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missadangel · 13 hours ago

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MAKE HIM DISLIKE LOVE YOU

Harry Castillo x Reader (The Materialists)

Chapter 7: Apologize

series masterlist

Chapter Summary: When you call it quits on secrets, it’s funny how more of them spill out. Then Harry comes sprinting after you, begging for forgiveness. I mean, how can you say no to that face? Warnings: 18+ (smut, MDNI) kinda romantic comedy stuff, fluffy, angst, lying, soft and caring Harry Castillo, Lucy as his ex, John as Lucy's ex, wealth, expensive gifts, drinks, money, cars, language, sexual tension, oral sex, p in v sex, kissing, slow burn, power imbalance, I might have missed some warnings; I will update them in due time. Chapter Word Count: 10,5k, ROMANCE, feelings!!! fluffy, rom-com, lust, passion, jealousy, dirty talk, love triangle authors note: Thank you all for your support, asks, comments, reblogs and likes. I appreciate each and every one of you! Love you all!

As the elevator headed up to the penthouse, disbelief hit you hard. How could Harry have lied to you like that? You’d been cleaning his place without even knowing it. It felt like a total betrayal, but honestly, you were more pissed off than anything. Then another thought struck you—those cameras. Had he been watching you this entire time?

“Jerk. Fuckin' asshole.”

“Huh?”

Right, you were in the elevator with Mia, this little girl you just met, both of you heading to the same flat. But it was clear you had a shared goal. The elevator chimed as you reached the penthouse, and Mia stopped you. “I need to do something first.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, confused.

Mia peeked out of the elevator, checking the area. “The cameras,” she said.

You were caught off guard.

“I can’t let my mom find out I’m here, so I need to shut them down before we go in.”

“Your mom is Maria, right?”

“You know her too? Who even are you?”

With a smirk, you said, “Just think of me as your partner in crime.”

Mia raised an eyebrow. “Partner in crime?”

Leaning in a bit, you said, “I want to take down those damn cameras too.”

She thought about it for a second, narrowed her eyes, and then glanced at your uniform. “So that’s you, huh? My mom mentioned you.”

“What did she say?”

She smirked. “You are the girl who made Uncle Harry look like he’d been hit by a truck.”

You giggled. “I really want to hit him with a truck right now. Because you see, I didn't know it was his apartment when I was cleaning here, he played a trick on me. And as if that wasn't enough, he watched me on the cameras. So what do you say, partner? You want to smash those cameras?”

She frowned. “Smash them? What are you, a vandal?” She took his tablet out of her school bag. “Here, I'll activate the app here, but since we're partners, I need you to turn on the signal first, can you do that?”

You felt like an idiot next to this smart 10-year-old girl. “Okay, tell me what to do, partner.”

“Since you're the cleaning lady who always comes here...”

“Maid.”

“Yeah, maid, whatever. I need you to go to the control panel on the wall and choose the option to connect to nearby devices.”

You frowned. “Why can’t I just walk over and hit the button to turn off the camera? There has to be an option for that.”

She rolled her eyes. “Thanks Einstein, if you do that, the camera's feed will be disabled and Uncle Harry will receive a notification, which could make him suspicious. I’ll just link to the camera from the tablet and adjust its angle. Then there won't be anything to worry about. It's not like Uncle Harry is going to be monitoring the camera constantly during his meetings at work.”

Now you felt even more silly; it was a super clever plan. “Wow, you’re really smart,” you said. She styled her hair like her mom. “I know. Just go do what I say.”

You chuckled softly, “Understood, ma’am.”

She flashed a grin.

As you entered the apartment, you acted casually, avoiding the cameras while strolling down the corridor. “It feels like I’m in a movie,” you whispered to yourself. You quickly connected to the cameras through the control panel’s touch screen and hit "add device." Moments later, Mia's tablets name appeared, confirming the connection.

“Connection complete,” Mia announced as she walked in.

“High five, girl!” you said, extending your hand.

She laughed and high-fived you back. “We make an awesome team. I like you.”

“I like you too, Mia,” you replied with a wink.

Looking at the cameras, you realized Mia was indeed controlling them from her tablet. They were all aimed toward the corners, so as long as you didn’t walk by, the cameras wouldn’t catch you. Mia sprawled out on the couch as if it were her own home and started watching a video on her tablet. Glancing at her knee, you noticed it was slightly bleeding.

“Hey, let me take care of that knee,” you said, heading to grab a first aid kit. When you returned, you sat beside her and cleaned her wound with some alcohol. “Is this because you skipped school today? Is it about your mom?”

She sighed. “Yeah, it’s about her and my dad. They keep saying they’ll get divorced, but nothing changes.”

You paused. That must be tough for her. “I didn’t know; that sounds rough. How do you feel about it?”

She shrugged. “I just want them to figure it out already. I’m so tired of their drama and constant arguing.”

“I get it. If it ever gets to be too much, just call me. My place isn’t nearly as big as this one—barely bigger than the living room—but I’ll make room for you. What do you think?”

Mia smiled with a maturity beyond her years. “Thanks, you’re a really good friend.”

You smiled back and wrapped her knee with some bandages. “Alright, don’t take this off until tomorrow, got it?”

“Got it, thanks,” he said as he flopped back onto the couch. “You’re mad at him, huh?”

You nodded. “Yeah, I’m really angry. I just want to break everything in here,” you muttered while glancing around.

“How mature,” he remarked quietly.

Feeling a bit embarrassed, you looked at her. “I mean, of course I won’t actually do that.”

“My mom did,” she replied, surprisingly calm. “She broke everything in Dad’s office. You adults can be super childish sometimes, and then want us to act like we’re grown-ups.”

You let out a nervous laugh. “You’re not wrong; we can be pretty childish about things.”

“Just talk it out and figure it out,” she said.

You grabbed the first aid kit and stood up. “What if I’m so mad at him that I don’t even want to talk?”

She smiled. “I don’t think you are.” You raised an eyebrow. “Well, I hope you are not, because I don’t want him to be upset.” She was messing with something on her tablet.

You loved how she was just like her mom, always keeping an eye on Harry. “I don’t want to upset him, honey, but I have to make him eat a little humble pie, okay?”

“But you’ll forgive him later, right?” she asked with hope in her voice.

“Of course, I love him,” you said softly.

“Awesome,” she said, clearly happy, and went back to playing with the tablet.

“Well, I guess I should get back to my chores,” you said, heading into the kitchen to start cleaning up.

“What's up?”

Oliver stepped into his office to find Harry staring at his tablet with a frown.

“There’s something wrong with the cameras. They won’t rotate and there’s no sound coming through. Do you think there's a bug in the app?”

“Maybe your girlfriend got fed up with the cameras and sabotaged them,” he quipped, taking a closer look. “Let me see.”

“I can't blame her,” Harry replied, guilt creeping in.

Oliver noticed Harry’s troubled look as he fiddled with the app. “Seriously, when are you going to tell her?”

“I’m planning to do it tonight,” Harry said with determination. “I just couldn’t find the right moment this morning.”

At that moment, Maria walked into the office. “Harry, I'm seriously considering taking that tablet away from you. You’ve been messing with it more than Mia. I worked really hard to convince them—it’s not worth ruining the meeting over.”

“He was just worried he couldn’t see his girlfriend on the camera,” Oliver muttered.

Harry shot him a glare.

“Okay, that’s enough. I’m calling her right now and telling her everything,” Maria said, pulling out her phone.

Harry jumped up and grabbed the phone from her hand. “Stay out of it. I’ll handle this.”

Just then, her phone began to ring. “School,” Harry said, handing her phone back to Maria.

Maria picked up immediately. “Hello? Yes, this is her mom.”

Harry glanced at Oliver. “Have you fixed it yet?”

“Nope, it’s weird. It’s like someone else has logged into the cameras on their phone and taken over.”

“What did you just say?”

They both turned to Maria, who looked concerned. “Okay,” she said, hanging up.

Harry frowned. “Is everything okay?”

“Mia,” Maria said as she dialed another number. “Her teacher said she didn’t show up to school today. Come on, pick up the damn phone.” But Maria’s face dropped when Mia's dad said he hadn’t seen her either.

“Or perhaps she went back home,” Oliver added.

“We’ll find out now,” Maria said, pulling up an app on her phone.

Harry moved closer to her. “What are you doing?”

“Tracking Mia with a smartwatch app,” she said, waiting for the app to locate her. “If that doesn’t work, I’ll try the app that tracks her phone.”

“Geez, Maria. Have you planted a bug on her, too?” Oliver said with a smirk.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if she did,” Harry scoffed.

“You’ll understand when you become parents,” Maria replied, giving them a pointed look.

“Hopefully not for a long time,” Oliver said.

Harry chuckled at the idea.

“There! I’ve got it,” Maria said, her eyes widening. “Oh no. Harry, you need to see this,” she said, showing him her phone screen.

Harry froze, staring at the location the app found. “No…Fuck...”

Oliver leaned over to take a look. “Damn, this is your apartment.”

Cleaning duty today felt tougher than usual. Ever since you discovered it was Harry’s house, things had started to feel different, especially now that you were technically his girlfriend. It made you feel a bit like a housewife, which was both thrilling and painful at the same time. You still needed answers, as you felt genuinely hurt. But your love for him was so strong—what could you really do? Deep down, you weren’t sure how long you could cling to your anger. With your pride and stubbornness tossed aside, you weren’t thinking straight anymore, so you chose to let it go for now.

As you walked through the hallway with the cleaning bucket, your eyes landed on that door—the locked door.

The secret room.

What was Harry hiding behind it? There were no keys in sight, so how would you ever get it open?

Did Mia know about this room?

When you walked in to check on her, her eyes were closed; was she asleep? Just as you turned to slip out quietly, you caught a hint of a muffled sound—no, she was crying.

“Mia? Are you okay?”

She sniffled and nodded, but kept her eyes shut. You moved to sit beside her on the couch. “Hey, what’s wrong, honey?”

“Nothing... just nothing.”

You gently patted her head. “You sure? You can tell me. I'll keep it between us, I promise.”

“My mom and dad... I hate them, especially my mom. They decided to get divorced without even consulting me. I don’t want them to split up, but they didn’t even ask how I feel. They won’t love me anymore, and they’re going to be busier with their work.”

“Shh, don’t think like that. Of course, they’ll still love you. They’re your parents, and their love for you will never fade, I assure you.”

“How do you know?”

“Because a mother’s love for her child is unconditional; it can’t just vanish. You're not the reason they're breaking up, I swear. Sometimes, even if adults love each other, things get messy, and splitting up is the only way to handle it. It might seem like the end, but it can also lead to something better.”

“Really?” she murmured, her eyelids growing heavy.

“Absolutely, trust me. You’re lucky to have both your mom and dad around; I’m sure they’ll take care of you, even if things change. I kind of envy you because I lost my mom, and I'll never get the chance to tell her how much I miss her. I wish she were still alive. As for my dad... it feels like he doesn’t care about me—he doesn’t even bother to call, you know?” Your voice cracked slightly. “But your mom and dad are with you and must have been searching for you all morning, haven’t they, Mia? I’m sure they are worried—”

Looking down, you saw that she had fallen asleep, holding your hand tightly. A smile crossed your face as you wrapped your other arm around her. Suddenly, you felt tired too, and before you knew it, you drifted off beside her.

“Mia? Sweetie?” Maria called out for her daughter.

You blinked awake, realizing Harry’s face was mere inches from yours, and his hand was gently resting on your cheek. You stared at him for a moment before pushing his hand away and getting off the couch.

How did you even fall asleep?

Mia stirred and rubbed her eyes. “Mom?”

“What happened to your knee?” Maria's voice rang out.

“It’s nothing, just a little scrape. I fell in the street, and she helped me clean and bandage it.” She pointed to you.

All eyes turned to you, but you avoided their gazes. You forced a smile at Mia and quickly looked away. “I think it’s time for me to go. I hope you enjoyed my service, Mr. Castillo,” you said, trying to sound casual as you made your way to the door.

Oliver stood by the entryway, looking guilty.

“Wait,” Harry called after you. Just then, Maria touched your shoulder.

“Thank you. I’m so relieved that Mia has been with you all day,” she said, pulling you into a hug that took you by surprise.

“You’re welcome, she’s a very smart girl,” you replied, feeling a bit evasive.

She beamed at you, and you offered a smile back, though it felt awkward given the situation.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” Harry approached you from behind, his voice soft but insistent.

You turned to face him. “With whom? With your girlfriend? Or with your maid-in?”

Harry let out a troubled sigh, his frustration evident as he glared at you. You turned away again. “There’s nothing to talk about,” you said, stepping closer to the door.

Maria nudged Harry from behind, encouraging him to move. He stepped in front of you, causing you to halt abruptly.

“How can you say there’s nothing to talk about? There’s plenty,” he insisted, moving closer and locking eyes with you.

You turned your head away again. “Were you trying to get revenge? If you wanted to talk, you should have spoken up sooner.”

“Revenge?” he replied, confused.

“So because I lied to you from the start and deceived you, this was your way of getting back at me?”

“I would never, never do that,” he shook his head, his expression earnest.

“Is it out of pity then?”

His brown eyes darkened with frustration. “You know it’s not like that.”

“Then why, Harry? Why did you hire me for this job without giving me a heads-up? You totally deceived me. Did you actually enjoy watching me on camera the whole time?”

“I’m sorry. I felt responsible because you were unemployed because of me, and I wanted to help—”

“It wasn’t because of you! Besides, I could have found a job myself. You didn’t need to use your money or power. Did you really think I would feel better about this? Right now, I just feel like a complete idiot. How could you do this to me?”

Maria took Mia’s hand and started to leave. “You two talk it out; we’ll give you some space, come on, Ollie.”

“No, there’s nothing left to say,” you snapped angrily.

"But you'll forgive him later, won't you?"

"Of course, I love him."

Oh no, that sounds just like what you told Mia earlier.

Did she record you?

"Mia!" you complained, glancing at her.

She just shrugged, holding her tablet. "Sorry, my finger slipped."

"That's my girl," Mia said with a giggle, as she high-fived her.

Oliver chuckled, and Harry smiled.

But you narrowed your eyes at them, feeling furious.

"Oops, we should get going," she said to her mother. They quickly headed for the elevator, leaving you alone with Harry.

But before you could go after them, Harry came up behind you, wrapping his arms around you and lifting you off your feet.

“What are you doing? Harry! Put me down!”

“Nope. You're going to listen, sweetheart. No more running away.”

“Let go!” you protested, but he refused to budge.

He carried you to the couch and set you down next to him, holding your hands tightly, but you turned your head away.

“Baby, please forgive me. I tried to explain before, but I just couldn’t find the right words. I thought helping you find a job would make you happy. I never meant to offend or hurt you; please believe that.”

“Did it have to be your house?” you grumbled.

“Isn’t this better than being at someone else's place?”

You narrowed your eyes at him.

His hand trembled as he sighed. “I mean, I hate this too. It hurts to see you so exhausted, to watch you work so hard, and I can’t stand the thought of your beautiful hands being worn down in those cleaning gloves. I want to kiss those lovely fingers, to cherish them.”

As he began to kiss your fingers one by one, your heart raced. You almost let your guard down, almost kissed him.

Almost.

“Harry,” you whispered. “This is my job, and—”

“Don’t,” he interjected, frustration evident in his voice. “Can’t you just skip the cleaning? You can keep working with Chef Bruno, but please, no more cleaning.”

“Is it because you don’t want to introduce your girlfriend in that way?”

“No, what I mean is—”

You stood up, your frustration boiling over. “I’m sorry, but this is my life. I have no problem introducing you to my friends, but it seems you hesitate to do the same. I can’t change who I am.”

He rose to his feet as well. “I don’t know how we ended up here. I never intended for this to happen. Listen-”

“Harry, you listen. I understand your intentions, and I appreciate them, but I wish you had considered how I might feel in all of this. And I can't do this if...”

“Wait a minute, why do I feel like you’re giving a breakup speech?”

“Because I am,” you said, tears brimming in your eyes.

“No, no, no, don’t do that.” He moved closer, but you took a step back and raised your hand.

“We agreed there would be no secrets between us, but we couldn’t even manage that. How can our relationship develop from here?”

“There are no secrets left now that everything is out in the open,” he said, trying to smile. You crossed your arms and bit your lip, acknowledging his point. Then he drew nearer and wrapped his arms around you.

“I promise, baby, there will never be any secrets between us again, I swear,” he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head, his breath soft and tender. “Please don’t leave me.” The plea struck deep within you, twisting like a knife. How could you even entertain such a thought? The very idea of parting from him was unbearable, a wound that throbbed in your chest and brought stinging tears to your eyes. It was the last thing you wanted—a painful notion that sent ripples of hurt through your heart.

In that moment, you set aside all other emotions and surrendered to the warmth of his embrace, allowing yourself to rest your head on his chest for a while.

“What about that locked room?” you asked then, glancing toward it, wiping your tears meanwhile. “I wonder what you’re hiding behind that door.”

A sly grin crept across his face. “Do you want to see it? But promise me that once you see what’s inside, you’ll tell me you love me again, and you won’t leave me. Deal?”

“It all depends on what’s in there.”

He chuckled, then walked into the bedroom, still holding your hand. Nervousness washed over you as you tried to pull your hand back.

“Relax, I’m not trying to lure you into bed,” he laughed. “At least, not right now.”

“You wish,” you grunted.

He chuckled as he opened the nightstand drawer. “Funny. You were practically begging me last night. I can still hear you meowing.”

Your cheeks flushed. “I don’t remember any of that,” you lied.

He pulled out a box from the drawer and took out a key. “I have the scars on my back to prove it, kitten,” he teased.

Your face was burning now, as red as a tomato. “Stop it and do what you need to do.”

Chuckling, he held up the key, “Here it is; come on,” taking your hand again.

Together, you stood in front of the locked door. Harry inserted the key into the lock and paused to look at you. “Are you ready, baby? The big secret is about to be revealed.”

You rolled your eyes. “Stop showing off and open the damn door,” you muttered.

Grinning, he unlocked the door and stepped back, inviting you in with his hand.

You hesitated before stepping into the room, shocked at what you saw.

To your left stood a massive floor-to-ceiling wardrobe filled with clothes, and to your right was a complete wardrobe of bags and shoes. In the center was an elegant dressing table. Harry slid open the wardrobe, revealing all the clothes and shoes he had ever bought you, carefully arranged. He embraced you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder and kissing your cheek. “It’s all yours. This room is for you. I was waiting for you to say yes to me before I revealed it to you. I kept it locked and tried to stay away, but I found it hard to resist many times,” he whispered, nuzzling along the curve of your neck.

You were rendered speechless, taken aback. Then you noticed a jewelry box on the dresser. “Isn’t that the earring?” You walked over, picked it up, and examined it closely. “Have you had this all along?”

“Oops, looks like another secret is out,” he said with a chuckle.

You shot him a pointed look. “You really. Why didn’t you say anything when I told you I would pay you back?”

“Because you broke my heart,” he replied softly. “You told me you never wanted to see me again, so I thought the earring would be a good excuse to get you to meet me.”

“You're unbelievable,” you shot back, your irritation surfacing.

“What about you?” he countered, but then his expression softened as he noticed the look on your face. “I love you,” he confessed, his lips forming the word like an apology.

Damn he was so cute.

His adorableness made you giggle despite yourself.

“You didn’t say it again.”

“Say what?”

“Do you want me to make you say it? Just like last night,” he whispered, leaning in close. “You remember how well that turned out.” His lips brushed against your earlobe as his hand slowly slipped down, hovering dangerously close to your thigh. Your reaction was instinctive; you caught his hand. However, his lips found their way to your neck, and you couldn't help but bite your lower lip and roll your eyes. “Harry, stop.”

“I know you want me, baby; don’t try to deny it,” he purred, his voice low and teasing.

“No, you’re wrong,” you replied, almost breathless.

“Then why are you holding my hand so tightly?” he whispered, a smirk playing on his lips.

You withdrew your hand quickly, shocked at your own reaction.

What the fuck?

When did this escalate?

You frowned at his chuckle. “I really hate you,” you whined, though your irritation was half-hearted.

“No, you don't,” he laughed, clearly enjoying the banter.

“Well, I really like this room, but that doesn’t mean I forgive you. And it definitely doesn’t mean I’m ready to jump into bed with you,” you declared stubbornly.

“Then what do I need to do to win your forgiveness? I’ll do anything,” he said, voice dripping with seduction.

The look he gave you was enough to make you avert your gaze.

“I don’t know; I need to think,” you said, fighting back a giggle. “But I have to go now—I told Bruno I would head to the hotel early.” You turned to leave the room.

He followed right behind you. “I’ll give you a ride.”

You responded without looking back. “Well, if you’re that eager.”

With a smile, he followed you behind as you walked toward the elevator.

“Have you forgiven me yet?” Harry asked again as he parked the car in front of the hotel.

“You just asked me that five minutes ago."

“I’ll keep asking until you say you forgive me,” he replied, shutting off the engine.

You opened the door and turned to him. “At least let me think it over.”

He took your hand, pulled you closer, and placed a quick kiss on your cheek. “Whatever you say, kitty. Good luck at work.”

“Thanks for the ride,” you said with a faint smile, stepping out and closing the door behind you.

As you made your way to the hotel entrance, Harry watched you from the driver’s seat. Just then, you spotted Alan getting out of his own car, heading your way.

“Good evening,” he greeted you.

You turned and smiled, “Good evening, Mr. Finnegan.”

“Come on, call me Alan already, will you?”

Harry, watching from a distance, muttered, “Asshole.” Trying to keep his cool, he stepped out of the car and approached you two. “Baby,” he called out, and before you could react, he spun you around and kissed you so passionately that it left you breathless. Pulling back, he glanced at Alan and added, “I almost took off without kissing my girlfriend goodbye.” The way he said “girlfriend” caught his attention and everyone around the street.

Alan’s expression darkened.

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks, caught off-guard by how intimate the kiss had been.

“Anyway, I should be on my way,” he said.

"Yeah, you do that," you said, squinting at him and gesturing for him to leave.

“Good night, Finnegan,” Harry said, getting into his car, clearly amused by Alan's reaction.

Shaking your head at Harry, you noticed Alan squinting at him, clearly unamused. “I didn’t realize you were with him,” Alan said as he walked inside.

“Well, things are a bit complicated,” you murmured.

“Not surprising, things always get messy with Castillo,” Alan muttered quietly.

“Excuse me?”

“I just... You really should think twice about being with him,” he warned lightly.

“Alan, it’s—”

“Anyway, I suppose my employees’ personal lives are none of my business,” he said with a smirk, heading toward the elevator.

What just happened?

Why had he said that?

And why was he suddenly in a good mood?

You really should have asked Harry about the weird thing between them, but now you had to focus—you had a kitchen to get to.

Things were really hectic in the kitchen, and as if that weren’t enough, Alan was having a business lunch in the dining room and asked you to make some desserts just for him. As you handed off the treats to the waitstaff, he called you over and praised your work. If he wasn’t your boss, you might have said something about his overwhelming attention, but you figured it was best to keep quiet until your internship was over. Then, just when you thought the day couldn’t get any worse, Melanie called.

“What do you want?” you asked, annoyed.

“What do I want? I need you to talk to my dad, and I want you to do it right now, like you promised!”

“I will, but I've been super busy and haven’t had time yet.”

“Well, it’s on you. If my dad doesn’t let me come back home, I’ll just crash at your place.”

“Wait, what? You called my house a disgusting little flat. Aren’t you with Nate? Can’t he help you out?”

“Don’t even mention that jerk!”

“Did you two break up already? Wow, that was quick, even for you.”

“Just drop it, okay? It’s none of your business. Talk to my dad tomorrow night or I’ll make your life miserable!”

“As if you weren’t already a pain in my ass!” you shot back and hung up in frustration. As you walked toward the exit, muttering under your breath, someone called out from behind.

Ugh, it was Alan again.

“Are you okay? You sounded like you were venting at someone on the phone,” he said, wearing that annoying smile.

“Sorry about that, I didn’t mean to raise my voice.”

“Well, if you did it, they probably deserved it,” he said, grinning.

Just when you thought it was over, you turned to leave but almost bumped into the revolving door. Alan grabbed your arm, pulling you back.

“Watch out!” he said.

What the hell?

You could’ve easily dodged the door; you weren't that clumsy. His other arm wrapped around you, too.

“Thanks, but I’m fine,” you said, carefully pushing his hand away. “Have a good night.”

“You too,” he replied, watching you walk away as you stormed out. Your phone buzzed again, but you ignored it; you weren’t in the mood for more of Melanie’s drama.

Suddenly, you heard footsteps behind you and turned to see Harry.

“Why didn’t you answer your phone? Are you okay?” he asked, and just seeing him made you feel so much better.

“Yeah, sorry, thought it was Melanie,” you said, spotting the bouquet of pink roses he was holding.

“Is she still being a pain?”

“Forget about her; I’ll handle it. Are those for me?” you asked, trying to hide your smile.

“Of course they are, beautiful,” he said, handing you the flowers.

“Thanks,” you said, taking a whiff of the roses.

“Come on, let’s get to the car.”

As you walked together, he leaned closer. “Am I forgiven?”

You rolled your eyes. “Not in a day, ol'man.”

Harry sighed and opened the back door for you. “So, if I asked you to spend the night at my apartment instead of going home, you wouldn’t consider it?”

Ah, damn...

Those puppy-dog eyes and dangerously tempting lips made it hard to say no, but you somehow managed to act like you weren't interested, thanks to your stubbornness.

And the oscar goes to...

“N-no, sorry, I need to check on Zoe. She’s still home alone,” you stammered.

He sighed again and closed the door after you settled in the car.

“Hey, Ollie,” you said while he was chilling in the driver’s seat.

“Hey, girl! How’s it going? You two good now?”

“We’re good, right, baby?” Harry said, sitting next to you.

“Kind of,” you muttered, still eyeing the roses in your lap.

“Kind of?” Harry raised an eyebrow.

You shrugged, teasing him.

“Come on, really? Okay, I’m taking you on a date tomorrow night, and we’re going to sort everything out,” Harry grumbled.

“Uh-oh,” Oliver chimed in as he drove.

