#Patrick is a weed man

[tinytennisskirt]

ifffff ur into this… stoned sex with art 😼🙏🏻❤️‍🔥

No Consquences

summary: you and art have been close friends for some time now, there’s definitely something lying underneath that friendship, and it cracks wide open when he comes over to smoke with you.

warnings: smut! unprotected sex, smoking weed, tension, fluff, lots of laughter mwah

and ofc i’m into this. so into this. never stop.

your phone buzzed. you were already having a hard time putting down the book you’d spent all day reading- you’d only taken a break to shower about an hour ago and you were still laying in the towel in your bed because you’d picked up the book again.

it was raunchy. and it was really well written for a raunchy, steamy novel! you’d never read one this good before, the men are always overbearing and written to be sexy so they just come off as try-hands, but the man in this book was perfect. kind. sweet. you put your bookmark in and grabbed your phone from by your feet.

art: patrick stopped by earlier he says hi n he brought me some pre rolled stuff.

art: can i come over?

you loved how the pieces fit together. any time patrick came to visit, art’s room somehow became a mess. he hated to impose, but your room was the best option. you smiled, writing back.

you: bring iced tea

art: already bought it

you: you know me so well

art: on my way over :)

it took art about five minutes to come and knock on your door. in that time you’d managed to throw on a tank top and shorts, the window open and the summer air pouring in and circulating the room. you ran a brush through your hair and answered the door.

you and art had been friends since college started, both at stanford for tennis. and against your realization, the friendship might have been a little more. it was a steady thing, becoming friends like it was the easiest thing in the world. he was a good friend, knew you well, knew your secrets and kept them. he was your closest friend here at stanford and you saw him almost every day, just out of habit.

he showed up in a black t-shirt. and sweatpants. not just a regular black shirt, but one that was just a little tight. he had the pre-rolls in his left hand and a giant thing of iced tea in the other. by the frosted look of the plastic, it was cold. you grabbed onto the door at the sight of him, an unconscious thing. he looked really nice.

“you like the raspberry one right?” he asked, referencing the iced tea in his arm. his forearm rested right against the label you were staring at. you blinked.

“yeah! hi.”

“hi,” he smiled, tilting his head a little. “you okay?”

“i’m okay,” you smiled, moving out of the way, letting him come into your room. he didn’t often wear black. the shirt must have been new or… “how are you?”

“i’m alright,” he smiled, sitting on your bed. “patrick visited for three hours and my room is a mess. looks like someone set off a bomb in my dresser.”

“of course,” you nodded. you’d met patrick about a year ago and he was also a fast friend. but he was a messy guy. “he couldn’t even stop by to say hi, i can’t believe him.”

“i said the same thing, i said you’d be heartbroken, but he’s got some date with this girl lana.” he shrugged. “he’ll be back tomorrow probably.”

“don’t clean your room just yet,” you said, grabbing the air freshener and your lighter from on top of your coffee maker. “you get the glitter lighter today.”

“pink?”

you tossed it to him, “pink.”

“my favourite.”

“as it should be,” you hopped onto the bed and sat on your knees, pushing your hair behind your ears. “anything else happen today?”

“mm- not really,” art said, opening the box of joints. “i was sleeping in until patrick came around so it was that and then this. i checked the tennis schedules, co-op doubles this monday-“

“partners?”

“yeah,” he chuckled. he was about to ask. “that and class schedules tennis history? since when do we have to do tennis history.”

you grabbed his arm gently, “oh my god i saw that when i was with abbey the other day.” you shook your head, “i think it makes us more worldly,” you nodded. “i forgot about it.”

art moved closer to you, near the window above the bed. with a click of the lighter he lit the end and inhaled, blowing the smoke out the window the best he could before handing it to you. your eyes lingered on his bicep- for fucks sake. it was a good shirt. that was all. you sat up and did the same, inhale, hold, exhale. “oh my-“ you coughed, “-god.”

art laughed and his hand rested on your bare knee. “you’re okay.” his thumb moved just gently, once. it wasn’t unlike him to be touchy, just was who he was, but for some reason today you were hyper focused on it. his hand was cold, but soothing. you passed him the joint and cracked open the iced tea. “so what do you think of-“ he exhaled out the window. “this shirt.” you blinked like you’d heard him wrong. “new.”

“i like it,” you said, looking the other way. your eyes wanted to fall on the shirt again but you were afraid of what would happen and how you’d react if you looked right now. you took a swig of the iced tea.

“patrick said i look like a personal trainer.”

you laughed, wiping your lower lip with your thumb. his eyes were trained on you and the lack of bra. you looked back at him, eyes falling over him in the black t-shirt again and just as you feared, your mouth fell just a little open. “you do- okay- i see it. he’s not wrong.”

“i’m getting rid of this shirt later,”

“no!” you protested a little too loudly. “don’t let us change your mind about it.” you tried to save yourself. “i think it’s the sweats.” why did he look so good today? was it really so different? you shook your head and hit the joint twice that time. “i like the shirt though.”

he smiled that almost-shy crooked little grin when he took the joint back. you could not stop coughing, which made him chuckle as he took his hit. the conversation continued, those slight little bantery jokes filling the room with laughter that only increased as you felt the weed take its effect like a wave washing up and over you.

the radio behind you playing some cd you both liked and the iced tea shared between the two of you while you felt things settle in. it was like a buzz, like constantly lapping of water against a shore. it was dizzying and made your head spin just a little. you kept laughing about things and nothings. you leaned into his shoulder when you laughed and his hand stayed on your knee, occasionally flattening out against the lower parts of your outer thigh, almost fidgeting the way his hand grazed back and forth. maybe you were too high, but he was all you could think about.

usually, it was that he was there and that was fun, but as the sun set and the night crept on and you continued feeling the high increase, you could only think about him. him and his t-shirt, his biceps, his forearms, his hand that was on your skin while you talked. he was smiling that perfect grin of his and you swore you were staring, but neither of you could tell.

you were giggling, one leg up and the other one still folded under you, leaning against the one that propped you up. “think you’d ever cut your hair?”

“i get my hair cut,” he replied, rubbing his left eye. “every three months.”

“i mean like- short.”

“mmm- no.” he answered, taking a bigger hit. “my mom had me cut it short when i was a kid, i had a bowl cut.” he laughed and you laughed with him, a little uncontrollably at the imagery. you wondered to yourself if he had a picture. “a short-“ he couldn’t breathe he was laughing so hard, “short bowl cut. so bad.”

“oh my god.” you laughed, leaning into him again. he leaned the same, you met in the middle, hands intertwining, a desperate grab at anything sturdy. you couldn’t stop. he smelled good, you noted, he always did. cologne and spice and did he smell better than he did before? the other times you though he smelled good, did he smell this good? it was strange. he smelled so good. too good. you hummed as you stopped laughing, trying to dull it down. “but you wouldn’t cut your hair short?”

“feels wrong.” he said, trying to compose himself again. you went back to your regular statures, his hand went right back on your leg, his thumb doing the very same thing. it was hot- he needed to stop being hot, it wasn’t fair. it wasn’t right. he was your best friend. he had to stop. you looked at his hair, his curls. the warm, dim lights of your room made them seem like they were glowing gold. “it wouldn’t be bad- just wouldn’t be me. could be bad though.”

“no, not bad. i like your curls.” you said, trying to keep down another giggle. you couldn’t risk spiralling into laughter again. you extended your hand and gently moved his hair. he scrunched his nose and closed his eyes as you did, letting you. his hair was soft. “don’t ever cut your hair short.”

he chuckled, “not even a bowl cut?”

you giggled just slightly, tousling his hair just a little more, scooting yourself a little closer to play with his hair. it was mindless, just nice to feel while your body felt as if it were floating and hovering over itself. you felt even more spinny as the new hits of the second joint kicked in. you felt oddly like you were made of air. your felt your eyes struggle to be properly open, you could see art’s eyes pink in the dim light. his eyelashes. you were sat up on your knees hitting the joint again, your other hand still in his hair and you passed it back to him. he hit it and set it down on the makeshift cardboard ashtray that had become a thing while you were talking before. his movements seemed slow, but fast at the same time.

you moved just a little closer without thinking of it, on your knees, sort of above him but not really. both hands of yours touched his hair, pushing the curls around his ears behind them. low-lidded, he just watched you. his head tilted up just a little to look at you. to see you. “i’m so high.” he said, quietly, like you weren’t alone.

“me too.” you giggled just a little more and he joined in. his laughter was sweet in the air and your hands stayed pushing curls away from his face just gently. you weren’t thinking about it, just him. just how he was really pretty. you felt his hand move from where it was, meeting with just above your hip, where your hip met your waist. his hand felt like it was going through you, just a little. it didn’t even phase you that he was touching you, just that his hands felt strange on your skin and the reminder that you were high circulated your mind again.

your body hummed and seemed to buzz. like all of your skin was soft static. his other hand met that other side of your waist, resting just above the hip bone. his left thumb was underneath the hem of your tank top. you were smiling at him the way you usually would, no teeth, nothing wider than that- but he wasn’t smiling back. at least not in the same way- his face rested soft and a little open-mouthed in a gaze that felt similar to that of a deer. looking at you through long eyelashes.

your hands in his hair didn’t feel real. his hair was spun gold and your hands were like clouds. limbs felt alien. but your body felt complete. your eyes felt tired though you knew you weren’t and he was looking at you for what seemed like forever and maybe you were looking at him forever too. reality was, it was only a moment, not too long at all.

he’d been your friend for almost a full year. he’d held your hand at certain points, you’d hugged probably a hundred times, but this felt different. the music playing seemed to fade out. your hands still pushed through his hair, gently. the waves of your high were only continuing to bring you upward, higher. his hands didn’t move, yours began to slide down just slightly.

inching further, curls tucked behind his ears and moving your hands down, almost subconsciously. you felt like you were floating and falling at the same time and it was dizzying. his eyes did not leave you. not even as your hands moved down behind his ears. everything was serious until then.

“you have that thing in your eyes with different colours,” you noted. your voice felt echoey, like a toy microphone. “it’s pretty.”

“you’re pretty.” he replied, lips barely moving. and you giggled, your response was to giggle. it was uncontrollable, you couldn’t help it. neither could he. he said you were pretty. art donaldson, your best friend here at school, said you were pretty. he thought you were pretty. you giggled just a little madly and you leaned, of course, into him, but your hands on his jaw now, leaning turned into slightly losing balance, his you leaned forward and you almost kissed him.

you pulled back at the last second so that your face didn’t crash into his, though you didn’t go far. your noses touched as your giggling died just a little, “oh my god, i almost kissed you-“ you said a little breathily. your nose grazed his. his eyelashes fluttered as his eyes fell from yours to your lips, then back again.

he grinned, laughing just a little. the world seemed so quiet aside from the buzzing in your ears and his light chuckle. you both swayed just a little, challenged to be steady, failing. laughing, swaying so much, heads tilted just perfectly enough to have his lips graze yours. or yours graze his. it feels unreal, like you’re watching it from across the room instead of feeling it, but your hands are on his jaw and his are still on your waist, trying to keep balance harder than you thought. “i’m sorry.” he mumbled. and you felt his words against your lips, apologizing for the way they grazed against yours despite not moving away. not changing what he was doing, in fact it happened again.

you giggled at that. so did he. but it died quickly. as your hands slid under his jaw. as his hands slid just slightly more under the back of your tank top. your lips grazed his once more, “i’m sorry.” you smiled, it was against his lips. the tension was thick, there was no other way to go.

a beat passed. your lower lip dragging across his slightly open mouth, your head tilted just a little. one more beat. lips brushing, hands on each other, feeling everything and nothing at the same time. high, so high, so fuzzy, so airy.

being this close, kissing him felt like a need. not a want. in this state of being, in this place, him in your hands, there was nothing that felt more right. kissing him. having him. and it seemed he was thinking the same thing.

your lips grazed his once more and mutually, that graze turned into a kiss. your lips pressed properly against each other’s. your hands holding his face, his hands pulling you closer. lips meeting lips fully, entirely, slowly. god, it felt so slow. a comfortable slow, not a painful slow. with your eyes closed it felt like the world was spinning around you. it was the mix of him and the weed that was so dizzying.

his lips were soft. oddly. soft, pillowy, warm, and sweet. he kissed so gently, so easily, no tongue, just lips. lips against yours. when he pulled your waist you gladly moved forward, onto his lap. it wasn’t far. moving onto his lap felt like falling through him. his hands on your waist felt like air and if you focused on his lips you couldn’t feel his hands at all. it was strange, but it was so good.

you weren’t thinking about how he was supposed to only be your friend- you weren’t thinking about how easy it was to kiss him, how neither of you had to say a single thing for it to be known, to be mutual, to kiss like this. slow and deep and god, more intoxicating than the weed.

you only felt his hands again when they moved, one of them up the back of your tank top, flat against your skin. soft. and his movements felt like the waves of your high but you knew they weren’t actually. you felt your body flush warm in reaction. like a delayed response, god, he was kissing you. you were kissing him- god, you were on his lap. your knees were on either side of his legs and your chest was pressed against his when you moved even closer. was closer possible?

you needed him like nothing you’d ever needed before. feelings underlying now surfacing. it was slow, the way he began to lean backward. tilting until his head hit your pillow and you were now on top of him. it felt like falling, despite the speed. falling into him, god you wanted to. his hand sliding down your hip. he was hard. you felt it underneath you, you felt everything, you felt his eyelashes against your face, you felt everything how could you not feel how painfully hard he was in his track pants? it came naturally to press against him now that you were on top of him.

was it wrong that him being hard from kissing set a fire that spread through your body? you had a hard time keeping balance, your hands moving down his jaw and to the back of his neck. his hand slid further up your shirt.

you giggled, just a little. you couldn’t help it. between kisses, between heavy kisses. your head spun. “what?” he asked, obviously just as out of it as you were. he spoke against your lips, sporting a dazed smile.

“we’re kissing,” you grinned.

“yeah,” he replied, his own smile widening to match your grin. “is that okay?”

you nodded and he kissed you again. and you were kissing him again. you moved forward, his head happily tilting back when you kissed him just a little harder than before. not much faster, only harder. the same way you felt him underneath you. with your eyes closed the imagery in your head was sparks. fire. you pressed against him, hips rolling instinctively. you felt his other hand grip just slightly harder, some sound slipping between your lips from him. that hand under your shirt was now on your hips, bracingly, guiding you. and friction was good. god, it was so good.

you couldn’t find any spare time to think about consequences. it didn’t feel like there could be any when he kissed like this. he was a good kisser and the hands that were guiding your hips as you ground against him were smart and calculated. paced.

the tilt of your head, the feeling of his hands on your body. feeling that pulsing need along with the heat of a dizzy high. it felt like flying to have your eyes closed, you were afraid you’d sink through him. the kiss deepened, the pace increasing. you let out a small sigh between kisses, feeling the rocking all too well. his left hand left your hip and was back on the bare skin of your back.

he was so hard it must have hurt. and your bodies pressed together so perfectly. and his hand was under your shirt. you sighed, moving back down just slightly. and moving down meant your shirt moved up just slightly- and art didn’t mean to, but he continued his accidental movement and slowly, your shirt was raised over your head. it fell somewhere you didn’t care to look. the air from the window hit your bare skin and his hands came back to holding you, sliding over your now entirely bare back. you nearly shivered.

shirtless, braless on top of him, it was only fair he do the same. you grinned between kisses, your hands swapping place with his, slowly trailing along to trade. hands up your waist, coming to rest on your jaw while yours trailed down his side, coming up underneath the hem of the t-shirt you were so fond of on him. he stopped kissing you only to pull it off. you weren’t sure of what was going on, but you liked it. moving back to kissing him felt like a constant loop but it was just the weed. every time your lips connected it felt like the best thing in the world. so deep, so slow.

your chest pressed to his now, but that didn’t stop you from running your hand down his chest. he was soft, like silk, all of his skin aside from the light happy trail from his belly button down. half-lidded, your lips grazed against each other’s, both catching your breath for a moment. shirtless. you beamed, your cheeks hurt from smiling you wondered how that happened when all you were doing was kissing. it was a pause, just a slight pause and you looked at him, meeting his eyes.

his mouth hung just slightly open, he looked dazed, gone, but it turned into a reciprocated smile with ease. his eyes didn’t even glance down. but it was easy to know that you both wanted the same thing. he was out of it, so were you, feeling spinny and high and with those unspoken words you kissed again. this time harder, faster, and it was only a moment before you tugged the drawstrings of his pants.

you rose up just slightly and kissed over him again. he was bracing all he could, trying to pull you back against him desperately, but it took a second for him to figure out what to do. you moved to the side of him while he took them off, still kissing you, hands in your hair when they could be. the moment he kicked them somewhere, your hand rested against his bare chest.

he kissed you like he needed you the same way, yet he was so gentle. everything about him, all movements gentle, his hand in your hair, your roots. he was warm like the breeze in from the window. he felt like air and god, so good. his lips against yours, still soft, but the kiss heavy with intention, both of you dizzy with a lust that filled the room. it was with that hand on his chest that you dragged a gentle finger down his stomach, over the waistband of his boxers and gently let your hand slide over his dick, which stood properly, tenting the fabric.

he made a noise close to a whine when you touched him. it sent another little fire dancing through your veins. you’d never thought about what he’d sound like. or what he’d taste like- but you’d been in the know for about ten minutes. and you wanted him. he wanted you. your hand pressed over him, back and forth just once before your hand slid the other way and rimmed the edge of his boxers. he took them off. it was easy to.

you lost your balance just a little and rolled the wrong way but he brought you back, hand on your waist again. you looked down- he was impressive, pretty. gorgeous. smooth. your lips crashed against his again. every pause felt like minutes and seconds at the same time. and your hand found it’s way to him and he moaned into your mouth. it wasn’t just the marijuana, god, his moan was possibly the most sobering thing. all your thoughts cleared from being clouded. you needed him more, more, more.

you worked him up and down, sitting up on your knees to get that leverage you need. his hum against your lips felt like the best thing in the world. you could kiss him until you died. all of it felt unreal. like you weren’t truly there. like you’d wake up, maybe. you’d kissed him in a few misplaced dreams but you’d never thought it would ever happen though if you asked any bystander, especially patrick, he would have said it was a long time coming. it just so happened today it all crashed in. today you felt everything and god, you’d feel more.

you weren’t sure how long you’d been doing it but your hand wasn’t cramping. or maybe you couldn’t feel it. you were immune. it was probably ages. he moaned into your mouth and it was everything. fuck. “stop- stop, stop, stop-“ he mumbled. “i’m- close.” he said it like he was shy about it. you stopped the first time he said it. he still kissed you, leaking over your fingers. your body was hot, aflame, burning, feeling like the bed was rocking like a boat on the water, worsening when he said he was close. worsening when he looked up at you, eyes soft, tugging at the bottom of your shorts.

he kissed you as you took them off. eager, excited. so excited, but he wouldn’t let you touch him again. or he would, he just wanted to touch you more. he would have done anything. your hips knew more than you did, directed toward him and he took it seriously, pulling you back over him by your waist. his upward dick pressed to your bare stomach, his hand on your left boob, gently squeezing as he kissed you. your hands cupped his face once more and you raised yourself just a little. enough. felt like a freefall. every little detail, every little feeling was felt tenfold. bared to him, there was no room for insecurity, you knew he wouldn’t judge.

and you moved a certain way, sitting back up on your knees, him sitting up to chase your lips and it was dangerous, how close you were. lips on lips, touching, feeling, sitting up and the overwhelmingly all-consuming. his hands slid over your chest, your waist, your bare hip, your ass.

