#and i'll need to title it. :/

[lunacias]

but we'll never be rid of each other

[couch-house]

wanted to play with how blaze would fit into stc, so I finally got around to watching a longplay of sonic rush. i hated it. the writing made me so mad. so here's a couple fleetway blaze doodles and a LOT of "here's how i would fix this story" doodles

[morelikesin]

SAM & MAX in: begins the heating season

-

Based on the below Jucika strip!

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Mo Ran fails to master the art of pspsps (continuation of this)

(For @airagorncharda)

[vaguely-concerned]

Ever since watching The Wire for the first time, my brain has doggedly kept working away at the Especially the lies of it all, and specifically at how much the structure beneath the different stories Garak tells contributes to the overall meaning of what he’s trying to say. While the contradicting narratives of course expertly obscure the factual circumstances of his getting exiled, using them also allows him to tell aspects and facets of the emotional truth I don’t think he ever could have, if he’d simply told the actual story of what happened. (It’s very Varric-core of him honestly.)

The first story — the ‘oh, you think you know me?’ story — says I have done things that would sicken you if you knew any detail of it. It’s clearly meant to scare Bashir away so he’ll leave him to die shamefully in peace already lol. But it’s also one of his (probably much-needed lbr) little lessons to Julian that are so frequent in the beginning, given while Garak still has some hold on himself — “Don’t be so quick to forgive me if you don’t even know what I’ve done; what would you do if this really were the sum total of what I am?” (And Julian seems to surprise him by going ‘Well, exactly the same thing, because no matter who you are I am a doctor. But I sort of take your point.’)

The second story — the letting the orphans go story — says I have failed to smother my soul in its cradle when it was required of me, and I regret that more than anything I’ve done. To my ears this is the one most shot through with active self-loathing too, which is interesting. He’s officially lost the control he’s been clinging to and it’s about to get ugly. His TL;DR is ‘Sentiment is the greatest weakness of all’, even all the way back here. (Which is the one lesson Julian steadfastly refuses to learn, which I think in turn does some serious rearrangement of Garak’s soul over the course of the show haha. Get uno reversed into the process of loving and being loved without shame asshole.)  This is also where he builds up to admitting to having any sort of need for companionship or closeness at all and — so much worse — that Julian’s role in his life actually has fulfilled some of that need, and he’s DRIPPING with defensive venom over it b/c well I get it Garak vulnerability is scary it can take a person like that. 

(I also feel there’s something honest and forbidden in ‘Suddenly the whole exercise seemed utterly meaningless’. I suspect ‘actually… why the fuck are we even doing this???’ is not a welcome sentiment in an Obsidian Order water cooler environment, no matter what you’re saying it about lmao. The very first seeds of him deconstructing the things he’s been taught about Cardassia and his work might be hinted at here, though they of course take a looong time to come to any real fruition.)   

The third story — the ‘Elim was my best friend’ story — says hey, remember that thing you said once, about how sometimes, you have to be loyal to yourself before you can be loyal to anything else? Well. guess what. I couldn’t even be that lmao. It also furthers that thread of being divided from yourself, split, that having ‘Elim’ as a separate person around in all versions of the story brings in. He’s in control of himself again, but he essentially hands his life and soul over to Julian to decide what should be done with them. 

I’ve done horrible things and it finally caught up with me, I’m getting what I deserve → I let sentiment master me and the fact that I’m too weak to do what’s needed of me shames me more than the evil I’ve done → I fucked up. I betrayed myself and everything I held to, all for nothing, and I have no one to blame for it but myself. But it’s very nice that you’re here anyway, Doctor. (Wow. I didn’t realize quite how isolated and lonely that last one was before right now. The way Tain has shaped him really has just… locked him completely into himself, huh.) We can also see a movement through from a completely professional context in the first story, to an intensely interpersonal and internal context in the last one — even his fake stories spiral in towards intimacy, which I think is what he longs for here even if he can’t quite like. Touch that without the stories as a buffer yet, it’s clearly like touching a hot stove for him to interact with it too directly. 

And you know what I find incredibly interesting the whole way through? Even on his deathbed, where he’s dying from the thing Tain had put in his head, he’s protecting Tain. He puts all the blame for where he is on himself (‘My future was limitless, until I threw it away’), even if he has to employ a strange twisty logic where he’s split himself into two to do it. Don’t get me wrong, Garak has done horrific things all on his own haha, but it’s notable that he almost isolates Tain from that. ‘Tain was the Obsidian Order. Not even the Central Command dared challenge him. And I was his right hand.’ Tain in Garak’s stories is this infallible implacable weirdly distant figure, even now. Indeed, as will make a lot of sense with the revelations further down the line, more than anything it seems the gaze of an abused child desperate for recognition looking up at an idealized (if not in any way nurturing) parent.‘He was retired at that point; he couldn't protect me’, Garak says, as if what he’d need protection from in the first place isn’t Tain himself lmao, as if Tain had no active part in any of this. He never lets blame touch Tain at all. At this stage he would rather consider himself a broken flawed tool than accept that the hands that have wrought and wielded him have ever had any fault in them. AND in the middle of it all, with plausible deniability, on death’s door and knocking meekly to be let in before he must finish the mortifying ordeal of being known and test the even more daunting possibility of being loved, Garak at the same time manages to drop the breadcrumb trail of clues to make it possible for Julian to find Tain if he so chooses and gets in the ‘sons of Tain’ thing too for future dramatic irony purposes. Truly he is the Michelangelo of lying. Every falsehood a multifaceted masterpiece. Elim ‘achieving a state of intertextuality in real life is possible if you work hard and believe in yourself’ Garak. I love him so much. 

I think all of this is why “I forgive you. For whatever it is you did,” works so well, because it too works on a structural level. It’s such a deceptively multilayered response — it has the syntax of a joke, in a way, and it is kind of funny even under the circumstances, but delivered with such earnest warmth and fondness. It’s both recognition and acceptance (forgiveness!). It’s saying ‘I finally understand enough of what you’re trying to tell me beneath and through all that, in whatever way you’re capable of, I see you’ and ‘my answer hasn’t changed (bitch)’. The forgiveness Julian offers here is complete — on principle, and out of personal feeling and empathy (only one of which Garak deigns to respond to during the second story, where he calls it ‘smug Federation sympathy’, placing it more completely on the principle side than it probably is. ‘Dude you’re my friend please don’t just lie down and die in a completely avoidable way on me, who else is going to not only tolerate but actually gleefully enjoy me being annoying as fuck over lunch’ seems to be the subtext that’s a lot harder to acknowledge and invite in for both of them. And yet Tain seems perfectly clear on the fact that Julian is Garak’s friend, which, y’know. Must be fun living with the knowledge that Tain has eyes everywhere looming over you every day haha guess you’d just have to tune that out.) 

Most of all — ’Don’t give up on me now, Doctor’... and he didn’t! He didn’t. Augh. Ow.

[compress1repress]

I'll stay ready for you to take me

Pegging Fic Part 2: Throuple Edition - 14k words

Art x Tashi x Patrick

[Part One] [AO3 VERSION]

finally the part 2, it's two sex scenes, one as a dream sequence :) they are all sweet here and also toxic and also fun and silly, yayyy!! patashi first, then throuple <3

CW: NSFW, MDNI, pegging, strap-ons, anal, fingering, cucking (it's for Art's own good), illogical car sex, nipple play (guess who), jealousy, hotels, sex shops, etc (i could go on)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tashi didn't often remember her dreams but when she did they were vivid. She sometimes felt they blended with daydreams, where she had full control over them.

2018 was tough. Art was recovering from his injury, he was recovering really well. She had felt this deep nauseating fear when it first happened, that he might never play again. Now that he had recovered, the feeling sometimes shifted into resentment. 

Of course he gets to get better.

Of course Art gets what he wants, even though he doesn't even want it enough. That's what gets her the most, the fact that he's clearly giving up. That he doesn't know how lucky he is.

What do you want me to do? I'll do whatever you want. You can fuck me if you want to.

You want.

Never I want. 

She likes that he has this need to please her, but it used to feel like he at least wanted that. Even if he was doing stuff for her, it was because he wanted to please her. Now she's not sure. Maybe he just doesn't know how else to be.

Tashi loved Art. Not even just out of duty or a loyalty to all the years they share between them. She loves him outside of that. But it's so hard to be around him with the injury. 

The injury sets alight this curled up ball of resentment that's tucked away in her rib cage. Each time he won't tell her what he wants, each time he asks her for directions, each time he sits there so passively, barely even upset about his shoulder, the ball gets closer to unfurling.

It's probably all tied up in that. In the fact that he never wants anything anymore. That she feels stuck a little, existing as attachments to other people. Wife, mother, daughter, coach. It doesn't feel very her. Or at least it doesn’t feel like a version of her she wants to be right now.

Even if it's only in her dreams, she deserves to let her hair down a little.

Whatever it is, maybe it's nothing. Maybe she's just horny. Maybe dreams don't mean anything at all. 

Either way, when she went to sleep she found herself in a bar, or no, a club. Her friend or cousin had taken her out, said she needed to relax and have some fun for once. She couldn't remember but she was drunk, the exact right amount to have fun and make bad decisions.

Bad decisions, it was like as soon as she thought it, he popped up. Across the dance floor, sandwiched between two people. Of course he is. He's got tight jeans on that she can't stop staring at.

To be fair he's drawing all the attention there, his hips grinding to the music, two pairs of hands meeting at his hips. A girl is pressed up to his front and he's got one arm at her face, obscuring it. They make out with her tits pressed against him, and his hips thrusting up on her. No fucking decorum. His other arm reaches behind, his hand grabbing at the guy pressed up against his back. 

This guy is grinding at his ass and Tashi's jaw clenches. She has never been a jealous or possessive person, or maybe she's just never had the chance to be. Either way, right now she feels it flaming up inside her watching them all dance. Well, dance is a loose term but she guesses that's what they're going for. 

Of course she would find Patrick like this.

He's got this grin plastered on his face even while he makes out with the girl, and Tashi swears she can hear him laugh when the guy squeezes his thigh. He looks so in his element pressed up between them. God, he's such a fucking stereotype.

She laughs to herself but it's like he hears her too. He's turning to face her and the two figures vanish into the crowd, just his single silhouette there. The club lights bouncing off his toothy grin, and she's not sure who moves first but suddenly they're face to face.

Tashi looks him up and down, eyes finally catching his t-shirt, "are you seriously still wearing that?" 

The grey top looks as new as it did in 2007 or 2011, with the block 'I TOLD YA' lettering standing out. Why was he always wearing that stupid shirt when she saw him?

"Yeah, it's one of my finest pieces," he seems so unaffected that she's here, like he knew she would be. 

"It's mine actually," she reminds him.

"Are you saying you want it back? Don't you think he'd notice it?" He gets closer somehow.

She ignores his question, instead sipping at the drink she hadn't even realized she was holding. It's orange flavored.

He pushes on, "is he here tonight?"

Something flits over his face then, quickly, but she notices it. Like he can't decide what he wants her answer to be.

"No," she tells him, and his face stays carefully neutral.

"Where is he?" He asks.

"I don't want to talk about him," she puts her drink down at the bar.

"What should we talk about then? The weather?" He says, like there are only so many topics of conversation once Art is ruled out.

"I don't want to talk about anything," she can't, she was supposed to be having fun tonight, and if they start actually talking about anything that really matters, she's not sure she could stop.

"Perfect, because I came here to party and since you scared off my original dance partners," he grabs her hand, "I want you to dance with me."

She just lets him drag her further into the dance floor, the music getting louder and the lighting getting darker. Indeterminate people thrum around them both, a song is playing that sounds like a mixture between Hot in Herre and something she can't recognize. 

She gets a proper look at him and realizes how young he looks, young like he did when she saw him in Atlanta. Tashi feels young too, like her bones are all brand new. Reaching up to her hair it feels longer than she thought it was.

He twirls her, the blue of her dress fanning out as she spins. Had she been wearing this the whole time? 

She's facing away from him now and he presses up behind her. Tashi lets him for a moment, grinding against him to the music but that's not what she wants. 

It's like he reads her mind, or maybe they just want the same thing, but he spins her back around to face him. 

"Were you trying to make me jealous?" She asks him.

"You're married, and you're mad that I'm dancing with other people," he raises an eyebrow at her.

"I didn't say I was mad, I just wanted to know if that's what you were trying to do," she tilts her head in question.

"No, I wasn't trying to do anything, how was I meant to know you'd turn up?" He puts his hands at her hips.

Same way you knew to wear that shirt, she wants to say.

He squeezes her waist, continuing "I'm flattered that I made you jealous, wanted it to be you I was kissing?"

"I wasn't jealous of her," Tashi cuts in quickly "wasn't even jealous at all, possessive might be a better word." 

"Oh yeah?" his smirk grows and his grip loosens.

"Yeah, wanted to go up to him and tell him that your ass belongs to me," she doesn't know why she's saying it but she gets the sense that nothing matters here.

"Since when?" He squints at her but she can feel the bulge in his jeans growing.

"I was there first, finders keepers rules," she shrugs at him, like it's obvious.

"I'm not sure that's how it works," he protests but he doesn't seem that passionate.

"Hmm," Tashi reaches her hand round to slip her hands into the back pocket of his jeans, "you want it to work like that don't you? For your ass to be mine?"

She uses her hands to push his hips into hers, the bulge is undeniable now and he makes a muffled noise.

"Thought you didn't want to talk," he avoids her question but he's burning up at her touch.  

"Okay, let's go somewhere else and not talk," she removes her hands and starts to walk off.

Patrick grabs her hand stopping her, "if we go somewhere else I won't be able to hold back." 

"I'm not asking you to," she gives him steady eye contact, knowing that he'll understand, "c'mon."

As she's leading him out of the club, it's like time blurs and speeds past because they're in an empty parking lot now. Her back pushed up against Patrick's beat up Honda CRV.

"You still have this piece of shit?" She asks, surprised it's held out all these years, it's the same car he's always had.

First the shirt and now this, she hadn't known Patrick had the commitment to hold on to anything this long.