You squinted at Harry. “If you ask me with that tone, you might be going on that date alone.”

“Okay, sorry,” he said with a sigh. "Would you like to accompany me for dinner tomorrow night, lovely lady?"

You giggled but kept your expression cool. “Um, let me check my calendar first.”

Oliver chuckled.

Harry squinted again.

“Alright, fine. But I need to have a quick chat with Jack tomorrow. If he agrees, you can pick me up at the hotel again.”

He smiled widely taking your hand and bringing it to his lips. “As you wish, darling.”

As you stepped into the apartment, the sweet scent of the bouquet Harry had given you lingered in the air, enveloping you until you finally reached your place with the flowers cradled in your arms. When you opened the door and walked inside, you were taken aback by the scene in front of you.

“Oh sweet Jesus!”

John and Zoe were on the couch, wrapped up in a passionate kiss—thankfully, they were fully dressed. The moment they noticed you, they pulled apart, and John shot up from the couch, his face a canvas of embarrassment.

But you felt even more embarrassed. “Oh, I’m sorry, guys, I, uh…”

“No, no, no, I’m so sorry!” John stuttered, quickly averting his gaze, adjusting his hair.

“Awkward,” Zoe murmured, covering her mouth in surprise. “I thought you were with your boyfriend,” she added, glancing at you and the bouquet still in your hands.

“Well, yeah… I mean, no, I wasn’t. It’s a long story.”

“I’d better be going. Bye, girls. Good night,” John said, grabbing his jacket and making a hasty exit.

Once the door closed behind him, you turned back to Zoe. "Jesus, girl, what just happened?"

Zoe huffed in disbelief. "I have no idea! He helped me change my bandage, touched my leg and then… suddenly we kissed. It was so strange, but it felt amazing."

“Strange”? You seemed pretty into it."

“It might have turned into something really hot if you hadn’t barged in,” she replied with a hint of annoyance.

“Sue me,” you muttered, placing the flowers in a vase on the table.

“I didn’t think you’d be back so soon. You were with him last night, right?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, it’s a long story.”

“Still not officially together? Seriously, get your shit together already. What’s going on with you two?”

You let out a deep sigh. “I don’t know. Just when I think things are finally going well, something messes it all up, and I'm left feeling hurt again…”

“Uh-oh, spill everything.”

"Okay, do you want something cold to drink?"

"Yes, please! I’m dying of heat over here."

You giggled as you made your way to the fridge. “So if I had come in five minutes later, would you have been completely undressed? Good thing I didn’t.”

“You're so bad,” she laughed.

You began the day with that text that pinged on your phone the moment you woke up, that familiar message from the person you had been longing to hear from, the one you had been waiting for eagerly.

Morning, kitten. The sun is shining, the birds are singing— Isn't it the perfect day to make you feel like forgiving?

Was he rhyming?

He was really good at it or bad not sure, but he would have to try a little harder.

Hmm. I'm not sure if today is the day. You'll know for sure tonight, doll. I'll make you. Hmm, how ambitious. Always I am.

After you changed, you stepped into the living room and saw Zoe was getting ready.

“Where are you off to?”

“To the hospital to get my ankle checked.”

“Do you want some company?”

“John will,” she replied with a cheeky smile. “Besides, you’ll be off on your date with Harry tonight, right?”

Your cheeks warmed at the thought. “Well, yes, maybe.”

“I’m planning to invite John over for dinner, and he’d better come clean about something tonight.”

“Oh, I see, you’re trying to get rid of me, huh?”

"Come on, he shares an apartment with three guys; it’s more convenient for us to be here."

“Okay, don’t worry, I won’t crash tonight,” you replied with a grin, thoughts drifting to Harry’s bedroom.

“Awesome!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands.

“Wow, you could be a bit less eager about this.”

“Sorry, but I can’t help it, I’m in love,” she said, giggling.

“Apology accepted,” you responded, grabbed your bag, and headed out the door. Just then, you bumped into John in the hallway. “Hey."

“Hey there. How’s work treating you?”

"Good. Listen, John, can I ask you something?"

"Sure, what’s up?"

"Do you have feelings for Zoe?"

"Yes, she’s a wonderful person, and cute too," he said, smiling.

He was definitely into her.

“I mean, I thought there was something going on between you and that woman Lucy at the wedding. I need to know if you really like Zoe.”

"Lucy is just my childhood friend and ex. But, don't you know her already?"

"I only know she's Alan's girlfriend and a matchmaker."

John crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. "Surprised that Castillo hasn’t told you about her."

“What’s there to tell?”

John let out a troubled sigh. “You know, I’m not sure if it’s a good time for me to drop this on you, but those two were actually together a few years ago.”

Damn, you were worried about this. "So that’s why," you murmured after a brief pause.

“Listen, he will share the details with you, but Lucy isn't like you or Zoe. She deceived both me and Castillo, leaving us heartbroken in the end. I can't hold a grudge against her because we share this strange bond, but I promise you, I’ll never hurt Zoe because of this."

You nodded. "It better stay that way, John. You should tell her as soon as possible, or I will," you said. After receiving a nod from him, you turned and headed down the stairs to leave the building.

All day long, as you worked, your thoughts kept drifting back to Lucy. You regretted asking John about her. It wasn’t just that Harry hadn’t mentioned her—after all, that was fine considering the incident had happened years ago. What truly unnerved you was the possibility of her showing up at any moment, especially as Alan's girlfriend. It felt like trouble was just around the corner, and you couldn’t shake that feeling. Alan himself was another source of tension; his frequent encounters with you and his growing interest were weighing heavily on your mind. You knew deep down that sooner or later, things were bound to get complicated.

You really hoped this internship would wrap up soon, and that Chef Bruno would write you a glowing letter of recommendation. Yet, with the fair approaching and the day ticking down, you had to press on through the culinary internship.

Earlier, you'd called Jack, and he had already said he wanted to meet. As you waited at the table, you spotted him approaching and stood up to greet him. "Thanks for taking the time to meet me here," you said, shaking Jack's hand as he took a seat across from you.

"Of course, no problem," he replied, settling into his seat.

"Jack, about Melanie—"

"Save your breath, honey. I’m not here for her."

You were taken aback. "What do you mean? I thought that’s why you came—"

He pulled out a bunch of newspapers and magazines from his bag and dropped them on the table with a bang, making the glasses and plates rattle.

Your eyes went wide. “What’s all this?”

“Why don’t you check for yourself?”

Following his lead, you picked up the top magazine, and your heart sank at the sight of your own image on the cover. Someone had captured a photo of you and Harry dancing at the wedding from a distance.

Who is the mystery girl dancing with famous businessman Harry Castillo? the headline read.

You quickly grabbed another magazine, revealing a picture of you and Melanie.

Get ready for a surprising twist! How did the maid in Melanie Johnson's mansion pretend to be her and trap a famous billionaire?

“Ugh, what a bunch of vultures,” you muttered, shaking your head.

As you continued flipping through the articles, the headlines turned more shocking. Words like "gold digger," "sneaky housekeeper," and "fortune hunter" jumped out at you.

"That's what I was warning you about," Jack said. "I don't want you to worry, though—none of these magazines have been printed yet. These are all test editions. We managed to confiscate them before they went into mass production, and Harry’s assistant has ensured the online stories have been taken down."

You looked up at him, relief washing over you. "Thank you, Jack."

"You don’t need to thank me for dealing with the news, which includes Melanie; I did that for my own reasons. But regarding the rest..." He pointed to the magazine cover with your dancing picture. "This is the thing I wanted to discuss. I see you as a daughter, so take this advice from a father to his daughter: end whatever is happening between you and Harry before it spirals out of control. If this keeps up, there’ll be more stories about you, people will dig into your past, and in the end, it’s you who’ll get hurt. Do you understand?"

You sighed. "Jack, I honestly get what you’re saying, and I do appreciate it. But there's nothing in my past or family that I’m worried about. Gossip like this finds someone new to focus on every day; it could just as easily be me one day and someone else the next."

He paused for a moment, then nodded slowly. "So, it appears there's something more between you two than I realized. You've made up your mind. Well, it's your life, after all. I just hope you don’t wind up hurt and come to regret this decision.”

"Jack."

You both turned your heads, and damn it was—Alan. He usually didn’t come to the hotel on Saturday nights, but today was clearly an exception.

Of course.

Jack stood up to shake his hand. "Alan."

"How are you? Didn’t see you at the wedding."

"I was in D.C.," Jack replied. Just then, his phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket and answered. Alan looked at you with a smile, and you returned it.

Damn, he might have noticed the magazines on the table, you thought.

"Sorry, I’ve got to leave," Jack said suddenly.

You stood up, worry creeping in. "Is everything okay?"

"Melanie," he hissed, frustration clear in his voice. "She ran away from home."

"What do you mean she ran away? Or have you been keeping her locked up?" Your voice rose higher than you meant it to.

You couldn't shake off the memory of that one time Jack had locked her in her room, and it had ended poorly. A shudder ran through you at the thought.

"I had no choice. I thought she’d see reason and come to her senses, but apparently, I was wrong."

"Jack, are you out of your mind? Do you really not know your daughter? Locking her up isn’t the solution!"

Heads in the dining room turned toward you.

"You’re right. I messed up this time, but I couldn’t let her keep hanging out with that playboy Nate."

"I can’t say I blame you for that," you replied quietly.

"Anyway, I really have to go. Catch you later, Alan."

"See you, Jack."

As Jack strolled away, casting a backward glance, a heavy sadness settled in your chest. Melanie hadn't matured much and was acting like a nightmare. Despite his faults, Jack was a good father—if only he showed a little more genuine care to his daughter more than his work.

"Sounds like Melanie’s giving Jack a rough time," Alan said, still holding onto that smile.

"Yeah, she’s a bit immature," you admitted quietly.

To your surprise, Alan looked around the table and sat down in Jack’s vacated chair.

"Have a seat; your dessert's still waiting."

You did your best to keep it together and not roll your eyes. "Thanks, but I really need to go—"

"Just give me five minutes, alright?" he said, leaning in a bit closer.

You glanced at your watch, thinking about how Harry would be picking you up in about an hour. With a sigh, you plopped back down. "Fine."

"Thanks," he said, adjusting his suit jacket and settling in. "I know what happened here last time." You looked at him in surprise; this wasn't what you expected. "About what Lucy did..." He paused and took a breath. "I want to say sorry on her behalf."

Your eyes widened. “Alan, it’s okay. But if you start treating me differently because of her, it will only make her dislike me more. Plus, this kind of stuff probably isn't over yet."

“It won’t happen again,” he stated firmly. “I won’t allow it in my hotel. I broke up with her, and I doubt she will be coming back here.”

“That can’t be the only reason you decided to break up with her, right?”

He smiled and shook his head. “No, but it played a part. It’s disgraceful to have such disrespect shown here, especially towards our customers. I was wrong about her; she’s not the kind and innocent person I thought she was.”

"I’m sorry," you said, your tone a touch insincere.

"Not me," he replied with a grin. "I’m kind of relieved."

What was that supposed to mean?

A nagging feeling grew as you sensed he was gearing up to say something you wouldn’t like.

"One of the reasons I broke up was because of a question she asked me."

Oh, please, let this be over.

"She wanted to know if I had feelings for you."

You fought to maintain a neutral expression.

Don't say that, please don't.

"I couldn't answer her because, honestly, I actually have feelings for you that I didn't realize until now."

That was more than you could handle.

"Alan, do you even realize what you’re saying?"

"Yes, I’m fully aware."

You sighed deeply. "Maybe you’re mistaken," you suggested, looking away and starting to shake your foot nervously.

"No, I absolutely know how I feel now. I like you." He reached across the table and took your hand, catching you off guard.

You quickly pulled away. "Alan, I’m with Harry."

"You mentioned before that things were complicated between you two," he said, casually picking up one of the magazines.

"That doesn’t mean I don’t love him," you shot back, your voice sharp.

His serious expression told you he wasn’t taking it lightly.

You stood up, feeling a surge of urgency. "Look, Alan, whatever you’re feeling, you need to let it go, or I won’t be able to stay here."

"Are you really going to quit your internship?"

"If I have to, yes," you affirmed.

"Alright, I won’t pressure you unless you come to me yourself."

Surprise and annoyance washed over you. "That’s not going to happen."

He leaned back in his chair, a knowing smile on his face. "Don’t be so sure; life has a funny way of surprising us.”

What the fuck?

Your phone started ringing, and you just held it in your hand without answering as you rushed out of the dining room, still shaken by what had just happened. It was Nate calling, so you definitely weren't picking up; you quickly silenced your phone. Taking a deep breath, you let it all go and shifted your focus to getting ready for your date. Harry had offered to buy you a dress again earlier, but you turned him down. This date was meant to feel like a fresh start, a first date of sorts, and you wanted to treat yourself to the entire process.

During lunch break, you popped into one of those upscale department stores and slipped into the black, shimmering backless dress you had chosen—probably the priciest dress you had ever bought, costing almost four months' salary. You tried to keep a positive mindset; nothing would ruin tonight. The expensive Birman black shoes that Melanie had given you the night before matches perfectly with the dress. Just as you were putting the finishing touches on your makeup, your phone rang again, but your smile quickly faded when you glanced at the screen.

It wasn’t Harry.

Seeing "Trouble" light up the screen only added to your anxiety.

No way were you picking up.

The phone could ring its heart out. When it rang again as you reached for your red lipstick—perfectly matching your nails—you pushed on, determined to finish your look.

However, the incessant ringing soon got on your nerves, and you finally answered, ready to give Melanie a piece of your mind. “Look, I can’t deal with your drama right now—”

“It’s me, Garry.”

You could barely hear him over the loud music in the background. “Garry? What are you doing on Melanie’s phone? And where in the world are you?”

“I’ve been keeping an eye on her for a while; she’s completely wasted, and I don’t know how to handle this. Please, I need your help.”

“Look, I have a very important date tonight—”

“And it seems we have our new volunteer dancer!” a woman’s voice chimed in, followed by masculine cheers and applause.

Oh man.

“Don’t tell me you’re at a strip club!”

“You just heard it. I’ll try to drag her out of here, but you need to hurry. I’ll send you the location.” Garry hung up before you could say anything. “Garry! Hold on—what the hell! What kind of night is this?” you exclaimed, quickly changing up your outfit and bolting out of the room.

When the taxi driver brought you in front of the strip club, you were cursing inside, nervous and angry. It was too much, the strip club was too much, even for her. How could she be so thoughtless and reckless?

At the entrance to the door, unfortunately, everyone was staring at you, including the women.

Oh that's right, you were all dressed up, probably looked breathtaking, but it wasn't to come here, damn it, it was to meet your boyfriend.

Things got even worse when you entered the club. You've never been in a club like this before, it wasn't like other nightclubs.

You're thinking, No shit, I wish it was.

The music was blaring, and two girls were dancing on stage. Some men were cheering and staring at you.

Great.

Ignoring the gazes, you spotted Garry and made your way to him. However, just like the other guys, he seemed fixated on the girls performing. “Hey!” you nudged him.

“Oh you're here? Wow girl, you look great, but I wish you hadn't come here wearing a dress like this.” he said, looking around at the men.

“I couldn't change because you called me while I was getting ready for my date.”

“Oh, I'm sorry, but Melanie's gone crazy.”

“Where is she?”

“She was going on stage and tripped and fell, I was tried to check her but the women wouldn't let me in. That's why I called you.”

“Goddamn it,” you grumbled, shoving your purse at him. “Hold this, I’ll go get her, and then we’ll all head to the car together, okay?”

“Got it. I’ll wait here.”

Just as you left, Garry couldn’t help himself when your phone started ringing non-stop. He didn’t think to check your purse without asking, but when it rang like crazy, he finally picked it up. “Yeah?”

Harry nearly wrecked his car when he heard a guy’s voice on the other end. “Who the hell are you? Why are you answering my girlfriend’s phone?”

“Mr. Castillo, you probably don’t remember me, but I’m Mr. Johnson's driver.”

“Wait, is that club music I hear? Where is she?”

“We're at the strip club. It’s kind of complicated.”

Harry was stunned and slammed on the brakes, making the tires screech on the road. The car behind him honked and yelled, but he didn’t care. “Just tell me where the club is!”

"Melanie, I swear to God, if you don't come with me right now, I'll drag you out of here by yanking your hair if I have to! I'll do it, believe me, I will!"

“Not until Nate gets here!” she snapped.

The girl was not only drunk but also trying to climb onto the stage. You were tugging at her from behind the curtain, hoping Garry could lend a hand, but she was putting up a fight.

“Hey, you two, get lost! Stay clear of the stage!” one of the dancers hissed at you.

“I'm not interested; as you see, I'm trying to get her out of here!” you retorted, still struggling to pull Melanie back.

“No! I’m going up there! I paid for it!” Melanie shouted defiantly.

“What did you just say?” you exclaimed, bewildered. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Leave them alone, girls,” an older woman chimed in, casting a knowing glance at you. “The guys who wanted you on stage shelled out a lot of cash,” she said with a sly smile.

Melanie laughed. “See? They’re dying to see me! Nate needs to get over here right now, call him!”

“It wasn’t for you,” the woman replied, eyes darting between Melanie and you. She surveyed you up and down, a smirk playing on her lips. “They paid for you, sweetheart.”

Your eyes widened in disbelief. “I’m not a dancer or stripper.”

“That doesn’t matter, darling. You look fantastic. I could even give you half the take.”

“What the fuck? You promised me that I’d go on stage! Not her!”

You narrowed your eyes and glared at Melanie. “No one’s going up there!” you shouted firmly.

“Enough with this! Girls,” the woman called out, and the two dancers approached you, trying to take off your jacket.

“Hey! Get your hands off me! What do you think you’re doing?” you exclaimed, wrestling against them.

“Come on, sweetheart, don’t overreact. Just trust yourself,” she replied, grabbing your wrist. But before she could pull you away, someone else seized her arm and pushed it back.

“Leave her alone!”

When you spotted Harry, a mix of surprise and embarrassment washed over you, yet relief followed quickly. He grabbed your arm, pulling you behind him, and draped his jacket around you, wrapping you with it.

“Hey, mister, what do you think you’re doing?” the woman asked, taken aback.

"If you touch my girl again, I'll bring this club down!" Harry growled.

Just then, a man approached you two, dressed in a suit. "Mr. Castillo, there's been a terrible misunderstanding. Please forgive us, sir." He then turned to the girls. "Get back to work and return the money to those customers."

"And give me back my jacket!" you shouted.

Harry reached over, snatched it from one of the girls, and pulled you closer. "Are you okay?"

You nodded. "Yeah, thanks. Melanie! Harry, stop her!" you exclaimed, pointing at her. Harry grasped her arm and pulled her away from the stage.

That's when Nate strolled in, his phone in hand, ready to take pictures. "Oh no, did I miss the show?"

The son of a bitch was grinning.

"It's all your fault!" you shot back at him.

Garry came over to Melanie. "Miss Johnson, let’s head to the car, please."

Melanie clung to Harry's arm touching his face. "Hey, old man, want a lap dance?" She was clearly trying to make Nate jealous, but it was Harry she had her hands on.

Your man.

Harry chuckled as he gently pushed her hand away. "Sorry, sweetheart, but I'm not interested."

Wait a minute.

Not only was Melanie, but almost all the women dancers were looking Harry up and down. A wave of jealousy washed over you.

And then you lost it.

You were so angry that you pulled her off of him by the hair. "You little slut, who do you think you're touching?" You pushed her towards Nate. "Take your girlfriend and get the hell out of my life! Garry, you call Jack right now!" you said to him. Grabbing Harry's hand tightly, "Let's get the hell out of here." you urged.

He was still laughing as you pulled him out with you.

“Stop laughing, Harry,” you scolded as you made your way to the car.

“But you were so cute when you protected me from real Melanie back there,” he replied, still chuckling.

You paused and turned to face him. “Are you really enjoying this?”

“Actually I don’t know what to think. Do you know how angry I was when I saw you here with those women? And those men… the way they look at you? I think I hate the real Melanie.”

“Welcome to the club,” you replied sarcastically. “But I’m sorry; you are right. I shouldn't have come here. Tonight was supposed to be special, and now it’s all ruined—just like my hair,” you said, running your fingers through your locks.

Harry glanced at the clock. “Um, the restaurant is about to close.”

“I really messed up,” you said, biting your lip. “I’ve ruined everything.”

He gently took your face in his hands. “Nothing’s ruined, baby. We’re going to plan B.”

“You had a plan B?” you asked, intrigued.

“I just came up with it,” he said with a grin. “Come on, we’re starting over.”

You smiled. “Okay, but where’s your car?”

“There it is,” he said, pointing to a red sport car.

Your eyes widened in surprise. “But it’s a Mustang GT!”

“That’s right. I rented it just for tonight,” he said, pulling the keys from his pocket and handing them to you. “So, am I forgiven now?”

You snatched the keys from his grasp. “Let me take it for a spin, and I’ll think about it.”

He laughed, and as you slid into the driver’s seat, he took the passenger seat beside you. You fastened your seatbelt and started the engine. “Hold on tight, ol'man.”

“Drive carefully, honey. The streets of New York are a whole different beast compared to the traffic you dealt with back in Paris.”

You shot him a playful glance before slamming your foot on the gas. “I accept the challenge.”

“Hey, that wasn’t a challenge,” he retorted, his eyes wide as he clutched the seat.

You laughed, the thrill coursing through you. “Relax! A little excitement never hurt anyone.”

“You excite me enough in that dress, babe,” he grinned, glancing at you with a mix of admiration and mischief.

After a few exhilarating laps, embarrassment washed over you when the flashing lights of a police radar caught you speeding through the night. Still, you found a way to enjoy the moment, laughing together as you swung by a 24-hour diner to grab some late-night munchies before heading toward Harry’s building. “Wow, that was an incredible ride."

“Yeah, it was a blast, even if it’s going to cost me a few hundred bucks in fines,” Harry said, opening the car door.

“Oops, sorry about that,” you said, stepping out of the car.

As he opened the trunk, he pulled out a huge bouquet of roses. “If it hadn’t been for that strip club incident, I would have met you at the hotel with this.”

“Harry,” you murmured, touched.

“Here you go, Cinderella—99 roses.”

You raised an eyebrow as you accepted the bouquet. “Why not a hundred?”

“That’s you,” he said, smiling sweetly. “The hundredth rose is you.”

You felt yourself melting at his words.

“That’s very romantic, ol'man. Thank you,” you said, reaching out to kiss his cheek.

“So, you forgive me now, right?” he asked, extending his arm so you could take it.

“Come here,” you said, encouraging him to lean closer. He complied, and you shared a tender kiss, sweet and gentle. “You’re forgiven, Mr. Castillo.”

He grinned, wrapping his arms around your waist, leaning in to kiss you again, this time with more passion, the world around you fading away. But since you were still out on the street, you gently pushed him back, laughter in your eyes. “Save the rest for later, mister.”

He chuckled, pulling you closer with one arm still wrapped around your waist, and together you strolled toward the entrance.

“Here we have some Bordeaux wine,” he said as you unpacked the food and set the plates on the table.

“Parfait,” you replied with a smile, embracing the French language.

With skilled hands, he uncorked the wine using a polished corkscrew, the soft pop echoing in the cozy room, and poured the ruby liquid into your glasses, its rich color glinting in the soft light.

“Hmm, delicious,” you remarked, savoring the first sip.

As you shared the meal, the conversation flowed effortlessly, weaving in and out of tales about Melanie and the others, laughter bubbling up like the wine in your glasses. “That’s actually much better,” you said softly, feeling the warmth of the evening. “I mean, it’s better that we’re here than in a bustling restaurant.”

“I couldn’t agree more; it’s just the two of us,” he replied, his fingers entwining with yours.

“Yeah,” you whispered, your gaze locking with his, a deep connection simmering in the air between you.

He sighed and stood up, a hint of excitement in his voice. “I have something for you.”

“Another surprise?” you asked, intrigued.

He returned with a small box, sitting back down and handing it to you across the table. Different from any jewelry box you’d seen, it piqued your curiosity.

“I’ve been thinking about this all day. There’s something I’ve come to realize. I’ve wanted you to be in my world, but I was wrong, I was missing something,” he explained as you opened the box.

Inside lay a card and a key

At once, you recognized them; it was the same card and key you had used so many times for the elevator and the door of the apartment. “Harry,” you breathed out, astonished.

“You said you don’t belong in my world, so let me into yours.”

Your eyes filled with tears as you rose and embraced him tightly. “Thank you. That’s exactly what I needed to hear.”

He pulled you onto his lap, wrapping his arms around you before leaning in for a kiss. Then, he turned on some soft music from the stereo. “Will you dance with me?”

You nodded. “Absolutely.”

You found yourselves swaying together, lost in the slow, sweet melody, savoring the magic of the moment in comfortable silence.

But then the tension between you began to rise. Harry ran his hand through the fabric of your dress. “Great choice of dress by the way.”

“Do you like it?”

“I love it,” he whispered.

“What about my bra?” you said huskily, guiding his hand to the lace strap of it.

“I admire it,” he purred.

You lifted the skirt of the dress, revealing your lace garter stockings. “My stockings?” your eyes twinkling.

He smiled at you and reached out, drawing a circle on your leg with his fingertip. Leaning forward, he placed a kiss on the side of your neck. “I worship it, baby,” he said, his voice breathy and deep.

Your arm found its way around his waist, and your fingertips caressed his back. “Mmm. Keep doing that, please.”

He chuckled and continued, his hands slowly creeping up under your dress. You gave a deep, breathy moan when he latched on to the spot behind your ear, licking, sucking. Getting eager, you found his lips and kissed him, your tongue sweeping into his mouth tentatively. He responded by grabbing your hips and pulling you, lifting you into his lap. Then you broke the kiss to unbutton his shirt.

Taking a brief moment to admire you he let you stripped him out of his shirt before kissing you deeply, exploring your mouth hungrily. Popping the clasp on your bra with ease he let it fell to the floor, whilst he kissed a path between your breasts leaving a trail of goose flesh in his wake. Noticing your nipples were already pert betraying your arousal, taking one between his thumb and forefinger he rolled it making you cried out, lowering his head he circled you other with his tongue before drawing it into his hot mouth and sucking. He could feel his cock straining against the his pants but he ignored it focusing all his attention on you. He repeated the action with your other nipple before moving on, his lips gliding down over your ribs, across your stomach towards the garter belt and waistband of your panties.

