#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

[poppy-metal]

need to be young and naive and have art and pat invite me to their hotel room. need them to try to teach me to smoke weed, laugh at me when i start coughing, and then tell me theyll just shotgun it for me to make it easier. need them to get me so high and pliable and take advantage of me :((( need need need

-🐞

s-shotgunning with patrick and art..... it gives the vibes of them lounging back with their cigarettes.... they looked so fucking good there....

need art feeding the smoke into my mouth while he cups my face, thumbs stroking my cheeks. need patrick who starts by mouthing at your neck, as soon as art let's you go and you exhale through your nose he's tugging you to his mouth, licking inside. and it's so overwhelming - you didn't expect to go this far, you really didn't. maye that was stupid. to go into a room with two boys, alone, but you aren't thinking clearly. it's hard too with your head all fuzzy and you think art is a good person - you've been warned about patrick, but art won't let anything bad happen to you, you're sure, he's a good guy. you relax into him. end up with your back pressed against his chest as patrick trails his kisses down your stomach - where did your shirt go? it's a crumpled heap on the floor somewhere, and patricks tongue dips into your bellybutton and you gasp. but then arts there, warm hand turning your head - and he takes another hit - feeds it to you again - his lips are so soft, you think. his hand is so sweet on you - comforting.

you're melted between them. patrick tugs down your shorts - you think you hear him say they're cute, you think you hear art agree. "fucking hot." you hear - everything is swimming. it feels good. you spread your legs when patrick parts them. your bare cunt exposed - shining the warm light of the room. you've never been touched before, not by anyone other than yourself, but you can't remember why not - everything feels good. you want patrick to touch you there. "please."

art props his chin on your head. they talk over you, and through the fog you hear bits and pieces - you think she even knows what she's begging for?/shit, man. she's so fucking wet./spread her - let me see./ god - that's a sweet fucking pussy./keep kissing her, she likes it.

you do like it. arts sweet angel kisses. pink tongue licking inside your mouth, his hands on your breasts, squeezing - you like how he moans into you, like that you're making him feel good. there's a wet and warm sensation between your legs that feels amazing - you can't look down though, art keeps your mouth hostage - but you reach down and feel something soft - hair, between your legs. patricks head. you card your fingers through his hair and tug him closer - whatever he's doing between your legs - you don't want it to stop. feels slick and hot and it send tingles through your whole body. you think it's his tongue - licking between the lips of your cunt like arts tongue is licking inside the lips of your mouth.

you want to keep feeling this good forever.

[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.

[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!!!!

[zweiginator]

ok ok good cuz i am NOT done talking about college!artrick, it's literally my favorite version of them atm. (potential tw: dubcon and drugs 😵‍💫)

i need to be so fucked up/out that i'm unable to do anything, just totally limp. idgaf if it's from like overstimulation, weed, too many cocktails, or just like being fucked so good my brain turns off. completely helpless and at their mercy, y'know. need to have art and pat grab my jaw and nod my head for me, i'm too weak to do it by myself. :(((( but it's okey, they know what i want, they know what's right for me 😵‍💫

maybe it's them teaching me how to smoke weed and i just get waaaaaay too high. i was havign a hard time learning how to do the inhale properly, and they insist on repeating it until i get it right, and suddenly it's just too much too fast. and they just have to take care of me!!!!

and poor baby, my little pussy is so wet, she's crying for attention :((( they should help her shouldn't they, we wouldn't want her to cry? look at her so sad and lonely, bet she feels so empty doesn't she baby? she just wants some attention, huh? i'm too gone to properly give them an answer, but they know what i want, theyll nod my head for me :((((( RRRRAAAAAHHHHHH

-🐞

cw: noncon stuff, somno stuff, drug usage

college!artrick who quickly became your best friends. it was unconventional, at first. art had hit on you at the run-down bar that had since closed. and patrick, being the good samaritan and even better wing man slash best friend that he was — told you to go for it. to ditch your stupid asshole boyfriend that he mentioned hadn’t even bought you a drink. to fuck art.

“it’s truly harmless.” and your boyfriend was a douchebag. he hadn’t bought you a single drink but was nursing on his sixth beer. watching your empty hands and then turning to his equally awful friends to loudly ogle women that would never give them a second look.

art was sheepish and didn’t look at you. but obviously, patrick had gotten the idea of art wanting you from somewhere. so you squeezed in between them and nudged art’s shoulder and tried to get him to come out of his shell.

“he’s weird when he smokes weed.” patrick whispered in your ear and smoking a joint sounded way fucking better than swiveling on an unoiled barstool off campus in uncomfortable heels.

“do you have some?”

art looked high and he smiled at you for the first time since you met them. he pulled a little baggy from his jeans and nodded his head towards the door.

“can we go to your place?” patrick asked. he explained how he was visiting, how art was on the tennis team and his roommates slash teammates—one of which who was the coach’s son—were major fucking snitches. so it really had to be at your place.

you rolled your eyes and agreed that they could come over.

and they sat on the balcony all night with you. forty three missed calls from your boyfriend didn’t cajole you from the trance you were in with them. of course, they were hot. and the humidity was suffocating even past midnight. so of course, their shirts hung over the railing of your balcony as the three of you passed a joint around, leaning forward in plastic green lawn chairs, splintered and uncomfortable on your asses.

your high was heady, and patrick was feeling bold.