"It's good quality, why would I get rid of it," he knocks at the roof then adds, "everything was better in 2006, don't you think?"

He's acting like there's a chance he's talking about car manufacturing but the veiled reference is so flimsy it just comes out sad.

"What do you want?" Is all she can say, and it's enough because he's surging forwards.

He presses up against her, grabbing at her face, smashing their mouths together. She just revels in his passion for a bit.

Then he's taking her hands and bringing them down to his ass. She gets the idea, grabbing at him while they continue to make out against the car.

Then she's pulling away and speaking into his mouth, "I know what you want."

Patrick can't even reply because she's spinning him around so he's the one against the car. 

She's shoving herself against him, attaching their mouth again. 

This time he pulls away to speak, "I want you to fuck me." 

She just grins at him because she knew that, but it feels nice to hear him say it.

"Properly?" She clarifies, watching him nod, "I do too but I don't think-"

"I have stuff," he interrupts, "anything you'd need."

Jesus Christ.

"What are you? A professional slut?" She laughs in disbelief.

He just shrugs at her, actually having the nerve to look bashful.

"Turn around," she orders, watching him follow immediately.

She pushes him forward so he braces himself with his hands on the hood of the car. She presses up against him once more, her crotch against his ass. 

"Fucking hell, Tashi," he looks back at her joyfully shocked.

"It's what you were doing with those people in the club isn't it," she grabs at his hips, grinding herself against him, "so shameless, for anyone to see."

"At least that was a club. You're the one bending me over the hood of my own car, in a fucking parking lot wh-" he complains, while clearly grinding his dick against the metal.

She stops his rant by shoving her fingers in his mouth, "suck," she directs, unnecessarily, because Patrick starts devouring them the second the fingertips touch his tongue.

"Get them nice and wet for me," she drapes herself over him to whisper in his ear, "want to open you up with your own spit."

He gasps in a breath of air as his hips involuntarily thrust forwards, "you don't have to."

"We've been over this," she remembers his insistence the first time she fucked him. 

"I just mean I already prepared before coming out tonight, so it won't take much," he explains and she has to pause a little because, fuck, the idea of him doing that is a lot.

"I don't know how many more ways I can come up with to call you a whore," Tashi laughs, weirdly affectionately, "you were really going to let that guy fuck you, huh?"

"Maybe I was waiting for you," he looks back at her, a charming grin on his face. 

"So you put on my shirt, keep a strap-on in your car, and finger yourself before you go out at night, just in case you'll bump into me?" She arches her eyebrow at him.

"It's a nice idea isn't it?" He says all sweet and all she can do is roll her eyes and shove her fingers back in his mouth.

She uses her other hand to reach around to the front of his jeans, he's already so hard, unbuttoning them. He bites at her fingers making her pull them out.

"What?" She thrusts her hips forward in retaliation.

"Here?" He looks back at her, genuinely taken aback which makes her smile.

She shouldn't do this, wouldn't do this normally. But, again, she gets the sense that nothing matters here. 

She guesses Patrick has to ask because there's no one here to protest, nobody here to say 'this isn't a good idea' before ultimately joining in anyway. 

Art's not here.

"Problem?" She tests him and he just shakes his head, "good, now put your hands behind your back."

"You arresting me?" He laughs.

"Just shut up and do it," she urges.

He does, now pressed flat against the hood with his face turned on its side and his hands at his back in imaginary handcuffs.

With his jeans unbuttoned she can pull them off now, it takes some effort because they are tight, "might as well not even wear any pants if they're this tiny, leaves nothing to the imagination."

"And I bet you're imagining, huh," he remarks, a stupid grin on his face.

She just pulls the jeans down the rest of the way, his underwear coming down with them until he's fully exposed. Patrick takes a sharp inhale of breath. 

"Jesus Christ, Tashi," he says all shaky, again a mix of shock and delight.

She reaches her hand to his mouth, "spit," she directs and he does, making eye contact as he does.

Tashi rubs at his ass with one hand while bringing the other to his hole, her fingers dripping in spit. 

"Start with two," he tells her, his eyes already hooded.

"Don't tell me what to do," Tashi squeezes at his ass, her fingers at his rim but not pushing in. 

"I'm not," he basically whines, trying to push himself back on her fingers, "I'm just telling you what I want."

She feels herself throb at that, so turned on now that she doesn't have the patience to tease or hold back anymore. She slips the two fingers in, and they slide in so easy. He really had prepped already.

"Fuck, you could probably take me already," she scissors her fingers just to watch him stretch.

"Do it," his eyes flutter almost shut as he says it and now she knows he's not giving an order, he's just asking for what he wants.

She laughs, "I would but I'm not getting naked in the parking lot, want to fuck you in the car."

"Oh but it's fine for me to be naked?" He complains.

"You love it," she adds a third finger so he can't reply except to groan, "think you get off on the idea of getting caught like this, bent over with your pants around your ankles, moaning around my fingers."

He whines again, trying to thrust forward for friction at the same time as pushing himself back on her fingers. 

"Would he let you do this to him?" He regains enough composure to ask, a smirk at his lips.

"He'd let me," she pauses for a second, adding, "but he'd never ask for it like you do." 

It used to annoy her that Patrick wouldn't do what he was told, that he knew what he wanted and wasn't asking for advice. She liked it too, sometimes, she enjoyed the push backs and arguments but mostly it pissed her off. Aggravated her that he couldn't admit she knew best. 

Now she's just enthralled by his drive, his excessive greed and want. So hungry for things still. Even if his career is off the deep end he's fighting tooth and nail to stay above water. Even if she's married to his ex best friend he's in a parking lot, bare and exposed in his wanting. 

And she's going to give him what he wants.

"Where do you keep it?" She leans further over him to ask.

"Glove box with the lube," he answers knowing what she's asking about, "I'm ready."

"I know, that's why I asked," she pulls out of him, "how do you want to do this?"

He gets up and turns to face her, his jeans pooling around his feet, his dick hard and flushed pink while still wearing the stupid I TOLD YA shirt. It's as much ridiculous as it is ridiculously hot. 

She tells him the first half, "you look fucking ridiculous."

He ignores the comment, just looking at her "I want to ride you."

"Fuck, alright, let me get ready," she heads for the passenger door, opening the glove box.

The strap-on is a little bigger than the one she used on him all those years ago but it's the same shade of purple, she looks back at him, "really?"

He just shrugs at her, grinning. Then it's a blur of unzipping her dress and strapping on the toy. She's sat in the passenger seat, purple dick stood at attention as she looks up at Patrick and taps her lap, "c'mon."

He straddles her lap, closing the car door behind him and hovering above the toy.

"Get ready for the ride of your life, and I suggest you hold on tight for this one," he smirks, bracing himself with his hands on the car headrest. 

"Alright cowboy, don't get too big for your boots," she moves her hands to his waist, "I'm sure I'll be just fine." 

"I don't know, I'd be careful, I'm not that blushing virgin you once knew," he smiles at her and she snorts. 

She just uses the hands at his waist to urge him down, and he gets the idea immediately. She wraps a hand around the dildo, steadying it as Patrick sinks down.

She watches the toy disappear inside him before bringing her gaze back up to his face. His eyes are fully closed, a pink twinge to his cheeks and he's biting at his lip. It reminds her of the first time. 

"Feel good?" She's aiming for smooth or teasing but she's so worked up her voice is breathy.

"Yeah, I've just, yeah," he gets out, pushing all the way down now and Tashi's hands clench at his side.

His eyes open and he's reaching for her face, pulling her in to kiss, softer than before but more intense. 

"Do you remember when I told you about when I got my ear pierced?" He speaks into her mouth.

"Sure, and you said it closed up," she goes along with it, not sure where Patrick's going with this. 

"I got another piercing, well two actually," he's not moving up and down, but his hips are rocking back-and-forth lightly. 

She looks at him, scanning for any earrings she missed, "I don't see any."

"I didn't say it was my ears this time," he smiles at her, his eyes flicking down. 

No way.

She fumbles for his shirt, pulling it up to reveal his chest.

"God, this is fucking stupid," she stares at the metal piercing his nipples, "surely that gets in the way when you're playing?"

"It's hot though," he says, bearing his teeth at her in a smile and she can't look away from his chest.

"It's stupid," she tries again, still fixated on the metal.

"Tashi, you're staring," he says, overjoyed at the effect he's having, "you think it's hot too."

"It's slutty," is the closest she can get to a compliment.

"Everything I do is slutty according to-" he cuts himself off with a moan as Tashi brings a finger up to one of his nipples.

Tashi's certain that Patrick could see the way her eyes light up at the noise.

She looks up at him, eyes wide and expecting so he tells her, "they're more sensitive now."

"Yeah no shit," she breathes out and then, "weren't you meant to be giving me the ride of my life? Right now it seems like you're just sitting here."

One hand is still holding the t-shirt up to keep the piercings exposed, and the other is held a few tentative inches from his left nipple.

Patrick finally starts moving, his thigh muscles tightening as he lifts himself up to the tip before bringing himself down again.

She thumbs at his nipple again, and watches how he bites his lip and stops moving, "keep going," she urges. 

He starts again, still slow and struggling to keep his eyes open, his hand still using the headrest for balance. 

She continues her movements at his left nipple and he's taking in sharp breaths as she does.

He smirks at her, "you really like them, huh?" 

"I like that me touching them makes you whimper," she brushes a finger over the piercing and watches him swallow a sound.

"I'm not whimpering," he protests with a shaky voice.

"Not yet," she grins up at him.

Patrick leans down to kiss her, desperate and hungry, saying against her lips, "I'd like to see you try."

It barely qualifies as goading or teasing, coming out more just like begging. Like he might as well have just said please make me whimper.

He moans into her mouth as she breathes words back into his, "faster."

He follows the order, picking up the pace and breathing heavier as he does. He can't even kiss her anymore, focusing on bouncing up and down on her dick, his thighs flexing. He looks determined.

Now he's pulled back Tashi can get at his chest again, pushing his shirt up once more.

She switches between nipples now and Patrick is groaning. His dick hard between them rubbing at her stomach as he moves, starting to drip precum. The groaning is nice but it’s not whimpering. She gets an idea.

Tashi takes the hem of the shirt that’s in her hand and holds it up to his mouth, “bite.”

His eyes open to look at her, taking in the shirt, confusion flitting across his face.

“I wasn’t even talking,” he complains, thinking she’s just trying to gag him.

“Just do it, I’m not trying to shut you up,” she presses it to his mouth, “although it is a bonus effect.”

He takes the fabric in his mouth, his eyes watching slightly narrowed. Now she has two hands she can reach up to get both hands at his chest, a thumb at each pink nub. She nods her head, urging him to move.

He’s struggling to keep his eyes on her, and struggles even more when she rubs with both thumbs, fighting to keep a noise in his throat. She waits until he’s bouncing in earnest again to take them both between her thumb and forefinger, and start pinching.

He lets out a shocked, punched out moan, his mouth falling open and dropping the shirt, “what the fuck.”

“I didn’t tell you to drop that,” she says calmly, “was ‘bite’ too complex an order for you?”

“You surprised me,” he says indignantly.

“Can you do it or not?” Her eyebrow arches at him, taking the fabric once again and holding it to his lips, he takes it again, “great, let’s try this again.” 

She could just make him take the whole shirt off but she likes that he’s wearing it. Plus, there’s something weirdly hot about him holding it up for her with his mouth, baring his chest for her to do as she pleases. 

She pinches again and he’s ready for it this time so he doesn’t drop the shirt, but he still whines. His dick still getting the occasional amount of friction as it rubs between their bodies. He uses his thigh strength to lift himself right to the tip before sinking all the way down over and over.

The power is impressive, the speed is impressive and the stamina is impressive too. His teeth continue gripping the shirt even when she pinches harder making his eyebrows furrow in a mix between pain and pleasure.

“You’re good at this, dedicated,” she comments watching the way his eyes flick to her face, “and look, you are capable of following orders.”

He bounces faster in response, showing off, and because she’s Tashi she adds, “if only you treated tennis like this.”

His movements stutter but he keeps going, giving her a look that tells Tashi what he’s thinking. I am dedicated to tennis, I’m still here aren’t I?

It’s true. He is still here. He hasn't just given up, his passion hasn’t died. He isn't ungrateful. He’s digging his heels into the ground and refusing to be dragged away. This is all true and she respects him for it, even if she would never tell him that. It’s also fucking embarrassing.

He’s arrogant. He’s sticking around but he’s too stubborn to actually change anything. To work on himself. He’s still got that stupid serve that everyone knows doesn’t work like it should. She would’ve tried anything, changed everything if it meant carrying on. She did try everything.

He gets to have a whole extra decade on those courts than she did, and he wastes it by being fucking mediocre. 

She wasn’t supposed to be angry here. She wasn’t supposed to be a lot of things. 

Still, this isn’t about that. She takes in the sight of him again, face all scrunched up and hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. 

She calms down a little but can’t fully stop herself lashing out, “seriously, Art is dedicated. That’s why he’s a winner. That’s why I’m married to him while you’re here fucking yourself on my dick.”

She wants him to hurt, to moan, to get fired up. Instead he takes the shirt out of his mouth.

“Tashi, I don't want to talk about tennis or-” he starts and she cuts him off because he’s not supposed to do that. Be reasonable. 

“Did I say you could let go?” she asks and he’s just looking at her. Jesus, he was supposed to get jealous or something. To hear Art’s name and come alive, fuck himself harder. Not have this expression on his face that she can’t bear to look at.

The shirt is fully down, I TOLD YA glaring at her so she grabs the hem and pulls it up in a sharp motion, dragging it over his face but not all the way off. She hooks the shirt over his head so it stays there. He had stopped his movements up on his knees, his hole just around the tip and before he can say anything she’s grabbing his waist pushing him down at the same time she thrusts up as much as she can.

The toy must finally hit his prostate because he lets out a choked out moan and his thighs tremble. 

“Still think I can’t get you to whimper for me?” she asks and doesn’t give him time to recover before bringing her mouth to one of his piercings, sucking.