“art-“ you said between kisses. bodies

moving in sync.

he didn’t stop, your hands on his jaw, the back of his neck. “mhm?”

“art, are we-“

“if you want.”

“i want.” you said breathlessly. you could feel that crooked grin against you. “do you?”

“so bad,” he sighed. his hands were tight on you. holding. really holding. his words were the right words. “i’m sorry.”

“shhh-“ you kissed him again. and this time when you lifted yourself to kiss him, to get that leverage over him again, he fixed things below. so that when you moved back, which you did, you sank down onto him. slowly. easily. dizzily. you were surprised it was such a smooth movement. he felt like… “god-“ you breathed.

his noise was muffled. or he tried to muffle it. you pushed down onto him and felt as he slowly, so slowly, filled you. you fit like a puzzle piece against him. feeling everything already, of course you felt every inch as it pushed up. neither of you cared about anything except each other and this, here, now, as you slowly began to ride.

it had been ages since you’d last had sex with anyone and already, this was better than you’d remembered. food tastes better high, best believe sex feels amazing. not only that, but art’s hands on your body, his mouth on your own were delicious and ten times better than you could have ever imagined on their own. sharing air, breathing hard as you slowly rocked on him, moving up and down at the same time.

his hands rested on the crook of your hip that bent around his body and it was the best feeling, being pulled and pushed. neither of you cared about the open window. “fuck…” he groaned. “i-“ his words succumbed to a moan. it felt like power. you pushed against him, grinding with him fully inside you, causing your own moan to mix with his. low, quiet, breathy. “oh my god-“

you were a little proud of yourself. the sounds he was making- he way he grabbed onto you for dear life. his fingers dug into your skin but it didn’t hurt. all you felt was good. your entire body hummed with pleasure. you could feel him and his hands and that was enough. you rocked on him, bouncing just slightly, trying to feel more. chasing a different high. he was above average not by much, but more than you’d ever had, and you could feel every inch. your head spun. it felt so good, you could see colours when you closed your eyes.

“fuck,” he breathed. he sounded like he couldn’t breathe. neither could you- i mean you could but you’d much rather kiss him. or it was less of a kiss, more sharing air while you rode him. it didn’t matter, it was perfect. his body pushing against yours, having him buried deep inside you hitting everything just right, his fingers dipping into the flesh of your hips and ass. he moaned like a whine and it drove you crazy, helping you pick up the pace. he must have liked it, fingers digging deeper, “oh my- fuck- you’re-“ he couldn’t speak. he couldn’t say anything. he couldn’t think. neither could you.

you just grinned, but it was cut short by a fervent kiss. one of his hands held the back of your neck keeping you pressed close as you continued against him. skin on skin, warm, sweaty, sticky in the best way. you moaned, feeling everything a hundred times over, those waves of high crashing against waves of pleasure. how long you’d been at it was a mystery again, but you felt like you could go forever. his hips raised to crash against yours, filling you entirely every time with a grinding force in between. deep.

his moans were deep, from his stomach. both of you not thinking much about volume or sounding pretty as you fucked. it sounded like sex, it smelled like weed, music playing gently in the background sounded unreal and echoey. it felt like heaven though after this you were sure you would never truly see it. it didn’t matter. not now. you were fucking your best friend and it was possibly the best thing you’d ever felt in your life when mixed with the marijuana.

moving in sync, with a pattern, with a repetitive motion- “i’m s-so-“ he couldn’t speak still. he groaned as you used your common sense to figure out what he was trying to say, picking up the pace, fucking him harder. god, you needed it harder, needed it now. you’d forgotten protection but this was worth it. he grabbed you harder, kissed your harder, you felt his teeth just once as he did. “god-“ you could feel he was close and honestly, you felt it too. a knot in your stomach, begging to be undone.

like he was psychic, you felt his hand slip down between you. down your thigh, over your stomach, down to where you met him. his hand made things worse. or better. but worse. he knew exactly where to touch, finding it immediately and intensely, more pleasure pulsed in your veins. he would get you off like this. fuck impairment, he would. you moaned louder than before and you felt him smile. his smile was so pretty. sometimes you just thought about his smile and who wouldn’t, when he smiled at you more often than anyone? you breathed his air now. he breathed yours.

“i’m-“ you tried. he got you back. you couldn’t speak. you smiled too. “i’m so-“

“mmm-“ he replied, hand working. hips still raising desperately to crash against yours. fuck. you were close. so was he. you were unravelling. you felt your muscles contract and so did he, your moans were in sync and he didn’t give a fuck who heard. the people in the dorms above, below, beside, all probably hated you now. the people in the common room probably hated you now. hell, anyone walking outside should hate you.

he spoke quickly, with no air in his lungs, “i’m going to-“ he was waiting. high, waiting, ready. hand still going, he knew what he was doing. you could feel it all. “oh my god-“

you were saying the same things, his hand working fucking magic, god you were so close. you put a little extra force into it, feeling how he touched you making you come undone, you just needed for it to peak. he had no restraint. he didn’t want it. you were high, you needed higher, god, you were so close.

“i’m- fuck- pl-“ between a moan and whine from him. he was trying so hard. “please.”

you smiled, biting your lip just slightly as you felt yourself closer, closest. “art-“ you sighed. you thanked the weed for giving you endless stamina. you couldn’t feel anything but him and how you were coming undone right now, everything coming to peak, crashing waves against a wall. your body flashed hot, flushed pink, god- his hand was so good. you felt yourself tighten around him, the tightest you’d been the entire process and with a muffled moan, you felt him follow you over that edge. he held his breath, you could tell. his hand on your hip gripped tightly, bracing as he finished hard into you.

you felt, warmer within you. deep. it was a good thing you had plan b in the pill cabinet. you were a mess, he was a mess. it was the greatest orgasm you think you’d ever had. it wasn’t just the weed. it was him. it was this. he was thinking the same thing. it was you.

breathing hard, harsh against each other, you rode it out until your hips just had to stop. his hand retracted and came to rest on your other hip. and you kissed him. you didn’t know what else to do, you didn’t want to do anything else, just kiss him. those waves pulled back from the shore with no impending tsunami and just calm. just calm. high, calm. this kiss was gentle, soft, not hungry, not anything else but peaceful. your hands cupped his face, your lips were warm with that dulled passion. only a moment.

you disconnected, his cum seeping out just a little but you passed him a folded towel from your desk chair. it was wordless. you didn’t want to move, but you had to, so it was quick when you cleaned yourself up the best you could, going to the bathroom and opening the cabinet, doing what you had to and coming back within four minutes. it was a good thing that minutes felt like seconds when you were high.

you came back to where he was laying on your bed on his back, also cleaned up with the tilt of a nearby water bottle onto the towel you gave him. you just flopped down onto the bed next to him, still without clothes. “wow.” you sighed, resting a hand on your stomach, staring at the ceiling.

“wow,” he replied. when you closed your eyes the room still spun like a record. the room was silent a beat, just another moment, before you felt that giggle bubble up and escape your lips. but he chuckled too. it was hearty and strong and you both couldn’t stop it. laughing too hard, too much. you were both still catching your breath. you couldn’t stop laughing.

it made sense. laughing fits weren’t out of the ordinary after smoking weed, but sex sure was. and feelings, admitting to any wouldn’t seem too real right now so all you could do was laugh. the unspoken words were just about as loud as the action and that was funny. you turned onto your side just a second to face him and he cut your laugh short by kissing you again. just because he wanted to. actions just as loud as words. kissing you after sex, meaning he wanted you. all around. and you kissed him back and it meant the same thing. only breaking to breathe and laugh. it was peaceful.

it only went on for so long before you both calmed to tired high. his hand, pretty, soft, pushing your hair behind your ear and sliding down your neck, your shoulder, squeezing your upper arm just gently. not a word was spoken until you smiled to break the kiss. “is this weird?”

“no,” he replied. “just don’t tell patrick.”

“why?” you smiled.

he grinned his winning smile back at you, “because i want to.”

“uh huh.” you laughed and shoved him just a little, it was more like a touch. you didn’t mind if art told patrick. it didn’t feel like this was just a whim sort of thing. you liked art. really liked him. you shook your head, “ugh, i’m still high.”

“hungry.” he replied. “pizza?”

“dining hall.”

“not open.”

“ugh.”

“we have iced tea?”

“pizza.” you nodded. and like nothing was different at all, you both got dressed again and headed out. he held the door for you. it didn’t feel like much had changed at all. you were tired, that was one thing, but with art it just felt right, what you’d done. there truly was no downside. no consequences. not with him.

“you really shouldn’t wear that shirt in public.”

“why not?”

“shhhh.”

taglist: @ellzbellz18 @colorful-teaparty @ke4s @lalalandofive @ladystardust-thinks @iluvsmut36 @swetearss @xoxog0ssipg1rl @reallycreativeusername @kaaaiiaaa @bayleequits

[pzweigs]

artpatrick making out in a car? like when teens go to makeout creek to fool around? and obviously they arent going there for that... but one thing leads to another and then...

another one!! again, sorry for the wait! but artpatrick? making out in a car? one thing leads to another? now you’re speaking my language…

artpatrick, mrta, 2.8k, m/e

Art’s getting ready for his date with Melissa: a date that is feeling only slightly monumentous because it happens to be his first time going to Make Out Point. He doesn’t know why it’s such a big deal to him, it’s not like he’s never made out with anyone before, he’s not even a virgin, but he’s heard so many stories—mostly from Patrick—that it seems more real to be doing it there than anywhere else, like all the times before hadn’t count.

(A small but loud part of him thinks it might bring him closer to Patrick that way, to live out the tales he’s heard so many times, as if by stepping into his shoes, reenacting his moves, it’ll almost be like they’re doing it together. Or something.)

He does, also, genuinely like Melissa. She’s easily one of the prettiest girls in their year, with a great handle on her forehand. He and Patrick used to play mixed doubles with her and her best friend Becca before her and Patrick’s tempestuous breakup (He was caught making out with another girl, as is often the case). Melissa and Art had continued their casual flirtation, until she surprised him by asking him out the previous week.

Patrick had loaned him his car for the occasion, a gesture he both appreciated and was suspicious of. Suspicions that are almost immediately affirmed when he asks, just as Art is about to walk out the door: “Hey, is it cool if I tag a long?”

He pauses, looking back with his hand still on the doorknob, incredulous and amused. Not an untypical state to find oneself in where Patrick Zweig is concerned. “On my date? What, you want to spy on us in the backseat? No, dude.”

“No, man, it’s not like that. I promised I’d meet my dealer over there. It’ll only take a second, I’ll find my own way back.” Patrick’s ‘dealer’ was a country club kid burn-out who had bought too much weed at a ridiculous price this summer, and was now forced to siphon it off to his younger buddies. Whenever Art didn’t feel like smoking with him, Patrick would go off with his dealer instead, coming back hours later having done God knows what. Art didn’t like him. “C’mon. You lovebirds won’t even notice I’m there.” Patrick puts on the puppy eyes—and when that doesn’t work— lays down his trump card. “Plus, it is my car.”

Art groans, more frustrated with himself because he should have figured—and because he knows he’ll say yes. He doesn’t even know why, does know on all levels it’s a terrible idea— but he's just never been able to send Patrick away. It just seems, despite all evidence to the contrary, easier to have him around than not. Art sighs. It’s not in his blood, maybe. He swings the door open and lets Patrick trail after him, catching his blooming grin before turning away, tampering down the satisfaction in his chest that always arises whenever he makes Patrick happy.

Needless to say, Melissa is not pleased. When she approaches the car, her smile falls and quickly turns into a look of both confusion and contempt at the sight of his best friend in the middle seat where Art had delegated him.

“What the hell is he doing here?” She says as she gets into the passenger seat, decidedly not looking at Patrick.

“Sorry,” Art replies sheepishly. “I’m just dropping him off. He’s not staying.” Art says this pointedly to Patrick.

“Scouts honour.” He smiles. “How’s Becca?”

Melissa rolls her eyes and doesn’t dignify that with a response, and with that they’re on their way.

Skip to about 20 minutes later—they’re at Make Out Point, no supposed dealer to be seen, and Art and Patrick are animatedly retreading their Nadal versus Federer debate for the thousandth time before the sound of a door clicking open catches Art’s attention.

“You can’t just discount wins on hard-court, you don’t even like playing on clay—Hey, where are you going?”

Melissa is already out of the car, looking back at the two boys like she’s not sure what to make of them. “This is weird, Art. I’ve been sitting here for the past twenty minutes third wheeling you two. One of my friends is here, I’m just going to go back with them.” She throws a look to Patrick, then back at Art. “Enjoy your date.”

“Wait, Melissa—“ Slam.

Barely a minute passes before Patrick gets out of the car and takes her place without a care in the world.

“Thanks a lot.” Art complains, spitting out the words. It’s a lot easier focusing on his anger towards Patrick than his embarrassment at literally forgetting his date next to him. “You weren’t supposed to hang around, asshole.”

“Hey, man, you could have kicked me out at any time. It’s not my fault Melissa is as boring as a doornail.” Patrick picks at his nails like he’s already bored of this conversation. “And her forehand sucks.”

“Shut up, man, she’s nice. She’s a good fucking person.” Patrick rolls his eyes, incentivizing him further. “Is your dealer even meeting you here? Or were you just deliberately trying to sabotage me?”

At this scathing accusation Patrick just scoffs. “You don’t need any of my help in that department, Donaldson.” Before Art can ask what that’s supposed to mean, Patrick is all in his face, with an expression he can’t decipher. “You think I don’t know what you look like when you’re trying to seal the deal? When you want me to fuck off? You literally forgot she was here.”

Because you were having more fun with me he doesn’t need to say, it’s loud and clear in the ringing silence of the car. It’s patronizing, and embarrassing, and only the slightest bit true. He doesn’t even remember when his attention had shifted from Melissa to Patrick, because Art is always paying attention to Patrick. It’s his default state. Melissa didn’t stand a chance in that regard. Art swallows down his wince and continues riding his wave of indignation.

“Because—because you were distracting me! You aren’t even supposed to be here!”

“Then tell me to go!”

“I am!”

“It’s my fucking car!”

The two of them slump back in their seats in synchronized huffs. He doesn’t know how much time passes in silence, only the wisps of winds through trees and other giggling teens to fill in the gap. Patrick keeps rustling around, fiddling with the unbuckled seat belt, messing around with the radio, before he finally turns back to Art. He’d never been that good at stewing silently.

“Alright, I’m sorry for being a dick.”

“You are a dick.” Is all Art offers. Still, his tone is softer than it was before. Just because he’s better at staying angry doesn’t mean he likes it.

“More of a dick than the guy who forgot his date was in the car?” Patrick says, smiling at him like it’s funny. Art can’t help but laugh despite himself while his face falls into his hands, letting the embarrassment hit him. It’s a little funny. It’ll probably be a lot funnier to Melissa’s friends.

“I am never gonna live this down.” He whines.

“Sure you will.”

“How?”

“Well—You could just convince everyone you got some, anyway.”

Art raises his head with a huff of a laugh. “With who? Should we just start knocking on windows?”

“I could help you out.”

A pause, a sudden shift in mood. “Help me out?”

“Mhm.” Patrick is scooting closer again, body hitting the arm of the passenger seat. His expression is mischievous and sweet, like it always is. “I could offer my hickey services.” Art chokes on his own spit—he most definitely does not recall the time he and Patrick gave each other hickies up their arms just to see if they could. “Plus, it’s your first time at Make Out Point. It would suck if you left it unkissed.”

Art’s eyes go a little hazy, the shape Patrick’s lips had made around the word unkissed burned into his retinas, the sound of it ringing in his ears. He’s teasing, but there’s a subtle sincerity in his tone. He knows how Art had been looking forward to it, how he’s mythologized this very scenario in his head.

Still. Art’s eyes flicker down to pink lips. Unkissed. He fiddles with the collar of his pressed dress shirt, feels a wave of heat down his back—had it always been so hot in the car? “That’s, um, a good point.” Art murmurs. Thinks about Patrick saying You think I don’t know what you look like when you’re trying to seal the deal? He flushes, can’t look him in the eye when he suggests: “It might be like, bad luck or something.”

“Exactly!” Patrick’s smile is blinding. “Wouldn’t want to ruin our chances at the championship this year.”

“Right. For the championship.” They both laugh sheepishly, their reasoning threadbare, yet bringing them ever closer in spite of it.

Patrick adjusts the armrest that’d been digging into his side, then the one by Art’s, allowing space for him to gracefully make his way onto Art’s lap. Art doesn’t react except for a single, sharp intake of breath, afraid if he makes any sudden moves Patrick will laugh in his face and write it all off as a joke. He’s warm where he sits—Patrick had always radiated heat—and his weight is a comfortable one Art’s long gotten used to.

“This okay?” He asks anyway, the tiny twitch of his smile the only sign of nerves. It settles Art a bit too, that Patrick is eager, wants to fool around in a car at Make Out Point of all places with him, but he’s a little nervous too. Even in the darkness he can see the beginning of a blush on his cheeks tight to the tips of his ears. It’s reassuring, that this is a big deal for the both of them.