“if you’re not gonna make a move then i will.”

so patrick kissed you. it was a parched and awkward kiss at first; you both were dizzy from too much weed, your mouths awfully dry. but then art joined and his kisses were sloppy, his tongue prodding into the corner of your mouth until you grabbed his hair and kissed him proper. patrick sat back and reveled in his creation, swigging a beer he stole from the fridge.

and your relationship with both of them just sort of remained stagnant.

you had long since dumped your boyfriend after he told you he fucked a blond sorority girl that night you had met the boys. you just shrugged and told him it was whatever—you made out with two tennis players anyway.

and people around campus had come up with filthy rumors and lies. patrick didn’t live in town. people conjured up fantasies about patrick being a prostitute. that art was a goody two shoes and wouldn’t fuck you so he paid someone else to.

it got so tiring that art had confronted his team and coach about it, after it had gotten to them. said his relationship with you was none of their business, but slammed down an old photo of him and patrick when they were kids at the tennis academy, their cheeks plump and red from the sun, a racket in each of their grasps.

it wasn’t until one friday night that everything between the three of you changed. the ticking time bomb’s fuse had finally burnt to its end. patrick was back in town for the weekend and art was excited about it. he hadn’t been there since that fateful first weekend.

your roommates were out of town, too. so it was perfect. art picked patrick up from the airport and brought him to your place. you found it odd that the first place they would go was to your apartment. but you let them in nonetheless.

“what is your plan for the night?” you asked.

art took a shitty bong out of his backpack and a bag of weed.

“just smoking? there’s nothing else you wanna do?”

the boys shook their heads like there was some ulterior motive controlling their movements.

“okay, alright.”

so you smoked. and before you had hung out with art and patrick that one night, you really hadn’t smoked all that much before. you saw art’s bloodshot eyes as a way out of the shitty bar with your boring boyfriend and you took it. you had coughed your way through the joint last time—but the bong was intimidating.

“how do you use it?” you looked at the stem of it; it was nasty and you had already given art shit for it.

“what do you mean? i thought you were a huge stoner chick?” patrick said, between coughs.

“i never said that. i dabble but pretty infrequently.”

you were sat in between them and both their sets of eyes flickered from the expanse of your neck, to your eyes, down to your lips again. a cycle of ogling you that you dismissed. and as you grabbed the bong they shook their head.

“that’s gonna make you cough like a bitch.” art warned.

“probably enough to make you nauseous.” patrick was seemingly parroting every point art was offering in favor of not using the bong.

“then what do i do?”

they said they could help you by shotgunning it into your mouth. and you had somewhat heard of that but you said that would be okay. you watched patrick light up while art sucked the smoke into his lungs. he grabbed the back of your head to pull you in and then the smoke was in your mouth.

“inhale it.”

and you did what he said, but you felt yourself stumbling over your sandals as you mounted him, still sat in the wobbly lawn chairs that could barely support the two of you.

art grabbed your waist and pulled you in by your belt loops. he was sunken in eyes, puffy and half-shut. he was chapped lips, which you licked for him. he was shoving his tongue into your mouth and you were grabbing his jaw to maneuver him how you wanted him and patrick just watched.

“your turn.” you turned to patrick, and art reached for you to stay. but then patrick took a hit with art’s kind help. and he repeated everything art did. grabbed you and pulled you to him. pushed the dank smoke into your mouth and ordered you to breathe it in.

you were so high and dizzy. outside of your body. you kissed patrick too, clawing at his chest and grinding yourself down on his very obvious erection. you were certain people could see you if your neighbors were out on their own balconies.

so you stumbled inside and into your room. patrick slammed the door and didn’t bother locking because it didn’t matter. art was on his knees, taking your sandals off. you could barely keep your eyes open but you could feel your cunt weeping with arousal. you wanted them so bad and you mumbled that as you fell on your back onto your bed.

art looked at patrick. patrick looked at art.

“what’d you say, sweet girl?” patrick stroked your cheek and pushed his thumb into your mouth. you sucked it, hallowing your cheeks.

“i want you guys.” you mumbled it softly, but that was enough for art, still on his knees, to yank your shorts down your legs.

you flipped onto your stomach and the boys looked at how your ass moved, still in your little pink panties. art kissed your lower back, your plump ass cheek. it was patrick’s turn to undress you, so he shimmied your panties down your legs and they stared at your cunt.

glistening, warm, inviting. patrick spread your legs further and you moaned. let them.

“fucking shit.” art ran his thumb through your folds. “she’s so fucking wet.”

patrick did it himself, confirming art’s conclusion.

art petted your hair. “your little pussy’s so wet.”

“i know.” you nestled your head further into the pillow.

“i bet she wants to be filled up.” patrick offered.

you nodded. it was faint, but a nod.

patrick hurried to pull his jeans down, letting his cock spring out.

but now your body was limp as you fell asleep. drool pooled onto your pillow and patrick rocked against your cunt.

“wake up pretty girl.” art shook your shoulders and you moaned.

"hm?" you giggled and art kissed you hard.

"do you want us to fuck you? fill your little pussy? she looks like she really wants it." art cooed in your ear.

"mm. yes."

patrick pulled your hips up and pushed into your cunt, using the flesh of your ass as leverage as his thrusts got harder and deeper. your body rocked forward and soft mewls and whimpers left your mouth. but god, you were so, so sleepy. just felt heavy from the weed. from the weight of patrick on top of you as he reached around to rub your clit.

you clenched around patrick.

“that feel good?” patrick groaned against your ear and you let out a tiny, almost indiscernible whimper. patrick grabbed your jaw, nodded for you.

“fuck—baby—“ his thrusts got sloppier and art was still hard.

so he pushed his boxers down and stroked his cock. up and down. up and down. you were dozing in and out of sleep; they could tell when you came to due to your sweet, saccharine moans that were pushed out of you when patrick’s cock was in you, to the hilt.

“fuck you make me so hard.” art rubbed the head of his cock against your lips. so plush. drool running out from between them. his precum leaked on your mouth and he used it as lubricant to rub himself all over your lips, your cheeks, your face.

