#the one that is so sure what theyre doing is right for them

[ghostgirl-22]

The threeway kissing scene except when artrick start kissing tashi slips away all smug like "my work here is done" and art just gets so into it hes not thinking about shame, being repressed or anything else rn, hes just whimpering "patrick... i cant stop" as theyre grabbing and rubbing against each other

"You dont need to" and they 👉👌

I could definitely see it! Tashi’s giving them the side eye cause she’s heard all kinds of things about fire and ice. But one of the things she kept hearing was how coupled up they were.

So when she asks if they’ve ever done anything and Arts denying it so vehemently and claiming that—- sure, Patrick gave him his first sexual experience but it was totally platonic and they were on separate sides of the room in separate beds both thinking about a girl “Kat Zimmerman,” one glance at Patrick’s face is enough for her to figure out what’s going on.

The way Patrick’s just stumbling behind the story trying to give Art the validation that he needs… maybe he even feels a little bit bad for telling her in the first place after Art begged him not to. Probably because it’s got Art all adorably flustered. She clocks them both immediately <3

CW: 18+ !NSFW! Canon drift

-/-/-/-

They’re both next to her in seconds when she sits on the bed. Art feels his world opening up when she kisses him first. He’s losing his mind at the feeling of her lips, her tongue. He grabs hold of her thighs a little nervous. She breaks the kiss. She’s got her face so close to his just breathing in his mouth. He loves the smell of her, the taste of her. He’d do anything to be with her.

She’s going back and forth between them. Art thinks he’s gonna die for how hot this is. They’re giggling between kisses. Nervous energy all around.

Then shes pulling them both in and it’s just a mess of tongues and mouths and spit and breathing. She tastes like cherry chapstick and Patrick like tobacco and together Art just wants more and more. He’s not sure when he realizes it.

That he’s just kissing Patrick.

It’s not like anything is changing. He still feels so good he wants to die. He’s chasing after the kiss, eager when he feels Patrick’s tongue. Patrick’s hand cradling his face, then his hair. He doesn’t want to stop. He’s grabbing at Patrick. Pulling him closer like they’re not already close enough. He can hear Tashi sigh but he still doesn’t know if he can stop… not until Patrick pulls back just a little bit.

Art follows him and steals another kiss. “Mm, holy shit,” Patrick’s grinning, teasing his fingers into Arts hair to steady his movements.

“You guys want it bad huh?” Tashi says, quietly, her eyes all sparkly. “Can’t even sleep in separate beds. You’re pushing them together and shit but you’re just roommates? I’m sure.”

Patrick is grinning like he knows something Art doesn’t know. Art tries to kiss her again but she presses her palm against his chest, holding him back. “Do that again.” She tells him, looking back and forth between him and Patrick.

“Patrick can I— can I please?” Art whispers. He’s all scrambled up, not sure why he can’t think. Nothing feels real right now. It’s like being high. Or being at Disneyland.

“Of course you can,” Patrick says softly. “What do you need?”

Art’s not sure what he needs he just knows he isn’t finished, he needs more. He grabs at Patrick’s shirt, the same shirt Art was wearing earlier and Patrick gets to his feet so he’s in front of Art, bent in half kissing him, then climbing on top of him, straddling him.

Arts grabbing at his thighs. Touching everything he can. Patrick’s bigger than him, feels so heavy and warm on his lap. Art jerks his hips up and Patrick sighs against his lips. Moans when Art starts rubbing him where he’s started tenting. He pulls Patrick down on top of him, like a heavy weighted blanket as he lays back in the bed.

Pushed together because Patrick needs to be close all the time. And then even closer than that.

Patrick’s body is covering him now. His stupidly big cock is pressing hard along his stomach. His mouth is all over Arts body.

“I wanna— wanna fuck you,” Art groans as Patrick sucks hickies into his throat.

“Yeah? Is that what you want, sunshine?” Patrick’s saying, hot breath ghosting along his neck, soft, deep voice resonating, making Art shiver.

“Yes,” Art moans, helplessly. He’s rutting his hips up, pressing himself along Patrick’s ass for friction.

He feels so out of it— so desperate.

“Fuck okay, you wanna fuck. Stay there. I need to find something.” Patrick says anxiously and Art groans when Patrick climbs off him and they’re forced to separate. He didn’t even realize Tashi left; he feels vaguely disappointed. Then Patrick comes back. Climbs on top and helps Art with the condom. It’s slippery wet with lube. Art’s holding onto Patrick… slipping it slowly in and two seconds later he’s doing it. Fucking into him, like Patrick’s a girl. A real tight virginal girl. Feels so fucking good on his cock. Art’s almost more desperate now.