“Yeah,” Art responds, hands coming up to rest at Patrick’s hips. His hands slip up his shirt, thumb rubbing at the top of his hip, feeling the slightest shiver in response to his touch.

Patrick nods, biting at his lip, and it draws Art in like a moth to a flame—they lean in, and then they’re kissing. This isn’t one of his late night fantasies where he gets wrapped up in the idea of what Patrick’s lips might feel like against his own, if it would feel as good as he imagined. It’s not even close. Art’s got his best friend in his lap, kissing him senseless, and the blood is rushing to his groin so fast he thinks he might pass out.

He wraps his arms around his waist to pull him closer, big hands coming to frame Art’s face that pull him into another fierce kiss. Patrick hums and sighs into his mouth, like every time they have to part for air it pains him physically. He’d always known Patrick was a noisy kisser, noisy in general, having endured plenty of girls in their dorm after-hours. But hearing it now—his little noises of pleasure, tiny breathless pants muffled by Art’s mouth—just makes him want to pull him closer, push his tongue in deeper, consume him whole. It’s driving Art completely wild.

The kiss is immediately sloppy, it feels indecent, it kind of feels like they’re already fucking, that’s how good it is. Art’s hands dig into Patrick’s back, moaning into his mouth as Patrick’s twist into his hair. His hands grip the blonde locks like they’re controls, angling his head where he wants it and kissing him deeper, sucking his tongue like he can’t live without the taste. It’s making him hard in his jeans, getting the full brunt of Patrick’s want, finally, instead of just watching from afar. He shifts awkwardly in his seat, hips twitching, hands fisted tight into Patrick’s shirt.

Patrick pulls back with a wet gasp, lips shiny and eyes sparkling. Without taking his eyes off Art he grabs the lever next to the driver’s seat and reclines them back a bit, making it easier for him to arch into Art a little more. He feels Patrick’s dick poke at his stomach as he grinds back and forth with a bit more purpose, gasping at the feeling of sudden pleasure. Patrick looks down at him, pleased and panting, curls falling into his face.

“Like that, hm?” He says, continuing his slow grinds, voice low and ridiculously sexy. Art does like that, he likes it a lot, so much so that his brows are scrunched up in focus as he bites a hole through his lip trying not to come in his pants. The friction of his ass grinding back against Art’s dick even through two pairs of jeans is electric. Patrick laughs at his concentrated expression, breathing hard. “Feels like you do.”

Patrick’s overflowing confidence turns him on as much as it pisses him off. Art wants to throw him off kilter, take back the reins, if he ever had them. He strengthens his hold on Patrick’s hips and grinds upwards, pulling him onto him harder, and manages to get the sweetest burst of sound out of his mouth. Art smiles, triumphant, and angels for another kiss, needing to swallow those moans from the source. The soft sucks of their mouths mingle with the sounds of their movement on the leather seat, neither of them able to get enough.

Patrick comes up for air, dodging Art’s attempts to reconnect their lips with a smile as his kisses shift from his face down to his neck, working on those hickies he promised him. His teeth tease at the skin before sucking lightly, Art angling his head away to give him better access. He lets one hand shift from Patrick’s hips to his ass, the other coming around to tug at his belt tentatively. Patrick detaches from his neck to eagerly nod his approval, sitting up to work on undoing Art’s pants as the blonde manages his.

It takes a little shifting, but once their dicks meet neither of them can help the twin groans that erupt from deep within their chests. Patrick is so fucking wet from just a little kissing and grinding that he’s leaking onto Art’s stomach, just barely missing his shirt where he’s rucked it up. Art’s not much better off, he’d been soaking in his briefs the second Patrick had ground his ass back on him. But the sensation of their freed cocks rubbing up against each other is nothing like he’s ever felt, sparks going off behind his eyes as he grips Patrick’s ass tighter, humping up against him harder to matching whimpers and moans.

“W-wait, fuck, Art, lemme—” He stammers through the blinding pleasure, and grabs them both in his huge hand, stroking them together. Art’s head knocks back into the headrest, arching off the seat and into Patrick’s hand. He makes a grab for the back of Patrick’s head and smashes their mouths together in an attempt to muffle his sounds. Patrick makes a twist with his hand and Art bites down hard onto his lip, can feel Patrick’s dick throb against his in response. Fuck fuck fuck.

“Patrick.” He spits out, spinning out of control with how good it all feels, out of his mind with it. “So fucking close.” Patrick’s leaning back, hand resting on Art’s thigh as he jacks them both faster and faster, and now that he’s not sucking his face off Art can finally get a better look at him. His brows are furrowed, his mouth hanging lewdly as his entire face scrunches up with his impending orgasm, hips thrusting into his own hand like he can hardly control his own movements. It’s quite possibly the sexiest thing Art’s seen in his life.

“Oh, oh, nn, f-fuck.” Patrick stutters, every breath practically a gasp. “M’gonna—Art, m’gonna cum, are you—“

“Yeah, yeah, Pat.” He reaches his hand and grips them both along with Patrick, fingers lacing with Patrick’s as they work their way closer and closer. “Together, c’mon, Patrick, please, want to—” And he doesn’t need to say anymore, can’t really, because he and his best friend are coming in record speed simultaneously, painting their (Mostly Art’s) stomach with cum. For a moment, they just sit there, sweaty and chests heaving with the exertion.

Patrick leans over from where he’s still seated atop of Art into the glove compartment, finding some leftover tissues to clean themselves up with. “Melissa missed out, man.” He giggles at the face Art makes at the mention of Melissa now, like he’d forgotten she’d existed for the second time this evening. “You sure treated me to a good time tonight.” He says it like a joke, but the expression on his face is so happy and satisfied that Art can’t help hauling him back for another kiss.

They make googly eyes at each other as they fix themselves up, shifting clothes and wiping away any evidence of their activities. Just as Patrick is about to climb off of Art, a knock on the window has them both jumping into the air, Patrick knocking his head hard into the car ceiling.

“Patrick?” Calls out a voice, peering into the slightly steamed window. “I got your drugs, dude.” 

[ghostgirl-22]

ok but imagine art and patrick at a frat party.. patrick’s already hyper aware of his bisexuality and feelings for art, arts still repressed as hell. theyre drunk, some guy starts flirting with patrick, art is clearly jealous but doesnt know what this feeling is (“am i homophobic? why do i care so much?” etc). patrick notices this and leans into it, starts flirting back w the guy, fucks him in the bathroom or w/e, finally explores his bisexuality. art feels CRAZY after this, finally notices hes so jealous and wanted to be this guy so bad.. crazy sexual tension ensues. idk if this is too specific but i see it so clearly….

I have been excited for this prompt forever. Idk if you’re still around the fandom anon after all this time 😭 but ily and this prompt <33 I didn’t do it justice but I had fun and so did my Colorado native heart.

CW: 18+ NSFW, never proofreading is the standard, Art is manipulative and kind of an asshole here but it’s just because he’s a fucking terror when he’s in love 😔

—-

It’s the middle of February and Patrick’s not in Palo Alto but he’s still at a Stanford event. “It’s this annual ski trip so many different frats and athletes go. Anyone who’s anyone will be there.” Art explains. “Tashi was supposed to go with me but you know… the girls won the final.” 

Patrick knows all about that. Tashi’s playing in Austrailia. Her family made it a whole trip and she’s got another Adidas photoshoot that’ll be showing exclusively over there. In pro tennis the American season is still on hiatus, he can’t really afford to call  Austrailia every night and he’s kinda bored so that’s how he ended up in Colorado for the weekend. 

He’s on the slopes with Art and his tennis friends in the daytime but that night Stanford takes over the lodge and there’s this epic pool party. The pools are heated, there’s two hot tubs. Tons of pizza in the lobby and drinks outside. There’s even a DJ it’s like a full on frat party in the mountains. Everyone’s staying in the resort, kids are making out, hooking up, trying to hide more elicit substances like weed and ecstasy from the so called “adult” chaperones. It makes Patrick kinda wish he would’ve enrolled.  

He’s lifting himself out of the pool, sitting up on the edge, half drunk when it happens. The cold air feels so nice on his heated skin. He thinks its an accident at first when this guy nudges his knee. Patrick smiles at him, just to show it’s no big deal. He grins back. He’s cute, pale blue eyes, dyed black hair, a lip ring. He’s skinny, a couple tattoos. He looks a little like the guy from Blink 182 Patrick touched himself for when that what’s my age again video came out. 

He knows it by now. What he only suspected when he was younger. That he’s bicurious. 

If getting weird feelings about Robin in that Batman and Robin cartoon when he was a kid wasn’t enough.  Then spending 6 years developing the most delicious masochistic crush on his roommate that culminated in a kiss he can’t stop thinking about definitely did the trick. Pretty boy is chewing on his lip ring, smiling up at Patrick and checking him out. And yeah, Patrick definitely likes boys. 

He’s had a little experience. Some kissing, heavy petting, dry humping another player  in the back of his jeep after a bad day on tour. Made him feel better. He hasn’t really told Tashi… he doesn’t think of it as cheating. It’s something he can’t really get from her anyway.  

“Dude, hurry, lets get some more drinks,” Art sits up next to him on the pools ledge, he’s all tipsy, wet and flushed. He looks so goddamn good right now. It's actually a cosmic joke.  Pretty boy frowns and Patrick shakes his head just the slightest bit, hoping he understands that there’s nothing going on between them. 

“Come on, man,” Art says as he gets to his feet. “I’m already cold.” They were in the middle of a game of pool volleyball. It’s enough like tennis that they’re kinda good at it. And Art’s been flirty with this tall girl, Porsha from the girls volleyball team all night. Which is probably why he’s actually in a hurry, to get a drink back to her.

Patrick figures maybe pretty boy wants a drink. They pad along the cold ground to the drinks table. It’s cold enough outside that nothing really has to be chilled, it’s nice and cold just sitting out on the table. As Patrick scoops up another beer, pretty boy approaches him. 

“Hey,” he smiles. 

Patrick smiles back. “You want one?” He holds up the can he was gonna bring over.  

“Thanks, but I’m actually straight edge.” 

“Oh,” Patrick says, not overly familiar with the term but he thinks it’s hot all the same. 

Pretty boy looks over Patrick’s body, still checking him out. “Are you a freshman? I feel like I’ve never seen you before?” 

“I don’t go here, my buddy Art does,” Patrick gestures. 

“Hey,” Art says lightly, and then looks back at Patrick. “Come on Pat it’s fucking cold.”

”Guess you gotta go Pat,” pretty boy smirks, stepping closer.  

“Patrick,” Patrick says, “he’s the only one that…yeah…” 

“Got it,” pretty boy reaches up to finger the small gold Star of David necklace Patrick’s grandfather gave him that Patrick usually forgets he’s wearing. 

“What’s your name?” Patrick asks. 

“Julian.” He rakes his hand down the front of Patrick’s chest. “your body’s kind of incredible.” 

“Okay… cool man,” Art is still lingering, and Patrick can’t believe he almost forgot about him. Art’s eyes are narrowed in Julians direction. “Aren’t you in the student government or something?” He demands.  

“Not by choice, I’m just a genius at math and my friend is VP so they made me assistant treasurer,”  his eyes haven’t left Patrick’s body. “You want to go inside for a little bit and you know… hang out?”

Patrick’s been kinda horny all night. He’s horny and curious and Julian is really fucking hot so he shrugs. “Yeah.” 

“What? Seriously?” Art asks.

“Look I’m getting tired man.” Patrick lies. “But you have fun, I’ll see you… tomorrow.” He glances at Julian and he grins.  

“You really think I have a shot with Porsha?” Art says, scratching his head.

“I dunno but you’ll have the room to yourself either way,” Patrick smirks.  

Art’s eyes go wide. He looks again at Julian like it’s just now dawning on him what’s happening.

“Uh…” he steps back and stumbles a bit bumping into someone else that steadies him as he comes up to the table and steals a couple beers before hurrying back to the hot tub. 

“Right, later man,” Patrick says, amused by the way Art seems to be glitching out. Patrick still can’t believe after all this time that Art doesn’t know… but whatever he’ll live. At least until tomorrow when they can talk about it.  Patrick starts walking over to grab his towel and his things. 

“Wait I’m— I’m tired too,” Art says, following him. Patrick raises his eyebrows. He doesn’t argue when Art decides to accompany them back to the lodge. Walking in between them. “Maybe we should go back to the room and call Tashi. It’s probably 12 in the afternoon there.” He says when they get inside. “Tashi’s his girlfriend by the way,” Art adds to Julian. He can be a total dick when he wants to be actually.  

“Tashi Duncan?” Julian asks. 

“Yeah… I mean… yes. She’s technically my girlfriend.” Patrick says, glaring at Art. He looks triumphant like he’s ready to see Patrick try and dig himself out of it. 

“Technically,” Julian smirks. “Why do all straight boys have technical girlfriends, and fiancées and wives.” 

 “I dunno… maybe I’m not technically straight,” Patrick says. 

Art makes a strangled sound which Patrick ignores. 

“I figured.” 

“How’d you know?” 

“I was watching you,” Julian says, glancing quickly at Art before looking back to Patrick. 

“Right,” Patrick mutters, feeling a bit pathetic about the fact that it’s this obvious to everyone but Art. 

“Yeah I’ll probably have to call her or something tomorrow… let her know I’m bisexual.” Patrick says, dryly. 

Art laughs. “No way, Pat. One kiss doesn’t make us fucking bisexual.” He’s gone quite red and he looks irritated. “We kissed a couple months ago by the way. Me and him.” He blurts to Julian. 

It’s not like Art to bring that up at all. Much less in front of another person unprovoked. Tashi would sooner bring it up just to watch him turn into a cherry, then Art just outright admitting it. If Patrick didn’t know better he’d call it jealousy. 

“I agree, Donaldson right? You’re a tennis player?”   

“Yeah and it’s…Art,” Art says, coolly. 

“Well that’s… a name. I guess you should thank god you’re pretty.” 

“I—I thank god all the time actually,” Art says, a silly counter for an unnecessary but amusing fight Art is trying to pick. 

“Well that’s great man, and he’s right… one kiss doesn’t necessarily make you bisexual… but you know… we can do more than kiss.” Julian places his palm on Patrick’s bare tummy. 

“Patrick that’s…that’s not a good idea! you’re gonna end up losing Tashi. I— I want to help you but I can’t if you’re gonna cheat on her. Just come back to the room with me. I won’t even tell her or anything.” He’s fucking jealous. God. Patrick wants to laugh. This is incredible.

“Okay fine, I’m coming. Can you take this?” He hands Art his wallet  which has been useless all night since everything was paid for by the student event association or whatever and his unopened can of beer. He keeps his phone, his room key and his towel. “I’ll be up there in five minutes.” 

Art lingers a little longer.

”dude go, I’m coming I promise.” 

It’s a promise he totally keeps. In the bedroom where they don’t even make it to the bed… he comes. Julian has lube and condoms in his backpack. They’re making out in the elevator, in the hallway. and before they’re two steps into Julian's bedroom he’s pressed up against Patrick. Teasing fingers inside. Rolling a condom on and slathering it in so much lube. pressing into Patrick, slowly at first. it feels so big and achy and intense. And then Patrick’s guiding it towards his prostate. The angle where he fingers himself sometimes when he wants to come so hard he blacks out. It’s even better with a fully hard dick inside. Better with Julian’s teasing words in his ear. 

“I know a yearner when I see one. You wish I was that silly little blonde twink so fucking bad, don’t you. Imagine him fucking you like this. Filling you up till you’re incoherent. Filling every hole you have. Fucking you so deep you can’t feel anything else but the thick hard ache of it.” 

“Mm fuck, yes,” Patrick can’t help it. It feels like he’s seeing god over and over. Every thrust, every word taking him to new heights. It’s barely any time at all before he’s unloading all over the bedroom door breathless and moaning. Then they’re making out again on the floor, Patrick crawling all over Julian before a second round and a third. His first time, and this is so hot. He feels so good he almost falls asleep in there but when he picks up his phone to glance at it there’s like 20 missed calls and text messages.

Oh Art is sick.

Patrick barely gathers himself together and makes his way back to their room. It’s almost 2 in the morning but Art is awake watching tv. He’s finished another 2 beers. His eyes are a little red. His cheeks, a little streaky. He’s still in his swim trunks and his hair is nearly dried, his curls all messy. god Patrick can feel the blood rushing immediately right back into his dick. 

Art glares at Patrick and then does a dramatic flop onto his pillow, turning his back to him. 

“Oh come on,” Patrick says, laughing. 

“What the fuck is so funny?” Art mutters. 

“You.” Patrick approaches his bed and knees into it. 

“You know you just cheated on the greatest girl ever right? Cheating on Tashi for some gay loser emo with a star tattoo.”

”It was a starfish, I saw it… up close…for like 2 hours,” Patrick smirks. 

“Well aren’t you fucking special. I’m sure your mom will be proud.” 

“Why? did you call her?” Patrick snorts as he collapses onto the bed next to him. He stops himself, as always, from rubbing Arts' ridiculously perky ass.

“I fucking should,” Art sits up and renews his glare. “What if he had an std? Then you bring it back to Tashi?”

”we used a condom. And i don’t remember you giving this much of a shit when I cheated on my high school girlfriends.” 

“It’s Tashi man, you would really fucking do this to her?” 

“And you’d really fucking cry about it?” Patrick reaches up, brushing a knuckle along his soft cheek. Art shoves him off. “You should be giddy that I couldn’t stop myself. I’m surprised you didn’t call her.” 

“I did,” Art mutters. 

“Ah. So you are still an asshole, I was worried.” 

“She doesn’t even fucking care man.” Art mutters defeated. “She basically said why am I telling her about it if you need a dick and she doesn’t have one. and while she’s in  Australia of all places."

Patrick chuckles for the way he and Tashi had a similar thought process and for Arts dumb jealous meddling not getting him the result he hoped for. 

“Your mom would be upset though,” Art says, he sounds hopeful. 

“God, Art. What is the big fucking deal? Why do you want someone to be mad at me because I fucked a guy? Are you homophobic or something?”

“What? What?! No.” He says quickly. “Im not fucking homophobic dude. I… you know my cousin is a lesbian and… and I could care less.” He’s turning red. “I’m not um… I’m definitely not a homophobe. That’s not fair.” 

”Well then, what is the real problem? Is it that I wanted to get fucked? Is it because I wanted to feel some hot boys’ hard dick in my ass fucking into me over and over?” He says explicitly just to watch Art squirm. And boy is he squirming. He can’t sit still, can’t look at Patrick. Hes got his hands shoved in his lap, between his crossed legs, his face all twisted up. 