“artie-“ you whimpered and stuck your tongue out. you still could barely open your eyes; they felt glued shut. would be easier to keep them shut.

art held the back of your head and fucked his cock into your mouth slowly.

“good fuckin’ girl.”

you sputtered around him and your eyes watered as art jerked himself into your mouth, using you. but your sounds of contentedness fueled them. your poor, limp body so high and outside of yourself. your best friends wouldn’t want you to be so empty, so alone like this.

patrick came on your back and art on your face and then they were spent and all three of you fell asleep, after they wiped you clean.

[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 toid 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….)

[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.

[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

[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

[tarotofbadkitties]

Hate to disappoint Team "Art and Patrick are gay and would have been happier if they ran away together", but that was never going to happen. What would have happened if she hadn't given them the space to express their desire for one another is they would have stayed friends only a short while longer and then lost contact on purpose. The reason they would have done this is because they were both in turmoil over their attraction to one another. If they were gay, they would have had no choice but to deal with that directly. But the thing is...they're not gay, they're bisexual.

Which means that, while they can't choose who to be attracted to, they can choose to only act on their attraction to women, and simply avoid men they're attracted to. For example, one another. That subconscious desire to avoid one another is what made Patrick and Art make different post-high school choices, IMO. My read is that Patrick was consciously aware of his feelings towards Art and already desperate to not spend another 4 years trapped in a bedroom with a man he can't touch by the time we met them. Patrick hesitates to swipe on the man on Tinder even in present day; I think the fandom is over-estimating how comfortable Patrick and Art are with this aspect of themselves. Tashi gave them a safe, non-judgmental space to express their desire for each other, and she also brought them back together again after they parted ways. The space she makes for them to openly want each other without getting lost in the weeds of Gay Panic is essential to them feeling free enough to go for it with one another.

[sidekick-hero]

(steddie | explicit | wc: 2.6k | cw: open ending, mention of Eddie/OMC, short Steve/OFC scene| tags: frat boy steve, modern au, fuckbuddies, not really unrequited love | AO3)

Written for @steddielovemonth, prompt: Love is being terrified but not letting that stop you from taking the leap

Steve screwed up, no way around it. Fucked up big time.

In his defense, he didn't know that Eddie was in love with him. How could he have known? For all intents and purposes, they were just two horny guys hooking up. Having fun, blowing off steam.

For Steve, it had just been some harmless fucking around with the pretty guy who sells weed at the Sigma Chi parties.

At least, that's how it started.

They met at the very first Sigma Chi party he attended after his initiation. Eddie had been making the rounds, trading goods for money, and Jason, the current vice president and right hand to their president Billy Hargrove, had told Steve to try some, the freak sold good shit. It was the only reason he was allowed to enter the Sigma Chi house in the first place.

Steve, who had vowed to make a good impression and earn the respect of his brothers, did as he was told, even though he knew what his father would say about him smoking pot. But he also thinks his father would approve if it helped Steve's chances of moving up in the chapter faster. His father was president of Sigma Chi when he was in college, and Steve knows that he expects Steve to follow in his footsteps.

It's rare that Steve's father even acknowledges Steve outside of snide remarks and orders, but the day Steve told him during their weekly Sunday family dinner after church that he had successfully completed his pledge and would become a Sigma Chi brother, his father had patted him on the back and said, "Well done, son."

He's been chasing that high ever since, and he won't stop until he's president himself. Maybe then his father will look at him with the same pride and affection he's seen other fathers show their sons. He can be as good as they are, even better. He will prove himself.

None of his plans had included Eddie Munson.

It wasn't like Steve hadn't fooled around with other guys, a quick handjob in the shower after practice, or that one time Tommy had gotten down on his knees for Steve after one too many beers by Steve's pool. None of those times counted, though, because Steve might not be as straight as everyone thought he was, but that didn't mean he was going to act on his desires once he was out of school and ready to take on his responsibilities as a man.

He would graduate with a degree in business, just like his father.

He would become president of his chapter of Sigma Chi, just like his father.

And he would marry a pretty girl with a respectable family and good connections, just like his father.

All of these plans took a back seat in his mind the moment Steve saw Eddie on his knees for one of his brothers. As he watched Eddie suck and lick Patrick's cock like it was a popsicle in the middle of summer, he was frozen in place, his eyes and mouth wide open. The look on Eddie's face was what got to Steve the most, completely blissed out, his eyes closed as drool and pre-cum dripped down his chin.

No girl had ever looked like that while blowing Steve.

Tommy hadn't looked like that either.

In that moment he knew he needed Eddie to look like that for Steve.

That's how it started, really. The next time Eddie was at one of their mixers, Steve couldn't look away, his eyes fixed on Eddie's full lips curled around the haughty grin he always wore when dealing with members of the chapter. The girl he'd been making out with just seconds before only got his attention back when she started kneading him through his jeans, and he told himself that's why his dick twitched in anticipation every time he saw Eddie from now on.

He took her to his room and made her come twice before sinking into her, only able to come himself when he thought of Eddie's brown eyes blinking up at him before closing in utter bliss as Steve fed his cock into his waiting mouth.

Afterwards, he walked her to her dorm because he's still a gentleman. He told himself he wasn't disappointed when Eddie was already gone by the time they made their way through the party, which was already on the wane by then.

She told him she had fun and that maybe they could do this again, to which Steve agreed easily, already knowing that they wouldn’t. He kissed her goodnight and waited until she was safe inside before he walked back to the house, deep in his thoughts. That’s why he didn’t even notice the dark figure waiting for him on their porch.

“You’re quite the gentleman, aren’t you, Harrington? Making her scream and then walking her home? Didn’t think a proper frat boy would do either, to be honest.”

Eddie emerged from the shadows, the light streaming out from the window casting a faint glow on his high cheekbones and round nose. His dark brown eyes seemed bottomless, their depths illuminated with a reddish hue as they reflected the glimmering tip of his joint.