She brings a hand up to the right, rolling the nipple between her fingers while her mouth works on his left. She feels the metal on her tongue then takes the nipple between her teeth and lightly pulls. He’s taking these sharp intakes of breath over and over. 

“Fuck,” he whines, “fuck, Tashi let me see you.”

His bouncing picks up in pace, as if that’s going to convince her. 

“No, you’ll get rewarded for good behavior,” she insists.

He grabs at the shirt anyway, struggling but managing to pull it off.

“Patrick,” she scolds, reaching out to pinch both his nipples in retaliation.

He groans, his head falling forward as their foreheads almost touch. He looks a mess, even more than before, his hair all over the place. 

“I don’t care, I don’t care,” he babbles and she twists where she was pinching, he whines but keeps going, “needed to see you, wanted to see you.” 

He grabs at her face and pulls her in for a, very sloppy, kiss. She can’t even be mad at him for disobeying because it’s so very Patrick. It’s the fire she wanted from him, the pushing back instead of just keeling over. The tunnel vision of: want want want.

She thrusts her own hips up into him as much as she can to match his movements, her tongue shoving into his mouth. 

“Forgot how needy you get with a cock inside you,” she teases between kissing.

“Just yours,” he replies, and he’s absolutely lying but he says it with such sincerity it sends her stomach swooping in arousal.

“I shouldn’t have-” said that earlier? Been so mean to you? She doesn't really know how she intended to end that sentence so she starts another one, “you really are made for this, your thighs are like fucking machines.”

He moans again, “hold on I need to,” his head drops to her shoulder and he’s breathing heavy as he adjusts the angle before sinking down, “fuck.”

He must’ve found the right angle that sets that spot inside him on fire because his moans go up a pitch. 

“That’s it, right there Patrick, keep going,” she moans too as if she can feel it like he does.

“Touch me,” he begs, “I want you to touch me again.”

“Your nipples or your dick?” she brings her hands to lightly hover over both, not touching yet.

“Both, anything,” he pleads.

She obliges, one hand playing with his piercing and the other going to finally stroke his dick.

He’s cursing under his breath, precum dripping, “I’m close.”

“Jesus Patrick I’ve been jerking you off for five seconds, don’t think you’d even qualify as a minute man,” she smiles at him, meanly, knowing she’s being purposefully unfair.

“Give me a fucking break,” he groans, so she removes her hand and he gives her a desperate look, “I didn’t mean like that, c’mon I need to cum.”

She ignores his plea, “do you think you could get off just from riding me, and the friction of your dick against my stomach?”

“I don’t know,” he moves up and down impatiently, but doesn’t touch himself.

“I want you to try,” she urges.

“Okay, just,” he reaches for the hand that had abandoned his dick, bringing it up to join her other at his nipples, “want this.”

He leans back a little to get a good angle, and she watches his taut stomach as he fucks himself on her cock. His eyes squeezed shut, his entire body sweaty and flushed pink in exhaustion. The moans start spilling out of him like he can’t stop now, like he’s hitting his prostate on every bounce. 

She switches between rubbing, pinching, and twisting and just revels in the noises he’s making. 

“Fuck, Patrick, how close are you?” she asks.

“Very,” he manages.

“You look so good, sound so desperate,” she looks up at him, “want to make you whimper. When you cum I want you to keep bouncing until you can’t anymore.”

He whines and she surges forward to claim his lips, swallowing the noise, her arms pressed between them both still pinching. His dick is also pressed between them and the extra pressure is working.

“Tashi,” he speaks out, asking or warning, she’s not sure.

“Go on, cum for me, finish with my cock inside you,” she encourages into his mouth.

He groans, white ropes spurting out onto Tashi’s stomach but she doesn’t let up, “keep going.”

She thrusts up into him herself to get him moving, it now actually feels like the toy is connected to her, like she can feel the tightness of him around her. His entire body trembles and he’s biting his lip so hard it might bleed.

“Wish I could fuck you all the time,” she’s babbling now, “want to fuck you doggy style, want to bend you over a desk or just shove you down on a tennis court and take you.”

“Tashi,” he’s moaning again like it’s all he's capable of saying in response to this amalgamation of thoughts she’s had over the years.

If she’s revealing her fantasies then she has to mention the biggest one, “want to fuck you while Art watches.”

Patrick finally whimpers, and it makes her so horny she thrusts up. Patrick shudders, his dick somehow spurting out a few more drops, high pitched whines and whimpers leaving him. 

His head tucks into her neck, overwhelmed and overstimulated, “I can’t.”

“You’re done,” she tells him, helping him lift off her, “you can stop, you did good.”

He winces as the toy slides out, collapsing to sit on her thighs instead and she doesn’t even mind the weight. His body slumps into her, his head at her shoulder, and she wraps her arms around him.

“You okay?” she whispers into his ear.  

“Forgot how good you are at being mean,” he mumbles into her neck, “I missed it.”

She laughs, “forgot how much you liked me being mean.”

He hums contently, “and did you miss it too?”

His hand trails lazily to her crotch, finally. 

“I’m close,” she tells him, because she’s been so worked up for so long that she’s already right on the edge.

He rubs in circles at her clit underneath the toy, then asks again, “did you miss this as much as I did?” 

“I’,” she starts to say I missed you but there's a sudden loud blaring noise.  Did somebody call the police?

She blinks and then opens her eyes, waking up with a gasp and a hand down her pants. Her bedroom is bright and the alarm blares next to her. She turns it off with her free hand. Fuck. 

She finishes getting herself off anyway, watching Art’s sleeping body. She kind of hopes he’ll wake up and catch her out, ask her what she was dreaming about that got her like this. Then she’ll have to tell him, it’s only right to be honest if he’s asking so directly. She’ll give him all the details and watch him flush pink. 

Art doesn’t wake up though, he just sleeps through it all until his own alarm goes off.

********

February 2020

They've been sleeping together for over six months now, all three of them. They were taking as close to a vacation as she'd done in years. It wasn't even really supposed to be a vacation. 

They were invited for Tashi's cousin's wedding, well her and Art were invited and it felt weird leaving Patrick behind with Lily and her mom. Her cousin was marrying some British guy, ‘was’ being the key term because the whole thing got called off two days before the wedding. She didn't know the details and didn't really care to.

She'd sort of been glad because she didn't really feel up to answering any questions about who Patrick is or why he'd come to the wedding with them. They'd already been at the airport when she got the call and it had taken so long to figure out a way for them all to get a week off that they all felt they should just go. When else would they get a chance for a vacation in the near future?

When they landed at Heathrow, instead of getting a rental and driving the three hours up to the Peak District where the wedding was supposed to happen, they booked a hotel in London. Patrick insisted on a hotel in Soho, saying that Art and Tashi would love it there. They'd been to London for Wimbledon of course, but they'd never ventured outside of that. Unlike Patrick apparently had early on in his career.

He also suggested they get the tube to the hotel which had been hell, so she made him swear they would stick to Ubering the rest of the week. Tashi was sort of regretting listening to his suggestions at all. Walking from the tube to their hotel she got a sense of why Patrick had been so struck with the place. 

It was lively but she knows that’s not what he’d been thinking, “plenty of sex shops and gay bars,” she gives him an eyebrow, “I see why you loved it here so much.”

“Real classy, Patrick,” Art snorts.

“There’s also a great ice cream place,” Patrick grins at them both, “I didn’t even notice the sex shops, you guys are just perverts.”

“And the gay bars?” she asks.

“Oh, those are unforgettable,” he bumps his shoulder into her, “plenty of great memories.”

“We don’t need to hear about that,” Art rolls his eyes, his comment coming off more cold than joking.

Art’s been a little off recently, getting jealous and insecure about everything. She shares a look with Patrick, which if Art saw would only make things worse.

“You don’t have to be such a closet case about it,” Patrick pushes when he probably shouldn’t.

“He’s just jealous,” Tashi says, giving Art a pointed stare that he avoids. 

He loosens up back at the hotel a bit, they’re raiding the mini bar and getting dressed to go out for an early dinner. 

“Do people really still go to physical sex shops? I just figured everyone else does it online too,” Art muses from where he’s sat on the bed.

“I guess sometimes you want to see it in person,” Patrick replies, rooting through his suitcase for pants, “you’ve never been inside one before?”

“We’re not all as free as you are. Right, Tashi?” he looks up at her and she keeps her face neutral.

“Right,” is all she says, shrugging. Her and Patrick share another look that Art maybe notices this time but he doesn’t say anything. 

She heads to the en suite to finish getting ready, leaving the door open so she can listen into their conversation. 

“I think you’d pass out in a sex shop,” she hears Patrick comment, “you’d be so scandalised by a wall of dildos.”

“You do know I’m a fully grown adult, I can handle a few plastic dicks,” Art defends, and Tashi smiles to herself preemptively knowing what Patrick will say.

“A few, huh, impressive,” she can hear the insufferable grin on Patrick’s face, and knows Art is rolling his eyes, “I was just thinking about how you passed out when we had to watch that video about erections for sex ed.” 

She enjoys hearing about their time at the academy, even if she sometimes feels a little envious, that it’s unfair they knew each other first.

“I passed out because I hadn’t eaten, not because of the video,” Art protests, “and you were the one who freaked out. When I came to, you were kneeling over me and holding me like I’d died or something.”

“Hey, I was just concerned I’d have to get used to playing with another doubles partner,” Patrick says, she can see in the mirror that he’s walking over to the bed, “none of them were as cute as you.”

“Were you always this cheesy?” The smile in Art’s voice is obvious, “you’re a fucking sap.”

“And the cutest doubles partner you’ve ever had too, right?” She sees him straddle Art now.

“You’re the only doubles partner I’ve ever had,” Art tells him.

“You’re so loyal,” Patrick moves his head and Tashi can hear kissing sounds, “it’s very romantic.”

She shakes her head and calls out to them, “stop getting distracted, we need to leave soon.”

She hears them shuffle away from each other, both laughing softly.

Tashi likes shoving them together, working them up and watching them mesh together. Even though Art is sometimes repressed and Patrick sometimes insists on pretending he doesn’t care about anything, they can open up to each other in ways that she finds difficult.

It was less there at first but after time it's like their years of sharing a room return, and they're all over each other. This casual affection that looks so easy on them. It makes her breathe better to watch it.

When she's worked them up and they fuck it out, sometimes they'll end with this string of 'I missed you' that blends together between them. She thinks Patrick's probably one good fuck away from telling Art he loves him. Maybe even her too, but the difference is Art would say it back but she's pretty sure Patrick knows Tashi wouldn't. 

Not right away at least. Not because she doesn't. 

It's so fucking hard to even be nice to him sometimes. Even with Art she finds it hard, but it's easier because they're married, they have a kid together. It doesn't feel so massive to call out a 'love ya' occasionally because it goes without saying, it doesn't feel like an admission of something. A surrendering. And even then, she still barely says it.

With Patrick it feels impossible to even tell him that she likes him. Except when she's fucking him, which is a little stupid. It's just hard to feel weak and vulnerable when he's there moaning around her dick. Maybe that’s part of some internalised something or other, or maybe she’s complicating things. Maybe it just gets her so horny she forgets to care.

It's just part of it, complimenting him when he's like that. It's part of the game. It's easy to do when she's so clearly above, the power so obviously in her favour. Plus, sometimes he squirms more from the nice names than he does the degrading. 

He always got a little flustered in bed when she'd call him pretty or something, but since the decade spent alone he's become even more sensitive. Like he can't fucking take it. Or he's forgotten how to receive affection. She tries not to dwell on it. 

She can't help it though, she hasn't got to fuck him since they've all three been together. She’s just living off memories of her and Patrick and the weird softness of those moments. She hasn't fucked Art since they all got together either. She felt like they didn't need that, now that they've got each other to fill that hole. Literally.

Now this conversation about sex shops and dildos has brought up what she’d already been thinking about. She needs to fuck Patrick. Needs it an embarrassingly large amount. 

It's just that he's really been in good form recently, with tennis, with Lily, with their relationship. He’s been good.

He's also been opening up more, just subtly sliding in stories about the last ten years and it's making her sad. If she was a different sort of person she'd hold him in her arms like a baby, maybe kiss at his forehead. But that thought makes her a little nauseous.

Still, she's feeling all these horribly sweet things and she can't fucking do anything with it. So she needs to fuck him, needs him in a position where she can actually have an outlet for it all, and where he'll be forced to receive it.

She sprays some perfume at her pulse points, finishing up and stepping out to see Patrick looking at himself in the mirror, “does my ass look fat in these jeans?”

“Yes,” Art calls out, moving past Tashi to take her place in the en suite.

“You’re so sweet to me,” Patrick calls back, then looking at Tashi, “I guess you guys have been feeding me well.”

“Hmm, that was our plan,” she moves closer to him and his eyes sparkle seeing that she’s going along with his joking, “we’ve been fattening you up.”

Tashi moves to stand behind him, pressing herself against his back, resting her chin on his shoulder.

“I thought we weren’t meant to get distracted,” Patrick says, with very little conviction. 

“I’m just checking something,” she reaches a hand down to squeeze his ass, “yeah, definitely bigger.”

“I feel objectified,” he smiles.

“You’re welcome,” she replies, lightly thrusting against him for good measure.

Patrick’s grin widens, “thinking about anything in particular?”

“I’m sure you know,” she tries being casual, “maybe we could pick up a little something after dinner.”

“I‘m not sure anyone has ever referred to buying a strap-on as picking up a little something,” he teases, “and what would Art think about it?”

“You know him, he’ll want to, he might just need a little persuading,” she tilts her head, giving him another squeeze to the ass.

Art returns from the en suite, taking in the sight of them, “what are you two talking about?”

“Just some after dinner plans,” Tashi shrugs, giving Patrick a last tap on the ass before going to put her shoes on.

Art narrows his eyes at them but doesn’t say anything more. She knows they should reassure him but he’s been so annoying with this jealousy recently that she doesn’t have much patience left. It’s just that his jealousy isn’t even fun at the moment, it’s not like he gets all fired up and possessive. He just gets quiet and distant.