Patrick’s breathing deep, moaning as he kisses Art all over.

Art is barely aware of anything but the continuous movement of Patrick on his cock and he finishes so embarrassingly quick he almost pulls the pillow over his face to hide himself. Now he’s actually grateful Tashi isn’t here anymore.

Surprisingly, Patrick doesn’t tease him. He’s just staring at Art and grabbing at his own oversized cock, jerking it slowly. Arts so mesmerized he can sense the distant thrum of arousal slowly beginning to bloom inside him again.

Patrick’s fingers are wet with lube, sliding up and down and up and down as precum leaks from the tip. The whole time he’s got his lips parted, saying nonsense things like, “you’re so fucking pretty, baby,” “Look at you,” “Better than a fucking dream.” His eyes never leave Art’s body.

And then suddenly he’s groaning as hot creamy liquid spurts all over Arts bare stomach and chest. Art kinda likes the feel of it, he hadn’t expected that it would feel so heated. Almost hot. And the way Patrick is panting like he couldn’t help himself, eyes still roving hungrily over Art. The idea that he needed to do that just because he was looking at Art. It all makes Art feel so good and warm.

They almost miss it. They’re lying in bed talking frenetically about how crazy the nights been. It’s like they’re drunk off of one beer split three ways. And then Art gets up to clean up a little bit and go pee when he spots her note.

I have to go back to my room but I didn't want to interrupt. Hope you boys have fun. See you tomorrow. ︎︎

Written on the little hotel notepad and signed T, with a heart.

And sure enough she’s in the stands at their match the next day just eager to hear more about what happened last night.

(And they never fight over her number and she never gets injured and she gets to be a star tennis player and has two boyfriends and her boyfriends are boyfriends and… and… and…they live happily ever after. The end.)

︎ ︎ ︎ ︎

[bloodfiendarling]

𝓶𝔂𝓬𝓮𝓵𝓲𝓾𝓶 𝓽𝓮𝓶𝓹𝓽𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷

a .. anon chan ...? oh my god .. are you a mind reader ? a saint , perhaps ..? ive had a similar idea for months , i just never got to writing it (shy ,,)

thank u so so much for the idv req >_< i didnt think id get any so early .. this fic took heavy inspo from saya no uta , too .. i rlly did give him the fuminori treatment ..

another case of — written by my dick — this is so horrible .. im so sorry frederick sama ..

DEAD DOVE : DO NOT EAT .

pairing — pioneer research!frederick x hallucinated!reader

wc — ~1.1k

contains — coa vii setting, fem reader (the form reader takes , i guess . theyre kind of not real ..), reader referred to with it/its prns, mindfuck, dubcon .? (is it dubcon if hes on shrooms and doing it to himself . i gen dont know, emeto, body horror, hallucinations, reader is a hallucination, self harm (scratching), established past relationship w reader

playing .. mushrooms • mili

even in such a desolate land, frederick still has the desire to create his work — his music. the composer’s desire for creation still persists, and with the chaos, he found inspiration.

…and unluckily for him, he had a slump.

nothing in the current area could inspire him for music. it frustrated him. even as he played away on the abandoned piano he found — nothing quite stuck to him right. it all felt too empty.

so tonight, frederick decided on leaving. just for one night, though. he’ll return by the next morning, of course — it’d be too dangerous to stay any longer. and where’s the harm in it, anyway? him and his team have been hopping from abandoned building to another.. be it to study more about the fungi or just to rest up.

he took a pen and paper, writing a note to leave behind — a short one, but at the very least it told them he’ll be fine… he’s sure qi will be scolding him afterwards, but.. it’d be well worth it.

as he signed it, he left it on the dirty table they’ve been using. taking his gas-mask to leave. the world is barren. everything was abandoned, there were those mushrooms everywhere. everything within frederick’s field of vision was nothing but a wasteland.

after a good, long walk he stumbled upon an abandoned music venue. it was big — it was grand. he’s sure he could find some inspiration and maybe even a new instrument.

little did the composer know, the venue was a big source of mycelium fungi.

he opened the heavy doors, looking around. a big stage in the middle, and seats all around for the audience to sit. it brought him back to his past for a bit — when he was shown on a stage — being praised for his music. ‘it was like a ray of divine light,’ they’d say.

that stage still had a piano on it. he walked between the empty seats, making his way onto the stage. the piano… it somehow still looked brand new, weirdly enough. it even sounded just like so, properly tuned and cared for.

it didn’t feel real. he thought he was dreaming. frederick sat himself down, performing as if there was an audience. he hasn’t gotten the chance to use such high-quality equipment ever since the infection spread.. he’ll definitely stay for a little longer.