“That’s… that’s…not my… you shouldn’t be… you shouldn’t be just…” he stammers out but he just can’t… finish.  

“Art? Come on, what is it?” Patrick prods, a little softer now. “Tell me. Is it Julian?” Giving him an out. 

Art nods his head, grasping at the new reason to tell Patrick why he shouldn’t. “Yes actually. I mean, you don’t know anything about him. He’s got all those tattoos for all you know he could be a… he could be violent or something. Plus I heard he's a loser… you wouldn’t know because you don’t go here but someone told me he sucks. I mean… he’s lame. And he’s not even that good looking or anything… you could at least find an athlete  or like someone on a sports team or—” 

Patrick rolls his eyes. “You’re fucking ridiculous. You know that, right?” He mutters sitting up and leaning in close. “How about next time… if you don’t want another boy to fuck me… you just fuck me yourself.”  

The way Art’s expression changes so quickly to one of exaggerated shock and incredulity is actually amusing. “W-what?” He says, his Adams Apple bobbing.

“You heard me, you little shit,” Patrick smirks, leaning in closer. Art’s little tongue flits across his bottom lip, his eyes dart down to Patrick’s mouth then back up again.

”I don’t… I’m not…” he stammers, but Patrick grips his chin and he’s immediately pliable. Let’s Patrick pull him closer, till he’s leaning in near Patrick’s open mouth. Art licks a hesitant stripe across Patrick’s lips and then the flood gates open. He’s kissing Patrick, open mouthed, heated wet tongue slipping in and out and all around. Everywhere as he moans. If Patrick was seeing god before he’s pretty sure he probably is god at this point for how fucking incredible this feels. 

Patrick reaches into his lap. He’s as hard as he can possibly be. Of course he is. All this drama and all he really had to say was don’t go with him, fuck me instead. The most ridiculous person Patrick knows.  

He’s up on his knees, grabbing at Patrick’s face, then his body. Kisses so wet and eager that Patrick feels dizzy. Patrick settles onto his back, on the pillow, let’s Art fall on top of him, arms on either side of Patrick’s body, hips between Patrick’s thighs, he starts grinding up against Patrick’s ass, against his cock and balls, humping him like he’s humping into a pillow.

“Mm you should fuck me,” Patrick hums into Arts mouth. “I wanna lose my virginity again.”  He grins. He’s still wet for how much lube Julian used to fuck him loose and slippery. God getting fucked by two different boys on the same night he first loses it for a boy. This’ll be a story for his grand kids. 

“Fuck,” Art whines loudly before kissing Patrick again. “You should have just fucking…never let that loser… he shouldn’t get to…” Art’s all shaky, there’s this bright light in his eyes. Like he’s worked himself up into a frenzy.  “I can fuck you so much better than him.”  He starts grabbing at Patrick’s swim trunks. Tugging them down.  

“I can fuck you better. Fuck him.” He breathes, as he grabs at Patrick’s dick with his shaky hands and swallows. Every touch between them feels electric, Patrick’s tingling all over, in a way he wasn’t earlier. It’s actually crazy. Art is holding his dick, he slaps it against Patrick’s tummy and bends over to lick at the length. His perfectly pink tongue licking heated stripes all up and down and along his balls. over and over again. Sloppy and messy and so wet. Spit everywhere. Just when Patrick thinks he’s gonna come by this alone. Art huffs, his heated breath ghosting along Patrick’s dick, along his upper thighs. “I can fuck you so much better.” 

He sits up on his knees again and pulls his own dick out. His pretty perfect dick. Been perfect ever since Patrick first saw it. It was even more perfect  the last time he saw it.  When they jerked it simultaneously the last month of high school. Talking about Tashi. Not mentioning the kiss but the memory of it vivid in Patrick’s mind as Art was breathing heavy and ragged right next to him making him come so much faster.       

“You can fuck me. I’m wet already, baby,” Patrick whispers. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t wait for you but I’m really fucking wet for you.” 

“Fuck you,” Art looks more determined now. His eyes filling with water and it’s probably so fucked up, but watching him tear up makes Patrick’s cock twitch, even more eager to come again.

Art pushes himself inside and god, Patrick feels his body light up. Energy nearly as overwhelming as the night they kissed with Tashi. He couldn’t really compare anything to what it feels like to fuck Tashi before now.  Art sniffling and teary eyed and fucking into his prostate. Slamming into it. Feels just as fucking good. 

“You’re fucking mine, he doesn’t get to have you ever again, fuck you your mine,” Art is flushed so pretty, the way he looked in the heated pool. “Mine,” Art keeps muttering as he thrusts his hips over and over and over again. Patrick is seeing stars, nearly blacking out for every punctuation of the word. 

“Fuck yes,” Patrick groans loudly as he’s getting close. “I’m all fucking yours baby. Fuck it all out of me. Make me yours forever.”

“Fuck Patrick I’m gonna—“ 

“Mm shit… come on… you can do more. Keep fucking me with that perfect dick, pretty boy. Fucking fill me up.”

”Patrick…” Art whines. “Oh Patrick…Patrick… oh fuck… I’m sorry….fuck nnngh…” 

Heated liquid is filling Patrick up, making him even more of a mess as Art collapses into his arms. “Oh fuck,” Art starts properly crying. “I couldn’t even fucking…” he groans as he slips out. 

God, Patrick wishes he wasn’t so fucking hard right now. All he can think about is Art’s soft red cheeks, wet eyes and clumped lashes, wet face, wet mouth. Wet all over and Patrick almost feels guilty for how badly he wants him to cry more. 

“It’s okay… shh… ‘t’s okay. I’m gonna get you hard again,” Patrick whispers. 

“Really?” art sniffles. 

“Mmhm, come on… it’s gonna be fucking easy.” Patrick says lightly. He kisses Art’s wet cheek, tasting salty tears on his lips. and Art turns into it… taking Patrick’s mouth again, between sniffles. It’s easy really. Art is so easy— when Patrick can get him to be honest with himself. Fucking dream come true. 

[saintzweig]

I neeeed patrick with a girl who matches his freak completely, like im talking exact same personality exact same sex drive everything, however, she’s like. extremely short. like im talking teeny tiny barely 5’0 and she looks totally normal but you get a sip of alcohol into that girl and you’d think patrick zweig got a boob job bc holy shit she’ll fuck anyone that moves but also she’s like.. scary smart and honestly kinda reserved in daily life but the second the sun goes down she’s like a gremlin

also. I’m imagining tashi here being the reasonable one and having to deal with both of them being bratty drunk assholes most of the time (arts just, watching & giggling bc he’s such a sweetie pie and would never be this much of a trashy mess) - 🎾

reader and patrick being infamous in their friend group for being messy at parties, they can't help that they're the life of the party!!! all four of you became close friends during your first year of college despite looking like you have different personalities– tashi's the high achiever, art's the soft hearted tennis player, patrick is the cocky man whore obviously and you're a model student, a teacher's pet. but behind closed doors, the four of you have a lot of fun– especially you and patrick. you look like the two opposite ends of the college student spectrum, he likes to make fun of you too for your personality and your height so fights happen often. but with a little bit of alcohol or weed, you're immediately all over each other.

tashi desperately wants to put the both of you in a leash because the second you walk into a party, you're gone. probably in someone's bedroom with a bottle of tequila and your clothes on the floor.

the two of you fighting for dominance, too prideful to submit to the other. it's absolutely messy– saliva and sweat everywhere and honestly, it looks painful the way you're pushing each other up against everything and clawing at each other's skin but all you care about is pleasure and fun. that's what you two give each other.

you've tried every position imaginable, every single way to pleasure someone but as soon as you're sober, you act like patrick has never touched or been inside you at all. like you two were just perfectly platonic, normal friends.

fine line between genius and insanity, 🎾 anon you are a freak!!!!! i love it!!!!

[woodle-isbae]

Say Yes

Art.D x Black!Reader

Warnings: love sick! Art , cowgirl , choking, spit play , voyeurism, humiliation, Patrick is a jealous perv , Sub! Art , Dom!reader ,

Kinktober Masterlist! ♡

The IT couple.

When people think of the most Dominating and powerful couple , They'd think of all the relationships Art Donaldson has been in, and you'd easily be the winner.

Being the blondes confident and bold girlfriend was a strong title you held proudly at Stanford. Nobody daring to bother art as you would easily catch word of this , tormenting the rat who so even dared spew your boyfriends name.

That didn't mean he wasn't gonna fight for you. Nearly cutting off his long lasting friendship with Patrick when he spoke about you , trying to see if you'd sleep with him. Luckily a few shoves from Art had him apologizing right in your face and never speaking about you unless brought up.

You two were the best fit , constantly bring seen with eachother in public , him glued to your hip like he was attached to you. People envying the way you had him wrapped around your finger , constantly obeying any request you believed was fit for him to do.

"Artsie , please get my..."

"Art , would you be a dear and..."

"Sorry to bother you darling , but can you..."

He never even objected , going to do what he was asked with a smile and faint blush dancing across his skin. He would often ignore the complains he would get about how he was so submissive , Patrick refusing to belive that Art was actually tapping that with the way he was being so....Art?

"You sure she isn't the one wearing the pants in the relationship?"

"Yes , I'm sure..it's my relationship."

They were discussing over some tennis practice, Patrick comming over to see Tashi..and attend one of the frat parties being hosted.

"I mean...it sure looks like she pegs yo-"

"Patrick!"

Art threw a ball at his head , getting annoyed with the pestering he was faced with and the things the brunette was spewing.

"Sorry!...jeeze , you need to let loose!"

"And what is your idea of letting loose?"

He held a ball in his hand , stopping mid serve to give Patrick a bored stare , one hand on his hip to show how he was getting tired.

Poor guy

Patrick making his way across the court , comming extremely close to his ear as if they weren't the only ones there. Taking in a breath before whispering something and backing up.

"You should say no.."

The moment those words left his lips , you would swear Art saw a Ghost, his eyes wide and mouth slightly agape.

"No fucking way dude."

"C'mon man , just for tonight...it's that party ,I'll pay you a hundred bucks too and I doubt she would care."

Patrick persuaded Art into doing it , trying to have their relationship (in his eyes) be normal. The two stood in silence for a while before Art began nodding.

"Okay...fine , just for tonight."

"There ya go!"

He tackled him and lifted him up , swinging him around like a doll until he was placed down. The situation Art was about to place himself in not dawning apon the duo.

"You should take me out for drink ,since I gave you this big idea."

"Uh...No."

"Oh? She doesn't get a No but I do!?"

He huffed and pushed himself away , going to get the tennis balls that sat in diffrent areas of the court before heading out for some lunch.

Time skip 😛

You were currently getting ready for the party , it wasn't anything formal so you wore a simple outfit that wasnt too heavy, expecting it to get warmer with all the dancing. You headed over to arts Dorm to go with him. Making your way in as he was still trying to find a shirt to put on.

"Let me help y-"

"No...uh I just found it!"

You frowned a little but decided to ignore it , heading out to the party with art in your car, instantly being met with the smell of alcohol, weed and Sex.

"Art dear..would you please get us drinks.?"

"Uh...N-No..?"

You were taken aback , never hearing him say No to you. You stared at him for a brief moment, mabye he would change his mind, but when he didn't say anything you huffed and walked off to find the drink bar.

You came back a few minutes later to him with a drink already in hand. When did he get that? Nevertheless, you downed the cup that was ment for him and approached him with only one cup.

He barely even noticed you were here , if it wasn't for him glancing your way. There was definitely something going on and it pissed you off.

The whole night , he kept denying request from you, shrugging and mouthing 'no' whenever you asked even for the simplest things. But he'd be so quick to agree with anyone else? Was there something wrong?? Had you said something that made him fed up.??

You were making your way back from the drink bar, slipping through people until you spotted something you weren't sure were for your eyes.

Patrick slipping Art a twenty.

You waited for the Brunette to walk away so you could approach, tapping art on his back, making him jump up. He turned over and gave you a smile, you copied his actions to make it seem as if you didn't know anything.

The night continued on as usual..but you didn't ask him anything, dancing and drinking with him but never asking him to do a thing. He must've not noticed until he glanced to the side and saw Patrick.

"We should get a room Artsie."

He nearly complied, the use of that nickname had all the blood rushing south. His mouth opening to mutter yes ,until a figure bumped into him. Patrick wrapping his arm around Arts shoulder, looking at you with a smirk.

"Heyy you twoo! I..wanna speak with Art!"

He mumbled the last part , pulling your boyfriend away for a brief moment until the came back , Arts face still flushed and bulge even more prominent.

He nearly lost the bet because of You. You only smiled and gave him a quick peck to the cheek, dissapearing off into the crowd, leaving him a mess.

You were avoiding him for the whole night , knowing he was right after you, and Patrick following suite to try stop him. You slipped into the darker areas of the place , finding yourself in a dimly lit bedroom, lit up by only the moon.

You made your way in and stood by the door , shutting it once Art came in.

"Y/n! I..uh-"

He stumbled over his words , all he wanted now was for you to bounce on his swollen cock until he could barely walk straight.

"You need me..hm?"

You whispered into his ear, sending shivers down his spine. He eagerly nodded , whimpering a slight bit.

"Words , Art. I need your words."

He sighed, giving in to your request since he knew he could simply lie and say he never said yes ,right?

"Yes..fuck yes please."

That was all you needed to hear , smashing your lips onto his while he lifted you into his arms , laying back onto the neatly done bed behind you two. You straddled his lap , kissing at his while grinding onto him, stopping your movements whenever he began getting loud.

"But-"

"You don't want Pat to find out you broke off a bet?"

He let out a whine , muttering a soft no while you made work of both your clothes , your cunt so slick he could slip in easily. Your hand snaking its way around his throat as you bounced up and down his cock, squeezing softly.

"You really thought you could listen to Patrick? Fucking stupid."

He choked out a whine , getting light headed from to lack of oxygen flow and stimulation down south. You brought your face closer to his , slowing your movements briefly

"What would he say now huh? You can't even keep a fucking bet, cause your so pussy whipped."

His eyes rolled to the back of his head , his fingers dug so deep into your hip, you were sure they'd brush up. You let go of his neck , opening his jaw to spit into it, just as you did that someone barged in and let out a defeated sigh.

"C'mon Art? Not even for a few hours!?"

Patrick stood at the door , arms crossed and shaking his head in dissapointment knowing he would have to take back his money. Although he seemed to be dissapointed, he was purely staring at you two go at it, the moon making a silhouette of your figures moving against eachother.

"F-fuck off Pat-!"

Art managed to speak out , flipping his friend off as he walked out and shut the door.

"Your own friend can't believe you're this weak over me?"

He let out a deep whimper , grabbing your hips to position himself properly, fucking into you like a jack rabbit. Your moans luckily muffled by his mouth and the loud music that played behind the thick walls.

The drive back home was silent, Art passed out in the back seat while you drove and Patrick sitting in the passenger seat next to you.

"Don't ever pull that dumb shit with him ever again."

"What- what do yo-"

"Don't fucking play dumb with me Zweig."

"Yes ma'am."

The silence filling the car back up, if you don't count the blonds soft snores behind you and the cool air of the night flowing through your window.

[luigilore]

dealer!lu who's a mutual friend of your upenn roommate, sophie. you're smoking with her in the days leading up to midterm exams to manage your stress levels and not overthink, and her weed is GOOD. better than anything you've ever had from your shady snapchat plugs, so you ask her, "hey, this is really good. where do you get it from?" she puffs out some smoke before responding. "this guy in 3rd year named luigi. he's one of my boyfriends friends. some engineering guy, but apparently he's cool. i can ask brian to get you in touch with him if you want?" she says. "yeah, that'd be great." you smile, passing the joint back to her. a few weeks later, sophie asks if you want to go over to brian's for a small post-midterms celebratory get together. you had always heard about it from her previous stories; video games, board games, and a whole lot of alcohol and weed. you'd never thought of going before, but you and sophie had gotten a lot closer this term because of your schedules lining up and actually seeing each other around the dorm more. you agree to go, and after getting dressed, you and sophie are making the walk over to brian's dorm. he opens the door after a few knocks and the marijuana smell hits your nose immediately. "hey babe. hey y/n." he smiles at both of you, before wrapping an arm around sophie and leading you both inside. sophie wasn't kidding when she said the get together would be small. it's literally just a few of brian's friends and some other girls you had seen around campus. you take a seat next to sophie and she whispers who everyone is in your ear. "...that's patrick. he's majoring in business. funniest guy you'll ever meet." she points at the guy in the red t-shirt with the brown hair. "....and that's luigi. comp sci major, i think. he's the plug with the good weed. he doesn't really talk much though." she points to the most gorgeous man with the curly hair and adidas hoodie on. as if he's heard your conversation, he turns over to you and meets your eyes. his eyes hang low, a slight red tint to them. your eyes flicker to his hand to see a roach. he puts it out and takes a slow sip out of the red solo cup in his hand. you force yourself to look away, but as you meet sophie's eyes again, you see the teasing glint and smile on her face. "someone's got a crush." she smiles. "no i don't!" you deny, all too quickly. "hey, maybe you should get with him, then i can finally stop begging brian for weed. you could get it directly from the source." she winks, nudging you. "yeah, yeah..." you walk off to pour yourself a drink at the homemade bar, when you bump into him. as cliché as it sounds, you manage to spill the drink on him. "fuck. i'm so sorry, i didn't mean to do that!" you panic and start wiping the drink off him with a paper towel. he grabs your wrist, "it's fine, you worry too much" he smiles at you. you find yourself lost in his gaze, again. you couldn't help it, he's so gorgeous. "wanna smoke one?" he offers. "...yeah" you smile nervously. luigi leads you out onto the balcony. on your way out, you take a glance at sophie, who winks at you. brian, who has his arm around her, is giving you both the biggest smile you've seen all night. you both take seats on the chairs outside and he pulls out a fat one. he lights it up and passes it over to you. you smile at him letting you take the first hit. the smoke hits your lungs instantly, and you smile at the familiar feeling before passing it back to him. the conversation went on, and time passed by as the joint died out. you learned that luigi was an over achiever and had many accomplishments you could only dream of. you both spoke about your respective programs among many other things. the night ended, and you left with luigi's number in your phone and the offer of free weed whenever you needed, because in his words, you were "cool". little did you know what was in store for you...

