#Step down Patrick | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tinytennisskirt · 6 months ago

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The Gymnast

College! Art x Patrick x Gymnast! Reader

Summary: (as requested) "college!arttrick with gymnast!reader in which they’re basically pervs with all the stupid questions but she matches their freak and they’re totally stunned would be hot i fear."

the boys sit in on a gymastics practice and the girl they take interest in happens to take the same interest in them.

warnings: mentions of weed. threesome, reader gets fucked by art and pat, fingering, handjob. smut! smut smut smut!

“Dating outside of tennis is a better idea, I’m telling you,” Patrick said as the boys walked down the Stanford sports building halls. The plan was to go play a few indoor games on the court, but the boys being boys, stopped at the cafeteria first, and both of them, eyes bigger than their stomachs, had too many hot dogs and no longer felt much like practicing. Patrick snatched a sheet off of one of the corkboards on the wall. “Girl’s sports.”

“What am I doing with this?” Art chuckled, taking the list from Patrick.

“What are we doing with this? Finding a sport, going to watch. Something to do. Pick something that isn’t tennis, you know. See some girls doing their thing.”

Art chuckled, “You don’t think that’s a little weird?”

“Nah, games are meant to be watched, I’m sure there’s something good going on.” Patrick shrugged, trying to snatch the list back, but Art extended his arm so Patrick couldn’t reach it, grinning. “You pick then.”

“Pickleball.” Art debated.

“Too close to tennis, come on. Pick something hotter.”

“Hotter? Thought you’d like the pickleball skirts.”

“I do, but they’re just tennis skirts. Give me the list-” he took it from Art’s hand. “Rugby…Could be good, contact, girls on girls…” Art did a half-nod, thinking about it, but then he shook his head no. “Volleyball.”

“I still have flashbacks from intramurals,” Art said. “Go down to the less popular stuff.”

“Good idea…” Patrick’s finger trailed down the list. “Fuck yeah. Gymnastics?”

“Done,” Art agreed. The boys shared the same stupid look on their faces as they looked at which gym the girls gymnastics in and they jogged over like eager little boys whose parents tell them they can get whatever they want from the candy shop. “What are we expecting from this? They don’t have games.”

“Competition?” Patrick shrugged, pushing the door open.

The boys spoke in unison, to their dismay, “Practice.” And they could have turned around, and walked out pretending like they just went to the wrong place, but Patrick took a few more steps in and there was no turning back after that, unfortunately. Art groaned a little, following through, up a few stairs and past where a few other people were hanging out watching the practice. Not too far, but far enough that they could observe all the Stanford gymnasts. The boys took their seats and set their bags down. Patrick kicked his feet up. Art just leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees.

“This was the best decision,” Patrick said a little absentmindedly as he focused in on each girl. “Holy fuck.”

“Uh huh,” Art agreed again, his gaze falling on all the girls on the mats and the beams, stretching, limbering up, doing their little cartwheels and flips

“It’s impressive,” Patrick added.

“So impressive. They’re very talented young women.” Art returned. Both of them did not let their eyes wander anywhere else. Girls doing all sorts of acrobatic bends and twists and tricks, it was mesmerizing. With the three brain cells shared between them when hot women were present, it was only a few minutes before their interests collided in specifics. On one particular girl. You.

You had your leg up above your head on the wall, stretching. You were in dark pink shorts and a black tank top, talking to your friends. Your leg was so high up over your head, that both boys were thinking the same thing. “Holyyy fuck,” Patrick said under his breath. “She’s…”

“Flexible.”

“Hot.”

Neither of them took their eyes off of you. You were laughing, engaging in conversation, your leg up on the wall like it was nothing. You shook your hair out of your bun to fix it up a little and the boys were practically drooling. Their eyes lingered on the way your body moved when you took your leg down, bending in odd ways that they both never thought they’d find hot. You spun like a dancer and you were light on your feet and you were probably the most gorgeous woman they’d ever seen. Deja vu, both boys were hard watching you bend and stretch and flip and twirl. You were flawless in every way…

You saw them in your peripheral, lowering your voice and looking to your friend Tess. “Do we know them?” You asked her, a small smile on your face. “The two boys in the stands, I feel like they’re watching me, are they?”

Tess pretended to yawn, glancing their way. “Staring. They’re staring.”

“Are they cute?”

Tess grinned a little, pretending to twist her back, looking back at them and then you, “They are. Oh my god.”

“Really?” You giggled just a little. “Oh my god. And it’s me?”

She giggled back, grabbing your hands for a second. “Here, wait, move over there,” she instructed. You did a cartwheel and back handspring and Tess watched their eyes follow you. She nodded and you both started laughing. “I have no idea who they are. The way they’re watching you, I don’t think they belong to any of these girls.”

“I love that.”

“As you should, as you should. If they end up talking to you, send one my way, mhm?”

“Of course,” you replied, scrunching your nose. It could have been weird. Two strangers watching the girls practice, but their focus was on you. And you weren’t too concerned by it. You thought of it as some form of flattery. It was a good thing you couldn’t see their faces, watching you, entirely hypnotized, their dicks fighting the fabric of their jeans over the way you bent and twisted and twirled. You asked around a little to see if any of the girls knew them and the answers were all no. They truly didn’t belong to anyone. You did sneak a glimpse or two. They were both really cute. You returned to Tess as practice was closing, “They aren’t anyone’s boyfriend. Think I should say hi?”

“The way they were looking at you? The way they still are? Please say more than ‘hi’.”

“I just might,” you said, pulling a mischievous little face. You said goodbye to the girls and as they all funneled out, you continued to do your exercises. Leg up, leg down, backbend, and flipping over from the backbend onto your feet. You stayed just an extra minute so that when you did start to get your things together, they were well aware of the lack of extra persons in the room. You grabbed your water bottle, looking up at the boys for the first time, dead on. “Hi.”

Both boys had to snap themselves out of a trance when you called up to them. It was real, you were real, you said hi. You. Both of them didn’t have a word to say for a moment. Art stood up, “Hey.” He said, a little enthusiastically. Had you caught them off-guard? You smiled, walking up the steps.

Patrick stayed seated, taking his legs off the back of the seat in front of him. “Hi.” He nodded your way.

“Aspiring gymnasts?” You teased, sitting opposite them on the chair in front of them. Patrick pressed his tongue to his cheek, looking down at his knees. Art sank back into his seat. They’d been caught. “I mean, it’s not every day we get two random guys in here and they aren’t anyone’s boyfriend.” You smiled a gorgeous smile that almost made them both hard again. You were so much prettier up close. It happened you were thinking the same thing. “Y/N.” You introduced yourself.

“Patrick,” he said.

“Art,” Art introduced himself in return. You grinned wider. “You’re amazing. I’ve never seen anyone do so many flips in a row.” He gushed. You noted him fidgeting with his hands. It was cute.

“It was impressive,” Patrick added on.

“So you hung around because I do flips and it’s impressive. I am flattered, extremely. So when do I get to sit and watch you two do impressive flips?” Art and Patrick both chuckled. You looked down at the bags by their seats, recognizing their racket bags. You laughed a little, “Or play tennis. You’re tennis guys.”

“Might be,” Patrick replied.

“We are.” Art admit.

Your eyes widened, “Oh my god, I’ve seen you guys play! You’re the fire and water guys, I didn’t even realize.” You pointed at them and they smiled to each other. Patrick mouthed ‘water’ at his best friend, grinning. “I’m so sorry, I had no idea I was in the presence of such a talented duo.”

Art leaned forward just a bit, flattered you knew who they were. Sort of. “You like tennis?”

“When we’re bored, me and my best friend Tess go watch the men’s tennis to hear the noises they make when they hit the ball.” You nodded, “The only time men can grunt and moan out loud and women can enjoy it publicly.”

Patrick chuckled a little breathily. You were perfect. Art shifted the way he was sitting, laughing to himself as well. It was hard to talk to you, they both found. You were almost too gorgeous to look at. “Haven’t heard that one.” Art said a little sheepishly. He turned to Patrick, “Do we-”

“You do,” Patrick nodded. “Loud.”

“Mhm, I think I can remember.” You grinned.

“No.” Art grinned, bashful. Patrick laughed.

“You too, though.” You cut into his laugh and Patrick leaned forward to defend himself, but he just ended up laughing with you and Art. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, with all the impact, tennis can be very sensual.

“Gymnastics isn’t?” Patrick said, looking you in the eyes.

You narrowed your eyes with a smirk that sent shockwaves through both of their nervous systems. “I never said it wasn’t. It’s why you were watching, after all?”

Both boys were moving to adjust themselves at this point. You just kept that smile on your face. Art pressed his cheek to his closed fist, trying not to smile too wide. “Are you free right now?”

Patrick looked over at Art, then at you again. You tilted your head, “I think so.”

“You smoke weed?” Patrick asked.

“Are you a cop?”

“So yes,” Patrick smiled.

You chuckled, looking over at Art whose nose was a little pink. “Yes. Do we need that though or are you asking me to hang out?”

“Asking you to hang out,” Art said. He twisted his ring around his finger. “If you’re up for it.”

You twisted your mouth to the side, “How is later? So I can shower ‘n get pretty?”

“Later is good,” Art nodded. Both boys straightened out at your immediate yes. Almost like they weren’t hearing you right. You were gorgeous and perfect and you said yes. To them. Without weed involved. “Where?”

You stood up, moving back over to the stairs. “Where’s your dorm?” You were inviting yourself over and both of them were in awe, much too excited. Art didn’t mind, just meant he had to run back to his dorm and get rid of all of Patrick’s chip bags. “If you don’t mind. If not, we can just meet out-”

“His dorm is fine,” Patrick chimed in, small chuckle. “310, red building. See you when?”

“Nine.” You nodded. “That’s okay with you, Art?”

His name in your voice sounded angelic. “Yeah- yes, it’s okay with me. We’ll see you at nine.”

You smirked once more, laying a finger aside your nose. “Bye.”

Both boys said goodbye to you in return, watching you turn and go down the steps, grab your things, and leave. They both had their hands tight around the arm rests of their seats in just a little bit of shock and disbelief. You were hot. You were really hot and you were perfect and funny and dirty… And they would be seeing you later. In Art’s dorm room.

“That was real,” Art breathed out. “Holy fuck.”

“Gymnastics was the way to go.”

Around eight-thirty the boys had just finished shoving all the laundry into the little cabinet in the corner. There were no more chip bags or empty cans laying around. The place looked decent. They even made the bed and cleared off the desk in the corner. Art sprayed his cologne on the doorframe and into the air of the room. Patrick finished tidying up the bathroom. Done with their cleanup, Art sat on the floor next to his bed and Patrick sat in the desk chair.

“I can’t stop thinking about her leg over her head. Fuck, imagine how good it must feel to fuck her like that.” Patrick said, staring at the wall, dazed. “What are you thinking about?”

“Just her…”

The boys stayed almost wordless, having their own individual fantasies. Until you knocked on the door. Art and Patrick were comfortable, so it made sense you would be too. Art and Patrick rushed to open the door to face you, your hair down, a different, thicker-strapped black tank top that was cut to just above the edge of your loose shorts. You had a sweater on, but it was slipped off of both of your shoulders, the fabric bunched up at your elbows. Both boys had their breath sucked away from them, like someone pressed all the air from their chest. A smile creeped up your lips. “Am I late? Early?”

“Hi.” Art said, just a little late. “No, you’re fine, come in.”

“Hey,” Patrick greeted you. You smiled his way, scrunching your nose just a bit, sitting at the head of Art’s bed. Both boys climbed onto the other end of the bed, Art with his legs crossed and Patrick with one leg up, one leg off the bed. “How are you?”

“I’m good, I’m good, you?” You returned. Art leaned into his palm, looking at Patrick.

“I’m great.” He nodded. “So, this is you showered and pretty?”

“I wouldn’t self-title,” You smirked at his callback. “So what’d you guys do all afternoon? Tennis, video games, endless cleaning and shoving laundry in places laundry doesn’t go?”

The boys looked at each other, wondering how you knew about that. Art grinned, “The last one, yeah. Mostly. Um… What about you?” He was nervous, you liked that about him.

You leaned back against his wall, looking around his room. He had various tennis rackets against his wall, a nice computer, a little fridge. It smelled good, too. “Showered, had dinner, got ready and came over here. Not very entertaining.”

Art looked at you, eyes travelling down your form. You were in his bed, it was hard to believe. “Interesting enough. So… how long have you been in gymnastics?”

“Since I was five? Or six. But competitive mostly, then acrobatics, then contortion, then dance, and then back to the basics.”

“Contortion?” Patrick questioned. His tongue pressed the inside of his cheek again. Art nudged Patrick back at the mention. “That’s where you can twist in weird ways, right?”

“Mhm, most people find it freaky, but it’s fun.”

“So you’re really good at what you do, then.” Art said. “That’s incredible, most people can’t even do one of those. I can’t even do a handstand.”

“He can do a cartwheel, though, I think that’s really important,” Patrick said, grabbing Art’s shoulder firmly. “I can’t do either one.”

You giggled at the thought, “I’d love to see that sometime, you have to show me this cartwheel. You should pull that out in a tennis game, during a rally or something. Oh! Speaking of, I did find a really interesting video. Doubles, Junior US Open. You guys are really fucking good.”

Art put his face in his hands, “Forgot that was recorded.”

Patrick just smirked. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you replied. “Guess we all have our thing.” Art was staring at your thighs, his lip between his teeth, Patrick watching your lips as you spoke. “Have to say, was a quiet game though.” You joked. Both boys were stunned for a moment. You were so… honest. Too honest. It was hot, really fucking hot.

Patrick grinned, nudging Art gently. Art smiled, “We weren’t loud enough for you?”

“Hardly.” Patrick and Art laughed quietly at that. You grinned, back at them, giggling to yourself. “Tennis isn’t much fun for me to watch otherwise.”

“Could say the same about gymnastics,” Patrick rebutted.

You tilted your head, “Don’t need to be loud in gymnastics. There’s no impact, no big swings. It would be a little strange if I bent over and made a noise. I prefer having a reason to make noise when I’m bent over. A whole other story.” Both boys just blinked, a little taken aback by how blunt you were. But a gorgeous grin spread up Art’s face along with a tint of pink in his cheeks. “Like you mentioned earlier. It's not like gymnastics doesn’t have its suggestive moments. Frankly, all of it is suggestive.”

Art ran his tongue over his top teeth, listening to you. “Find it helps at all?”

“With?”

“Everything,” Patrick answered, a smirk growing on his face. Both boys had to adjust to hide just how hard they were from this conversation, remembering back to your leg over your head just earlier. Their personal fantasies flashing in the front of their minds. “You know.”

“No, I don’t think I do,” you said, leaning forward just a bit, moving to sit on your knees in front of them. Art and Patrick just laughed to themselves, nervous, caught in your web all too well. Your perfect lower lip between your teeth had the both of them almost drooling. You were so blunt but you played dumb so perfectly… “What do you mean everything?”

Patrick and Art both couldn’t form the words. Not for a moment. Even less when you chimed in again, “By myself or with someone else?” You asked. They had even fewer words. Their minds were wiped clean by your easy seduction. God, they were so cute and so fun to play with.

Art’s cheeks were a shade of pink. He was so pretty, you noted, also taking in Patrick’s bashful grin. “Everything,” Patrick restated, his mouth a little open, tongue still pressed to the inside of his cheek. Cocky, almost.

“It’s handy,” you replied. Art had to shift around again. He was so hard that it hurt. “I’m sure tennis has its pros.” You looked at their hands. “Wouldn’t be the same, but they’re your own.”

“For sure,” Art agreed. “But gymnastics… I mean you have to be…”

You scrunched your nose at him, “Flexible.”

“Yeah,” he chuckled, fidgeting now with his lower lip. “Flexible. Especially with the contortion thing, that’s crazy, that must be-”

“I want to know about that one thing that can happen when you stretch a certain way,” Patrick interjected. “Is that true?”

You giggled, eyes widening. “I forgot about that!” Patrick referred to the stretch-induced orgasm that was fabled, but entirely possible. “It’s real, I’ve heard about it, but personally, no. From gymnastics or even stretching, I’ve never been able to…”

“Come,” Patrick grinned. You grinned back.

Art looked at you, “But you’ve done things related to your gymnastics? I mean, the moves you can pull are amazing, they must be… convenient.”

“I’d say so,” you said, leaning in just a little closer. You pretended like you couldn’t see the boner he was hiding under his wrist. “But Sigmund Freud once wrote about tennis saying that hitting tennis balls without competition was akin to masturbation. And that live competitive games are comparable to sex. I’m not a big fan of Freud, but where do you stand on that?”

Art’s eyes flickered between your eyes and your lips and the fact he could see the edges of your bra. “Might be comparable, but nothing close to the real thing.”

You nodded just slightly, looking to Patrick for his answer, your gaze something perfect and breathtaking. Art pressed slightly on his boner when you weren’t looking at him, something, anything for a little relief for how hard he was. Patrick locked eyes with you, “I’d ask you if you’ve ever actually played.”

“I haven’t.” You replied. “Would I find it comparable to sex? If I played against you?”

Patrick grinned, “Depends on how into the game you are.”

“I might be really into it, would it feel the same?”

“In some ways, maybe.” He nodded, looking at Art. Art looked at him, then you. The tension in the room was thick and these boys were growing more aroused by the second. “Doesn’t feel the same physically but it might if you let your mind wander.”

Art chuckled a little, “It can feel good. Winning. Even losing, sometimes. It’s all emotion, I mean, everything is. And without the tension with your opponent, it’s not really tennis, is it?”

“No, I guess not,” you paused for a beat, looking at them both. Your sultry gaze, perfect features, perfect body, and perfect lips made them more and more dazed, lost in you. Their only thoughts were how badly they wanted to fuck you. It felt a little perverted to be so attracted to someone for the way they can bend, twist, and move, but there wasn’t any harm in it. “You’re both making me reconsider my sport,” you laughed. “Sounds worth it.”

“Might be,” Art replied. “It’s nothing compared to the flexibility thing, though.” He chuckled, so fucking nervous, so fucking attracted to you, “I mean, I wish…” He rambled. Patrick wanted to laugh, but he was more focused on how you continued to lean, placing your hands on the bed in front of you.

“You wish?” You giggled, slowly moving closer. Art felt his face grow even more hot, his dick pulsing. “You wish you were flexible?” You giggled a little more, your lip settling between your teeth. Patrick let a breath slip through his parted lips as you advanced on Art. Both boys had their hearts pounding in their chests and in their dicks. Art swallowed hard.

He couldn’t say or do anything when you slowly crawled into his lap, sitting on your knees, your hands gently pushing his hair behind his ears. Art swore his heart was going to jump out of his chest and that this wasn’t real, you weren’t on his lap. Patrick repositioned himself, eager, so eager. Art looked at you with eyes wide, clouded with obsession and lust, and god, he wanted you so bad, but he let you look at him for a moment. You could feel him hard underneath you, his hands sliding up your hips and to your waist just bracingly. “I can show you, if you want?” You smiled. Art let out a sigh, he was so whipped.

There wasn’t much more room for air when you kissed him, pressing your lips to his. His mouth open, kissing you back, a little dazed, but so fucking into it. You felt his grip on your waist increase, pulling you closer. He was so cute and a great kisser. Modest, matching your pace. Shy, almost. So you picked up the pace, grabbed his face harder, kissed him harder, pressed your body against him harder and he groaned through the kiss at all the impact, feeling you flush against his body.

“Oh fuck…” Patrick mumbled, watching like it like it wasn’t happening in front of him. It was and it was hot. Watching the way Art’s jaw moved, kissing you. His eyes trailing down your thighs, braced on either side of Art’s. The way your body moved so fluidly as you pressed against his best friend. It was a sight easy to get lost in. He watched Art’s hands slide up under your sweater and your hands momentarily left the place on your jaw to remove it. You tossed it on the floor and in doing so, you pulled away just slightly from the kiss.

Patrick, instinctively, leaned in, kissing you. You met him in the middle, your hands crawling up the back of his neck and into his hair, still straddling Art. Your waist was twisted- if it was anyone else, Art might have worried a little. Patrick’s large hands slid around your back and Art’s hands gripped your thighs gently. You were so perfect, his hands slid up and down the skin of them as you kissed Patrick. He was completely lost in you now. He’d just kissed you and it was perfect and it was real.

Patrick kissed with passion. It was hot, demanding, needed. You began to pull yourself backward, away from him, but grabbed the front of both of the boy’s shirts, pulling them with you as you kissed Patrick on your back. Art’s body on one side, Patrick’s slightly over yours, but on the other side. He kissed you like he was hungry- like he needed you. Art’s hand traveled the curve of your waist, your hip, back down to your thigh again, fingers dipping into your flesh perfectly. It was with his touch that you pulled away from Patrick and kissed Art again.