“I don’t see why that's any of your business, Munson. You're overstaying your welcome here. We don’t need any more party favors. Piss off.”

Eddie clicked his tongue in mock disappointment.

"I don't think so. I have a feeling that I have left a customer unsatisfied. Isn't that right, big boy?"

Without Steve noticing, too caught up in everything that was going on, Eddie had come close enough for Steve to feel the warmth of his body against the crisp fall air.

Swallowing audibly, Steve willed his body to take a step back, only to have Eddie follow him until he felt the railing dig into his backside.

"I have no idea..." he stammered, his heart pounding in his chest and blood rushing through his body. To his abject horror, he felt his cock hardening in his jeans.

As if sensing this, Eddie moved even closer so that he could slip his leg between Steve's, his thigh pressed firmly against the bulge at the front of Steve's pants.

"Oh, but I think you do, Stevie. That," and he rubbed his thigh along the straining length of Steve's cock in a delicious drag that had him moaning before he could stop himself, "tells me you know what I'm talking about."

Eddie then started to move his leg, pushing up and basically forcing Steve to ride his thigh. At least that's what Steve told himself, he had no choice but to buck his hips and rub against the offered leg like he was in heat.

"I saw you. When you watched me blow Pat." Steve wants to be horrified, but his cock twitches again at the memory, even as he mentally scoffs at Eddie calling the guy 'Pat' like they're pals. "And I noticed the way you were watching me tonight. You're a naughty boy, aren't you? Did you think about me on my knees for you while you were fucking her, huh?"

Like an out of body experience, Steve had felt his hips pick up speed, those dirty, humiliating words spoken in Eddie's deep, slightly patronizing voice pushing buttons he didn't even know he had. He was close, just rubbing one out on a guy's leg on the front porch of their chapter house, where one of his brothers could walk in on them at any moment.

In that moment, he hated Eddie.

He also wanted to kiss him, so he grabbed the front of Eddie's shirt and pulled him in, biting his lips until they opened for his tongue. It was the safest way to muffle his moans when he came in his pants a few minutes later.

After that it became a habit and three months later fucking Eddie was as much a part of his life as going to church with his parents on Sunday.

And that was fine, he had become well versed in the art of compartmentalizing. A word he had learned from Robin, who sat next to him in his elective psych class and had become something of a friend. Not close enough to confide in yet, but someone with whom he could be a version of himself that he liked a lot more than Sigma Chi brother Steve.

But then Eddie had to go and change the script of their hookups.

It usually went like this: Steve would text Eddie, usually a simple "wanna fuck?" to which Eddie would almost always reply "sure" within five minutes. He'd come over to Eddie's because he couldn't risk one of his brothers finding out, so his room was off-limits, and Eddie would be waiting for him with lube and condoms ready next to the bed. At least Steve liked to think they were there for him.

He hadn't seen Eddie with any other guys since they started to hook up. Not that that would have been a problem, but it was just safer, Steve thought, that's why he liked that thought so much.

They would fuck, Steve would ask if he could take a shower, to which Eddie would always say yes, and then join him under the hot spray for another round. Then Steve would leave until the next time.

Only one day, Eddie had begun to change their routine. He had offered Steve something to eat afterward, claiming he had some pizza left over and asking if Steve was hungry. Which he was, they had been at it for two hours, and he didn't have much to eat for lunch anyway. So they sat on Eddie's bed, still naked, and ate pizza.

It became a habit.

It led to Steve staying longer and longer at Eddie's. Sharing a meal became eating while watching a movie on Eddie's laptop. And then, a few weeks later, after a particularly grueling week, Steve fell asleep while watching Friday the 13th. He woke up tucked into Eddie's side on the bed, a blanket thrown over them, and Eddie snoring softly next to him.

Steve watched him sleep for a long time before he silently slipped out of bed and into the night.

Another thing that had changed in the months they'd been together was the way they fucked. They had quickly worked their way up from hand jobs and blow jobs, and the first time Steve had sunk into Eddie's tight heat, Eddie on his hands and knees urging him on, he knew he would crave that particular feeling for the rest of his straight married life.

They never fucked face-to-face.

Until they did.

It had been Eddie who had pinned Steve down on the bed, back against the headboard, staring up at Eddie as the man coated Steve's hard cock with lube. He had thrown his legs over Steve's and sat on his lap, slowly sinking down onto Steve. It had been maddening. It had been so good that Steve had seen stars, so overwhelmed with pleasure that he had bitten Eddie's shoulder to keep himself from crying out.

Soon, face-to-face had become their new routine.

It was the beginning of the end.

The last time Steve had had Eddie like this, Steve had been on his back with Eddie between his legs, thrusting so deep into him that Steve thought he could feel him in his throat. The weight of Eddie on top of him didn't feel suffocating, it felt grounding. Safe.

Eddie had begun to feel grounding and safe, and Steve didn't know what to do with it, so he just wrapped his legs around Eddie's narrow waist to spur him on.

The way Eddie held him felt different, almost tender, even as he started to fuck him harder, finally fucking him like he meant it. Their chests were pressed together and Eddie's hand gripped Steve's shoulders for leverage while Steve clawed at Eddie's back as he flew higher and higher. One of his hands slid down Eddie's back and grabbed his ass to pull him further in, as if there was any way Eddie could go any deeper.

They both came within seconds of each other, their bodies shaking from the pleasure that was still coursing through them, and Steve never felt better.

At least until Eddie lifted his head and looked down at him and said with wonder in his voice, "God, I love you.”

It was as if he blacked out, someone else taking over his body as he pushed Eddie off of him, scrambling to get up and get dressed as he yelled, "No, no, no, no!"