Hooking his thumbs into the lace, he pulled the small scrap of material down your shapely legs until you could kick them off, but letting the garter belt still be on you. Kneeling before you he cupped your hips bringing you closer to him inhaling your scent, then he ran his tongue along your wet folds the cry that escaped you when he circled your clit was guttural, he felt his cock throb begging for attention but he ignored it once again. Slowly he worked you over, teasing you with shallow thrusts of his tongue into your velvety softness over and over again until your skin was slick with sweat and your thighs began to tremble.

“Please,” you begged, your fingers tangled in his curls, clinging to him. In answer to your plea, he flicked his tongue over your swollen bundle of nerves until you cried out when your orgasm hit. Keeping a tight grip on your hips, he held you steady, letting you ride it out before kissing his way back up your body, finally claiming your lips once more. You tasted yourself on his tongue, but you didn’t care; you devoured each other desperately.

Once your equilibrium returned, your hands found his belt, quickly you unbuckled it and pulled it from the loops before popping the buttons on his fly and pushing the material down over his hips. He shucked his pants and his boxers off and before he knew it your hand was around the base of his throbbing member and you were pumping him into your fist. He gritted his teeth, "Fuck, baby, you are such a needy kitten aren't you? Good girl. But there’s no way I’ll last if you keep that up."

Taking your hands in his, he threaded your fingers together and crushed his lips to yours once more, pinning you against the wall with your interlocked hands above your head. You gasped in response. His aching cock lied heavily against your core, you shuddered. He realized he couldn’t stand it anymore; he needed to be inside you.

Hoisting you up, he hooked your legs around his waist, pushing into you in one smooth stroke.

"Harry," you moaned, feeling dizzy with incredible consuming lust.

Your hair was plastered to your sweaty face now and in the throes of passion when your pupils dilate, cheeks flushed.

"You're breathtakingly beautiful just like this, darling," he hummed.

You were soft and warm, and your walls gripped him tightly as he thrust into you, making love to you against the wall. God he’s missed you so damn much, burying his head into the crook of your shoulder he picked up his pace, he knew you were close because he can feel your inner walls begin to tremble around him. Your arms were wrapped tightly around his neck, your heels press into his firm ass as he pounds into you deeper and deeper.

As you ran your fingers through his hair down to his neck, spurring him on with sweet cries. "Harder, faster, please."

"Fuck," he growled, pressed his forehead against yours so that he held your gaze as your second orgasm striked. You screamed his name as your body locked up, your sex gripping his cock in an iron grasp.

He made an incoherent sound and cursed as your orgasm triggered his, and he released himself inside of you. You collapsed into each other a hot, sticky, sweaty mess, panting heavily. When finally he caught his breath, he ran his nose along your smiling devilishly down at you.

“So how was it, baby?” he asked waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“Fast, delicious, hair-raisingly good,” you giggled.

"How about a second round? This time in the bedroom?" he panted, still catching his breath.

You tightened your arms around him playfully. “You betcha, mister."

Just as your words finished, he scooped you up and rushed toward the bedroom, causing your laughter to ring out cheekily through the hall.

Thanks for reading! I really appreciate your comments, likes, and reblogs. I'd love to hear what you think about the chapter!

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#fanfiction #fanfic #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal gifs #ao3 fanfic #harry castillo fanfiction #general marcus acacius #harry castillo #harry castillo x you #harry castillo x reader #the materialists #pedro pascal fic #harry castillo smut #harry castillo materialists

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waywardxrhea · 3 days ago

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Sólo mírame - Joaquín Torres

pairing: Joaquín Torres x fem!reader

you're an anxious flier and Joaquín comforts you

word count: 1,556

content: anxiety, thoughts of plane crashes, angst, fluff, Joaquín being a total sweetheart

a/n: this is super self-indulgent because i just took a plane trip and hated it, so out of it came my first Joaquín one shot! i just know that he would be comforting about this kind of stuff even though he's so used to it. this is also super unedited because i am and have been an anxious mess the last two weeks and just needed some comfort. enjoy :)

You had never been a good flier. The trips that you had taken across the country had been few and far between, but you remembered hating every single one of them. Hell, the last time you had flown was to Joaquín's Air Force Academy graduation ceremony!

Joaquín was the exact opposite. Clearly. He had joined the Air Force right out of high school and was just given the mantle of Falcon! The thrill he got when up in the air lit up his face, and it was hard not to share his excitement when he told you tales of dogfights and stealth missions alike.

If only that excitement could rub off on you as the two of you traversed through Miami International.

You listened with half an ear as Joaquín went on about what he could tell you about his new job. You wanted to listen, truly, you did, but the recent news of plane crashes took over your thoughts. As Joaquín animatedly talked about how excited he was to train with Sam, you pictured the wreckage of a plane in the middle of a field. As he talked about the rental place the two of you would be staying in until you could find a house, all you could think of was a flock of birds running right into the plane's engines. As he gently nudged you toward the TSA agent to show her your ID, all you could feel was nausea beginning to take over and you gagged a little as you took the step forward to show the woman your ID.

"You look a little pale, cariño. You need anything?" Joaquín asked as he steadied you from nearly falling over after bending down to put your shoes back on.

"I dunno…" you whispered, not trusting yourself to speak any louder than that at the moment.

"Hey, let's get to the gate real quick and we can figure it out from there," he said, kissing your temple gently before hooking your arm in his.

Your movement was almost zombie-like as he guided you through the airport, navigating through crowds of travelers excitedly getting ready for vacations or just coming home from long trips. Joaquín had already sat down his carry on containing his new suit before you even realized that you had made it to the gate. He sat down in one of the chairs and gently tugged on your hand, prompting you to shake yourself out of your stupor and sit down beside him.

Another kiss was placed on your temple as he put his arm around you and pulled you close, asking, "Nervous?" His tone was sincere and laced with concern as he asked it. His mom had warned him about what happened last time you flew, and he had anticipated some anxiety, but this was so unlike your usual self that he was concerned.

"Scared, more like…" you admitted, your voice muffled by his t-shirt.

"How about we try to get your mind off of it?" he asked, his hand running up and down your arm to soothe you. "Wanna catch up on one of your shows or get something to snack and drink on? Or both?"

"Food," you replied softly with a nod. "And now that we know the gate actually exists…"

Joaquín let out a hearty laugh at the comment, but nodded afterward and said, "Exactly. Now we know that. The flight is on time. There's a food court not too far from here. Let's go, mi amor."

"Thank you," you told him, snuggling closer to his chest for another minute and using the scent of his cologne to ground and calm yourself. It was something you had always done since he joined the Air Force. He would leave you with a few shirts of his while he was gone, and you would keep them close when you were really missing him. He hadn't changed his cologne much since you met him in high school, so even though there had been lots of changes over the years, that at least had been one of the constants.

The time to board the plane came quickly, between standing in line for your snacks and then stopping by a gift shop for some motion sickness pills. When the two of you got back to the gate, the woman was calling, "Now boarding Flight 2973 to DC! Priority boarding first! That is anyone who needs wheelchair assistance, those with young children, and active duty military! If that is you, please come my way with your boarding pass!"

"That's us!" Joaquín said, lacing his fingers in yours as the two of you rolled your carry-ons toward the desk.

Your heart rate picked up as you made your way toward the plane through the jetway, your grip tightening on Joaquín's hand the closer the two of you got. As you got closer, you began to hear music being played by the flight attendants. By some crazy stroke of luck, it was one of your favorite songs to get rid of anxiety. So, a small smile made its way onto your lips and you greeted the flight attendants as you passed them.

The plane had first come first serve seating, and while you were grateful that you didn't have to deal with that since you boarded first, unfortunately you had more time for your anxiety to build up once more. You hadn't even realized that you were zoned out and anxiously bouncing your leg until Joaquín's warm hand was on your thigh, putting gentle pressure on it to slow the movement to a stop. "Hey, te amo," he told you quietly, lacing his fingers in yours once more as he nodded his head toward the flight attendant who was starting the safety demonstration.

"I love you too," you whispered, voice breaking as you did.

The safety demonstration flew by in a blur, and before you knew it, the plane was speeding down the runway. Across the aisle from you, you saw someone crossing themselves a few times, and instead of it bringing you any sort of comfort, it only made the roaring in your ears worse as you tried to hold back your tears. As the plane lifted off, you quickly hooked your arm in Joaquín's and laced your fingers together, leaning your head back as you tried to control your breathing.

"Good morning everyone! Today we are expecting around a two and a half hour flight to Washington DC with some minor turbulence here and there," the flight attendant said, causing your eyes to snap open in concern as your heart rate spiked again. "The weather in DC is looking beautiful, and much cooler than it is here! So sit back, relax, and I will keep you updated on anything I need to."

Right as they said this, the plane felt like it dropped a significant amount and your eyes were snapping shut again as tears began building up. The turbulence didn't get any better over the next minute, and a sense of dread began creeping up your spine as the plane continued to violently shake.

You startled out of your panicked state when you felt Joaquín's gentle touch on your face, brushing away the tears from your cheeks as he whispered, "Hey, it's okay. This is totally normal." When your eyes opened, the drifted toward the open window and the landscape below getting smaller by the second. A dizzying feeling took over when you saw that, and Joaquín noticed the bob in your head and the heavy blink you did to try and combat the feeling, quickly turning and shutting the window before mumbling, "Sólo mírame, cariño."

You were finally able to drag your eyes away from the window shade a few seconds later, locking eyes with Joaquín's warm ones, a smile greeting you instantly as you did. His smile and concerned look were like balm on a blistering day, soothing beyond measure. You took a deep breath and leaned into his side, fitting your head into the crook of his neck as the plane rode out the turbulence for just a few seconds more.

"I dunno how you do this…" you managed to get out when things finally seemed to calm down and the plane was flying smoothly.

"Because I know that when it's done, I get to see you," he said, the smile evident in his voice.

You jokingly scoffed, teasing him, "Right, and it's not because you're a total adrenaline junkie who likes to show off."

"Ahh, that's a pretty close second," he said, a quiet chuckle reverberating through his chest. A smile made its way onto his lips as your teasing humor returned, and he mumbled, "There's my girl," as he kissed the crown of your head.

The end of the flight was filled with the same anxiety as takeoff, but thankfully, the plane landed safely and the two of you were walking hand in hand through the airport once more. As you saw the driver holding up a sign to take you to your rental house, Joaquín squeezed your hand and said, "Ready Mrs. Torres?"

You knew that your life was changing once more, but as long as Joaquín was by your side, you could take on anything, so you squeezed his hand back and nodded, telling him, "Ready."

#joaquin torres #joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres fluff

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percabethsong · 1 day ago

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Yes but not exactly.

Neurodiversity comes from the ideia that this is how the person functions, and that taking it off would change their entire being. At least that the Neurodiversity Paradigm. It opposites to the Pathology Paradigm, in which brain differences are considered diseases. This ideia became popular first in the autistic community, especially between people with lower support needs, so it has it flaws because it often doesn't consider high support needs individuals. HOWEVER, considering it rotts in the Social Model of Disability (basically one the considers people are disabled because that isn't accessibility in the world, and not because of their biological condition — classical example is that if everyone knew Sing Language being deaf wouldn't really be a problem), the Neurodiversity Paradigm would say that high support needs persons only suffers because the world doesn't accommodate their needs. You can disagree with that, it's up to debate, but that's the Paradigm.

Why am I saying this? Because it's absolutely doesn't work if we start adding every single psychiatrist diagnosis to that mix. Yes, severe depression changes the brain, but that's not the criteria to fit in Neurodiversity. Take depression as an example. Even if we were to accommodate to a depressed person, they would still suffer because depression itself is a condition that causes suffering. Neurodiversity is about finding beauty in being different, even when it's hards. It usually stands for differences in stuff like sensory processing, motor abilities, social comfort, cognition, focus, learning abilities. So there're other stuff besides ADHD and autism, for sure. Like dyslexia, intelectual disability, dyspraxia. There're people who expand this definition, of course, and consider other differences in other brain functions. I've seen some people with DID saying how their alters saved them and that they wouldn't want a cure but to have a good life with them. And that's extremely valid and I think falls into the Paradigm of Neurodiversity (my personal opinion, in this case). Neurodiversity is about embracing who you are.

I am not the neurodivergent police. Is not my inteed to say exactly which conditions could count, but Neurodiversity has a history and it's not simply about any condition that involves the brain. So I am at least confident enough to say some stuff that ARE NOT neurodivergences, as someone who's both a Psychology's student and active in the Neurodiversity movement in my community. Anxiety and depression are not neurodivergences. They're pathologies. Not only being depressed or anxious is not who someone is, but also can be, in some cases, basically "cured" (the cure discourse it's complicated but we can at least affirm some people have depressed episodes, for example, and don't experience it ever again after therapy). Bipolar disorder is also not a neurodiversity, even if it's chronical, because bipolar people can experiences long periods outside of manic episodes or depressed episodes. So you have any of this conditions, maybe you should join a group for the mentally ill, not for neurodivergent people. Now I'm not saying they also don't suffer discrimination, but our demands are DIFFERENT. Words have meaning.

But yeah, absolutely not just autism and ADHD.

It really makes me so damn angry how many autistic/ADHD people treat the neurodivergent label as the autism+adhd label. Neurodivergent includes ANYONE who's brain doesn't work the way it's supposed to. This includes people that have learning disabilities. People with down's syndrome. People with cluster A, B and C disorders. That includes systems/people with DID, that includes schizophrenics, that includes people with PTSD. If you have a group that is labeled for neurodivergent people, you cannot act surprised or offended if people that don't have autism or ADHD but DO have other disorders join that group. Because neurodivergent is an umbrella term. And everyone under that umbrella term deserves to be able to find community in groups named with that umbrella term.

#neurodiversity #neurodiversity paradigm #disability #social model of disability #disability studies #autism #adhd #intellectual disability #dyspraxia #dyscalculia #dyslexia #did system #neurodivergent #social movements #words have meanings #again that's not an attack #mental illness #mental health

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highprettybabyy · 1 day ago

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Seeing Red

Part 9 - The Villa

jenna ortega x fem!reader apocalypse au

summary: house hunting part II

warnings: enemies to lovers, typical apocalypse stuff, violence, blood, zombies, gore, maybe angst... some fluff...

AN: is it time?? will they have peace?? a safe home?? 😈

word count: 3.5k

—//—

The living room was hushed, soaked in the soft glow of candlelight, and smelling faintly of honey and burned wick. The dishes from dinner were still drying on the counter, a quiet testament to the rare peace of the day. You sat on the couch, a steaming mug of chamomile tucked between your palms. The ache in your abdomen had dulled to a slow, persistent pulse, but you could finally breathe through it again. Your ankle still twinged now and then, especially if you turned too fast, but it was manageable. You could walk. You could move. You could feel the weight of your own body without crumpling under it.

Jenna sat beside you.

Not across the room. Not perched in a corner, eyeing you like she might need to bolt. Right beside you. The kind of close that made the couch feel smaller than it was - not touching, not quite, but one shift of balance and your thighs would brush.

Your eyes flicked to the stack of house flyers between you. Most of them had been crossed out. "No roof," "smelled like mould," "already burned down." One was folded open in her lap - the villa.

You both stared at it like it might disappear if you blinked too hard.

You sipped your tea. “Four point six million.”

Jenna hummed low in her throat. “Pre-apocalypse inflation’s a bitch.”

You smiled faintly, letting the candlelight catch the edge of it. She noticed.

“I keep trying to find a reason it’s too good,” you admitted. “But it’s fenced. Far enough from the woods. Has space for a proper garden.”

Jenna nodded. “Garage looked massive. Could convert part of it into storage. Maybe even raise solar panels on the roof.”

You tilted your head. “We?”

She went quiet.

The silence stretched.

Finally, she said, “If we’re doing this... we should do it right.”

You didn’t reply at first. Just shifted slightly, letting your thigh brush hers - barely - and tried not to flinch at how deeply your body still ached. Her breath hitched almost imperceptibly, and a second later, she turned to look at you fully.

“Your side hurting?” she asked, already leaning forward slightly.

You nodded. “More when I sit still. Weirdly.”

“Let me check?”

You hesitated, then nodded again. She set her lavender tea down and moved closer, only a breath between you now, before gently lifting the hem of your shirt to look at the edge of the bandages. Her fingers were careful, deliberate, tracing no closer than needed, but it still sent your heart sprinting.

“It’s healing,” she murmured. “Still a little red on the edges, but it’s closing.”

“Good,” you said softly. “That’s… good.”

She lowered your shirt again, but didn’t move back right away.

The space between you still hummed.

You reached slowly toward the flyer again, fingertips brushing the corner of the page. “We could make it work, right? You and me?”

She nodded slowly. “You’d do the garden?”

You smiled. “Garden. Chickens. Rainwater collectors.”

“I’d maintain the panels,” she said. “Figure out the filtration stuff. Keep the lights on.”

“Then we’d both cook.”

“You cook,” she corrected, voice light. “I supervise.”

You laughed - a soft sound that didn’t hurt for once.

It was quiet again. But the kind that felt full of something good this time.

Jenna reached for the flyer and smoothed the crease down the middle. “We could make it ours.”

You looked at her.

She was already looking at you.

There was something open in her eyes - unguarded in a way you’d never seen. No smirk. No armour. Just that steady, burning gaze.

You swallowed. “You want that?”

A long pause. Then:

“I think I’ve wanted that for a while.”

You didn’t say anything. Just leaned your head against her shoulder.

And for the first time in weeks, she let her head rest against yours.

You didn’t talk about tomorrow. Or what the road would be like. Or how many more houses you’d need to check before you reached it.

You didn’t need to.

You’d picked a home.

And each other.

The road was quiet. Not safe - it never was - but quiet in a way that made you think, for a moment, that things were okay. That maybe the world had stopped spinning off its axis long enough for you to just breathe.

You could walk again. You weren’t fast, and every few steps reminded you that your ankle still hated you, and your side was a little too tight beneath the bandages, but you could move.

Jenna kept pace beside you, rifle slung across her back, her smaller handgun now holstered comfortably on her hip. She kept glancing sideways - not quite at you, but just past. Watching your balance. Watching your face. She never said anything, but every few minutes, she’d casually ask something like, “How’s the ankle?” or “Need to stop?” You always shook your head. And she always kept asking.

The sun was already warming the top of the trees by the time you turned onto the gravel path that curved toward the estate. It was a good sign - sunlight kept the shadows at bay, and the walk had been blessedly uneventful. You were just starting to feel a little too confident about that when you heard it.

A soft rustle. Then a low groan.

Jenna’s hand moved before her head did. Her fingers wrapped around the handle of a curved blade strapped across her thigh. She didn’t speak - didn’t need to. The second the snarl came from the brush, she stepped forward without hesitation.

It was fast - one of the newer ones. A teenage boy, maybe. Hard to tell. His hoodie was still half-zipped, a badge from a summer music festival flapping at his side. His eyes were still a little too human. But they didn’t slow her.

She ducked the first lunge, twisted, and drove the knife into the side of his head so fast you almost didn’t see it. He dropped without a sound.

Jenna wiped the blade on his jeans and looked up at you. “Still got it.”

You blinked. “Yeah,” you said quietly. “You really do.”

The neighbourhood was too quiet.

You stood beside Jenna in the middle of a wide cul-de-sac flanked by overgrown hedges and abandoned cars, staring at the villa that loomed just down the lane, the - very - long lane. It looked untouched from here - all clean, white brick and dark wood beams, the garden fence still intact. The surrounding fields rolled gently beyond the tree line, and a gravel path twisted toward a garage that looked… elegant, almost. Expensive. Still.

But it was too still.

Jenna had one hand on her rifle, eyes fixed forward. You knew she was listening for the same things you were: the wet gurgle of a throat that shouldn’t be working, the thump of slow footsteps on decaying wood, the chitter of fingernails scraping down stone.

But there was nothing.

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, trying to favour your good leg. The stitched wound at your side pulled tight with every step, a constant reminder that even winning came with a price.

“It looks clear,” Jenna murmured.

You didn’t believe her.

Not really.

But you nodded, and together, you moved.

The two of you approached slowly, boots crunching softly against the gravel. Each step was measured. Deliberate. You scanned every window, every angle. Jenna raised her hand in a silent signal, and you dropped back, slipping to the left flank while she covered the right.

It should’ve been reassuring how easily you moved together now. Like a unit.

But something wasn’t right.

There was something about the front door - not the door itself, but the space beyond it - that made your skin crawl. You tilted your head slightly, trying to catch a glimpse through the frosted glass panes along the side.

And then you saw it.

Movement. A flicker of colour.

Red.

Not just red - sequins. Glitter. Dresses.

You froze.

You didn’t speak. Just raised your hand and pointed, two fingers low.

Jenna crept forward, following your signal. She peered through the gap, squinting into the dim interior of the villa’s front hall.

Her whisper was barely audible. “Party guests.”

You counted quickly. At least twenty.

They weren’t packed tightly. They were scattered, swaying, idle, twitching. All dressed in half-formal wear: velvet jackets, cocktail dresses, one with a feathered hat askew on her scalp, another with a plastic champagne flute still stuck between what remained of their fingers.

A party.

This had been a party.

And now?

Now it was a massacre that hadn’t finished rotting.

You backed away slowly, motioning Jenna with you. Once out of earshot, she leaned close.

“We can’t take them all inside,” she murmured.

You shook your head. “Field. Open ground. I’ll draw them out.”

“I’ll cover you from the tree line,” she said. “Same as the mall.”

You hesitated.

Her eyes met yours. Steady. Focused.

This time, she knew the plan would hurt you. That your body was still healing. But she also knew there was no other way.

“Alright,” you said quietly.

She helped you find a decent vantage point - a stone bench tucked behind the trellis near the gravel path. From there, you could make a wide run across the field, enough to lead them away from the front door and give Jenna the shot she needed.

You grabbed a small metal toolbox you’d found discarded on the side of the drive and gave it a solid rattle.

The zombies inside twitched.

Their heads snapped toward the sound with bone-cracking urgency.

You took a breath.

And then you bolted.

The scream of squeaky hinges as the front door was thrown open was the last thing you heard before the groans erupted.

They came spilling out - stumbling, flailing, dressed in rags of glitter and crushed velvet, eyes long rotted out but ears sharp as ever. You ran, knees burning, your boot skidding once on a patch of loose gravel, nearly toppling you. The wound at your side screamed with every stride, but you didn’t stop.

Behind you, you could already hear the first shot.

Jenna’s rifle cracked through the evening air - clean and precise. The first body hit the ground with a thud.

You didn’t look back.

The ground flattened out into an open meadow, the grass high and dry around your knees. You weaved through the tall blades, keeping your head low, hoping the distraction would hold. You could hear them behind you - the rustle, the groaning, the sickening slap of rotten feet against soil.

Another shot.

Another.

A pause. Reloading.

You reached the end of the clearing and veered sharply left, ducking down into a slight ditch that would shield you just long enough for Jenna to pick off the rest.

Except your ankle twisted.

You cried out - sharp and loud - as your leg gave way and you hit the ground hard, elbow scraping through packed earth and thistle. Pain flared white-hot in your side. The stitches - fuck - you felt them pull, at least one of them tear.

You gritted your teeth and started crawling.

One arm forward. One leg dragging behind. You felt every tremor in the ground as the undead approached, the last of the partygoers, lumbering closer. You could hear their breathing. Wet. Open-mouthed. Hungry.

And then, a click.

Gunfire again. Louder. Closer.

Jenna had moved.

The next three shots were faster - controlled, but urgent. You rolled to the side just in time to see her advancing down the hill, rifle raised, feet steady, eyes blazing.

Her magazine clicked empty.

She didn’t stop.

She drew her Glock and fired twice more - head, chest - before slamming it back into its holster and pulling the old Magnum from her boot.

It hurts.

By the time she reached you, you were half-conscious and shaking.

She dropped to her knees beside you, hands already reaching, already checking. “Hey. Hey. You with me?”

You tried to nod. You weren’t sure if you managed.

“Jesus, Y/N, don’t- don’t do that again.”

You gave a breathless laugh through tears. “Which part?”

She didn’t answer. Just got under your arm, lifted you gently, and helped you limp the rest of the way back to the villa.

The villa felt different once the bodies were gone.

Not better. Just emptier.

Jenna helped you up the porch steps and through the front door with a gentleness that surprised you. Her fingers were firm under your arm, but not demanding - like she was more worried about bruising you than rushing. Once inside, she let you lean against the banister near the stairs while she checked the corners.

You watched her sweep the rooms again, just to be sure. One gun in hand, the other ready at her side. She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. She was clearing this place for you. For both of you.

The bodies had been left where they fell, you hadn’t had the energy to drag them. That could come later. For now, you just wanted the doors shut, the windows curtained, and the scent of rot to start fading.

Jenna double-checked the lock on the back door, then moved room to room, opening closets, tapping on walls, testing every hinge. She even pulled open the laundry chute and checked the pantry floor for loose panels. You could hear her footsteps above, clearing the upper floor. It was strange - in a way - how thorough she was. As if she wasn’t just looking for threats, but making sure this place was real. Making sure you were both allowed to have this.

You shuffled into the kitchen on your own, using the counter as support. Someone had thrown one hell of a party. The kitchen island was covered in stale nuts, sticky spills, party hats tipped over like casualties. You gathered everything into a cracked serving bowl and dumped it in the bin without ceremony. The fridge was humming faintly - but you didn’t trust the food in it. The pantry was better. Cans, dry rice, some oil, and - blessedly - a couple of cartons of long-life milk.

You lit the lantern and got to work.

A simple meal, nothing fancy. You warmed up a can of chickpeas, mashed in some herbs and oil, sliced bread from the loaf you'd brought, and cracked open a tin of smoked salmon. It smelled surprisingly okay. You even found salt - fancy, flaky stuff from a half-used jar on the spice rack.

By the time Jenna came back down, you were plating the meal: bread with warm chickpea mash, salmon, and a few sprigs of something dried you didn’t recognise but hoped wasn’t deadly.

