#|| No This Is Patrick || Asks.

[suja-janee]

I’ve been losing my mind over these guys recently

[artdcnaldson]

NEED art and patrick to find out I'm a virgin and offer to teach me how to kiss and how to fuck and use eachother as examples and guide me and tell me I'm doing a good job and reward me for being such a good student and come back later and quiz me to see if I remember everything they taught me ugh obsessed with them individually and as a unit

This has lived rent free in my mind for literally forever. I can’t stop thinking about it, it haunts my every waking moment.

Rating: E (18+)

Warnings: Making out, Handjob lessons, guys being pervs, not a love triangle they just all want to fuck each other

A/N: unedited bc I wrote this while on the clock okay whatever. Enjoyyyy and if u want me to continue this lmk >:)

“I think it’s sweet,” Patrick said, and you could hear the amusement in his voice, practically dripping from every syllable. “The last American virgin. You belong in a museum.”

You rolled your eyes and tossed your empty Taco Bell cup at him— the ice rattled and it leaked a puddle of condensation onto the ground. “You could try not to be a dick about it.”

Art’s dorm room was hot and sticky thanks to a faulty AC, which meant the three of you lounging on the floor by his open window, sucking down soda watered down by melted ice cubes. You were down to a T-shirt and shorts, they were down to their boxers. It wasn’t lost on you that it was an intimate situation to be in— barely dressed, crammed into the shoebox of a dorm. And of course Patrick had dug his fingers in until you admitted your secret— you had made it all the way to college totally unfucked.

Patrick leaned forward, smiling the smarmy smile that tended to wear at your last nerve. “So you’re a virgin, but like,” he leaned in, so close you could feel body heat radiating from him. He dropped his voice, just above a whisper. “How much of a virgin, really? You’ve at least gone to third, right?” You glared, but shook your head.

“Second?” Art supplied, suddenly jumping in with an eager sort of curiosity.

“What? No, I don’t even know what that means,” you admitted. You sighed before you spoke up. “I’ve only ever kissed one guy and one girl, and it was during a game of spin the bottle, like, junior year.”

“How?” Patrick asked.

Your brows furrowed. “How? I spun the bottle, it landed on the person, I leaned in, put my lips against theirs, and that was it.”

Patrick sighed. “Just fucking show me how.” He looked at you expectantly, inching even closer.

With an annoyed sigh, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his— mouth closed, lips firm. When you sat back, Patrick and Art were both grinning.

“What?” You asked with a frown.

“That’s how you kiss on the playground in elementary school,” Art said, unable to contain his laughter. “C’mere.”

You crawled forward, stopping in front of the blond. His hand settled on your jaw, coaxing you forward.

His lips met yours softly, sweetly. It was easy to lose yourself in the feeling of Art’s mouth, in the gentle brushes of his lips against yours and the way he held your face so tenderly.

The feeling of his tongue pressing against the seam of your lips was strange, but you welcomed it, letting him lick into your mouth.

Each pass of his tongue against yours drew you deeper and deeper into it, into him. You moved into his lap without realizing it, kissing him with sweet, timid laps of your tongue.

Art pulled back first, his cheeks soft and pink and so pretty. “See? That’s how you’re supposed to kiss someone. That was really good.”

You laughed softly, and moved off of his lap sheepishly. Patrick leaned forward, brushing your hair back, holding your face in his hand.

“Okay, show me what Art showed you,” he instructed, then leaned in.

Kissing Patrick was different than kissing Art. He was hungrier, more insistent. His tongue pressed into your mouth like he wanted to chart every inch. You did your best to match what he offered, to kiss the way Art had just shown you, sweetly, like you really meant it.

And you did mean it. Patrick’s hands moved along your side, up until they cupped your tits through your shirt. You moaned softly into his mouth— the sound was muffled, met with a moan of his own. He gave an experimental squeeze of your tits and you whined softly. So he did it again, amused by the pretty, sweet noises you mewled out.