-gymrat anon hehe I HAD TO GET MY THOUGHTS ON THIS OUT IM SORRY

GYMRAT ANON OMFG. omg never apologize i was giggling kicking my feet reading this 💖💖 i love ur mind

absolutely obsessed with the idea of him having the best weed bc he ofc just would

omfg his hooded dazed eyes, slightly red kinda a permanent half smile on his face even with ur vodka lemonade all over his hoodie… and his voice would be so low u

ugh to get high with him 😫😫 he’d be like “how is it?” and ur so high feeling so good with this absolutely gorgeous man beside you cold air against ur warm skin and ur like “so good”

and you’d get to talking about ur majors and then how he was his fancy high schools valedictorian and last summer was a camp counselor at stanford… and tbh you’d feel a little bit intimidated… just a bit

but he doesn’t act pretentious or arrogant, he’s interested in you, in your major and what you want to do… he asks you a lot of questions and then apologizes with a shy laugh saying, “i didn’t mean to interrogate you”

you just smile as you tell him “it’s nice when someone’s interested in you”

and he’d grin like “well you’re interesting. i just wanna know more about you.” AHH

he would look into ur eyes in such an intimate way

omfg the offer of free weed anytime what a man 😣

WHAT WAS IN STORE cliffhanger killing me i can’t figure dealer luigi out

okay so sorry i just typed out my reactions/thoughts bc this really is that serious to me

[love-quinn]

— THE GOOD WITCH

summary — you’ve done a lot of growing in the 4 years you and patrick have been broken up. you’re hoping he has as well because you’re still desperately in love with him

pairing — 2009!patrick zweig x fem!reader

track one — “the good witch” by maisie peters

warnings — swearing, weed mention, alcohol/drinking

word count — 2.2k

note — first patrick fic i struggled with the dialogue for him SO much cause he’s such an asshole from start to finish but there’s also something so incredibly endearing about him so i did my best i hope you enjoy, i’m super excited to be getting these fics out as quick as i can. ty for 350 (already????) thank u i love u i love u i love u :]]]]

You hadn’t had a martini in about three years.

It wasn’t ever a conscious decision, you’d realised. One night you went out and had one, and then the next time you went out you got something different. And then every time after that, and every time after that.

The gala was dragging on, and you were regretting accepting the invitation. It had been a hesitant yes on your part, done after a lot of thinking it through. Not enough, though, you were counting down the hours until you were able to leave without being rude. Sports journalism hadn’t been what you wanted to do at all with your journalism degree, and it still wasn’t. Writing about tennis every week in hopes that your boss would finally let you take the open politics slot wasn’t where you thought you’d be when you graduated Stanford, but it was your best option to actually use your degree.

The USTA had invited the top 100 ranked players to a charity gala for something or other, you weren’t listening. All you knew was that there would be important people there, people whom you could potentially use as connections.

What you hadn’t been anticipating, though, was your tennis player ex-boyfriend schmoozing the very people you’d come to meet.

You’d known Patrick was good at tennis. He’d been playing professionally when you’d met him. But then he’d been 474th best in the world, and he won one in every five matches. Everything you’d learned about tennis had been through Patrick at the time that you were together. It was pretty much the only thing he spoke about over the course of the ten months you were together, and unfortunately it had landed you a job you hated but needed.

So there you were, drinking your first martini in three years, seeing Patrick for the first time in three years, wishing you were anywhere else but here.

He looked good, you admitted begrudgingly. He had more muscle definition, he’d grown out his facial hair slightly, and was wearing a nicer shirt than you’d ever seen him wear. You were wondering if he’d bought it or if it was rented to him. Your boss had given you a company card and a low budget boutique for the event because you were press for it.

Googling your ex boyfriend at an event he was at was too much of a rock bottom for you, so you instead busied yourself with the toothpick from your drink, plucking the olive off with your teeth. Your glass was almost empty, you’d taken enough notes on your phone, you’d gotten quotes from your standard three athletes, you didn’t need to do any more work and you didn’t think that a second martini would cause much harm.

“Can I get you another?”

You didn’t even turn around. “Fuck off, Patrick.”

He’d sidled up to you the second that you put your guard down. He’d been watching you too, and he’d clocked it the second your shoulders dropped, the moment your eyes unfocused, the instant you turned away from him.

There was something different about his voice – it had less polish, more gravel. He’d changed in his chest over the last few years, going from someone who thought he was better than he was to a man who really was that good.

You’d always had high hopes for Patrick while you were together, you’d believed in him, you’d thought that he’d make it big if he just had slightly better luck. Now? You couldn’t give a fuck if he broke his hand and never played tennis again.

You’d been his number one supporter, and that was the first part of yourself you’d thrown in the trash once the two of you had broken up. You’d done a lot of growing, you’d matured, you’d realised that Patrick’s “bad luck” was a lack of hard work. He’d grown up rich, and that had been where you guys had the most disconnect. You’d worked for every single thing you’d ever had, and Patrick thought that you guys had that in common. You’d been sympathetic, you’d wanted to help him, you’d probably given too much of yourself to him in an effort to help him with his tennis and he had seemingly only developed a work ethic after the two of you had broken up.

Patrick laughed, leaning back on his elbows on the bar top. He was tall enough that it didn’t look uncomfortable enough (fucker). “You always were a bitch, weren’t you?”

You clamped your eyes shut putting your toothpick back in your drink. “What part of fuck off do you not understand?” You asked. “What do you want?”

He tsked, throwing up two fingers to the bartender, who nodded at him. “It’s okay,” he said sympathetically. “I like it.”

You accept the new martini from the bartender, who puts it on Patrick’s tab. “Great.”

It took you a lot of time to get over Patrick, and you weren’t going to let him get under your skin.

“It looks good on you,” he said, leaning in and taking a sip of whatever asshole IPA he’d ordered. “You here working?” You didn’t reply. “You need a quote?”

“Not from you.” You wanted to leave.

He was so close to you, you’d deliberately not noticed for as long as possible. But now that he was right next to you, you could smell his cologne. You realised that you’d never smelled cologne on him before, despite the fact that his mom had definitely bought him some nice ones. His scent of choice at 19 years old had been Unilever Axe Body Spray and weed. At the very least a cigarette was never far.

This smelled like a thing, not a concept. Citrus and florals. It was nice.

“Come on,” Patrick sounded like you were teasing him. Playing hard to get on purpose. Like if he just called you out on it, you’d fall right into his arms and swoon the way you would when you were nineteen and he had a “promising career in front of him” that made up for all the ways he was an asshole.

Not today.

“You’re not charming enough for this to work, Patrick.” You rolled your eyes, taking a sip of your drink. It came out surprisingly calm; 19 year old you would have wanted to hurt 19 year old Patrick. Would’ve wanted to win the interaction. Now? You didn’t want to give him space in your mind, didn’t want to acknowledge him. You did not need Patrick taking up your time, looking at you like he knew deep down you wanted his tongue down your throat.

“Still pretending you’re better than me?” he scoffed.

“Still pretending you’re better than Art?” You glanced across the room at the blond, who was standing arm in arm with his fiancee. You’d met him through Patrick, or rather you’d met Patrick through Art. You and Art had gone to one of the same parties in college, along with his then-girlfriend Tashi, and Patrick had tagged along with them despite the fact that he wasn’t a student. Patrick had been better than Art when you’d known them all in school, but Art had spent more time honing his skills before going pro, and now that him and Patrick were in the same field it was clear the extra four years spent in training had benefited him more than Patrick’s eight month losing streak he’d had at nineteen.

Patrick laughed like he hadn’t been expecting for you to actually call him out on it.

You stood, leaning against the bar and watching the way Art interacted with Tashi. They moved through the party in sync, a shared rhythm you’d never been able to find with Patrick. It was a reminder that the two of you would never work out the way that they did.

“Don’t bring him into this,” he snapped, condescension deep in his voice. The two of you stood side by side, never touching, both of your eyes glued to the pair. You had spent years as Patrick’s backup plan, at the back of his mind as he clawed his way through the ranks, too proud to admit he had it made and too embarrassed to admit he couldn’t make it. “I always knew you liked him more than me.”

He was too close. The way he was speaking was too comfortable for someone you hadn’t known in years. You didn’t reply, instead swirling the liquid around gently in the glass, looking down at him. You didn’t want him to see how you’d rattled him.

Maybe you had liked Art more at first. He worked hard, he was kind, he didn’t laugh at you when you’d gotten wasted and spilt a drink all over the couch at the party you’d met at. But the second you’d learned he had a girlfriend it was like a switch had been flicked in your mind; he was off-limits, you didn’t even want him anymore.

Unfortunately, Patrick hadn’t had a girlfriend at the time, so there was nothing that had stopped you from letting him take you home that night, or every night for the next week before he left to go on tour again.

“Well look at that,” you snarked. “You are self-aware.” It was a lie (mostly), you had really loved Patrick. You’d never told him that, he was never there enough for you to spill that detail, but you were pretty transparent that you’d at least liked him.

“One of has to be,” he was so close your shoulders were pressed together now. “Look at you, too-nice dress, your little quotes from your little connections for your little magazine.” He was borderline cooing at you. “It looks good on you, sweetheart, almost like you’re a real journalist.”

“Fuck off Patrick.” You hissed, anger settling in your chest. “What the fuck is wrong with you? I thought that maybe you would have grown up since I last saw you, but maybe that’s my fault for having any faith in you whatsoever.”

He frowned at you, not sincerely, but like he’d expected better from you. “What happened to my biggest supporter?” He murmured, bringing a hand to stroke your chin. You didn’t stop him.

“Grow up,” you spat. “I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, and I don’t really care to-” he was so close you could feel his breath fanning against your breath. “You’ve never given a single fuck about me, have you?”

He could feel how hot your face was under his palm, trying not to watch the way your chest was rising and falling furiously. “I never made you feel that way did I?” His voice was so quiet he was sure only you could hear it. “I was a bad boyfriend sure-” he ignored the way you laughed bitterly and doubly ignored the pang in his chest from the sound, “but I never made you feel like I didn’t care about you.”

You still didn’t reply, despite the fact that his mouth was so close to yours he could almost taste the lipgloss you’re wearing. Your eyes were fiery and your hands had found their way to his biceps, gripping onto him like were trying to snap him in half. He’d let you.

He wanted to lean forward, to take your lips on his and to feel you properly again, for the first time in years. You’d changed, that much was obvious, but there was one question he’d had to ask for the first time since the night he’d met you: Did you want him?

“You were an asshole,” you muttered, still clearly annoyed. “‘Bad boyfriend’ is putting it lightly.”

His hands found your waist, running the material of your dress under his thumb. “I’m sure I had some redeeming qualities, right?”

“If you think I’m going to inflate your ego right now, you can fuck right off.”

He broke at that, a snicker falling from his lips, and you shoved him away. “Okay, I’m sorry!” He tried to pull you back into him, yearning for the closeness he’d almost pulled out of you. “I’m sorry.” He sounded sincere, that was the only reason you let him touch you.

“I have work to do.” You said stiffly.

He disregarded that. “I’m sure you do.” You had another quip ready about how he wasn’t well-known enough in the space to make him worth your time as a journalist, how you should go bother Art and Tashi and ask if they’ll help you with the article that’s going to be due on your editor’s desk by tomorrow, but before you could force it out of your mouth he’d finally closed the gap, putting out the fire that was burning in your throat.

He pulled you closer so you were completely flush with his front, your hands coming to grab fistfuls of his suit jacket. Definitely paid for, you decided.

When your article was released the next morning, Patrick would be a little bit miffed that he wasn’t mentioned, scrolling through it one-handed on his phone. He couldn’t be too unhappy as he read it though, as he used his free hand to trace patterns on your back.

[kafka-ish]

part 1

Patrick asks Art if he got the stuff and how much to which Art replies: yea just an 8th tho and Patrick replies Dude wtf

No dude. You never told me your dealer was hot!!!

Don’t bother. Asked if she’d trade head for half. Wouldn’t budge. Strict business or whatever.

Two seconds later: Still. I’d tap that.

Art decides against telling him about the sample he got. Sticks the joint you rolled in his desk drawer. Does weed have an expiration date? he wonders. He drops by Patrick’s who asks how the deal went. If you gave him a discount for it being his first time and all.

“How much’d she charge?” Patrick wonders aloud, comparing prices in his head, secretly hoping his friend got ripped off.

It takes Art awhile to settle on a number. He still doesn’t know the price of weed. “Like fifty?”

“For an eighth?” Patrick laughs at this like okay this chick is insane and Art realizes he said the wrong thing.

“She said it was the good stuff.” Art shrugs, trying to play it off.

“Whatever man, but you need to learn how to negotiate… So we gonna smoke this shit or what?”

Art begins to make appearances more frequently. But he has to be calculated with how he goes about this. Doesn’t want to seem desperate, hooked on fucking weed. How pathetic. He has to pace himself. At first his visits are periodic. Comes by a few times a month for his regular pick up. But he can’t get enough. Sporadic turns into every other week and every other week turns into Friday nights after his games or if not a tournament, practice. He’s at your door with takeout in hand. Something different every time; he keeps you on your feet and you like the surprise. Tacos, Thai, Lo Mien. Indian when he wins his matches.

You don’t smoke with him at first when he asks, though; you have a rule about smoking up with clients.

“Oh,” he says, feeling defeated. Disappointed that’s how you think of him.

“You still want that eighth?” you ask.

“Um, no. Actually I think I’m gonna go.”

“Art,” you say and the sound of your voice calling his name has him frozen in place. His hand is still on the knob for a moment before it drops, falls by his side. He wipes it on his pants, a habit he has. "Don't do this."

"What? Change my mind?"

"No--"

"You're not trying to peer pressure me, are you?" You wonder if Art's being serious right now. If he's using your methodology of paying tuition and groceries against you. It's your turn to freeze.

"Fine then. Leave. But just so you know I wasn't the one hitting up strangers for weed." You're calm when you say this, only making it harder for Art to reach for the door once more.

Of course, he comes crawling back. Ends up blowing up your phone.

Art: Hey

Art: I'm sorry for what i said the other day. I wasn't thinking. Obviously. It just hurt when u called me a customer. Which i guess i technically am. I dont kno.

Art: I think ur really cool

Art: I guess i just wanted to smoke with someone other than patrick

Art: Did i mention i think ur really cool

You roll your eyes at the thread of messages, how they still come in and your phone can't stop vibrating; you're not finished reading but it keeps pinging. Still, you're smiling. Can't help but read his texts over and over again before responding and you feel a heat on your cheeks when you haven't even lit up.

You text him the same thing when he always texts you after one of his games: My place 9?

"You think I'm cool, huh?" You nudge Art, sitting next to you on the couch. His legs are crossed, facing yours.

Art blushes at the question, the pressure you put him under. Finally musters up the courage to say, “yeah. Really cool.” Then leans in, does that thing that guys do where they grab your jaw, almost caresses it, then brings you in to kiss your lips. It’s soft. Gentle. Thinks he might hurt you if he’s not careful. And he doesn’t linger long but you can taste his chapstick. Mint. You miss him already when his lips leave yours and your tongue sweeps over where flesh once was, itching for another taste.

He sees this. Locks his lips on yours again. Instinct. It's just as quick and sweet as the first one. You feel him grin when his mouth meshes with yours and the sensation of his smile pressing into your cheeks gets you all giddy-like.

“So does that mean you’ll smoke with me?” His smile doesn’t leave when you pull away. And you see his eyebrows are raised while his eyes are blue and bright. A dash of hope shimmers in them and you can see your reflection in them.

“Yeah,” you say, hushed, almost a whisper as if you can’t bring yourself to say it out loud. You’re breaking your rules for him, is what Art’s thinking. And you tell yourself it’s just a one time exception but when he comes over next Friday you find yourself rolling a joint and passing it to him in between kisses.

And now it’s your routine.

He doesn’t need to text you asking for an eighth and you don’t need to tell him what time and place. He just shows up after practice. Of course, you expect him.

“I hope I didn’t get you addicted.”

“Nah.” Art’s lean frame is already hanging on the doorway and he doesn’t come inside immediately when you welcome him in. Instead, he takes you in his arms. They feel stronger each time. Plants a big wet kiss on your lips. And he is addicted. Just not what you think.

[vendetta-ari]

Drug dealer!Patrick Zweig x Fem reader <3

tw: mentions of drugs, no smut this time folks! (slightly incoherent, not proofread)

Patrick Zweig, who couldn't scrounge up enough money using challengers and tournaments this month- so he gets his weed dealer to help him out. he works for him for a bit before making enough money to actually sell his own product, he's never had so much money in these past few years! who cares where he gets it? it's not like he's using the hard stuff anyway. sure enough, one of his regulars show up with a innocent little friend, you. you barely look 21, compared to Patrick's 30 years of age. your friend was apparently a regular here, which didn't suprise you all that much. he explains that you had been looking to try out some drugs, live life not like the usual goody two shoes you are.

Patrick Zweig, being the dirty man he is; gives the pair a discount- but only if he can watch this cute thing get her first high.

they arrive at a secluded spot by a lake, and Patrick watches with eager eyes as you gulp down a pill of ecstasy. he's practically forgotten your name, all he can think about is how you makes his dick twitch..

After a few moments, you're completely out of it, struggling to walk and drooling all over yourself as you giggles out insincere apologies to your poor friend. Patrick is rock hard by this point, he keeps adjusting himself in his ever tightly growing jeans.

You look beautiful like this. lips parted, drooling, stumbling, tripping over your own words, being needy, clingy, and so fucking dazed. like some ditz.

he offers to take you home, be a gentleman. he'l take out a pen, writing his number on the pulse of your neck in red ink while you arent paying any attention.

Call me if you wanna feel even better, sugar

he whispers sweet nothings into your ear while he walks you home, Patrick cant help but imagine what you'd look like drooling over his cock, instead of some measly drug. "What's your name, sweetheart?"

"yeah? that's your name, eh? pretty name for a pretty lady."

"god, you are just so fucking pretty when you're so drugged out like this. not a single thought in your brain, ah? no? good."

good

"that's how it should be, pretty"

Patrick uncaps the marker again, writing all over the your body, not like you'd be able to do anything. poor you. hearts on your boobs, stars on your thighs, and his name everywhere.