She blinked at the lanternlight.

“Is this-”

“Dinner,” you said, holding out a plate. “Best we’ve got till I can stand long enough to cook proper.”

She took the plate. Sat beside you on the couch. Didn’t speak for a while.

You ate in silence, both of you too tired to fill the space with anything clever. But it wasn’t empty. It was full of small things. The way your knees brushed. The way Jenna’s fingers lingered on your wrist when she passed the salt. The way she watched you wince and shifted so you could lean easier against the pillows.

After the last bite, Jenna set her plate aside. Her eyes flicked to your side.

“Let me change it?”

You didn’t argue. You lifted your shirt slowly, teeth grit, while she opened her small pouch of supplies - fresh gauze, antiseptic ointment, bandage wrap.

She worked in silence.

Her fingers were gentler now than they’d been even two days ago. She dabbed the ointment on in soft, slow motions, watching your face for every wince. She took care with the wrapping, securing it neatly.

“You went out,” you said suddenly. “For that.”

Jenna paused.

You turned your head toward her. “Didn’t you?”

She didn’t deny it. “I had to.”

“You could’ve died.”

“I couldn’t watch you suffer like that.”

You stared at her. The words dug under your skin and stayed there.

“…Thank you,” you said eventually, voice rough.

She didn’t answer. But her hand - after the bandages were done - lingered on your arm. Just for a moment. Warm and steady.

After the meal, everything settled into a kind of quiet neither of you wanted to disturb.

The villa creaked faintly with the wind outside, a soft whistle through the trees and into the corners of the house. You sat together in the warm lantern light, your bowl scraped clean, Jenna’s placed empty on the floor nearby. She had checked your wound again without comment - her fingers gentle, her expression focused - and now, you were both simply sitting. Breathing.

You didn’t know what time it was. Just that the air felt different.

Like a full stop had been placed at the end of a sentence.

You stood slowly, teeth clenched against the dull ache in your side, and she was up a second later without needing to be asked, one hand hovering, just in case.

“Let’s find beds,” you said softly.

The hallway stretched ahead, the shadows deeper now, but less frightening. You passed what must’ve been half a dozen bedrooms - each with unmade sheets, signs of a life that had once filled these walls. Shoes still lined neatly against skirting boards. A stuffed elephant left in the corner of a child’s room.

You and Jenna paused outside the last two doors.

They stood opposite each other - one slightly ajar, the other closed but not locked.

Neither of you moved.

Then, carefully, you said, “Would you mind if… we just picked one room?”

Jenna looked at you, her expression unreadable for a moment.

Then, quietly: “Yeah. I’d like that.”

You pushed open the door to the master bedroom. The lantern light spilled in first, revealing the massive bed, still made. A thick, high-quality duvet. Pillows lined neatly at the head. The walk-in closet was cracked open, and the room smelled faintly of cedar and something sweeter - like old perfume, long faded.

Jenna closed the door behind you both. She didn’t say anything as she moved to wedge a chair beneath the handle and then dragged over a small desk to block the entry entirely. You watched her work with quiet appreciation.

It didn’t matter that you were exhausted. Watching her do something so… deliberate, so calm, had a grounding effect. As if the two of you could actually pull this off.

You crossed the room toward the closet, your lantern bobbing gently in your hand. “Might be some clothes we can use.”

“I’m not wearing a cocktail dress to bed,” Jenna warned.

You pulled the door open - and grinned.

Inside was a full wardrobe, organised meticulously: warm clothes, thick jumpers, and to your utter delight… novelty loungewear. Hanging in pride of place was a bright red panda onesie, complete with ears on the hood. And next to it: a panda-patterned oodie and matching sweatpants.

You didn’t hesitate.

“Dibs on the oodie.”

Jenna narrowed her eyes at you, then looked at the onesie.

Her lips twitched. “You just want to see me in that thing.”

You shrugged, already pulling on the massive hoodie. “Prove it.”

She changed without shame - stripped off her jacket, unbuckled her belt, stepped into the onesie with the deadpan seriousness of a soldier preparing for war. She zipped it up, flipped the hood over her head… and looked up at you with the little red ears poking upright.

You almost burst out laughing.

Instead, you said, “You look adorable.”

“I will throw you out a window.”

You handed her the bag of candy.

“Truce,” you offered.

Jenna rolled her eyes but took the bag anyway, climbing onto the bed and sitting at the edge opposite you. She opened it and pulled out a handful of sweets, chewing one while her legs swung off the side like a teenager avoiding a real conversation.

The room settled around you both. Soft. Warm. Safe enough.

Neither of you reached for the light yet.

Eventually, you pulled back the duvet and slid beneath it, wincing a little but making it work. Jenna joined you a moment later, curling on her side - not close, not touching - but close enough to feel the shape of her next to you.

There was a long, comfortable silence.

You’d almost drifted off when her voice cut through it, barely above a whisper.

“…Goodnight, Y/N.”

You let out a slow breath. “Goodnight, Jenna.”

The moonlight trickled through the high window above the bed, soft silver stretching across the floor like something sacred. The wind outside had calmed. You could hear crickets in the field beyond the trees.

You slept better with her next to you.

--//--

AN: so what if they woke up cuddling..

#jenna ortega #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega fanfic #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x y/n #lesbian fanfiction #wlw fanfiction #lesbian #wlw #sapphic #hpb.fanfics #hpb.jenna

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batty4vamps · 1 day ago

Text

The Lost Boys Motorcycle Headcanons

From someone who lives with a biker and rides on the back of a motorcycle often lol

Includes: gn reader, possessiveness, reckless driving

Dwayne

* His bike is well decorated, but more understated than Marko’s

* To adorn the black tank, he has a custom leopard print gas cap, red pin striping, and ofc all the chrome is always nice and polished

* Because he’s so used to riding with Laddie, being on his bike is relatively safe

* Key word relatively

* He still give you little scares, but you usually aren’t fearing for your life too much when riding with him

* Unless you ask

* In which case, hold on tight

* Cus he knows every route between the boardwalk and the cave

* And he’s a good enough driver to do seriously risky shit

* So you are in for a wild ride

* He just loves the feeling of you holding onto him when he makes a turn particularly sharp and fast

* He loves laughing and hitting you with the “I got you baby, don’t worry”

* He doesn’t mind separating from the pack once in a while either, taking you on risky short cuts or the bluff’s scenic routes depending on the night

* He’ll surprise you on occasion by stopping at a clearly during a full moon to have a little moment alone

* Also, based on experience, he has you braid back his hair and tuck it into his jacket so it isn’t whipping you in the face the whole ride

(There’s some extra Dwayne stuff at the bottom teehee)

David

* He loves his bike more than he shows

* Like it’s pretty basic, solid black and chrome

* But it’s better taken care of than everyone but Dwayne’s

* He loves having you on the back of his bike

* Honestly even if he isn’t the lost boy you’re dating

* He’ll have you ride with him just to piss off whoever you’re with

* If you and him are together though

* He loves seeing people stare as you hop on, knowing you’re off limits

* He loves looking them dead in the eye as you hold tight to his back

* And you absolutely do need to hold on tight cus he drives like an absolute crazy person

* It’s not because he’s a bad driver

* He could make it a smooth ride if he wanted, he knows the area and his bike well enough

* But he likes feeling you cling to him

* He knows you trust him, that’s why it’s fun to push it a little

* You both know that nothing he does will end up getting you hurt

* So he likes to give you a little scare to keep you on your toes

* And to hear you squeal

Paul

* His bike is a sparkly mess honestly

* It’s been repaired and replaced and broken again so many times it’s wild

* Like Dwayne’s good at patching it up, but there’s a line

* But Paul still obviously still covers it in shiny stuff and puts in effort to make it look badass

* It’s mostly silver with white paneling on the sides of the gas tank, but over time it’s all gotten scratched to hell

* It’s not like he doesn’t care, he just exists at the perfect intersection of the worst driver and the one who can do the most tricks

* No one knows how, and everyone finds it infuriating

* He gets lost the minute the guys are out of his sight, he’s never aware of his surroundings, he’s distracted by everything, but somehow he picks up every stunt first try

* He shows off for you even more than Marko

* Usually he gets whatever the trick was perfect

* Then, right when you start cheering, gets distracted and goes straight into a tree

* Luckily he has the innate ability to laugh everything off, pouting for a sec so you dote on him before going right back to it

* The first time you rode with him you almost went off a cliff

* After that he slowly learned that when you’re human self is on the bike, he has to lock tf in

* So while he’ll do all the showing off he can when you ride with him, he also tries very very hard to focus on his surroundings

* Cus he’s fine risking his own ass, but he’d rather yours stays intact

Marko

* You know his bike is kitted tf up

* It’s bright red with decals all over the gas tank, tassels, an antenna, all of it

* He’ll look through Dwayne’s old parts and get him to put them on his bike

* As far as driving goes, he’s somehow more insane then David

* And with him it’s only half on purpose

* He obviously knows his way around the bike

* But he vastly overestimates his stunt driving skills and loves an adrenaline rush

* Plus, hearing you squeal and grip his waist is always a plus

* If you’re an adrenaline junky like him though, good god

* Y’all almost eat asphalt a LOT

* After he almost killed you doing a wheelie (iykyk) , you both decide he has to practice alone before doing a trick with you

* Once he gets it though, it’s always a great time

* He shows off for you constantly, and even when he fucks up and gets all pissed off it’s adorable

* His fav thing is taking you out for joyrides on the beach and making a game of how many people he can scare by almost hitting them

Bonus Dwayne mechanic hcs cus I love him

* He spends a LOT of time working on his bike shirtless with the rock box blasting

* Most of the boys know how to make repairs on the bikes (everyone besides Paul, which is ironic considering he breaks his shit the most), but Dwayne is the only one who works on them for fun

* Because of that, his is definitely the most comfortable ride

* He specifically makes sure the back tire of the bike has good suspension so you don’t feel bumps as much

* He has a motorcycle catalog subscription delivered to Max’s that he buys custom parts from

* He’s very well acquainted with staff of the local auto-body shop

* Even if you know nothing about motorcycles he’s asking your opinion on everything he picks out

* He’ll even buy you a bike, regardless of your ability to drive it

* He’ll teach you, and start making it perfect for you with mods in the meantime

* Of course he’ll drive you around to your hearts content regardless

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monstrousgourmandizingcats · 1 day ago

Note

Aneki, I’m going to need you to explain the underlying politics of Conclave 2k25 to me like I am 5 years old. What am I even looking at?

https://www.tumblr.com/monstrousgourmandizingcats/781830976802373632/pope-francis-will-be-remembered-as-one-of-the

So in addition to there being "liberal" and "moderate" and "conservative" cardinals, which there obviously are, there's also a whole pool of cardinals from the developing world whose views are weird and hard to pin down in a Western context--stuff like "homophobic even for a Catholic cardinal but also very concerned about climate change" or "genocide survivor with a hateboner for Muslims" or "thinks distinguishing between liberal and conservative cardinals is anti-Asian racism". There are enough of these people that the next Pope is going to need at least some support from them coming out of the conclave. Western media (both liberal/progressive/pro-Pope Francis dooming and conservative/trad/anti-Pope Francis wishcasting) often treats them like they're a bloc of reactionaries who'd be fine with a complete rollback or repudiation of Francis's time as Pope. What I'm finding by actually digging through quotes and interviews from them is that...that ain't necessarily so. A lot of them really seem to like and admire Pope Francis, are sad he's gone, and want the next Pope to be similar in at least some ways (which doesn't necessarily mean in every way). In other words, whoever the next Pope is, an "executive order: ignore everything my predecessor did" type is really, really, really unlikely.

#catholic #conclave 2025 #deadfrank 2k25 #anonymous #(i mean. 'anonymous'. i know this is you XD)

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compress1repress · 1 day ago

Note

patrick loses a bet w art and ends up wearing a cute lil tennis skirt for a practice match, but it backfires horribly bc patrick is feeling his oats and art cant fucking focus for shit. like hes WHITE KNUCKLING the racket

"patrick. please stop"

"what? this is so breathable i should wear this every time 😋"

[the most deliriously horny hes ever been in his life] "please for the love of god STOP"

tashi walks by appreciatively and is like hey zweig. good form [nice ass]. maybe it gives her ideas and she goes online lingerie shopping. idk i just think his thighs would look good in garters. smudge some eyeliner on him while youre there idk. im just spitballin here boss

Woah. Clearly this got to me bc i received this five days ago and now I've written a 12k word fic that is only a part one. Like this doesn't even get into the eyeliner and garters of it all yet. I took some liberties but hopefully got the essentials :D hope it's okay!!

thank you for this ask <3 the part 2 will be started soon

-> AO3 VERSION

cw: nsfw, mdni, i think you can tell from the ask what might come up, just general filth, light feminisation, 12k word count

im sure I'll have more to say tomorrow but for now here it is:

“She won’t be back until this evening,” Art calls out to Patrick after hanging up the phone.

“Why not?” Patrick’s laid flat on his back along the length of the couch, taking up a very unnecessary amount of space.

“Lily wanted to sleep over so Tashi’s going to stay for dinner before she comes back,” he explains, joining Patrick in the sitting room.

Tashi had taken Lily to her cousin’s, she had two children, one Lily’s age and one a little older. Usually Art would go too, and he’d sometimes have to play with Lily because she got too shy. They’d send her off with the other kids but she’d come back ten minutes later, pulling at Art’s sleeve and he couldn’t say no. That’s probably why Tashi had even agreed to this last minute sleepover, it’s a pretty big deal that Lily actually wanted to stay over. It’s also why she’s staying for dinner, just in case Lily changes her mind.

Art hadn’t gone because Uniqlo was sending over some outfits for their brand deal, and he had to sign for the delivery. That was the reasoning they gave Patrick at least. Really it was because it felt strange leaving him in their house alone, not because they didn’t trust him there.

They couldn’t exactly drag Patrick along with them to every event, they knew that, and he must know that too, but every time he’s left alone for a while he gets weird. He gets sad. Art and Tashi don’t explicitly talk about it, but there’s a shared understanding between them.

“So, we’ve got like four hours of an empty house?” Patrick muses, clearly trying very hard to keep his face neutral.

“We’re not fucking,” Art smiles down at him.

“I wasn’t suggesting anything,” Patrick tries but Art raises an eyebrow at him, “alright, why not?”

“Tashi said so,” and she’d been very clear on the phone to Art about it.

“Okay, no fucking,” Patrick nods, a smirk growing on his face, “but she didn’t say anything a-”

“No blowjobs, no hand stuff, and no touching under clothes,” Art cuts him off, moving to sit on the armchair since Patrick is taking up all the space on the couch.

“Well, we don’t have to take our clothes off to have a good time,” Patrick sits up, looking at Art with a hopeful grin.

“No dry humping either,” Art can’t help but snort at the disappointment on his face.

“Jesus, she really thought this through,” he flops back down, sighing, a look of both frustration and admiration on his face.

“I think she just knows that you’ll be trying to find any possible loophole,” Art snorts, and he can tell Patrick is still brainstorming solutions, “c’mon, she just wants us to wait until she gets back.”

“Fine,” Patrick relents, “but if I do come up with an ingenious loophole, we’re taking it.”

If Art’s being honest he had also hoped Patrick would find a way around it, then he could probably get off now and just blame it on Patrick later. That way Tashi would probably punish Patrick and he’d get to fuck her while Patrick watches.

Instead he decides to exercise some restraint, because he wants to be good for Tashi. It’s not like she was being mean, she just didn't want them to use up all their energy before she got home. Plus, he’s not that manipulative, not all the time.

Although, really, if he knew for a fact that Tashi would believe that it wasn’t his fault, he’d start riling Patrick up now, get him to think he was the one seducing Art into breaking rules.

Unfortunately, he’s pretty sure both Tashi and Patrick would see right through him.

“Sure, but how about we just watch a movie for now?” Art suggests.

“Yeah, alright, movie mashup?” Patrick asks.

It’s this thing they used to do when they were young, a tradition that had come back now they lived together again. If they wanted to watch a movie they’d both just name the first one that came to mind then try to find a middle ground between the two. It was their way of assuring they didn’t have a fight because technically they’d both equally chosen the movie. Some days it worked better than others, and occasionally they named the same film anyway.

Although, once when they were fourteen, Art had picked A Bug’s Life while Patrick had wanted Weird Science; they decided The Fly sounded like a mashup of the two (insects + eighties science? They never said the method was flawless), which ended up being a little traumatising. Art still has a slight fear of fingernails.

“Okay, I’ll count down,” Art waits for Patrick’s nod, “3…2…1…”

Art says, “E.T.” at the same time Patrick yells, “Sharknado.”

“Sharknado?” Art questions through a laugh.

“It’s fun,” Patrick defends.

“What’s the mashup, then?” Art asks.

It only takes a few seconds, because they had so much practice, and because this one is easy. Spielberg and sharks, duh.

They smile at each other, both getting it at the same time, “Jaws.”

“That might be the most satisfying mashup yet,” Patrick grins, “but are you sure it’s not too scary?”

“We’ve both seen it before,” Art rolls his eyes.

“I’m just saying, maybe we should sit as close as possible, just in case,” Patrick is so obvious.

“Patrick, we’re not fucking,” he warns, again half-wanting Patrick to keep pushing.

“Fine,” he groans, “just innocent cuddling then, for old time’s sake?”

He guesses that is what they used to do on movie mashup nights, pressed up against each other in one of their single beds. Sometimes one of them would have an arm around the other, because it was comfier that way, and neither of them ever really thought twice about it. It was hardly the height of their physical affection with each other, they’d done more on tennis courts in front of everyone.

Art hasn’t answered so Patrick adds, “seriously, I don’t have a sexual ulterior motive.”

“I know, but now I have a feeling you’re trying to lure me out of the comfy armchair so you can take it for yourself,” Art’s lying, he just wants to see what Patrick will do.

“You’re so cynical,” he gets up walking over, “guess we’ll just have to share.”

“You won’t fit,” Art shakes his head, letting him try anyway.

Patrick attempts to sit in Art's lap but he’s so tall, and the armchair is pretty small. He sits on one of Art’s thighs, his legs curled up the best they can.

“There we go,” Patrick reaches an arm around the back of the chair to keep himself steady.

“You do realise your entire body weight is on my left leg,” Art complains.

“You want a more even weight distribution? I can do that,” he shuffles, bringing himself to sit directly on his lap, his back against Art’s chest.

Art’s hands immediately wrap around Patrick's torso without even thinking, “I’m not watching this entire movie with your ass directly on my dick.”

“It’s not my fault if you can’t control yourself,” Patrick shrugs, not so subtly pressing himself further against Art.

“I’m not worried about myself,” he bites lightly at Patrick’s shoulder, “but also, I won’t be able to see the screen with you sitting like this.”

“Okay, final offer,” Patrick moves again, attempting to find a position that is less compromising and also doesn’t involve crushing Art with his body weight.

Patrick's legs now hang uncomfortably over the edge of the chair, and when he tries to adjust by resting his feet on the arm, he practically knees Art in the face.

"Maybe if I try the other side," Patrick shuffles again, on his way to switch sides, he swings one leg over Art's thighs, facing him as he straddles him.

"This isn't working," Art grabs Patrick's waist to hold him there, "your legs are too fucking long."

Patrick can't hide his grin at the position they're in but he tilts his head towards the couch, "yeah, we're gonna need a bigger boat."

Art laughs, "you know that's one of those misquotes, like it's actually 'you're gonna need a bigger boat' not we're."

"Who fucking cares," Patrick teases, "and if you're going to correct me, you should at least be right."

"It's true," Art says with a little more passion than necessary.

"No, you're thinking of the Star Wars quote," Patrick's also getting genuinely into it, "where Darth Vader doesn't actually say Luke, I am your father or whatever."

"Yeah, that's another famous misquote, doesn't mean I'm wrong about the Jaws one," Art's hands squeeze tighter.

"Alright, let's bet on it," Patrick suggests.

"I'm not betting about a stupid movie quote," Art snorts.

"Because you know you're wrong," Patrick's got this smug look on his face that always works on Art.

"Fine, I bet you $100 that it's you're not we're," he shrugs.

"I'm not betting $100 dollars."

"Exactly, because you know that you're wrong," Art grins, satisfied.

"No, I'm not betting that because it's got no stakes for you," Patrick explains, then leans in a little closer "and it's boring."

It successfully pisses Art off enough that he needs to prove a point. He can be creative and interesting.

Suddenly it hits him.

"Give me a second," Art's reaching his hands around Patrick at his thighs, one hand below his ass and the other at the small of his back, standing up bringing Patrick up with him.

He briefly lifts him up, turning around and then depositing Patrick back onto the armchair where he lands with a bounce.

Art watches the way his legs slightly spread as Patrick looks up at him, his eyes a little darker.

"What are you looking at?" Art asks, acting like he has no idea.

"Nothing," Patrick regains composure, smiling, "stop stalling. What's the bet?"

“I have the perfect thing,” Art walks to the corner of the room, where an opened package rests, “you know that delivery I signed for?”

“Yeah?” Patrick confirms, curious.

It was the Uniqlo delivery he had signed for earlier, and whether it was because they had just sent the whole new line, or if it had been intended for Tashi he wasn’t sure, but part of the order had been a tennis skirt. It was too big for Tashi, and not her style either way so he wasn’t sure what to do with it - until now.

“This came in it,” he holds up the skirt, it’s white and pleated so it flares out slightly, a tasteful logo embroidered at the hem.

“A skirt,” Patrick sits up, clearly Art’s got his attention, “what are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that the loser has to wear this skirt while we play some tennis,” Art watches Patrick grin in response, he examines the skirt, “looks about your size.”

“Really, I think it’s more your size,” Patrick seems thoroughly amused, walking over to Art with a hand outstretched, “so, loser has to wear this the whole time, one set?”

Art shakes his hand, “deal.”

“Honestly, Art, I wouldn’t worry, your legs will look great in that,” Patrick points to the skirt.

“I don’t have to worry, because I am 100% certain that I’m right,” Art is actually probably 90% sure at this point, but no way is he backing down from a chance to get one over on Patrick.

“Alright, pull up the clip and prepare to eat your words,” Patrick grins, eager.

They use Art’s phone, eyes glued to the little screen, skipping to the crucial moment. They watch him, terrified look, cigarette in mouth, turn to captain Quint and then: ‘You’re gonna need a bigger boat.’

“Fuck off,” Patrick knocks Art’s phone out of his hand, but Art doesn’t even care. Victory feels so sweet.

Art musters up all the condescension he can, smiling at Patrick, “honestly, Patrick, I wouldn’t worry, your legs will look great in that.”

Patrick just flops down onto the couch groaning.

Art laughs again, “what do you think you’re doing? We’ve got tennis to play.”

Patrick looks up at him, eyebrows raised, “what? Right now?”

“When else are we going to have a free house?” Art shrugs.

"Fine," he gets up again, "bet I'll still beat you anyway."

"Not sure you're in a position to be making any more bets," Art grins

They both get changed, Art lets Patrick get dressed in the bathroom, joking about ‘giving him some privacy’. Patrick goes reluctantly, but he doesn’t complain, one thing about Patrick is he’s very loyal to the rules of a bet. Art is having too much fun, it’s maybe a little childish but it’s leftover from when Patrick would always win these type of things, so he thinks he’s allowed to gloat just a little. Patrick would be doing the same in his position.

Art waits for him by the back door, both of their rackets in hand, eager to get going. When Patrick emerges, Art doesn’t even look, not properly, all he can concentrate on is teasing Patrick.

“It’s actually pretty comfortable,” Patrick comments.

“Yeah, I’m sure you’ll get a nice breeze,” Art just jokes back, “c’mon.”

He holds an arm out, gesturing for Patrick to go out first.

Patrick slips past him out the door, snorting and grabbing the racket from Art’s hand on the way, “chivalry isn’t dead.”

“I pride myself on being a gentleman,” Art watches Patrick give an uneven curtsy.

“Or maybe you want to walk behind so you can look at my ass,” Patrick calls over his shoulder, walking towards the courts.

Art chuckles again but once Patrick has fully turned around and he’s not focusing on being as smug as possible about winning the bet, he finally actually looks. At first he just notices how mismatched the outfit is, the black sleeveless top not going at all with the white of the skirt.

Once his eyes reach the skirt though, he can’t stop looking. It’s something about the way the hem brushes against the back of his thighs, just barely long enough to keep everything covered. If there was a gust of wind or if Patrick bent over, even a little, he would probably be exposed. Something swirls in Art’s stomach.

Nope. This is not going to be a thing. It’s just because he knows they’re not supposed to fuck, and anything forbidden becomes instantly hotter. Or maybe it’s a power thing. Yeah. He’s just getting horny over Patrick losing a bet and being forced to do what Art said. Still, to be careful he avoids looking the rest of the walk down.

He’s concentrating so much on not thinking about it that once they get to the courts he obviously doesn’t hear Patrick asking him a question.

“Hello, Earth to Art,” Patrick’s waving his racket, then smirking, “anything in particular making you so distracted?”

“Nothing, I was just wondering if I should take pity on you,” Art keeps his eyes firmly at Patrick’s face, “how about we just do one game instead?”

Patrick looks at him suspiciously, “oh no, a deal’s a deal, I’ll play the whole set.”

“It’s your funeral,” Art shrugs, mustering up the best performance he can but Patrick is still eyeing him. He forgot how good Patrick is at reading him. It’s really fucking annoying.

Art serves first which should be good because he plays better that way and his serve is a strong point. His first serve is strong, and Patrick has to move quick to hit it back, lunging sideways to reach it. The movement makes the muscles in his thighs tense, fully on show for Art to see.

“0:15,” Patrick calls out.

Art has entirely missed his return. It’s so stupid and it doesn’t even make sense. He’s seen Patrick’s thighs before. He’s literally seen him naked. He’s always worn shorts whilst playing, often incredibly tiny shorts that showed just as much skin as this, and sure the sight of it sometimes turned Art on but never like this.

It’s just new, that’s why, he hasn’t seen Patrick in this before so it’s a little distracting that’s all. It’s fine. This is meant to be Patrick’s punishment for losing.