He took it, he wanted it more than anything. Like you were a drug, he kissed you like he was desperate for a high. Kissing him, Patrick moved your hair to the side, beginning to kiss down your neck and collarbone, Art’s shoulder bumping him just a bit, but not too much for it not to feel good. You hummed into Art’s mouth, feeling those warm kisses spread goosebumps down to the thigh Art’s hand was grabbing so perfectly. Your own hand slipped down between your body and Patrick’s, finding the bulge in his shorts and pressing, just slightly with an open palm. Patrick groaned, just slightly. “Fuck,” he mumbled against your neck.

You grinned into your kiss with Art. His hands carefully found the bottom of your tank top, pulling it up over your head with the arch of your back to help. It helped neither one of their painful boners to find out you didn’t have on a bra underneath. It must have been built in… Patrick’s gentle kisses slowly strayed down your chest, kissing your breast. Art’s hand grabbed the opposite one, gently squeezing as he kissed you, his hard-on pressed against your hip for friction. The sensation of both was fucking amazing, your fingers curled in Art’s hair and your other hand pressed harder against Patrick’s crotch. Both boys made a satisfying noise of the same genre, lighting a fire between your legs. You could feel yourself getting more and more wet by the second. Poor Tess didn’t stand a chance with one of them when you had both fawning, touching, kissing, and sucking over your body. Patrick took your nipple in his mouth, gently rolling your nipple between his tongue and the tip of his teeth. Your back arched due to the subject of your pleasure and as much as you liked it, you needed something real to feel… now. You broke from the kiss with Art and his lips were immediately down the opposite side of your neck. Both boys kissed over your chest, you were going to grab Patrick when their lips met in the middle.

Art and Patrick kissed hard. You watched, propping yourself up on one elbow. Patrick’s hand cupped Art’s jaw, tongue diving into his best friend’s mouth. You just grinned watching them get into it, taking matters truly into your own hands, slipping your hand down the waistband of Patrick’s shorts. With his free hand, he pulled his shorts down and you had the freedom to slowly start moving your hand up and down his cock. He groaned into Art’s mouth and you watched contented as they kissed like they were going to devour each other. They moved, sat up just the slightest bit, which gave you perfect access to Art’s leaking dick. You found your way to that too, having both hands working at the same time, eliciting noises from both as they kissed over you. You didn’t mind, how could you mind?

But it didn’t last forever, you were good with your hands, and both boys didn’t want to finish early. Patrick broke off first, diving back into kissing you, both boys pulling their dicks away to let your hands rest. They went back to their worship of your body, Patrick’s hand on your chest as you kissed messily. Art’s lips trailing down the side of your stomach, carefully out of Patrick’s way, then kissing back up. You were bold, pulling Art’s hand down to where you needed it, over the cloth of your shorts and underwear. He was happy to do whatever he could for you, gently pressing over you. He could feel how wet you were through two layers of fabric… He was immediately on taking them off. He pulled your shorts down to your knees and you kicked them the rest of the way off, busy kissing Patrick passionately.

Not too busy to feel when Art’s fingers moved your underwear aside, his thumb on your clit. The pressure of his gentle hands in this sort of mix was amplified by how much you were feeling. “Mmm- fuck,” you mumbled into Patrick’s mouth. He grinned. Art kissed your ribs gently, goosebumps once again spreading throughout your entire body once again. His fingers slowly slid over your folds, feeling how wet you were. He wanted Patrick to feel this, he couldn’t not. Art grabbed Patrick’s hand and guided it down. Both boys had their hands on your pussy now. And it was a wordless joint effort to remove your underwear.

Your chest rose and fell heavily, sharing your air with Patrick, who was still so focused on kissing you, mumbling, “You’re so wet…” Another wordless agreement between the boys took place and Patrick’s fingers began to rub circles on your clit while Art’s pointer and middle finger slipped into you with ease. Your free hand gripped Art’s curls again, his lips staying on your warm skin. You grabbed whatever you could as pleasure began to overtake your body. Both boys focused so much on making you feel good, Art’s fingers pumping in and out of you and Patrick’s focused on teasing that perfect bundle of nerves.

You felt euphoric. Their hands doing their work like it was all they knew, like it was what they did best. Their collaboration was getting you there so fast, you could hardly keep up with how fast the waves of pleasure washed in and built up. You were a bit of a moaning mess, never having been so thoroughly fingered with dual attention to detail. Patrick had the perfect pressure and Art had the perfect angle, hitting the places you needed to be touched in so well, so perfectly. “Oh my god,” you managed, “Fuck me…”

“Yeah?” Patrick grinned. Art smiled against the tit he was currently kissing. His dick was out and hard against the bed he pressed himself into, leaking pre-cum like he never had before. You moaned out and both boys knew they just had to up the pace a little. Patrick, flat-handed, rubbed your clit faster and Art fucked his fingers into you a little harder, and in seconds, he felt you tighten around him. He almost moaned himself feeling it all, hearing you. He knew he had to be inside of you.

Patrick and Art kissed over you again, letting you rest for a moment, both so fucking aroused and taken by your sounds, by your being. So completely fucked that they needed to share how they were feeling by kissing hard, mouths a little open, tongues meeting in the spaces between. Harsh breaths from their rapid movement not caught because your hands were back on their dicks again. Both of them moaned into each other and it was the hottest fucking sight. You watched as they removed each other’s shirt, Patrick’s hand sliding down to his own cock, letting that hand fall between your legs. You’d be unable to finish for another minute but it didn’t stop you from touching yourself at this perfect show. Art’s hands in Patrick’s curls and Patrick’s hand jerking himself off fast and hard at all of this.

Art is trying his best not to finish at your hand. He wants to be inside of you more than fucking anything so when you use your leg to pull him in, away from Patrick, he doesn’t stop it. He crawls over you, kissing up your neck, up to your ear, over your jaw and cheek and he kisses you on the mouth, lips warmed from Patrick’s kiss. You can hear Patrick still jerking himself off, groaning quietly. You heard the pace pick up as Art slowly lifted your leg, farther and farther back until it was above your head. “Oh fuck,” he whispered. You just grinned and it was honestly a little evil. You were in a position equal to the splits and it made you tight as he slowly pushed into you. You moaned into the room as Art filled you. He filled you so well and in this position, you could feel everything.

Patrick was groaning quietly still as he continued to jerk himself off to the sight. You were flexible and it did come in handy, “Oh my god, you feel so good, so… perfect.” Art mumbled, thrusting into you. “So perfect.”

“So flexible, fuck, I told you it’d feel good,” Patrick managed through his own pleasure. You smiled at that. They talked about fucking you, that was good to know. You watched Art’s pretty face as he focused on fucking you, the perfect pace, the perfect amount, the perfect angle. You breathlessly watched his pretty eyelashes as he looked down at where you connected, his perfect hand gripping your thigh above your head so hard. His lips just a little parted, breathing hard, so pretty. So fucking pretty,

“Harder,” you told him, using a free hand to tilt his chin up so he had to look at you. His eyes were gorgeous, all clouded up with lust and need and desperation and he fucked you harder. It was easy, it was cut and dry thrusting and it felt like you might die and go to heaven, the sensations rippling through your body. “Oh my god, it’s so good, it’s so good.” You moaned. You reached over for Patrick, excusing his hand and taking his dick back in your own hand. He didn’t stop you, letting you take over the best you could. It was more than enough, watching Art fuck you so hard, the room filled with moans and the sound of skin on skin. You could hardly breathe with the work done on you and the work you were doing, but it was perfect. You felt Art slow just a little. “You’re close?”

“Ye-mmmphhh, uh-huh,” he answered. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

“You can come in me, baby,” you assured him, free hand cupping his cheek. It was hard to talk over how much you were feeling and doing. Your words, the theory of it all seemed to give him the momentum to fuck you harder, slamming into you until it got sloppy and he came undone, spilling into you. God, you were fucking perfect, Patrick thought. They’d just met you and you were thoroughly fucked already. Not fucked enough, though. Art pulled out and was met by Patrick’s hand on his oversensitive dick. He made a noise close to a whimper and there was a beat before his lips crashed back onto Patrick’s. His dick was still hard and completely coated in his own cum. You watched them kiss, your hand unable to follow Patrick’s body when it was so close to Art’s. Semen across Patrick’s lower stomach from how close they were when they kissed, up on their knees. You lowered your leg, feeling Art’s load in you seep out and onto the bed as you did.

Art leaned Patrick back onto the bed, Patrick’s hand working Art’s cock gently as they went. Your lips met Patrick’s shoulder, kissing over his bicep as the boys continued kissing. They couldn’t fuck, you knew that, they didn’t see this coming. You didn’t think they’d be so into each other, but you did not give that much of a fuck. They were best friends, it was bound to happen.

Art moved off of Patrick for you, letting you climb over him, still dripping from Art, but it was a half-second before you were sitting on Patrick’s cock. He had slipped in so easily with you all soaked. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your ass. Art leaned against the wall, still breathing hard from everything, just watching as you rolled your hips, starting to fuck him. Your core strength was up to bat with how fast you rolled your hips, your waist following. Fuck, you were so gorgeous… Was a good thing he’d stayed at your practice or he wouldn’t be about to finish a second time somehow untouched, just watching you and Patrick fuck. He never thought he’d be so into any of this, but you were taking over every thought in his brain…

Patrick groaned, “Fuck, you’re so tight… so wet, so perfect, fuck.” His moans came like breaths, heavy sighs. “Can’t compare this shit to tennis, hm-”

“I’ve yet to play,” you grinned, beginning to bounce on his cock. Patrick grabbed whatever he could, your ass, your waist, everything. Art’s mouth stayed just a little open. “Oh god-” Patrick’s dick curved perfectly into you. You’d ride him into tomorrow if he let you- and he would. You wouldn’t expect it from the one who came off more dominant, the way he seemed to melt as you fucked him into the mattress. Art was more than contented watching. Even more contented when you slipped your own hand down your front, middle finger working your clit. Both boys watched as your head tilted back. You were the most gorgeous person on the fucking planet at this very moment. A little sweaty, but so fucking gorgeous. “Oh my god, I’m gonna-” you moaned out. Art’s dick still, painfully, stood at attention. It couldn’t get enough of all of this. Patrick dug his finger into your ass so hard you were sure you’d have fingerprints as he, without warning, finished inside of you as well. You followed suit just a few seconds later, slowing your bouncing to a dull rock. Both of you with chests heaving came to a stop and you let him pull out, the semen gushing from you, leaking a little down your leg.

You lay between the boys, naked, breathing hard, lips pink from all the kissing and both boys gladly took their break next to you, trying to sort out how all of what just happened was real. And it was possibly the best sex they’d ever had. You were just as into it as they were. You laid there for a while before inevitably getting up to use the bathroom and Art’s shower.

Art and Patrick washed themselves off as well and put their shorts back on. “Fuck,” Patrick breathed, still in a state of disbelief. Completely stunned, their fantasies lived out. “Unreal.”

“She’s real, she’s in my bathroom,” Art replied, dazed. “And she’s really flexible.”

“Uh-huh,” Patrick nodded. They were interrupted, sitting up when you came out of the bathroom in your clothes again. You crawled into Art’s bed again, laying between them once more. You kissed both of them gently, nicely, and you rested your head down on the new bedsheets Art had changed them to when you were in the bathroom. Both boys, a little confused, both didn’t mind putting an arm around you.

"Loud enough?"

"More than."

#challengers #art donaldson #patrick zweig #challengers x reader #art donaldson x reader #tinytennisskirt #challengers fic #art donaldson fic #patrick zweig smut #challengers smut #patrick zweig x reader #arttrick x reader #art donaldson smut #challengers 2024

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andwordsarefutiledevicess · 8 months ago

Text

press relations

stanford!artdonaldson x sportsjournalist!reader

summary: assigned to write a profile of stanford's rising tennis star, you get to know art better. much better.

warnings: smut, dry humping, b0ner alert, implied consent

a/n: this does have a *hint* of art x patrick x reader undertones at the end! any (constructive) feedback is appreciated :)

you get the message as you exit the lecture hall and head to the cafeteria for lunch. “other writers are busy. can you take the art donaldson profile?” reads the text from your editor. having written for the stanford daily as a sports reporter for the past year, you’re no stranger to turning a dull interview with a rather dim-witted football player into an oh-so-riveting piece. however, this is out of your comfort zone.

tennis is…boring. sure, you’d happily tagged along to a couple of tashi duncan’s matches, unwilling to pass up the opportunity to see an olympic-bound athlete in her prime, but it isn’t your ideal way to spend a saturday afternoon.

and yet, that is exactly what you are doing. the donaldson interview is lined up for directly after his match with a ucla player. “he’s got a tight schedule, so we need to accommodate him,” said your editor when you questioned why you had to sit through a match and then manage to cram in an interview in the men’s fucking lockerroom.

art donaldson is a year above you, living in the same dorm. you recognize most athletes at this point—in part because they’re constantly (obnoxiously) sporting team merch, and because of your job—but art is known by most for his friendship with tashi duncan. neither are particularly social, keeping their circle tight amongst fellow tennis players, both at stanford and professionals.

it’s difficult not to stick out in the bleachers. while other players, including a brown-haired boy cheering quite loudly, observe the game, it’s by no means packed. as donaldson pauses for water after the first set, he catches your gaze, giving an awkward wave in acknowledgement as he wipes the sweat from his face. you silently pray that he knows you’re the reporter he’s supposed to speak to, and doesn’t just think you’re some crazed tashi duncan fangirl.

his playing is statuesque, long limbs sweeping across the court (but not entirely stripped of the boyish energy that defined his success as a high school student). after beating his opponent 2-0, donaldson steps off the court, dramatically embraced by the brown-haired spectator, who you have since realized is his former doubles partner, patrick zweig, and you take this as a signal to get this interview started before he becomes swept up in celebrations.

climbing down the bleachers, you see art duck down into the hallway, making his way into the locker rooms. in all your time as a sports reporter, you hadn’t had such an…unconventional… interview location, and you feel a bit sick as the sound of the shower draws closer.

“art donaldson?” you say, standing just outside the open door of the locker room.

“yeah” he calls back, as though he was expecting you, but not entirely welcoming the intrusion. the shower turns off, and the soft sound of his steps on the tiles echo. “well, come in,” he calls again.

you step into the steam-filled space with your eyes directed down. “i understand you have physical therapy shortly, so i’ll try to keep this quick—,” you say, taken aback as you finally draw your eyes upward. he’s managed to pull on a pair of checkered boxers, fabric sticking to his still-damp body.

you can’t imagine you look particularly composed, hair sticking to your face from the steam with a burning blush spread across your cheeks. you watch as art bites his cheek and awkwardly motions for you to sit on the bench across from him as he methodically changes the overgrip on his racket.

“so,” you say, clearing your throat, “how did you first become interested in tennis?” he glances up from his task. “my parents needed someone to watch me, and my grandma was busy, so they stuck me in a local tennis camp. i doubt they realized that they were signing up for over a decade of tennis running my—and their—lives.”

you hum in agreement. “and what specific areas of your game are you hoping to improve on this season?” you follow up. his gaze becomes more intent—more focused. setting the racket to his side, art stands, before quickly realizing he’s still only boxer-clad. you stare at the opposite wall, hoping to save him the embarrassment, and you see him fumble to slip on shorts out of the corner of your eye. he clears his throat. “ – um – yeah, i’m trying to get faster on my feet. sorry, i—” he says, before you cut him off in protest. “no, no, i should have given you a moment to clean up after your match, it’s my fault,” you say, rising off of the bench awkwardly, avoiding his gaze.

but with the lingering steam, and your downward gaze, your fumble to exit the locker room instead lands you into direct contact with his chest. “shit! sorry,” you exclaim, drawing your chin up. a wash of heat cascades from your head, nipples taut, despite the warmth of the room, as your body reacts to the sudden proximity. art is equally flushed, pink lips slightly parted and chest rocking as he concentrates on breathing deeply, trying to lower his racing heart. you can smell him, fresh with a hint of that post-game sweat, a droplet of water falling from a blonde curl.

he brings a calloused hand to your hair, brushing it behind your shoulder, as if to ask permission. the slight nod and glaze of your tongue over your lips is enough for him to understand, his breath heavy against your face as your noses are close enough to touch. that final centimeter is finally closed, and it’s as though air rushes back into you while inhibition is tossed out. without thinking, your hair tangles into his mess of damp hair, and you feel his soft moan against your lips. you gasp as his hand grabs your ass, drawing you into contact with his erection (for how much of that interview was he hard?).

“you—ah—you have physical th-therapy,” you say, breathless as he works his mouth down your jaw and neck. “just…five more minutes,” he says in between kisses, like a teenager wishing to sleep in, causing you to chuckle. bringing your left knee up, your hips are suddenly flush against his, and the new contact sends you both reeling, his cock twitching in his shorts. you tentatively rock, again, against his groin, and you both seem to realize that that hit the spot. pushing your back against a locker, art draws his groin against yours again, and again, his soft pants becoming near whimpers as your lips meet for a desperate, sloppy kiss.

you’re lost in the rhythm the two of you have found, ignoring the rattle of the lockers with each thrust. fuck you’re embarrassingly close (that’s what a two month dry spell will do for you) but before you have to worry about coming too early, you hear his strangled voice in your ear. “ – f-fuck, s-sorry i’m close, was so pent up.” before you’re able to reply, your body has taken this as permission to let the orgasm wash over you at last. still reeling from your own orgasm, you feel the warm spread of art’s cum seep through the thin fabric of his shorts, as he continues to rut against you.

bringing your arms up to hurriedly fix your now-tangled hair, you draw away from art. a fresh blush comes to your cheeks at the realization of how silly you feel, grinding like a pubescent teen. art seems tired, yes, but not embarrassed, slipping off his pants and boxers and replacing them with clean ones. before he’s got his wits back, you’re out the door, praying no one managed to overhear the encounter. to your dismay, patrick zweig, smug as ever, sits outside the locker room.

#art donaldson x reader #challengers #art donaldson #patrick zweig #tashi duncan

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sceletaflores · 7 months ago

Text

slippery when wet!

pairing: patrick zweig x fem!reader

summary: “so who fucks better?” he asks bluntly, a bead of sweat dripping down the column of his throat and into the neck of his tank. a shocked laugh bursts from your lips. “what?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest. “who fucks better?” he repeats slowly, leaning down to meet your eye. “me or art? don’t fucking lie to me and tell me that prissy farmer boy makes you come harder than i do.”

—or: patrick puts you in your place three months later.

word count: 4.3k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, p in v, fighting as foreplay, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it y’all!), rough sex, semi-public sex, oral sex (m!receiving), fingering...kinda (fem!receiving), very light spanking, choking, degradation, creampie, throat fucking, mean!reader my beloved, art donaldson is there in spirit, patrick is gay for art, porn with a little plot, no use of y/n.

author’s note: no one can stop me from writing rough sex patrick fics. it's all i think about 24/7, and you guys are no help but like i love it so it's fine. i'm here to serve you and this is clearly what you want so who am i to deny you that? thank you to the beautiful anon who requested this, i hope you don't mind that i changed it from a locker room scene to a bathroom scene but that was just calling to me hehe. okay bye! hope you love it! xoxo mwah.

psst! tftw series masterlist!

You’ve been on the court for at least an hour and a half, running drills and trying to sweat out all of your stress. You were the only one in the building, but it was always less busy during finals week. Most people were camped out in their dorms cramming for fifty question tests or four part lab practicals.

Art politely declined your invite, too busy studying for his business final on Monday. So you rented a tennis machine and worked on your backhand that way. It was a nice distraction, emptying your head enough that all the anxiety of finals started to melt away as you slid into a steady rhythm with the machine.

The door bangs open with a loud creak behind you, bursting the little bubble of tranquility surrounding you. The back of your head burns with the unmistakable feeling of someone glaring at you.

You hear him before you see him, a loud call of your name followed by heavy footsteps quickly coming towards you. The sound of his voice immediately grates on your nerves, all angry and shouty. You choose to ignore it, focusing on hitting each new ball the machine spits out.

It may have been a couple months since you’ve seen Patrick, but you’d always recognize the familiar way his voice wraps around each syllable in your name.

Three months, to be exact. It’s been three months since your big fight over the phone with Patrick. You blocked his number right after you hung up, so you haven’t spoken to him in just as long. He never tried to reach out, never messaged you on AOL or Facebook. The petty fuck actually went out of his way to unfriend you on both, so you knew he wasn’t exactly torn up about your abrupt split.

“Hey! I’m talking to you,” Patrick shouts over the loud humming, sounding closer to you than he was before. You pointedly keep ignoring him, eyes fixed stubbornly on the machine. “You deaf or something?” he mocks, stepping up so you can see him in your peripheral vision. You say nothing, swinging your racket harder with each hit.

Patrick scoffs, stomping over to the machine and slamming his hand over the stop button. It makes a loud beeping sound, before shutting off completely. “Jesus Christ, you’re such a fucking baby.” you groan, throwing your head back in annoyance. When you finally turn to glare at him, you’re shocked at the state he’s in.