Patrick was getting hard, pressing against your thigh. It was a new sensation that you were hyper aware of as you unconsciously ground yourself against him.

You pulled back first, cheeks burning hot after you remembered Art was right beside you. You tucked unkempt hair behind your ear, smiled bashfully. “How was I?”

“Good,” Patrick said.

At the same time Art supplied, “So good.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Okay. Cool.”

Art was squirming, fidgeting, holding a pillow over his lap. Patrick was less covert— opting to openly adjust himself, drawing more attention to the fact that he was hard. You rolled your eyes and stole the nearest cup you could find, sipping at watered down Mountain Dew.

“Do you want me to leave?” You teased, raising an eyebrow. Your teeth dug into the plastic straw as you looked between the two of them.

Art stammered, mortified, but Patrick just smiled dizzyingly over at you. “I can teach you something else. You got to first base, so why don’t you steal second?”

You rolled your eyes, but heat flared behind your cheeks. Jesus Christ, he was such a smug asshole. “I still don’t know what that means,” you said, feeling a little embarrassed.

He grinned and mimed jerking off. Your eyes widened, and you laughed softly. “That would be weird,” you said, half-believing it. “Like, if I did jerk one of you off, that leaves one of you just watching.”

You glanced at Art, who looked just as interested as Patrick did, and your heart stammered nervously. “What if I show you how you do it on Art? Look at him— he’s the perfect little practice dummy.” Patrick reached over, pinching at Art’s cheek until the blond kicked his shin.

“Show me?” You echoed. “Like… you’re going to do it to him, and I do it to you?”

Patrick nodded, leaning into Art’s side, his smarmy smile dissolved into something needier. Art swallowed hard, lips parted slightly as he looked over at Patrick.

Patrick’s lips met his slowly, hungrily. You watched wide eyed as Patrick deepened the kiss, as Art eagerly accepted the other boy’s tongue into his mouth.

Patrick threw the pillow out of Art’s lap and sent it careening into the desk on the opposite side of the room. Your eyes widened at the sight of Art, hard and tenting his boxers. Patrick palmed him in his large hands making the blonde whimper into his mouth and buck up, seeking friction.

You swallowed hard, biting down on the straw as you watched Patrick tug at the elastic of Art’s boxers. Art lifted his hips to allow Patrick to tug them down his thighs, just enough to expose his cock to both of you.

“See,” Patrick gasped, leaning back from their kiss. Art chased his lips fruitlessly, mouth ajar, waiting for more. “He’s so fucking easy. Come feel.”

You moved closer, looking at Art for permission. When he nodded, you reached out, letting your fingertips graze the soft skin of his shaft. He exhaled a shuddery breath, eyes fluttering shut. Patrick’s hand covered yours, guiding you to squeeze around his length.

He was warm under your touch, silky soft, pulsing in your grip. Your heart hammered just at that— at the feel of him in your hand. “Feels nice, huh? Knowing how much he wants you.” You nodded, then slid your fist up, testing the waters. Art moaned softly, throbbed in your grip, aching for more. Patrick smiled like the cat who got the cream. “Hands off, just watch me.”

Patrick spat into his hand and replaced your hand with his own. The second Patrick curled his fingers around Art and started stroking him slowly, the blond was mewling for more. “Fuck,” he moaned, his forehead knocking against Patrick’s, mouth open, panting. “That’s good, feels good.”

You watched Patrick rub his thumb over Art’s tip, eyes widening as Art really whimpered for it, hips thrusting up into Patrick’s fist, chasing more of the pleasure the brunet offered.

“You get it now?” Patrick asked. You nodded quickly, and he tugged down his own boxers. “Fuck, okay— fucking show me.”

Your heart hammered with nerves, but you nodded. You held your hand out and spit into it, mimicking what Patrick had done before you wrapped your hand around his cock.