Art ignores Patrick, just focusing on the ball in his hand and the service box. It works, he hits the ball hard and fast into the top left of the box and Patrick tries and fails to hit back.

“Shit,” Patrick grumbles, swinging his racket in annoyance. He does a quick turn to head back to baseline and the speed makes the fabric of the skirt float up a little. What the fuck is that?

“What the fuck are you wearing?” he can’t help but yell.

“Um, do you have amnesia or something?” Patrick calls back.

“I don’t mean the skirt, I mean,” he gestures with his racket, “what’s underneath it?”

“Oh, yeah, well my boxers were longer than the skirt so I thought I’d just borrow some of your panties instead,” Patrick sways his hips, “much more fitting, don’t you think?”

“They’re not panties, they’re briefs,” he defends, “and you can’t just steal my underwear.”

He doesn’t care about that, he’s just mad about how much it’s getting to him and it’s not like he can yell at Patrick for being too fucking hot right now. No, that would give Patrick too much satisfaction. But really, it’s unfair. The skirt and now the underwear, Art’s underwear that look even tinier when Patrick’s wearing them.

“It’s not stealing, it’s sharing. We already share a toothbrush so I figured it wouldn’t matter,” Patrick shrugs.

“We don’t share a toothbrush,” he snaps but then Patrick’s got this amused look on his face, he’s messing with him, “fuck off.”

“Hey, if it bothers you this much I can always just take the underwear off,” Patrick suggests.

“No,” Art replies quickly, because he wants him to keep wearing the underwear or because he’s scared about what would happen to him if Patrick was fully naked under the skirt, “let’s just keep playing.”

They do keep playing, and Art loses the first game, badly. 15:40. He just can’t focus. His eyes drawn to Patrick, the way the skirt fits, the hem at his legs. This delicate floaty material, and the thick expanse of his thighs, the dark hair against the white of the skirt. He keeps looking, making sure that he’s still covered whilst also desperately hoping to get another glimpse underneath. The game is both slow torture and incredibly quick, he’s not sure he’s ever lost one so fast.

It’s Patrick’s turn to serve now, which is even worse. He throws the ball too high so he has to jump to hit it, which is definitely on purpose. It makes the skirt float up, revealing the tight black underwear again, the bulge definitely bigger now, the fabric straining more. Or maybe Art’s just projecting. Either way he can’t react in time. 15:0.

“Art, you do know you’re supposed to hit the ball back, right?” Patrick mocks, “have you forgotten how to play or is there something on your mind?”

“I’m just tired,” Art gets back into ready position, “probably getting bored because you’re taking so long to serve.”

Patrick grins especially wide and Art gets the sense that he’s messed up, only encouraging Patrick further.

Patrick throws the ball up to serve, but ‘accidentally’ throws it backwards so it lands behind him, rolling to the back of the court, “oops, I better go pick that up.”

For his own sanity Art should look away but he’s not thinking clearly anymore, just watching Patrick reach for the ball. As he bends over the hem rises, first just brushing lightly, exposing a few more inches of skin. Then a brief moment when he fully bends over that Art can see his entire ass, his own underwear against Patrick’s skin.

This is the problem, it’s the perfect in between. Showing enough skin that Art can’t help but be turned on, but also covered enough that Art has to use his imagination. Imagining standing behind him right now, Patrick trying to pull the material back over himself but Art would push it back up, ripping down the underwear and just fucking into him.

“I hope I didn’t show too much, I’d be so embarrassed if you saw my ass just now,” Patrick’s laughing, and Art hadn’t even realised he was stood up again.

“I wasn’t looking,” Art insists and it just makes Patrick chuckle harder.

“Nice grip,” Patrick comments, looking at Art’s hands.

Art looks down himself, both hands on his racket, gripping so tight his knuckles have gone white. He loosens the grip, has to actually shake his hands with how stiff they are from holding that tight.

“Just serve,” Art orders, and Patrick does.

Art loses this game even worse. 40:0. Not a single point.

Patrick tries to serve again, “it’s my fucking serve,” Art snaps, not wanting anything to prolong this stupid bet any longer than necessary. Maybe he should just give up, lose on purpose so it can just be over.

“Oh, my bad, that game was so quick I didn’t realise I’d already won,” Patrick knows exactly what to say to keep Art playing, there’s no way he’s throwing a game against Patrick.

Art tells himself that he’s going to play better this game, and he actually manages another point before he loses his concentration again.

Patrick’s prancing around, enjoying himself too much, talking about how he has “so much more movement in this skirt,” or how it’s just “so breathable.”

It wasn’t supposed to go like this. This was supposed to be humiliating for Patrick. It should be him embarrassed, and distracted while Art won the set with ease. Patrick unable to hit back, spending the game self-consciously pulling the skirt down and begging Art to take mercy.

Instead, Art’s the one stood all flushed and embarrassingly hard, unable to get more than a couple points. It’s 15:40, and Art’s just hit his first serve into the net. If he misses his second, Patrick will win yet another game.

Patrick is swaying his hips, twisting side to side so the skirt flies up a little, “honestly, I don’t know how people who wear skirts don’t spend the whole time twirling around.”

“I need to serve,” Art tries to say but Patrick either doesn’t hear or just ignores him.

“This is so great, only downside is I can’t tie my shoelaces without giving everyone a show,” he starts to bend down, as if testing out how much he can without the entire skirt riding up.

The side profile is just as bad as being behind, the skirt slowly slipping up, showing more and more of the meat of Patrick’s thigh. Before it can get any higher, Art cuts in.

“Patrick,” he’s aiming for stern but it comes out all pleading, a borderline whine as if begging him to stop.

“Problem?” Patrick is so pleased with himself, but he stops bending over.

“Just get into position,” he just about manages to not add a please to it.

“Which position would you like?” Patrick asks, dripping his words in suggestiveness.

It’s so stupid and so completely the opposite of subtle, even for Patrick’s standards, but it’s like opening Pandora’s box. Like giving permission for his imagination to run wild.

Art can’t take it, all these thoughts rushing to flood his brain. He wants Patrick on his knees, skirt fanning out all pretty across his thighs, eyes all glassy as Art fucks into his mouth. He’d stroke at Patrick’s curls, he’d swipe a thumb under his eye collecting the tears that form when Art pushes down his throat and he starts gagging. Art smiling down at him repeating, ‘it��s okay, I know you can take it’.

Maybe he’ll order Patrick to bend over, hands on the net, and Patrick will be so smug about getting him to finally crack until Art spanks him with his racket, wiping that smirk off his face. The black of Art’s underwear on him, the white of the skirt pushed up, then the pink of his ass. The visual makes him a little dizzy.

Fuck, he could sit in the chair on the sidelines, have Patrick in his lap like earlier. Art would pull himself out of his shorts, push Patrick’s underwear to the side and split Patrick open on his dick. Art would keep a tight arm around him, Patrick’s back pressed tight to Art’s front, holding him up straight as Patrick’s body goes weak with pleasure.

He wouldn’t even fuck him, not properly, he’d just keep him held there, tight and warm around him. The skirt would drape over them both, covering it all, so they could pretend like Patrick was just innocently sitting on his lap. Only they would know that Art’s cock was actually inside him, pressing up against that bundle of nerves. It wouldn’t fool Tashi, not for a second, but maybe she’d get so horny she’d forgive them for breaking her rules.

Or, most humiliating is the way Art kind of just wants to push him down on his back and kiss him all over. Especially his legs. He wants to lick all the way up them, he wants to bite at his thighs, he wants to savor it all. Because Patrick always pisses him off, and Art often gets the urge to shove him down and teach him a lesson. He’s still pissed off now, but this time he’s got this need to make him feel good. Make him moan all pretty as Art shows off his skills, and Patrick’s thighs would be right on either side of his head.

It’s the least filthy idea he’s had this whole time and yet it feels the most embarrassing. This thought swirling in his head where he’s not even thinking about getting himself off. Not right away at least. Just focusing on having Patrick, skirt and all, underneath him, pink all over from pleasure and Art’s the one making him feel that good.

Art’s at his breaking point, he doesn’t care if Patrick is actually ready, physically can’t look at him to check, instead he just serves. The energy thrumming throughout him makes him hit too hard, the ball soars past the service box and Art loses the third game.

“Double fault,” Patrick calls out, overjoyed, “I guess you are tired? Maybe we should take a break?”

“Perfect,” Art mumbles out, making a beeline for one of the chairs at the sidelines.

He slumps down, taking a sip of water and staring straight ahead. He’s aware of Patrick moving next to him but he doesn’t turn, not until he feels Patrick get to the floor out of the corner of his eyes. He’s too curious, and when he looks he sees that Patrick is on all fours. Of course he is.

Instead of sitting on his chair like he’s supposed to, Patrick’s on his hands and knees reaching underneath it.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Art has to ask.

“Can’t find my water bottle,” Patrick reaches further under the chair, his back arching making his ass stick out further, skirt riding up. Art’s jaw clenches.

He’s pretty sure Patrick hadn’t even brought a water bottle, and either way, they can both clearly see that there is absolutely nothing under that chair. He can’t even bring himself to yell all this at Patrick.

“Just, take mine,” he snaps, holding it out, “and stop fucking doing that.”

“Thanks, I’m really thirsty,” he gets off all fours, leaning back to rest on his knees instead as he takes the bottle from Art.

Art doesn’t know if this position is better or worse than the last. Patrick tilts his head back, holding the water bottle above himself and squirting it into his mouth. Art watches the movement of his throat as he swallows, and the way some of the water misses his open mouth, dripping past his lips and down his neck. Worse. Definitely worse.

“Can you just sit normally,” Art watches Patrick put down the bottle and start to change position, but Art dreads what would be next so he changes his order, “or actually, how about you don’t sit on the floor at all?”

Art had meant for Patrick to go sit on his own chair, so that Art can just stare ahead and not think about him, and then maybe he can actually calm down. That’s what Art had intended, so of course that’s not what Patrick does.

"Fine, I should stretch anyway," he gets up, walking over to Art and putting a foot up on his chair.

"Patrick," he warns, his hands clenched tight at his sides, trying to ignore how close Patrick’s thigh is to his face.

"I need to put my foot somewhere sturdy," he shrugs, "my hamstrings get tight if I don't stretch."

"Nobody has ever stretched like that," Art's words are lost on Patrick, who ignores them, lunging deeper.

The expanse of his thigh is right next to him, Art’s practically drooling, he wants to get a mouth on him so badly, to just bite at his flesh. He can’t be the one to actually give in, he doesn’t want to give Patrick the satisfaction and he needs to be able to shift the blame for breaking Tashi’s rules.

From this angle it would be so easy to slip a hand up the skirt, feel at Patrick’s crotch, see if he’s as hard as Art is.

Speaking of that, Patrick looks down, “Jesus, no wonder you were playing so bad, that thing looks painful,” he eyes the way Art’s dick strains in his shorts, “I could help with that.”

“You need to stop,” Art’s hanging onto his last threads of restraint.

“That’s another thing about this skirt, it’s great for hiding a boner,” Patrick removes his leg and Art, foolishly, thinks he might actually be relenting.

Instead he returns, this time a knee on either side of Art’s thighs, straddling him. He sits up, hovering above Art's crotch, nothing actually touching Art’s dick yet.

“No grinding, remember,” Art reminds Patrick, so that he can tell Tashi, ‘I told him the rules, he just didn’t care’.

“I’m not,” Patrick says, but he lowers himself so that their crotches are now definitely pressed together.

Art’s hands snap up to grab his waist, holding him still, “don’t.”

“I’m just helping you cover up, look,” he tilts his head down, his skirt draped across both their laps, “perfectly innocent now. Nobody would know any different unless…”

Patrick trails off, his hand reaching for the hem, slowly dragging the fabric of the skirt upwards. It reveals that underneath Patrick definitely is just as hard as Art is, both of them pressed up together.

“Considering breaking any rules yet?” Patrick teases and Art is officially finished.

He moves one hand to the back of Patrick’s upper thigh, just below his ass, and the other to his lower back. Standing up, he once again lifts Patrick with him, and his legs instinctively wrap around Art’s waist.

“Where are we going?” he asks into Art’s ear.

The answer is: not very far. Art is beyond desperate, he makes it a few steps before lowering Patrick down onto the court on his back. Art drapes himself on top, hips fitting between Patrick’s open legs. He finally, finally, brings their mouths together, kissing sloppier than usual.

Patrick just follows, happily licking into Art’s mouth, pulling back briefly to ask, “are we allowed to kiss?”

“Yeah, kissing’s fine,” he says into his mouth.

“You could’ve told me that before,” Patrick bites at his lip.

“I knew you’d take advantage,” Art bites back, a hand slipping up the side of Patrick’s thigh, up under the skirt. Fuck.

“Thought we weren't allowed to touch under clothes?” Patrick asks.

“It’s not like I’m trying to undress you, it’s not my fault if my hand accidentally slips underneath a little,” Art can’t help himself, his hips pressing forwards against Patrick.

“Fair enough,” Patrick chuckles, then adds, “but you definitely said no dry humping.”

“It’s fine as long as we don’t finish,” Art’s making it up as he goes and Patrick nods in agreement, happy to go with however Art wants to bend the rules, as long as he’s the one bending them. Patrick’s pretty much off the hook now and Art can’t even bring himself to care.

He only pulls back when he realises he’s already getting close, and he just said they couldn’t get off like that. It’s fine though, he has other plans. He moves down Patrick’s body, everything speeding up and his mouth is at his knee, licking up and up his leg, stopping before his crotch. He does the same at the other side, then goes for the inner thighs, biting at the flesh. Patrick takes in a sharp inhale.

“Surely that’s not part of the rules,” he comments, propping himself up on his elbows, looking down at Art.

“You’re still dressed aren’t you?” Art just raises an eyebrow at him like it’s an obvious point.

“Yeah, I guess it’s fine,” Patrick breathes out.

Art goes further up the thigh, his head now underneath Patrick’s skirt, those thighs either side of his ears. Exactly where he wanted to be. The fabric covers him so that Patrick can’t see when Art suddenly licks a stripe up his dick, over his underwear.

Patrick gasps, “fuck,” then, “what about the no blowjobs rule?”

“It’s not a blowjob. As long as it’s through the underwear, technically my mouth isn’t actually touching you,” Art reasons, and it isn’t a particularly sound argument but neither of them care.

“Makes sense to me,” Patrick agrees.

Art licks again and he feels Patrick relax, laying flat against the court again. God, this is fucking ridiculous. His head up Patrick’s skirt, licking him over his (Art’s) briefs, on the fucking tennis court.

He moves more vigorously, tonguing all over, from his balls up the shaft to the head. He lets himself drool, getting the underwear all wet so it slips against Patrick’s dick even smoother. Patrick’s moaning quietly, shifting his hips, trying to push himself more against Art’s face. He lets Patrick essentially hump his face, keeping up his tonguing movements, occasionally sucking instead.

Then Art sucks at his tip through the material and Patrick gasps again, “shit,” he props himself up, pulling the skirt back to look at Art all desperate, “can’t you just blow me for real?”

“We’ve been following the rules so well, no point stopping now,” Art smiles.

“I know, but I need something more,” Patrick bargains, “c’mon, what about a little fingering? Just slip in one finger, she’ll never know.”

“She’ll be able to tell if we lie,” Art argues, “so if we behave now, then when she asks if we followed her rules we can say yes, and it will be true.”

Well, truer than if Art actually did suck Patrick off properly.

“I know, I just-” Patrick cuts himself off with a moan as Art licks at him again.

“We’ve been so good,” Art keeps licking between speaking, “as long as you keep the underwear on it’s fine. You can finish like this, can’t you?”

“I don’t know,” Patrick breathes out.

“Shouldn’t even be doing this, I just couldn’t help myself, you looked so good,” Art rambles, “the skirt was driving me fucking crazy.”

“Art, please,” not asking for anything in particular, just wanting more.

Art starts sucking through the fabric again, close to the head but not quite. Patrick whines, his hips bucking up.

“You need to be good,” Art reminds him, “you can cum like this.”

This time it isn’t a question, it’s an order, and Patrick manages out an “okay.”

Art presses harder with his tongue, swirling it around the most sensitive part. Patrick’s groaning, breathing quickly.

“I’m close,” he gets out, strained.

Art’s about to praise him but he can feel Patrick bringing a hand down, trying to get into his own underwear and touch himself. Art intercepts it, grabbing it and holding it down against the court.

“What happened to being good?” Art asks.

“I’m almost there, I don’t know if I can,” he’s squirming, trying to get friction.

“You can,” Art assures, sucking again, “tell me you can.”

“I can.”

Art focuses on licking at the tip again, it has Patrick thrusting up against him uncontrollably, and moaning louder. He switches to sucking, hard, directly at the head and now Patrick whines.

“Fuck, Art, shit,” his hips trying to move away from the intense feeling at the same time they try to press further into it, “I’m so close, I’m there, I’m going to-”

“You gonna cum?” he asks, a little smug, “you gonna be good, and finish in your panties for me?”

“Yes, yeah,” Patrick nods furiously, “for you.”

“Good girl,” spills out of Art, and then he’s bringing the tip back in his mouth. He sucks and swirls his tongue around it, and Patrick is moaning, his hips stuttering as they thrust up in sudden shock and pleasure.

Art feels a wet warmth spread across the fabric as Patrick orgasms.

He pulls back, observing his work. Patrick's chest rising up and down, quickly. He's flushed all pink, hair sticking to his forehead. He can see the way Patrick's underwear are damp with his own cum and Art's spit.

The sight is almost enough to make him forget what he just said. Almost. He feels himself turn pink, hot all over.

"What the fuck," Patrick flings an arm over his face, still breathing heavy, and Art's slightly worried he's crossed some sort of line.

Then Art watches a smile spread across his face, Patrick peaks out from behind his arm, grinning, "so you admit they're panties?"

Art laughs in relief, "fuck off," then looks Patrick up and down, "they are when you wear them."

He lifts himself up to sit properly, staring at Art's lap, "want me to help you get off?"

Art considers for a second, but if he rambled that embarrassingly just from getting Patrick off, he's scared of what he'd say if he was about to come himself.

"I shouldn't," he decides, "and you should probably shower, get rid of the evidence."

"Why do I need to hide anything, I thought you said this was all above board?" Patrick smirks.

"It was," Art defends, standing up and reaching a hand out to help Patrick, "but it's not going to look very innocent, that's all."

Patrick takes it, letting Art drag him into a standing position, laughing, "didn't feel very innocent either."

Art shrugs, feeling a little more relaxed now he's at least partially got it out of his system. He's still hard but once he has a cold shower he'll calm down.

They decide to use the shower in the clubhouse next to the court. It's a small building, basically an oversized shed, with a few lockers, a bench, and a smattering of spare tennis equipment. It only has one shower, and they usually just head back to the house to clean up.

It feels more convenient to use it this time, to get Patrick cleaned up and Art calmed down before they grab all their stuff to head back to the house.

Patrick tries to lure Art into the shower with him, "it's so much more efficient to do it together, and better for the environment. Do you even care about the polar bears at all?" but Art knows it's a test of temptation that he would definitely fail.

Maybe if he can go without an orgasm he'll be able to twist the blame on Patrick still. If the need arises. Hopefully they can head back to the house and be waiting innocently on the couch when Tashi returns, so neither of them will have to take the blame for anything.

Patrick hasn't mentioned what Art said, maybe he didn't hear it and Art's certainly not going to ask him about it.

He sits on the bench, facing away from Patrick showering because he's meant to be calming down. Except now he's thinking about it. Good girl. And Patrick coming right after. Where the fuck did that even come from?

Art had almost finished himself, his hips pressing against the rough of the court. It was kind of humiliating, that he got off on it so much. He hadn't even intended to say it. A familiar combination of shame and arousal swirl together in his stomach.

That fucking skirt.

He never should've made that bet.

It's just he didn't anticipate getting so worked up. He can't let Patrick wear that again. He also can't go without it. He got one thing out of his system but his head is still brimming with ideas.

He's supposed to be calming down but his dick strains as hard as ever against his shorts. Jerking off should be fine right? If he has no contact with Patrick whilst he's doing it? It might be bad for his health to hold it in, Tashi can't be mad at him for caring about his health, right?

Yeah, it makes enough sense in his head that he's already bringing a hand over his crotch, sighing in relief.

Patrick turns the water off, and Art hears him step out.

Patrick could always help out as visual aid, as long as he doesn't touch Art. The skirt is still here, and really it's only fair Art gets to cum too.

"Maybe I should get off," he voices, "it might be suspicious if I'm hornier than you are."

Patrick snorts like he knows it's bullshit, but he indulges nonetheless, "I wish you'd said this before I showered but sure, that sounds right to me. What can I do for you?"

"You can't touch me but maybe I can just look at you?" Art suggests, uncertain, still pressing himself over his shorts.

"You want me to just stand here while you stare at me and jerk off?" Patrick laughs in amusement, "oh, Art, I'm flattered."

"Not just stand there, I thought maybe you could put it back on?" He asks, hopeful and trying to hide his shame.

"Put what back on?" Patrick plays dumb.

Art groans, "the fucking skirt, and you know that's what I meant."

Patrick grins, reaching for the skirt where he'd chucked it on the floor unceremoniously.

"Well, I'm not putting those panties back on, so it will have to be commando this time," Patrick tells him, stepping into the skirt and pulling it up, zipping once it's around his waist.

"That's fine, that's, yeah, fine," Art struggles out, rubbing harder at himself and he needs more, "it's fine to touch ourselves, don't you think?"

"You know the rules, you do what feels right," Patrick just shrugs, not giving Art the easy way out.

He tries to just keep touching himself over the fabric but Patrick is there, only in the skirt and it's setting him alight again. For some reason the skirt feels more scandalous than just staring at him fully naked.

Art finally pulls himself out of his shorts, precum dripping from his neglected dick. Patrick eyes it appreciatively.

"Should I be posing for you?" Patrick asks, half joking.

"Stand with your hands against the wall," Art says too quick, knowing exactly what he wants.

Patrick looks delightfully surprised at how fast he answers, and about how specific he is. He follows the order with a grin, turning to the wall of lockers, resting his hands against them, slightly bent as he sticks his ass out.

Fuck. That was a bad idea.

Before his brain catches up, Art finds himself behind Patrick.

"I'm still not touching," Art reassures, even though Patrick hadn't asked.

He stands an inch behind him, dick in hand, staring at the way the skirt falls over his ass. He strokes himself slowly, trying to keep his distance. God, he wants to push the skirt up and jerk off until he comes all over Patrick's skin and the skirt at the same time.

He slides his hand up and down his shaft a little faster, “want to cum all over your ass like this.”

Patrick hums, “and that’s allowed?”

“It’s not like we’re doing anything to each other. You’re standing and I’m jerking off, two separate things,” Art explains, “if when I cum, it accidentally lands on you, we can’t blame ourselves. You want it don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Patrick breathes out, “still wish you hadn’t made me shower first.”

“Hmm, you are really clean right now,” Art looks him over, skin still damp from the spray of water.

“And you want to dirty me up again, right?” Patrick teases.

Art does. Badly. He wants to get him all filthy. He also wants something else. Art's mouth is watering again. And Patrick had just showered. He's so clean right now.

He moves a little closer.

"You just said no touching," he smirks at Art over his shoulder.

"I won't," Art promises, "not with my hands."

He lowers himself to his knees, slowly.

"What are you doing?" Patrick's breath hitches.

"It's fine, I'm only using my mouth, and you already came so you're not getting off," Art justifies, reaching a hand to push the skirt up.

"Right," Patrick nods, "except you are literally using your hands right now."

"It's fine as long as I'm not touching your dick or fingering you, and you've got the skirt on so you're basically dressed," Art's definitely waffling at this point.

"I'm starting to think you might not actually understand these rules," Patrick teases, "the excuses are getting real flimsy, dude."

"Who fucking cares?" Art finally gives in, bringing one hand to his own dick as his other goes to Patrick's ass, spreading him open so he can get his tongue at Patrick's rim.

Patrick moans in shock, swearing under his breath. Art swirls his tongue around his hole, jerking himself off at the same time. He doesn't know what it is about the skirt, but it makes him have this crazy urge to get his mouth on Patrick any way he can. Suddenly becoming the hottest thing he can imagine, just pushing the skirt away as he rims Patrick underneath it.

“Fuck, you never do this,” Patrick sighs.

“Yes, I do,” Art pulls back to reply, a little indignantly.

“Not like this,” and Patrick’s sort of right.

Art has done this a few times, got his mouth on Patrick’s hole, but usually as a way to tease him. To get Patrick worked up before he fucks him, if he’s feeling like he wants to drag it out. If Tashi wants to make Patrick squirm, she’ll direct Art into it as she touches Patrick everywhere except where he really wants.

This is different. He doesn’t even have a goal in mind. It’s not like Patrick's going to get that desperate since he already finished recently. It’s just Art couldn’t fucking help himself. Without thought he just wanted to sink to his knees and taste him, make Patrick feel good just because.

“You don’t have to,” Patrick tells him, “might be a while before I finish.”

“I know,” he does, and he doesn’t care, “I just want to, need to.”

He licks fervently, a circle around then presses in with the tip of his tongue.

“Fuck,” Patrick gasps out, not quite hard yet but Art’s sure he’s on his way.

Art keeps going, tonguing in and out, pushing past the tight ring of muscle.

“Art,” Patrick is shaky, “I don’t think we can justify this one to Tashi.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Art repeats, giving him a bite to the ass, “she won’t know.”

“I think that’s the wrong answer,” a voice calls out and Art falls backwards trying to move away from Patrick, tucking his dick back in his shorts even though it’s too late.

“Shit,” Patrick removes his hands from the wall, turning to the doorway, “Tashi.”

She’s standing there, hands on hips, looking fucking gorgeous, obviously. She’s got a navy dress on, it’s one of the more casual ones in her collection, it buttons down the front and the hem sits just below the knee.

“Who’s responsible for all this then?” she glares between them both.

Patrick doesn’t say anything but Art immediately defends, “it was Patrick.”

He turns to look down at Art, “you fucking snake.”

He can’t feel too guilty, it’s not like Patrick had been silent out of loyalty to Art, it’s just that he was never as bothered about defending himself, never really trying that hard to get out of trouble. Often wanting to do the opposite, in fact.