Patrick’s dressed in a tank and the almost too short shorts he’d usually wear to a match, and he’s dripping sweat. Curly black hair plastered to his forehead with it, his cheeks red and blotchy like he’d been in the sun. You raise your brow, looking at him with a confused expression on your face. “Where the hell did you even come from? How did you know I was here?”

He walks back over to you, hands balled into fists by his side. “I was at a tournament in Mountain View,” he explains, jerking his head in the vague direction he came from, ”it was so close I thought it’d be wrong of me to not stop by and check up on you.”

You laugh, nodding your head lightly. “Okay, so you flunked out of another tournament and hunted me down like a creepy stalker to what? Yell at me some more? Call me a cunt again?” you step closer, lightly swishing your racket through the air dismissively. “I’m not fucking interested in whatever it is you have to say Patrick, we’re over.”

He smirks but you can see the way his jaw clenches, ticking in anger. “But you’re interested in what Art has to say?”

There it is. You really should have known it would all come back to this eventually.

You sigh, casting your eyes to the ceiling in exasperation. “What’s your point?”

Patrick takes a step closer. “My point is that you’re not fucking stupid, and Art can’t lie to save his goddamn life. You knew exactly what he was doing.” His tone is accusatory, his brows pinched together hard enough to crease his skin.

Your heart beat picks up in your chest, anger beginning to bubble up inside you. “I didn’t need Art’s help to realize that you’re an arrogant piece of shit and a gigantic waste of my time, you made it easy enough to pick up on all by yourself.”

Patrick laughs, loud and abrasive. “No, you just didn’t care.” he states darkly, shaking his head back and forth a few times. You can feel a few drops of sweat fling from his hair to land on the bare skin of your shoulders as he does. “You’re so easy that you’d spread your legs from him to stroke your own ego. You’re only playing into his whole kicked puppy charade to justify acting like a fucking whore, ‘Poor Art, he’s so sad and pathetic, I’ll let him fuck my slutty pussy to help his raise his self esteem!’.” He mocks, voice pitched up in an exaggerated impression of you.

Your grip tightens on the handle of your racket, knuckles turning white with it. You feel hot all over, anger simmering under your sweaty skin. “You’re seriously trying to lecture me about egos? This has nothing to do with Art! This is about you being a bratty little rich boy who’s never been told ‘no’ before so you can’t handle rejection. It’s fucking embarrassing.”

Patrick nostrils flare, brows pinching together in anger. “Art has nothing to do with this, really? You’re delusional if you actually think that he’s just this saint among men or some shit. He’s not, he’s a fucking snake.”

“Trust me, Art doesn’t have to be a saint to be better than you.” you sneer, voice sharp and unwavering. Your hands are shaking, blind rage racking through your body like thunder. “The only redeeming quality you’ll ever have is dangling between your legs so you better get used to this, because sooner or later everyone will leave you once they see past all your bullshit and realize that you’re nothing more than a worthless loser.”

Patrick’s jaw works furiously, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. You think something like hurt flashes through his eyes, but only for a second. It's gone just as fast, replaced by a mocking smirk that stretches over his lips slowly. He crosses his arms in front of him, shamelessly raking his eyes over your body. You can practically see the gears turning in his head.

“So who fucks better?” he asks bluntly, a bead of sweat dripping down the column of his throat and into the neck of his tank.

A shocked laugh bursts from your lips before you can stop it. “What?” you ask, arms dropping to your sides limply. The completely one-eighty of his mood sends your head reeling.

Patrick takes another step closer, invading your personal space. “Who fucks better?” he repeats slowly, leaning down to meet your eye. “Me or Art? Don’t fucking lie to me and tell me that prissy farmer boy makes you come harder than I do.”

You laugh again, shaking your head in disbelief. “God, everything is always a dick measuring contest with you. It’s so pathetic like, seriously–”

“Answer the question.” Patrick demands, cutting you off sharply. He’s practically looming over you now, so close that you can smell him. That natural, manly, musky scent he always has after a game that drives you fucking crazy.

It reminds you of when he’d come back to your dorm fresh off a match, still in the same clothes and not showered. Pumped full of adrenaline and so pent up, needing something to take his energy out on. You were always that something. He’d fuck your mouth like he’d fuck your pussy, like it was just another hole for him drain his balls into. You’d be face down in his crotch for what seemed like hours, right where his smell was the strongest. Forced to breathe it in so deeply you’d feel high off it, your brain turned to mush every time.

Heat swirls deep in your stomach, you haven’t been this close to Patrick in what seems like forever. You kind of forgot how much he affects you, especially like this. The sex was always better when you’d fight before.

“You’re a child.”

“You still haven’t answered the question.”

You huff, narrowing your eyes at him. There’s a sort of crazed look on his face, his pupils blown out and dark. It makes you pause, it’s the look you’d get right before he’d pounce on you. You’ve seen it enough times to know that something is different about it. He looks needier, more hungry.

It has some of your anger subsiding, twisted amusement swiftly taking its place. If Patrick wants to ambush you like this, after weeks of radio silence, you might as well use it as a chance to fuck with him.

You smirk, cocking your head to the side slightly. “Art,” you say slowly, taking a small step towards Patrick, “is a better fuck than you ever were.”

Patrick pouts like an honest to God child, sticking out his bottom lip in indignation. “I told you not to lie–”

“I’m not lying,” you say innocently, voice dropping down to a whisper as you lean in even closer. You can see the freckles sprinkled across his nose and cheeks, darker than usual thanks to all the sun he’s been getting. “Last night he ate me out for hours, made me squirt all over his fucking tongue.”

For the first time since you’ve met him, Patrick Zweig is shocked into silence. His eyes darken, you can’t even see the green anymore, the solid black of his pupils swallowing it entirely. “Bullshit,” he says quietly, clipped and skeptical. His breath fans hotly over your lips, it makes your spine start to tingle.

You smile sweetly, giving a small shrug of your shoulders. “I’ll send you the video.”

Patrick physically reels back, blinking slowly with the realization of what you just said. His lips barely part in surprise, pink and enticing. You revel in it, smirking at him smugly. His eyes flit across your face like he’s trying to figure out if you’re lying or not. You stare back at him unrelenting, all the proof you need is sitting in the video gallery of your pink motorola razr.

Patrick swallows hard, you watch the way his adam’s apple bobs with it. He shifts his lower body subtly, but you’re too close to not notice it. Your eyes immediately dart down, and you’re almost giddy at what you find.

He’s hard, the fabric of his shorts stretched over the length of his dick obscenely. You can see the faint outline of the tip pressing against the seam, a wet patch seeping through the gray material around it.

“Oh my god, you’re actually getting off on this!” you laugh wickedly, eyes glued to the lewd tent of his dick. “You’re calling me a whore when you’re the one getting wet just thinking about your best friend's mouth on my pussy. That’s fucking pathetic even for you, Ricky.”

Patrick is silent, breathing heavily through his nose as he stares you down so intensely you can almost feel the heavy weight of his eyes as they bore into you.

It happens in less than a second, Patrick closing the distance between you and taking your arm in his strong hand so he can force you in the direction of the showers. His grip is tight on your bicep, fingers meanly digging into your skin and forcing you to walk with him. You put up a fight, kicking and scratching but he’s stronger than you. Not letting your slaps to his chest or nails sinking into his arm deter him from dragging you across the court.

“Let me go asshole!” you snap, trying in vain to yank your arm out of his grip while you stumble over your own feet. “You’re such a fucking psycho!” Patrick ignores you, bursting into the men's showers and marching you into the first stall. He drags you inside, whirling you around to shove your back against the door of it roughly. It knocks the wind out of you for a second, the lock digs into your back hard enough to hurt.

“Art doesn’t have any fucking idea how to deal with a bitch like you.” he grates, fisting a handful of your harshly. “He’s too soft. Too busy letting you lead him around by his dick to try putting you in your fucking place.”

The sting of your scalp only adds to the warmth pulsing in your pussy, sticky arousal dripping wet in your panties. You meet his eyes, all the fire and want swirling in them mirror your own. “Art has a bigger dick than you bitch.” You spit, standing on your tiptoes to lessen the distance of him tugging on your hair. It’s a low blow, immature and basic but you don’t care.

Patrick just hum noncommittally, roughly hooking his fingers into your cheeks and dragging you forward until the tip of your nose is touching his. “Then your throat is still nice and stretched out for me.”

He drops his hands to your shoulders, forcing you onto your knees. You hit the ground with a heavy thud, a dull ache blooms in your knees at the force of it. “Fuck,” you hiss, pulling back instinctively but the hard plastic of the shower door pressing onto the back of your head keeps you pinned in place. Your hands fly up to his legs to try and push him away.

Patrick grips your hair tight, tipping your face up to look at him. You have a perfect view of him pushing his shorts down, letting his hard dick slip out as the fabric stretches taught across his thick thighs. “Open your mouth,” he demands, yanking your head to the side meanly.

“Fuck you,” you snarl, teeth bared in anger as you fight to stand up. Patrick’s strong hand on your shoulder keeps you down while the other starts to idly stroke his dick. He’s just as big as you remember, thick and hard only a few inches away from your face.

The tip all red and weepy when he pulls his foreskin back on each tug, a thick vein running up the side that you want to trace with your tongue.

“Don’t be like that, baby,” he coos softly, rubbing his leaking tip across your bottom lip a couple times, smearing his pre-come around your mouth like lip gloss. “We both know you love it.”

He’s so cocky, so sure of himself that you want to keep denying him. But he’s also right, you can feel your resolve slowly start to crack when he pushes the head between your parted lips. The familiar heady taste of him oozing onto your tongue has you sighing contently, jaw relaxing the tiniest bit almost like a reflex.

The second you give Patrick an inch and he’ll take a mile.

“There we go,” he mutters sweetly, pulling back slightly and then thrusting forward until your nose is buried in the short curls at the base.

Your whole body tenses, throat constricting over the length of his dick as your fist his shorts in your hands. As quickly as he thrust in, he pulls out, letting you sharply gasp for air before it’s back and pressing insistently on your tongue. You let him in, forcing your throat to relax as he slides forward to press his hips into your face.

“You’re such a fucking brat,” he bites out, thrusting down your throat roughly. “Pussy’s so greedy it jumped on the next dick that perked up around it.”

You could only whine around Patrick’s dick, mouth too full to do anything but try and work your tongue over the throbbing length of him.

Your throat burns, spit flowing down your chin messily along with his pre-come still steadily leaking from the hot tip of his dick.

His big hands have an iron grip on either side of your head, his balls slap against your chin as he thrusts over and over and over. The back of your skull throbs, knocking into the stall with each pump of his hips.

“Fuck,” he groans, dropping his forehead down to the stall with a small thunk. “You look so good like this,” he breathes, looking down at you through half-lidded eyes, “so fucking pretty with my dick down your throat to shut you up.”

Your pussy aches, so empty that you want to shove your hand down your shorts and stuff yourself full of your own fingers to dull the need. Your thighs glide together slickly, the wetness of your arousal soaking through your clothes.

It gets harder to breathe. Your choked off, spluttering gags start loudly echoing off the tile walls. Your hand slaps Patrick’s thigh a few times, he thrusts hard once more before he finally pulls back, smearing spit all over your tongue and out of your mouth.

“God, that was good baby.” he praises, slapping his dick against your right cheek lewdly. “As much as I want to pump this load down your throat,” he says casually, stroking his spit slick dick lazily, ”I want it in your pussy more.”

“I fucking hate you,” you growl weakly, voice absolutley wrecked. The tears sitting in your waterline blur your vision, you blink them away to see Patrick’s smug smile beaming down at you.

“Then tell me to stop,” he shrugs, tilting his head to the side condescendingly. You glare up at him, but you don’t say anything. He snorts, brow raising in amusement. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

He shoves his shorts the rest of the way down, stepping out of them and hauling you up to your feet. You’re still desperately trying to catch your breath, chest heaving as you cough and gasp.

Patrick rips your shirt over your head, flinging it over the stall along with his own. He turns you by your shoulder, pushing you against the wall as he yanks the shower handle to start the stream.

Water rains down around you, shockingly cold for a few seconds before it finally starts to warm up. Patrick makes quick work of your shorts and panties, yanking them down your legs and off your feet, tossing them in the corner of the stall with a wet thwack.

He kicks your feet further apart, one hand on your shoulder and the other lining his hard dick up with your tight hole, letting the leaking tip press into you with the smallest amount of pressure.

“I know you missed my dick, slut,” he says, bringing his hand down on your ass quickly, kneading the stinging skin roughly. “Art could be the best fuck in the world, he still can’t give it to you like I can.” He pops the head in, groaning quietly before he bullies his thick dick the rest of the way into you.

Your hole shakes around him. Patick is right. Patrick is always right, but you’d never tell him that. You wanted this. You missed this. The burn of Patrick’s dick forcing you open, stretching you so wide your toes curl. Him not giving you even a second to react before he’s pulling back and pounding into you brutally.

You cry out, eyes screwing shut at the sharp sting. You can tell through the haze of you brain that this won’t take long at all, the both of you already so worked up from Patrick fucking your throat. His right hand drops from your shoulder to your hip while his left slides up your torso, sliding along your skin to wrap around the column of your throat firmly. You keen loudly, throwing your head back to give him more room.

“I taught him how to use that fucking dick,” he goads into your ear, grip tightening on your throat. “Did he tell you about that? Huh?” He takes your earlobe between your teeth, biting hard enough to make you squeal into the wall.

The tile digs into your cheek, roughly scraping against your skin every time Patrick fucks back into you.

You’re hovering over the edge, pussy throbbing with the burning need to come. Your clit pulses, swollen and sensitive but you can’t find the strength to drop your down hand between your thighs.

They’re too busy scrambling for any kind of purchase on the slippery wall of the shower, manicured nails scratching against the tile uselessly.

You gasp for air, fighting to speak up under the intense pressure of his hand, “I could tell,” you choke out, barely audible, “you both fuck like you have something to prove.”

“You think?” he sneers, thrusting harder, your ass stinging each time he slams his hips into you. “Maybe that’s because we do. Maybe that’s because we both like seeing you fucking fall apart like this, seeing you beg for it after you finally stop being a little pissy bitch.”

Your breath hitches as his other hand drops from your hip, delving between your thighs to slide the calloused pads of his fingertips over your swollen clit.

You moan, thighs clenching together as he rubs fast circles over you. “You like that, don’t you? Being used like a fucking toy.” His hand squeezes just a bit tighter. “Say it. Tell me you love being our little slut.”

The words spill out of your mouth before you can stop them, a mix of desperation and raw honesty, “I love it,” you cry out as loud as you can, “I love being your slut.”

“God, you sound just like him,” Patrick chuckles into your ear, low and sinister. His hold on your throat tightens, cutting off your air entirely. You sputter, hand coming up to clutch his wrist like a vice. Your pulse thunders, hard enough that he can probably feel it against his palm. “Who do you think made him come harder?”

The image alone of Patrick and Art like that sends you flying to the edge. “Ah— Patrick! ” you moan, voice hoarse and strained, “Pat, I’m gonna— fuck—“

“Do it,” he goads, sliding his hand from your clit down to where your pussy is spread open on him. He pushes his thick index finger right up next to his pulsing dick, hooking it inside or you and stretching you that much wider. “Come on my fucking dick like the greedy whore you are.”

You let out a sharp cry as your forehead hits the wall, thighs shaking violently as Patrick’s hips become relentless. Your whole body tensing up as you come so hard your vision blacks out.

You think you’re screaming, but it’s hard to hear anything over the white noise buzzing in your ears. Patrick’s hips don’t stop, fucking your abused pussy into overstimulation as he chases his own orgasm.

His hand drops from your throat to dig into your hip to put more power behind his thrusts. You’re immediately gasping for air, taking in greedy lungfuls of it.

Patrick’s chest is plastered to your back, face buried in your neck as he rambles out more nonsensical obscenities. His dick pulses and twitches in your pussy, so close to filling you up.

An idea pierces through the fog of your brain, an idea so fucking filthy it has your pussy clenching weakly.

You think back to the first night Art fucked you, how he almost came all over Patrick’s pants just because they were his, just because you said his name. How worked up and hard Patrick got when you started talking about Art.

“When he fucked me for the first time, I was wearing your sweats, the green ones,” your voice is scratchy and quiet, barely audible over the shower’s spray, “he noticed.”

“Fuck– fuck you,” he grates out, hips faltering ever so slightly. “God, gonna come,” his hold on your hip tightens, strong enough that it’ll be sure to bruise.

You keep talking, spurred on by his reaction. “He almost came right there, he wasn’t even inside me yet, just rubbed his dick all over them like he could fucking feel you.”

Patrick gives one final slam of his hips, burying himself as deep as he can in your pussy. His low groans and curses fill the room as he unloads into you, pumping you so full of his come that you can feel each hot splash of it painting the walls of your pussy.

He slumps down against you, hips twitching as he works through the aftershocks. You can feel his breath puff over the shell of your ear.

You and Patrick say nothing for a long few minutes, running water the only thing to keep the room from being completely silent. Patrick is still pressed to your back, his chest heaves against your shoulders. You think you’d collapse if his hands weren’t still on your hips, practically holding you up.

You’re the one to break the silence, voice low and wrecked, “Art lasts so much longer than that…”

Patrick snorts against your back. “Fuck you.” he says, biting your shoulder hard and pulling his dick out of you in one swift move. You gasp sharply as his come floods from your puffy, wrecked hole. Thick streams of it dripping down your thighs until the water washes it away to swirl down the drain.

You turn on unsteady legs, hair plastered to your face with water. Patrick is right there, knees knocking against yours as he shifts the two of you closer to the spray. He looks like a marble statue, water dripping down the tip of his nose and between the hard planes of his abs.

He grins smugly down at you, “I’m staying at a hotel close to campus, unblock my number and I’ll send you my room number,” he wagers, hands sliding up and down the wet skin of your back. “I think you, Art, and I have something we need to work out.”

“Yeah,” you agree, nodding your head with a small grin. “I think we do”

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

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sofiatarot · 18 days ago

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PAC: Whispers from your future spouse’s soul: a message your heart needs to hear

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Sometimes we miss someone we've never met

1->2

3->4

Group 1:

My love, I know how hard it’s been for you to keep standing tall when the world feels like it’s crumbling around you. You’ve carried so much responsibility, always striving to maintain control and stability even when chaos surrounds you. I see your strength, and I admire it more than you could ever know. But I want you to know it’s okay to let your guard down with me. You don’t have to be the one holding everything together all the time. I’ll be your steady foundation when the storms come.

You’ve been going through transformations that feel heavy, almost unbearable, but trust me when I say you’re shedding the old to make room for the new. I want you to look at these changes not as endings, but as doors opening to a brighter, more secure future for us. There’s a seed of something beautiful sprouting in the cracks of your old life—trust it. I’ll be here to nurture it with you.

I know there have been moments where you’ve felt like giving up, where your efforts seemed wasted. But don’t let those doubts consume you, my love. All the work you’ve put in, all the pain you’ve endured, it’s leading you somewhere incredible. I see you as a creator, even in moments when you feel lost. Together, we’ll turn those fragments of hope into something solid.

There’s something you’ve been avoiding, a decision or a truth you don’t want to face. I see you hesitate, afraid of what might happen if you choose. But I want you to know that you are stronger than the fear that holds you back. Whatever you decide, I’ll be beside you, ready to catch you if you fall. You don’t have to figure it all out alone.

When your world feels like it’s falling apart, remember this: sometimes destruction is necessary for rebirth. You are rising from the ashes of what once was, becoming the person you’re meant to be. And when you look around and feel lost, know that I’m here, already searching for you, ready to hold you when we finally meet.

Group 2:

My dearest, I feel your frustration and your impatience. You’re caught in a cycle that feels endless, like no matter what you do, things just won’t fall into place. But please, don’t lose hope. You’re not stuck—you’re learning. Every step, even the ones that feel like missteps, is shaping you into the person you’re meant to be. And I want you to know that I’m so proud of how hard you’re trying, even when you can’t see the results.

There’s chaos around you, and I know it feels overwhelming. It’s like you’re juggling too much at once, trying to keep everything balanced, but it’s okay to let some things go. You don’t have to do it all alone. I’m coming, and when I do, I’ll help you carry the weight. Until then, please don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re doing better than you think.

I sense that you’ve been questioning yourself, your intuition, your path. You’ve doubted your own wisdom, wondering if you’re making the right choices. But trust me when I say that deep down, you already know what’s best for you. You don’t have to second-guess yourself so much. You’re more capable than you realize.

The wheel may look like it's not turning in your favor right now, but this isn’t the end. Life isn’t a straight path; it’s full of twists and turns, and sometimes we have to lose our way to find it again. I believe in you, in your strength to keep going even when the road is unclear. And when we finally meet, I’ll remind you every day of how far you’ve come.

