signing himself up for, was some sort of weird poet club bullshit. Yet there he was, sitting on the couch of the ramshackle dorm playing away at the new console he had gifted you he could feel your gaze burning the back of his head. Turning around slowly and almost with dread, your shit-eating grin blinded him with words of sweet-sweet cringe.

"Watching you play video games you can truly see how serious you are, it's adorable," Idia groaned with cheeks burning a bright shade of pink, burrying himself into the couch, "Ah~ I wish you would look at me like that, with such passion..."

"ugh..whhyy..." Idia murmured embarrassingly avoiding your gaze and remaining strong in holding himself together at your routine daily compliments.

"I can't help it!" You cried out theatrically, "Idiiaa...I can be like a video game. Play me, too!" That comment broke something inside of him that was supposed to be stayed hidden, his blue hair changing a bright shade of pink to signify the extent of his flustered state. You only giggled at this, as Idia attempted to hold in all self control by taking his hoodie, hoping the couch would just take him then and there.

Over time he became used to the fact that you would openly flirt with him, although that never stopped the second hand embarrassment that came along with it. What he wont tell you, though, that behind the rosey cheeks and tsundere display of dislike for your antics, was a heart that beat quickly and mind that secretly enjoyed your poetic and "old cringy" way of loving him.

Which just means your flirting is working, keep it up! <3 But maybe try to hold back in front of other people, he isn't sure how much more he can keep deflecting their raised eyebrows and teasing remarks...

riddle

Being someone who is well versed in the world of poetry and literature, he could often pin point where some of your lines may come from. His way of deflection is either correcting your sentences, or retorting with the next line. What he DOESN'T know how to deflect, is the string of compliments you give him on a day to day basis. At first he simply thought you were being kind in complimenting the way his hair shone in the sunlight- until Cater pointed out that your remarks were anything but the norm. That's when Riddle took more notice to it, realizing that your lines of poetry was not an exercise of the brain, yet an actual technique to flirt with him.

and it was working.

"Riddle~" You sang in the halls of heartslabyul, skipping much to his annoyance.

"Do not jump around in the halls," He chastised you, "What is it?" You gave him a mischievous smile with a toothy grin to match, clearing your throat and standing straight.

"My bounty is as boundless as the sea, My love as deep; the more I give to thee, The more I have, for both are infinite."

Silence reigned for a few moments as Riddle blinked a few times, squinting his eyes to give you his typical "poker face."

"Is this another one of your attempts to 'flirt' with me?" He asked, you leaning against the wall and running your fingers through your hair in a flirty and playful manner. You nodded eagerly, to which Riddle gave a sigh and walked past you to continue whatever he was doing prior to your poetic interruption. Your jaw slacked open and you skipped (again, to his annoyance) to catch up to him.

"I swear I saw a smile! Turn around and show it to me, Riddle! Was that one good? Did I capture your heart finally?" You giggled, seeing how Riddle was obviously ignoring your feeble cries of searching attention.

Yet you were correct, he couldn't help but find his cheeks as red as a rose and lips curling up in a bashful smile. He would not allow you to see how you affect him, however.

Riddle tends to just ignore your flirting, now that he has come accustomed to it. Even in front of people when you would openly compliment him, Riddle continued sipping his tea seemingly unbothered. Whenever he would get strange looks to find an explanation to your questionable behavior, he simply shrugged.

"Do not mind them, they are always like this."

But at night by his lonesome, he was repeating your words in his head a million times over, that same rose colored tint upon his cheeks and smile with a blanket hard on his grip. Perhaps giggling a time or two to himself...for he never met someone as brazen as you. Not that he was actually complaining, though.

Azul

Flirting with Azul was always a treat. His reactions were the most flamboyant out of the other tsundere boys, he never failed to get some sort of remark and complaint out of his mouth whenever you sang praises his way. He attempted to be calm and collected, but the blush that painted his cheeks betrayed his cool demeanor.

"Is that a new coat, Azul? Ohohoh you do look dashing, If I do say so myself. Did you style your hair? The way it frames your face really brings out your features-"

"Stop, stop stop! Why must you feel the need to shower me in complimets?!" He cried out, burying his face into his arms upon the deak. The pink on his ears was also unforgiving for the poor merman. You chuckled and sat next to him, patting his shouders.

"I can't help it! If I see something I like, I must voice it out. Is it too plain? I can try and be more poetic. Let's see..." You used your hand to pull his chin, forcing his gaze to meet with yours. You inwardly teased him at the vibrant hue of his cheeks and flustered face, keeping it in as you leaned forward to gaze deeply into his eyes.

"Your eyes," you started, "Shine far brighter than any I have seen, even the most silver and sparkly of diamonds pale in comparison to your-"

"e-e-enough! W-what is this?!" Azul pulled away, tucking his head back into his arms and groaning, "Just...go back to what you were doing before! None of this...diamond...and..." He trailed off, words failing him. Azul was not used to such praises from others, he spent his entire life believing the worst every moment he caught glance in a mirror with a life time of self esteem issues. So hearing you so openly compliment him always left the man flustered and blushing, cringing at every moment you tried to stroke his ego.