“Snake, yes,” Tashi speaks slow, looking at Art, “and a fucking liar too.”

“I’m not,” Art tries and it makes Tashi laugh.

“Really, because from where I was standing it seemed like Patrick was the one who had enough sense to think about the rules, even with your tongue in his ass,” Art can see Patrick grin a little at Tashi’s words, “meanwhile, you were the one saying ‘who fucking cares?’”

Shit. Had she been standing there that long?

Art can’t even say anything, just sitting there, boner tenting his shorts still.

“Although, I’m sure he’s not entirely innocent either,” Tashi walks over to Patrick, feeling at the skirt, “why are you wearing this?”

“I lost a bet,” Patrick shrugs at her, amused now that the surprise has worn off.

“Why do I get the feeling that you made a bet that you would purposely lose, because you knew he’d cave seeing you in a skirt?” Tashi says to Patrick.

He smirks, “no, I wish I'd thought of it but this was also all him.”

Tashi for a moment seems impressed, looking at him vaguely proudly before her face shifts back to stern.

“That’s two strikes, Art. You’re not doing very well today, are you?” she tilts her head at him, “what did you think you were going to achieve by intentionally sabotaging yourself?”

“I didn’t mean to, I thought it would be funny, I didn’t realise it would make me so…” he trails off, “I just wanted to embarrass him.”

“Right, because Patrick is famously easy to embarrass,” she snorts, and she’s absolutely right, he doesn’t know what was going through his head to think that Patrick would actually feel any type of shame from wearing a skirt, “and you seriously thought you wouldn’t get turned on by it? Are you stupid or just lying again?”

Art just ducks his head, face flushed.

Patrick laughs, “I think he was genuinely surprised about how horny he got.”

She looks down at the skirt again, thumbing the fabric, “so, what exactly were the rules for this punishment?”

“Loser has to wear it for one full set,” Patrick informs, letting her play with the material.

“And how far did you get?” Tashi asks, knowing that there was no way they actually managed it.

“Three games before Art was shoving me down on the tennis court and having his way with me,” Patrick grins, and Tashi’s eyes light up too.

She eyes Art again, “so you can’t even follow your own rules, huh?”

Art still doesn’t know what to say other than, “I tried.”

Tashi ignores it, “and you’re telling me that you’d already disobeyed me by fucking before that little scene I walked in on.”

“We didn’t technically fuck,” Patrick starts.

“We were good, we followed the rules,” Art interjects.

Tashi looks to Patrick for confirmation, he nods, “yeah, we were fully clothed, no touching, just his mouth.”

“I’m pretty sure I banned blowjobs,” she raises an eyebrow.

“It wasn’t a blowjob, I had underwear on the whole time,” Patrick smiles wide, “and Art didn’t even cum.”

“Jesus Christ,” she pinches the bridge of her nose, and looks over at Art, “and you still haven’t cum yet?”

He shakes his head and she nods in approval.

“That’s good,” Tashi thinks for a moment, “I think you should both finish the bet.”

“What?” Art asks from the floor.

“A chance for you to redeem yourself, prove that you can stick to your word,” she watches his blank face, “c’mon get up.”

He scrambles up quickly, still uncertain, “are you sure?”

“Yep,” she says, curtly, turning to Patrick, “you get dressed, and then both of you get out there and finish playing the full set.”

Patrick grabs the shirt he’d been wearing earlier, putting it on immediately, “alright.”

Tashi eyes his skirt, “when I say ‘get dressed’, that includes underwear.”

“Well, mine are kind of ruined from earlier,” he looks way too pleased with himself, “I’m happy to go without.”

She shakes her head, biting her lip, “no, you really should wear underwear with a skirt like that.”

Then Tashi does something which makes Art’s entire brain short circuit. She reaches under her dress, pulling down her panties, stepping out of them gracefully as she takes them off. She holds them out to Patrick, “here, you can borrow mine.”

What the fuck.

Art gets at least some satisfaction from the way Patrick seems just as affected as he is, Patrick stumbling on his words, “I, how, what?”

“Go on, you put them on the same as any other pair of underwear,” she’s smiling big, extremely pleased with their reactions, slightly condescending in her tone.

“Are they going to fit?” Art asks, and it feels like his ears are ringing with how dizzy it’s making him.

“It doesn’t matter,” she faces Patrick, “you’ll make it work, yeah?”

He nods at her, still in a slight daze. Taking the pair and stepping into them, he’s not as graceful as Tashi, needing to put an arm against the wall for balance. He manages to get them on but the skirt covers them before Art can get a proper look.

“Show us,” Art can’t stop himself saying.

“Not yet,” Tashi orders, and Art sighs.

He tries to imagine it. The pair isn’t Tashi’s tiniest or the most lacy in her collection, they’re what she would consider casual, but Art would still call sexy. They’re navy, matching her dress, the front is made of cotton which is a good thing, much more forgiving to stretch over Patrick’s cock. God, he must be straining against it still. The material covering his ass is lace, just about see through. Art can’t fucking do this.

Tashi is walking to the doorway, Patrick following, but Art just stays planted still.

“Tashi,” he pleads, “I can’t.”

She looks back at him, not giving him any pity, just smiling at him, “you can, and you will.”

In other words: you made your bed, now lie in it.

Standing on the other side of the net from Patrick feels even worse than before. He was already horny beyond belief before even stepping foot on the court and now he’s got Tashi sat on the sidelines watching them both. Patrick seems to have recovered from the shock and is now back to moving around the court like he fucking owns it. Like he’s never felt hotter.

Art feels like he blacks out the entire first game, Patrick is serving and he’s trying to hit back but honestly he’s not sure he’s even on the planet anymore. He keeps getting glimpses of the blue lace under the skirt. It had felt impossible when it was Patrick wearing his briefs, but it being Tashi’s panties is infinitely worse.

Again he needs to bend Patrick over, push the panties to the side and fuck him. He needs to get under Tashi’s dress and eat her out. He can’t work out the logistics of it, how he can fuck Patrick whilst also having Tashi in his mouth. Maybe if he lays down on his back, Patrick could ride him and Tashi could sit on his face? But then he wouldn’t be able to see Patrick in a skirt falling apart on his dick. He wants and needs and can’t have.

Patrick in panties. Patrick in Tashi’s clothes. Patrick in lace. Tashi sat with nothing on under her dress.

He can’t breathe. He needs to be put down.

The score is 40:0, and Patrick’s throwing the ball up to serve.

Art tries, he really does, he actually manages to hit the ball but it sails right into the net. Patrick wins another game.

“Nice form,” Tashi is calling out at him.

“Thought you hated my serve,” Patrick raises an eyebrow at her.

“I do,” she very obviously rakes her eyes up and down Patrick’s body, biting her lip as part of her performance. It’s a stupid innuendo. Art’s dick twitches.

They both grin at each other. How can they be so playful about this while Art feels like he’s going to bite a hole through his cheek.

“You’re a real pervert, you know that?” Patrick points his racket at her in a joking accusation.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she shrugs, slouching back in the chair, spreading her legs wider, keeping her eyes on Patrick.

“See how she objectifies me,” Patrick’s addressing him, but Art can’t possibly respond, he just stands there looking between them like a deer in the headlights. It makes them both laugh.

“Woah, it really is that bad,” Tashi tilts her head at him in amusement, “it’s your serve, Art.”

He nods, taking a ball from his pocket. He can do this. He clings onto the guise of playing a tennis match like a lifeline. Just think about tennis. Nothing else.

He plays minutely better, but still loses, 30:40 this time. He probably only gets those points because now Patrick’s distracted too, trying to catch a glimpse up Tashi’s dress.

Patrick’s up to serve again, and if he wins this game it will all be over. Art will be put out of his misery. He’ll also lose to Patrick, six games to his zero.

Again he tries to pull it together, and Tashi’s been calling out to him too, encouraging him. Except it doesn’t work because everytime he looks over at her he just starts thinking about how she doesn’t have any panties on. Then when he looks away he’s got Patrick in front of him, making him think about how Patrick does have panties on. It’s honestly torturous.

He manages to get it together for one second, remembering Patrick’s backhand is a little weaker than his forehand. He hits a ball to Patrick’s left, and it works because his backhand isn’t precise enough, and the ball flies out as he hits it too hard. 40:15.

Tashi must notice what he’s done, she gives him a little nod of approval.

“Patrick, I want you to win on a backhand,” she calls out to him, “you’ll get a treat if you do.”

Fuck, okay. If Patrick wins the next point, he’s won the set. If he wins it with a backhand, he’ll also get a reward. Art has to at least try to stop it.

Patrick serves, and Art puts all the will he has left into hitting it back. It’s a powerful shot, it flies towards the back corner on Patrick’s right. He’d have to run pretty fast to get it anyway, and he’ll definitely have to be fast if he wants to make it a backhand.

Inexplicably, Patrick manages it, darting sideways quick enough to get on the other side of the ball, hitting a backhand. The speed of his movement and the force of him skidding to a stop makes the skirt fly up. Art is fucked. The ball soars towards him, just about making it over the net, landing in before bouncing right past Art. It’s over.

He watches Patrick drop his racket, turning to face Tashi, bowing to her. She grins, beckoning him with her finger. Art just watches.

Patrick stands in front of Tashi, she smiles at him, “give me a twirl.”

He snorts, but does it, spinning around so the skirt fans out, “cute,” Tashi comments.

Cute is one word for it. Art has the urge to start gnawing at Patrick’s leg.

“So what’s my treat?” Patrick asks, and Tashi spreads her legs wider, pulling up the material of her dress a little further.

He gets the idea, lowering himself to his knees. Art watches Patrick kiss up Tashi’s legs, pressing his lips at the soft brown of her inner thigh. He doesn’t know who he wants to be more. To have his lips against Tashi or to have Patrick’s against his own thighs. Or maybe he wants a secret third thing (to plow into Patrick from behind and watch as he eats Tashi out).

Art grinds his teeth, making himself ask, “can I?”

He doesn’t ask for anything specific. Doesn’t know what he’s allowed. Just wants something.

“You can watch, for now,” Tashi gestures for him to come closer.

For now. He can work with that.

Art doesn’t know where to stand, next to Tashi so he can look down at the sight of Patrick on his knees? No. He moves behind, getting to look at Patrick’s ass, and to see Tashi’s face.

Patrick adjusts his position, leaning forward into Tashi so he’s more on all fours than just his knees, except his hands grab at her outer thighs pulling her cunt closer to his mouth. When he finally gets a tongue on her, her eyes flutter shut for a second, before opening to look at Art. Again he’s paralysed with making a decision. He can’t pick where to look.

He eyes Tashi’s face, relaxing with pleasure. Then trails down to Patrick’s head buried between her thighs, and then down again. The whole reason he’s in this predicament in the first place.

The skirt does nothing to cover him up now, and Art stares at the lace clothing his ass, also not doing much to keep Patrick’s skin hidden. From this angle he can see the way Patrick’s dick spills out of the fabric.

Art’s fists clench at either side, not allowed to do anything but stare. He enjoys watching a bit, it’s an infuriatingly arousing view, but that’s the problem. His patience has already been worn down to knife’s edge, he’s spent all afternoon inundated with arousing views.

Tashi must see the desperate look on his face but she doesn’t say anything, she just puts a leg over Patrick’s shoulder, and a hand on the back of his head. She sighs at the new angle.

It’s Patrick who takes pity on him, without even seeing his face.

He pulls back from Tashi to ask, “can Art join?” and when she hums uncertainly he adds, “he did come up with the skirt idea.”

Tashi looks at Art, then down at the skirt, then up again, “yeah, alright, he can join.”

Art moves quick, getting to his knees behind Patrick. He’s about to pull his shorts down when Tashi stops him

“What are you doing?” she asks and he just stares at her blankly. He doesn’t really know, other than that he needs his dick to touch something right fucking now, “did you think you were going to fuck him? We don’t even have any lube. And did you think you’ve earned that?”

“I don’t know,” he sounds desperate but he’s given up caring.

“Keep it in your pants,” she orders, “you’re allowed to dry hump and that’s it.”

He furrows his eyebrows at her, and she gets stern, “don’t give me that look. You’re lucky I’m allowing anything.”

Fine. It’s something at least. And he can grab Patrick’s ass as much as he likes. He does just that, rubbing his hand over it, feeling the lace, and the warmth of his skin. He brings his hands to Patrick’s hips and presses his crotch against him. Sighing in relief at the pressure against his dick, imagining that he was actually sinking inside him right now.

He can hear the sounds of Patrick’s tongue lapping at Tashi’s pussy, it makes him thrust his hips forward. The movement pushing Patrick forward too, and Art can’t stop thrusting against him.

“Art,” Tashi scolds, “stop that.”

“I can’t,” he scowls and she glares at him, he slows down, “fine.”

He grips Patrick’s hips tight, probably leaving fingerprints, keeping Patrick still as he rubs against him. Still thrusting but now Patrick doesn’t move with him.

He could probably cum like this, could do it very easily. It just doesn’t feel fair. Yes he broke some rules but he never even got to finish from any of it, so really, doesn’t he deserve a bit more than to pathetically hump at Patrick’s ass.

Tashi’s letting out more and more sighs, and he can hear Patrick moaning against her, trying to push back against Art, fighting against his strong grip.

“C’mon Tashi, he clearly wants me to fuck him,” Art pleads.

“And whose fault is it that you can't?” she asks with an arched brow, “if you had prepared then maybe you would’ve brought lube down here.”

“I’ll go and get some now,” he bargains, although he’s not sure he could pry himself away.

“No, you don’t deserve it, you broke the rules,” she smiles, mean, “if you had behaved then maybe you would be inside him right now.”

“If I had behaved, we wouldn’t even be in this position in the first place,” he snaps.

Tashi doesn’t say anything back because it’s sort of true. If Art had been good there would be no skirt. No tennis court sex at all tonight.

Patrick pulls back, “just one finger, I need something.”

“Fine,” Tashi relents, bringing his head back against her.

She gives Art the go ahead with her eyes, and he’s sucking at his own finger, wetting it. He stops humping to pull the blue panties to the side, circling the damp finger before pushing in.

Patrick groans, and the vibration of it makes Tashi moan quietly too. Art keeps pumping the finger in and out, still humping at Patrick, but just more at his thigh now rather than his ass. It’s better than how he pictured it, Patrick dressed like this, clenching around his finger and moaning into Tashi’s cunt.

Patrick doubles his efforts, licking at her faster, and Art can tell she’s getting close. He’s just so good like this, taking Art and pleasing Tashi. He can tell that Patrick wants more from the way he’s pushing back on Art’s finger. Tashi’s eyes flutter shut from pleasure, and Art takes the opportunity to slip another finger into Patrick. He would've gotten away with it if Patrick didn't let out this loud, surprised, moan.

Tashi’s eyes open, first looking down at Patrick, then at Art. He smiles at her innocently, but she notices the two fingers now pumping inside Patrick.

“Did I say you were allowed to do that?” she asks, rhetorically.

“He just looks so good, he deserved it, I could tell he needed it,” Art defends, not stopping his fingering.

Art’s a little shocked when Tashi laughs.

“God, what is it about this skirt? It’s got you misbehaving, and it’s got Patrick being good,” she strokes a hand through his curls.

Art raises an eyebrow, because Patrick hasn’t exactly been good. Just better than Art.

Tashi smiles, correcting herself, “alright, well it makes you want to treat him like he’s good anyway.”

Yeah. Yeah that’s exactly it.

Patrick must start sucking at her clit because she’s making these telltale signs that she’s close, her hand gripped tight in his hair.

She grinds her hips up against his face, “fuck, makes you want to call him a good girl,” then she’s shoving Patrick’s face against her, trembling as she comes.

Oh fuck. It takes everything in him not to come too. Tashi breathes out, slumping against the chair, almost boneless.

Tashi pulls Patrick away from her before she gets overstimulated, resting his head against her thigh. Patrick grins, “you guys really are similar.”

“What?” Tashi looks between them both, this alert searching look she gets when she’s missing information, Art stays silent so she looks down at Patrick again, “I don’t get it.”

Art fucks his fingers into Patrick faster, hoping to stop him talking, he moans but carries on.

“Art called me that too,” he says all smug, “turned bright red after.”

Art flushes.

“Yeah, he looks pretty red right now too,” Tashi gives him this delighted look, “this skirt thing really has you fucked, huh?” which is unfair considering she’d also said the same thing.

“Patrick’s the one who came immediately when I said it,” Art argues.

“That’s not a shock, I’m only human,” Patrick chuckles, “what’s interesting is how much the two of you apparently want me to be your good girl.”

He wonders if Tashi feels as embarrassed as he does. Probably not.

“Art you can take your dick out,” Tashi’s telling him, and he wastes no time removing his fingers from Patrick and pulling his shorts and underwear down at once.

“Look, I can take a lot, but there’s no way I can take Art’s dick right now without some lube or a hell of a lot more stretching,” Patrick jokes.

“He’s not going to fuck you, I just want him to come on you,” both boys moan a little, “knew you’d like that.”

Art doesn’t know what to do with himself now he can actually touch his dick against Patrick, he just grabs his hips rubbing his length on him. Already so close.

“You can touch yourself too, Patrick,” Tashi strokes at his hair, and Art watches Patrick reach into his underwear, pulling himself out.

He starts stroking himself quickly, “I’m almost there, already.”

“That’s okay, you’ve been so good already,” Tashi says sweetly and it makes Art shiver when she says good, on edge and full of shame, “I think Art’s close too.”

She just keeps talking, “look how pretty Patrick is for you, how he presents himself for you,” she says to Art, “what else can he do to get you to come?”

“I don’t know,” Art can barely think, reaching a hand around himself now.

“Arch your back a little more, Patrick,” she orders, and Patrick does, sticking his ass out even more, “and do you want him to come at the same time as you?”

Art nods frantically, not really understanding why Tashi's giving him what he wants all of a sudden.

“C’mon Patrick, you’ve got to hurry up if you want to come at the same time,” she leans down to whisper, but Art can still hear, “I know Art’s the one losing his mind but don’t think I haven’t noticed how much you get off on it too.”

"I get off on the fact that me wearing a skirt and panties gets you both off so much," he insists.

"Right, you get nothing out of this," She smirks down at him, "doesn't affect you at all to think about Art coming on you while you're in my lacy underwear, and a fucking mini skirt."

Patrick moans pressing his face into Tashi's thigh.

"I should buy you your own set, I think you'd like that, maybe get Art to pick it out" she then looks up at Art, "Patrick would wear it for you, he'd be so good."

And Art gets what Tashi's doing. She's trying to get him to say it. Art's not going to, he has a different idea instead.

"You guys are fucking obsessed with getting me in girls underwear," Patrick manages to say, "think Art would die if I had a whole outfit on."

"No, I'd be ready next time," Art keeps jerking himself, now determined, "I'd fuck you properly, and Tashi would get her strap and she'd fuck you too."

Patrick groans again and Tashi's eyes snap up to meet Art's, an understanding passing between them.

"I think you're the one that's obsessed, Patrick," Tashi looks down at him, "we could do it just like this, except I'd shove my dick down your throat while Art takes you from behind."

Patrick bites at Tashi's thigh.

Art lets go of himself, reaching around to replace Patrick's hand with his own, jerking him off. He can't bite at her anymore, his mouth falling open.

"We'd ruin you, ruin all your outfits and keep buying more," he leans himself over Patrick, jerking him off and grinding at his ass again, "and you'd let us, wouldn't you?"

"Yeah," Patrick moans into Tashi's lap, "gonna come."

"Art are you close too?" Tashi checks.

"Yeah, just want him to finish first, won't come on him until he does," Art keeps stroking.

"Patrick, you want to come?" She asks him.

"Already fucking said I did," Patrick grumbles out.

"Come on, don't be rude, I know you want to be good," she strokes his hair, "say it to me."

Patrick keeps his mouth shut.

"Patrick I'm going to stop touching you if you don't say it," Art warns, slowing down his movements.

"Want to be good," he mumbles into Tashi's thigh, it's a start but not quite what they want.

Art speeds up again, looking at Tashi, she whispers to Patrick, "a good what?"

He groans, shaking his head as much as he can in this position.

"C'mon Patrick, I know you want to finish, I can get you over the edge if you just tell us what you are," he squeezes Patrick's dick not moving his hand.

Patrick still doesn't speak, so Art swipes a thumb over his tip, it's too sensitive and Patrick moans but he won't come from it, not without Art jerking him at the same time.

Tashi watches with a grin, as Art swipes again making him whine. It's too much.

"What are you?" Tashi asks, and Art thumbs the head once more.

Patrick whimpers, then "I'm a good girl," he gasps out, and Art immediately resumes jerking.

Patrick thrusts forwards, spurting all over Art's hands, drooling in Tashi's lap as he trembles with it.

Art brings the hand, covered in Patrick's fluid to his own dick. He pushes up the skirt a little, then it only takes a few swipes and he's coming. White ropes shooting over the skirt, the lace underwear, and Patrick's ass.

"Fuck," Art gasps out, the sight of it all sending another wave of pleasure through him, a little more dripping out of him onto the blue panties.

Art falls back catching his breath, and Patrick just stays with his head against Tashi. Probably hiding his face. There are some things which still embarrass him.

Him and Patrick both breathe deeply for a while, Tashi looking pleased with her work.

She eventually breaks the silence, "what was the bet even about?"

Patrick mumbles out, "I don't remember anymore."

Art laughs, "it was about Jaws."

"Movie mashup?" Tashi asks.

"Yeah," Art smiles, "honest to God, we were just going to watch a movie while we waited for you."

Tashi laughs too, "we should watch one now."

"Mashup on three?" Patrick lifts his head up finally, then counts down, "1...2...3..."

Patrick picks Rocky, Art goes for Little Shop of Horrors, and Tashi lands on Bride of Frankenstein.

It's a weird selection, with a somewhat perfect mashup.

"Rocky Horror Picture Show?" Tashi suggests.

"It is on theme," Art snorts.

"Yeah, maybe we can get some inspiration for Patrick's next outfit," Tashi teases and Patrick groans.

"This is unfair, does nobody remember how embarrassing it was that Art got so horny he forgot how to play tennis?" Patrick complains.

"No, all I remember is you calling yourself a good girl and drooling in my lap over a handjob," Tashi jokes.

Art enjoys the fact that the teasing is off him for now, even though he knows he's probably never going to be able to live down the worst set of tennis he's ever played in his life.

All because he thought it would be funny to force Patrick to wear a skirt.

They put on the movie, but end up falling asleep on the couch before it's over. Patrick goes first and before Art drifts off himself he can practically see the cogs turning in Tashi's head, plotting something.

He can't help but feel they've both given her a secret weapon, a cheat code to get them under her thumb. He smiles to himself as he's pulled into deep sleep.

----

an: um. idk what the hell just happened guys. sorry about this one, hope you enjoyed :) part 2 with tashi buying patrick some proper lingerie.... I will start working on that

#truly cannot understand the length of this one!!!#im starting to overthink this so im just posting it. can't look at it anymore #i did have a lot of joy writing this though... of course i did it's patrick in a skirt #and i love art's insane brain yayy #challengers #throuple #smut #fic #starts out artrick then ends throuple #don't worry. i would never leave out tashii

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topthreedetectives · 2 days ago

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been thinking about what instruments ace attorney characters would've played as band kids, and i've reached a few conclusions:

original trilogy characters:

miles edgeworth: we already know he used to play the flute so obviously that, i think he would also have learned how to play piano and violin at home. maybe he'd even be in color guard at some point!! then later on, maybe junior year and onwards, he'd be the drum major

phoenix wright: this one was tricky at first but then it hit me - he wanted to sit next to edgeworth in class so he based his decision entirely on miles' (sound familiar?) however, they never actually end up sitting next to each other because phoenix usually gets close to last chair and miles always gets first chair. maybe he joins edgeworth in color guard and ends up really good at it, becoming the captain after a year or two! the idea of him being a drum major with edgeworth is frickin adorable, i'm still unsure about it though. maybe he could help out color guard in his free time? very conflicted about this as i think he would really love being in color guard but also. they would be AMAZING drum majors together. so i'm leaning towards yes on drum major in senior year

larry butz: despite wanting to sit with edgeworth and phoenix, he thought flutes were too "girly" so he tried to learn the saxophone because he thought it would be cool and he'd have girls falling for him (i've witnessed this phenomenon many times). he could NOT make a sound on one without squeaking horrendously, though, so he ended up playing trombone instead after playing trumpet for a bit and being forced to switch because he was WAY. TOO. LOUD. (he was miserable for awhile after being switched each time, he thought he was doing amazing.....) let's be honest, he's a band drop out and switches to art once it becomes an alternative for an art credit. he still watches the band play for nick and edgey at games, though!

maya fey: this was another hard one, but i think she would play saxophone. it just fits!!! some other contenders were percussion (in the pit for marching season) and trombone or baritone

pearl fey: my initial gut reaction was flute, and while i didn't wanna choose something so blatantly obvious, i also can't ignore WHY it's so blatantly obvious. so, flute player it is (occasionally playing the piccolo for concert season)

mia fey: this one was TOUGH my goodness. i landed on bari sax but im still not completely sold, so feel free to suggest something better lol

godot: now THIS is a saxophone player if i've ever seen one. i think he knows tenor and bari, but only plays tenor for band stuff. he's usually the one who gets the solos because of course he does. he and mia play killer sax duets together for solo and ensemble :3

franziska von karma: at first i was thinking flute because she would wanna have that rivalry with edgeworth, but i think she'd actually play french horn!! she'd know piano and violin along with him anyway, so that's where the rivalry can be. maybe color guard for marching season? i think she'd like "accidentally" dropping rifles on miles during practice, hehe

dick gumshoe: TUBA. omg tuba. it's perfect. at first he wouldn't be sure what to play, so it's recommended to him because he'd be able to carry it easily and have the lungs for it. he'd fall in love with it pretty fast!

apollo justice characters:

apollo justice: trumpet. need i even say more.

trucy wright: clarinet OBVIOUSLY like this isn't even up for discussion. you could make an argument for french horn, but it's not even close. she also ends up in color guard, they basically make magic happen on the field so she'd love it! i could see her being captain of the color guard, too. when phoenix finds out, he gets all emotional and trucy gets stoked that she's following in her father's footsteps. i think she would become drum major at some point, and miles upon learning this would also become an emotional mess

kristoph gavin: this is the french horniest french horn that's ever french horned. i'm sorry i don't make the rules.

klavier gavin: he might play guitar, but not in band. he'd be a percussionist HANDS DOWN. i think he'd wanna be in drumline during marching season so he could be on the field or he'd be in color guard. in fact, scratch that first part- he's DEFINITELY doing color guard. i was also considering him being a trumpet player since he's kind of the trumpet to kristoph's french horn (god i hope that makes sense that's just so them to me), so maybe he'd play both! he's very musically inclined, after all, so him playing multiple instruments just makes sense!

investigations characters:

shi-long lang: another saxophone! i REALLY wanted to give him trumpet because he's one of my favs and i'm biased, but. c'mon. i mean, have you HEARD his theme.

raymond shields/eddie fender: don't give him saxophone don't give him saxophone don't give him saxophone WAIT. trombone. it was so obvious!!! i'm sure he learns sax at some point, but his main instrument is trombone. i could also see him playing percussion (pit for marching season) or trumpet

if you're here, ty for listening to me nerd out about this!!! more characters may be band-geek-ified in the future :>

if anyone has any ideas of their own, i'd love to hear them!!!