You’re a fighter, my love, even when you feel like you’re losing the battle. Your resilience is one of the many reasons I’m drawn to you. Hold on to that fire inside you, and don’t let the world dim it. I’m here, waiting for the day I get to tell you all this in person, and I promise, it’ll be worth the wait.

(IM SO HAPPY THIS ONE CAME OUT FOR YOU it's one of my fav songs 🤧)

Group 3:

My love, you’ve been feeling like your efforts aren’t paying off, like no matter how hard you try, it’s never enough. But I see your heart, your determination, and I want you to know that it’s not in vain. Every step you take is bringing us closer together, even if it doesn’t feel that way right now. Trust the process, because I already see the beautiful life we’re going to build together.

I know you’ve been hurt before, and it’s made you cautious, maybe even a little guarded. But you’re learning to trust again, to let go of the fears that once held you back. I see you opening up, little by little, and it’s one of the most beautiful things about you. When we meet, I’ll make sure you never have to question my loyalty or my love.

You’ve been moving so quickly, chasing your dreams, your goals, and sometimes forgetting to take a moment to breathe. I admire your drive, but I want you to remember that it’s okay to slow down. Life isn’t a race, and we have all the time in the world to create something amazing together.

You’re surrounded by love, even if it doesn’t always feel that way. Your friends, your family, they see the light in you that I see. Celebrate those connections, because they’re a reflection of the joy you bring to the world. And when I finally step into your life, I know we’ll create a bond just as unbreakable.

You’re on the brink of something incredible, my love. A new chapter is waiting for you, full of opportunities and second chances. Trust yourself, and trust that the universe is guiding us to each other. I can’t wait to meet you and tell you all the things I’ve been holding in my heart.

Group 4:

My dearest, I know how much you’ve been searching for answers, for guidance, for something to hold onto. You’ve been so strong, navigating the challenges life has thrown at you, but I see the exhaustion in your soul. You don’t have to do it all alone anymore. I’ll be here to support you, to guide you, and to remind you of the beauty in your strength.

You’ve been feeling stuck, like no matter what you do, you can’t move forward. But I want you to know that this is just a pause, not an end. Sometimes we need to step back to see the bigger picture, to understand what truly matters. Take this time to rest, to heal, and to prepare for the incredible journey ahead.

You’ve faced heartbreak, betrayal, and disappointment, but you’ve never let it define you. That resilience, that ability to keep going even when it hurts, is one of the things I love most about you. I promise to honor that strength, to never be the source of your pain, but the one who helps you heal.

There’s a part of you that’s afraid to let go of the past, to move on from what’s familiar, even if it no longer serves you. But I see your potential, your ability to rise above it all. Trust me when I say that the future holds so much more for you than you could ever imagine.

When we finally meet, I’ll show you what it means to be truly loved, to feel safe and cherished. I’ll be your partner in every sense of the word, and together, we’ll create a life filled with love, passion, and endless possibilities. Until then, know that I’m already loving you from afar, cheering you on as you take each step closer to me.

xoxo🌙

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nottsangel · 8 months ago

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just friends — p.z. & a.d.

pairing: fwb!patrick zweig x fem!stanford!reader x bsf!stanford!art donaldson

warnings: smut 18+, threesome, unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex (m. and f. receiving), creampie, praise, dirty talk, everyone is really into each other

word count: 4.5k

summary: you and patrick have been secretly hooking up behind art’s back for months without him suspecting a thing. however, everything changes when art unexpectedly walks in on you both.

nav. // m.list // taglist

“Fuck!” you cursed when your trembling, non-dominant hand holding the nail polish applicator accidentally painted your skin bright red with a rogue flick. Hastily shoving the applier back into the glass bottle, you reached for a tissue, carelessly splashed some nail polish remover on it, and tried to fix the mess as best as you could. You squinted your eyes as you dabbed the remover-soaked tissue on your skin, the sun gradually setting and the chilly evening summer breeze feeling pleasant against your skin in your humid Stanford dorm room.

“That’s… better.” you mumbled to yourself as you held your hands in front of you, admiring your freshly painted nails with a satisfied grin, when three loud knocks on your dorm room door resonated through the room, making you jump and let out a small squeal in surprise, jolting you out of your trance.

Hastily, you tucked away your nail polish supplies before another set of impatient knocks echoed through the space. “Coming!” you yelled out, leaping towards the door with a rush of excitement coursing through your body, knowing exactly who was waiting on the other side.

You carefully grasped the handle, ensuring not to ruin your fresh nail polish, and pulled the door open with a beaming smile. In front of the door opening, your best friend stood with his hands in his pockets and a broad grin that widened when he saw your excited expression.

“Patrick!” you exclaimed, holding your arms out as he swiftly wrapped you in a hug, lifted you from the ground, and spun you around while casually closing the door with his foot. “Careful, careful! I just painted my nails!” you grumbled, quickly checking your nails with a concerned frown before he set you back down on the ground.

“You were getting all dolled up f’me? You didn’t have to, you know.” You rolled your eyes, his cocky attitude already surfacing after approximately ten seconds. “Oh, shut up. And uhm, If you didn’t know already, I’m actually seeing someone. Stanford has some pretty cute guys, surprisingly.”

Patrick narrowed his eyes, closely observing your face with a serious expression before a wide grin broke out. He chuckled while shaking his head, his eyes briefly drifting away from yours before he firmly gripped your jaw, “You’re fucking lying.” A small smile tugged at your lips, unable to maintain your poker face any longer. Having been best friends for so long, it was easy for both of you to spot a lie.

“I mean, obviously you’re not seeing anyone. C’mon baby, we both know no one can fuck you as good as I can.” he taunted, his voice low and raspy, before he stepping closer to you until you’re merely inches away from each other, the smirk on his face gradually fading.

His eyes looked right into yours, then shifted to your lips as he licked his own before abruptly cupping your face with both hands and pressing his lips to yours hungrily. His mouth was warm against yours, a mingling of passion and urgency as teeth clashed briefly and tongues fought for dominance while you could taste the faint hint of cigarettes mixed with minty gum.

You were well aware of the risks that came with being friends with benefits, but god, it was so fucking addictive. Patrick had a way of making you feel like none of your ex-boyfriends ever had, which kept you coming back for more.

And since the two of you first hooked up at a party, both intoxicated and horny, a few months have passed of you continuing as friends with benefits without any issues yet. You both agreed right away to keep it a secret from your other best friend, Art, fearing it might complicate things between you three or potentially ruin your close friendship. And so far, it worked out just fine, and everything between you three remained as normal as ever.

“Have you seen Art already?” You questioned as you broke the kiss, making him whine as his rough hands wandered all over your body, reaching your waist.

“Hmm, what? Art? No, no, not yet. I— uh, I have more important things on my mind first.” He snickered, his signature smirk spreading across his face, before swiftly pushing you onto your bed, causing you to bounce lightly on the mattress as you gazed up at him through your eyelashes, taking in his athletic shape. You noticed he had grown more muscular since the last time you saw him, nearly making you drool at the sight of his biceps flexing as he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it aside, revealing his defined abs.

He then fumbled with the buttons of his trousers, his impatient and hurried manners only slowing him down instead, making him groan in frustration before finally yanking his trousers off and kicking them to the side. Your eyes were instantly drawn to his tented boxers, with precum forming a wet patch on the fabric as he approached you on the bed, causing you to unconsciously spread your legs open.

“Fuck, I haven’t gone a day without thinking about you, you know that? Your sweet mouth, your perfect tits, your pretty pussy. You have no idea how much I’ve looked forward to this moment.” he whispered with a raspy voice, your floral perfume filling his senses as he removed your top, the soft material gliding over your head, and then did the same to your shorts, his movements clumsy and uncoordinated, before tossing them to the ground, leaving a pile of scattered clothes on the floor of your dorm room.

“So… what? you’re telling me that you haven’t fucked any girls on tour? At all?” You asked sceptically with a raised eyebrow as he knelt before you on the bed, his lips slightly parted with a sly smile on his face as he admired your stunning body, a red lace lingerie set perfectly hugging your figure, his eyes scanning every inch of you. “Shit. You’re so fucking hot.” he chuckled softly, shaking his head in disbelief that someone as hot as you would want to have sex with him.

“Baby, trust me when I say the only thing I’ve fucked these past few weeks was my own hand while thinking about you.” he assured you as his head lowered to your neck, but you caught him off guard when you swiftly pushed him off, causing him to land on his back beside you before straddling his lap, grinning down at him. He groaned at your sudden dominance, a smug smile playing on his lips as his wandering hand moved to your ass, roughly squeezing it as he gazed up at you.

“Hmm, really? While thinking about me, huh? That’s cute.” You whispered while grinding your hips right on top of his boner, the sensation of your swollen clit rubbing against him making you grow wetter with each passing second, desperately needing to feel him inside of you after weeks of not seeing him.

“Oh c’mon, baby. Don’t act like you haven’t been doing the same. I know for a fact you’ve been using that pink toy of yours while moaning my name every time you came.” He taunted, then proceeded to imitate you mockingly by moaning his own name in a high-pitched tone. Dickhead. He knew you too well.

“Oh, fuck you, Patrick.” You playfully slapped him on the chest with a sheepish smile on your face, neither denying nor confirming anything as he cockily stared up at you with half-lidded eyes. “Only if you ask nicely, sweetheart.”

The smirk on his face quickly faded as you unexpectedly quickened your movements and lowered your head towards his neck, planting sloppy kisses along his jawline before nibbling on his earlobe, causing him to groan and buck his hips up in desperation.

You teasingly moved your mouth towards his, ghosting your lips against his and making him reach for you desperately, causing you to smirk. He bit his lip, staring at you with hunger in his eyes, until you finally gave in and kissed him eagerly, your eyes fluttering shut as your lips met his. Smacking noises along with soft moans filled the room, fully immersed in the moment, unable to think about anything else but his roaming hands roughly exploring your half-naked body as you lustfully made out.

Suddenly, the door burst open, jolting you both out of your trance as you quickly broke the kiss, a string of saliva still linking your lips.

Your heart leapt in your throat as you saw your best friend, Art, standing frozen in the doorway, his jaw dropping and his face turning red with one hand still tightly clutching the door handle. A hot wave of embarrassment crashed over him, and none of you dared to move— Patrick stared at Art with wide eyes, while Art's blue eyes darted between the two of you.

Both Patrick and Art remained frozen, too embarrassed and shocked to move. But you— you stayed put for a different reason. You were intrigued by how this scene would unfold, silently waiting for one of them to speak, a spark of mischief dancing in your eyes.

“Oh my god. Sorry, I— uh, I didn’t know you guys— I didn’t know you guys were, uhm, together.” Art stammered, finally breaking the silence as he awkwardly scratched the back of his head, his wide eyes unsure where to look and his lips tightly pressed together into a thin line.

“No, no, we aren’t, I promise! This is just— It’s like— we’re—” Patrick stammered, trying his best to come up with an excuse but failing miserably, so you quickly cut him off, “We aren’t together.” You remarked with a casual indifference, sitting up straight on Patrick’s lap now with your hands resting on his bare chest for support. Art finally mustered the courage to meet your gaze, one eyebrow raised in confusion and his lips parted as if to speak, but he was too dumbfounded to find the words.

“We’re just… you know, friends who… occasionally have sex.” You shifted your gaze back to Patrick, who snapped out of his frozen state and inhaled a deep breath, his cheeks flushing bright red, clearly unsure how to react. “I wanna die right now.” Patrick muttered through clenched teeth, his voice barely audible as he slowly dragged his hands over his red face in embarrassment.

You returned your attention to Art again who hadn’t moved an inch, still awkwardly standing there. A cunning smile tugged at your lips as you took in the scene. “So are you just going to watch like a fucking creep or are you actually going to join us?”

“What!?” Art, blurted out, eyes wide with disbelief as he swallowed hard, the sound of the gulp almost audible in the stunned silence. “You should, uh… come here and join us— As friends, of course.”

From your peripheral vision, you noticed Patrick's face gradually light up as soon as you suggested Art to join you, his excitement clearly visible. It was obvious, really— Patrick had always been attracted to Art. You could see it in the way he teased him, the smile that appeared whenever Art entered the room, and the subtle touches here and there. So, just before Patrick arrived, you had texted Art, asking him to meet you both in your room in ten minutes. But Patrick didn’t need to know that. To him, this all was simply a perfect accident.

“Uhm… I, uh— yeah, okay. I mean, sure.” Art let out an awkward chuckle and nodded slightly, the tension he was feeling gradually washing away and his stance slowly relaxing, though he still hadn't fully processed what he'd just walked in on, but he was more than eager to join.

He closed the door behind him and made his way towards you both, his eyes unintentionally darting between your half-naked body and Patrick’s tented boxers, before sitting on the edge of the bed as you rose from Patrick’s lap.

“I can’t believe you guys left me out of this.” He joked, but there was a hint of seriousness in his tone, which made you gaze at him with a sympathetic expression as you straddled his lap, hands resting on his toned shoulders.

“We’re sorry, really. It wasn’t… intentional. But I promise we’ll take good care of you now, okay?” you whispered softly, your sharp nails grazing over the skin of his neck before moving to the hem of his shirt. In one swift motion, you pulled it over his head and tossed it aside.

“Well, you better. I mean, you both have a lot to apologise for here, just saying.” Art teased, a challenging tone in his voice now as you could feel his erection growing bigger right beneath your dripping core. Patrick now sat beside Art, wasting no time as he attached his lips to Art’s neck and planted wet kisses while whispering softly against his skin, “We didn’t mean to. It just— it just happened, you know? But uhm… we’ll make it up to you.”

Art could only moan in response, strangled noises escaping his mouth as you began to slowly move your hips back and forth right on his painfully hard boner. His roaming hands explored your body with caution and eagerness, while his blue eyes stared down at your barely covered figure with his mouth slightly agape, giving him a perfect view of your cleavage. “Oh my fucking god.”

You then firmly gripped his jaw as your mouth slowly drew closer to his, causing him to shift his gaze back up, half-lidded eyes staring at you before your soft lips met his. Your bodies pressed together as his mouth moved against yours with an unrestrained passion while Patrick sloppily placed love bites all over Art’s neck and collarbones, whispering soft apologies against his skin.

Art felt as if he were in heaven as he sat on the edge of the bed, a warm glow spreading through him. The soft smacking noises of your and Patrick’s lips seemed to blend perfectly with his racing heart as his cheeks heated up, savouring every second of the moment.

You then grasped Patrick’s jaw, pulling his head toward yours and Art’s, inviting him into the kiss. Soon all three of you were entangled in the kiss, tongues moving against each other, fueled by the pent-up sexual energy between the three of you that finally seemed to burst. The world around you faded as Patrick’s lips pressed against yours with a hunger that was soon matched by Art’s, both of them eagerly moving their tongues against each other’s and yours while yearning for more.

Art's hand glided over your bare back, pausing at the clasp of your bra. He skillfully unclasped it with one hand, slipping it off your shoulders and throwing it aside, your bra quickly replaced by his firm hand. You softly moaned into their mouths at the feeling of Art kneading your breasts, causing him to slyly smirk into the kiss, meanwhile Patrick's hand travelled to between your thighs, trailing over your clothed cunt and feeling your wetness through the fabric.

You gently pulled away from the kiss, your mouth parting from theirs as quick breaths left your swollen lips. Gazing at your two best friends kissing before you, you carefully lifted yourself from Art’s lap.

Both of them were lost in their own world, lips still attached to each other as they hungrily kissed each other, the passion in their kiss so intense and urgent that they didn’t even notice you breaking the kiss. A mischievous smirk spread across your face as you slowly dropped down to your knees in front of them. Your eyes remained locked on the boys as sighs and moans echoed throughout the room, the hunger and longing for one another overtaking them both.

Your hands eagerly grasped at Art’s pants as you fumbled with the buttons, causing him to break the kiss and snap his head towards you, finally jolting him out of the trance and, for the first time, realising that you had pulled away from the kiss. “Why are you stopping? Go on, continue.” You ordered, Art’s hips instinctively bucking up so you could pull his pants down. Patrick was the first to resume the kiss, his hand gliding against Art’s jaw as he guided him back towards him, their lips meeting once again.

Both of them were now sitting in only their boxers, their erections clearly visible as they were making out heavily. A sense of power surged through you as you attentively gazed up at them and palmed them through their boxers at the same time, noticing their bodies instantly tensing up at your touch as they moaned into each other’s mouths. After a short while, you freed them both from their last piece of clothing, their erections jumping free against their abs with precum leaking from the top.

“Gonna make my boys feel so fucking good.” You murmured as you wrapped your hands around both of them and simultaneously pumped their cocks at a slow pace while licking your lips, nearly drooling at the sight in front of you.

You drew your head closer to Patrick’s cock first, starting by gently licking the tip and feeling him melt under your touch before you wrapped your lips around him, hollowing your cheeks. He let out a loud moan in Art’s mouth and gripped the sheets when feeling your head bob up and down on his erection. You made sure to flick your tongue over the pink tip at the same time, knowing exactly what drove Patrick crazy.

Then, you withdrew from Patrick and moved to Art who was eagerly waiting to feel your warm mouth around him after seeing how Patrick reacted to your touch. Your tongue moved along the length of his shaft before reaching the tip, swirling your tongue over the most sensitive part. A string of curse words flowed softly from his mouth as your lips wrapped around his cock and pushed yourself down on him until you felt him touch the back of your throat, all while your other hand stroked Patrick’s cock at a fast pace.

Groans and shattered breaths escaped both their lips as you alternated between sloppily sucking them both off, saliva running down your chin while using your hand on the one that wasn't in your mouth at the time, bringing them closer and closer to their release.

The kiss between them grew more heated and sloppy with each passing second, and they were both desperate to let go, but you abruptly stopped right before they could. Both of their heads snapped in your direction with disappointed expressions on their flushed faces, panting heavily as you gazed up at them with a sly smile.

“Not yet. I want you to cum inside of me. Both of you.” you murmured as you gazed up at them through your eyelashes with your lips slick and swollen. The sight of you kneeling in front of them, spit tracing down your chin and making a mess all over your tits as you stared up at them with large, doe-like eyes could make them cum on the spot. A soft oh my god slipped from Art’s lips as he fixed his gaze on you with a mesmerised grin, causing Patrick’s eyes to shift from you to Art, a knowing smile forming on his lips, chuckling as he noticed his enchanted expression.

“Art looks like he’s already about to cum, baby. Help the poor guy out.” Patrick chuckled, causing Art to snap out of his trance and lightly push Patrick to the side, his cheeks heating up because it was true— he was so fucking close already.

You rose to your feet, slipped your soaked underwear down and stepped out of them, before gently pushing Art onto the bed, making him lie flat on his back. Patrick moved behind you, his eyes fixed on your figure as you hovered over Art’s lap, your hands pressing against his chest and your wetness dripping onto him.

“You want me to fuck you, Art? ‘Cause I don’t know, I’m just… not fully convinced yet.” You taunted, his mouth slightly agape in mesmerisation as he stared up at you. “You’re such a fucking tease, you know that?“ You raised an eyebrow at him with a naughty grin dancing on your lips, waiting for him to say the words you so badly wanted to hear. “Fuck baby, you have no idea how bad I need you. I want you to fuck me, please.”

With a satisfied smile, you lined his cock up to your entrance and slowly sank down, feeling him gradually fill you up and stretch you out completely, causing you to hiss with pleasure. Art threw his head back at the sensation, and his hands instinctively moved to your hips, gripping them firmly to prevent himself from cumming straight away. “Is this okay?” You asked, slowly rolling your hips on top of him and resting your hands on his chest for support. “Yeah, that’s— fuck, that’s amazing. Please— keep going, baby.”

“Yeah, she feels good, huh?” Patrick chuckled, a smug grin spreading across his face as he reached around to massage your tits from behind, teasing your sensitive nipples while you leaned against his shoulder. Your hand found its way to his cock and began to stroke him slowly, causing him to moan into your neck and leave a trail of kisses.

“So fucking good, oh my god. I can’t believe you’ve kept her to yourself all this time, man.” Art replied, before letting out a hitched breath as you slowly began to rhythmically move up and down on him. The curve of Art’s cock allowed him to rub against your g-spot so perfectly, it caused your eyes to roll to the back of your head and let out a loud moan, one hand resting on his chest and the other one pumping Patrick’s erection at a fast pace.

You murmured a soft come here to Patrick, beckoning him to move closer to Art. You let go of Patrick and took Art’s hand, guiding it towards Patrick’s cock before wrapping his hand around it firmly.

“Make him feel good.” you murmured, and Art quickly obliged as he began to move his hand up and down on Patrick’s cock, allowing you to focus on the movements of your hips. Your fingers gently trailed over Art’s abs all the way to his lips, before sticking them in his mouth and forcing him to suck on your digits. Art’s eyes fluttered shut at the sensation of your cunt squeezing him so tightly, meanwhile, Patrick’s stared at him through half-lidded eyes and his mouth agape, making it even more obvious to you that he has been waiting for this moment for a long fucking time.