"Alright, this is your house? m'kay sug' be safe. sleep well, my cute little ditz. drugged out so perfect f'me..." the door soon closes, and you babble an incoherent goodbye.

next time, Patrick isnt gonna be a gentleman. he'll fuck you up, in every possible sense <3

(guys I hope this is coherent or atleast any good. luv yall!)

-xoxo Ari <3

[girliism]

(18+)

rockstar!patrick zweig gives the best performance he thinks he’s given since tour started. maybe it was because he was gonna get laid tonight or maybe it was because every time he looked over to the side of the stage he’d make eye contact with you, and you’d smile back at him.

patrick was never a kept man the longest he’d ever had a girlfriend was about 3 months, so what was this feeling he got when with you.

the second you enter the house hosting the after party you’re immediately smacked by the smell of weed and loud music. “i’ll be in the kitchen.” you break away from your friends.

you’ve got two drinks in you and is nursing another when patrick walks up behind you. “come with me, let’s go talk.” he says pulling your hand is his as leads the both of you up stairs.

the music get muffled when patrick closes and locks the door to the room hes lead you in. “i though we were gonna talk.” you push away from his neck kisses walking backwards towards the bed.

“we are, me and your neck were just having a very lovely conversation.” he’s stalking towards you backing you into the edge of the bed. “well, why don’t you have one with my lips.” you internally cringe shaking your head. why did i say that.

patrick laughs finding you cute. he brings his hands down to the sides of your thighs caging you to the bed. “you did good today.” you say eyes locking with his. “yea? think i deserve a reward.” you nod and his lips are on yours kissing you eagerly.

the kiss is a messy clash of teeth and spit. patrick hovering over you pulling at your shirt silently asking to take it off. you raise your arms letting him pull it off leaving you in your lacy black bra. but not for long cause he’s ripping that off you as well.

patrick’s mouth immediately finds home on your breast going back and forth between them licking, biting and sucking on your nipples. “shit” patrick starts leading his kisses from your boobs down to your belly stoping at the top of your skirt.

“wanna taste you.” his green eyes pricing into your his long fingers hooked in your waistband just waiting to pull them down. you whine and buck up into his hands. patrick smirks at your desperation pulling your mini skirt and underwear off in one go. like the gentleman he is he also removes your boots before yanking your legs open eyeing you cunt.

“fuck, she’s gorgeous.” you wanna close your legs and hide away from patrick’s predatory eyes but the grip on your ankles doesn’t let you. “stop staring.” you mumble bringing your hand down to cover yourself.

leaning back to pull his t-shirt off before laying down between your legs whispering to himself. “gonna do more than stare.” patrick’s pushing your hands off yourself so he can lick a fat strip up your pussy. little gasp and moans fall from your lips as he starts eating you out.

patrick eats you out like a starved man. face completely smushed up in your cunt strong arms looped under your legs to hold you open. “oh fuck, so good.” you moan combing your hands through his hair grinding down onto his face.

patrick’s got the perfect face for pussy eating. soft lips that kiss and suck at your clit, big strong nose that bumps up against your clit when he shakes his head side to side.

“so close, gonna cum.” you whine legs coming to squeeze around his head when he hums into your pussy sending vibrations up your spine.

“want you to cum on my tongue.” patrick says into your pussy shoving two fingers in you pumping in and out while sucking harshly on your clit. you cum hard with a silent scream hands pulling hard at his scalp.

staring up at the ceiling breathing heavy as you body calms down you look to see patrick licking his lips clean. the bulge in his pants is impossible to ignore. you bring your foot up to rub at it through his pants. “do i get your cock now?” you ask still kind of out of breath.

“you get whatever you want.” patrick says taking a condom from his back pocket tossing it to you before pulling his pants off.

“fuck.” patrick’s large cock bobs between his legs as he crawls over to you. it’s hard and heavy you’ve never had a dick that big inside or you. would it even fit?

sensing your nervousness patrick places soft kisses on your neck. “i’ll go slow, ok” you hum back. bring his face to your so you can kiss him again.

patrick sighs into the kiss feeling your soft hands roll the condom onto his dick. you’re still holding it rubbing his up and down your pussy moaning into his mouth when you push the tip in.

looking down to watch as your sensitive cunt pulls in his cock the feeling of your walls stretching around him makes him wanna cum just from that. “god, your sucking me in so tight.” he’s moaning “s’too big.”

patrick pushes all the way in bottoming out before pulling out only to fuck back into you hard and fast finding a nice rhythm to fuck you too. “been dreaming about this since i met you.” he’s got your leg bent up to chest. mean cock bullying into pussy.

you’re a drooling mess whines and whimpers coming out of you. nails digging into patrick’s back as you mumbles things a long the lines of his name and different curse words. thank god the music is loud enough to drown out your moans and screams.

“got the prettiest moans need to put them in a song.” patrick’s head coming down to suck at your nipple

“faster faster.” you whimper hand coming down to rub your clit, patrick’s hips beat into yours. “gonna cum for me again pretty girl?” he’s whispering and moaning in your ear and you’re arching up into him. patrick’s lips connecting to yours again as you scream into him mouth orgasm hitting both of you at the same time.

you both lay there together, a condom full of cum thrown in the trash bin patrick drawing lazy shapes on your arm. “you leave for tour again tomorrow.” you break the peace silence with a statement patrick’s been trying to ignore.

“don’t think about tomorrow, let’s just have tonight.”

you wake up the next day alone in a random bed in a random house. typical. you start dress when you notice something on the nightstand. at least he was nice enough to leave a note.

sorry i left you there manger wanted us back early to clear out our hotels… had fun last night :) was nice meeting you.

-pat

the walk back to your dorm was definitely shameful to say the least not only did you have a one night stand but you had one with a rockstar who lives off one night stands. you got a little sad as you reach your door realizing you’re just gonna fade in his memory as one of the many girls he’s fucked.

after washing away the shame from last night all you want to do is nap before you have to face your friends and their questions about what happened.

*knock knock*

you tired to ignore the knocking thinking whoever’s at your door will just fuck off but it only got loud. “alright i’m coming” you groan opening the to see. “patrick?”

“hey.” he’s got that slanted smile on his face. what the fuck?? “how do you find my school? how did you find my dorm.” so utterly confused as you stare at him standing in your doorway.

“you have your college as a bumper sticker plus you’d be surprised on how many people will open the door for a famous person.”

“yes but why are you here…”

“came to say goodbye and to ask for you number.” patrick felt sick this morning he couldn’t stop thinking about how he just left like that never to see you again. so he forced the bus driver to drive up to your college so he could do this.

“you want my number ” you had already made peace with the fact that you were probably never gonna see him again but now here he was. patrick nods his head swapping phones places his number in yours.

“you better answer my calls. you don’t want me dying from boredom on tour right.” patrick yells to you walking backwards towards the exit. “also gotta give me a tour of your dorm next time yeah.”

all you can do is watch him leave with a stupid smile on your face. god you’re already so down bad.

(another long part hope you like it i liked making this felt kinda cute but how are reader and patrick gonna do now that he’s gone….)

[tinytennisskirt]

Your 'rumours' fic was so adorable!!! I'd love to see some childhood bestfriends with Art from you, like reader just following him around like a puppy since childhood and at first he doesn't know how what to do with her but then she starts to grow on him,

UGH, what's it feel like to be loved???

-🍃

More Than Anything

Summary: ^above^ with a twist of angst and a few changed plot points. Art and his childhood best friend navigate the forces that pull them apart. Whatever he does, she does. He’s not sure what else is more natural than being her best friend. And no matter what she’s told, that will never change.

Warnings: fluff! drinking, mean Patrick, mentions of weed, mentions of sex, one mention of the risk of being roofied (nobody is roofied), a little ANGST. And a kiss.

Little Art Donaldson was having a day at the park when he met a little girl. It was you and there was much to babble about when there were so many things to do at the park and you, in a tiny voice, said you’d never been to the park before. Art took you by the little hand and you willingly followed as he showed you every single section that there was, even the swings.

Art, young, when met with lunch, he dropped his sandwich in the sand. He cried- the meat and lettuce all covered in grains and small pieces of sticks wasn’t a big issue but for a kid, it was quite upsetting to not have a lunch anymore.

You were more little, two years younger than Art, but you knew just what to do. Picnic lunch with your family nearby, stood next to him and asked if he wanted to come have some food with your family. You didn’t know you couldn’t just invite crying kids to eat with you. You were just too young, too pure.

He said yes, obviously. His dad was somewhere nearby on his phone, business call. Didn’t notice Art was sitting at your picnic bench eating fried chicken and watermelon with you and your parents.

Your mom was a sweet woman, so of course she’d never say no to a starved child. Art’s father found him no problem. He wasn’t a bad man either- not angry. In fact he sat down to eat with them and by the end of the meal they’d set up a time to come by and play another day.

From that day on, your parents befriended and you and Art became best friends. Self-proclaimed. Art didn’t know how to play anything but video games and baseball and he slowly got more into tennis, which he tried to show you. You weren’t that good at anything he did, but still, you would play together in the sandbox, run around each other’s yard. It felt like an endless summer with you two. If one of you was out and playing, so was the other. Usually more revolving around what Art did. It was simple, easy, fun. Anywhere Art would go, you were there too. It helped each other’s parents get a little peace every now and then or let them hang out as adults.

You maintained your personality, just as sweet as candy but with a boyish love for adventure, as your mom would say. That boyish side definitely came from Art. Where he was, you were, no matter what. Even if it was up a steep hill, even if it was the river nearby, even if it was the ant hill and you both got a million bug bites. Every scrape you shared, every bruise you compared in the backyard on the tire swing, every scrape from your bikes. Everything was shared.

You were a little in love with him. Even from a young age, the moment you could think boys were cute, you thought Art was the most adorable. It was platonic love, of course. The capacity to truly love wasn’t there, just pending…

And you and Art grew up together. You pursued different hobbies but still found the time, even with school. It was easy the first few years, you were only in kindergarten and then it was elementary. Apparently once you hit grade three you’re not supposed to hang out with anyone younger. Art wasn’t sure what to do, but he spent lunch recess with his friends and first and last recess with you anyway.

One thing was for sure. It was that you would follow him around like you didn’t know any other way, when he was nearby. You’d do whatever he did, even if he invited his other friends. A lot of the neighbourhood kids assumed he was your annoying sister, even when Art said you weren’t. You were just a little girl who liked to stick around.

That was how it was all elementary school until Art was in grade nine and you were still in seventh. The dynamic changed- he was still playing tennis, still seeing you, but more when your parents would see each other. Otherwise Art was with Patrick.

You knew Patrick well. He was around and so were you. Sometimes Patrick was nice, sometimes he wasn’t, but he was just a kid. You’d call Art sometimes and Patrick would pick up and just say “he’s busy!” And hang up. You had other friends but knowing someone pretty much your whole life, having a small itty bitty tiny crush your whole life, and having them turned away by a new crowd was a little hard. He still found time.

Art didn’t know what to do with you when he went to high school. It was weird you were still so young to him.

“Art,” you said. You were finally in high school and found him in the hall. “I can’t find the math classroom, I was wondering-“

“Take a left at the corner and it’s right there. Good luck, I’ll see you later, gotta go!” It sucked, but it was fine. If you had the chance, you’d tag along, still sporting the same following attitude. You went where he did.

Art was cute, yeah, but when he graduated you thought less. Sure you’d follow him wherever, but you had wanted to go to Stanford much longer than he had. Screw him and his two years on you, he was already enrolled. And he moved away.

You barely had a life when he was gone. It was all stupid. He called you every few days and of course you picked up the second your phone rang but it was still stupid. You’d call him whenever you liked which was much more often- and sometimes he’d pick up, other times he wouldn’t.

You and Art hung out a few days before college started. You walked through the city around Stanford, talking in the park. His choice of location. “It’s good to be in the same area as you again,” he said. You smiled as the wind blew your hair around your face, warm. “I don’t have to call now.”

“You didn’t like the phone calls?” You asked.

“No, I loved them, don’t get me wrong, they’re effective. You have no idea how good it was to hear your voice when I missed home.”

Your smile turned into a grin, he matched it. “Now what do we do when we both miss home?” You asked. He laughed and bumped against your shoulder.

“I’ll just call your mom,” he said. You both laughed at his immature humour. It was good to be back with him, he was right.

“Uh huh and I’ll call your dad, no hesitation,” you teased. He shoved you a little so you stumbled a few steps off the path. “I’m sure he’d love to hear all about you and your adventures with marijuana.” You poked him in the ribs as you regained your position on the path. He grinned his crooked grin, the one you knew so well.

“I’d just have to tell your mom that you actually have had your first kiss and you aren’t her perfect little princess anymore.” He said.

“She’d never believe you,” you pretended to judge him, eyes narrowed. “She’d die, she’s so Catholic, Art, she’s sooo Catholic.” You fake groaned and he laughed. It was good to know that even though the distance made things feel odd, the dynamic somewhat returned when you were together again.

“She is so Catholic, but I’m sure she’d be fine with it, come on…” He ruffled your hair up and you gasped.

“Art- my hair took like an hour to braid- and she would die, I’m sure of it. On the spot. Unless you want her to die, I suggest you keep that secret.”

“And you keep your secret about the weed?”

“Deal.”

“Deal.” He repeated, pulling you into a quick hug, smile on his face. He’d missed you. He let you go. But his phone buzzed, it was Patrick, who he said he’d meet. He lost track of time with you. “Shit, Y/N. I made plans to play pool with a friend. I have to run, but I’ll see you soon, okay?” He was already stepping back. You were going to ask where he played pool, you were going to ask who with, just curious, but he was already on the run. It was fine.

Your first day at Stanford, 18 years old, you found yourself in his exact residency building, just on the girls end. It was convenient. Your parents had just left. You had your hair up in a claw clip as you set all your pictures up in the room, covered and made the bed. Your roommate was really nice already, sharing a bag of chips and telling you she brought a mini fridge you could both use. You had a feeling you’d love it there. Stanford was the dream.

You were bringing another box in when Art passed you. “Art!” you said, dropping your box. Art turned, confused.

“Y/N?” He said. He knew you were here just not in his building. He pulled you into a quick hug. “You got a room in this residence? You didn’t even tell me.” He let go.

“I didn’t know which you were in, I didn’t even think it might be the same,” you giggled. He smiled. You looked at the box you dropped. Art kept walking down the hallway, you left all your things to follow. “How are you?” You asked, walking just a bit behind him.

“I’m good! I just was out for lunch,” He said. “Uh- come, I’ll show you my room.” He didn’t expect you to follow him the way you did, but it was always okay. “It’s great you’re here. I would hang out but there’s a party tonight, the frat throws one every year for newcomers.”

You weren’t a party person. “Are you going?”

“I think so yeah, me and a few of my friends. You remember Patrick.” You were glad you hadn’t seen Patrick in a few years, honestly. “He’s over right now in my room, actually. You can say hi.”

“Perfect,” you said, following him up the steps and through the boys-side lounge. “Can I go with you?”

He nodded, swallowing. He knew you didn’t go to parties, he was planning on seeing you tomorrow night. “Uh… yeah. Yes. I don’t see why not, you’ve been to parties right?” He pretended like he didn’t know.

“No,” you replied.

“Okay, well you’ve been drunk at least.”

“No,” you answered. You might have if you’d been around while Art started his late-highschool-early-college drinking era. “Is that bad? Should I have?”

“Not necessarily,” Art chuckled. You were exactly the sweet girl he knew. “Means it’ll happen faster. I have drinks you can have if you want them. This is my room-“ he opened the door to the dorm room and it wasn’t much. Pretty normal, some tennis posters, some video game stuff lying around and Patrick in a spinning computer chair with headphones on. “Patrick.” Art said, hitting his friend in the back of the head.

You looked around, eyes everywhere, then on Patrick as he spun around. His eyes widened and he looked at Art, then you. Art spoke up as Patrick took his headphones off, “You remember Y/N.”

It had been a while since you and Patrick had seen each other. As annoying as he used to be, he was much taller. More hair, more muscle, taller. He wasn’t bad looking, you noted. You didn’t know Patrick was noting the same, just a little more male-oriented in his ways of thinking. “Holy shit, hi.” Patrick said.

“Hey,” you replied, smiling. You could let bygones be bygones. Everyone here was an adult now. “How are you?”

“I’m good, how are you?” Patrick asked.

You were surprised he seemed civil. “I’m good, thank you.” Your smile turned into a grin. “It’s good to see you both.”

“You’ll be back here at seven, hm?” Art squeezed your upper arm gently. He turned to Patrick, “She’s coming with us tonight.”

Patrick narrowed his eyes at you. “Is she even eighteen?” He spoke like you weren’t there- that was the Patrick you remembered.

“Yes, she’s eighteen. And she’s with us, so she’s fine.” He turned back to you. “You go get settled in, we’ll see you later.” He dismissed you- you would have stayed if he didn’t say so.

You waved and said goodbye and the hours passed. You unpacked and got ready, putting on something cute. Your roommate was going too, said she would see you there. At ten past seven, you knocked on Art’s dorm room door.

Patrick opened the door, “It’s her,” he called to Art, looking you dead in the eyes. “You look terrifying with eyeliner.” He remarked with a smile.

You laughed. “Thanks.”

Art rushed out of the bathroom, buttoning up his open shirt. “No, you look great.” He rushed past, then turned a bit to look again. “You look really nice actually. Wow.“

You smiled and shrugged. He finished the buttons and grabbed a can from a case under his bed. “Drink this, you’ll like it.” He cracked it open for you and everything.

“Thank you- what’s the rush?”

Patrick shook his head, sipping from his own can. “No rush, he’s just fast.”

You took a sip, it wasn’t great but it was bearable. You scrunched your nose. Art walked by you again, putting his socks and shoes on. “Rules, Y/N.” He said. “Just in case, okay?”

You nodded. “Rules?”

“Rules,” he repeated. “Don’t drink anything anyone offers you, no matter what it looks like. Don’t take any pills or drugs. Don’t leave with anyone without telling me first.” He said. It was a lot more serious than the rules he’d made up for his own version of tag when you were kids. Time was an odd thing…

“Okay,” you agreed. Art stopped in front of you and stole a sip from your drink before raising his eyebrows and grinning.

“You could just put her on a leash,” Patrick chimed in. You cocked your head to the side and shook it slowly at Patrick. Patrick spun in the chair, “Or if she’s anything like she used to be, you won’t need to.”

What was that supposed to mean?