"Steve?" Eddie had asked, his larger-than-life persona reduced to something small and breakable. "I know we haven't talked about it, but I thought... you can't tell me there's nothing between us but two guys fucking. Not anymore."

And he was right, that was the problem.

Everything Steve had worked so hard for and he almost threw it all away by falling for someone his friends or parents would never approve of. He just couldn't do it, it was too much to ask of him. Even for Eddie.

"There's nothing between us but two guys fucking. I'm sorry you caught feelings, Munson, but that's not my problem."

"'Sorry you caught feelings'? Are you kidding me?"

"I don't know what you want me to say. Maybe stay away from the house for a while and sell your shit somewhere else, yeah? Don't make it harder on yourself."

Steve walked out before he could see Eddie's reaction to his words, but he did as Steve asked and stayed away.

He should be happy, after all, he had dodged a bullet. Patrick might like to get his rocks off with another guy once in a while, but Patrick was no president material. Patrick was no Harrington.

So why was Steve holed up in his room while his brothers downstairs were celebrating the end of the semester like there was no tomorrow?

Because Steve screwed up, no way around it. Fucked up big time.

He fell in love with Eddie Munson.

Steve could have Eddie with him, in this bed, right now, if he hadn't pushed him away out of fear. And now, five weeks later, Eddie was going out with a guy Steve hadn't seen before. He'd seen them kissing outside the cafeteria, in broad daylight, with people milling around. No one had given a shit about it. No one but Steve, who had felt the pain of his heart squeezing in his chest. Squeezing his nose to hold back the tears, he rushed to the nearest bathroom and pressed his burning face against the cool tiles.

What was he supposed to do now?

Steve knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to leave that house that had felt more like a jail to him and go over to Eddie’s, climb into his bed, and let himself be held. There, in the safety of Eddie’s arms and the cover of the night, he could have told Eddie that he might love him, too. Steve could have admitted that he was scared, terrified even, and Eddie… Eddie would probably have teased him. He could almost have heard his voice, asking Steve, “And you were letting that stop you?” like the thought was laughable.

Maybe it was. Maybe it should have been.

Steve didn’t know. He hated that he didn’t know what would have happened if he hadn’t let it stop him.

Maybe some things were worth taking a leap and trusting that someone would catch you.

Before he could have let his fear stop him, he pushed himself off his bed and put on his shoes.

Maybe it was time to try to be the man he wanted to be, not the man his father wanted him to be. And that man was in love with Eddie Munson and willing to take a leap for him.

He just hoped Eddie would catch him on the other side.

[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.

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

Eddie Munson's Defense Squad the complete one shot

A/N: Halfway through writing this, I realized that I was accidentally basing Poppy on a girl I went to school whom I admired. I realize now that I had a crush on her. Different name, same personality. Also, there is a Carol in here. Her name is Carol Watson, and she's completely different from Carol Perkins.

Poppy Blake smacked her gum obnoxiously as she listened to her parents rant about Eddie Munson, the three of them sitting around the dinner table as they did so. This was complete and utter bullshit.

"You guys have a lot of nerve for talking shit about Eddie when you have no clue what kind of man he is," Poppy said. "And it's hypocritical coming from a mixed race couple who have to deal with the stares and the comments in this assbackward conservative town who can't seem to tell what year it is."

Her mother's green eyes widened. The green eyes and the freckles Poppy got from her mother. Everything else, including the hair and the dark complexion she got from her daddy. Thanks to her mom, her skin was much lighter than his. Maybe she was a bit of a narcissist, but she loved the way she looked, how she was a perfect mixture of both her parents. She especially loved how her hair had its own personality, and she was grateful that she didn't have her mother's bright orange coloring. Not that she had anything against redheads. It's such an odd shade that whenever Poppy asks if she dyes it, Clara Blake just laughs. She never answers.

"He's a drug dealer," Clara said.

"And so is Daddy," Poppy said.

"Pharmaceutical salesman," Tony said.

"They sound like the same thing to me," she replied.

"Well, Poppy, one's illegal, and one is not," Clara said.

"Weed doesn't kill people, Mom! It's just bullshit propaganda. I mean, not unless it's laced with something, but Eddie would never do that. Some of those drugs that Dad sells should be illegal," Poppy said. "I mean, alcohol is more dangerous."

"You seem to know an awful lot about his weed," Tony said, suddenly amused.

"Dad, I regret to inform you that your precious little girl smokes," she said, and Clara gasped. "Do not act like this is brand new information. You and I both know that bag of oregano that you found was not, in fact, a bag of oregano. Now, tell me why someone would kill his own customers when he could keep them alive and earn a profit?"

"That's true," Clara frowned.

"Mom, I know how scared you are, but I know he would never kill Chrissy, Patrick, or Fred. I know, just like I know that you would never," Poppy said. "Mom, you know I'm a good judge of character."

"We both know that, baby," Tony sighed. "I suppose we both did sound ridiculous."

"Thank you," Poppy said, blinking back tears. "And you know, Hellfire, despite its name, isn't a cult. They're just playing a game like the boys play basketball."

"Well, even we know that. I suppose it's the fear of the unknown that's got us so scared," Clara said.

"I totally get that," Poppy said.

"By the way, why are you so sure?" Clara asked.

"I don't know. It was the look in his eye when he talked about his mom, and it was just like pure love in there when he talked about her. I mean, he can definitely be an asshole but in the way that cousin Mark is and we all still love him. He respects cheerleaders too much to kill them, even the ones that really hate him," Poppy said.

The sound of the front door opening loudly startled the three of them. Kayla Fielding, her best friend in the whole world, ran into the living room. Her blond hair was in disarray, and her bright blue eyes were blown wide with alarm.

"Kayla, we were just about to have dinner. You're welcome to fix yourself a plate and join us," Tony said.