Sensual moans and grunts from all three of you filled the room as you moved your hips at a fast pace, and you’re so certain other people in the building could hear you, but at this moment, you couldn’t care less.

Patrick’s hand moved down to where your and Art’s bodies connected and began massaging his balls, only adding to the intense pleasure Art was already feeling, causing him to grip the sheets.

“I’m not— I’m not gonna last long.” Art cried out, biting his lip as he was nearing his release. “Let go, baby. Wanna feel you cum inside of me.” You could feel his cock twitch at your words before he let out a choked sob and painted your walls white, cumming as deep into you as possible. “Good boy.” you whispered as you cupped his flushed face with your hands and kissed him, giving him time to recover from his orgasm as he whispered against your lips, “So fucking good, oh my god.”

You then slowly lifted yourself off his cock, a mixture of your juices and his sperm dripping down your thighs, but Patrick quickly moved behind you as soon as he noticed, grabbing your hips and hungrily sucking on your neck. “Let me help you finish, pretty girl. You want that? Hmm?”

A soft please was all you could get out before he positioned himself behind you and pushed in with one quick thrust, too impatient to take it slow since he was already so fucking close to his release. When he was balls deep inside of you, he wrapped his bicep around your neck and pulled you up, your back resting against his sweat-soaked chest.

“Get— fuck, get under her, Art.” Art instantly understood as he moved his head directly under your body and wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking it eagerly while Patrick began to move inside of you. He quickly set a steady but rough pace, causing you to arch your back as he massaged your inner walls so perfectly, strangled noises escaping your lips. “Oh— oh my fucking god.”

It was so fucking messy— Patrick pounding into you while Art’s cum was still deep inside of you, causing a mixture of both Art’s cum and your juices to drip down onto Art, who was ferally sucking on your swollen clit, making you moan both their names loudly over and over again.

Patrick’s focused gaze was fixed on his cock disappearing into your body, and it felt like a dream come true to fuck his best friend with his other best friend’s cum dripping out of you at the same time— it used to be merely a fantasy that he would think about while stroking himself late at night all alone in his room.

He groaned as his hand reeled back before slapping your ass, causing you to clench around his cock as you moaned loudly. “Oh fuck, feels— feels so fucking good.”

Your eyes fluttered shut when he continued rubbing against that one spot inside you that made your toes curl, the pleasure building as you could feel his cock twitching inside you.

“Ah, fuck, fuck, fuck! I’m— I’m gonna cum” you cried out, brows knit together as you felt your release approaching. “Fuck, cum for us, baby.” Art moaned into your cunt, his tongue moving faster against your sensitive clit.

Another forceful thrust and your orgasm struck you, causing you to see stars as your vision blurred, your nails digging deep into Patrick’s arm. His hips began to stagger, losing rhythm, and you knew he was close too before you felt a pool of warmth inside of you as he filled you to the brim with his cum. A string of curse words left his lips as his grip around your body tightened when he felt your body go limp, trying his best to hold you up while slowly moving his hips and riding out his high.

Art lay back down on the bed again, sensing that you were about to collapse, and you soon did, falling right on top of his body, and giving Patrick a perfect view of your cum-dripping cunt.

“Oh well that was..” Art began, as Patrick chimed in, “Yup.” “And that.” “I know.” “And THAT.” “Yeahhh.” “Just, don’t you guys fucking dare leave me out of this next time!” Art demanded, his tone firm with his chest still heaving up and down. “Got it, no more secrets from now on. Right, Patrick?” you reassured Art, then glanced back at Patrick. “Yeah, I mean… both our cum is literally, like, dripping out of you, baby. I don’t think we can ever go back to normal after this.”

thank you for reading !! comments and reblogs are very much appreciated ♡

nav. m.list.

tags (join here): @maizweig @swamp-box @oceandriveab @starkeysprincess @unhingedbanks @imawhoreforu @mcugurl @skylerwhitwyo @nottsbabydoll @hearts-4-kai @takaosin @imbabycowboy @mitskilover23 @kiiwizz @paulaiguess @midwestprincesss @dodgesgirl @head-slut-in-charge @badesire @parkerloves

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crimsonblackrose · 2 years ago

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I promised my aunt I’d make tiramisu but forgot pie day coming up and I’ve wanted to make pie for pie day for...years and always miss it. But! I think we have a pie crust (with cigars resting in it for some bizarre reason) in the freezer and this like raw sugar-free book has a pie recipe that I think we’ve got all the ingredients for...so I might be able to do both?

#mumblings #I also want to do something for st. patricks day but my aunt and uncle have their anniversary and are going to go away #I'm hoping they take the dog 🤣#because my cousin said he'd babysit the dog but the dog managed to get into the pantry and eat all the trash in the trash can on his watch #so I'm just like I don't want to have to babysit my cousin and the dog because my cousin has like no awareness whatsoever #I also kind of wish we'd already had the bathroom basement remodeled because then I could just avoid that side of the house altogether #I was worried these raw recipes would be a pain #but I think the most annoying thing is that I'm just going to have to keep washing the food processor #because every step seems to be throw everything into a clean food processor 🤣#it'll be a little reminiscent of the holiday truffles #because except for the annoying dipping them in chocolate bit that was pretty much throw these ingredients into a blender #There was a pie crust making class nearby but even though I signed up for it they never got back to me #which like...lesson re-learned #I always forget how fast those classes fill up and I assumed they took down the sign ups once they were full but I guess they don't?#they just ghost you #I feel like I should also say like the cigars are in a plastic bag and the pie crust is covered in it's own container #it's just still weird #the last raw sugar free thing I made was peanut butter fudge last weekend as like a please don't eat my friends birthday cookies eat this #and they were just...like peanut butter and kind of disappointing so I'm hopping the tiramisu and pie are at least a little better #I mean it did it's job no one inhaled the birthday cookies before I walked out the door 🤣😅 and the peanut butter things were gone #when I got back so 🤷‍♀️#but still hope these are better than just like peanut butter melted with coconut oil and maple syrup and poured into cupcake liners

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nouearth · 1 month ago

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bound to him.

patrick bateman x male reader.

𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓. drabble [ 1.1k ].

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. male reader 〳established relationship 〳 sexual content: top!patrick, sadist!patrick, bottom!reader, masochist!reader, rough!sex, slapping, bondage, light dom/sub dynamics, throat-fucking, breeding.

It hurts. Everything hurts whenever you were with Patrick Bateman.

Not only did you get a thrill out of being treated like you were a disgrace to society, you encouraged Patrick—to slap you harder until your cheeks welted with splotches of red, to spit on you with a veil of disgust in his expression, to tighten the hemp bounds around your wrists until the teeth of the rope broke flesh with its strength— you had no plans on surrendering to the pain, because you were a good boy.

It was undisputed that you were Patrick’s good boy.

You were a good boy that took Patrick’s large and throbbing dick however he pleased. It made you whimper, when the weight of his heavy cock renewed the sting in your battered cheek. Slapping the fresh wound with his swinging cock. Smearing his pre-cum over your bruises like it was calming ointment. You attempted to persuade Patrick to shift his priorities elsewhere with the enticing opening of your mouth, the lick your lips, but Patrick was always a step ahead of you. Laughed at you, he loved doing that, when he pulled his dick away from your mouth at the last second after agonizing minutes of smelling the scent of his leaking cockhead.

He loved tormenting you, unraveling you into a puddle of despair until your consciousness was only responsive to the simple presence of Patrick and his thick cock. “Please, please, please,” you begged, and through your desperation, Patrick was proud to reward you for your patience. Though, only after branding your cheek with a seething smack.

“Another peep out of you, and I’m throwing you out onto the streets. Don’t interrupt me ever again. Got that, bitch?”

He held your nape and slid himself down your throat in one smooth push. You choked on your own spit, on your own gags as Patrick forced those glorious sounds of regret and distress into the valley of your tight throat. He was negligent of your own well-being, priding himself on the fact that your body was in reserve for Patrick only.

Until his cock was shoved down to the root. Until your swollen mouth was pressed to the well-groomed pubic area of his body. Until he could feel your throat tighten in futile attempts to swallow his dick down. Until you were in tears because you were at the brink of blacking out. Patrick held your neck tighter, slapping your cheeks in both wonder and in rapture. Ten seconds became twenty. Twenty seconds became forty. A minute becomes two. Copious amounts of drool was leaking out of the corners of your mouth, dripping onto his satin sheets—you were absolutely going to pay for that mess.

And you happily will, because you were Patrick’s good boy.

Once he was done throat-fucking you, you should be surrendering, weakly waving a white flag in the air because Patrick had gone too far. You should be begging for mercy, to be let go, to be freed from the ropes that bound you to his headboard. It wasn’t like you could escape, all you could do was tug. Tug hard at the ropes, twist until the friction had seared marks onto your wrists, but it was all hopeless, the headboard wouldn’t budge. Not a single wobble. You could see wrath and lust in Patrick’s gaze when he pushed your legs back ‘till your knees touched your chest, and right there, this was your chance to escape. You should demand him to stop before it was too late—but you didn’t, because why would you?

Why would you want the pain to stop, when you haven’t gotten a taste of what true pain felt like? When Patrick breached your unprepared hole in one strong thrust, it knocked the tears out of you and stunned you into silence. You felt meek, full of shame and guilt because you were losing yourself to this man’s violent need to completely rapture you like you were some kind of roadkill. Your cock throbbed in excitement as Patrick battered your insides, fucking like he could bruise your gut and see the color bloom at the most tender spots on your body.

He was big, he was so fucking big, and your hole was gripping him, pleading for him to slow down, but that only aroused Patrick, driving his cock forward and back harder, ripping your ass into two. Faster. Harder. Slamming the headboard into the wall with the impact of his thrusts. Smacking his strong, toned thighs against the back of your sweaty legs. It felt like a thousand pin-needles prickling your thighs, then at your face, when Patrick smacked you out of the blue—because he can.

Again, because he owned you.

Again, because you would take it like a good boy.

Again, because you came without his permission.

And again, because although he would never admit it, you looked so pretty crying, splattering cum all over your body while begging for him to hit you harder for the happy accident.

You were taking him, letting Patrick bury his juicy cock inside of you to the root. Churning your hole like he was on a mission to gut you until he was left with shattered bones to fuck. Your piercing cries echoed in the room. Patrick’s large shaft unrelenting and unforgiving, punching your prostate more than a multiple of times to milk your orgasm.

Patrick fucked you with deep strokes, fiery passion in his eyes, veins pulsing from biceps to forearms, sweat stuck to his fringe briefly before he pushed them back to free his vision—because he grunted with completion. He needed to see the marbling of your eyes, the pair rolling back into your eye sockets as he filled your violated hole with warm and thick seed. His hands on your hips were bruising, nails digging into your skin while he rocked your body into his cock, creaming your insides until his balls had tightened from the emptiness. You could feel your hole leaking with his cum, trickling out of you like a combusted can of whipped cream.

Then all was quiet as Patrick caught his breath, staring at your bounded wrecked body like it was slaughtered meat hung up to dry-age. His fingers ran over your ribs, smearing your splatters of cum from one side to the other, nails scraping over your collarbones, then scoffed.

“Don’t you think you should be punished for coming before me? I ought to rope that bitch cock of yours. Open your mouth.”

He was lethal, and you knew he wasn’t good for you, but you couldn’t get enough. You would do anything for him. You were afraid of the person he had turned you into, all by means of his abuse, of his large cock, but you were too far gone.

You were devoted to Patrick, loyal, and honorable.

And most importantly, you were his.

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

#patrick bateman x male reader #patrick bateman x reader #patrick bateman x you #patrick bateman x m!reader #male reader #x male reader #male reader insert #x you #reader insert #x reader #nou.fics #third time's the charm ig.....

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parkerluvsu · 4 months ago

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Boyfriend Art going to a boys night out and getting drunk and Patrick calling you to go get your boyfriend because he's been talking about you the whole time and talking about how much he is in love with you and all and when you go back home things lead to a hot makeout session while he's telling how much he's so lucky to be your boyfriend and how he is so obsessed with you

this is so cute omg.. i need bf art in my life so bad!!!

all you wanted was a chill night in, no parties, no loud neighbors, and no hangovers. when art said that patrick invited him to a frat party on the other side of campus, sitting at the foot of your bed with puppy dog eyes, you couldn't say no. but, you made him promise not to come back too drunk or too late. art agreed, letting patrick drag him to the party around 10.

it was almost 1 now, and you were cuddled up in your blankets binge watching your favorite show when you felt your phone vibrate from under the mountain of fuzzy fabric. patricks caller id flashed on the screen as you accepted the call.

"patrick? what's up, are you guys okay?"

"hey um.. art got pretty wasted tonight.. he got a hold of some pink whitney and you know how he gets so.."

you sigh, shaking your head, before you hear some rustling on the other end of the line.

"'s this her?" you hear a little hiccup from the voice you now recognize as arts. "'m sorry baby i didn't know it was g'nna get m' drunk.." another hiccup "feels like the room is spinning.." another rustle.

"yeah well.. you heard him.. can you come pick him up? ill send you our location"

you agree to drive over, pulling on one of arts old hoodies and driving over as quick as you can. pulling up at the frat house, you see a scattering of red solo cups on the lawn, along with some beer cans. you wait in your car for a minute before you see patrick helping art down the front steps, and you open your door when patrick helps strap art in. patrick pokes his head through the window, "again, sorry about this, he just kept asking for you.." patrick sighs, looking at art, whose gaze is fixed only on you. arts watery blue eyes look at you like you've hung the stars themselves, and it isn't even only because he's drunk, he looks at you that way always.

the drive home is quiet, with arts occasional hiccups disrupting the silence. art leans over when you're at a stoplight, the red lights illuminating his face, "'m really sorry.. i didn't wan' you to be angry at me" he says, pouting at you as you continue the drive home. you shake your head, "im not mad at you art, i just always want you to be safe okay? i don't want to have to worry about you so much.." art hangs his head and nods, falling quiet again.

by the time you arrive at your dorm, arts still hiccuping, stumbling over his own feet as you usher him into your room, not keen of waking anyone up at the early hour of the morning. art flops onto your bed, his head bouncing on your pillow, the movement causing a groan to erupt from his lips.

you root around in your drawers, trying to find an old pair of his boxers and a shirt. suddenly, you feel a pair of hands wrap around your waist, a head presses against your neck and you feel a sigh of warm air against you. "art.. go sit on the bed" you sigh, pulling some clothes out for him. art presses wet kisses along your shoulder, nuzzling his nose into your skin. "'m sorry.. please f'give me.. didn't mean to make you angry" he whines, squeezing your waist. you shake you head, turning around in his arms, "im not angry art.. please go sit down so you can change.." you sigh, breaking away from his arms and leading him to the bed. art sits on the edge of the bed, his alcohol-muddled brain causing him to stare off into space. you tap art's arms, silently asking him to raise them, pulling his stained shirt off of his body with ease.

you can't deny it.. any anger that was in your body when you drove art home is gone now, seeing his slightly messy hair and pale skin glowing in the moonlight only makes you want to take care of him more. once his shirt is off you hand him an older t-shirt he left at your place, watching him put it on before handing him some pajama pants. you get art situated in bed, walking to the kitchen and filling up a glass of water and walking back.

art looks up at you blearily, tucked into the corner of your bed and where it meets the wall. you slide into bed next to him, feeling his body slump into yours once again, his face smushed into your shoulder. his hiccups have gone now, just soft breaths against your skin. it's completely silent, until art takes a sharp breath in. "i- i don' think patrick told you but everyone at the party was so annoyed with me.. couldn't stop talking about you.." that catches your attention, making your heart thump in your chest. "i swear patrick wanted to kill me, i know he's just jealous though.." you can't help but fall for the bait, "whys he jealous?" you ask. art presses closer to you, his nose almost touching yours, "cuz you're perfect.. 'n sweet 'n amazing.." he presses a small peck on your lips for each word, a tipsy smile emerging on his face. his smile is infectious, and you can't help but kiss him back, smiling against his lips, "is that so?" you add. he huffs against you, letting you take the lead against his clumsy lips. you can still taste the sweet liquor on his lips, almost making you feel intoxicated yourself. art leans into you more, placing his hands on your knees and moving further. "'s true.. 'm fuckin' obsessed with you.." he groans out, now growing more confident in his movements.

you let the kiss grow more heated until you feel arts hands starting to creep under your shirt, and you pull away slowly, letting a string of drool connect you. art blinks at you, confused. "why'd you stop?" he practically pouts. "you're drunk art, you know i love you but you gotta sleep this off" you say, sweeping a thumb on his cheek. as if on cue, art yawns, only proving your point. he slumps into bed, pulling up a blanket from the foot of your bed. "fine.. but we continue this tomorrow, yeah?" he asks, one last request before falling asleep. "sure, sure art" you reply, running your fingers through his soft blond hair. you're sure art won't remember all of this in the morning, but you sure as hell won't let him forget it <3

#parkerluvsu #parker.talks #challengers x reader #art donaldson #challengers 2024 #challengers #art donaldson x reader

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kendyzzlewp · 9 months ago

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Long Ass Break

art donaldson drabble

pairing: art donaldson x fem!reader

tags: fluff, domestic, married life, husband!art donaldson, tennisplayer!reader, tournament, coach!patrick

word count: 629

__________________________________________

Art was worried.

He watched as you ran off the court, your hand over your mouth as you tried for the life of you not to puke all over the clay court. Your opponent stood there frustrated, arms crossed over her chest, a scowl evident on her face.

Minutes passed and the murmuring of the crownd began to get louder due to your absence. Art looked around, his left hand scratching his head, a gold wedding band reflecting in the sun. No sign of you yet.

He was worried. He warned you about this happening, the pros and cons about playing in the tournament. You were stubborn, determined to power through because you’ve encountered worse. This was a piece of cake. Being your husband, he supported you but mostly, he just wanted to avoid your bad side.

Art glanced at the door you disappeared behind, his leg shaking in anticipation. You still hadn’t returned. The umpire was about to call the game. You were going to lose by default after being close to winning the whole goddamned tournament.

Fuck it, he thought and stood up to go through that fucking door. His heart racing as he pushed people from your team, muttering excuse me and thank you or whatever the fuck they needed to hear.

He reached the closed bathroom door, leaning closer to hear your retching as your stomach rebelled against you. His knuckles knocked on the bathroom door, as a courtesy and then pushed the door open.

Inside the bathroom, you were hunched over the toilet, clearly in distress. Art's heart clenched at the sight. He quickly kneeled down beside you, placing a gentle hand on your back.

"Hey sweetheart," he said softly, trying to offer some comfort. "Are you okay? What's going on?"

You looked up, tears in your eyes, and managed to croak out, "You were right,” you admitted. “I need a break.”

Art's heart sank as he saw you so distressed and vulnerable. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his comforting embrace. You felt a little better, the nausea still lingered around your throat but the urge was gone.

“You need to rest,” he whispered into your hair, sound muffled. “It’s starting to take a toll on you.

You sighed, tired, sweaty and defeated. “I know. Just take me home.”

Patrick burst through the door, concern and disappointment etched all over his place. “What the fuck is going on? Why aren’t you playing?”

You rolled your eyes as Art helped you stand up on your shaky legs. “I need a break Pat,” you said, leaning on your husband for support. “I need a long ass break.”

“A break?” He asked, crossing his arms in disbelief. “When have you ever taken a break?”

“Fuck off, Patrick,” Art grumbled at his best friend, turned your coach. “She needs a fucking break.”

Patrick scoffed, the sound making Art’s grip tighten around you. “How long is this break supposed to be?”

“9 months.”

Patrick's eyes widened in shock as the weight of your words sank in. He looked from you to Art, realization dawned on him. You shifted uncomfortably, wanting to just go home and sleep for the rest of the year.

"You're pregnant?" he exclaimed, his voice filled with a mixture of surprise and understanding.

You nodded, leaning more heavily on Art for support. "Yes, I am."

Patrick's expression softened, his initial frustration melting away as he realized the gravity of the situation. "I... I had no idea.”

“Now you do,” Art rolled his eyes, his own concern for you evident but the annoyance toward Patrick even more prominent. "I just need to take her home before she throws up all over you.”

Patrick stepped aside, offering you a supportive smile. "Congratulations, you fuckers. Take all the time you need. We'll handle the tournament."

#married art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson #challengers ruined me #challengers fic #art donaldson fanfiction #patrick zweig #coach patrick #tashi is nowhere to be found #probably in france or something idk #pregnancy fic #mike faist #mikefaist x reader

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makeyoumine69 · 1 year ago

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Memory Reboot

PAIRING: Patrick Bateman x gn!Reader

SUMMARY: You work at P&P, and one day you come into Bateman's office and witness his breakdown. Your attempts to comfort him only increase his obsession with you, and without realizing it, you push this man to his limits. The outburst that finds you both in a club called the Tunnel will change your lives forever and irrevocably.