He never truly get's used to it, only finds ways to ignore you. When you're around others and began to make a sly comment about how his hands look nice or how his skin looks that particular day, he closes his eyes and avoids anyone's gazes with a face full of color that even the coral of the sea could not compare. He often gets teased by his fellow classmates for this, but never actually speaks up in distaste to you. He could never admit just how much your persistent compliments thoroughly means to him, and how with every word he finds himself looking in the mirror with a little more enthusiasm than he once had.

~~~

yes I like to use the headcannon that Idias hair changes color when he has really strong emotions aosdjflkasdjf

[adventuringblind]

All too Real

Norstappen x Reader

Genre: Smut and Horror (if you squint)

Summary: Max was supposed to be gone, so why is he here? More importantly, why does his hand on her mouth forceful movements have her bothered?

Warnings: Consensual non-consent, Knife play, Impact play, choking, Corruption, Bondage, Mean Dom Max, Sub Lando and Reader, PinV, Anal, Minor blood, Marking, Sensory deprivation, Max is really sweet in this I swear but it's really dark during the scene.

Notes: For the requester who sent me this, I didn’t think I was gonna be able to do it. Be proud of me please! T_T

Side Note: I appreciate everyone who sent me ideas! I can't wait to explore this dynamic more!

Masterlist // Request Form // My Website // buy me a Ko-Fi

The moon illuminates the sky of Monaco. It’s past midnight; a time where people should be asleep.

Her and Lando sleep on Max’s side of the bed. He’d left earlier this evening to head back to Redbull HQ. He’d not specified what exactly they needed from him. Only that it was urgent fenough for him to get on a plane that same day. Not much of a hassles considering he has his own.

Max had promised he’d make as quick as he could and might even be back the following night. Still, it sucks not having him around at night. He has a way of making them feel much safer when he’s around. Which might just be because he looks intimidating despite being the embodiment of a teddy bear, but who is she to say?

He’d never hurt them. Is even picky about it during sex. Like he’s afraid he’ll shatter them if he lets go enough.

That could be why the hand clasped around her throat and palm over her mouth scare her into compliance. Being met with familiar eyes in this situation is not something anybody wants.

Her heavy breaths are muffled against Max’s hand. The menacing glint that over takes cerulean blue is something she’s only seen when he gets competitive.

The hand around her throat comes off slowly and fishes something from his pocket. A piece of cloth makes its way to her mouth. He slips it in underneath his hand, gagging her and stopping her from forming any coherent words.

She complies with his harsh movements. No point in fighting him, he’s too strong for that. He pulls zip ties from somewhere - probably his pocket again - and wrangles her wrists behind her.

The adrenaline coursing through every fiber of her being only gets worse when he tosses her onto the floor and repeats the actions for Lando. A bit different. A hand over his eyes instead of around his throat.

the Brit fights back more then she did. He’s unable to see who it is he’s fighting, making things more difficult for Max. The inkling he might win out is soon discarded as he is pinned to the bed underneath Max’s weight.

The sweats and boxers come down with ease, leaving the Brit entirely bare. Max leaves him there, only able to yell into the cloth and thrashing around trying to escape. A bit useless without his hands.

Max pulls her upward, back onto the bed next to Lando. He stand at the edge and pulls his own shirt off. “So pretty and helpless, all for me.” The sound of the switchblade opening has her eyes watering. He crawls over her, the moon glinting off the metal as he moves. “Innocent and ready to be broken by me. Only, for me.”

The flat of the blade runs against her skin. “Would you like that? I’d keep you safe, tucked away, only for me to play with. All mine.” The knife tip presses into her skin. She sucks in through her teeth, far too aroused by this new side of max. He gently drags the sharp point against her. It dawns on her that she wants this. She craves Max marking her.

Max slips the knife under where her panties are resting her hip. He cuts away the dainty piece of fabric. “What do you think Lando? Which one of you should I break first?” He flips Lando over onto his back. Both of them being eaten alive by his gaze, like a hunter who has successfully captured his prey.

She’s glad to see she’s not the only one aroused. The hard-on Lando is sporting has Max licking his lips. He’s whining and whimpering into the gag. He teases Lando’s aching cock with the dull end and His back arches off the bed. His spine bending him further into the sensation.

Max pulls away, leaving Lando writhing. He grabs her by the ankle and pulls her level to Lando’s crotch. Instinctively, she opens her mouth. Which is a great decision as he shoves her head into Lando. Choked by surprise and unprepared. He grabs the back of her head and holds her there. “Do you want to breathe, schat? Or are you being pliant because you’re just that much of a slut?”

The bit of air she had in her lungs starts to deplete. The lightheaded feeling has tears running down her cheeks. Max doesn’t pull her off until she’s frantically trying to pull herself off. He keeps his hand on her, not letting her go far. “Big breath for me.” She inhales as deep as she can and he solves her back down.