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itsnesss · 9 hours ago

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𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐭 | max verstappen

dad!max who becomes the ultimate bodyguard:

From the moment he finds out, Max transforms into your personal protector. He won’t let you carry anything heavy, not even the grocery bags, and if anyone looks at you funny, he shoots them a glare that could stop a car at 300 km/h.

dad!max who studies everything about pregnancy:

Even though he says he's not much of a reader, Max devours books and articles on pregnancy. He becomes a mini-expert on what you can and can’t eat, the best sleeping positions, how to massage your back, and how to soothe the baby with his voice.

dad!max who constantly kisses and talks to the baby (and you):

Every night, he hugs you from behind, places his hand on your belly, and talks to the baby. Sometimes in English, sometimes in Dutch, and he even tells the baby about races and what it’ll be like when they visit Monaco for the first time.

dad!max who takes “cravings” as a mission:

If you crave strawberries at 2 a.m., Max is out the door before you even finish the sentence. If there’s none at home, he’ll search the farthest gas station. No matter how busy his race week is, he makes sure your cravings are taken care of.

dad!max who makes sure you’re pampered at the races:

If you decide to join him at the paddock, he ensures there’s shade, a portable fan, snacks, water, and a comfy place for you to rest. If anyone dares to ask why you're there when you’re pregnant, Max gives them a “she can be wherever she wants, end of story” look.

dad!max who turns baby names into a full debate:

Max suggests names inspired by famous drivers or cars. You firmly tell him that no way the baby is going to be called Ayrton or Niki. Eventually, you both make a list and he ends up choosing the one you like the most, even though he’ll always say it was his idea first.

dad!max who’s excited but nervous at the same time:

Sometimes you catch him in a quiet moment, just absorbing everything. He finds it hard to put his feelings into words, but when he does, he tells you, “I don’t know if I’ll be the best dad, but I promise I’ll give it everything I’ve got—just like I do on the track.”

dad!max who has a secret picture in his helmet:

Max keeps a photo of you with the ultrasound inside his racing helmet. He doesn’t tell anyone, but before each race, he looks at it and smiles because he knows he’s racing not just for himself, but for both of you now.

dad!max who becomes the king of baby shopping (even if he doesn’t admit it):

At first, he says he doesn’t want to go overboard with unnecessary stuff, but then he gets way too excited. He starts picking out the latest stroller models, a car seat that’s safer than a Red Bull car, and even compares baby bottles like they’re racing parts.

dad!max who becomes the architect of the baby’s room:

He insists on building everything himself: the crib, the changing table, the décor. And even though some parts don’t fit or he gets frustrated, he refuses help. In the end, he makes it perfect, with a small Dutch lion plush in the corner.

dad!max who gets a little jealous... of the ultrasound:

When you first get an ultrasound and the doctor puts the gel on your belly, Max stares at it like, “Okay, stay calm… it’s a doctor… professional... breathe…” Later, when you're at home, he laughs at himself but hugs you even tighter.

dad!max who fights the media for you:

If any journalist dares to ask intrusive questions about your pregnancy, his “don’t go there” look says it all. And if someone on social media comments something rude… Max blocks them without a second thought. His family is his number one priority now.

dad!max who goes into full nesting mode:

Before the baby arrives, Max enters full-on “extreme preparation” mode. He checks the bags, the stroller, the routes to the hospital, and even makes a list of things you might forget just in case. He takes this role as seriously as a pit stop: quick, efficient, and on point.

dad!max who shares stories of you and the baby on social media:

His Instagram, once filled with race cars and podiums, now features pictures of you, selfies with your belly, and captions like: “Counting down the days.” Even though he’s not one to overshare, something about you makes him want to let the world know.

dad!max who whispers to you in the middle of the night:

When you can’t sleep (thanks to the baby kicking or the heat), he gently massages your back, sings to you softly in Dutch, and reassures you that everything will be fine, that he’s there, and that he loves you more than ever.

dad!max who cries at the baby’s first cry:

When the baby is born and he hears their first cry, Max breaks down. Tears well up in his eyes, he looks at you, kisses your forehead, and whispers, “You were incredible.” And for the first time, Max Verstappen feels like he’s won something far bigger than a championship.

#🖇️ f1 headcanons #🖇️ max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen

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deangirlsstuff67 · 18 hours ago

Text

Her Biggest Fan

Jensen Ackles x Reader

Summary: Who doesn't love a good fantasy or escape from our normal lives. When Y/N started this online adventre she never dreamed it would land her smack dab in the path of her favorite actor. Is there a chance this fantasy might become reality? And will the reality live up to the fantasy?

Warnings: fluffy Jensen, talk about divorce, talk about trauma, language, some dirty talk

Authors Note: I love Jensen and his family. This is purely fiction and for entertainment purposes only. I am currently going through a divorce and I decided to pull from it and work out some trauma I have. I hope you enjoy, this is becoming a series so buckle up cause I have some wildly unhinged plans ;)

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Divorce is hard. Doesn't matter if you did it for your happiness, to remove yourself from a toxic relationship, or if you're like me and had absolutely no say in the matter what so ever.

The first few months you feel like your suffocating in your own house. The walls feel as if they are going to cave in and you aren't able to focus on anything what so ever. If you're like me then you went from what you thought was a loving marriage with two beautiful kids, to being a single parent in a blink of an eye.

Shit is rough!

Do I blame my ex husband for leaving me? Yes, in the beginning I did. However, as the months went on and I started to see him for who he truly was and how he treated people, lets just say my ex best friend did me a favor when she stole my husband and broke up my family.

Bitch can keep him now.

No matter how healed you are from the trauma a toxic marriage causes a person, when he has the kids and it's just you, the loneliness sets in.

We're human and all humans hate being alone with our darkest thoughts and demons. Sure I own a farm, work a full time job, and have an amazing best friend who talks with me daily and gets me out doing stuff. And yes I know I'm better off single than wanting my ex or anyone like him in my life.

But I still get lonely. I still crave someone who will put me first and wants to worship the ground I walk on. I mean who doesn't want love in their life.

That's the goal ain't it? Big beautiful family, love someone until you're old and gray, watching your kids grow up and start families of their own, and enjoy life to it's fullest.

Well I had that, for a little while at least. It was great and I will never regret my marriage, I just don't know if I want to risk it all again on the possibility it may go to shit on me.

So instead of getting out there and starting to date and find someone to be with, I did the oppisite. I started a second phone account and I created a fake identity for online purposes and created an OnlyFans account.

I have no one in my life that will get jealous, be offended, or cause problems because of it. I have always been the type of woman who not only enjoyed porn for my own personal use, but I never stopped my ex husband from watching it when he was away.

Look all you want, it was always the touching that pissed me off.

While I'm not ashamed of what I'm doing, I have a family and friends just like the next person and they don't need to know. I'm a grown ass woman and if I want to have some fun online so fucking be it.

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6 Months Later.

"How much money have you made from it?" Yes I caved and I ended up telling my best friend, to be fair her and I have no secrets. I hate secrets, I'm a honest person and there are times when even that's a problem, more so because I don't care who's feelings I hurt.

Don't want the truth, don't ask me then.

Shockingly enough I've done very well, way better than I thought I would. Guess it helps that I don't have anyone but my kids to worry about so I can give mt regulars the attention the pay for. Most of them just want to get off, easy enough considering I have been named the queen of sexting with them all.

Some of them are just looking for a person to talk to and enjoy their company. Either way I'm happy with both sides of the business.

Sitting on her front porch as we watch our kids ride their bikes and play together has been the highlight of my week. I love this woman to death and will forever be grateful after my ex best friend detorying my family, I was sent an angel like her. She doesn't judge me, she listens, makes me smile and laugh, helps me out as much as she can, and s there for my kids as much as she is for me.

Couldn't ask for a better friend if I tried.

"I'm doing pretty good. Made about $2000 last month alone. Funny how a silly little hobby out of boredom blossomed into a second career." inhaling a puff of my smoke, i hear my kids laughing as they climb a tree in the field across from us.

She starts laughing, "look at you go. Soon you'll be able to tell that ex husband to keep his money cause you won't need the child support."

That is the goal. Always was. He has a funny way of thinking because he gives child support monthly that means he still has a huge say in what I am allowed to do and go. Honestly, he still wants me to treat him like my husband and well that's not happening.

Needless to say we end up in a lot of fights that eventually result in a phone call or text message from him saying how he over reacted and he is sorry. Same old shit just a different day. He walked away from me and for some reason that just hasn't sunk into his head, he figures he can have a girlfriend and wife, again I ain't that girl.

Don't get me wrong, should he pay child support absolutely, but I was raised to be independent and to provide for my family. Not to mention it will bring me so much joy the day I tell him to shove his money where the sun don't shine because I don't need it anymore. Making him feel completely useless in my life is my goal, I'm going to show him that I don't need him to survive.

Just then my work phone goes off indicating I have a text message. Smiling I respond to Jay.

Jay: Hello beautiful. How's you're day going?

Me: Well hello handsome. It's going well, just hanging out with my bestie on her porch enjoying a glorious summers day.

Is he handsome, I got no idea. Jay is one of the guys I text daily. While we definitely have had our share of fun at night together making each other cum even though we are in two different countries, he is one of those men who wants a friend just as much as he wants release.

He's sweet, charming, kind, funny as hell, and if I believe what he says then he's a Texan boy born and raised. He won my heart right there, this country girl loves her some Texans.

However, the internet is where people go when they don't want to be known. Is Jay his name? I don't know. I haven't asked for a photo, all I've seen is his large hard cock when I'm teasing him all day before letting him cum. I respect that he probably doesn't want me know who he is and I'm okay with that. Hell not like I'm using my real name anyways.

I've grown attached to him in a way. He's definitely my favorite client. Maybe in another life we could meet and it would be heaven, but this is what I get and I'm okay with that.

Man for all I know he's married.

"Oh uh, I know that look, Jay's texting isn't he?"

"Oh shut up woman! But yes he is."

"Still have no idea what he looks like hey?"

"No."

"Just ask for a photo." God this is why I love her, she's exactly like me. No sugar coating shit, straight to the point every time and I am so thankful for it.

"Why? This way I have my fantasy and he has his. Hell I can pretend he's Jensen fucking Ackles and I'll never know the difference."

She burst out laughing, "really, you think Jensen is texting with you and randomly found you're OnlyFans one day?"

I join in on the laughing, she's right it sounds stupid, but hey it's a fantasy and nothing more, "no I don't, I'm not that crazy, but the fantasy is fun to dive in to."

"Yeah, okay I give you that."

My phone dings again.

Jay: It's killer in Texas today, summer is not our friend here.

Me: Haha I can only imagine from what you've told me. I still think it would be fun to live there.

Jay: I think so, but I'm bais. So just porch sitting with the bestie today?

Me: Hell yeah, momma deserves a break every once in a while. What about you?

Jay: I'm going out to the brewery today and meeting some buddies to hangout. Nothing spectacular.

Me: Man who makes his own beer, add in a whiskey distillery and you'd be the perfect man lol.

Jay: I'll keep that in mind sweetheart. Whiskey girl huh?

Me: Oh 100% nothing better in my eyes. Sitting outside once the kids are in bed, watching the sun set, whiskey in hand and nothing but the quiet of the night.

Jay: Damn that sounds amazing.

Jay: Your ex giving you anymore trouble?

Yeah you've told him about your ex husband. Lately, he's been unpredictable and grumpy more than he's not. You aren't shocked and you can handle his mood swings like a champ considering the 12 years you shared together. Mainly it just annoys the living piss out of you now.

Me: Nah, I put him back in his place where he belongs. Fucker don't scare me and he knows it. I hold all the power as much as he doesn't want to admit it.

You'd agreed to be civil and so far for the most part he was. Then you started going out and having fun while he was stuck at home with her being bored. The anger and resentment started to kick into overdrive. He started to come to the realization that he gave you all the freedom he was craving in life, and all he did was dump you for a more controling woman.

I mean the man can't even text you with her wanting to know ever detail of the conversation. Not like he actually tells her. Yet another reason I won't take him back, he's literally doing the same shit to her that he did to me, and she's dumb enough to by all his lies.

Most of the time you just have to not so gentle remind him he has a criminal record that you can bring to light in a courtroom and he would instantly lose everything and that usually shuts him the hell up for a while.

He's only saving grace is our kids we have together, if it wasn't for them I would have taken him to the cleaners the moment he left me for her.

Jay: Good girl. He needs to remember who left who in this situation.

Me: You can lead a horse to water but you can't make him drink Jay. I knew what was going to happen with this divorce. I know who I married so it never shocks me.

Jay: You still shouldn't have to deal with it.

Me: We have a farm and kids together, I'll be dealing with it until the day one of use finally croaks. You're sweet though for checking in on me and making sure I'm okay.

Jay: This may have started off as a way to release pent up frustration for me, but sweetheart you have grown on me. I couldn't imagine going a day without checking in on you. I know how that sounds considering we don't know each other and you've only seen my dick.

Me: It's a pretty amazing dick ;)

Jay: Awe, thank you honey. I wish there would be a day where I could show you just how amazing this dick truly is. Cause the things I want to do to you with it will probably seal my fate into Hell.

Me: Naughty boy. I do like the sounds of that though.

Jay: Probably should show you my face before that happens lol. I'm off baby girl, I'll text you in a while. Have a fun day relaxing with your kids and friend.

Me: You too Jay! Xx

Just then all 4 kids come running over to you together screaming how they are starving to death. You look at your friend and you both chuckle. Guess that means we are done relaxing for a moment. Off to make some lunch for us all.

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Part Two Coming...

Taglist:

@impala67rollingthroughtown @bitchykittenconnoisseur @deansimpalababy @jayhalsteadfan-2417 @lessons-of-red @spnaquakindgdom @yvonneeeee @syrma-sensei @nancymcl @tspmoff @idontwannabehere78 @foxyjwls007 @senjoritanana @leigh70 @neii3n @maggiegirl17 @jamerlynn @mostlymarvelgirl @kimxwinchester @multiversefanfics @supershygirl @justwhisperingfantasies

#jensen ackles #jensen ackles smut #jensen ackles fanfiction #jensen x reader #jensen fucking ackles #jensen ackles x female!reader #jensen ackles x y/n #jensen ackles x you #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles fluff #jensen ackles fic

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domesticatedstew · 2 days ago

Text

I finished the fic from the wonderful ideas of @hostuuagain and @brainzezz !!! Basically it's Mel and Breadhead bonding while sharing myths and stories that they heard from Ken and Mud!

It was finally a day off, a scarcity when working at the Whale Belly Butcher shop. Even though a break from time to time was pleasant, Mel absolutely hated being bored. And having time off equals BOREDOM.

Ken and Mud were off doing a "restock" for the resturant which was just code for kidnapping random fly people, picking up actual supplies for the resturant, and taking care of a few... pests along the way. Jack was home with his mother for his day off, which bummed out Mel a bit but she couldn't blame him for wanting time away from his work family.

At least Breadhead was still here. He had opted out of going with the other smiling dead crew to instead practice his piano playing. Mel had always liked listening to Breadhead's playing, he was pretty skilled for having no training other than the basics that Ken showed him. It reminded Mel of when she was still little, watching her older brother play the piano while her dad held her closely. Simpler times.

But reminiscing on the past wasn't gonna cure her boredom.

"Sooooo..." Mel slid over beside her large bread brother, watching him gracefully play despite how much larger his fingers were compared to the keys. "I'm bored aaand you're the only one here, you wanna mess some shit up?"

She was ready to keep her mischievous streak strong and steady, any risk was worth killing her boredom. Breadhead turned his massive loaf to look at her, pausing his playing to think. "Nah, I dont really wanna go anywhere today. 'm not in the mood." He said before returning to the song without skipping a beat.

Mel scoffed "Well then what do you want to do? Cuz either we do something together or I do something alone." Breadhead didn't like the idea of his sister causing mayhem by herself. Yeah she could hold her own but despite all the years they've grown together, he still hadn't seen her die or revive. Part of him was terrified that maybe something was wrong with her and she wasn't immortal like everyone else.

He wasnt about to find out now. "Hmmm... What if we told ghost stories and urban legends like when we were little?" Now Mel looked intrigued, which calmed his nerves thankfully. "Ghost stories? Alright bread boy, but you better still not get scared of them like you did when we were little," She teased, giving him an affectionate punch to his arm.

Breadhead wasn't about to admit that the stories of an angel storm devouring anything and everything in their path still gave him the chills.

They were now sat across from each other, Breadhead sitting in two chairs so he'd be comfortable. It still amazed Mel how her brother was such a massive dude, that didn't stop her from teasing him to the ends of the earth. It was even better when they were both teasing Mud or Ken.

"Alright!! Lemme try to remember a story," Mel thought long and hard for done spooky story her dad had told her when she was little.

"I GOT IT!!! Do you remember the story dad told us about the rotling that's been here since the beginning of the gaslight district?" Breadhead shook his head no, and Mel felt a little bit disappointed in him that he didn't remember such an awesome part of rotling history. "Ok well you don't need to remember cuz I'm gonna tell you anyway.

Long ago, before the world became just one island, there was a rotling who told stories of the world before rotlings. A world full of greenery and animals, one where humans ruled the world." Mel whispered when she mentioned humans, feeling slightly hurt when her brother recoiled at the mere mention of a human. She couldn't blame him though, humans are their own urban legend that Mel didn't want to bring up too much.

"They say he would talk about how the skies used to be blue, and there was this green stuff that'd grow from the ground called grass, and that the sun would light up the whole planet without needing any gas lamps. It was a world full of life, and according to the guy if you died that'd be it. No coming back."

"Do you know what they did to him Mel?" Breadhead looked genuinely curious, not his usual 'I've got some joke planned and you don't know' look.

"Supposedly, he was the first ever rotling to be cemeted," She mischievously whispered, leaning in to add a dramatic effect. It seemed to do the trick since Breadhead leaned in too like they were worried about being listened in on, "Woahhh, and you said dad told you that?"

"Yup," She popped the P, "He only told me the cementing part when I was a bit older though. SO, you got any stories you wanna tell?"

Breadhead didn't think nearly as long or hard about the story he wanted to tell, "What about the Gas Man? You've gotta remember Mud telling us that one before bed," He let out a deep chuckle. "How could I forget it? It was Mud's favorite thing to tell us to get us to go to bed," Mel remembered all the times Mud threatened them with the idea of the Gas Man and let out a laugh at the memory.

"I think it went somethin like like this," Breadhead straighted up and got into his story telling position, knees up to his chest with his arms out like he was trying to read a crystal ball to get your fortune. "You ever wonder how so many of our lamps stay lit? You can thank the Gas Man, he goes around the island lighting any lamp he sees out. Some people say they've seen 'im, but they're fibbin'. Cuz if you've ever met the Gas Man, you don't come back. Mud said if the Gas Man catches you, he turns your fluids into oil and uses your flesh to light the lamps. He takes anyone that's out too late, no one's safe from the Gas Man."

Mel cringed at the idea of being turned into fuel for the lamps of the district. Even when she was little she never liked thinking about it for too long, she guessed that childhood fears aren't really stuck in childhood.

Breadhead caught on immediately and started giggling at his little sister's discomfort. Mel shot a glare at the loaf and that shut him up.

"Ok ok ok, you wanna hear about how cementing started?" Breadhead nodded vigorously, unsurprising to Mel considering how much joy he takes from crushing and eating rotlings and fly people.

"So, it all obviously started with that one guy who wouldn't shut up about... you know whats. And the others were pretty sick of his ramblings of the world before ours, and since they couldn't kill him they thought 'why don't we just try to lock him up?' It worked but only for a few centuries when people forgot about him and he escaped, he started talking about more weird and gross creatures once he was free. Everyone was sick and tired of the guy. So one brave rotling decided to try and drown him, they gathered as much rocks and bricks as they could, tied it to the insane guy, and threw him off the island into the depths." Mel acted out the motions of throwing someone off into the ocean, something she had hoped she could actually do one of these days (if Ken would let her.)

"It worked even better than just locking him up, and people forgot about him for even longer. It was nice without some insane man's ramblings on the island. But like usual, he came back. He was one crafty son of a bitch and made it everyone's problem. This time though, he was talking about their buildings, specifically this material that could withstand the test of time. He even insisted that there was still some of it underwater from eons ago.

So with one last ditch effort, that same brave rotling as before dove under the island and collected as much ancient rubble as he could (all while only drowning a couple of times.)" She whispered that last part to Breadhead, who seemed rather impressed by the notion.

"He listened to the mad man's rants, figuring out the best way to turn this trash into something that'd finally rid everyone from this annoyance. From those ramblings and rants, the rotling learned how to make cement. And it was perfect. The first ever cement block wasn't the best looking, but when that insane guy went plummeting into the cold depths below, he never came back up. Other people realized how useful this could be and started making their own cement! And then it became the best way to get rid of any annoying preacher or local mad man. Or in our case anyone with too much money," Mel chuckled at her own joke, thankfully Breadhead thought it was funny too.

"Wow Mel, and dad told you all this? He's never told me stories like that," The loaf seemed sad at that fact, and Mel realized that Ken never really did tell stories to Breadhead like he did with his daughter. "Well it's ok Breadhead! Dad takes you on missions and to go out and do hits, he doesn't do that with me!" While she hoped that'd change soon, she didn't want to ruin the moment for her brother.

"Thank you Mel," Breadhead said while giving her the biggest smile ever. "You wanna steal some of Mud's stash and get wasted?"

Mel's smile grew as wide as her brothers, "You read my mind bread boy!"

#the gaslight district #glitch productions #fanfic #tgd mel #tgd breadhead #tgd ken #tgd mud #tgd jack #those last 3 are mentioned only #tgd #cross posted on ao3

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chibishortdeath · 1 day ago

Text

Goodness, these doodles were all staggered in a way on the pages that made it really hard to take pictures of them and get everyone in there (>< ).

Explanations for all of it under here ⤵️ :3

I drew my Ratchet!!! My little guy!!! I’ve looked him up and he’s a little like “authentics” line one. He’s got really loose joints and his knees don’t bend hahahahsjdksjsjk, but yeahg. Tbh the big outer shells kind of design goes hard. Ratchet could benefit greatly from having shields on him, second doodle is a demonstration of those being used lol.

Hehehehehe he’s so fucking cute oh my god how did they make this one robot design to appeal to me specifically I’m gonna die— he’s sitting there so pleasant and polite :3.

This is an attempt at a Ratchet design that combines a bunch of other ones! I was trying to pick out stuff that I liked (big collar looking part, massive tiddie window with the ECG display, G1 as a base because G1 Ratchet is so aaaoiugauaugoihghgghhgh), but eh idk. I’m gonna go through a couple revisions of this design before I decide on one. Cause I did like uh start writing a fan continuity 💀💀💀. Like deadass I binged two seasons of G1 and was already so hooked and hyped that I started making OCs and plot lines and shit LMAO. The transformers hyperfixation got hands fr. Also, next to him is Starscream and a little very not finished Drift for size comparison :).

The largest Ratchet here was my first attempt at drawing him! I spent an unreasonably long amount of time trying to get his legs correct 💀💀💀. Directly next to him on the top is a little doodle that says “usagi ringo” and it’s comparing his forehead chevron to the style of cutting apples to look like rabbits of the same name hehe. And next to that is a bishoujo figure design because oh my god it would be so easy to make one of him and so peak— more on that later cause I’m proud of the design so it’s on here twice XD. Below those two: doodles of Starscream getting shot! 💀 There’s a lot of context behind these, but shortened version is Megatron got mad and shot him 💀💀💀. Any other explanation would be getting into continuity ideas I have not finished nor finalized yet lol.

Guys hear me out it would be so easy— he’s already got a boob window— and the red section of him looks like a bodysuit— it would be so so easy and so so peak please bishoujo line figure company— I would pay an unwise amount of money for silly anime girl pinup hahahajdkskkdksjskdkdahsj. Also smaller not skirt version as well if they wanted to go full “the red section looks like a bodysuit” lmao

Megatron!!! I tried to incorporate a lot of details that the original toy had like the chest decals and the gun elements :3c. The g1 toy is so funny holy shit dude, he’s so top heavy and has like teeny pencil legs it’s so dumb I want one 😭😭😭. Next to the ref image of him, there’s one doodle that’s like a shitpost of this stock photo of a guy drinking while watching TV, an unfinished doodle based on a pose ref from Pinterest, and an even smaller shitpost with him and Starscream and their shirts say “I’m high as fuck and have a gun in my backpack” and “cunt era” hahskdjkssj (X X).