CONTAINS: Smut, angst, obsessive behavior, desperate-touch-starved Patrick, masturbating, oral sex (reader receiving), aggressive foreplay, dirty talk, body worship, teasing, biting, drug usage, pet names.

WORDS: 3k

SONG REC: VØJ, Narvent - Memory Reboot

A/N: This is for my dear @iron-flavored-lipgloss! It was such a pleasure for me to write this for you! Enjoy!

LINKS: [MASTERLIST]; [SERIES MASTERLIST]; [EDIT]

Patrick Bateman. What kind of a mess was this man? Chaotic, impulsive, pathetic? Or all of the above?

Smirking, you went to his office to deliver some documents you needed him to sign, but when you got there, you noticed that Jean — his lovely blonde assistant — was absent and the door to his office was suspiciously half open. It was strange, to say the least, but you just shrugged your shoulders and stood there for a while when you heard a loud thud coming through the door — the sound almost made you jump in surprise. 'What the hell?' You wondered as you approached the door, turning around to see if Jean was coming, but there was no sign of her. With measured steps you got closer to the hole in the open door and just peeked in out of curiosity, but the scene you saw was not what you expected — Bateman, all flushed and covered in sweat, was storming around his office, his hands desperately fumbling with his tie as if it was choking him.

Your reaction was quick, and you didn't even notice as you opened the door and stepped inside. "Bateman? Are you okay?"

The man stopped shaking the moment he heard your voice and leaned down on his desk. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I came to get your signature on some of my docs when I heard you crying,” you grinned, watching his face go pale. "What's wrong, Bateman? Did you miss your facial?" The way he balled his hands made you laugh. "But really, did something happen?"

"Yes," Patrick replied, looking at you and running his hand through his disheveled hair. "I mean...no...nothing happened…" You saw his lips tremble a little each time he spoke. "Gimme the docs."

Frowning in confusion, you pulled out a napkin and handed it to him instead, meeting his scornful gaze. "You're sweating…” You placed the white piece of cloth on his desk, only now noticing a small jar that you were sure was full of pills. "Maybe I should ask Jean to bring you some coffee? You look really sick..."

"No!" Bateman suddenly blurted out, pointing his finger at you. "I asked Jean to take the day off..."

"Hey, hey, relax," you raised your hands defensively. "Relax, I was just trying to help."

Slowly, you placed the folder of documents on his wooden desk, which he grabbed almost immediately, and your hands touched for a brief moment, and Bateman didn't flinch, and neither did you.

"Take a seat." Patrick muttered incoherently.

"What?"

"Sit," he repeated irritably. "And wait."

His tumultuous behavior actually frightened you, but you did as he said and sat down in the chair opposite him. ‘My God, he really is mental, Tim was right.’

"What are these pills? Some vitamins?" You tried to keep the conversation alive, not even knowing why, as you watched his long, thin fingers floating across the pages.

Your question made him stop and look up at you. "That's none of your business, (y/n). I asked you to sit and wait, not ask me stupid questions."

‘Why does he look so cute when he's so angry?’ The thought brought a smile to your face, but then you zipped up your mouth theatrically and Bateman's office went silent for a while. And you used it to admire his perfect jawline, even though his brown hair was messy now, it looked so inviting to touch anyway.

"Is that all?" Bateman asked suddenly, arching his eyebrows and interrupting your train of thought.

"Uh, what?"

A prominent line appeared on Patrick's forehead — a testament to his annoyance. "Are you deaf or something?"

"Lemme see them," you pointed at the documents. "I want to make sure you put your cute sign on every page." Your playful tone made the line between Patrick's eyebrows even more noticeable. "I don't want to come back here."

Bateman didn't even try to jab back, his face still pale and sweaty, his eyes nothing but dark voids — oh, how fucking empty they were. Sighing heavily, Patrick raised his gaze when he heard the chair creak as you got up and walked around his desk. The sudden cut in the distance between the two of you was something Patrick didn't seem to be ready for, as his hands nervously gripped the armrests, but you pretended not to notice.

"We all feel down sometimes," you murmured over his ear, literally sensing the tension radiating from his body. "And that's okay." Placing your hand on his broad shoulder, you leaned down to look at the documents, surreptitiously inhaling the scent of his perfume mixed with his sweat. ‘Fuck, what am I doing?’

"I didn't know you had a part-time job as a therapist," he grumbled, examining your palm, wondering if he was going to kill you here and now, or keep you in here forever. "Listen, I have a reservation at Barcadia..."

"Mmm, Barcadia? Really?"

Bateman nodded and finally removed your hand. "Yes, I'm having lunch with Coutrney."

"I wonder what Luis thinks of these lunches with his fiancé." You picked up the folder and stepped back from his armchair. "You don't feel guilty about sleeping with Coutrney behind his back, do you?"

Gritting his perfectly white teeth, the brown-haired man abruptly got up from his desk and stormed toward you, surely intending to yell at you or say something rude, but the moment he stopped directly across from you and your eyes met, Bateman's expression suddenly became lost and confused. "Just stop," he finally managed to mutter. "Stop poking around in my fucking head…" As you noticed his pupils widening, things were no longer funny to you. "Understand?"

‘Well, maybe turning it into a joke is not a bad plan,’ you hummed and nodded. "Sure, Bateman," you sneered a little nervously. "I'm just reading this book Timothy gave me," you slowly turned and walked to the door. "The book about Human Psychology." That was surely a joke, but judging by the serious look Patrick gave you, he didn't seem to get it.

"Tim gave you... a book?" He repeated, frowning in confusion and disbelief.

When you opened the door, you paused for a second, wanting to say something smart at the end. "Oh yeah. Why don't you ask him about it? Maybe he can recommend some books about... human relationships or something." And with that, you smiled in satisfaction at seeing Bateman's face quiver with anger before you left his office, leaving him with a raging tempest in his chest.

Later that day, Patrick couldn't sleep because his mind was so full of different thoughts, but the only thing they had in common was that they were all connected to you. You, you, you. The sound of running water echoed off the marble walls of his lavish bathroom as Bateman stood in the shower, enjoying the way the strong streams of cold water hit his back. Huffing, Patrick desperately scrubbed his skin as if it would help him get rid of the thoughts of you that haunted him the day he first met you — you were so cheeky, so sweet, everyone loved you and wanted to hang out with you. How fucking cute. Patrick groaned as he felt a throb at the base of his hard cock, God, he felt like it was hard all the time and no sex could help him with that because all those people, they weren't you.

"Argh, fuck," he groaned as he finally allowed himself to touch his twitching dick and give it a few strokes.

"F-fuck..." Bateman pumped his length rhythmically, recoiling at the memories of today, the way you put your hand on his shoulder, the warmth of your breath on the back of his neck. And what would it feel like if you had placed your hand on his chest, or run it over his abdomen and then down?

"Uh, a-ahhh," the man moaned louder, shaking uncontrollably from the orgasm building at the base of his spine. "(Y/n), your hands feel so good on me, oh-shit…" Patrick had to lean against the shower wall as his legs buckled from the intense waves of ecstasy as he cummed with your name on his trembling lips, the water still running down his sculpted body, washing his cum off, but he was still so hard.

"Reading books on psychology," Bateman chuckled, tilting his head. "What an idiot." His nervous giggle bounced across the shower, but soon the laughter turned to a low wail. "Pathetic…”

Time flowed like sand through your fingers, and you couldn't even remember how many days had passed since your visit to Bateman's office, but since then something had changed between the two of you, but you both couldn't understand what exactly had changed, or maybe you didn't want to try to understand. To be fair, it was so fucking annoying that when you found out that Tim, David, Craig and Patrick were going to the Tunnel, you saw it as your chance to dot the T's, no matter how the evening would end.

When you arrived at the club, it was so crowded that it took you a while to find the group of yuppies sitting on the plush couches next to the dance floor, jamming to the music and drinking their cocktails.

As you approached, Craig was the first to spot you. "Woah, woah, look who it is!" His cheeky remark caused everyone to look at you, including Bateman, whose teeth were visibly clenched around his cigar at that moment.

"Hey, guys! Enjoying the music I see?" You smiled, fixing your hair briefly from the sudden rush of panic. ‘Damn it, stay calm! Why am I so nervous?’

Timothy winked at you and raised his glass. "Did you come alone or..." he stopped abruptly when he noticed someone behind your back. "Hey, is that Paul Allen?"

‘Shit, shit, shit. That was so much easier in my head than it is in reality.’ You chewed on your cheek, and while the men were guessing whether they really saw Paul Allen or not, a sudden idea came to your mind, but you hated it before you even started to bring it to life. "Do you have a gram?" You asked without thinking, hoping they would say no.

"I do," Bateman's voice came out of nowhere and you almost screamed in your head, but you had to keep your composure. "But you will owe me." As he said this, you came closer to where he was sitting with a playful smile on your face and took a seat next to him. "Wait, we are not going to do coke here."

"Hey, why not?" David chuckled and took out his business card holder. "What's wrong with it?

"Oh God, look at that cheeky bastard," Craig pressed a palm to his face. "Van Patten decided to be a bad boy today."

The men laughed and high-fived each other before Bateman whispered in your ear, making you almost jump. "Follow me." Those two simple words made you obey like you were under a spell.

As the two of you made your way to the bathroom where people in the Tunnel usually did coke, your heart pounded to the heavy beat of the music, or even faster. Patrick went first, his elegant silhouette like a shining star in the midnight sky — so eye-catching and mesmerizing that it wasn't surprising that a lot of people turned around to look at him, but you didn't care as soon you would be alone with him. ‘Just you and me, Bateman.’

The bathroom was surprisingly empty today. The last time you were there, you had to wait almost half an hour to get into the free stall, but now luck seemed to be on your side. As you stepped into one, Patrick pulled out his business card holder and rolled the $100 bill; you did the same, watching as Bateman made lines of coke with his platinum AmEx card.

"I have to say, you look much better." You commented briefly.

The man was about to lean over to snort the white powder, but your words made him freeze. "Huh," he chuckled abruptly and brushed away a stray lock of hair. "I was just reading some books about... relationships," Patrick grimaced, drawing out the last word with a cocky grin. "It changed my mind." Before you could say anything, Patrick was snorting the coke, holding the rolled-up bill to his nostril while holding another down with his thumb.

"Very funny," you mumbled, tapping the rolled note against the inside of your palm. "Where was your wit when I walked into your office a week ago?"

Bateman coughed quietly and threw his head back for a moment to clean his nose. "What does this have to do with anything?"

Rolling your eyes, you moved closer to his business card holder to inhale the white line of powder that had been left there, your mood was already off, and at some point you even began to regret coming to Tunnel tonight. Though it wasn't your first time doing coke, you felt so dizzy as the drug began to intoxicate your system that you almost fell to the floor if you hadn't bumped into Bateman's chest, leaving a white stain on the lapel of his Valentino suit.

"Hey! What the fuck!" Patrick blurted out, ready to push you off, but the way you grabbed his shoulders stirred something strange inside him, something he was fighting all the time. "Have you ever done coke?"

You coughed several times, blinked nervously, and only then did you let him go. "Sorry..." you gasped and leaned against the wall of the stall behind your back. "It's been a while."

"You stained my jacket."

"God! I'm sorry, okay?"

"No," Bateman replied, brushing off. "Not okay."

"What do you mean?" You asked confusedly, batting your eyelashes and breathing heavily.

Patrick dropped his head for a second before looking at you again, your faces dangerously close. "I'm not okay."

You licked your lips nervously. "Why?"

Instead of saying anything, the man pulled you against his massive frame, giving you no time to react as his hot mouth covered yours; it was difficult to call it a kiss, it was more like the act of claiming — his strong arms trapping you between the wall and his muscular body while yours hovered motionlessly like whips. When Bateman released you, he tugged at your lower lip and licked it with a wet, obscene sound. "Because...because of this."

Panting, you stood in shock for a moment before nodding and touching your wet lips. "Yes," you put both hands on his chest, exploring it slowly but boldly, causing him to close his eyes for a second. "I don't think I'm okay either." After whispering it in his ear, you slid your tongue down his bare neck, right over the mole, and when you heard him grunting, you lowered your hand to his belt, playing teasingly with the buckle.

"Lower," Bateman husked, and when you didn't listen, he grabbed your hand and lowered it himself — the outline of his fully erected cock eliciting a muffled moan to break out of your cramped throat. "Ahhh-fuck."

"God, you're so needy," you murmured against his neck, busy undoing his belt. "So touchy."

It only took a few seconds for you to undo his pants and let his taut dick pop out of his underwear. ‘Mmhhm, his cock is so perfect, just as I expected,’ you smiled to yourself, and in the next moment you were stroking his throbbing length, smearing his slick pre-cum around his swollen tip without any shame or fear of getting caught.

"(Y/n)," Patrick hissed as he pressed you against the wall with his weight, his hands sneaking down your back to grope your ass. "Be quiet," the man ordered when he heard your soft moans. "Keep quiet and undo this." Bateman pointed to your bottom and just the thought of what he was about to do to you almost made you cum.

"Why?" You gave him a foxy grin and tightened your grip on his dick, forcing Patrick to hold his breath.

"Just...just do what I say..."

"Okay, honey."

"Don't call me that!" He uttered and squeezed your ass painfully, your bodies grinding against each other, making you hot and sweaty.

"Patrick..." You attempted to kiss him, but he turned away.

In one swift motion, the man reached your neck and aggressively nipped at the throbbing artery. "Shut up! Just shut up and undo this fucking..."

You didn't let him finish his tantrum as you caught his lips with yours, increasing the tempo of the jacking, and you could feel he was so damn close. But since he was so insistent, you undid the lower part of your garment, and everything that happened next was like one of your recent dreams. Bateman, flushed and panting, crouched down, his cock slipping out of your grasp, but the next second his fierce mouth found its way between your legs as he began to suck on your sensitive flesh with sheer greed and passion, not forgetting to pump his dick and growl softly against your skin.

"Ohh, Pat-Patrick," you gasped, tugging at his brown hair, dishevelling it, but neither of you cared. "I'm gonna cum if you don't stop..."

"Mmm-fuck, you taste so sweet," Patrick pressed his face closer to your core, his free hand nailing you to the wall to hold you in place. "You're shaking like a fucking whore."

Chucking, you yanked at his hair a little harder. "And you're devouring me like a starved man, are you starved, Bateman? How long have you been... so fucking s-starved?" You hiccupped as he redoubled his efforts, lapping at your crotch and jerking himself off. "F-fuck, I'm... I'm gonna..."

The loud footsteps made you both stop in your tracks, and when you heard people coming into the bathroom, you stalled completely, only to quickly fix your clothes and then pretend nothing had happened as you left the stall. Later, as you were washing your hands, Patrick stood behind you and you met his eyes in the mirror. "Are you leaving or..." You asked briefly as he handed you your twisted bill.

"Yeah," Bateman straightened his jacket and wiped his mouth with a paper towel before opening the door. "You better forget about it. Believe me."

‘And now I feel like I need a memory reboot.’

Chapter 2 is here! 💗✌

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my side blog @makeyoumineagain and turn on notifications to know when I update!

#american psycho #patrick bateman x reader #patrick bateman imagine #patrick bateman #patrick bateman x female reader #patrick bateman x you #slasher x reader #slashers x reader #slasher x you #slasher smut #patrick bateman smut #patrick bateman headcanon #christian bale smut #christian bale x reader #patrick bateman reader #christian bale #patrick bateman imagines #patrick bateman x male reader #gn reader

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madebycloud · 15 days ago

Text

pt 4 | Not Even at All

jinx/powder x female reader — 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬⠀𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

summary: vi is off limits until her sister gets a date that doesn't end within the first ten minutes. eager to date vi, a certain girl approaches you with a proposal. date jinx. win her over. and for your efforts, she's willing to be generous. (10 Things I Hate About You AU) warnings/themes: fluff (eh maybe?) and angst, kinda enemies to what, one sided fake dating, highschool, modern au, prom, kat!jinx, patrick!reader words: 4.7k notes: we're so close… — ✩ part one, part two, part three, part four, part five

Jinx leans over the bathroom sink, applying a moisturizer to her face. She pauses at the sound of someone at the door.

Vi taps on the open bathroom door and smiles at her sister. “Nice haircut,” Vi remarks.

Jinx glances at her from the mirror's reflection, giving her a side-eye.

“What, not gonna say hi?”

Jinx sighs, setting the bottle down on the sink.

Vi lingers in the doorway, looking at Jinx, who's doing her skincare routine. She waits until Jinx shuts the bottle before speaking. “You goin' to the prom?”

“Why do you care?”

“I'm just asking a question. So, are you going or-”

Before Vi can even finish her sentence, Jinx reaches out a hand and slams the bathroom door shut inches from her face, nearly closing it on her nose.

—

Jinx lays flat on her bed, her headphones over her ears and music playing.

Vi knocks on the door and opens it, peeking inside. “Hey, you-”

“No, Vi,” Jinx cuts her off before she can get a word out. She takes off the headphones and sits up. “I'm not going to prom.”

Vi steps into the room fully, shutting the door behind her. “Why not?” she asks, walking over to her bed.

Jinx leans back against the pillows. “It's stupid.”

Vi sits down on the edge of the bed. “Is that all you've got?” she teases, shoving Jinx's knee.

Jinx slaps her arm away. “I don't want to go, okay? It's lame.”

“It's not lame,” Vi retorts, raising an eyebrow. “It's senior prom. You can't just skip it.”

“Watch me.”

“Why are you being so difficult?”

“Why is everyone so obsessed with me going to some dumb dance?”

“Prom is not that bad,” Vi counters. “Besides, it's your senior year. You're supposed to go.”

Jinx scoffs. “Supposed to? Who says I'm supposed to go? I have a right to choose what I want to do.”

“Yeah, but-” Vi stops herself, thinking carefully about her phrasing. “Have you really not found anyone to go with? no one has asked you?”

Jinx pauses, pulling a pillow from behind her back and bringing it to her chest. She hugs it tightly. “I mean, yeah, well… someone did,” she mumbles, staring at one of her many punk band posters.

Vi chuckles, flashing a grin at Jinx.

Jinx glares at her, narrowing her eyes. “Shut up,” she huffs, throwing the pillow at her face.

Vi catches the pillow with one hand and holds her other hand up. “Hey, hey, I didn't say anything!”

“Yeah, you were thinking about it.”

“Maybe,” Vi replies with a shrug. “Maybe not.” She grins innocently as Jinx continues to scowl at her. “Why did you turn her down anyway?” Vi asks, tossing the pillow back at her.

Jinx catches the pillow before it hits her face, clutching it to her chest. “I told you already, prom is stupid,” she says, pulling the blankets up tighter around herself.

“Yeah, yeah, I know that.” Vi plops down on the bed next to Jinx, who gives her a glare.

Jinx grumbles. “Then why are we having this discussion?”

“Because you keep avoiding the question,” Vi replies, nudging Jinx's shoulder.

“I'm not avoiding the question,” Jinx retorts, sinking deeper into the blankets. “I already gave you an answer.”

“That's not a real answer,” Vi says, poking Jinx’s shoulder again.

“Yes, it is.”

“Saying prom is dumb isn't a real answer.”

Jinx buries herself deeper into the blankets.

Vi sighs and scoots closer to her. “C'mon, Pow, you can tell me,” she says, reaching out to touch Jinx’s shoulder.

Jinx glares at her from beneath the blankets.

But Vi doesn't relent. She reaches out and yanks the blankets back, revealing Jinx's face. “You've always loved dressing up, even when you were little.”

Jinx bites her lip, looking away.

“And you've always loved dancing and music,” Vi continues. “So why turn down the perfect opportunity?”

“I just…” Jinx murmurs. “No one... nobody asked me to prom for the last few years. And then, suddenly, someone asked me in my last year… it's weird.” She looks up at Vi. “I don't know, maybe she's up to something?”

“Powder…”

“Don't call me that,” Jinx snaps.

“Why not? That's your name.”

“Was my name,”

“Still is your name,” Vi insists.

Jinx grunts but doesn't protest further.

“Powder,” she repeats.“Do you like her?”

Jinx fidgets with the edges of the blanket, her fingers twisting and tugging at the fabric. “I don't know,” she mumbles. “Maybe?”

Vi grins, sensing weakness. “You're blushing.”

“No, I'm not,” Jinx protests, but her flushed cheeks say otherwise.

“You're blushing because you like her,” Vi singsongs.

“Shut up, no, I'm not,” Jinx snaps, punching Vi in the arm. “I'm just… frustrated!”

Vi laughs, rubbing the spot where Jinx hit her. “You're frustrated that you like her.”

“Ugh, you're a dick,” Jinx groans, burying her head in a pillow.

“Look, Pow—Jinx, I just want you to be happy.”

Jinx lifts her head up just enough to look at her sister. “I am happy.”