Last week her and Patrick had been sat next to each other on the couch, not even doing anything and Art had walked in, took one look at them, then sat as far away as possible. He hadn’t said a word, just pretending to look at his phone with a sour look on his face. She’d been perfectly happy to just let him stew in it but Patrick had flung himself over Art’s lap, getting in his personal space until he had to smile. 

Patrick was better at that, not getting annoyed at Art for being difficult. Although Patrick is also usually the one trying to make him jealous in the first place, so she guesses it balances out. 

Despite Art’s mood, the dinner is pretty uneventful, they’re all so hungry from travel that they spend the time scarfing down pizza and downing glasses of wine. 

Art and Tashi watch Patrick tilt back his glass, “you know I was thinking about when I had my ear pierced.”

“Oh shit, I forgot about that,” Art replies, “and your dad made you take it out because it would get in the way when you were playing tennis or something.”

Another shared look between Tashi and Patrick, “what’s that look,” Art cuts in.

“Nothing, I just heard the story a little differently,” she takes a sip from her own glass, avoiding looking at Patrick, “I didn’t think it was about tennis.”

“Patrick?” Art questions.  

“Oh, it’s not a big deal, I mean it was my dad,” Patrick looks down, a forced smile on his lips, “it was just more about him thinking people would get the wrong idea about me.”

“His dad didn’t want people thinking his son was gay,” Tashi interjects, not exactly sure what she’s trying to do.

“Yeah, I got that,” Art says to her before turning to Patrick, “why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know dude, we were like fourteen,” he shrugs, "you would've been weird about it."

“I’m not boring or prissy or whatever you guys seem to fucking think,” Art snaps, “you don’t have to whisper about salacious details behind my back, I’m fun too.”

He’s not boring. Not at all. They both know that, it’s just that sometimes he seems obsessed with pretending like he is. 

“Alright Mr. Fun, let’s go get my ear re-pierced right now,” Patrick suggests and she hadn’t expected that.

“What?” she questions.

“Well, that’s why I brought it up, I wasn’t trying to start an argument,” he looks between them both, “it’s just there’s a piercing place round the corner and I thought it would be cool.”

“Sounds fun to me,” Art crosses his arms, going for casual. 

They pay the bill, heading to the piercing place. They’re all past tipsy but not quite fully drunk, just more relaxed than usual. When they get there Patrick goes for a single piercing on his left ear, selecting a small hoop for it. 

“I might need them both to come in with me, for moral support,” Patrick says to the piercer.

“Sure, whatever,” the piercer shrugs, clearly not giving a fuck. 

He gets sat on this leather armchair as they prepare the needle, and Patrick summons Art and Tashi to stand at either side of him. 

“Can you both hold my hands, in case it hurts?” he looks up at them with this fake innocent look, and Art rolls his eyes.

Tashi snorts, “I think you’ve taken worse.”

“Maybe, but this is an emotional moment for me,” he looks to Art, fluttering his eyelashes “I’m standing up to my dad.”

“Stop guilt tripping us,” Tashi complains, but takes the hand he holds out.

“Art?” he gives him a look, holding his hand out to him.   

Art takes it reluctantly, and Patrick looks very pleased with himself. He keeps hold of them both as the needle goes through his lobe, clearly not feeling any pain at all but he pretends to.

Once it’s over he lets go and Art shakes his hand, “Jesus Patrick did you have to squeeze that hard?”

“It hurt,” he says simply.

“Asshole,” he’s still rubbing at his hand.

“Happy with it?” the piercer asks.

“What do you guys think?” he looks to them both.

Tashi looks at him, it’s exactly how she imagined it, “cute.”

“And Art, it’s sexy right?” he wiggles his eyebrows at him.

Art gets weird then for some reason, looking to the side and then saying, “yeah I think your girlfriend will love it.”

For fuck’s sake.

Patrick just nods at him, and they leave the shop without talking about it.  They don’t even talk about it as they walk back to the hotel. 

On their way, they pass by one of the many sex shops and Tashi glances over at Patrick, tilting her head in its direction. He grins at her. 

“Still, feeling fun, Art?” Patrick stops walking.

“Always,” Art gives him a fake smile.

“Well, why don’t you head in that shop and buy us something?” he points to the shop behind Art, “I dare you.”

“Dare? Are we twelve years old?” he mocks.

“Stalling? Are you chicken?” Patrick teases back.

“This is stupid,” Art looks to Tashi for support but she doesn’t give him any, “ugh, fine, what am I supposed to be getting.”

“Oh just something fun for tonight,” Patrick thrusts his hips and mimes jerking off.

Art looks around but nobody on the street even spares them a second glance, still he blushes a little, “alright, I’m going, just stop doing that.”

“Have fun,” Patrick calls out as he walks away.

Art looks back at Tashi one last time and she just nods at him. 

“They grow up so fast,” Patrick smiles at her.

“You know, when I said you’d need to persuade him I thought you’d be more subtle,” she laughs, then adds, “he likes the earring.”

“What, did he communicate that to you telepathically?” he jokes, a hint of bitterness.

“He’s just being annoying,” she sighs, looking him over, “the piercing really does suit you.”

“Oh, yeah?” he leans in to her ear, whispering, “makes you want to fuck me?”

“Yeah, it’s taking everything in me not to pounce on you right now,” she says, deadpan. Although it is doing something for her.

“You joke but if I walked in that gay bar around the corner, I’d be fighting people off,” he smirks, getting up in her face.

“I think that would tip Art over the edge, he might actually die if he saw some guy grinding on you,” Tashi snorts imagining Art stood in a dark corner just glaring, “maybe it would get him to be jealous in a way that’s actually fun.”

He honestly usually is, he’d get all fired up when Patrick would be gloating in his face. He’d get competitive, playing better, and fucking better.

She’d had one of the best orgasms she’d ever had when Art had walked in on Patrick eating her out. Patrick had given him this smug grin and Art had joined in, both of them licking and sucking at her, tongues fighting over her clit, both desperate to be the one to get her over the edge. Art had won and fucked her afterwards, sweaty and passionate, kissing her all over while Patrick watched. 

It usually makes him work harder but the last few weeks he’d just get avoidant, cold and self pitying. 

“I don’t know, he doesn’t really get jealous about me, I’m the competition not the prize,” his smile weakens a bit so he continues, “and I’m more than happy to take that role, to fight with him over you. I like seeing him like that.”

Hmmm. Her mind starts whirring with ideas.

“I don’t know about that,” now she turns to whisper in his ear, “I think I can prove it tonight.”

Before Patrick can ask what she means, Art is exiting the shop.

“What are you guys whispering about?” the insecurity flitting across his face.

“Just how much of a hit Patrick would be at a gay club with his earring,” she half lies, just to watch his face.

She thinks she sees a hint of fire in his eyes when he looks to Patrick, who nods, “they’d be all over me.”

“We don’t need you slutting it up tonight, thanks,” Art snaps, rolling his eyes. It’s not quite what Tashi is going for but at least he’s not just being silent.

“Slutting it up he says while literally exiting a sex shop,” Patrick snorts, “so where is it?”

Art reaches in his pocket and holds out a singular condom, it’s a novelty one with a cartoon of Big Ben on it.

“That’s it?” Patrick says exasperated, “dude, that’s like the most boring thing you could’ve bought.”

“You dared me to buy something,” he shrugs, “that’s what I did. I win.”

“And we’re all so proud of you,” Patrick gives a fake smile, patting him on the back, “but how’s Tashi supposed to fuck me without equipment?”

Art stares at her for clarification, “that’s Patrick’s way of saying you were supposed to buy a strap-on.”

“Exactly but you were too much of a pussy to buy a dick,” he grins at Art, and Tashi gives him a side eye.

“It’s not like Tashi would go in and buy it either, I think it’s just you that’s this chill about it,” he sneers.

Patrick laughs, “she’s done it before.”

Tashi grabs Art’s hand pulling him back towards the shop before he can answer, “we’re going back in,” and when Patrick tries to follow she points at him, “and you are staying out here.”

“Was he being serious out there?” Art asks after she drags them to the back of the store.

“Not sure it’s any of your business,” she retorts, realising she’s being a little harsh.

“Are you really that mad I didn’t buy a dildo?” he snorts but keeps his eyes trained on her for a reaction.

“What was that earlier, in the piercing shop?” she watches him give a blank look like he doesn’t know what she means, “your girlfriend will love it.”

“It just felt weird doing all that in front of a stranger,” he’s shrugging, “I don’t think it’s so odd that I’m not a fan of PDA.”

“I wasn’t expecting you to fuck him in the piercing shop, just a simple you look good would suffice,” she snarks, “seriously, what’s your problem? Was it a jealousy thing or a I-don't-want-people-to-know-I-like-dudes thing?”

“I don’t know, neither,” he looks a bit ashamed, “or both, maybe.”

“Either way it’s getting fucking boring, Art,” Tashi snaps, “you’ve been so jealous the last few weeks, and not even in a hot way.”

“I’m sorry my emotions aren’t sexy enough for you,” he turns away from her but it’s a wall of ball gags behind him so he turns back to her, “this is stupid.”

“You are being stupid,” she smiles at him.

“I’m trying not to be,” he admits, “it’s just sometimes playful competition with Patrick slips into real anger.”

“Well, maybe you need to switch it up,” she moves closer to him, “I can help you out.”

He puts his hands on her waist, “how?”

“First, you’re going to have to help me,” she spins them around, now facing an assortment of strap-ons, “choose one for me.”

He lets out a small oh, his ears turning pink at the tip.

“Patrick was right, I can’t fuck him without equipment,” she lowers her voice, “so I want you to pick which one I’m going to use tonight. Which do you think he’ll like?” 

“I don’t know,” Art doesn’t know where to look, switching between her face and the toys, “what do you think?”

“Let’s think about size first,” she acts like she’s browsing, then points to a ridiculously large green one, “what about that?”

“Jesus, Tashi, I don’t want you to kill him,” his eyes widening at it, “he likes a challenge but I think that’s a bit much.”

“Yeah I guess after all these months of you fucking him, it would be a pretty big step up,” she tests, watching his face, a complex mixture but she thinks she’s hitting the right notes so far. Obviously nobody has a dick that big, and yet somewhere in Art’s brain she’s nagging at something, somewhere between making him insecure and horny.

“Still, I think we should pick something bigger than yours,” she adds for good measure.

“Yeah, and bigger than his too,” Art offers, a smirk ghosting his lips and her skin prickles knowing she’s got him properly engaged now, he whispers to her “want to see how he reacts to you having a bigger dick than he does, want to see you stretch him.”

She has to try really hard not to get flustered because she needs to concentrate on getting Art in the right mindset. He’s already most of the way there.

“Go on then, pick one,” she urges, needing him to be the one to choose.

His eyes graze over the shelves, landing on one and pointing it out, “how about that?

It’s a translucent purple number, it’s both a little girthier and longer than Patrick is, and importantly, “ribbed,” she gives him an approving smile, “fun.”

“Good?” he checks, even though he can see the smile on her face.

“Think he’ll be able to handle it?” she asks.

“Knowing him, he’s taken more than that,” Art says, calm with an edge to it.

“Think you can handle watching it?” she pushes, “me taking your role, but bigger and better.”

“I’ll be fine,” his face still carefully neutral.

“What if he loves the size so much, you have to fuck him twice as hard just to compete with me?” she says close to his ear.

“Why are you being mean?” he’s struggling to hide the way his lip twitches.

“Why are you hard?” she retorts, letting herself smile shamelessly.

“Can we buy the damn thing and get out of here already?” his shell cracking.

“Somebody’s desperate,” she teases, “but yeah, let’s go.”

They purchase the toy, a strap for it, and some more lube. Art clearly forgetting he’s supposed to be embarrassed.

Leaving with a discreet bag they find Patrick waiting them for them, “you were fucking ages, how long does it take to pick out a sex toy?”

“We wanted to make sure it was just right,” she tells him.

“What, like Goldilocks but instead of porridge it’s strap-ons?” Patrick jokes, making Tashi snort but Art has just been staring at him the whole time, "Art, why are you looking at me like that?”

“I’m not,” he says quickly, picking up the walking pace back to the hotel. 

Patrick looks to Tashi for answers, and she grins at him mouthing, “you’re welcome.”

They all head back briskly, remaining composure right until the elevator doors close on them. Art grabs Patrick’s face roughly bringing their lips together for a sloppy kiss that has Patrick grinning, wide and thoroughly amused.

Tashi enjoys watching for now, knowing that soon Art will be in her place. Although maybe she won’t have to be as mean as she thought. Then the elevator stops, doors opening and Art is desperately shoving Patrick off him, pushing so he stumbles, almost falling. Nevermind.

“Art there’s nobody there, it’s our fucking floor,” Patrick grumbles as they leave the elevator.

“There could've been, sorry I don’t want some random people to see us making out,” Art whisper yells back, letting them into their room with the key 

“Bet you wouldn’t have shoved Tashi away if you were kissing her,” Patrick snarks.

“Well obviously, she’s my wife,” Art retorts.

They were doing so well. 

“Cool.” Is all Patrick says, heading right to flop on the bed.

Tashi gives Art a glare before changing the topic, determined not to derail the night, “want to see what we got?”

Patrick sits up, “yes, duh.”

She takes the toy out of the bag, showing him, and he laughs at first, “purple, again.”

“Of course,” she smiles back, Art again noticing their shared look, “what about the size?”

“It’s big,” Patrick eyes it up and down slowly.

“Art picked it out,” Tashi lets him know, “said he wanted me to fuck you with a dick bigger than yours.”

“Tashi,” Art says, shocked, looking for Patrick’s reaction.

“Hot,” Patrick looks back at him, “nice choice.”

“I didn’t know you were such a size queen,” Art mocks but it just makes her and Patrick laugh.

“Size queen?” Patrick grins.

“Shut up,” Art’s face going pink. 

“Good idea,” Tashi interjects, “we need to stop talking and start fingering if we’re going to get this thing in him tonight.”