even if it wasn’t real.

the composer peeked around backstage, and somehow, it looked clean. nothing like what he’d usually see. an infected corpse, bloodied walls, some mycelium growing.. none of that. it looked polished in here.. he’ll tell his group he found a new place for them when he gets back.

even if it was filthy in a sane man’s eyes.

it was getting late — he could tell that much. he’s sure his group wouldn’t mind if he came back a little later. he has in the past, anyway.. it didn’t make much problems. he sat down, back against a wall, just looking at all the equipment backstage before drifting to a dreamless sleep.

only to be woken up by a horrible sight. everything looked different from last night. no longer was it that clean place he saw the night before. it was horrid. worse than anything he’s ever seen — flesh and mushrooms coating the walls. the floor felt moist, almost as if it were actual meat. and the smell — god, the smell. poor frederick threw his head to the side and threw up. his throat burns. what even happened here..? was last night all fake?

it got worse when he saw those flesh-like veins start to crawl all over body. with wide eyes, he scratched and hit himself. it didn’t hurt, oddly enough. his body felt weirdly numb — though, frederick was a little too disoriented to notice.

“are you okay, frederick?”

he heard a voice. a woman’s voice — you..? how..?

it can’t be real — but it looked and sounded just like reality. just like you. could it be a hallucination..? no, no.. he’s seen how his groupmates reacted to the mycelium’s hallucinogenic spores — none of them ever mentioned anything like this.. he would know. it’s happened to him a few times before, too.

he placed his hand over his gas-mask, only for it to have a fleshy feel. he could see teeth and blood on his palm — panicking, the composer grabbed onto the mask of his, not realizing it was, in fact — his gas-mask. in his mind, it looked like a piece of gore had latched onto his face. he pulled onto it hopelessly. he wanted it off.

“ah, you’ll hurt yourself..” you cup his face, slowly taking the mask off. in frederick eyes, it really was a young woman helping him discard the living flesh off his face — letting him take a breath. though, it was nothing like that in reality.

he had just taken off his mask in a high risk area.

it felt like fresh air — though he was overwhelmed by the smell of rot after a few seconds, gagging. he can’t help but still see ‘you’ as a fake. but he can’t help but still give in.

“what are you doing here by yourself, anyway..?” it asks.

his jaw locked up, he can’t say anything. frederick looks down, he looks ashamed, almost. why? he didn’t know, either. he just knew whatever it was, it was you — and he’ll believe entirely.

“does it hurt, frederick?” it asks, caressing frederick’s cheek. ‘you’ could see a few red scratch marks on them.. ah.. the way it said those words — alongside those gentle actions. it really was you here in his mind. he can’t help but nod, pressing his knees against his chest and rambling nonsense.

“everything — all of it hurts.” he mumbled. ‘you’ wanted to comfort the composer. and he wanted that comfort, too — he longed for you after you disappeared. who knew he’d find you here of all places.

“do you want me to make you feel good, frederick?”

of course he did. he wanted you again. he missed you. he craved for you. your warmth. you. the composer didn’t care if this ‘you’ wasn’t real.

he watched you climb on top of him, pressing featherlight kisses onto him. as if fungi wasn’t already seeping into his tongue. frederick wrapped his arms around ‘you’ — when in reality they were enveloping himself — scratching red, bloody lines into his skin.

more openings for the spores to use him as a host. for ‘you’ to use him as a dear host.

frederick’s nose started bleeding, some of it had gotten into his ear — though, he paid no mind to it.. it felt like little kisses and bites on his earlobe — just like how you did it back then.

he felt your hands around his neck, how your lips felt against them, too. ah, he was in pure bliss. even if the room looked and smelled like rot — at least ‘you’ — no, it — was here to make him forget about everything.

maybe the rest of his group wouldn’t mind if he just left..

maybe he should stay just a little longer

idv masterlist ♥︎

[liquidstar]

this is not a comprehensive list

[hijinxinprogress]

Civilian Gothamites realizing they can get vengeance through Sword!Robin

Gothamites figuring out if they happen to mention a rogue treating animals poorly within hearing range of sword!Robin that rogue will be in custody with at least four fractures and a concussion and Damian being completely aware that like 63% of these people are lying but it’s the only way he can get experience with the nonlethal takedowns he’s experimenting with bc everyone keeps complaining about how he treats his opponents and allies 

Like he’s guiding a civilian to safety and they mention that “this would be the worst thing to happen to me today if riddler didn’t stab my fucking cat” and this civilian does not own a cat but they did own a car that was just paid off but riddler fucking crushed it with a stupid ass hot air balloon that’s shaped like a fucking question mark and Damian is aware of this bc he was the one that verified the insurance claim (but he’s been looking for a reason to punch Nygma in the throat since his last Arkham escape when he called Damian a moron)