He felt bigger in your hands, but you didn’t say that. One, you worried it might piss Art off, and two, he didn’t need the ego boost. And he was slick, beading precum at his tip so each pass of your hands felt slicker and slicker.

And you couldn’t help but want to be an asshole. “You’re wet like a girl,” you said with a smirk, gliding your thumb over his tip.

And he was shameless, nodding with a sly grin. “That means I like you.” He panted, moaning softly. “Besides, I bet your fucking panties aren’t dry right now.”

Well, fuck. You tried to ignore the rush of heat in your belly that those words caused, to focus only on the glide of your hand on Patrick’s cock— up and down, copying his pace on Art, copying the ways he’d squeeze and twist his hand.

Art was moaning, rutting up into the tight sheath of Patrick’s fist, the muscles of his abdomen tensing and relaxing in unsteady jerks beneath his soft skin.

“Fuck— switch, switch,” Patrick said quickly. Art whined when Patrick stopped touching him, but it was ignored. “Want you to feel it when he comes.”

He guided your hand back onto Art’s cock and nodded for you to move. “Fuck, your hand’s so soft,” Art groaned. “Faster, faster, fuck—“ He was practically begging. You swallowed, increased the pace, squeezed him a little tighter.

Art was touching Patrick— jerking him off while you brought him closer and closer to finishing. Patrick leaned in, kissed you deeply, pulled Art in too until the three of you were a mess of tongues and lips and spit and hands.

Art came first— coating your hand in warm, slick cum, throbbing in your grip. He was panting into your and Patrick’s mouths, moaning softly as you continued to slowly work him through it. Patrick came next, once Art redoubled his effort, focused on making Patrick add to the mess covering your hands.

Patrick was loud, pornographic, messy. Art brought a cum covered hand between his lips, cleaning it up. Your eyes widened.

“Art, c’mon, you’re scandalizing her,” Patrick said, like you weren’t even there.

“Shut up,” you said, shoving him. He laughed and pulled his boxers back up. Art followed suit, and the three of you were left gross and sweating in the heat. You wiped your hand off on one of their discarded shirts and gave a sheepish smile.

They sat there, expectantly. Waiting for you to make the next call. There was a level of want in you, need, but the thought of asking for them to take care of it was mortifying. “Do you want to watch a movie or something now?”

[amymbona]

Literally Patrick and Art

[falafels]

pt.15!!: a saga starring margarita jeremy

<pt.14 pt.16>

tag gang @andrewsleftarmband @blurryhour @you-know-i-get-itt @notexactlythatgirl @strangeoffputtingrat @tessasilverswan @minyard-05 @carbon-dated-gal @bisexualchaosdemon @stormiiflies @watercoloureyes01 <333

[brainfreeze27]

2007-2008 patrick? (´˘ -˘ 人)💕

see you .... in cat heaven (^. .^) ft. poorly drawn stumpomatic!!

[jesuistrestriste]

i headcannon that art is actually extremely vain under his humble and demure personality. he absolutely lives for compliments, praise, and validation. he shaves or waxes every inch of his body for his partner. he wears fragrances that turn heads and gets drunk on compliments from strangers. he’ll beg for validation on how good he’s doing during sex, even if he’s in a passive position like receiving oral.

this is one of the most deliciously worded asks that i’ve ever had the pleasure of reading, and yes yes yes— i totally agree..

EXTREMELY ego-driven deep down, and in constant need of affirmation.

his praise kink is always activated.

buying the most expensive and sultry/sexy colognes so he can relish in the way people on the streets or in luxury stores actively turn their heads to sniff the air— he always stands a little taller and smirks to himself.

he’ll downplay his tennis skills in front of people he knows will butter him up, masking it as ‘being humble’ (when in reality he just wants fans or journalists or other athletes to tell him how amazing he is for five minutes straight).

and yes, even if he takes a more passive role in the bedroom with his partner, he wants needs to be told how good he’s doing or he can’t seem to find the spark to finish.

raising and dropping his hips while he slides his slick length in and out of your mouth, gasping and moaning while he twitches. the whole while he’s looking down to your eyes and whimpering out a slurry of desperate words.