“You make it sound so romantic,” Patrick says all airy, and Tashi lets him pull her to straddle his lap, the toy left to the side.

Art kneels onto the bed next to them and she turns her head, “Art, go sit over there,” tilting her head to the couch next to the bed.

“What?” he questions but stands up. 

“You’ve been pushing us away, being distant and angry,” she says matter-of-factly, “you haven't been acting like you want to be near us, so you can sit out until you’ve earned it.”

“That’s not-” whether Art planned to finish that with true or fair doesn’t matter because Tashi cuts him off.

“Want to sit outside instead?” She raises a stern eyebrow and he just goes to sit at the couch, still with a stubborn look on his face.

Art sits mostly in well-behaved silence, hard in his jeans watching as Tashi opens Patrick up. She’s got him on his back, three fingers pumping in and out, occasionally expanding to stretch him. 

“Remember the first time we did this?” she asks, looking down at him, so reminiscent of all those years ago.

“How could I forget?” he smirks up at her.

“I took his virginity,” she says, looking over at Art proudly and he snorts so she clarifies, “well, his anal virginity anyway.”

“You really love saying that, don’t you?” Patrick laughs so she curls her fingers making him moan, he turns his head to Art, “does she say it to you too.”

Art doesn’t say anything so Tashi speaks up, “I can’t because I didn’t take his.”

“What?” Patrick looks between them, genuinely shocked.

“We don’t have to talk about this,” Art tries.

“Don’t worry he hasn’t fucked any other guys,” Tashi reassures, ignoring Art, “only himself.”

“I’m not sure that counts,” Patrick points out. 

“Maybe, but he lied about it,” she gives Art a sharp look, “he was fucking himself with my toys for months without telling me, and let me believe I was the first to ever open him up.”

“Only because you seemed to get off on that so much,” Art defends and Patrick nods in understanding.

“Or because you refuse to ever say what you want, and wanted to put it all on me,” she argues back, “sneaking around hiding in bathrooms because you didn’t want to admit how bad you wanted it.”

When she first fucked him, he pretended like he’d never had anything inside before, not even a finger. Sort of the opposite of Patrick, and like with him she could tell Art was lying.

“God, that’s hot,” Patrick groans.

It had been, she’d been planning on gentle but once she pulled out of him the information that he’d been riding her dildos behind her back, she made sure to fuck him extra hard, making him regret not just asking for her to do this sooner. Regret not asking for what he wants.

“So what do you want, Art?” she asks.

“I want to join you guys.”

“Too bad,” she shrugs, and it makes Patrick moan.

She looks down at him, “think you’re ready?”

“Almost,” he answers.

She leans in to kiss him before pulling back, “think you can finish preparing yourself for me, while I get ready?”

He nods at her and she pulls her fingers out, grabbing his own hand and bringing it down to his hole. He keeps eye contact with her, plunging his fingers inside himself, and she watches in appreciation. 

She hears Art shift in his seat and reminds him, “don’t move,” to which he gives a pathetic look.

Grabbing the strap-on she gets a better idea than going into the bathroom to do it, “actually you can help me out,” she moves towards him, “put this on me.”

He helps her get the harness on, slower than necessary so he can feel at her thighs while still staring at Patrick on the bed. Then she turns to Patrick, standing watching him still stretching himself, his eyes drawn to the dildo.

“Think you’re prepared enough?” she checks.

“Yeah,” he gets out all breathy. 

“Great, now you can help me,” she watches a confused look on his face, “need to make sure I’m hard before I fuck you.”

She takes a seat next to Art and he tries to reach for her, “no touching,” she beckons Patrick with her finger, “c’mere.”

He walks over slowly, “where do you want me?” 

“Knees,” and she can’t help biting her lip watching him sink down.

He takes a hold of her dick, licking a long stripe up it. Art makes a noise next to her, fumbling with his belt, finally taking his clothes off until his dick is out, standing hard and pink. She lets him, probably only makes it more torturous having his cock out but no one to touch it. 

Then Patrick is opening his mouth wide, taking in just the head at first before swallowing more and more. Patrick loves sucking dick, and his eyes flutter shut getting lost in it. It’s unbelievably hot and clearly Art agrees because he’s practically drooling at the sight.

She brings her hand to the back of Patrick’s head, guiding him, “you suit having a cock in your mouth.”

It makes Patrick push down further on her, gagging, and it makes Art moan again. 

“You agree?” she asks Art and he nods at her, “and you think he looks good like this?”

Art nods again, unable to look away from Patrick, “so tell him,” she orders.

“Fuck, Patrick, you do look so good like this,” flows out, “like you were made for it.”

She hears Patrick moan around her dick, taking her as deep as he can. Drool pools in his mouth, spilling around the toy every time he gags. He sucks desperately, like he’s trying to get her to cum.

She looks at Art, “wish he was blowing you instead?”

“Yes,” Art breathes out.

Tashi uses the grip in Patrick’s hair to pull him off her with a pop, directing him towards Art. She keeps her hand there, hovering him over Art’s tip. Art leans back against the couch, biting his lip waiting, and that’s when Tashi pulls Patrick back. Art actually whines, indignantly.

“Sorry, no time,” she grins, “I’m so hard, I’ve got to fuck him right now.”

When she lets go of Patrick he falls back, breathing heavily and wiping his mouth, looking absolutely thrilled. 

“All fours, on the bed now,” she directs and he scrambles up to follow the order.

She rubs lube over the toy, like she’s jerking off as Patrick gets into position, wiggling, “bet you’ve missed this ass.”

“Only as much as you’ve missed this dick,” she steps forward so that she’s behind him now.

“So, a lot then? Because I’ve-,” he gets cut off with a moan as Tashi starts rubbing the head of the toy at his rim.

Art watches from the couch, getting a side look of them.

“Nice view?” she calls out to him.

“Yeah,” he pauses, “but I thought you said you had to fuck him immediately, that isn’t fucking.”

The fact that he’s actually arguing with her amuses her greatly. They don’t get to play like this. Usually it’s Art and Patrick fighting over her, or sometimes her and Patrick tossing snide comments each other's way when they both want Art. Art doesn’t normally fight her on anything.

“Well, when the dick is this big you have to take your time,” she continues her teasing of Patrick’s hole, “guess you’ve never had to worry about that.”

She doesn’t know why she’s teasing Art so much about his dick today, he’s not even particularly insecure about it, and he’s above average himself. She guesses there’s just something about having a dick that makes her want to measure it up against everyone else’s.

Patrick starts pushing back, trying to push himself down on her dick, Art laughs, “look, he’s getting impatient.”

Tashi grabs at Patrick’s waist, giving him what he wants as the head of the toy stretches past his entrance. 

“You can make as many comments as you like Art, but I’m the one inside him right now and you’re just the one watching,” she keeps pushing in steadily.

Patrick’s hole hungrily taking every inch, until she’s all the way inside.

“Hnnng,” Patrick groans out, gasping, “so fucking full, shit.”

“You okay?” she checks in, rubbing at the small of his back.

“Yeah just give me a second,” he breathes deep, “it’s big.”

She keeps still and Art pipes up, “what, you didn’t take anything this big the last time you were here? Thought they loved you in gay bars.”

There it is, the bubbling of fun jealousy.

“Didn’t take much of anything,” Patrick replies, laughing to himself, “apart from sucking some guys dick in the club bathroom. He took my number and said he’d take me to brunch in the morning but I never heard from him again.”

It shouldn’t get to her, especially when she’s basically buried balls deep inside him, but like a lot of Patrick’s stories; it makes her sad. Also a little angry. If some dude gets on his knees for you in a grimy bathroom, the least you can do is take the poor guy to brunch.

“If I got to have that pretty mouth around my dick, I’d take you to breakfast, lunch, and dinner,” she tells him, the effects of being inside him already working. It’s just much easier to be openly nice to him like this.

“Oh yeah?” she can hear the smile in Patrick’s voice. 

“Yeah, I’ll take you to brunch tomorrow, we’ll treat you,” she doesn’t know why talking about brunch is working for her but it is.

“I don’t even really care about brunch,” he insists.

“We’re taking you,” Art joins, and Tashi gives him a grin.

“If you can still walk tomorrow, that is,” Tashi lays herself over Patrick, biting at his shoulder.

“You can move,” Patrick says to her.

“Can I touch myself?” Art asks from his seat.

“You could at least wait until I start moving,” she points out.

“But then I’d be waiting forever,” Art smiles, she forgot how good he is at being bitchy when he gets jealous. It’s not usually directed at her, she’s not usually his competition. Hot.

She starts thrusting shallowly, bringing the toy out just an inch before pushing back in, going slow still.

“You can touch yourself but don’t cum,” she tells Art.

“What, you’re actually going to let me join in at some point?” 

“Maybe,” she answers, noncommittally. Art sighs but starts slowly touching himself.

She’s pulling out further each time, the ribs on the toy dragging at Patrick’s rim, “fuck that’s intense,” he’s groaning.

“Need me to slow down?” she asks, without an edge of teasing.

“No, I want more, I can take it,” he answers quickly.

“I know, you’re so good at this,” she compliments, toy almost pulling all the way out on each thrust now.

“Stop being so nice to him,” Art comments, making her glare at him.

“He likes it,” she rubs at Patrick’s waist with her thumb, “don’t you, baby?”

There it is, the baby that only really slips out of her like this. She’s not even worked up enough yet to give her a real excuse. Patrick moans softly at the name, subconsciously pushing back on her. She guesses that is her excuse. And the fact that her calling Patrick baby pisses Art off.

“More,” he asks again.

She withdraws right to the tip, then thrusts back in, deep. Doing this over and over, still slow, but purposeful. God, the noises Patrick is making under his breath are driving her crazy.

“Have to be nice to him when he looks this pretty,” she breathes out, and it reminds her of something, “when Patrick and I first did this, we spoke about you, Art.”

Art groans, “fuck, really?”

“Yeah, said how much we wished you could see him all pretty around my cock,” it makes both boys moan again, “he came right after I brought you up.”

“Shit, dude is that true?” he’s asking Patrick.

“Yeah,” he manages all shaky, it’s enough to make Art stroke himself harder.

“What would you have done if you actually walked in on that, back then?” Tashi wonders.

Art moans again, “I think I would’ve died, honestly, just fucking died on the spot.”

She laughs. Accurate. Cause of death: walking in on my crush pegging my best friend.

“I don’t know how much longer I can last,” Art is breathless, just from watching, “fuck him faster.”

“You don’t give the orders around here,” Tashi warns and she stops moving altogether.

Patrick whines, involuntarily rocking back and forth to fuck himself now that she’s stopped. Fuck. He’s so greedy for it.

“Look, I don’t even need to move,” she grins at Art, “my dick fills him up so good he can’t even help himself.”

Art just furiously jerks at himself.

Tashi addresses Patrick, “come on, baby, show us how much you want it.”

He whines again, moving faster for her, his skin flushing. 

“Please can you-” Patrick starts to ask and he doesn’t have to finish the question because she knows what he wants. She wants it too, her clit throbbing from watching him fuck himself on her.

She grabs his hips, thrusting in again, taking back control of the movements. The base of the toy creating pressure against her that has her stomach swirling.

She makes eye contact with Art, showing off, “see how tight he is around me, how desperate he is for my cock, how fucking obsessed he is.”

“I’ve fucked him more times than you have,” Art snaps, breaking whatever guise of civility he had been hiding behind.

Tashi tries not to smile too big. This is exactly what she wanted. 

“And I fucked him first,” she brags, thrusting faster and faster. Patrick is moaning on every thrust now, unable to say a word. Just listening to them fighting over him.

“Being first doesn’t beat having that much practice,” Art argues back.

“Alright, well come back to me when your dick is this big, and ribbed,” she keeps her eyes locked on Art as she pulls all the way out, then shoves back in with a hard thrust. 

Patrick whines, “can you touch me, I’m getting close.”

“Soon, I promise, just hold on a little longer,” she soothes, rubbing a hand up his back. 

Art’s not done arguing, “you come back to me when your dick can actually cum inside him.”

Tashi moans out of shock at the same time Patrick does.

“You’ve seen how much he loves that shit,” Art adds, giving her a smug grin. 

She gets another idea.

“C’mere,” she beckons to Art, he scrambles up to join her.

“Should I take his mouth?” he asks, eagerly. Again it draws a moan out of them both.

“Fuck, we definitely need to do that sometime but no, I had something else in mind,” she leans forward over Patrick, addressing him, “Patrick, I’m going to have Art cum inside you and after that you can finish while I fuck his cum further into you, okay?”

Now it’s her turn to make them moan, Patrick swearing under his breath, “Jesus Christ, Tashi.”

“Is that a yes?” she asks just to hear him say it.

“There is honestly no world where I say no to that. Yes it’s a fucking yes,” he rambles out, and she smiles.

“Art?” she checks. 

“Ditto,” he replies, his dick looking painfully hard.

She pulls out, Patrick wincing at the loss. Art takes her position standing behind Patrick, he puts one foot up on the bed and lines his dick up with the hole. He thrusts in hard and fast, the angle must be just right because Patrick lets out a whimpering moan.

“First try,” Art says to her, gloating, “told you I knew his ass intimately.”

She just pulls him in for a sloppy kiss, shoving her tongue down his throat. Needs him to hurry up and finish so she can get back inside Patrick, prove that she can fuck as good as Art, even with less practice.

She tells him as much, “hurry up and cum, need to get back inside him.”

“Or maybe I’ll take my time,” he thrusts a little slower, “he feels so good.”

She’s got to get him to finish, it shouldn’t be too hard. She brings a hand down to herself first, needing to finally touch herself, she gasps a little. 

She stands close to Art, whispering into his ear, “look how much he stretched for me, if I had a smaller toy we could probably both fit in at the same time.”

Art lets out a sudden groan, his hips stuttering, almost collapsing onto Patrick as he cums inside him. 

He pulls out and stares at her in astonishment, “you’re evil.”

She just smiles back at him.

“Tashi,” Patrick pleads out, and she looks over at him, cum dripping from his hole.

“Put him on his back,” she tells Art and he obliges, helping Patrick flip so he’s laying back, bringing him in for a kiss as he does.