Things progressed and you went to meet some of Art’s friends to drink more before heading over and you enjoyed tagging along. Art let you choose the music in his car and his friends approved of it enough. Some guys, two girls, you. Art.

Two low percentage drinks made you fuzzy. You weren’t even there yet. You weren’t sure what was expected, but it was odd. You clung to Art’s side the whole time, not physically, but you were near.

Eventually you got to the party and it was loud and crowded and easy to lose people in the hoards. Art slipped away somewhere and you didn’t know what to do, so you finished a third can and you were feeling it for sure. It was weird, strange, loopy, almost. You sat on the stairs, just people-watching. Playing it safe instead of mingling. It was fine.

A while passed, though it didn’t feel like it. Patrick was the one to find you, “Have you been here the whole time?” He asked over the music.

“Yeah,” you replied.

“Maybe Art should have put you on a leash,” he chuckled.

You were drunk enough to ask, “What does that even mean?” You stole his drink and he let you, taking a swig and handing it back like drinking was normal, casual. It was not.

“You know how when you used to follow him around all the time? Like a lost puppy?” He laughed like it was something you’d known, like it was obvious. “Everywhere we would go, you were just trailing behind. As kids we couldn’t even go outside without you following us. I knew you were really you when you came here because now you’re gorgeous- which I hate- but you’re still you, following us to this party.”

Part of that was meant to be nice. You could tell Patrick was drunk as well the way he told the truth so easily. But what he said had the ability to sink in and hurt, burning into you like acid. That’s how Patrick, the practical extension of Art- viewed you? Just some sad girl who followed Art around forever?

It stung to hear. “What?” You asked again. As if you didn’t hear. As if your eyes didn’t gloss over. You had no idea. Did you just not pick up on the fact you weren’t wanted there?

“You’re still you. I should have known when you were still calling him all the time from home. Calling and calling and calling. You still follow Art around like you have that schoolgirl crush on him or something, fuck you’re even here at Stanford, he just cannot get rid of you. I never got why you liked him so much, but yeah, you practically invited yourself here with us. It’s not bad to see you, but you know, it’s college. Be your own person.”

It stung, it dug deeper. You blinked back tears, but you knew Patrick didn’t notice at all whatsoever. You looked at your hangs, feeling the embarrassment and shame in your fingertips. “I’m sorry.” You said. You wished you were saying it to Art.

“Hm?” Patrick didn’t hear you. But you stood up and nodded, repeating yourself to him.

“I’m sorry,” you said more firmly. He heard you for sure, his head turned as you walked by, pushing past people and disappearing into the crowd again. You walked out the door and went back to your dorm. There was no point in staying. You’d be your own person, you weren’t one for parties.

You thought about it the whole way. Had you invited yourself and not noticed? You remembered asking. Patrick wasn’t even there when you asked, for fucks sake. You knew Patrick was drunk, but drunk words = sober thoughts, you’d heard. Patrick was mean, that was for sure. You wondered if it even phased him.

You fought tears, rethinking your childhood with Art. How much of it did he want? How much of it was your parents? You took off your party clothes and slipped into the most comfortable t-shirt and shorts and took off your makeup. You sat in your new bed, knees to your chest and just thought, endlessly, over everything.

You knew you and Art wouldn’t be super close forever, obviously you weren’t naive, but he was always the most familiar thing. New places were always explored with him, new things were always tried with him, anything new was always perceived from Art’s side. Even without him there for a while, it was still something you valued. You didn’t realize maybe you’d been clinging. Had you been clinging? Or was he just a close friend? What was the difference?

You let some of your tears fall down your face. You were in school now, it was new, it was supposed to be fun. And you would be your own person this time, you guessed. You fell asleep with the lights on.

The next day you rolled over and looked at six missed calls from Art. He probably wondered if you got home fine or if you broke one of his rules. You didn’t read anything he sent, you just typed out

‘I got home safe’.

And left it at that. It was easiest. You rolled over and out of bed, into an outfit and asked your roommate if she wanted to get coffee with you. She was easily and instantly a great friend. Coffee turned into going to the thrift stores and talking and talking and talking. You knew each other’s life stories by the end of the day.

You had another missed call from Art around 3pm. You’d call him tomorrow, you thought, before Patrick’s voice chimed back into your head. You decided against it. Classes started tomorrow anyway.

The next day, classes were amazing. You had made tons of friends and assembled what felt like the beginnings of a friend group. After class everyone hit the cafeteria for super salty chicken tenders. Everything Patrick said still hurt, but it was good to have the distraction. Other friends. Ones who you were sure wanted you around regardless, even if it meant staying close by.

“Someone came by here for you,” Your roommate told you when you got home. “Said his name was Art?”

“A friend of mine,” you said. How sure were you of that? “Did he say anything?”

“No, just swung by and asked if you were here. I told him you were out and that I didn’t know when you’d be back.” She said. You eyed the dual schedules of yours and hers hanging up above her desk and the both of you smiled. “Just in case.”

You talked the night away again. She was a great listening ear as you confessed the whole thing to her. She was very sweet about it and gave you one of her ice cream sandwiches.

The next day you were laughing and leaving class and Art found you. You didn’t run, hide, you just looked at him. “Hey,” he started. “You haven’t been answering my calls or texts I thought maybe you’d died.” He shrugged sheepishly.

“I’ve just been busy,” you said. It was somewhat true- you’d busied yourself to be a different person, your own person. “Why, what’s up?”

“Nothing, I just-“ Art stopped himself. “You left early and you didn’t tell me.”

“The party?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Patrick said he saw you. Where were you?”

“I was on the stairs before I left. And then I went straight home and right to bed.” You told him honestly. “I’m sorry.” At least now you got to tell him you were sorry. “Look, I have another class in ten across campus, I have to go.”

“I’ll walk you,” he said.

You had to take a deep breath. All you saw in his offer was pity. Obligations. “My friends are waiting on me, I’m sorry. Thanks though.” You dismissed him.

“Yeah, you’re welcome,” he said. He wasn’t used to whatever version of you this was. You were sweet, you were kind, you were always willing to stick around if he needed you. You would always hang back if he was tying his shoelaces, but you wouldn’t even walk with him. “See you around.”

“Bye, Art!” You called from ahead. Part of you felt terrible. It wasn’t normal to do what you just did, but it was essential. How would you be someone uninfluenced if you couldn’t break the habit?

A few more days passed. Art would call every now and then. You would never pick up. You were busy. It was the least contact you’d had with him in your entire life- by choice, at least. Camping and vacations never counted. Your roommate said he’d been by twice more.

Another party came up. A Friday night- you, your roommate, your class friends all wanted to go. It still wasn’t your thing but why couldn’t it be? Reinvention.

No pregaming, just one drink in hand at the party you were talking with your friends in the corner, laughing, having fun. There was a guy in your new friend group that had been showing interest, or at least that’s what your friend said, backed up by your roommate. He was cute but he was your height, not taller. He was nice but said a few things that had made you cringe. You were trying to get into the college era vibe by flirting back but it was all empty.

You had no idea how to flirt with someone who wasn’t picking up on simple hints, but you stood with him, talking to him against the wall, closer than your other friends were.

You felt a hand on your lower back, turning to face Art. His hand raised itself to your upper arm, “Thought you didn’t like parties?” He said. No hello, no hi, no greeting.

“I’m giving it another chance,” you replied. “The first one wasn’t great.”

He furrowed his eyebrows, “Can we talk?” He asked. Your roommate stepped in and removed Art’s hand from your arm. It fell to his side. He looked at you, eyes meeting yours in the flashing lights of the party. You’d put off your friendship enough to allow maybe a conversation. He wanted to talk, he’d been wanting to talk, not sure about what but you nodded. “Somewhere quieter?” He suggested, gesturing for you to follow him. You stepped a few steps in the direction you started before realizing you were following him. You tapped his arm.

“This way,” you said. And you changed direction and headed up the stairs. Every room was occupied. You had no idea where you were going, so you turned to two doors in the hall and found yourself on the frat balcony. Greek letters hung just above your head height. Art closed the door behind you both, muting the inside noise. And he just looked at you, hands in his pockets, eyes soft, summer breeze in the air.

You blinked off his gaze, feeling judged, but he knew you were sober aside from a sip or two. Unaffected. “You’ve been busy,” he started. “I called again a few times, was wondering if you wanted to come with me and Patrick to see a showing of Back To The Future in the campus park this weekend.”

You smiled a little to yourself. Back to The Future was a shared favourite between you and Art. Your expression softened. “I’m not too busy…” you said. “But you’re inviting me?”

“Of course I’m inviting you, I haven’t seen you in a week and a half.” He said it like it was the biggest drop of common sense. “I want you to come with us.”

You shook your head, looking at your feet. You didn’t speak. Art spoke instead, “What happened at the first party? I know something happened, I can assume something happened. I lost you and I never found you and the next day you’re different. You’re not you.”

You weren’t you because you weren’t trailing after him on an invisible leash? You sighed heavily, “I don’t know.”

“You do know. I know you. You know. And we tell each other everything, but you’ve gone radio silent.”

You looked over the balcony, at the trees and the way their leaves rustled in the light wind. You folded your arms over your chest, unknowing of how to answer. He spoke again in your silence, “I’ve missed you.” He said.

You looked at him, “Missed me?”

He shrugged, “Yeah, why wouldn’t I? When I missed you before I could just call and you’d answer and now I can’t see you when you’re in the same building as me. I’m used to you being around. It’s different when you’re not.”

Your lip quivered like you wanted to cry and you felt burning behind your eyes, but no tears surfaced, just remembering how you felt when Patrick said what he said. You couldn’t let that go. “I just wasn’t at your heels,” you said.

“Hm?” Art stepped forward.

“Like a lost puppy,” you continued. “I’ve been trying to be my own person. Do things without you, without being on your tail at all times.”

He looked like that hurt him. How would that have hurt him? “What?” He asked it like you said something wild and crazy.

“I didn’t want to be some sad girl who follows you around anymore. I know you have priorities, I know you have friends here that you’ve known and connected with and I think you should be allowed your space… from me.” You said. Part of that was gushing and for the first time you realized that staying away from him had only partially been for you. It was an act of sentiment toward him to allow him to enjoy himself without you as a ball and chain.

Art looked like someone punched him in the stomach for a moment as he processed what you said. He changed expressions to concern, then to disbelief and then he just looked sad. “How did you come to that conclusion? Y/N… What? Space? From you? Like I didn’t go through two years of it already, seeing you only at Christmas and Easter?”

“You have great friends here and you see them all the time and you go out and you go to parties and I just tagged along that night, didn’t I? You were going to the party with your friends and I asked to go with you and you-“

“I said yes!” He said, voice a little louder. Trying to get it across. “I said yes. I didn’t think you would even want to go.”

“I want to be where you are. Or I wanted to be where you were, I missed you. I didn’t mean to invite myself. You could have said no.”

“I wanted you there!” He replied.

“Are you sure? You lost me pretty fast.”

“I spent the rest of the night looking for you! I haven’t spoken to three people from that night because I disregarded their existence looking for you, ruined their nights. I wondered if maybe you got roofied or you were fucking some guy in a bathroom- I-“ He ran his hands through his curls. “You didn’t message me until the next morning, I was still out there looking for you when you messaged me.”

Your lips parted and your mouth suddenly felt very dry. A little breath slipped out, a hush. You looked at him and he looked at you, his eyes soft and kind and sweet and just like the ones of the boy who dropped his sandwich in the sandbox. Art shook his head, stepping closer to you, stepping back and standing his ground closer to you. He looked up at the sky, “I love you and I care about you and I do fucking miss you.” He said. “More than anything. I’ve been losing my mind the past week.”

“I didn’t know,” you said.

“I called and came by your dorm,” he replied. “So this is the part where you tell me what the fuck I did to make you think you were someone I didn’t want around.” He was firm, but you could see the pain in his expression.

You swallowed hard, wondering what he would think. “Patrick, um…” you started but talking about it made you want to cry. You tried to get rid of the lump in your throat. “He found me and he said a few things about me being the same little girl who followed you around everywhere when I wasn’t wanted.” Your voice almost broke but you saved yourself, though you couldn’t stop your eyes from starting to tear up.

“Patrick said that?”

“He’s the one who made the lost puppy comparison. I’m not mad at him or anything, he was drunk, but he talked about me calling you all the time, how it all adds up to the same schoolgirl crush and how you can’t get rid of me and you’re the reason I’m here at Stanford and…” you trailed off because it choked you out. “It’s okay, it just made me rethink a lot of things. He said I need to be my own person.”

“You are your own person, what the fuck? Made you think that you needed to give me space? He was able to make you believe that I wanted to get rid of you? After being friends with you for seventeen years of my life?” He questioned it but you knew he wasn’t actually questioning you. It was rhetorical, you knew the answers. “I swear to god, I’ve never given so much as a notion that I don’t want you around other than I couldn’t want you around because you were either too far or just not invited. If I had it my way you’d be invited to everything, I would never not want you around.”

He grabbed you by both of your shoulders, squeezing but resting gentle. You sighed, “But I have followed you around like a lost puppy.” You said, blinking back threateningly hot tears.

“You’re not a lost puppy. Do you think I don’t feel like I’m dragging you around sometimes?”

“You’ve never dragged me anywhere,” you said. You smiled just a little and he couldn’t help but do the same. “I like being around you.”

“I like having you around. I’ve never thought of you as any sort of dog at my heels or whatever the fuck it is you or Patrick said.” He squeezed your arms again, sliding his hands up to the back of your neck, under your hair, bracing you. “You are everything to me, I don’t care where you are, if you’re behind me or in front of me, beside me, just with or around me, it’s the safest, most familiar thing I know. You can go anywhere you want but you chose to stick around me when you were only three and it was the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me.”

He confessed. You sighed, this time, just out of the peace his words brought.

“I mean at first I didn’t know what to do with a little girl who was depending on me to teach her how to make stick forts and weird knots and how to climb hills but we’ve figured everything out together. And I don’t want that to stop. Fuck Patrick, honestly. You over him, you over anyone, anything, any day of the week, I’m sorry. I’m not that sorry”

You didn’t know what else to do or how to reply. Every word he said kicked Patrick’s take on you to the curb. Everything Patrick had thought about you was disproven, thrown, ripped to shreds. Your heart beat fast, heavily, thudding against the inside of your ribs. You breathed out hard, hoping that maybe it would expel some of the emotion that was overloading. Art’s hands had moved slowly up the back of your neck, unnoticed as he confessed everything and now they rested just at your jaw, thumbs by your ears. This moment of yours before the breath only lasted seconds but felt like eternity. You could have cried, sobbed, even, with the amount of emotion that instantly overcame your body but you didn’t cry or scream it out, there was nothing more fitting than how Art closed the gap between the two of you with a kiss.

His hands at your jaw, yours grabbed onto his sides like it was natural. Like you’d done it a million times. As he kissed you with slightly chapped lips pressed firmly to your own, you found that there was some release, some weight gone. Some ghost butterfly danced around your stomach and your head and the kiss was not long, but not short either, but it was needed and the kiss itself was telling of that. All of your emotion washed out like the tide and came back slowly, regular, calm, known.

You pulled away at the same time, mutually. “I love you too.” You said quietly. He grinned that crooked grin you knew too well and suddenly you were laughing about it. About something, about everything. He kissed you again, of course, harder, laughing through it, his hands around your waist and your arms around his neck and this second kiss turned itself into a hug. An embrace, tighter than the usual ones. He buried his face in your neck as you expressed everything you’d needed to in all of your seventeen years as best friends. He apologized for any distance, any fault in the way he prioritized you, and any time he may have taken you for granted. Being without you was harder than he could have imagined.

And nothing ever changed how either of you felt about each other again. Though… Art started following you around a bit more from that point on, but who wouldn’t want that?

A/N: Thank you for the request! I hope this is somewhat to your liking, though I followed your prompt a bit loosely with the pacing. Always feel free to request! That goes for everyone

- masterlist

[stumped-on-bennington]

You and Me (and Me and You)

Smut!

Pairing: Pete wentz x masc!reader

Summary: Your friend, Patrick, invites you over to meet the rest of his band, particularly his bass player.

Warnings!: unprotected sex, P in A sex, male on male, slightly public(?) sex, drinking and drug use

Word count: 1,750+

Author note: I know i said i wouldn't write smut, but I just need to get this out of me lol

It had already been a long night when Y/N got a text from his friend, Patrick.

Y/N opened his phone and read the message.

Patrick: hey, man. Me and the band are hanging out at our bass player's house. Wanna come and hang for a bit?

Y/N sighed. He had already been up early that day for work, lifeguarding at one of Chicago's indoor pools. Y/N looked at the time in the corner of his phone. 9:34PM.

Y/N: idk, man. I've been up since like 5am. Maybe next time?

Y/N hit send and within a second Patrick had sent a follow up.

Patrick: come on, man! It'll be fun! The guys want to meet you. I told them how you're a wiz with lyrics and stuff and our bass player, pete, wants to pick your brain

Y/N sighed again before begrudgingly agreeing

Y/N: ok, but I'm not going to stay all night and drink too much. I'm exhausted.

Famous last words.

~~~

When Y/N got to the address that Patrick had sent, they saw it was a massive house. Too big and in too nice of a neighborhood to be owned by his bandmate. Probably his parents' house. Y/N thought.

When Y/N got to the door, Patrick opened it and greeted him, bringing him down to the basement.

Introductions were quick, Patrick pointing to the 3 other men in the large room. There was Andy, the one covered from his neck down in tattoos, Joe, the curly haired one who was taller than the rest of them, but not as tall as Y/N, and then there was Pete.

Y/N instantly took note of him. His hair, the emo style of clothing he wore, and the smudge eyeliner on his bottom lid.

Quickly, a beer was handed to Y/N. The 5 men sat on the couch and chairs in the basement as Andy and Joe played some game on the PS2. Patrick began the conversation, talking about how Y/N had helped him write some lyrics for his old bands and solo stuff. Y/N tried to downplay his writing, saying it was just some random poems and stuff he had previously posted on livejournal.

Pete lit up, leaning forward, his arms resting on his knees as he talked to Y/N.

“I write poems on livejournal too! It's actually where Patrick pulls a lot of other lyrics for our songs. I guess old habits die hard, huh?” Pete said, chuckling a little at the end.

~~~

The night went on, and beers had turned into vodka, which turned into weed. Andy and Joe had already headed out, but Patrick kept insisting “just one more” about 20 times. Y/N looked at his phone and saw it was already 3:56AM and he was too wasted to go home.