Another Starscream practice and some other characters that require a lot of explanation— So, this big combiner guy that’s in this and the next photo is a combiner named Modulus and I found out about him in a very goofy way. A friend of mine saw a figure of a little known character (Medix) at Walgreens, didn’t get him, looked him up later, and went down a rabbit hole on the wiki, finding out this guy is part of Modulus, a combiner who… doesn’t exist??? 💀💀💀 Modulus only exists as a concept that was included in the instructions of one of his components and NOTHING ELSE HAHSJDKSHSJK. It is the most batshit insane thing, tiny wiki article and everything X,,,,,,D. But what’s really WEIRD about him is that— HE KINDA FUCKING FITS WITH AND TIES TOGETHER A BUNCH OF LOOSE IDEAS I HAD FOR CONTINUITY STUFF 💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀?????????????? Idk it’s so scarily close it’s like as if I willed this guy into existence LMAOOO. Anyway, members of Modulus include: Scattershot, Medix, Ratchet, Starscream, and Rook. Two of these characters are like replacement members for other combiners that were basically created just so random games could function. One is the leader of another gestalt, BUT he’s also been in a TON of other ones. And then suddenly Ratchet and Starscream??? And in the original incarnation of the character, it was SG Starscream too????????? It’s not gonna be in my continuity (I have ideas—), but lol they just dropped the guy from another universe in there what 💀. Insane, deranged, maybe peak even. Why the hell did I end up latching onto the combiner that isn’t real help me (ToT ).

Above Modulus, there’s some doodles of Ratchet, Cliffjumper, Mirage, and Bumblebee, BUT these aren’t just those guys, oh no, it’s something worse hahahahahhasjsksk. My raised on undertale dumbass got plagued with the cursed idea of “huh, if Shattered Glass is like the Hasbro official swap au— F e l l A U” and uh… this exists now 💀. Fell AU (name pending) is basically just “the thing but edgier”, so in this universe the Autobots are still like The Good Guys™️, but they’re stuck in bad conditions. For that to happen, they’d have to not have access to renewable energy, meaning either humanity did not welcome them with open arms, there’s some kind of general crisis happening on Earth, or some mixture of both. So Fell (name pending) Ratchet is basically G1 Ratchet, but wayyy more stressed out cause they’re always short on things and barely scraping by. He’s visibly missing parts and damaged and he just does whatever quick temporary fix about it because his focus is on everyone else over himself; he lost an optic, a hand (that he’s replaced with his main tools), he’s got a crack in his screen, etc etc. Procedures are always messy and painful cause he’s just using what he has and the whole time he’s apologizing and trying his damndest to do the best he can— He’s a sweetie still, but man he could use a break (he will not get one alas). Cliffjumper is even more high strung and tempered than usual, he’s also got a nose ring and sharper horns for the edge lol. Mirage has his darker mask like coloring from the toy and typically is invisible far more often. They used to really fight a lot, but they’ve since gotten to a point where they’re the two each other trust the most. Cliffjumper does a lot of reckless shit and gets injured a lot (_ _ ). Then there’s Bumblebee. His colorscheme is still yellow and black, but they’re reversed. The reason for this is Edgy™️ but the in universe is that darker paints is just what they have. He’s also not the plucky rookie at all, he’s already gotten pretty jaded and hardened by everything, which makes Optimus really sad— he does get some rare moments of lighthearted antics because of Spike though. Idk it’s a funny AU concept and I might do more about it simply cause I think the Ratchet design goes hard lol XD.

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rosenclaws · 5 hours ago

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patch up || Worst!Logan x Reader

summary: After coming back from a mission Logan is a mess and he runs into you and Marie. The last people he wants involved with the more violent part of his world.

warnings: Logan is bloody and messy, angsty moments, happy ending stuff, fem!reader, logan is a total flirt.

a/n: So I missed Kitty and Marie and I finally figured out the best way to get them on their first date so this was born!! I just eat up Logan hating himself and being shown kindess anywassss

Kitty and Marie

Logan knew that when the TVA let him stay in Wade's world there would be some strings attached. One of those being listed number one on the TVA's security team. Meaning if there was an issue to arise in another universe, Logan and Wade got the call to fight. It's been a while since he had to put the suit back on and got properly fucked up but hey, old habits die hard don't they.

His healing factor has taken care of his wounds but he definitely looks like he's just had to fight another timelines Juggernaut. HIs suit is ripped and caked in blood. His arms and face have dried blood and dirt. He looks horrible. Wade has fucked off to who knows where leaving Logan to make his way back home.

He did stop for some cigars and had to ignore the many stares of the other customers. With the cigars in his hand he walks up to his apartment.

"Fuck!" Logan hisses as he slams his hand against the door. He doesn't have the keys. There's two options here. He can go hunt down wade and take his keys, or he can just break down the door and fix it later. He's leaning more towards the second option.

"Logan?" He freezes when he hears his name. He knows that voice, it's your voice.

Slowly he turns his head and sees you standing there with Marie in your arms. She was holding a drawing in her hands and looking at Logan with wide eyes. Fucking great.

"What happened are you okay?!" You rush over to him. Concern heavy in your voice as you take in his current state. Your stomach churns just seeing all the blood.

"I'm fine." He says shortly.

Logan doesn't want you to see him like this. To see what he's capable of. There's still blood on his claws and he doesn't need you to know the kind of rage and violence that simmers below the surface. He grabs the doorknob and shakes it roughly.

"Dammit." The door won't even budge.

"Logan why don't you come back to my apartment." You offer.

"No, I'll find my way in." He grumbles.

Once you leave he's just going to break down the door but he won't do it with you and Marie right next to him. Speaking of Marie, she hasn't even said a word to him. Staring at him with wide, almost terrified eyes.

"So stubborn." You huff as you grab his wrist. He doesn't budge as you try to drag him away but he soon realizes you won't leave until he follows so he gives in.

"Go sit on the couch I'll be right back with some clothes so you can shower." You tell him and he just stands there. He doesn't know what to do. He's dirty and your couch is so clean.

Marie is watching him. He can feel a shift in the way she views him and it's killing him. She won't even say hi to him.

"Hey kid-" He takes a step forward and she bolts back to her room. Logan just sighs.

Of course she runs. Why wouldn't she? He doesn't belong here, not with you and not with Marie. Who was he kidding?

"I brought you some clothes, I think they'll fit but let me know if you..." You trail off when you see his face. He looks upset, angry, but above all, sad.

"Thanks for offering, but I should really get going." He turns to leave but you place a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

"Logan, what happened?" You ask softly. He just sighs, his shoulders sagging in defeat.

"She ran away from me. Marie." He mumbles.

"Oh Logan that doesn't mean anything." You try to tell him but he's already made up his mind.

"I think it means a lot actually." He looks down at his messy suit. The carnage of today replaying in his head. You and Marie should be kept far away from all of this mess. From all of his mess.

"That's just not true." You tell him. You place your hand on his face, your thumb rubbing some of the grime off his face.

"You need to get out of your head and let someone else take care of you for once, just let me be that person." You plead.

You know Logan has a dark past. He won't talk about it but you know he's a mutant and that being a mutant is not an easy life. But you don't care what he's done, you care about who he is now and to you he's the man who will let your daughter paint his nails and play princess. He's the man who Marie feels completely safe with and you just can't ignore that.

Logan melts into your touch. Despite all the walls he's built up you just seem to slip through the cracks. A bolt of pure terror shoots through him as he feels those damn feelings again.

"I should get in the shower, I don't want to get blood on your floor." To your disappointment he steps back.

He takes the clothes that are in your hands. His touch lingering as his fingers brush over yours. Logan doesn't know what to say anymore, what to do with these feelings that keep bubbling up.

So he does what he does best and just walks away. The entire time in the shower he's beating himself up inside. He makes your kid cry and you're still being kind to him.

It's really fucking with his head, this whole thing. He scrubs the blood and dirt away until the water runs clear. The clothes you gave him are a bit of a tight fit but they'll work. He grabs his suit and the towel and walks back out to the living room. There sits you and Marie. She's in your lap holding that same piece of paper and a small box.

"I'll pay you back." He says as he sets his things down on the counter.

"Pay me back for what?" You ask, a lightness to your voice.

"The water bill?" Logan says uncertainty and you just laugh. You lean down and whisper something in Marie's ear.

"Go on sweetheart," You gently lift her off your lap and send her to Logan.

She walks up to him slowly and Logan just freezes. She's still cautious and Logan is at a loss of what to do. But Marie acts first. She practically launches herself at him. Wrapping her arms around his leg. Her arms are barely long enough but her grip is surprising strong.

"Woah there kid," Logan grunts.

His hand hovers over her back, unsure if he should hug her back but when she looks up with those big eyes he caves instantly. He reaches down and picks her up. She buries her face into his neck as she wraps her arms around his neck.

"She was worried because she thought you got hurt." You explain as you make your way over to the two of them.

See Marie could be a very sensitive child, something you loved about her and you know how much she cares about Logan so seeing him like before. She thought he was really hurt and it was a little too overwhelming for her.

"I'm just fine kid, see no scratches." Logan says, he can feel himself getting choked up but pushes it down. He shows her his arms and his face and she takes a close look, inspecting for any booboos as she calls them.

"I brought you my hello kitty band aids." She holds out the small box to him.

"Mommy puts these on me whenever I get hurt." She explains.

"These are my favorite but you can keep them for next time."

"That's very nice of you kid. I'll be sure to use them." He moves the box around in his hand. It feels silly to be brought to tears by a box of Hello Kitty band aids but Logan was very close to letting them fall.

"I also made you this!" She holds out the piece of paper. It's two crudely drawn stick figures. One in a dress and the other one has two big tuffs of hair and they're holding hands.

"Is this me and you?" Logan asks as he takes the paper from her.

"Yeah!" She looks so proud and Logan can't help but smile.

"She wanted to give it to you in person."

"Can I go play now?" She asks and Logan sets her down. Nothing like a child to change their mind in an instant. She hurries off to her room leaving the two of you alone.

"See, I told you it didn't mean anything Logan." You say as you walk closer to him.

"I promise you're better than you think you are."

There are those damn feelings again. He just can't shake them and honestly, he doesn't want to shake them. He wants you. He wants Marie in his life. He wants to be happy but he's so afraid of hurting the two of you with his bullshit. He thought it was over after today but you're continuing to prove him wrong. Over and over you prove his doubts wrong.

So fuck it maybe he deserves to let some happiness into his life.

"Go to dinner with me." He blurts out.

"What?" You ask in disbelief. Logan gently grabs onto your wrist, pulling you closer. He smells like your shampoo and it's driving you mad.

"Go to dinner with me." He repeats, his heart hammering in his chest. It's been a while since he's done this and he hopes to god you say yes.

"Like a date?" You ask nervously.

"Yes, like a date." He confirms and you swear it's like the whole world has melted away, leaving just the two of you standing in your living room.

"You and Marie have showed me so more kindness than I could ever deserve. I..." He trails off. He can't put the words together but you could care less.

"Yes, I would love to go to dinner." You feel as light as air, like a teenager getting asked to prom or something.

"Perfect." Logan brushes his thumb across the palm of your hand.

"Mommy! Can Kitty come play tea party with me?" You both turn your heads to see Marie poking her head out of her room.

"Oh sweetie I don't-"

"Yeah I can, but no glitter this time." Logan cuts you off. He points his finger at her jokingly and she just grins.

"You need to stop buying that kid glitter." He says with a sigh and you just shrug.

"You try saying no to her."

"You have that same evil little grin you know that?" Logan brushes his thumb across your lips and whatever comeback slips your mind.

"By the way, wear the blue sundress. I like the way to looks on you." He says with a wink. He drops his hand and heads towards Marie's room, leaving you completely stunned. Oh Logan is going to be nothing but trouble.

Then again, you always liked a little trouble.

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #kitty and marie #worst logan howlett #worst!logan howlett x reader

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marielle555 · 1 day ago

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Astarion is a strong character. In any case and regardless of what happened to him.

I've seen statements online like “AA fans call UA is weak” (maybe you've seen that too). Of course, this source will never run dry. They always invent something new, twist the story, distort the meaning of their opponents' statements to the point of impossibility, in general, you can't get bored. If earlier I naively thought that their “arguments” were based on lies about “Cazador 2.0”, “loss of soul” and trying to prove that “AA doesn't love Tav” (this nonsense, of course, is alive and will live forever, as long as there are those who desperately need “right messages” sent to them in the form of a sexually attractive vampire boy, but in such a way as to say that “he is happy” with the torments of hunger and in eternal darkness). Well, one must, I guess, somehow justify “I don't let him ascend” as the only right way and still remain “white-glove” at the same time.

So one should start claiming that those who help Astarion Ascend are supposedly calling UA weak. And prove that UA is strong. Well, yes, Astarion is a strong person. There's nothing to prove, he has an iron rod. The fact that he was able to survive and preserve himself, keep his mind, his personality after 200 years of slavery and torture, an internally weak person is not capable of that. How long did it take for Theon Greyjoy in Game of Thrones to be broken by Ramsay? Velioth broke Cazador, but Cazador couldn't break Astarion. Astarion survived in conditions in which a person, who has always lived in increased comfort and does not understand what reality is (who may consider Astarion's rational desire to ascend and be able to live a full life and protect himself and his beloved as “moral weakness” or “fear”) simply could not have survived. Or would have wised up quickly.

And the fact that Astarion didn't have someone around to help him see his scars during the ritual doesn't “make him weak” or change his character. It's just that after the Ascension, Astarion starts to show off that strong character of his openly, and if denied, Astarion is too depressed. “I just feel numb.” “I'll have to. But that doesn't mean I have to like it.” - Even from this line you can understand how hard it is for him, in addition to having to accept that he will never get what he longed for, that he will no longer have a full life, but instead will have to live “some half existence, hiding in the shadows for the rest of eternity”, he also has to play a role, thank Tav and make up stuff about “breaking the cycle of power and terror”. Because “I am - well, not ‘happy’ with how things turned out. But this does feel right.” Astarion has a much harder time in the UA situation than AA, but he doesn't lose his fortitude and in the epilogue he talks about looking for an opportunity to walk in the sun again. And when he finds it, there will be nothing stopping him anymore, no “heroes” around. Unless he's in a romance with Tav, because his love for Tav is really his weakness and vulnerability. Either way, Ascended or not.

It would be better for them to try to prove where Astarion's consorts are calling HIM weak. It's impossible not to see that he's feeling bad in UA's route. The inability to read (or, as usual, the intentional misrepresentation of their opponents' words) probably equates the fact that the Ascension ritual frees Astarion from physical ailments and weaknesses, the fact that Astarion is certainly made stronger (physically and magically) by the ritual, and the fact that those who help him along the way consider his “version” of the UA to be a weak and insufficiently “toxically masculine” man. As well as the “ah, they're talking bad about UA”, they “don't give UA a chance”, as if, holy shit, there really are a couple of “hot vampires” in the game, one of whom is perfectly “toxically masculine” in order to sexualize him, and the other not so much, and here's this poor sensitive guy getting berated and not given a chance. I should probably get used to this type of thinking though, I mean, they hate Astarion, if he's Ascend, and yet call themselves fans of him. When a person has a split inside into “two different people,” it's called dissociative identity disorder, and what do you call that case where they “split” the other person? I guess with such a syndrome of “Astarion's dissociative disorder” it must surely seem that those who hate Redemption Arch (as a playable feature, as a path, as a choice, just hate playing it) must dislike Astarion himself along the way and consider him weak.

Yes, Astarion himself (not his consorts) on the UA route considers himself "I'm still nothing, aren't I? Just an expandable frail spawn who will burn to a crisp soon enough", he hates what Casador did to him. "Unmaking what you made me" (Astarion's response when Casador asks him what he's doing).

Without the ritual, Astarion will forever be what Cazador did to him, it will be incorrigible, he will forever be a spawn. And says this line to Astarion then when Tav asks: “All right, what do you need?” Astarion: “I need your eyes. In a manner of speaking.” Before the ritual itself, without any attempt at persuasion, Astarion believes that Tav will help him.

And to say that we think Astarion is weak because of it - well, that's like me saying about a person with a disability, who was not allowed to be healed (for example, in a cyberpunk setting, they were not allowed to install an implant for “ethical reasons”, which not only would have healed them, but made them stronger than a healthy person) that they feel bad about their illness and with the implant they would be stronger, and a devout believer against cybernetization would claim that I was insulting that person by calling them sick and weak. I wonder who would be “sexualized” by fans of such a character, helping them heal and get an “unethical implant”? Cyborg? Why I hate the UA route, I wrote here. But Astarion himself is a beautiful and strong character, he copes even with it. And handles it the way a strong man handles it, a strong man who “just feels numb”. The only weak character I have contempt for in this version of the game playthrough is Tav, not Astarion in any way.

Astarion, who “heroically” rejects the ritual and sympathizes with those 7000 spawns, can only exist in Astarion Origins, where the player creates “their Astarion” by shaping the character's personality as they wish. There is no such Astarion in a game with Tav/DU, there is an Astarion who was denied help in a ritual. Astarion can only make one choice - wish such a Tav to die screaming (as he wishes every companion who doesn't help him) or accept it. Astarion's Choice.

Here's what Astarion thinks of these spawns he's “supposed” to sympathize with:

“These people died years ago, trust me on that. All that's left are feral spawn, desperate for blood.

If we release them, how many people will they kill? Tens of thousands? Hundreds of thousands?”

Astarion without Tav, who no one helped Ascend, won't let the caged spawns go free:

“As for those wretches in the cells - if I don't get my freedom, neither do they.”

Astarion breaks the staff and dooms the spawns in the cages out of anger, out of the pain of anger at his not being allowed true freedom, and let them suffer as well.

“But if they die and I ascend, I won't have to rely on the parasite to walk in the sun. I'll be free - truly, completely free. Isn't that what you want?”

And… The pain and doubt in his voice when he asks: “Isn't that what you want?” Astarion has one major weakness and vulnerability, and that's Tav. And not just because he really needs Tav's eyes right now and their connection through the tadpole to see his scars. Tav is the only person he loves. Tav is the best thing that has happened to him after two hundred years of torture, pain and humiliation. Perhaps this love of his, how much he loves, and how much he is attached to Tav, and how much he needs love and acceptance from Tav, is a consequence of his trauma. And his approval of that persuasion is not an approval of Tav keeping him from Ascension. It's an approval that he believed Tav's motives, he understood, why his loved one wouldn't help him. Why the one he loves so much won't let him become truly, completely free, won't help him start living a real, full life. Tav convinces him of their motives, and if he believes that they are not doing this out of malice, that it is really in their heads, in their value system, what they say is true and they believe it, then Astarion agrees to become what they believe in. With pain in his eyes and a full understanding of what he will have to sacrifice for that love and that belief. He doesn't know what a real relationship is or what true love looks like. He doesn't think he deserves better. He was used as a tool, he was tortured, no one ever cared about him, and he could only learn to survive - Astarion begins to connect with the world for the first time after two hundred years of slavery and torture. AA has a heartbreaking line, “I was trying with you, you know. In the only way I can try.” (if you reject his proposal, in a dialog three days after that, and such pain in his eyes and such an expression on his face, it's just impossible to watch).

UA has a bitter line, “I will endeavor to please” in response to Tav's cruel line, “Then don't mess it up” in the graveyard scene - he will still try to earn even the love of someone who is incapable of love.

Because he doesn't think he deserves better. He even gives some fake theatrical approval, when Tav wants to “add” Halsin to their relationship, when Astarion himself certainly doesn't need any Halsin. And he clearly feels bad about that relationship. And he agrees to have sex in a brothel because of Tav, he's experiencing PTSD, but he won't even rebuke Tav for it afterward with a single word. He'll forgive the cheating with Mizora. He will never even think about the fact that such a Tav doesn't deserve him. He thinks himself unworthy of Tav's love, he idealizes them. He won't think about the fact that the very desire for “payback” or “redemption” for a loved one is not love. That the desire to “fix” someone and “make them better” at the cost of their suffering is not love. Anti AAs very rarely mention the most important thing in their posts, much more important of course is the topic of “power”, where what “message” and how much “masculinity” is needed for their favorite “toxicity”. Hunger, sunshine, feelings “the arousals and appetites of man”, even his own reflection to see, after all, these are usually either unworthy of mention or presented as something like “challenges,” which Astarion, of course, heroically wants to take on.

The line of Persuasion for Tav looks exactly like this. “I want you to live a life you're proud of” (how I wish Tav would burn in the sun afterward and Astarion would stand there and watch it). “You can't be proud of this.” Translated as: “I don't care how you feel or how you feel, be the way I want you to be, you can consider yourself a good person for that”.

If Tav betrays and abandons the UA in the finale, he tells them, “How dare you! After all I've done for you - after everything I've sacrificed!” And what else did Astarion sacrifice for Tav except one thing - the chance to find true freedom, sunshine, and feel alive again?

UA takes Tav's attitude for love and accepts the suffering he will have to go through because of it. And behaves the way his “fixer” wants him to. He doesn't fully trust and thinks Tav might leave him, he's afraid of losing Tav and he's not sure about this relationship. AA thinks “you are degrading yourself by staying with him,” but he is happy, if Tav agrees to be his Bride and after receiving this true confirmation of an eternal bond, he starts to trust, opens up. AA suffers greatly, when Tav rejects him and this bond. That said, he expected this… It confirms his opinion of himself, that he, as he is, is not worthy of love. This goes nowhere in the case of refusing the ritual, Astarion adjusts, hides the real himself. He's more honest and frank with Tav in the non-romantic epilogue, in the romance he's silent about how he really feels about having the sunlight taken away from him again. And about how he will do anything to get that opportunity again. AA in the romantic epilogue, after 6 months with a loving consort is calm, confident and happy.

Also a very interesting “argument” - all of Astarion's problems in the Spawn state are better than the “illusory” benefits of Ascension. And everything is bad for the Ascendant, for he is “morally weak”. In general, I wonder how it is - how can concrete physiological facts be illusory?

Hunger, the sun, the reflection in the mirror, the taste of food and wine, “the arousals and appetites of man will return to him”. The benefits of Ascension are illusory, just as the sun itself, air, water, the fact that the Earth is round and revolves around the sun is illusory, as are many other things that simply exist by themselves as fact. As exist all things that exist regardless of anyone's belief or disbelief, simply because they exist. “Moral weakness” is just that, an artificially created concept, it is illusory. The very concept of morality is illusory, morality has been different in different eras (sometimes even radically different). Morality is a social construct that applies specifically to the society that accepts this particular morality, morality is a tool of management, regulation of people's behavior. Morality is simply the notions of right and wrong, good and bad, and the set of norms of behavior derived from these notions that are accepted in a particular society and at a particular time. One cannot be “morally strong” or “morally weak”, one can accept/not accept this or that form of morality, conform or not conform to this or that notion of morality. “Astarion doesn't conform to your ideas of morality” would be true, but ''morally weak'' would not. Morality doesn't exist, it's just some conventional characteristic that serves to evaluate certain things in a particular society in a particular historical period. Releasing 7000 hungry spawns is so “moral” that in terms of realism in DnD, it should have resulted in bloody chaos throughout the city. A bloody night in Baldur right after defeating the Brain, when the city is already severely weakened by the massacre with the Illithids. Perhaps there would be no Baldur, just ruins, where anarchy reigns and gangs of spawns rule. “Moral lessons” and “messages” sometimes don't mix well with realism and logical calculation of the consequences of certain player actions.

Astarion is not a dummy or a toy, to be “personality changed” by Tav. He has his own personality and his own desires. Astarion does not become “good” or “chaotic-neutral” if he was not allowed to Ascend, Astarion remains “neutral-evil” (if we give value to such a concept as alignment). It is not alignment that makes a person happy. But alignment is a convenient system to describe a character's worldview, and there are certain rules that affect a character's alignment change in DnD. In order for your action to affect your alignment change, you must have freedom of choice and decision, there must be no insurmountable circumstances that prevent your character from doing what they would like to do. The fact that Astarion basically can't Ascend on his own, unless someone helps him see his scars, makes refusing to do the ritual (or helping him do the ritual) a choice that affects Tav's alignment change, not Astarion's. If Larian wanted to show Astarion's change of alignment, there would have been an option in the game for him to Ascend without Tav's help (drawing his scars on a piece of paper, for example), and then, if Tav had convinced Astarion to refuse, or he himself, like Shadowheart, could have done it, Astarion could have changed his alignment. It's especially funny to read the “arguments” that since Astarion didn't redraw his scars, when Tav drew them in the sand, that means he didn't want to Ascend. They would have made up their minds - whether they revitalize the character to such an extent, that he himself “off-screen” decides, what to do in the story, or whether the main thing is the “message” and what the authors wanted to say (I have only one opinion on this - it doesn't matter who “wanted to say” what, but what is important is what is really said and shown in the story of the game). In this case, Larian most likely wanted to make an “arch of redemption” for Astarion (which could be combined with his past as a corrupt magistrate from EA and possibly look like “payback” for his past sins). Whether by choice or due to the demands of those back in the EA, who wrote to them demanding they “fix Astarion”, it doesn't matter so much anymore. And as a romance bubblegum for players, who play just to have fun, and they need a sexy male companion for a romance, they won't pay too much attention to his well-being, emotions and will calmly eat up the “bittersweet” ending as a good one, if they're told so, this story arc also fits very well. That said, this storyline fits logically with the evil companion's poorly completed quest (for the world “good”, for him “bad but not fatal”) and doesn't break the character's IP. A logical commercial move - after all, the romance of Ascended Astarion is unique and unusual, it's not “mass-market”, and besides, whining about morality in games, “evil is wrong”, etc. has been in vogue lately, we all know that, and creating an evil character without “moral options” to “fix” him might not have been a very good decision in terms of taking into account the subsequent network hysterics about him. And in order to make the “redemption arc” possible and logically plot-wise fitting with Astarion's character without violating his IP, the best option was to take away his ability to make his own choices, leaving him with only the option to accept this “redemption” or leave the group. This blends with his story (his scars) and gives additional story beauty to the romance of the Ascended, when his beloved becomes his eyes and they go through this ritual together (“I did. We did”).

Astarion's ”strength of personality“ does not depend on whether he has undergone the ritual or not. Astarion always remains himself. It's just that in one case he is “with all the masks, lies and deception still included” and in the other “no masks, no lies, just the truth because he has the confidence to push his arrogance in your face without fear”. Helping him in the ritual or refusing to help him characterizes Tav, not Astarion.

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