“am— am i doing g-good? do i taste good for you, baby? mmnn—! fuhhck, tell me how big i am, t-tell— tell me— i’m good, right? oh, yeah, please-“

he knows you can’t exactly say anything, your mouth stuffed full of his salty precome and throbbing flesh, but he so badly needs you to tell him that he’s the best you’ve ever had in bed— that he’s all you ever need, and how you love the way he looks when he gets close.

tell him he’s handsome when you’re riding him.

tell him he’s strong when he’s fingering you.

tell him he’s perfect when he’s cumming; breeding you with a shaky snap of his pelvis and a look on his face that’s dripping with expectation.

he needs it like air.

just, fuck, tell him he’s worth it all.

[theoldsports]

SORRY | series masterpost

Art Donaldson x Reader

Art and [Y/N] met through Patrick when they were seventeen. These are moments in all those shared years in their lives where Art had to say sorry.

SPONTANEOUS.+

SHITHEAD.+

SOLUTION.

SOUR.+

+ indicates smut/adult content

this is the official recommended reading order, even though they may be published out of sequence.

[weallpartyatybcpatricksfuneral]

hi. rant about ybcpatrick at me. idk if I have any pertinent thoughts right now but I love angst so here's a thought: how much pain do you think he's in. just... constantly? like. he got sliced and diced. not just the hand, though that must be awful, but all his organs??? guy must be in agony whenever he gets enough of a breather to be aware of it

God he has to constantly be in agony. there's no way he ISNT in pain. he realistically shouldn't be alive or running around in any capacity like he is so I'm assuming there's something supernatural involved to keep him from dying. but he is definitely suffering. my personal headcanon is that while he's brainwashed he is so focused on his mission he just ignores the pain until his job is complete, which is kind of why he breaks down when he finally dies. his mission is complete. he protected the briefcase. also we do not talk about how the ybc lasts for at the very least a week and how after young volcanos none of them eat or drink water (im going to assume since they took the time to get cleaned up, Andy and pete did get something to eat or drink in between death valley and rat a tat). ESPECIALLY patrick. dude is running around for DAYS heavily almost fatally injured with no food or water. the amount of suffering he is in is probably SO severe. genuinely it's a miracle he didn't die from his injuries/condition alone in miss missing you. maybe he couldn't die until his job was complete.

[latenightsundayblues]

More Patrick Bateman pls I need that little peggable babygirl

This ask is from 2023. Forgive me anonymous patrick bateman enjoyer

[zweiginator]

thinking about casually hooking up w patrick after art and tashi dump us both <3 stress relief and it’s not exactly clear who is seeking out who but then lines get blurry and he’s in love whoops and he becomes a softie who only lets his guard down for her aHhhH he just wants to be taken care of fr

tashi dumping patrick because he doesn’t take her seriously enough and art dumping you because he says he doesn’t feel anything for you anymore. you’re both heartbroken and want them back. and drunkenly with a lack of better judgment, patrick calls you up. you’ve never talked to him on the phone and you honestly forget ever giving him your number but you answer, sniffling.

“are you crying?” he asks you.

“no.” you lie. “what’s up?”you don’t know patrick all too well. just that he’s in tashi and art’s circle and your heart aches because you’re sure art will be going to tashi for comfort and you wonder if he has a crush on her.

“tashi dumped me.”

you had heard it through the grapevine, but half considered it a rumor until now. “i’m sorry patrick.” you feel awkward; you’ve only spoken to patrick a handful of times and now he’s on the verge of tears on the phone with you.

“well if it makes you feel better, art dumped me.”

patrick, of course, knows this. it’s why he called you.