“Is it alright if I stay the night? I really can't be trying to drive home like this’” Y/N said.

Pete swayed over, throwing his arm around Y/N. “For sure! Any friend of Patrick's is a friend of mine! Plus you're pretty cool, so you're free to crash here any time, man!” Pete slurred over his words before standing up and walking up stairs to go grab some blankets and pillows.

Once Pete left the room, Patrick leaned over to Y/N.

“So, what do you think?” He asked Y/N, a wide smile on his face.

“I think your bandmates are pretty cool.” Y/N said.

Patrick rolled his eyes, “No, like I mean about Pete. I think you and him would make a great pair. AND he's bi! So it would totally work out!”

Y/N leaned back on the couch and put his hands on his face as he began to blush a bit. “Christ, Trick. Is that what this was all about? Dude, I said I was a little bi-curious once and you go and try to set me up with your bass player?”

“Come on, Y/N. He's a cool dude and I think he's into you too!” Patrick said.

Before Y/N could protest anymore, they heard Pete's footsteps coming back down the stairs, in his arms were several blankets.

“Alright! I'll set up the couch mattress and then someone can sleep on the recliner.” Pete said as he put the blankets down on a chair.

“I'll sleep on the recliner!” Patrick said before Y/N could even open his mouth.

~~~

In a few minutes, everything was set up. The couch bed was sloppily made and Pete was putting a DVD on.

“I sleep better with background noise, is that ok?” He asked Y/N.

Y/N nodded, crawling under the blanket on the bed. Pete turned off the lights and crawled into the other side of the bed.

As the movie barely began to play, Patrick was already snoring. Y/N laid in the bed, only slightly paying attention to the movie as he tried to just fall asleep, but before his mind could fade, Pete turned on his side to face Y/N.

“So, Patrick says you're a lifeguard, right? That's pretty cool.” He says, his voice just above a whisper.

Y/N turned towards him and nodded, “Oh, yeah. I guess. I mean, most days I just end up watching old people swim and get hit on by everybody.”

Pete watched Y/N talk as he held his head up on his arm, his elbow pressing down into the thin mattress.

“You know, I always had this fantasy. Where I'd be drowning in a pool and get saved by this super hot lifeguard, and after he pulls me out and makes sure I'm OK, I ask how I can replay him, and he just takes me into a changing room and fucks me right then and there.”

Y/N froze as Pete inched closer to him, his free hand slowly running down Y/N's chest, stopping to palm his crotch through his pants. Y/N's hips buck involuntary into Pete's hand, his member stiffening.

“I know we're not at a pool, but I do think you could still be rewarded for your service.” Pete says before moving his hand again, plunging it down into Y/N's pants, his fingers wrapping around Y/N’s now hard cock.

A shaky breath leaves Y/N's throat and he arches his back, wanting more of Pete's touch. Pete takes the opportunity to kiss Y/N, his tongue instantly moving around his mouth. Y/N melts and quickly grabs onto Pete, wanting to deepen the kiss. Y/N bucks his hips in time with Pete's pumps as he chases his release, but before Y/N can even get close, Pete removes his hand.

Y/N lets out a slight moan of disappointment, but before he can ask why Pete stopped, Pete is already moving the blanket off of Y/N and pulling down his jeans.

As Y/N's cock springs from his boxers, a devilish grin spreads on Pete's face before he licks the tip. Y/N bites his lip as he tries to hold back a moan, desperate not to wake Patrick, who was only a few feet away.

Pete began to bob his head up and down Y/N's length, his eyes now looking up at Y/N, barely illuminated by the glow of the TV. Y/N threaded his fingers through Pete's hair, messing up his emo fringe as he forced Pete to take even more of his cock into his throat. Pete moaned around Y/N's cock, sending a vibration through Y/N's body. But once again, before Y/N could reach his peak, Pete removed his cock from his mouth.

Y/N watched as Pete sat up, quickly taking off his jeans and boxers, exposing his own hard dick. Pete leaned down and spit on Y/N's cock before positioning himself above him. Pete gave Y/N a few strokes before moving down and pressing the tip of Y/N dick at his entrance and slowly moving further down before it slid in.

Both Pete and Y/N let out a sigh and sat still just for a moment, adjusting to the new feeling. After a few seconds, Pete began to bounce, letting Y/N cock almost all the way out before sliding back down to the base.

Y/N fought back moans as Pete bounced up and down, fucking himself on Y/N's cock.

“Don't worry,” Pete said, “ Patrick is a heavy sleeper. Besides,” Pete leaned down, his lips brushing against Y/N's ear, “I really want to hear you say my name.”

Y/N's eyes widened, lust taking over his body as his hands flew to Pete's hips, pulling his body down as his hips bucked up. Pete gasped in surprise as Y/N took control of him.

Y/N gave Pete a devilish smile as he watched him go submissive.

“Is this what you wanted? The big strong lifeguard to pound your ass as your friend sleeps next to you? I bet you want to cum all over me, don't you, Pete?” Y/N spoke just loud enough for Pete to hear him over the sound of the movie and their skin slapping.

Pete moaned as he quickly nodded his head. Y/N moved one hand from pete’s hips to his cock, stroking it in time with his thrusts.

“I'm so close, Y/N!” Pete moaned.

“cum with me, Pete. I want you to coat me with your cum as I fill your ass with mine.” Y/N said as his grip tightened on Pete’s cock and his pace quickened.

Pete leaned back, his head falling back as he let out a guttural moan, hot ropes of cum shooting from his dick, landing all over Y/N’s stomach and chest.

“Fuck, Pete!” Y/N shouted as he held Pete down, forcing his cum to shoot deep inside Pete. The two stilled for a moment, panting as they came down from their high. Eventually, Pete gets up, Y/N’s now soft member slipping free from Pete’s entrance. Before Y/N can move, Pete is licking his own cum off of Y/N’s stomach and chest.

“Oh, fuuuckk.” Y/N says as his head falls back.

“Sorry about the mess, I'm not really known as the cleanest person.” Pete says with a wicked smile.

Oh, Christ. Y/N thought, this guy is going to be the death of me.

[gamesetart]

has anyone seen that old movie the crush? im thinking of something similar rn with patrick... (without all the going crazy and manipulation and the underage stuff)

your parents have a big house. a gorgeous country home, complete with a stable, for you horses, a back garden with a pool and a tennis court, and, of course, a guest house. a spacious little one-bedroom located literally within spitting distance from the main home.

and you - home for the summer, sophomore in college, headstrong, pretty, interesting, a sports medicine major - you were supposed to move in there. it's embarassing to be your age (a precocious twenty) and still living in your childhood bedroom, for godssake! but, at the last minute, your father tells you you can't. which is absurd: you've never been told 'no' in your life, why on earth should he start now?

well, after two weeks of complaining, whining, begging, bargaining, and straight-up threats, your answer arrives. arrives in the form of a single black suitcase and one heavy sports bag. arrives in the form of a tired, scraggly looking man parking his fucked-up car in your gorgeous gravel driveway, right next to your perfect, pristine white vintage mustang. it's insulting.

your guest house is occupied. by son of family friends, sort-of professional tennis player, patrick zweig. you hate him instantly. hate that because of him, you're confined to your stupid childhood bedroom, with your stupid baby-pink walls your mom won't let you change, your canopy bed with the gauzey curtains. you hate that your parents invite him in all the time. you hate that he drinks your coffee and eats your food. you hate that he found your contraband stash of cigarettes and weed, and you hate that you know he stole some, because you counted, and that you can't confront him about it in case he tells your parents.

and you hate how he's hot. hate that he plays tennis on your court, damp curls sticking to his face, sweat running down his tanned, toned arms, stupid shorts clinging to his thick, hairy thighs... you hate that he swims in your pool in nothing but his underwear. you hate that he has these bright blue eyes, almost green in certain lights, the pupils ringed with a hazelish, almost golden halo. and you despise how those eyes look at you, like he's going to fucking eat you.

not like he doesn't hate you, too. he hates how you parade around like you own the world. he hates how you are: too smart for your own good, too aware of it for everyone else's. he hates how you've obviously never been told no until the guest house. he hates that you're a know-it-all brat.

and he hates you (and himself, a little, but mostly you) for being so damn attractive. he hates that he'll come home, from a run, or a bad date, or something, and find you in a clean white tennis set - ralph lauren, or lacoste, or some other bougie brand mean less for atheltics and more for style - lazily serving to no one. he hates that you'll read by the pool, austen and shakespeare and poe, in your little bikinis, sucking on a lollipop, or, if your parents aren't home, smoking a cigarette. he hates when you get dressed up because your parents are throwing yet another party, hates you in your babydoll dresses and your sweet skirts and your sweetheart necklines.

like you don't know what you're doing to him.

the funny thing is, both of you are smart enough to see that the other is physically attracted to you, but you're both too proud to admit it goes both ways. so you strut around in tiny tennis skirts and bikinis. he swims in his underwear and comes in in nothing but a towel to steal from your fridge. waiting for the other to break, to snap, to trip up and fall. if patrick breaks first, you get to laugh and call him a dirty old perv for going after you - he's like, a decade older than you, for christssake! - and if you break first, patrick gets to bully you open on his cock, make you cry, finally bring you down a peg.

just a matter of time.

[marchsfreakshow]

Some Playlists !

Uh here! I have some playlists for some of Evan's characters. <3

For the few Stan Bowes lovers that exist. mostly Lana's songs about being the other woman, or generally obsessiveness.

Specific Songs That Remind Me Of Stan Bowes

A typical Kai Anderson playlist. Lana + a few strays. It's shorter than my other ones but I still like it

Kai Anderson｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+

Some songs i'd make Tate listen to + typical Nirvana because hes so in love with Kurt Cobain. :3

The ones I'd listen to with Tate Langdon

Modern (meaning 70s to now) songs I'd make JPM listen to. Includes plenty of Lana because, I love her.

The modern ones I'd show James Patrick March

Warren vibes w this one because of my current obsession with this man

Weed And Movies With Warren Lipka

Dandy Mott vibes that are all jumbled and mixed up. Yes there's some Lana in there, obviously.

Thinking About Dandy Mott Again

Jimmy Darling you'll always be the prettiest boy 🫶 been meaning to make a Jimmy playlist for agesss hehd

Gazing Into Jimmy Darling's Eyes

Todd Haynes I miss u and I luv u sm. Songs I think have his vibe and he would like. As time accurate as possible bcs I'm a stickler for that type of stuff.

Todd Haynes brainrot<3

[luigilore]

you and luigi end up seeing each other a lot more often after the first get together. something about a plug being such a well-educated intelligent man drives you insane. he broke every stereotype you'd imagine when it came to a plug. nobody even really knew he sold weed. you always see him in the library studying or leading UPGRADE meetings. he smiles and waves everytime. the contrast is really what gets you. you learn that luigi only really deals to a select few, really only just his friends, and friends of theirs, like sophie and you. he supplies it from one of his cousins in baltimore. one of your biggest turn-ons is how kind he is, always asking how you're doing, ready to help out whenever. you two smoke together often, as you live super close, and brian and sophie are always off doing some couple stuff. you open up to each other. you learn that luigi started smoking to manage the pain from a back injury, and now he just does it to search for a familiar feeling. luigi has a plethora of medical issues, you learn. you also learn about his insecurities, and how he feels like it makes him a burden to others so he prefers to not let others in too close. luigi only has a few close friends, brian being one he knew from his high school days, and patrick who he met in first year, and instantly clicked with. luigi likes talking to you because you never judge him. you make him feel something he's never felt before. the first time you two kiss, its on the balcony floor of his dorm. its a heated mess of tongues fighting and teeth clashing, the weed being long forgotten about on the table. he takes you back to his room and you guys have sex for the first time. you'll never forget the look in his eyes and the way he worshipped your body like he wanted it forever. the next morning though, he was distant. you were confused and had no idea where you went wrong. were you not good enough for him? you and luigi entered a push and pull cycle. one day you two were all over eachother, the next he was just your plug who gave you the good weed for free. brian told you luigi hadn't had a girlfriend since high school and it left you wondering. you tried to pry for more, but brian wouldn't budge, saying that it wasn't his story to tell. it was a vicious cycle, tears, and i hate you's and i love you's. the best sex ever. the highest highs and the lowest lows. there were days that you regretted ever meeting him, and days you were sure he'd be the one you spent the rest of your life with. you two weren't good for eachother, but you we're all eachother had. you knew things about eachother nobody else did. "i love you", luigi would say before he ghosted you for another week. it was fucked up, but it was all you had. he was all you had. he was all you wanted. brian and sophie noticed the change in the both of you, but never acknowledged it. never acknowledged the puffy eyes or tear-stains, because they knew how much you two cared for each other. you would catch brian quieting his voice whenever he spoke to luigi on the balcony whenever you would walk in the room. sophie would just give you a sympathetic smile and rub your shoulder. you hated the feeling of them pitying you. luigi would constantly tell you how beautiful you are, how much he loves you, but would never want to make it official. he would be secretive about the paper work and pill bottles on his desk, and would get upset at you for even asking, but then apologize and make up for it in the only way he really knew how. you didn't know what was wrong. you wanted to fix him, but he didn't want your fixing. your life turned from chasing one high to chasing a completely different one before you even realized it.

-gymrat anon (can u tell i was inspired by lovefool hehe 🤗 I'LL MAKE A PT2 WITH A HAPPY ENDING!)

AHHHH omfg sooo obsessed like im so invested... ty for this bae <333 honored by the lovefool inspo i truly do love a good push pull dynamic😫😫 i have a lot of thoughts but none of them are coherent rn i do think i might need to annotate, it's that serious to me... "your life turned from chasing one high to chasing a completely different one before you even realized it." UHH omg omg omg . like u cant do this to me

[amymbona]

priest!patrick corrupting reader and her wanting to be corrupted liking the thrill of it all please

But he doesn't even mean to :( He's just being friendly, a bit unconventional, yeah, but he never does anything out right bad. He doesn't even touch you in any weird ways, at least not yet.

All Patrick does is talk to you when you decide to ditch the market, letting your siblings sell the vintage looking goods and dishes your family makes. He sits next to you on one of the church benches and listens to you rant about the annoying grandmas who seem to be tracking each and every step of the local young ladies. Soon, these little meetings turn into personal gossip sessions, filled with mutual sense of understanding but also something deeply forbidden.

Some days, you're with Patrick until the late evening, watching him perform his little rituals which consist of walking around the perimeter of the church, lighting every candle, caressing every little crucifix and straightening all the paintings on the wall. He looks extremely professional, extremely devoted to God and you can't help but wish you understood the lord's existence as deeply as he does. Perhaps that could allow for the two of you to get even closer.

You should go, he tells you when the sun is setting, and then calls you dear od darling which makes it harder for you to leave. Eventually you have to, though, and at home you get spanked for returning after the set curfew. But your sore ass is worth every minute spent with Patrick.

He shows up in your dreams that night, and the following one, and the night after that as well. Something bordering between the thrill of doing what you shouldn't and the lust over a man so unique begins filling your girlish mind. You've never dated before, never spoken to a man in such a way, as your parents believe you should marry one of their family friends' sons. Safe to say you're against that.

"What were you doing before this?" you ask Patrick the next day, again perched up on one of the benches.

Patrick is standing by the confession booth, buttoning up the white collar of his uniform. "Nothing your pretty ears should hear."

You roll your eyes but your heart flutters at his choice of words. You mutter his name - he allowed you to call him that, not father, which he said he doesn't find fitting, considering your two ages - and get up, slowly moving towards him. "I bet it's not worse than what the gossip says."

He chuckles, finally offering you one of his signature smiles. "Some little thefts, lots of weed and even more sex. And a few tattoos on top."

A sharp gasp escapes your pink painted lips at his confession, the irony of the situation failing to hit you, that in a few minutes, he shall be the one hearing out people's sins. And yet there he stands, in his dark cloak, with his curls nicely combed, and tells you how much of an asshole man he used to be before he got on the right path. You realise that the really is - used to be - everything you parents have warned you about. But now, he isn't any of that, is he? He's God's most loyal servant, the embodiment of everything good.

"You have more?" completely ignoring the previous statements, already imagining where else might his skin be ink coloured.

Patrick sighs, taking one of your hands in his tenderly. He runs a thumb over your knuckles, his head tilting to the sight in that pity resembling gesture. "You should go. The confession is about to begin."

So you leave, not wanting to bump into your insanely religious neighbour who doesn't miss a single confession time and would absolutely tell your parents if she saw you in the young priest's presence.

Patrick ignores you completely on Sunday, not sparing you a single glance. He seems more strained and a bit more professional, standing with his back completely straight. You rub your thighs together, your whole body itching, as you hope to catch his gaze. Nothing. He just speaks, speaks and speaks without drawing any differences between his audience.

So the next time Patrick is hidden on the other side of the confessional, you enter the little space - after checking you are the last one and nobody else should come after you - and assume your position on the knees.

"What sins do you have to confess?" he asks in that smoothly calming voice of his, still haven't seen your face through the thick curtain.

You brace your hands on the parapet separating the two tiny booths, feeling the warmth of his presence through the thick velvet curtain. "I want to get a tattoo."

The curtain is pulled to the side harshly, and you're met with Patrick's contorted face, his eyes boring into you as hot as fire. The ornamented oak construction casts shadows over his handsome face, hiding every single one of his emotions.

"No you don't," he protests. You can't. He knows that if you painted something permanent on your virgin body, your catholic family would send you into the scorching pits of hell, and not even he would be capable of saving you. Even something so mundane as a little ink painting would make you the most devilish human of this place. He can't allow that.

"I do," you bite back in a protest, brows furrowing. "And I will."

As you scramble out of the confessional, Patrick immediately follows, wrapping a big hand around your arm and yanking you back towards him. "You are not doing that to yourself."

You scoff. As if he could ever tell you what you are or aren't allowed to do. "Why? Who's gonna stop me? You? God?"

"You're so stupid," he hisses, grabbing both of your shoulders and digging his long fingers into your untouched flesh. Even the small gasp he draws from your lips is enough to tell you'd be crying one the thick needle would pierce your skin. And that would be the least of ache you'd feel. "Just go home. Sit with your parents and talk about your day. Forget about this."

With an expression mixed of determination and irritated frown, you pull away from Patrick. Like hell you'll do that.