Tashi crawls up to him, sliding between his legs and lining up the toy to his rim, “ready?”

He pulls back from Art and nods up at her, face pink, hair ruffled, and eyes hazy.

She pushes in, the lube and cum making it smooth. 

“God, this is what it would be like if I could cum in you,” she muses, “I’ve got to get one of those ejaculating straps.” 

After touching herself she’s so sensitive that every thrust is bringing her closer.

“Think I could come from this, just fucking you,” she breathes out.

“Can I?” Patrick begs.

“Art, help him out,” she orders, and Art reaches a hand around Patrick’s weeping dick, just lazily stroking.

Patrick whimpers at the contact, his eyes squeezing shut.

Art leans into him whispering loud enough for Tashi to hear, "so you like us being nice to you, do you?”

Patrick squirms tilting his head away from Art, “no,” he whines.

Art grabs his face pulling it back to look at him, “then why do look so good all fucked out like this? It’s like you’re begging us to call you pretty.”

Tashi involuntarily thrusts forward, moaning, and Patrick is even louder, whimpering at the thrust and comment. 

“I’m so close, I need to come,” Patrick is trying to thrust up into Art’s fist.

“I am too, just hold on for me, you've been so good” she thrusts harder, the toy pressing against her more, “fuck now that I’ve done this again I never want to stop, just going to fuck you all the time.”

“You can,” he moans out, “I thought about it all the time, dreamed about it.”

“Me too,” she leans down to kiss him, saying into his mouth, “had a dream about you riding me in your car, you came just bouncing on my dick. I touched myself to it.”

Patrick’s head tilts back in a moan, his eyes watering with how desperate he is.

It’s all so much that suddenly her orgasm builds up, “you can cum now,” she gets out just in time as her own orgasm washes over her, she shudders into him. 

Her body collapses over further over him, fully pressed inside him at his prostate.

“I missed this,” she says in his ear, thrusting as much as she still can, “I fucking missed you.”

The pressure inside him, Art’s hand on his dick, and Tashi saying she missed him must all combine because Patrick is crying out and shooting all over them both, and Art’s hand.

Tashi pulls out as Patrick’s body shakes from an orgasm that been held back so long, his breathing so fast it almost sounds like hyperventilating. Tashi rubs at his hair, pushing it back off his forehead. 

“You okay?” she asks, and he manages a nod so she leans in to kiss him gently, “we’re just going to clean up, alright?”

Patrick hums in response, laying there boneless as Art and Tashi go to the bathroom. Art helps her out of the strap-on and she puts it on the side to clean up later, this thing is definitely coming home with them. 

As Art damps a flannel with warm water he looks at her, “you’re never that sappy when you fuck me.”

“I’ve been plenty sappy to you in our marriage,” which is truer than she’d like it to be, “I think Patrick deserves a little.”

Art grins at that, “yeah.”

“How about I let you big spoon him tonight,” she offers, “sappy enough for you?”

“You’re so kind,” he teases with a smile.

“I try my best,” she shrugs.

God it feels so nice to have this Art back.

Patrick is clearly in no state to move so they flannel him off the best they can before slipping into bed with him. 

“I think we’ll have to do room service for brunch,” Art comments, turning Patrick on his side so that he can press himself against his back. 

“Yeah, you honestly broke me,” he yawns, “going to need another vacation to recover from this vacation.”

Tashi laughs, she's at his front, hand stroking his face, “worth it though?”

“Definitely,” he nods aggressively, “I loved having you fight over me. Felt like a chew toy caught between two dogs.”

“And that’s a good thing?” Art asks, eyebrow raised.

“Very,” Patrick confirms, sincerely.

Just as they’re all dropping off, Patrick speaks up again, “there is one bad thing about both of you fucking me back to back, though.”

“What?” Tashi asks, suspicious.

“Neither of you used protection so how will I know who the father is?” he grins, stupidly proud of himself.

Art snorts, pulling Patrick in tighter, and Tashi rolls her eyes, “so dumb,” but she’s grinning too.

She gives Art a warm smile over Patrick’s shoulder which he returns, then she kisses Patrick’s forehead before closing her eyes and drifting off. All of them tangled up together.

They definitely won’t be leaving this bed tomorrow.

[iceclew]

(belated) HOSHIKAFWEEK2025 - DAY SMTHSMTH : Role Reverse

FULL COMIC BELOW

FINALLY. I WAS GOING MAD WITH THIS ONE FOR FCKS SAKE!?!?!

Something I wasn't able to finish last week, so it's a belated contribution fpr Hoshikafweek2025 CAUSE I CAN'T AND WILL NEVER GET ENOUGH OF THEM.

I have ideas, and many feelings on a different Kaiju AU would look like.. with Kafka being successful at the DF and Hoshina not, but being turned into a kaiju.

this is the third version of Hoshinas Kaiju form and I flipped tables so much, at this point I don't care anymore... it's not great but it's a bearable version for me. sorta..

But I feel like I leave this one to your interpretation and don't go too much into detail .. all there's to say, it might be a rather angsty universe for them...

oh and todays song recommandation straight outta my puperty:

[doublekanble]

deer (in a head light)

Alastor/reader (gnc)

platonic-romantic. (almost everyone thinks you two are in love or is extremely baffled by the fact, a bit more romantic for me but can be seen as anything actually i just like writing people being sort of stupid)

word count: 5.6k.

or, collectively, everyone's reaction to the fact. Nifty is there👍. no real warning this is a normal fic part two to this.

Husk have never gone through this level of raw mental torture, while Angel thinks it’s absolutely hilarious how hard is it for Husker to accept that one of the most feared Overlord of all Pride Ring is vying for a cute lil fella like you. What started out as a small remark over the rim of a particularly strong cup of gin about how Alastor have been seemingly hovering around you, making small talks that you try to keep up with confused enthusiasm - soon turn into listing off every growing instances of odd affections that no one ever thought he’s capable of, but it’s yours in abundance.

You’re standing up with the intention of going outside? Unless he’s actively in a conversation (and several time, even during one) Alastor will find a convenient excuses to walk with you. You’re cold? Everyone else better be cold too, either that or hope to God he have anything to give you to wear. Hungry? Thirsty? Almost like a caretaker, he’s always making sure you have little bites of food and drink here or there, reminding you like clockwork. Staying in your room for the day? Your room is close to Angel, and the first time he come out of his room, fresh from a hangover, only to catch the tail end of a red coat and a greeting disappearing behind your door, it takes everything in him to try and rationalizing not breaking the door down.

(Husk thinks he was being overprotective. Angel brushed it off with a nervous chuckle. It’s a good thing, he remarks, if only Angel kept that attitude.)

The idea of Alastor actually taken interest in anyone, even positively, send shivers down his spine. Husk have been one of the older soul that fell into the hand of the sadistic Overlord, one that did just enough to keep his earn and do what he want when Alastor would’ve gotten busy with a new project or two. He knows he’s useful enough to Alastor, even with the occasional slipped up, learning quickly where to tread and where to back down. The Radio demon is insane, but he is surprisingly much more lenient with people than he often let on, but not as much as he is with you.

Which quickly became a thorn that Angel uses to dug into his side. Old battle-worn Husk cannot wrap his head around the fact that you, of all people in Hell, somehow get back on Alastor good side and stays there for longer than anyone thought you could.

You are more than bearable, don’t get him wrong. Good at reading and picking up on certain cues to pleased people (more particularly, the fact Husk likes to be alone most of the time), and in spite of being just a tad bit too stubborn at times, is generally a polite and entertaining thing to have around. It would’ve made sense for Alastor to wants to keep you for fun, if not for how you two started out.

Having missing out on your first introduction, all he have to go off of is your debrief of it on the one day you want to try whiskey. You’d damn near spat it out, opting to just sit with some soda instead (he didn’t try to poke too much, you’re almost like a pop-up pirate at time). Husk figured you would earn the ire of the most egotistical man he’d ever known, considering how you loudly asked Charlie for Alastor's resume as a way to try and barred him from working here.

Of course, that didn’t work, both you and Vaggie are long-time victims of Charlie convincing puppy gaze, and Alastor secured him and Nifty a spot at the hotel. But Husk was extremely adamant it would put you on a black book with Alastor, still remembering how Alastor grip on his cane would tighten just a bit whenever you spoke up on the first day. And yet, you get to laugh about it.

-

“Yer just bein superstitious kitten. At this point ‘m pretty sure dude just got the hots for them, nothing big.”  Angel fiddles with his phone on one set of hand, the other propping himself on the bar counter, holding a popsicle to his mouth. He wants to tell the spider that’s absolutely not how the word superstitious should be use, but he digressed. “We’ve been at this for days, if he gonna do something, we would’ve known.”

Husk scoffed, throwing the piece of cloth he’s been using to furiously wiping down a stain someone left on the counter over his shoulder.

“Yeah right, as if you can get your head out of your ass enough to see that.” He ignores Angel smirk, already knew where this can go if he let it, almost like a whisper, he spat. “I’m just saying, he ain’t the Radio demon for show. You lots know nothing about whatever he got planned in his shitty fucked up head.”

Forced contractor be damn, this bar is his pride and joy, or whatever’s left of it anyway.

At that, Angel sends his attitude right back, hand(s) flickering, “And I’m saying he’s head over heels. What? Ya wanna explain the fucker just- casually waltz up to them and kissin' their fucking hand as a morning greeting? Cus’ I’m calling bullshit. Nobody even doing that fucking thing anymore, and he’s doin’ it every chance he gets! Like, have you even seen them?!” Almost like a comedy setup, they both look over to the chattering at the top of the stairs.

Over the railing, you’re rushing off from Alastor’s side to catch up to Nifty, who’s desperately nagging you to come and help her with a spot she can’t dust off with a ladder, having long depleting the fun of falling off from it. And almost like instinct, he took your hand and planted a gentle peck, along with a well wish for your day.

You, with your other hand occupied and being dragged away too fast after the fact for you to formulate a real respond, simply perks up and laugh, waving at him before you fully give into the little bug-like demon and let her rushed the both of you to the other side of the hotel – Alastor stands and watch you fully disappearing behind a corner before turning his head and look directly at the pair. His mic sounding nothing except for a low drones of static.

Husk expertise kicking in, he looks straight ahead instead, wiping down the counter again just to be safe. Angel’s years of acting led him to immediately start talking about the latest project he’s involved in, popsicles stick held from his face. Husk can’t be too bothered by it this time, at least he’s reading the room. But even with their combined effort, it still doesn’t stop Alastor from manifested himself right by the bar, smiles almost pull taut, a too jolly “How is it going gentlemen?” and a request for a cup of moonshine, with a tune contorting just to sound much too whimsical for anyone else except him echoes from his microphone, and he’s off again.

“…y’know, you can just say you’re sorry for being wrong Whiskers~”

“Go fuck yourself.”

-----

Vaggie knows that no matter how much she tries to warn Charlie about the cannibal murderer in their own cozy hotel, her partner can and have constantly willed it away with loving words and cute beady eyes that she can’t fight against. Her loving and trusting nature always been the tried-and-true counter to Vaggie’s much more doubtful and skeptical side. Recalling the way you refer to it (two people working in harmony, balancing out each other’s nature, like a tango, a secret rhythm unknown to anyone but them), she smiles.

It dropped the moment she remembers the matter at hand, specifically, you, a friend that have grown dear to her heart, and the cannibal murderer she very much hated guts - growing close to yours. She’s not sure whether this qualifies for a tango when she’s dragging her feet and Charlie’s tap dancing.

Vaggie would’ve been glad you have virtually zero comment on the fact Alastor is getting close to you, and with her luck, purposefully ignoring it (what’s with you and dive bombing out of the conversation the moment the topic came up), if not for the fact Charlie is very insistent on letting you know all about it (=> conversation you have to dive out of). You and Vaggie traded favors all the time, exclusively about Charlie, who always try to bite off a bit more than she can chew.

Usually, you did a much better job on keeping Charlie from trouble than Vaggie actually can, having the heart she lacks to guilt her partner into keeping still or stop her from running into red light traffic. Yet a pattern emerges soon after this deal started that you three all pick up on, much to Charlie’s delight.

Somehow, some way, Charlie aged old puppy dog eyes are much, much more effective when the both of you are right next to each other. Alone, while Vaggie can’t turn her down, you can and have consistently do so. But together, you both would turn to each other, and you either would give into Charlie first, or wash your hand completely from the whole situation altogether, both decisions are equally awful, and often left Vaggie alone on the line of defense.

Like that time you asked for the Radio demon resume, being extremely firm on his demeanor being horrible for customer service and how unfit it would be for a hotel to house someone who clearly doesn’t want to help or be help. Vaggie remember the chills running up her spine as you stand firmly in the face of the greatest mystery to Hell even after all this time and not even batting an eye to his straining words or the implications of it. Even going so far as to point out that he’s a liability and can’t keep himself straight for anything worth the hotel’s effort.

Only for Charlie to held onto your (and Vaggie’s) hand and tell you both she can do this. She remembers it took you not even 5 second to turn towards her with a wistful gaze, a smile pulls on your lips, and put a hand on her shoulder.

Aside from her first real injuries, it was the biggest betrayal she’d ever gone through.

Vaggie like to think it doesn’t sting so badly that her partner and her friend are now growing more used to the giant red flag stalking their halls. If not also for the fact she have to be in on your effort of stopping Charlie from bringing up a weird line of conversation while you still - albeit not fully of your own volition - feeding into her girlfriend delusion of being a matchmaker. It wouldn’t be so hard if you just, try to at least calm Charlie down yourself, but your tendencies to avoid particularly specific conversation makes her boomerang from appreciation to pure exasperation.

Especially when she would be fighting her love for Charlie to keep your dignity intact.

“But Vaggiee…!” clinging onto her left arm, Charlie tries her best to bring her girlfriend’s eyes back to her. “Just look at them! They’ve never looked at anyone like that!”