“art has never been smart with women.” patrick sighs. he asks to come over because he doesn’t want to be alone tonight. you mutter a yes please. it sounds desperate but patrick beats you in that race because he’s over at your place in ten minutes flat when the drive would usually take eleven.

you open the door and he towers above you, eyes bloodshot as a puts out a cigarette.

you pull him inside or he’s stumbling in neither of you remember because you don’t need to exchange words or awkward condolences to the other. you end up on the couch, straddling him, pulling his t-shirt up to feel his chest and abs and he helps you tear it off.

you moan. he’s hot. art is hot too but you’re not thinking of him. patrick is hot and so masculine, with hair peppered on his abs and chest and your fingers loop in the waistband of his sweatpants.

“fucking kiss me.” he yanks you down to him, his huge hand splayed across the back of your head, guiding you. his tongue pries your mouth open and you can’t help but grind yourself down on him.

time goes quickly but you feel like you’re wading in water, moving fluidly as patrick pulls his erection out. he’s not wearing underwear and you wrap your hand around him.

you don’t want to ride him, you want to forget about everything and just be fucked. patrick reads your mind as he flips you over on your stomach and hovers over you, his stomach pressed against your back.

“tell me you need me.” he rubs the head of his cock against your dripping pussy and you mewl, looking back at patrick. you’re more present than you want to be. art would never fuck you like this. too animalistic.

he yanks your hair, spits on your face. your cunt flutters around nothing.

“i need you—fuck.”

“yeah you fucking do.” and he pushes in all at once. it knocks the wind out of you. your knuckles are white from gripping onto the couch cushions so hard and you’re drooling onto the fabric. patrick’s moans are dropping in filth like his words are as he splits you open, somehow managing to rock your couch forward.

and wordlessly, in the midst of this impromptu hookup, you both realize you fucked up the moment patrick’s head rests in the crook of your neck to find your mouth for a kiss. he loves this, and he thinks he loves you and tashi will never forgive him if she finds out about this.

he just fucks you harder.

[makeyoumine69]

i would love to see more jealous patrick ❤️😫

Hello, dear anon!💗

Ohhh, jealous Patrick is a thing!

In the middle of dinner with Bateman's family in Dorsia, the reservation Patrick had been trying to get all week, you needed a moment to powder your nose. On your way back to your table, you were playing with the ring Patrick had gifted you a week ago—a huge gem shone on it whenever you rolled it between your fingers—but when you were distracted by the waiter, you accidentally dropped the ring, and if the stranger hadn't caught it, it would have rolled across the floor to God only knew where.

"Oh, thank you so much!" You beamed and smiled as the unfamiliar but handsome man returned the ring.

"It's nothing, really." He replied, examining you curiously from head to toe.

Such attention made you embarrassed, but then you felt a burning sensation between your shoulders. When you turned around, you locked your confused gaze with Bateman's, his hazel eyes piercing through yours like sharp daggers.

"Uh, thanks again! But I have to go!" With these words you walked away from the stranger before he could tell you something else.

Sheepishly you approached the table where Patrick, his parents and his brother Sean with his date were waiting for you. And even though Bateman's face was devoid of emotion, the moment you took your seat, his large palm found its way to your inner thigh in the blink of an eye.

"So, who was that guy?" He whispered in your ear, leaning closer so only you could hear. "And why was he touching you?"

You let out a shaky breath and smiled politely over Mrs. Bateman's comment that she was glad you were finally back. "What?" You asked bewilderedly without looking at the man next to you. "I just dropped my ring."

"You dropped the ring?" Patrick almost chuckled, his hand diving deeper between your legs under the table, forcing you to grab it to keep him from going any further. "Forgot how to wear a ring, sunshine?" The man took the opportunity to nip at your neck while everyone at the table was busy with each other. "When we get home, I'll remind you… I'll remind you of everything."

His skillful fingers reached beneath your skirt no matter how hard you tried to stop them. Now, they were brazenly playing with the lace of your panties and perfectly hiding beneath the soft material of your dress.