"I, uh, actually needed some last-minute help on a project. I read the directions wrong, and it's due tomorrow," Kayla said. "I was hoping that Poppy would help me."

"Do you mind, Mom?" Poppy asked. "I had a late lunch, so I'm not very hungry."

"Go on," Clara said, her eyes twinkling at them in amusement. "Keep the door open, though."

"Um, okay," Poppy said, looking at her mother in confusion.

They quickly moved up the stairs and into Poppy's room.

"Uh, I think your mom knows, Poppy," Kayla said.

"My mom doesn't know shit," she said, rolling her eyes. "Anyway, what's this about? Clearly, there's no project."

"I just heard that Jason has started a town wide man hunt for Eddie and the rest of Hellfire. I heard that they were heading towards that creepy looking house on Morehead Street," Kayla scowled. "This is so fucked up! Eddie doesn't deserve this, and neither do these kids. I've always hated Jason, but I never thought that he would take it this far."

"We need to do something," Poppy said. "Stop them. We need to gather the others and get some weapons."

"Do you really think we can do this?" Kayla asked.

"My parents always taught me to do what's right, to stand up for people when they needed it. Although, I think they were talking about when a kid gets bullied or something," she replied. "It fits in this situation, too."

Poppy wasn't proud of it, but she ended up breaking into her dad's gun locker to grab a shotgun that her dad taught her to use. He always wanted to make sure she was prepared. Not that he actually needed to teach her. She figured it out pretty quick. Poppy tried to hand Kayla the Smith & Wesson, but she quickly shook her head.

"I don't do guns, remember?" Kayla asked.

"Right, well, I'll just grab it for the other girls," Poppy said. "There's a baseball bat in my room. You can use that."

She zipped up the shotgun and the other gun into a bag as well as some ammo to go with it. They stood up at the same time, reminding Poppy just how much taller she was than Kayla and how much Kayla liked that.

"This is sort of thrilling," Kayla admitted, licking her lips.

"We don't have time for that, Kay," Poppy smiled.

"Right."

They quickly snuck back into Poppy's room and stuffed the bat into the bag. Poppy opened her window as quietly as she could.

"Okay," Poppy whispered. "You're going to go down the trellis first, then I'll lower the guns down to you, okay?"

"Okay, see you on the other side," Kayla said as she straddled the window sill.

She grabbed Poppy's face and pulled her in for a deep kiss. Poppy sighed and leaned into it, kissing her harshly. They both broke the kiss, breathing heavily, their lips swollen. The giddiness never really goes away whenever Kayla kisses her. It always feels like the first time. Poppy smiled as she watched Kayla maneuver down the side of her house. Using her bedsheets, she lowered the bag down to Kayla. She climbed down the trellis herself and followed Kayla into her car, placing the bag in the backseat. When she sat back in her seat, Kayla was grinning at her.

"I guess I'm your partner in crime," Kayla said, grinning. "Get it? Because I'm also your romantic partner, and we're also committing a crime by hunting down a bunch of asshole jocks."

"I fucking love you. Never stop being a dork," Poppy laughed and kissed her. "Step on it, baby."

Kayla tied her hair up with a scrunchie, turned on the radio, and sped off toward the houses of the other cheerleaders. Most of the cheerleaders would be with her on this one, seeing as Poppy was the one to spread the story about Eddie's mother. She had been the one to go to him for drugs when the others were too chicken to do it. He had been nice and funny, a perfect gentleman. Looking into his eyes, Poppy could see how sweet he was. Unlike Jason, whose eyes screamed psychopath and she wouldn't be surprised if Jason had been the one to kill Chrissy. . . and couldn't stop at just one. Patrick was one of the nice ones, the one the girls got along with most as well as the new guy, Lucas Sinclair. Steve Harrington was much the same, but she hadn't talked to him in a while. They didn't hate all jocks but enough of them got underneath their skin. There were other cheerleaders who didn't see it their way. They absolutely loved Jason and hated Eddie. They couldn't see beyond their own attraction. And if Poppy had any interest in men, then she certainly would have gone for Eddie rather than Jason.

Hungry Like the Wolf was still playing in Poppy's head when they pulled up to the creepy looking house. It sent a shiver down her spine as she looked at it. Poppy quickly handed over the bat to Kayla and the other gun over to Taylor, who didn't bring a weapon. A gust of wind suddenly appeared, and Taylor's short brown hair hit her piercing hazel eyes. There was anger there. Taylor took the gun from her and thanked her as she loaded it. Everyone else had their own weapons: bats, crowbars, and someone even had a broom handle.

"Let's kick their ass - "

A scream interrupted Poppy, and they all ran in that direction. Andy was on top of what looked like an eleven year old girl, and he was getting ready to pummel her. Oh, fuck that.

"ANDY!" Poppy yelled and raised her shotgun.

"You've got three seconds to get the fuck off of her before I put a round in you," Taylor snarled as she raised the gun.

If anyone had more reason to do it, it would be Taylor, considering he once put his hands on her without her consent. Taylor didn't even bother counting when Andy raised his fist. She pulled the trigger, and the round went through Andy's shoulder. He fell to the ground with a yell. Taylor ran over to him and pressed the heal of her boot into his shoulder. He screamed.

"I'm sorry. Should I have asked first before stepping on you?" Taylor asked.

"YOU BITCH!" Andy screamed.

"Says the guy screaming like one!" Taylor exclaimed.

"You shot me!" He sobbed.

"Yeah. I did do that," Taylor grinned victoriously.

Poppy went over and helped pull the girl away.

"Are you okay?" She asked, and the girl nodded. "What's your name, sweetheart?"

"Erica Sinclair," she said.

"Are you Lucas's sister?" Poppy asked.