“You know what I mean. You deserve to have fun. Go to prom, enjoy yourself-”

“Stop it,” Jinx interjects. “You sound like Dad.”

Vi laughs. “Maybe I just want you to take advantage of your last year of high school. Have a good time, make some memories. I mean, you're going to be an adult soon. Time's moving fast.”

“Ugh, now you sound like an old person.”

“I'm not that old.”

“You're going to be twenty-five,” Jinx sits up, wrinkling her nose.

“Exactly. Not old.”

“Debatable.”

They both laugh, and Jinx rolls her eyes.

“So anyway,” Vi starts, grinning. “You gonna reconsider going to prom? Just give it some thought.”

“Fine,” Jinx groans, flopping backward onto the bed. “Fine, I'll go. Can I sleep now?”

—

The second you see Jinx's name flash across the screen, you snatch your phone off the table and answer it on the first ring.

“Hey,” you say, breathless.

There's an awkwardly long silence on her end.

You frown, wondering if she's accidentally butt-dialed you or something. Are you going to have to listen to her fart noises until she notices?

Just as you're about to call out her name, she suddenly greets you back. “Um, hey,” she mumbles. “Sorry. I was... surprised you picked up so fast.”

Okay, she’s not going to start farting then. “Well, I wasn't sure you'd call me after... you know.”

“Yeah, about that. I wanted to say sorry.”

“You don't have to apologize,” you reassure. “I was being pushy and an ass. I shouldn't have pushed you so much.”

“Maybe,” she concedes. “But I didn't need to be so, uh, hostile.”

Silence again.

“Anyway, that's not why I called,” she continues, changing the topic.

You adjust the phone against your ear. “Okay then,” you reply with a nervous chuckle. “Why did you call?”

“I was thinking, if…” she trails off, mumbling the rest of her sentence.

“What?” you ask loudly. “I can't hear you.”

“Iwasjustwonderingiftheoffertopromisstillup,” she says, words rushing and tumbling over each other.

Hang on.

Huh?

After what happened, you weren’t sure she'd still want to go with you.

“Yeah-” you reply. “I mean, why wouldn't it be up?”

“I don't know. I just thought maybe you'd have asked someone else to go with you.”

“No, I hadn't asked anyone else,” you assure her. “I didn't want to go with anyone else… just you.”

She's quiet for maybe one, maybe two or three seconds before replying.

“Oh.”

Oh?

Just ‘oh’.

What were you supposed to do with ‘oh’ as a response?

“So then... you want to go to prom with me? or... was that a hypothetical question?” you ask.

“No, I-” she pauses, groaning. “Yeah, I mean, yes. I do want to go to prom with you.”

You bite your tongue to keep yourself from smiling. “Cool... cool, cool, cool.”

“Yeah, cool.”

Another long, awkward silence.

Do you say goodbye? Do you ask her a question?

“Well,” you mumble, “I guess I'll see you on the-“

“No!” she suddenly blurts out.

“No?” you repeat, raising your eyebrows. “What do you mean ‘no’?”

“Wait, no. I didn't mean ‘no’ as in like, ‘no don’t see me at prom,’” she explains, tripping over her words. “Like I still want you to see me.”

“Yeah… I kind of got that.”

“I meant, like, don't hang up the phone.”

“Why?”

“Just… don't,” she says. “Can you just… stay on the line for a while longer?”

Stay on the line.

Why does she want you to—oh. Ooooh…

“Oh.”

Now you are the one who can only say ‘oh’.

“Yeah, I can stay on the line for a while.”

“Really?” she pipes up.

“Yeah, really,” you repeat, flopping onto your back and propping your head up on your pillow. “So…?”

“Soooo… what's your favorite color..?”

—

A band that does not ‘suck’ by definition and more ‘bearable’ manages to please the audience with a surprisingly decent performance. You can hear them all the way out near the entrance to the prom.

You check yourself a third time for any wrinkles on your outfit and fix your hair to make sure it’s good to go.

With nothing else to do, you grab a fake rose from a nearby vase and spin it in your fingers.

You take a look around, waiting and-

She's here.

Jinx walks up the stairs, wearing a black dress that looks like it's made of satin. She's also wearing heels, giving her a couple extra inches of height. And is it just you, or does that dress also have a slit going all the way up her thigh?

Holy, shitting balls. You're already feeling lightheaded.

She walks past you without noticing you, and you step right behind her, clearing your throat. “Wow,” you say loudly when she's close enough.

Jinx turns around at the sound of your voice, meeting your eyes. She glances you up and down. “You too.”

You try not to have your eyes lingering over the exposed skin of her legs. “You look really good. I like the dress.”

“Yeah?” She looks down at the dress clinging to her curves. “I wasn't sure. Vi was telling me I might be showing too much skin, but I don't know.”

You clear your head and force your eyes up to her face. “Well, I for one, think it looks amazing.”

Jinx raises an eyebrow. “Oh, do you?”

“Yeah, I mean it.” You stick out the fake flower you've been holding this whole time. “You're beautiful.”

Jinx looks at the rose.

She looks at you.

She looks at your rose again.

Then she takes it and twirls it in her fingers. “Mmm, how romantic,” she says, hiding her face with the flower.

Oh god, hearing that in her voice does things to you.

“You ready?” she asks.

You take another look at her face and that dress, and you know for a fact you aren't ready... at all. “I'm ready.” You hold out your arm.

Jinx links her arm with yours, squeezing your arm before both of you begin walking together. “Where'd you get that at the last minute?” she asks, glancing over your outfit.

“Just something I had, you know, lying around.” You shrug. You return the favor, looking at her dress as well. “Where'd you get that at the last minute?”

“Just something I had, you know, lying around,” she repeats, copying your tone.

The two of you share a laugh, and Jinx lets go of the grip on your arm. You approach the booth where other students are taking pictures together.

“Listen,” she starts, hesitating for a few seconds. “I really am... sorry that I questioned your motives. I was wrong.”

You wince internally. It hurts you that she's apologizing for something you can't be honest about. She didn't do anything wrong, and here she is, apologizing.

You force a smile, hiding the guilt that's eating you up. “You're forgiven.”

You want to tell her the truth. You feel the words threatening to spill from your lips. To spill the beans and tell her this was all bullshit. But now's not the time. If you confessed now, you would only ruin the evening for both of you.

Well, there's no point in dwelling on it. The problem's already sorted out anyway.

The smile you force is enough to fool her. For now. Jinx just nods, pleased. “Okay,” she says, releasing a breath. “Ready for the prom?”

“Yes ma'am,” you respond, holding out your arm again.

—

The band wraps up their song, and everyone claps their hands loudly.

You turn to Jinx, joining her with applause. She raises an eyebrow, and you raise one back at her.

A new song starts, and Jinx immediately recognizes the opening notes, her hand flies over her mouth. “Ohmygod it's-” Letters to Cleo.

“I called in a favor!” you reply, giving her a wink.

“For real?!”

You nod. “Just for you.”

The lead singer of the band makes her way to the center of the stage and glances around, her eyes finding Jinx. The two lock eyes, and the lead singer smiles.

“Ohmygodohmygodohmygod,” she gushes.

The lead singer approaches Jinx, a microphone in hand, and begins singing to her. Everyone around moves to get out of the way. “Oh, I can't take another heartache. Though you say you're my friend, I'm at my wits end.”

Jinx doesn't blink, barely moves, and her mouth opens in shock.

The lead singer continues singing. “You say your is bonified, but that don't coinside.” The singer winks at the both of you and returns to the stage.

Jinx slowly turns to you, mouth open to say something. But you cut off her words with a kiss.

You pull away, and she whispers, “Thank you.”

You take her hands in yours, her head finding a spot against your shoulder. She holds you close, arms encircling your shoulders, her nose nuzzling your neck.

The two of you begin dancing as the lead singer continues with the song.

You reach up, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear before moving to rest your hand on her waist.

Jinx hums. She lifts her head, her eyes meeting yours. But she looks away quickly, burying her face back into your neck again. She says something, but her words are swallowed by the music.

You lean in closer to her to hear her words again. But she just shakes her head, burying her face deeper into the crook of your neck.

“What's that?” you tease, “Couldn't quite catch what you said.”

She lifts her head again, pulling away just enough to look at you. Her cheeks are dusted pink, and she looks at you with nervous eyes. “I… I said… I…” She's having a hard time getting the words out, like she's not used to saying it. Or even thinking it. “I said, you shouldn't hold me so tight.”

You chuckle, loosening the tight grip you had round her middle. “Sorry.”

She shakes her head quickly. “No, no, no, I-” she stammers. “I didn't mean it like that... I-I… because-” She stops, not meeting your gaze. Her eyes dart around, avoiding eye contact.

Until-

“Because I-” She swallows, taking a deep breath. “Because I can't breathe.”

You open your mouth to speak, but Jinx continues before you can say anything. “When I'm close to you... like this,” she starts, her hand moving to her chest. Her fingertips press on her collarbone, her palm over her heart.

Your eyes flicker down before meeting hers.

“My heart…” She swallows again, glancing down at her hand. “My heart's beating so fast,” she admits. She pulls her hand away and looks up at you. “I can't breathe.”

The dance continues on, the music still playing.

Her hand reaches up, fingers finding the nape of your neck. “It's because of... you,” she says. “It's because of you.”

You felt it too.

You feel your own heart racing in your chest. Your ears are ringing, all the background noise feels distant. Your face feels hot. You feel like the world is spinning. Your palms feel sweaty all of a sudden, like they've never started sweating before.

You feel it—your heart, swelling, growing bigger and bigger against your ribcage. The beat pounding hard until it's all you can hear.

Holy shit, she is genuinely trying to give you a heart attack.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” she mumbles, her words breaking through your thoughts. “Forget I said anything. I didn-"

“I can't breathe,” you interrupt, speaking without thinking. “...I can't breathe either.”

Jinx's fingers stop caressing the back of your neck, and she stills in your arms. Her eyes widen as she stares at you. But then a smile slowly curves her lips. She rests her chin back on your shoulder, her hand moving down from your neck to wrap around your shoulders.

“I didn't think it was possible,” she says. “I never thought I'd feel this way,” she continues, her arm tightening around your shoulders. “About anyone. About anything.”

You turn your head to the side, your nose brushing on the shell of her ear. “What changed?"

“You did.”

You say nothing, your brain still trying to understand what she's saying and what the hell you're feeling. It's too much to process.

But that's okay. Because Jinx continues.

“This... this feeling. It's… It's new. Different. It's like...” She trails off, her hand resting on the space between your shoulder blades as she rubs soothing circles into your back. “No one's ever been this close to me. It's like I've been running away my whole life, and you just... somehow you managed to stand still long enough for me to finally run to you.”

Your heart stutters again, the pace picking up once more. If it hadn't been for her arm around you, you would've fallen over from how weak and trembling your knees felt.

She lifts her head from your shoulder, and you follow her lead.

Slowly, cautiously, she reaches up to rest her palm on the side of your neck, pressing her thumb just under your chin. Her thumb sweeps over your jawline as she holds your gaze.

“You're the only one who's ever made me want to stay.”

Something in your chest clenches so hard, and it feels hard to breathe all over again and again. She says it with such certainty that there's no way you could dismiss it as anything less than the truth.

Her other hand, which was around your shoulder, drops to your chest. She can probably feel how hard your heart is beating—how out of control it is.

She looks down at her hand, watching it rise and fall with every thump of your heart. Her fingers flex around the fabric, and you catch the twitch of a smile on her lips. “Looks like we're both doomed,” she says. “Doomed to not be able to breathe while we're together.”

“I don't mind it.”

“Yeah… me neither.”

“You just might kill me,” you tease. “What did you say about not holding you tight again?”

“Shut up.”

—

The two of you continue to dance, twirling and spinning and laughing.

It might not look like it, but you practiced your ass off to get all these moves down correctly. You know you looked like a complete idiot the last time she saw you dance, so you took the time and effort to learn some moves. You wanted to give Jinx the night of her life.

You pull her away, only to spin her around and pull her close again. She giggles as she spins, her hand still in yours.

Jinx stumbles when she comes back around to face you. Her other hand catches itself on your shoulder to steady her. You hold her close, one of your arms wrapped around her waist, the other still holding her hand.

“My grandmother's.”

Jinx looks at you strangely. “Huh?”

“That's where I was last year. My grandma was lonely, so I moved in with her. I wasn't in jail, know Marilyn Manson, or slept with a Spice Girl. I spent the last year watching Wheel of Fortune with my grandma,” you say, not letting go of Jinx in your grasp as you dip her down. “End of story.”

“Awww,” she coos as you raise her back up. “That's adorable!”

“I know, I'm a saint,” you tease. “I'm such a great grandchild.” You grin, and the two of you continue dancing.

The room spins as you spin her around. Dizziness creeps up on you when you both come to a stop, but the sound of Jinx's giggle makes it go away.

“Well, I had a different name,” she tells you.

“Oh yeah?” you reply, not letting go of her.

“Yeah, I used to go by the name Powder.”

“Powder,” you repeat.

Jinx nods as the two of you continue dancing. “Yeah, Powder... It was stupid,” she adds with a chuckle. “I went by that at my old school.”

You try to push the name out of your thoughts for now, not wanting to ruin the night. Jinx spins around again, and you hold her close, dipping her again. She squeals as she goes upside down, then laughs when she's raised again.

You hear the sound of your phone's ringtone, but you don't budge. Nah, you just ignore it.

Rinnngg

The call goes to voicemail.

Rinnnggg

Again. Whoever's calling is definitely being persistent.

Rinnnnnggg

…and again. And this time, you actually stop dancing and check the call.

Caitlyn.

You pull away from her, reluctantly letting go of her hands. She lets you go, but with a scowl directed at your phone.

“Ugh... I gotta take this. Sorry,” you grumble.

“It's fine,” she replies. “Be quick.”

You begin searching for a place where the signal is better, somewhere where the call won’t have to be repeated or sound like a shitty recording.

—

You step into the bathroom, closing the door behind you. Weirdly enough, the bathroom is empty. Considering how many people are at the prom, you thought there'd be couples making out or at least a few girls fixing their makeup, but nope. Nothing.

At least it's quiet now, and the signal is good too.

You answer the call, holding the phone to your ear. “You know you've just interrupted-”

“THANKTHANKTHANKTHANKYOU!!” she cuts you off, squealing on the other line. What the hell?

You hold your phone away from your ear, just in case her next words are ear-piercingly loud. “Uh... You're welcome?”

“VI. AND—AND I! ARE. OFFICIALLY. TOGETHER!!”

She's going to give you tinnitus from how loud she is. “...congrats?”

“ALL THANKS TO YOU.”

Oh. Right. That.

“I asked her out again and—and—and she said yes! YES!!” she shrieks.

Caitlyn's overjoyed. But to be honest?

You aren't.

You could be out there, dancing and having a good time with Jinx. Instead, you're stuck in the quiet bathroom being deafened by your friend's squeals.

—

After a while. Jinx looks around, watching the other students continue their dancing.

Lux is having the time of her life with her dance partner, while Ekko's talking with someone standing beside the table. A few of the guys are eyeing her, but with a quick glance in their direction, they immediately look away.

You still aren't around.

She groans, shifting her weight from foot to foot. She looks around again before making her choice. Bathroom break.

—

Caitlyn continues gushing on the other end of the line, gushing about how perfect Vi is and how wonderful she is. It's not exactly news to you, you've heard this all before.

You sigh, rubbing your face. “Listen, Cait-”

She continues on and on, not hearing you at first.

“LISTEN.”

She finally stops talking, going quiet.

You take the chance to speak. “Can we just forget the deal? can we just forget that you paid me to date Jinx? I mean, you got your happy ending. You asked Vi out again, and she said yes. Case closed, right?”

“What?”

You turn around to face-

“Jinx.”

You freeze. You suddenly feel so cold.

Jinx. Standing right in front of you. There's an odd look in her eyes, like she doesn't recognize you. Like she's completely lost herself.

“You…” Her hands tremble as they slowly clench by her sides. “Nothing in it for you, huh?” She didn't wait for a response, turning on her heel and storming out the bathroom door.

You watch her leave, still in shock.

No, no, no, no, no.

NO.

She heard you. She heard everything.

You hang up the call with Caitlyn. You quickly scramble to your feet, tearing open the bathroom door. “Jinx!”

Despite how short she is, Jinx can move fast. And you've got a ton of ground to cover.

“Jinx—wait!”

She heads for the stairs, and you give chase. She's running fast, but eventually you catch up with her at the top, grabbing her arm and pulling her to a stop.

Your heart sinks as she continues to look at you like you're some stranger, someone she doesn't know. You feel like you're going to be sick.

You hold her arm tighter. “No, it's—please, just wai-”

Jinx yanks her arm out of your hands, pushing you away. “How much did she pay you? Fifty? One hundred!?”

You stumble backwards. “Jinx, just let me-” you protest. You try to explain, but each word seems to come out wrong. Or they never come out at all.

She storms off again, but this time you're just quick enough to catch up with her. You grab her shoulder, forcing her to look at you. “Wait, wait—it wasn't like tha-”

She scowls, ripping her shoulder away from your grasp. ”Oh, really?” she snaps. “What the hell was it like? a down payment now, and a bonus if I slept with you?”

The look of hurt on her face nearly stops your heart. You never intended that. That was never what you wanted for her. “NO!” you yell. “I didn't care about the money, okay? I cared-” You cut yourself off, pausing to catch your breath. “I cared about you.”

Your hands twitch, wanting to reach out and grab her, to hold her and tell her that you're sorry, you're so sorry, you never wanted to ever hurt her. You cared about her. You cared about her so much.

But you're just so scared to touch her, to look at her. She's hurting. She's so angry at you.

And yet, you do it anyway and reach for her again. “Jinx, please-”

“Don't touch me.”

It hurts.

God, it hurts.

You slowly lower your hand back down to your side, but you still can’t take your eyes off her.

Every word she says. Every second that goes by. Every minute. It feels like your heart is going to stop and die in your chest.

Keep talking. Talk some sense into her. But the look on her face tells you that she's already made up her mind. It's done.

Tears glisten in her eyes, but she holds them back, clenching her jaw. “You are not who I thought you were.”

Your mind races, desperate and searching for a way to fix this mess. You reach out, grabbing her by the elbow and pulling her into a hug.

This always worked in the movies. A single, simple action. A single, simple embrace. A single, simple hug.

Except this is reality.

Reality sucks.

But you can hope, can't you?

A tear slides down her cheek and lands on your shoulder. She shoves you away aggressively, and even though you want to pull her against you again, you don't.

With that, she turns and runs outside. She doesn't look back or stop.

She's gone. You're left alone.

She's gone.

Those words ring in your head, over and over again. She's gone.

You can't move.

You can't think.

Your eyes sting, and tears blur your vision.

This whole time, this entire… everything you had done, everything.

Maybe if you'd said something sooner, maybe if you hadn't taken the money in the first place, maybe if you'd just been better about saying no.

None of that matters now. You've lost her.

All thanks to you.

notes: caitlyn when i catch you

taglist: @axolotl-arsonist, @crvcified-kinx, @axoluxy, @dyslexic-dreamer, @urdeadpoet, @iluvshifting, @shootingc, @freementallyillkid, @tr3nzit444s, @powderbomb-jinxed, @chickennuggetsaresootasty, @multiliker, @rick-grimes-girl, @angelsglitch, @blobfishyy

#arcane #jinx #arcane x reader #arcane jinx #jinx arcane #arcane x female reader #arcane x you #jinx x reader #jinx x female reader #jinx x you #jinx x y/n #jinx imagine #10 things i hate about you #fluff #angst #jinx hates ur guts rip

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atlabeth · 10 months ago

Text

true luck's kiss

pairing: luke castellan x daughter of tyche!reader

summary: luke is stuck with a streak of bad luck. what better way to get rid of it than with a child of tyche?

a/n: so this was supposed to come out on st patrick's day but unfortunately im the slowest writer in the world and ive also been doing nothing but watch basketball because we sleep in may. anyways here's a short fluffy blurb because it is getting way too sad in here with my hurricane fics lmao

wc: 1.2k

warning(s): none, this is all fluff. i know crazy coming from me

You grimaced as you pulled the arrow back. Sweat dripped down your forehead and you itched to brush it away, but you ignored the urge as you let out a deep breath.

“Just like that.” Kimia nodded as she stopped behind you. “Perfect angle—now let it fly.”

You did, and the weight lifted off your shoulders once the arrow embedded itself in the center of the target.

“Ending on a bullseye,” she said with a grin. “Great work.”

“Only way to do it,” you said, smiling at her. “Am I a worthy opponent yet?”

She chuckled and patted your shoulder as she moved on. “Maybe one day you’ll be as good as Cabin Seven. Today’s not that day.”

You shook your head with a laugh and took your quiver off your back. “Keep telling yourself that!”