She would love to argued otherwise, you have a habit of looking at everyone like that, something with making people feel more welcome to talk to you. But all thought vanished from her head when she turns to try and make an argument, and for a brief moment she forgot what they were talking about. Charlie’s good at distracting her, but she steeled herself and stop Charlie from jumping off into this and making it so much harder on you than it already is.

(God, the things Vaggie’d do for love.)

“I know you really want to, hun, but - I’m just, not sure about this. It’s Alastor we’re talking about. I get them being into him or whatever, but you’d really set them up with the Radio demon? You know…”

Charlie was slowly wilting a bit, but picks herself up at the hesitation, thinking it’s her chance, she races over her words. “A thoughtful, charming and-“

But still can’t finish fast enough, and Vaggie have to advert her eyes, she can’t handle a sad Charlie that well. “and a horrible cannibalistic freak, Charlie. He’s not a good person.” At that, her girlfriend really clings onto her.

“Vaggie…this is a hotel for redemption! We've got to believe that people can change…” Charlie’s not addressing her point, there’s no real way to denying the fact Alastor is really just who he is. A rotten, rancid piece of meat. Redemption be dammed when he doesn’t even believe in it. “And! I have proof that Alastor likes them~” Pulling out little drawn post-it-notes from her front pocket, Charlie nearly doubled over while trying to put all of them onto the table in front of Vaggie, and you.

“I’m going to go back to my room.” You abruptly stand up, nervously grinning while shuffling out of their office. Having sat completely stilled while hoping that you can somehow divert the topic ever since the start of the conversation, you gave up. Completely disregarding Charlie’s attempt at making you stay. “It’s late, and I should’ve been in bed some hours ago…”

“Wait! I swear that this time I-“ Charlie tries to reach for you again, but Vaggie held strong. Nodding towards the exit, you mouthed her a quick thank you as you walked out, wishing them both good night while gently pushing the doors close. “I have the proof…”

“C’mon babe…” visibly deflating, Charlie sat herself back into Vaggie’s arms with a pout. She doesn’t have the heart to press this too deeply, so she pushed back her hair and give her a small peck on her eyelid, she always did have pretty eyes. “You know they’re not going to listen to you if you keep ambushing them like this.”

“I know, but I just- really love them both…” Vaggie raised an eyebrow at that. “And they seem so, nice together. Alastor always makes sure to greet them every day, they always wished him goodnight-“ she scoffed.

“They do that for everyone hun, and I’m pretty sure that bastard just do it because…well, who knows? He’s weird, who knows what he’s thinking…maybe he’s just trying to- toot his own horns playing nice. He does that a lot.”

When Charlie stays still, Vaggie really thought she could end this tonight, for both your sake and her’s. But then, as if was given water from the spring of life, with her back straight, she sat right up and held firmly onto Vaggie shoulders.

“But he’s trying so hard for them! Don’t you see how he’s spending so much time just hanging around them? Oh, and don’t forget that he asked them, specifically them, what they think of his radio show! He doesn’t do that for anyone else Vaggie! He brings them food when they forgot to eat. They told him about stuff they would’ve ever tell us without prompting! And you have to see the way he looks at them when they’re just, sit together and, and-“

“Woah. Slow down Char. Through your nose.” Even like this, she’s endearing. She held Charlie’s arm and bring her closer.

“You have to see Vaggie, he looks at them like…how you look at me!” Vaggie pauses. Charlie is getting to her, she have to stop her from talking or she’ll give in. She thinks about how miserable you would be sitting through an actual talk about this, it doesn’t help.

“And, you’re one of the most wonderful things that happens to me, Vaggie. I love everyone in the hotel, and I would give my everything for them,” knowing her, she would “but you.” She breathes, and Vaggie feels her breath stuck in her throat. “You are my everything. We’re perfect together. And I really love them, and I just thought…”

Charlie looked at her with such a soft and gentle look, her eyebrows slightly drawn together, lips jutting out just a little bit. “I thought he’s perfect for them, that they’ll be perfect together too. I know he’s not the best person, and you don’t trust him. You don't have to. But I think he’s doing his best for them, and they’re doing so much for him too...” their hands, held tightly together “So please, trust me. I genuinely think this can work out. They deserve to be love like I did too.”

Vaggie tries so hard to held strong, opting to stay silent instead of replying and stoking the growing flame, but Charlie looks at her with her big shiny eyes, and she caved.

“…Alright… I guess he haven’t really…done anything to them yet…” before Charlie could jump up in joy, Vaggie tries to get her focus back “But if he touches a single hair on them- woah!”

Wrapped in her arms, Vaggie barely able to get out the full sentence as Charlie rambles on. “Oooh, thank you thank you thankyouthankyou I knew you’d understand! Oh there is so much I want to do too-“

“Charlie, bit too tight…”

“Oops! Sorry!”

Coming down from her high, she stares into her lover’s eye with the brightest grin possible. It takes everything in Vaggie to think about how disappointed you’ll be, so she closed her eye and takes a breath. “We have to let them sort it out themselves, though. No matchmaker.”

“But-”

“You know how closed off they can be. Give them time Charlie. They can find their own way home.” Like that, Charlie smiles a smile so bright and gentle, reserve only for Vaggie. “Like you and me?”

And all she can think is that this might not be that bad after all.

“Like you and me.”

----

“So...thissss is what the youth are…into?”

“Arguably, it’s somewhat better than what I have as a kid.”

Pentious squinted at the device in his hand, clawed hands carefully swipe through your ‘carefully curated feed’, whatever that means. You sat next to him on your balcony, various knick knacks on the side table he insisted you need, hands considerably less clawed holding a book you’ve never managed to get through past the 10th page, as you only ever try to read it when the moon is blue and you always ended up forgetting the previous pages, something he learned while he was helping with cleanups.

He’s flustered when you laugh at a joke without needing to look at the captions in the video, wanting to pretend he completely understood what just happened. It takes you a bit to calm down and explain to him what was so funny, it only serves to confused him further. You grin and handed your book over to Frank without putting a bookmark in first (who then immediately turns the page and started narrating half-way through to the other eggs), reaching for the phone.

“I’ll put on something a bit easier to get used to, is that ok with you?”

“But, aren’t we learning how to be ‘hip’?” you cackle, he tries not to shrink into himself.

“We can leave that for some other day i think, you don’t need to be hip or anything right now. And besides,” handing him your phone, he minded his claws, “I think you’re cool on your own.” You hum and turn to an open sketchbook on the table, picking up a pencil, you start to sketch one of the egg boiz running about your room.

Pentious nearly burst into tears, he should’ve known his friends (or, you) would’ve never made fun of him. Turning to your device again, his attention is immediately captured by a cat video.

You two stayed like that for what must’ve been an hour or two, occasionally checking up on what the other’s is doing. (he would show you the cutest video, you showed him your barely intelligible sketch. He feels like you’re sketching his nightmare he said, you’re flattered). With almost all of his eggies already tiring themselves out some time ago and gathered around both of your feet (and his tail), bundled up in your duvet and pillows. Except for egg boiz number 3, who’s in his lap as both are captured by a video of a dog getting a haircut (a mini-American shepherd, you chimed in happily that it’s one of your favorite video).

Then, the calm afternoon was broken by a singular knock to your door. You and your still cognizant companion(s) look up from your respective entertainment at hand and stare at each other. You glance over to him, head nodding towards the door, he shrugs, growing restless, you pat his shoulder as you stand up and walk away.

Pentious really did try to turn back and focus on the groomers narrating a particularly endearing moment in the nine minutes long video, but he can’t help but be on edge when a familiar voice sing a greeting too loud for him to ignore, and he realized just who is at the door, your door, his new best friend's door (verdict still out on whether you consider him as one).

Taking a peek, assuring to himself it’s to keep you safe, he locks eyes with red and half of his soul descend into the ring below, the other half turns him right back to your phone when the red starts to raise his eyebrows at him. He can keep you safe from a safe distance surely, but when he tries to hug the egg in his lap to comfort himself and feels nothing, he freezes. Horror-struck, he turns and look at you, specifically your back, the other half of his soul joins the first.

Without him realizing, number 3 already slipped out of his grasp and is now climbing on your shoulder and interjecting your conversation with the gentleman, who is now full-on glaring at him whenever your head slightly turn away. He gulped, but he still put your phone back onto the table and stand up, forget to mind his still sleeping minions at his tail. Thank Lucifer they decided to stay silent for once.

“I was just going to stay in tomorrow too… maybe- oh, Sir Pentious? What’s up?” You stare at him, easy-going as always. Almost like you’re unaware of the way Alastor is smiling at him. Pentious can only thank whoever is in charge of fate for the fact you slotted yourself right between them, and cursed them all the same for the fact you can’t covered up the demon’s face.

Clearing his throat, he tries to steered his nerves and curb his stuttering. “I see that someone have rudely interrupt our study session. May I have your permission to…”

At the sounds of radio static grows, his words in turns wilted as he stares into bright, glowing red and yellow growing in volume. Luckily, you manage to pick this up and covered for him. “Oh no don’t worry, Al was just asking when I’m free to hang out with.” As you turn to that same terrifying shade of red, it immediately transformed into a charming smile.

“Why, hangout is such a casual term dear. I prefer to call it a trip! Much more exciting that way.” With his usual theatrics delivery and a backing of voices coming from the microphone staff he uses to give you a gentle knock on the head, clashing with your much more casual tone brushing him off, Pentious wishes he can see this as endearing.

“Oh you’re trying to goat me into going back there again.” That wasn’t a question on your end. Alastor smiles in amusement, but it strained when number 3 chimes in and tries to asked you where is back there. He’s extremely grateful the demon chooses to ignore it, letting you entertain the egg instead.

“I do not know what you’re referring to at all.” Closing his eyes and leaning a bit to the side, the demon bounces a bit on the tip of his shoes and sings. “Otherwise, it seems my presence is making our welcomed guest uncomfortable.” Pentious tries to stand tall for you and number 3, but Alastor preference for getting up close and personal is mincing his confidence to bits. “I guess I will settle for an extra visit by tonight to talk a bit more about your hectic schedule, if that’s alright with you Ma chère?”

You laugh a bit and agrees with him, saying a quick sorry while he brushed it off with a smile, adjusting his coat’s flawless lapel with one hand, the other reaching for yours. Lifted up to his lips, he planted there a kiss with a look that can passed off as soft. Pentious looks away the moment their eyes lock again, whistling like he hasn’t been blanching at the two of you.

As you turn to close the door, he could’ve sworn red dials were looking at him in the seconds you look back to him, completely in contrast with the life-threatening aura now stand outside the door.

“Haha, sorry about that. I didn’t have time earlier and he was busy, so…” you trailed off, explanation offering him nothing but more questions. “I’ll try to be a bit more mindful about this next time, yeah? Didn’t know he still held something against you.”

You want to keep doing study sessions with him? He perks up a bit at the implication, while choosing to ignore the second part, until his egg started speaking.

“Uh, boss number two, why does Alastor kiss your hand so much?” Number 3 raises his hand, still sitting snugly in your arms. Pentious makes a note to make him sleep on the edge of the bed tonight. It doesn’t help that you’re leading them back to the others, who also started to chime in with their own questions. He can tell this time you’re getting a bit miffed, smiles growing a bit taut and looking off somewhere, unable to let them somehow ruin your goodwill towards him, he cracked. “SILENCE! Cease with your silly questions right now!”

You look at him, and he would’ve shrink into himself if not for how you seem more surprised than angry, as your brows relax and you smile a bit, he let himself breathe. “It’s alright, they’re cute, they can get away with a little questioning I think. And hm…” you bounce on your feet in a slightly familiar manner, he sweats a bit. “-I mean, it’s normal for friends to be close, so I don’t see any problem with it.”

“Oh…friends can kiss each other on the hand?” number 1 jump up. You laugh.

“Of course they can. Alastor loves getting into people’s space too, so I wouldn’t put it past him.”

He would’ve tried to say something and help you out with the questioning, but it hit him that at least in his time, the specific to the gesture was more of a formal greeting. But he takes into account the fact it's Alastor, and how whenever he sees you two together, the Radio demon always seemingly follows after your heels like a shadow tie too tightly, and he shivers. Anxiety fills his heart as he tries to navigate this thought.

“I do have to say, why is it that he tends to get so…closssse…to you?” You visibly stiffen at this, but as he takes your hand in his, trying his best to be tactful, still minding the claws, you stare. “Could it be…he’s trying to threaten you, dear friend?” he tries to recall how you comforts him in time of distress, and did his best to echoes the same sentiment to you.

“Whatever it is, you can share it to me! I will, uh- “

“You’ll duel him, right boss?”

his eggs chimes in where he falters, he follows their lead.

“Duel! Yesss! A duel to the death! That Radio bastard will regrets the day he-“ You squeeze his hand, and he drop his false bravado and let you seated him back on the balcony, letting number 3 dropped from his spot in your arms to the duvet covering the floor.

(with much less grace compared to you, but all the heart. he takes the fact you’re still around that he’s doing great.)

“We don’t need any of that silly. He’s my friend, I think.”

You fall back onto your seat, number 1 climb up to your lap with a question. “You two are friends? Like with boss?” sitting up, you sing an enthusiastic agreement while reaching for your notebook again. Pentious swore the sketch is looking more and more familiar by the line.

“Yeah, like with Sir Pentious! Al’s intimidating but he’s fun to hang around.” Hunching over while minding number 1 watching in your lap, your grin drops to something a bit kinder. He feels like he’s overstepping, despite the fact the room is void of anyone else. “He nice to talk with, I’ve never seen him shutting up on anyone else’s terms. That’s a good thing.” He wanted to say that’s a bit too barebone, even for himself, but then, turning to him with a smirk, you added. “Don’t tell him i said this, but he’s ssssuch a bitch sometimes. It’s fun though.”

Nodding with a much more serious look, Pentious takes your word as a command. “Not a word to my grave!”

“Hehe, that’s why you’re my favorite.”

Refocused on your sketch, you trust Pentious to be able to work your phone a bit better than before. He thinks he would’ve work it better if not for the tears gathering in his eyes, he takes the tissue paper you handed him without looking and wiped it away, only to panic about the long scratch he left on your screen. You laugh and assured him it’s fine, you can change the screen.

