#sighhhh I had to add in some angst adjacent flavor

[artdcnaldson]

THANK YOU FOR MATCHING MY FREAK

You’re art’s sister and are like 2-3 years younger. You meet Patrick when you’re 12 and he comes to your house during summer break to visit Art. You’ve always had a crush on him and he knows you well enough to consider you a friend you know, but at that time you’re still just Art’s little sister.

Flash forward couple years, Art is out of college and with Patrick on tour (they never have a falling out in this AU) and both of them are like 24. You’re 21/22 and freshly out of college and well you want to take a gap year before finding a job. You felt like you didn’t really experience in college yk. Constantly studying and never even really went out. Kissed a couple guys but sadly still a virgin and quite frankly embarrassed.

You decide its a great idea to travel. I mean what’s not to like! Get to see new places, except your family doesn’t have the money to let you galavant anywhere you want and you’re a broke college grad, so you’re stuck traveling on your big brother on tour. Not that you don’t love him, Art’s a great brother, it just isn’t what you planned….until you realize Patrick is there too.

When you finally meet up with them, you realize Patrick has just gotten hotter. More of a man now at 24 and well you’re not the shy little kid you were anymore. You’re 22 and know what you want. And well you don’t know if you’re beautiful (patrick already thinks so but shhh you don’t know that) but you do think with the right clothes and attitude you could get him interested (he already is but again shhh you don’t know that).

So yeah you decide you don’t really need to wear bras anymore and that tiny little lacey panties are soooooo much better for you. Short skirts or the long white ones that are kinda see through in sun or any bright light are your favorites. And little tiny tight tops. You always make sure to give Patrick hugs after his games and always compliment him. Looking up at him with big eyes.

Patrick notices. God he notices. He knows what you’re up to. When you’re drunk you whisper about how much you want him and how you touch yourself thinking about him and how no one’s ever had you like that and that you wants him to be the one who does. He’s not surprised at this, Art’s repressed as fuck so yeah of course you are too (he blames the catholic upbringing but thats a different story). What he is surprised tho is how much you want it…how much hr wants you…god he wants to completely defile you. In every way possible. Fucking claim you in a way you’re begging him to do so. He swears he isn’t possessive but the thought of any one else with you starts to bug him too. You’re just so sweet and need someone right for you :( not some random douche :( someone who’d treat you right :( and fuck you right :( God he wants you so bad…it’s just you’re Art’s sister.

- 🫀

EXACTLYYYYY EXACTLYY

Art notices something is up, gets a little protective, the way a good big brother should. He starts carrying an extra jacket in his car specifically so he can give it to you when you’re out with the two of them, to cover up how short your skirt is.

He sees how you go to Patrick whenever you can, how you cling to his side and look at him all starry-eyed and sweet.

“You need to tell her you aren’t interested,” Art tells Patrick one night, when they’re brushing their teeth in a hotel bathroom. You’re across the hall, blissfully unaware of what your brother is doing.

Patrick could just agree, could tell him he’d never go for his best friend’s sister, and that he’d tell you to leave him alone. But he’s nothing if not an asshole.

“What if I am interested?” The words are spoken around a mouthful of foamy toothpaste that he spits into the sink. “Your sister’s hot, she wants me, clearly. She could do worse.”

Art shoves him, which makes Patrick grin. “Fuck you. I’ve seen how you get with women. I’ve been on the other side of the door and heard it. If you ever even look at her the wrong way, I will break your fucking knees.”

Patrick leans against the wall, his lips twitching into a grin. “That could be good. I’d be all bedridden and weak. She could take advantage of me, make me submit to her perverted desires.”

Art groans, meets his gaze. “I’m serious, Pat. Tell me you’re going to put a stop to it, or I’ll have to make her go home.”

“Alright,” he says, putting his hands up. “I’ll tell her to knock it off.”

But what can he do when Art’s taken some pretty girl at the bar back to the hotel? when you’re drunk off of sweet girly drinks and it’s just the two of you? When you’re batting your lashes at him, telling him how handsome he looks, that you want to kiss him so bad, want him to touch your— but you can’t say it, you’re looking down, all shy.

But you’re not shy enough that you can’t tell him that you’re not wearing a bra, that you’re not wearing panties. That you want him so bad it’s hurting and you just need him to make it feel better. That no one’s ever touched you before, but you think he should be the first. That the first time you played with yourself it was after you watched one of his matches.

Jesus fucking Christ. He gets a glass of water, makes you drink it all in front of him, then makes you drink another. You follow on wobbly legs as he walks you back to the hotel, keeps a nice firm hand on your wrist.

You’re beaming when he brings you to your room, start clumsily stripping off your dress. He has to turn around when your dress pools on the floor, has to physically cover his eyes so he’s not tempted to turn around.

“Jesus, put some fucking pajamas on.”

“Pattttt—“ you whine. But when he doesn’t move you obey. He can see your nipples through the tin tank top, but it’s better than nothing, literally.

“C’mere, let’s get you ready for bed.”

He sits you on the counter in the bathroom, wipes off your makeup carefully. You groan, press your forehead against his as a wave of nausea hits. You smell sweet, like vanilla, but mostly like liquor. He holds your hair while you vomit, wipes at your teary eyes and says it’s fine, he’s seen worse. He’s been worse.

And then you’re crying, saying you like him so much and you wish you could just have him— that he’s so nice to you it hurts in your chest like you can’t breathe. He thinks it’s sweet, but you’re just drunk.

He brushes your teeth, carries you to the bed. Slides the hotel trashcan next to the bed, just in case. And he shouldn’t, but he leans down and kisses your forehead too.

“Please don’t leave, Pat. I feel sick.”

He sighs, texts Art. Full disclosure, I’m staying in your sister’s room so she doesn’t choke on her own vomit. Have fun with the room tonight bro.

He falls asleep sitting up in the armchair by the TV, and the two of you notably don’t talk about it the next morning.