"Yeah, he's inside. I think I saw Jason go in there," Erica said, looking worried.

"We'll handle it. You stay here with Carol. We like to call her Mother Hen. You'll find out why," Poppy smirked. "I'm Poppy, by the way, and that's Kayla."

Poppy and Kayla left just as Carol Watson started to fuss over Erica. They went into the stairs and went all the way up to the attic where Jason was pointing a gun at Lucas. Some girl was sitting on the floor in a trance. Lucas was pleading with Jason.

"You're lying! Chrissy would never have gone to him if she was in trouble! She would have come to me!" Jason exclaimed.

"Well, that's not just fucking true," Poppy said causing Jason to whirl around and point the gun at her. "She came to me, Jason, and then I sent her right to Eddie. All I knew was that she was stressed. She was under pressure from something. It was either her mother or you. I thought that maybe Eddie could help her."

"You sent her to Eddie? You're the reason she's dead?" Jason glared.

"No, Jason. I don't know what happened, but Eddie's not a killer. He's a good man. Better than you are," Poppy said.

"Eddie is a killer, and I'm trying to protect this town from him!" Jason yelled.

"No! We're trying to protect this town!" Lucas yelled out.

Jason whirled around and pointed the gun back on Lucas. Poppy gripped her shotgun and took a step further. Kayla did the same, gripping her bat. Lucas was scared, and all it would take was Jason pulling the trigger once. Something in Lucas's face changed.

"You know, I wanted to be like you. . . popular, but all I see now is a full blown psychopath," Lucas said.

He bent down at the right time as Jason took the shot and dove into Jason's stomach. The gun was knocked out of Jason's hand, and pretty soon, they were both throwing punches. Poppy cursed. She couldn't shoot Jason now without risking shooting Lucas.

"The Walkman!" Lucas exclaimed.

Kayla was quick. She rolled and grabbed the Walkman before Jason could stomp on it.

"What are we supposed to do with this?" Kayla asked.

"Max! Put it on Max! Running up that Hill!" Lucas yelled.

It was difficult for Kayla when Max started lifting in the air. Holy shit! Poppy reacted quickly and put the headphones on her. They stared at Max and didn't notice that Jason grabbed the gun again until he was pointing it at Lucas. Poppy pointed her shotgun at him.

"Jason! Don't do this!" Poppy exclaimed.

"You're supposed to be on my side, Poppy!" Jason exclaimed. "Instead, you're siding with these. . . Satanists."

"There are no sides! There's only living and dying. Which one are you going to choose?" Poppy asked.

Jason paused for a moment, and it almost looked like he was lowering it. His face hardened, however, and he turned the gun on her. He had chosen.

"You're Tigers!" Jason said furiously.

"Oh, honey, no. We're fucking wolves," Poppy said as she thought about the rest of her 'pack' outside. "Who protect their own."

She pulled the trigger. Jason screamed as the gun fell to the ground. He clutched his bloody hand, crying. Max fell to the ground. Lucas rushed to her side and pulled her into his arms.

"I'm okay. I'm okay," Max said, and he helped her up. "Jesus, what the fuck happened?"

"Uh. Poppy Blake shot him," Lucas said, and Max looked at Poppy in surprise.

"Most of the cheerleaders hate Jason, Andy, and Connor, but we love Eddie," Kayla said. "There are a few who refuse to look past their looks. Gah!"

Poppy shared a look with Kayla and her eyes twinkled back at her.

"Well, it's a good thing that we don't like men, baby," Poppy said teasingly.

"Hey, if I were into men, it'd be Eddie or Chief Hopper," Kayla said, and Lucas looked at her when she mentioned Hopper. "Oh, I like tall people. Preferably tall women."

"Lesbian warrior cheerleaders?" Max asked in amusement.

"Yes! I want that on a shirt," Kayla said.

They left the room, and the house with Jason still bleeding out on the floor of the attic. When they walked out of the house, they found a few more jocks had arrived late to the party. Several of them had her cheerleaders on the ground, including Taylor and Carol. Erica was nowhere to be found. Poppy made sure it was clear before shooting her shotgun off to the side. The jocks stopped and dropped them. Every single one of them were bleeding but not too terribly.

"Hey! Your leader is upstairs bleeding to death. I suggest you get him some help and get the fuck out of here before I give you matching wounds!" Poppy exclaimed.

The jocks ran upstairs and came out carrying Jason. Poppy and the cheerleaders all glared at them with weapons drawn until they drove away.

"Are all of them cheerleaders?" Max asked.

"Yeah," Poppy replied.

"Holy shit," Max said. "Does Eddie know he has his own defense squad?"

"He will now," Kayla said.

"Where's Erica?" Poppy asked.

"Shoved her into my car when those assholes showed up," Carol replied.

Erica hopped out of the car, carrying a first aid kit.

"Found a first aid kit, and it looks like some of you are you going to need it," Erica said and looked at her brother. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah."

Carol took the box from Erica and started patching everyone up. Just as Poppy was about to open her mouth to ask Lucas what the hell was all that about, an RV drove past honking loudly.

"Shit! Eddie's in that RV. We have to follow!" Lucas exclaimed.

"Alright, wolves!" Poppy whistled. "You heard him! Move out!"

They all climbed into their respective vehicles, with Lucas and Erica crawling into the back of Kayla's car. They followed the RV to the hospital where the door burst open. Steve Harrington, Nancy Wheeler, Robin Buckley came out carrying a bleeding Eddie in their arms. A crying boy with curly hair was following them.

"Oh, shit," Lucas muttered.

The group followed them into the hospital, where they delivered Eddie to the doctors. They immediately wheeled him away onto a gurney. Nancy, Robin, and Steve stared down the hallway in shock. Lucas approached the curly hair boy who was now crying.