"Patrick," you gasped, gripping the table to stifle a moan as Bateman pressed his thumb against your blushing clit. "Please," your pathetic pleas only brought a broad grin to his smug face. "Stop."

And then Patrick's mother asked you a question you couldn't even hear as your whole body was focused on the rising tension in your lower abdomen as the man was relentless in his intentions to work you up.

"Excuse me…could you please repeat your question? You asked, completely awkward.

Patrick smirked arrogantly and leaned back in his chair. "She asked if you liked the food," he muttered mockingly, before shoving his two digits into your oozing pussy. "Believe me, Mother, she is enjoying the evening. Am I right, honey?"

Paralyzed, you were about to explode at how shamelessly Bateman was behaving, literally fingering you in front of his family. Biting your lower lip for a second, you tried to take a sip of mineral water, but the man wouldn't let you as he intensified his ministrations, curling his fingers to stimulate that spongy spot inside you that made you grip the surface of the table once again.

"Yes…everything is perfect," you managed to blurt out, sensing the cool metal of his Rolex gliding along your hot skin, the contrast only heightening the pleasure. "Thank you, Patrick."

"You're welcome, darling," the man chirped, leaning closer to peck your cheek in an affectionate, pretending way, only to purr into your ear. "Tonight I'm gonna fuck you so hard you won't even remember your own name." And with that, Bateman sat back, looking cheeky as ever, as he felt your inner walls contracting around his fingers once he began to rub your little bud with his thumb.

Mrs. Bateman couldn't help but smile. "Oh, you two are so adorable! Such a loving couple."

With a soft chuckle, Patrick grinned in pure delight. "Thank you. We really are."

Bastard.

[getmeoutofhell]

Slasher House

warnings: cussing, demons, and well ofc, slashers.

a/n: enjoy my little angels!

you don’t know how you ended up here, but here you were, in a shitty house in the middle of no where. also did i mention there’s a bunch of psycho killers that live with you?? no? well let me tell you.

freddy, hannibal + will, art + the little girl, vincent, candy man, pin head, bo, bubba, thomas, penny + pennywise, michael, cory, all ghostfaces, jason, chucky, tiffany, carrie, jennifer, anabelle, patrick, crepper, valak, the crooked man, and the babadook somehow lived here.

well, bubba & thomas don’t live with you, but about an hour or so away. the come visit on saturday’s tho, so that’s nice.

about every damn 5 minutes there’s a fight somewhere happening. it’s usually freddy and jason, but sometimes it’s penny and pennywise going at it over something you don’t care to ask about.

sometimes you see art come in and break up the fight, you think it’s cute how he’s always there to help.

hannibal and will have their own stuff to them selves by acquiring their own room and bathroom. they keep their relationship and love live private from you and the rest of the group, but you guys respect it.

sometimes hannibal, will, candy man, and pin head have nice conversations, but will gets bored and leaves them alone.

patrick is everyone’s opp, like literally everyones. hannibal was fighting the urge to eat him as soon as he met him. but you had to beg him not to. freddy really can’t stand him. he said he’s a “proper bitch” which you can agree with somewhat.

now let’s talk about valak. he’s very, very, very sneaky. like, concerning type sneaky. you never hear him, or see him, unless he wants to be seen. he talks, barley. sometimes you see him with anabelle or the crooked man. he sometimes scares you, and he knows.

the babadook on the other hand, he stays hidden, literally. it’s your job to get up everyday and feed him his daily worms, or he gets grumpy and makes the house shake and shit. he kinda only trust you for some odd reason to feed him. you’ll never question it tho.

you sleep in the second floor of this monstrosity of an house. on your floor is freddy, carrie, billy, and stu.

carrie is very sweet, and usually speaks only when spoken to. freddy on the other hand…we all know how he is.

billy and stu, are probably the loudest on your floor. and that’s because they throw fucking party’s in their room with the other ghostfaces. sometimes you’re invited, sometimes not. it depends on billy’s mood that day.

now don’t get me started on the rest of them…

i really wanna start writing this so i hope you guys like it!