A bow and arrow had become your weapon of choice since the moment you stepped foot into camp, and you’d gotten good over the years—so much so that it was a surprise when your mother claimed you. One day, though, you would get an Apollo kid to admit you were better than them.

You’d just finished putting all your equipment away, and when you turned back, you were met with a mess of brown curls and shining eyes.

“Luke,” you said, pleasantly surprised. “Didn’t know you were in archery today.”

He shook his head. “I’m not. I didn’t come here for archery—I came here for you.”

You chuckled as you gestured with your head, and he got the hint as you started walking together. “How forward of you.”

“It’s a living,” he said with a smile. “How was practice?”

“And small talk?” You pressed a hand to your heart and shook your head. “It must be my lucky day.”

Luke’s smile widened as he ran a nervous hand through his hair. “That’s what I came to talk to you about, actually. I do wanna hear about your day, though.”

You shrugged. “It was boring. Killed it at archery, nearly got killed on the climbing wall—I was gonna head back to the cabin to chill for a few hours before dinner, but it looks like you’ve taken that slot.”

He chuckled. “So you are free?”

“I’ve always got some time to listen to Luke Castellan,” you mused. “What’ve you got?”

“I’m cursed,” Luke said.

You stopped in your tracks and looked him right in the eye. “...Cursed.”

He nodded. “I know it sounds stupid, but it’s gotta be true. I mean, nothing is going right for me. I’ve been off my groove with my sword, I’ve lost every canoe race, I nearly burnt my eyebrows off last time I was in the forge, and my team hasn’t won a game of capture the flag this entire month—”

“I know,” you interrupted. “I’m in your cabin.”

“So you know how bad my luck’s been lately!” he exclaimed with a gesture. “It— it was embarrassing, but now it’s just pathetic.”

“You know I can’t fix it, right?” you said wryly. “I’m not my mom.”

“That’s what Annabeth said,” Luke mumbled. “But— but I’ve seen the way you live—you’ve got luck on tap! Your strawberries are always the ripest, you somehow find drachmas on the ground, and your volleyball serves are better than anyone’s.”

“I play varsity back home,” you said. “No luck needed.”

“Still,” he emphasized, “you’re naturally lucky. You’ve literally got it in your DNA, and I’m fresh out of it. That’s gotta be worth something.”

“Not really.” You crossed your arms. “So what do you think I can do about this?”

Luke shrugged. “I dunno. Say something?"

You barely managed to stifle a laugh. “Like what?”

“Pray to Tyche,” he said. “You’re her only kid here—she’s gotta be listening.”

You bit back your smile as you shook your head. “Fine. Just for you.”

“Thank you,” Luke sighed, watching with bated breath as you cleared your throat, closed your eyes, and pressed your hands together.

“Tyche, dearest mother, goddess of luck and fortune—I ask you to shine on Luke Castellan on this day. Smile upon my friend and break his very real curse. If you do this for him, in return, he will do all of my cabin chores for the next month.”

When you opened your eyes, Luke looked quite unimpressed. “Very funny.”

“Feel any luckier?” you asked with a smile as you started walking again.

“I don’t think so,” he said, falling into step with you once more. “Especially because you’re putting conditions in your prayers. I didn’t know we could do that.”

“My mom has a sense of humor,” you mused. “And I also think I might be her favorite.”

“Not all of us have that privilege,” he said wryly. Suddenly, his eyes lit up, and he grabbed your arm to stop you.

“I think I’ve got it,” Luke said. “How about a kiss?”

Your eyebrows rose, but you couldn’t help showing your amusement. “Now it’s a kiss that’ll break your curse?”

He shrugged. “Like I said—you’ve got luck in your DNA. Maybe you could pass that along.”

“Really,” you said dryly.

“I’ve kinda tried everything,” he said. “A kiss from a lucky and pretty girl is far from the worst option.”

You chuckled. “You really know how to flatter ‘em.”

“I try,” he grinned. “Are you up to it?”

You bit your lip as you looked at Luke. Obviously, he was attractive—you’d always held an appreciation for his curls and the way they would constantly get in his eyes. He cut an impressive figure from constant, year-round training, and he even made the camp shirt look good. And gods, that damned smile got you.

There were worse things than kissing you, and there were certainly worse things than kissing Luke Castellan.

“Alright,” you sighed, taking a step forward. “Pucker up, Castellan.”

Before you could really doubt yourself, you leaned forward and kissed him. You weren’t really expecting to actually… like it.

Your first thought was that Luke’s lips were softer than they had any right to be. Your second thought was that his cologne was the scent always floating around the Hermes cabin. You didn’t really mind, though.

Luke gently put his hand on the back of your head to keep you there, and the moment lasted much longer than you initially planned. You also didn’t mind, though your thoughts were far more muddled than they should’ve been when you finally managed to pull away. He seemed to have a gift for that.

You felt your cheeks flush as you looked at him, not even trying to hide your smile. Turns out kissing Luke Castellan was actually pretty great. “Feel any luckier?”

“Yeah,” he said with a soft grin, his eyes twinkling. You wondered if he had the same thought about you. “Yeah. I really do.”

“I think that means it’s worked, then,” you said.

Luke nodded with mock austerity. “We should probably stick together for the rest of the week, though. Just to make sure this bad luck goes away for good.”

“You might be right,” you said. “And uh— you think you need an extra boost?” You glanced away as you bit back your smile. “Just to be safe and all. To really get rid of this curse.”

“You know,” he drew your attention back to him as he brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear, and you leaned in closer. “I think I might.”

#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan fic #luke castellan fluff #luke castellan imagine #percy jackson and the olympians x reader #pjo x reader #x reader #sadie writes

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brunchable · 3 months ago

Text

This is Your Boyfriend Mom? [3]

Pairings: Beefy Bucky Barnes x Our savage wittle boi Lucas x f!Reader.

Summary: It's Lucas' 7th Birthday and Bucky finally meets the Dad from Finance. Bucky also FINALLY got a haircut lmfao.

A/N: I will just keep posting Step-Dad Bucky content, this doesn't really have set plot, just cute and funny moments while Bucky navigates how to be a Dad.

The Night Before the Party

You were busy setting up the last of the birthday decorations when you heard the front door open. You didn’t think much of it at first, but then Lucas came sprinting into the living room, eyes wide, looking like he’d just seen a ghost.

“Mom!” he shouted, excitement and shock mixed in his voice. “Bucky’s back, and... uh, something’s wrong with him!”

You raised an eyebrow, turning toward the door just as Bucky strolled in, a smirk playing on his lips. You froze, your hands still holding the banner you were about to hang up.

Bucky had chopped his hair. Gone were the long, unruly locks he’d been hiding behind for months, replaced by a clean, short trim that made him look—well, if you were being honest—like he’d just walked off the set of a cologne commercial. Looking absolutely handsome.

“Wow, look at you. All... polished.” You blinked, trying to suppress a grin.

Before Bucky could respond, Lucas crossed his arms, pacing around him like a tiny detective on the case. “So, Mr. Metal Mop finally decided to join the human race, huh?”

“Really, Lucas?” Bucky sighed.

“Oh yeah. You’re like a whole new person,” Lucas continued, squinting at him. “Seriously, who are you, and what have you done with the walking disaster that usually lives here?”

You let out a snort of laughter as Bucky’s jaw twitched. “It’s just a haircut, kid.”

Lucas tilted his head, eyes narrowed as he pointed dramatically at Bucky’s head. “This? This is not just a haircut. This is a ‘I’m about to show everyone I’m the coolest guy at this party’ haircut.”

“What? No, it’s not! I’m not trying to show off.”

Lucas raised an eyebrow, smirking like a seasoned detective who’d just cracked the case wide open. “Oh really? ‘Cause you didn’t care about looking like a caveman until now, right before my party. Coincidence? I think not.”

“I just felt like a change, alright? This has nothing to do with the party. I’m not trying to outshine anyone.” Bucky crossed his arms, standing taller, trying to play it cool.

Lucas grinned wider. “Uh-huh. Sure. So, you just happened to get a haircut right before a big event? Not competitive at all?”

Bucky groaned, clearly trying to keep his cool. “I’m not trying to compete with anybody. I just thought I’d make things... easier for tomorrow.”

“Yeah, right. Easier. You know, if you wanted to look good for once, you could’ve just said so.” Lucas snorted, shaking his head.

Bucky’s jaw twitched as he quickly looked to you for backup, but you were too busy laughing to jump in.

Lucas leaned in dramatically, whispering, “You can relax, Bucky. We all know Mom doesn’t love you for your looks.”

You burst out laughing, clutching your sides as Bucky stared at Lucas, half-amused, half-offended.

“I’m not—,” Bucky started, running his hand over his hair again. “It’s just a haircut!”

“Oh, sure,” Lucas said, stepping closer, his face serious but his eyes full of mischief. “So it has nothing to do with the fact that Patrick’s gonna be here tomorrow? You’re not trying to look cooler than him? You know he works out, right?”

Bucky frowned, looking genuinely puzzled. “Patrick works out?”

Lucas shrugged. “Yup. I heard him mention it once. But hey, at least now you look like you can keep up.”

“Please. I don’t need a haircut to keep up with your Dad.” Bucky crossed his arms and scoffed.

Lucas smirked, still circling him. “Mmhmm. That’s why you’re all cleaned up—so you can make sure nobody at the party outshines you.”

You were practically doubled over at this point, tears streaming down your face from laughter.

“I’m not competing with anybody!” Bucky insisted, throwing his hands up.

“Right, because getting a ‘too cool for school’ haircut right before the party is totally not competitive.” Lucas grinned wider, seeing that he had Bucky cornered.

Bucky clenched his jaw, still trying to hold his ground. “This is a tactical haircut. Streamlined. It’s practical.”

Lucas grinned, clearly not buying it. “Oh, tactical, huh? Right. Is that what you’re gonna tell everyone tomorrow? ‘Hey, check out my tactical haircut. You like?’”

Bucky chuckles and points at Lucas, “Okay, that’s it. You’re done.”

Without warning, he lunged forward, scooping Lucas up and flipping him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

Lucas squealed, laughing uncontrollably. “Bucky! Put me down!”

“Oh no,” Bucky said, shaking his head as he carried Lucas toward the couch. “You’re gonna sit here and think about your life choices.”

Lucas, still flailing and laughing, managed to gasp, “At least I didn’t need a haircut to look cool!”

Bucky plopped him down onto the couch, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re gonna pay for this tomorrow, kid. You just wait.”

Lucas grinned up at him, still breathless from laughing. “Oh yeah? What are you gonna do, give me a tactical timeout?”

“Unbelievable. You’re supposed to be on my side here.” Bucky glanced at you, exasperated but unable to hide his smile.

You finally managed to calm down enough to speak. “Oh no, I’m staying out of this. Lucas is absolutely right.”

Lucas beamed with pride as he gave you a thumbs-up. “See? Mom knows what’s up.”

Bucky groaned again, dropping down onto the couch beside Lucas. “Alright, fine. Have your fun tonight. Tomorrow, though, I’m stealing all your cake.”

Lucas gasped, feigning horror. “Not the cake!”

Bucky grinned, leaning back. “Oh yeah. Tactical move.”

× × × ×

The birthday party was in full swing, with kids running around, balloons everywhere, and Lucas at the center of it all. You were watching from a distance, laughing softly as Bucky awkwardly navigated the chaos. He was holding a cupcake in one hand, clearly out of his element, but smiling nonetheless. Everything was going smoothly.

The Avengers were scattered around, trying their best to blend in. Clint was at the snack table, sampling every kind of chip he could get his hands on. Tony was in full I’ve-paid-for-everything-here mode, handing out goodie bags like they were shares in Stark Industries. Nat and Steve were casually watching the kids play, exchanging side glances, while Sam was trying (and failing) to explain some complex game rules to a group of seven-year-olds.

Everything seemed perfect.

Until he arrived.

“Uh, hey,” Bucky muttered to you, nodding toward the door. “That’s, uh… him, right?”

You turned to see Lucas’ dad, Patrick, making his way into the party, looking a bit too put-together for a kids’ birthday—pressed suit, perfectly styled hair, and an aura of someone who had just closed a very important deal five minutes before arriving.

“Yep. That’s Patrick,” you said, trying not to laugh at the grimace on Bucky’s face.

Patrick spotted Lucas and waved. “Hey, buddy! Happy Birthday!” He strode over confidently, handing Lucas a brightly wrapped present.

Lucas opened it, pulling out a brand-new Nintendo Switch. He looked up at his dad and gave a polite smile. “Uh, thanks, Patrick.”

Bucky, still watching from a few feet away, cocked his head. “Why’s he callin’ him Patrick?”

You shrugged, whispering, “Lucas just started calling him that on his own. I think it confuses him.”

Patrick glanced over, finally noticing you and Bucky standing there. He smiled—though it was more of a tight-lipped one—and made his way over, extending his hand to Bucky.

“Hi, I’m Patrick. Lucas’ father,” he said, with an air of someone who’s used to introductions being brief and businesslike.

Bucky hesitated for half a second, staring at Patrick’s perfectly manicured hand like it might explode. Then he awkwardly wiped his own hand on his jeans before shaking it.

“Bucky. You know, the boyfriend.”

The words hung in the air like an awkward mist. Patrick’s smile twitched. “Ah, yes. The… boyfriend. Great to meet you.”

They stood there, shaking hands for what felt like five or ten seconds too long, neither one letting go, each one’s grip tightening ever so slightly. You watched from the side, holding back a laugh as the tension built.

Finally, Patrick cleared his throat and let go. “So, uh, how’s the party going?”

Bucky shrugged. “Good. You know, kids. Loud. Messy. Chaos.”

Patrick nodded, chuckling awkwardly. “Ah, yeah. Well, you know, in finance, things are a bit more... orderly.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Finance, huh? That sounds... fun.”

Patrick straightened his posture, clearly missing the sarcasm. “Oh, it’s very rewarding. Numbers, investments... making sure the market flows smoothly.”

Bucky blinked. “Yeah, I bet. I usually just stop markets by throwing people out windows.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Patrick stared at Bucky, unsure if that was a joke or a confession.

You stifled a laugh behind your hand. “So, how about that gift?” you asked, trying to change the subject. “Lucas, do you like it?”

Lucas, who had wandered over to Bucky’s side, gave a polite nod. “Uh, yeah. Thanks, Dad.”

Patrick smiled, clearly not noticing how forced Lucas’s enthusiasm was. “Glad you like it, buddy.”

As Patrick turned to talk to one of the other parents, Bucky crouched down next to Lucas and whispered, “Hey, what’s up, buddy? You don’t seem that excited.”

Lucas looked up at Bucky and sighed. “I already have a Switch. He bought me one for my 6th birthday. He just… forgot.”

Bucky raised his eyebrows, glancing between Lucas and Patrick, who was fidgeting with his phone. “Ah. I see.”

Patrick, overhearing, laughed nervously. “Well, uh, you can never have too many Switches, right?”

Bucky stood up, crossing his arms with a smirk. “Yeah. Or, you know, you could... I dunno, maybe remember what you got your kid for his birthday last year.”

Patrick blinked, clearly not sure whether Bucky was joking or not. “Well, you know, with finance and all... numbers just blur together sometimes. I have a lot on my plate.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Right. Numbers blur. Must be hard to forget when you’re counting millions.” His voice was laced with sarcasm.

Patrick chuckled, but it was the kind of chuckle people do when they’re uncomfortable. “Yeah, well… finance life.”

Bucky gave him a pointed look. “Yeah, but I bet remembering your kid’s birthday gifts doesn’t really blur with anything, does it?”

Patrick looked away, clearly flustered, mumbling something about "busyness" as he shifted awkwardly in his suit.

From the other side of the party, you could see Clint and Tony watching the exchange with amusement, whispering something to each other while Steve shook his head at the spectacle. Nat gave a sly smile in your direction, clearly picking up on the tension, while Sam made a “yikes” face, pretending to zip his lips as if to say, Yup, this is awkward.

You couldn’t hold it in any longer, and you let out a snort of laughter, patting Bucky on the arm. “Well, Lucas, now you can... switch between your Switches?”

Lucas looked up, a confused smile on his face, while Bucky chuckled softly under his breath. Patrick, however, just stood there, looking like he wished the earth would swallow him whole.

Patrick, cleared his throat and forced a smile. “So, Bucky, what did you get Lucas for his birthday?”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, glancing at you for a second before smirking. “Oh, I didn’t go the ‘two-of-the-same-gift’ route,” he teased, earning a snicker from you.

Patrick’s forced smile faltered slightly, but he maintained his composure. “Right, but I’m sure you got him something nice.”

Bucky gave a nod, gesturing toward the corner of the room. “Got him a custom-built bow and arrow set.” He paused for effect. “You know, something a little more memorable.”

Patrick blinked, clearly caught off guard. “A… bow and arrow? For a seven-year-old?”

Bucky crossed his arms, still smirking. “Hey, I’ve got a friend who’s pretty good with those. Thought it might be a good skill to have. Besides, Lucas loved it.”

Patrick glanced over at Lucas, who was currently showing the bow set to Clint, who was eagerly demonstrating how to hold it properly. Lucas was grinning from ear to ear.

Patrick, trying to recover, chuckled awkwardly. “Well, I’m sure the Nintendo Switch will still get plenty of use.”

Bucky leaned in slightly, lowering his voice just enough so only Patrick could hear, a mischievous glint in his eye. “You know, if Lucas forgets he already has one.”

Patrick's smile tightened again as he awkwardly laughed, clearly regretting asking.

From the sidelines, you could see Tony and Sam observing the whole interaction with raised eyebrows. Tony leaned over to Sam, whispering,

“I’m giving this five minutes before Finance Dad taps out.”

Sam grinned, nodding in agreement.

× × × ×

The birthday cake was finally brought out, candles lit, and the room filled with the excited chatter of kids and adults alike. Lucas stood proudly at the center, his face glowing in the soft flicker of the seven candles. Everyone gathered around the table, cheering him on.

"Alright, everyone!" you called out, smiling down at Lucas. "On three! One… two… three! Make a wish, Lucas!"

Lucas squeezed his eyes shut and puffed out his cheeks before blowing out all seven candles in one swift breath. The room erupted into cheers, and you bent down to kiss the top of his head.

Just as the cheers started to die down, someone in the crowd—most likely Tony—yelled out, “Time for a family picture!”

The laughter and chatter quieted as you, Lucas, and Bucky moved toward the cake, ready for the photo. But, just as Bucky stepped up beside Lucas, Patrick appeared at the other side, standing just as close.

Both Bucky and Patrick froze, their eyes locking in an awkward stand-off. Neither moved, both unsure of what the protocol was in this moment. Patrick chuckled nervously, shifting on his feet.

“So… family picture, huh?” Patrick said with an awkward smile, trying to ease the tension.

“Yeah. Family picture,” Bucky replied, his tone flat, clearly unimpressed.

The two men stood on either side of Lucas, staring at each other, neither willing to give up the spot closest to the boy. Lucas, meanwhile, was too focused on choosing the biggest slice of cake to notice the tension brewing between the two.

Clint, who had been quietly observing the whole thing from the side, leaned over to Natasha and whispered, just loud enough to be heard by others, “Looks like someone's gotta blink first.”

Natasha smirked but said nothing, her eyes fixed on the scene in front of her.

Sensing the growing awkwardness, you tried to step in. “Um, you know what, why don’t we take a couple of pictures? That way, everyone gets in,” you suggested, hoping to break the standoff.

But neither Bucky nor Patrick moved. Instead, they both shuffled even closer to Lucas, determined to be the one standing right beside him. Patrick forced a smile, trying to mask his discomfort.

“Well, I mean... I’m his dad, so...” Patrick began, his voice light but strained.

“And I’m here every day,” Bucky shot back, his voice deadpan, arms crossing as if he was daring Patrick to push further.

They stared at each other, tension hanging in the air, both waiting for the other to step back. By now, the Avengers had all noticed. From the other side of the room, Tony leaned over to Sam, his voice a stage whisper that was impossible to miss.

“Who’s taking bets? This is about to get good,” Tony said, grinning.

Sam chuckled. “Ten bucks on Bucky. He’s got that murder stare locked and loaded.”

You let out an exasperated sigh, stepping forward before things got any more awkward.

“Alright,” you said, laying down the final word. “Bucky, you can be in this one. Patrick, you’ll be in the next one.”

Both men blinked in surprise, caught off guard by your no-nonsense tone. Bucky gave a small, smug smile and slipped into place beside Lucas, casually throwing his arm around the boy’s shoulders.

Patrick nodded stiffly, his smile tight and forced. “Sounds fair.”

“Great,” Tony clapped his hands dramatically, clearly reveling in the tension. “Alright, let’s get this show on the road. Everyone say ‘awkward’!”

The camera flashed, capturing the moment, Bucky’s subtle triumphant grin beside Lucas, while Patrick stood to the side, looking like he was mentally calculating how soon he could make a polite exit.

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