"Dustin, what the hell happened?" Lucas asked.

"Lucas! Max!" Dustin exclaimed before pulling them both in a hug. "The bats. . .they got to Eddie! . . . Who are they?"

"Dustin, Steve, Nancy, Robin. . .meet Eddie Munson's defense squad," Max said.

"What?" Steve asked and then he squinted. "Poppy?"

"Hey, Steve. You look like shit," she said. "Now, who's going to tell me what the fuck is going on in this town?"

Two days later. . .

It was hell getting questioned by the police but in the end, what they said helped Eddie. There was too much evidence against Jason Carver to keep looking at Eddie, especially when Chrissy's diary resurfaced that revealed the bruises that Jason left behind when he dragged her around like a trophy. Chrissy wrote down how he and the other jocks had it in for Hellfire, how she tried to stop them. She even told Principal Higgins, but he didn't believe her, and when she saw the bennies in his desk, he blackmailed Chrissy. Jason Carver was arrested as were the boys who were involved in the manhunt. Principal Higgins was also arrested. It looked like they were going to need a new principal as well as a new basketball team.

"Maybe we can fill it with more nerds," Poppy nudged Lucas. "Change it from the Tigers. We can be the Hawkins Dragons or some shit."

"No, honey, we're the fucking wolves," Lucas said and Poppy laughed.

They were surrounding Eddie's hospital bed as they waited for them to wake up. They were only just now allowed back in. Of course, they allowed Wayne to spend time with Eddie, but now they were guarding his bedside along with the party. To Poppy's dismay, they hadn't been allowed their weapons. Even though all had been dealt with, Poppy still felt unsettled. She knew the court of public opinion would be the hardest to sway. She was worried that they would go after him.

"So. . .you did all of this for Eddie?" Steve asked.

"I know what you're thinking, but I'm not into dicks," Poppy said.

"Eddie's not a dick!" Steve said defensively, his cheeks turning red. "He's a great guy!"

Poppy and Kayla shared an amused look before giggling. Kayla nodded at Poppy, who nodded back.

"Steve, we're lesbians," Kayla said. "I'm her girlfriend."

"Oh, shit, sorry," Steve said, his whole face heating up.

Robin shoved her knuckle to her mouth, laughing. Meanwhile, Poppy gave Steve a knowing look.

"Me too," Robin said. "Lesbian."

"Nice," Kayla said. "Tall lesbians are the best."

"So are short ones," Poppy said.

"I'm not short, I'm just vertically challenged," Kayla said. "Gravity hates me because I'm so cute. It just keeps pulling me down."

"Idiot," Poppy said affectionately, kissing her.

"Your idiot," Kayla said.

"Well, I guess since we're all being honest," Steve said. "Bicycle. Goddamn it, I mean bisexual!"

"I don't know. Bicycle works, too. If you're into that, there's definitely riding involved," Poppy said with a smirk.

"Children present!" Dustin exclaimed.

"Hm, on the way here, you were saying that you didn't need a babysitter anymore. So which is it? Child or grown-up?" Steve asked, and Dustin closed his mouth. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

Suddenly, Erica popped her head in.

"Jock out on bail incoming!" Erica shrieked.

The squad immediately jumped into action and formed a wall around Eddie's bed. Meanwhile, Steve and Robin stood in front of Lucas, Max, and Dustin at the door. Erica looked out the door while Robin kept a hand on her back.

"Coast is clear!" Erica exclaimed, closing the door.

"Am I dead or alive? What is this?" Eddie's called out, and everyone jumped. "Why are there cheerleaders surrounding my bed? Oh God, Jason sent you to finish me off."

"First of all, if we wanted you dead, you'd be dead before you woke up," Poppy said. "And second of all, Jason is rotting in jail for his crimes and Vecna's. No bail for that asshole."

"They're your defense squad, man. They heard that Jason and the others were going to come after us at the Creel House, so the cheerleaders came and kicked their ass for you. The cheerleaders like you, man," Lucas said.

"Seriously?" Eddie asked.

"Yeah, Poppy shot Jason, and Taylor shot Andy," Lucas replied.

"You did this for free drugs, didn't you?" Eddie joked.

"Ass, I did it because I like you. Platonically," Poppy said. "You're a great guy. Bit of an asshole but a great guy."

"Why?" Eddie asked.

"The speech about your mom told me all I needed to know about you," Poppy said. "Plus, after your little meeting in the woods, Chrissy wouldn't shut up about you."

"She wouldn't?" He asked.

"Look, she's been unhappy for a while, and we've done everything we could do to help her, but when she came out of those woods, she was the happiest that I had ever seen her. You did that for her. You made her happy in her most darkest and cursed moment of her life," Poppy said, tears in her eyes. "She was our friend, and you did that for her."

Eddie was crying now, his bottom lip trembling as his eyelashes grew wet.

"She made me happy too," Eddie said. "I played for her down there, I wanted. . . I wanted her to hear me play, and a little part of me hoped that it would somehow bring her back. Stupid, huh?"

"Not at all," Poppy said.

She took his hand and ran her fingers through his hair as he cried. She would do whatever it took to protect this man and judging by the looks on the others' faces, they would too.

"Thank you," Eddie whispered.

For the first time in his life, instead of fighting against him, people were now fighting for him.

[poppy-metal]

Ughhh i hate ex patrick hed win me back with his stale weed and sweat smell

You can tell all hes been doing is jerking off because you can smell it on him

Id lose all composure and he knows it, id have to be locked away because id pounce on him instantly, i have no self control

need to take him back and inhale his miserable man musk before I let him use my shower - it's like a reward knowing how much he needs you or he'll reduce to this pathetic excuse of a man - though maybe you're just as pathetic for salivating and near begging him to teabag your face with his smelly sweaty balls.