Large hands - Max’s hands - force her legs apart. He slips two fingers in her and aggressively pumps them in and out. “Awe, still so tight but so. Fucking. Wet~” Each word punctuated with a progressively harder thrust. er body moves back and forth according to Max’s will helping her make Lando get some relief.

In a few quick movements, he has rid himself of the rest of his clothes. He climbs back on top and throws on old her legs over his shoulder. He doesn’t giver her time to think about it. “Fuck, you feel so good for me. Look at you! You’re crying for it!” The pace he sets is unrelenting. Each snap of his hips has her choking further on Lando.

She can feel Lando trying to rut his hips and the sharp sound from Max’s hand hitting his bare skin. Lando shrieks in pain and stops his moving. “You get what I give you. You are mine, remember? Or are you already fucked dumb because of her pretty mouth?”

Curse Max and his good stamina. She’s helpless to push him off her, struggling to breathe, the knife now pressing into her hip. The first cut is quick and clean. A light little thing that barely stings. The second one is harder. Same for the following ones; each more drawn out then the last despite being relatively the same size.

She’s wailing, crying, the lines between pleasure and pain have faded into each other. She finished at some point but Max hasn't stopped. In fact, he's going harder.

His voice is surrounding her. It's falling over her despite both their desperate cries.

Everything stops far to abruptly. Max pulls out of her and drags Lando away. The crying starts when she doesn't know where either of them are. Lost in all the mixed feelings; the adrenaline, pleasure, and pain.

The blood running down her thigh is warm and think. She wonders, briefly, if it's staining the sheets beneath her.

"Come on schat, you can take it." Make coos it so gently despite the despite monas coming from behind Lando's gag. "Or do you need more? Is that what all these desperate noises are for? You're a slut who needs it all?"

Max is the puppet master and her and Lando are attached to the strings. The Brit is shoved between her legs. Neither of them standing a chance.

Her overstimulated pussy is once again subjected to the brutality of Lando. More Max, with the way she can see Max pressed behind him, snapping his hips.

Lando is screaming into her shoulder. She's to fucked to even think about Max and the fact he's not even supposed to be here.

Max stutters. Lando finished ages ago, She counts three. Hers started blurring together and just didn't stop.

The silence as Max slows down is to much. She need him to talk, she'll except anything at this point.

The blood from Lando's thigh is sticking to her. They match now and she isn't even sure when it happened.

Max doesn't pull out of Lando, he runs his fingers across Lando's skin and pulls his blindfold off. Next comes the gag, hers and Lando's. Neither of them can say anything.

No, the tears start instead of the words. Max scrambles to get them situated comfortably on the bed and turns the lights on. He leans them against his own body, whispering to them about how good they did.

"Was that to much? Did I take it to far? I tried to hit everything you said and I think I did-"

"Good, overwhelmed, scary." Lando pants against his skin.

She tries to get Max to pet her head. He gets the hint and complies. "You went to the Milton-Keynes. Did you plan this?"

"I've spent the last two months researching, preparing, and planning. Mostly because Lando said that I wouldn't do it."

"I said you thought we were fragile and you were to scared to actually do it."

"And do you still think that?" Lando shakes his head. The blush on his cheeks evident behind the tear tracks.

"Max-" she whines. "-The sheets ae red now."

"I know love, just wanted to calm down before I moved you two anywhere. First I'll get you patched up, which I already have the first aid ready. Next is a bath and I will change our sheets because I purchased new ones. Then food and water and me showering you in my affection."

Her and Lando look at each other and both of them break out into smiley giggles. "Max, did you know that we love you?"

"The fact you're not trying to run the opposite direction of me makes me think that." Max carries them one by one to the bathroom counter. "I actually thought I went to far the second Lando started fighting me."

"Then I heard your voice and got hard." Lando proudly points out. His attempts at reassuring the dutchman that he had a good time.

"Next time, I'm ditching the blindfold."

"This implies there will be a next time."

"If there is, can we maybe not bite my dick off?"

She looks away, embarrassed at the act of trying to cannibalize her poor boyfriend.

"Do you two know how long we went for? Lan, she had her jaw like that for over a half hour."

Lando gapes at him. "I owe you a jaw massage... but please, I would like to keep my best asset attached."

Her and Max roll their eyes. Her delirious laughs fill the space as Max runs the bath. "Nah, your best feature is your mouth."

"Is that because of my tongue?"

Max glances over his shoulder. "No, it's because it's big, loud, and creates these scenarios."

Not like she can complain. She did want it and so did Lando. And with the 'MV' now plastered to their thighs, she can't help but think Max enjoyed himself a little too.