[amymbona]

I see this gif more often than I see my own family.

[fandomlurker333]

Soooo in an interview they all confirm that Art deliberately started instigating so that Patrick and Tashi (who WERE in love) would argue and potentially break up.

Now the only question is…hmm I wonder why? What was Art’s motivation? The hets will say it’s because Art wanted to be with Tashi. But he barely knew Tashi even after she and Patrick started seeing each other.

We see him ask Patrick if they slept together and fairly beg him to tell him so he won’t be “left out”. But when he and Tashi have lunch that first time it’s been a YEAR. Like he didn’t see or speak to her for a year. Didn’t obsessively watch her game. Wasn’t drawn to her. She even asks him “why did you want to have lunch with me?” Like she can’t figure out what he could possibly want from her.

That’s not a woman who has been continuously hit on by her boyfriend’s best friend. She can’t figure out what his motivation is.

And it was because he knew Patrick was coming. And he wanted to start some shit. He wasn’t over there trying to get Tashi’s attention while Patrick was on tour. He says “I can’t believe you’re still together”, and it’s because Patrick has never taken any girl seriously before.

And Art can’t stand it.

[brainfreeze27]

@girlstump (sorry if wrong @!!!!) says:

i say how about ALL OF THEM

[jesuistrestriste]

patrick who's going away on tour so he trains art to be a perfect replacement so that youre still getting fucked right while he's away. jerking art off to porn of the kinks he knows you like so he's into it as well. I'm begging you to match my freak here.

ooooh absolutely

art’s been given a list of very specific instructions on how to fuck you like pat does. he’s, like, very reluctant to follow through because he feels like it’s ‘degrading’ to treat you the way his friend does, but he made a promise.

so instead of kissing you gently, a hand on your cheek while he lets you lead, he kisses you hungrily. sloppily. licks at the inside of your mouth and holds your lower jaw in his grasp as he devours you the way only patrick would. swallows down your little noises that slip out, muffling them with his tongue in the next moment.

and instead of fucking you in missionary and holding your hand like he wants to, he flips you onto your tummy and holds your hips. he slaps your ass when you arch it up into his pelvis; squeezes the soft flesh right after the impact. art doesn’t want to enjoy the way you yelp and whine when he’s rough, but he does.

instead of giving you slow, even, tender thrusts while he gazes down into your eyes, he bucks against the backside of your form like he’s starved for your pretty insides. pummels the deepest parts of you the best he can while you squirm and squirt over his aching cock. emphasizes each roll of his body with a growled ‘fuck’.

… and instead of whimpering and moaning in your ear about how beautiful you are, and how amazing you feel, and how lucky he is to be able to have you in this way, he says what he’s been instructed to say. leans down over your back, still messily stirring up your guts and filling you with blurts of his precome, and groans into the back of your neck.

“that’s it… just like that, you filthy little thing… you like when i fuck you like this? yeah? yeah, i know you do…”

“come on, you can be louder than that.. beg for my cock and maybe i’ll let you cream on it..”

“fuckkk, my god, you’re so fucking tight— ungh! ‘m gonna- ‘m g’na cum, oh g-god, i’m fucking— i’m gonna cum— gonna fill you up—beg for my load, baby, ohhh fuckkk—“

his dick kicks against your walls as he slams himself balls-deep inside and then shudders over you, spilling rope after rope of his release into your greedy hole. he lets out a series of anguished cries like a depraved animal, his fingers digging into your waist.

normally, it’d be too much for art to continue. he gets far too sensitive to go for a second round so soon, but.. again, he made a promise.

and patrick told him that you’re never satisfied until you’ve milked him. so he trembles and whines and puts the facade back on before he lets his overstimulated cock swell back to life inside of you.

he’d never wanna do anything to disappoint his best friend. he’s gonna give you everything he has.

it’s what pat would want.