(verdict be dammed, you’re HIS best friend.)

(he took a peek at your sketch before you turn the page, and it hit him why it looks so off-putting. Antlers sprouting from two end on a figured too lanky to make out the physique of, but familiar enough all the same. He’d much prefer you go back to sketching his eggies, he said, you happily complied and he leave your room after with 5 torn note full of egg sketches and another schedule study session he pray you'll relay to Mister Alastor.)

---

“There you are darling! I was looking everywhere for you.” Calling out with joy, then stopping to take in the sight. He steadied you with one hand while you stop to catch your breath, nearly doubled into him. “I can see that you’re quite busy, seems like Nifty is giving you quite the run for your money huh!”

“Please…shut up…” you don’t need to look at him to know he’s enjoying this way more than you do, laughing at your utterly exhausted state. “I didn’t know there’s this much bugs in here… How can she even keep tracks of them??”

“Don’t feel too bad now, that one mind and health both are simply wonders to behold! Even I can’t keep up with her at times.” Trying to dust off your shoulders, he looked offended when you just swatted his hands away, waiting for an explanation.

“We’re not done yet, she’s just in the kitchen for a bit.” You pulled out your phone to check the time, Alastor squinting his eyes besides you, leaning over to keep watch and raising an eyebrow at the long scratch on the glass. “One hour before I’m free…”

“Thinking of giving up then~?”

“Yeah.”

Laughing at your tone, he takes your hand and twirl you, but not too much! Just enough daze you a bit. “Well darling, I would love to whisk you off with me for a trip downtown! I’m running low on good meat, and simply can’t afford to stained my coat while the tailor’s out of commission. But knowing you…” he’d look down-right sad if you let him. He can tell you try to keep your expression neutral, but your smile is growing to match his.

“No Al, an hour is-“

“An hour is an hour. Yes I know dear but it’s dreadfully boring without you.” Holding on still, he brings his face close to you, taking delight in the growing red on your face and you acting like nothing is out of the sort.

“You’ll survive Alastor. Nifty however…” As the sound of tiny footstep calling your name quickly approaching, he can’t help but letting a long, drawn-out sigh, backing off from you. A lost for him. You smile.

“Over here Nifty!” calling out to the little woman, you step away from Alastor to meet her half way, her stopping just before she hit your leg.

“You! I’ve been looking for you where have you been! I saw SOOOO many of them but they’re on the ceiling and I can’t reach them at all you've got to come help me – oh hiii Alastor!”

Nifty stops pulling you down the hall again just to give him a violent wave, dancing from one foot to the other and giving him time to catch up to you two, fully aware of your tradition from the moment it first started. Alastor smiles border on self-pleasing, gracious of Nifty’s effort to not drag you away just yet, less so the fact she would stares with such a wide grin. Nevertheless, he takes your hand again and bring it up, speaking all the while.

“Nifty, dearie, won’t you work our dear friend here a little less? I need them to-“ he pauses as you suddenly grip his hand and bring it up to your lips, too quick for him to stop you. And before he knew it, you both disappeared behind the corner yet again. Nifty voices and your cackle echoing down the empty hall way.

When he came back, aware of how the light flickering above his head now finally stabilizing itself, he laughs. Steadying himself, Alastor brushed off his coat and fix his monocle. Humming along with a love song slowly trickling from the microphone while walking the same way you and Nifty ran off to before. He have time to spare while waiting for you.

[finleycannotdraw]

fic verse instagram post also :)

[sforzesco]

I love how much Lucullus can't stand Pompey, and also this

Pompey the Great: A Political Biography, Robin Seager

with something from this thrown in for extra flavor

Crassus and Pompey, on the other hand, ridiculed Lucullus for giving himself up to pleasure and extravagance, as if a luxurious life were not even more unsuitable to men of his years than political and military activities.

Plutarch, Lucullus

⭐ places I’m at! bsky / pixiv / pillowfort /cohost / cara.app / tip jar!

[clockwayswrites]

The Weird Around the Corner Ch 1 First Draft, Part 1

part 2

The ambrosia of the gods’ sat just out of reach: 5 Alive’s Atlantic Beach Pie. The perfect cheek puckering lemon and lime curd nestled in a Saltine crust that was just firm enough to hold a forkful but soft enough to melt in the mouth all topped with a beautifully formed dollop of whipped cream. Tobias stared at it wistfully for a long (too long) moment before he dragged his eyes up to the impediment in him enjoying his well earned treat. “Miss Kathie, lovely to see you tonight.” “Mhum,” Kathie hummed. Tobias tried to gage just how much trouble he was in by how deep the wrinkles around Kathie’s eyes were set. She raised an over-plucked brow (nearly invisible since she’d gone grey unless she lined it back in with harsh black). “You haven’t been getting up to any ruckus, now have you Toby?” “Miss Kathie,” Tobias said, hand pressed to his chest and well practiced smile on his face. “I am now on the wrong side of forty. Even if I wanted to get up to any ruckus, and I assure you that I do not, my knees wouldn’t let me.” Kathie snorted, but slid the pie over. “You forget just how many Atwood boys I’ve seen grow up in this town.” “Well,” Tobias said, hoping his smile hadn’t turned as sharp as he felt it had, “as the only Atwood boy left, I declare the family line done with that shit.” “Don’t cuss in my diner,” Kathie said habitually. She picked up the kraft to refill Tobias coffee, so he figured that he wasn’t in any actual trouble. “Ruckus or not, there was someone asking after you in here at round two. Government looking fellow. You know the type, a suit.” Tobias’ grip on his fork tightened painfully. “Can’t say I know why. They’ll find me at the museum if they need me.” “That tourist trap of yours that’s never open?” “Museum, Miss Kathie,” Tobias repeated with a grin and a wink. “Atwood boys,” Katie grumbled with a roll of her eyes before she finally moved away to see to another customer.

[seasononesam]

do you have a list of Sam getting injured fics 😁🙂‍↔️

I haven't read many new injured sam fics in a while but I'll link you to the last rec list I made about hurt sam stories. anyway, those are all on fanfiction dot net, here are a few ao3 ones (can you tell I haven't read a ton of spn stuff there lmao) -

Home Is Where The Heart Is (author of this one has a lot of other works in their 'hurt sam' tag so you can scroll through those stories as well!) Isaiah (this one is more mental hurt than physical hurt or injury but it's an all time fave of mine so I always have to include it) Love, Let the Poison Bleed Out of Me (I haven't read this one a while, actually I think it was one of the first spn fics I read but I remember it being great)

also I swear another sam blog (@lawgirljess it might have been you? if not sorry for the random tag peace and love <3) made a post specifically about hurt sam fics from early on in the shows run and I thought I saved it somewhere but now I can't find it....smh bc there were ones on there that I hadn't read yet and wanted to so if any of you know what I'm even talking about......send a link..............

and finally this isn't a specific story but the ohsam community on livejournal is also good for this kind of thing bc it's literally all hurt/injured sam fics and they have tags where you can sort it by type of injury or affliction ect.

anyway if you guys have any recs of your own feel free to send them as well :)

[mbirnsings-71]

so because I'm essentially gonna be incapacitated/not super active on here for a week, I figure I might as well do a poll to see what the masses want me to write next after WAADW prologue because that is gonna take me a hot minute.

[mephistosfaust]

A/N: This rp is set in early 2010, a couple of months after Lud's Prussia returned from the dead to help the boi get his shit together. For further details on his glorious resurrection read here. This is my attempt to write from Prussia's POV as I imagine the character.

------

Night drags on—too long, even for a man like him. The kind of night that settles into your bones and reminds you you’ve been dead for too long.

Prussia stands under the scalding stream of the shower, water pounding against his back like distant artillery. He leans his forehead against the cold tiles, steam curling around his shoulders. It doesn't wash the feeling off. It never does. Not twenty years of silence. Not two decades in the dark, buried in treaties and textbooks, while his so-called little brother paraded around the world like the prodigal son of Europe.

Unity, Germany called it. That sweet little lie. One nation. One future. One flag. But Prussia knows better. He built that boy from broken kingdoms and blood—dragged him up by the collar and taught him how to walk like an empire. And how does the he repay him? By pissing on Prussia’s legacy as if he owns him nothing. When left unchecked, he still rules like this smug little priest-king presiding over a temple of dysfunction. Holy, Roman, and about as imperial as a broken vending machine.

Prussia had hoped a little tough love would fix the brat. Straighten his back. Remind him who made him. But Germany is rotten in places soap can’t reach. Same hubris, same old script. He burned the world twice, and now he's lighting the match a third time, convinced the smoke is someone else’s fault.

Prussia growls and shuts off the water. He steps out, water dripping from lean muscle and scars that no longer fade. He’s been putting on mass lately—not for vanity, but out of spite. Turns out dead men can get bored. And lifting iron feels good. Clean. Nothing like the dirty compromises of Brussels and Berlin. And with the way Germany is letting himself go—dark circles under his eyes, bad posture, apologetic handshakes—someone has to keep up appearances.

He stares into the mirror. Crimson eyes meet their reflection. A cold smirk curls on his lips—the kind that once sent battalions into retreat and made Austria drink himself to a stupor. He runs a towel over his hair and throws it over his shoulder.

As he heads down the stairs, bare feet on cold wood, he hears footsteps, coming from the living room area downstairs.

“Did you miss me so much you’re skipping work for—”

He stops mid-motion.

Not his brother.

A young woman stands in the living room. She’s holding a pile of documents—slightly wide-eyed, slightly stunned, definitely not prepared for this. Her eyes snap to him, and naturally, they stay there. Understandable. He does look damn good after all. His eyes flick from her to the slightly ajar door leading to his brother’s home office, then back to her.

She stammers something, but he’s already grinning. The kind of grin that looks like trouble in every time zone. He finishes walking down the stairs and enters the stage like a man who’s never had to say "please."

“Oh,” he says, drying his face slowly, giving her time to admire the full landscape of a formerly dead Prussian war god in all his glory. Only once her gaze has taken the full tour does he lazily wrap the towel around his hips—like a mercy. Or a tease.

“How thoughtful of him,” he drawls. “So what’s the setup here, hmm? You sneak into the boss’s office to steal state secrets, but he shows up early—naked, obviously. This is German porn, after all.” He gives her the once-over again, and that wolfish smile returns, settling like a blade at the corner of his mouth.

“I like my paperwork spread out,” he says, nodding toward the long table. “Why don’t you give me a little tour of all your assets in stock.” He walks past her toward the open kitchen, moving like he owns the place. Because in some way, he does. Europe just doesn’t know it yet.

He slides a capsule into the Nespresso machine. A hiss, a rumble, the sharp scent of caffeine.

This world is weaker. Softer. But Prussia?

He’s feeling alive.

[charmwasjess]

tell us more about this TPM Sifo Lives AU👀

his survival is a problem for EVERYONE

AWWW BEAUTIFUL ANON THIS ASK IS SO KIND!!! It feels so good to be working on writing something longform that I've not posted yet (aka i am utterly consumed by 👁️👁️) and feel like people are interested. :D :D Thank you, truly. <3

For your trouble, and speaking of Sifo being a problem, I give you more of the Disaster Lineage Horrible Dinner Party Scene:

Qui-Gon was an unsophisticated cook, if Dooku remembered correctly. The fare lived up to that expectation: some animal protein overcooked to a dry char, intended to be eaten with the flatbread and various, clearly necessary sauces. They passed around the dishes, the Chosen One whooping and carrying on about the food here as compared to the dishes of Tatooine, and all the vast, expected differences. The boyish chatter wasn’t even so unpleasant, compared to the wine-sipping stormcloud at his side.  When the meat platter came to them, Sifo-Dyas handed it on to Dooku without selecting even a single piece. Dooku tried to pass it back, but Sifo-Dyas wouldn’t take it, pointedly ignoring the offer. There was a silent, unpleasant standoff.  “I don’t eat meat,” Sifo-Dyas finally said, when the hold-up had drawn the attention of the other occupants of the table.  A frown creased Qui-Gon’s forehead. “I asked Master Dooku beforehand about your dietary considerations. He failed to mention that.”  “It must come as a painful shock for Master Dooku to realize he doesn’t know everything about me.”  Obi-Wan gave a small cough, as if he’d started in on some noise of reaction, and then swallowed it. No doubt a skill he’d learned to thoroughly master during his apprenticeship to Qui-Gon.  “No,” Sifo-Dyas waved a hand as if to disperse the loathing that had come through a little too clearly in his tone. “It’s a new sensitivity. Something about getting to taste the lining of my throat roasting in those crash fumes.” He pulled a comical face, at odds with the topic. “Sort of ruined it for me.”  The adults collectively glanced at the small child in the room, but Anakin just seemed interested.   “It’s fine. I love…” Sifo-Dyas pulled the nearest sauce towards himself, some herbal condiment. “...this… this green thing.”  Obi-Wan passed him over the flat bread. Sifo-Dyas took another sip of wine instead of taking any. Twin patches of color were emerging on his cheeks.  “So, the Chosen One. You're going to train him, I take it?” Sifo-Dyas asked Qui-Gon, with the air of someone giving a lazy kick to a hornet's nest. “You should send him to me to fill in the gaps in his Cosmic Force education.”

[ferronite]

Drawing Every Abnormality - Part 6

O-04-08: Red Shoes

"The sanguine colour of the Red Shoes looks oddly familiar"

Featuring: Vera (Disciplinary Team Member), Eden (Disciplinary Team Clerk), Poussey (Information Team Member)

Wow what a nice pair of shoes I sure hope they don't make anyone commit murder.

Not my best work, not my worst. Guess this is what happens if you draw whilst your arm's covered in bandages. Oops!

Pretty fun interaction to draw, tho I'm not completely happy with the positioning/layout. Oh well~

Vera's an ex-clerk btw. This happens like 2 days after she gets promoted lol. Eden's one of her friends - they got pretty close when they were working together. He uh... didn't take her promotion very well.

She'll be fine, dont worry bout her~

...He won't be, though.