And he also knows that if he plays along with it and says ‘as if I’d let that gaudy and tactless imbecile get away with committing such atrocities’ when prompted that he’ll get away with barely a slap on the wrist like he gets three half hearted but long lectures he’s not going to listen to and an online sensitivity training seminar he goads Tim into completing (Damian and Tim 100% try to trick each other into doing work they don’t want to do and full heartedly believe the other has no idea what they’re doing)

Bruce’s tendency for finding small crashouts at risk of becoming future rogues in Gotham and deciding they need love & supervision but what actually happens bc he’s so fucking awkward is they get almost the same amount of supervision just with like an hour of intense helicopter parenting a week but honestly besides that they just have more money and resources to do fuck shit

Tim 🤝🏾 Damian: using the manipulation tactics they learned from their mothers then later improved on with help from an assassin cult and bat/cape interrogation questioning techniques on the homies

[icewindandboringhorror]

Some fantasy traveler inventory details (like what they would carry in their bags), based on two of the recent costumes I did.. love finding random little scraps and items and putting them together lol

[poppytuft]

the bear s3 spoilers

below the cut! thinking about claire and stuff we saw this season re: carmy/syd/the restaurant/donna, just finished the season so itll be a mess and also im comin in way too hot on this so my bad

sometimes...... sometimes i believe you guys are all watching different tv. im not sure how this season didnt feel like a direct through line from s2?? and im not sure WHY everyone is SO MAD about claire LITERALLY "haunting" this season. girl. come on. we need to have a sit down talk about how the berzatto generational trauma is the real meat of this show (this will make sense, just trust me). thats the MAIN EMOTIONAL POINT. syd's relationship with her dad, marcus and his mom, richie and evie, even tina and louie are all examples of parental relationships that are tender, sweet, supportive, etc. these are INTENTIONAL!! by creating these relationships we see PLAINLY how fucked donna is and how much she fucked up all of these kids. thats why "ice chips" was such a FANTASTIC episode. there was SO MUCH unpacked, so much revealed, so much worked through with sugar and her but at the end of the day she's still learning how to unlearn all of this horrific narcissistic bullshit. SHES STILL UNLEARNING THOUGH. thats where fucking DONNA of all people sits right now——somehow, she's learning how to heal. EVERYONE IS LEARNING. that's also what is so important about that episode.

now lets look at carmy. in "ice chips" we are LITERALLY told about how each berzatto is born: mikey fighting against the idea of being alive at all, nat into a quiet, soothing room, and CARMY is fucking born into EVERYONE SCREAMING and ARGUING and FIGHTING. we are BLATANTLY told that all carmy has ever known is HELL and all he's ever known how to communicate is through exploding. this is so violently against what we also know about his personality from childhood in "fishes" (anxious growing up, arts-oriented, had a hard time making friends). now, he works a violently stressful job, processing the trauma from both his mother (and chef fields [joel mchale], realistically) through the high-stress environment.

NOW. ENTER CLAIRE.

HOW is she not fascinating to you all. we don't see her whole story (because the bear, duh) but we are given just enough pieces here to put together that her story runs parallel to carmy's. how are you not getting this. walk with me.

claire. glasses, nerdy, quiet, sweet, girl next door. family friend! cute, but considered mid for a long time by everyone at school, but suddenly the berzatto men all badger carm, "oh she got a glow up, oh shes looking for you, she wants to see you," etc etc etc. what happened in between?

she finds herself. she finds the stressful thing she LOVES, which is the hospital. her job is objectively more stressful than carmy's (illustrated by that scene earlier in the season but i forgot the episode, where claire talks about the girl who got her shit wrecked by the glass table), and while we don't have an exact understanding of what her home life was like, we understand that her and carmy both have a level of internal anxiety that thrives on the stress of their careers. HOWEVER, claire does it because she loves it. carmy just doesn't know how to stop.

this is what makes claire feel like "peace" to carmy——because her high-stress job is a choice, an active choice she is making because it fulfills her. it's not to prove her dead brother wrong, or to honor his own legacy, or to prove that dickbag boss wrong, or to leave a mark on the world, or to make her own life worthwhile, or to prove that she doesn't need anyone else. she genuinely enjoys helping people even when the days are stressful, or scary. he's obsessed with this. he wants to know how she does this. every day she leaves that stress at home——and he wants to learn how to do that too.

claire is VITAL to this season and to understanding carmy's stress——and how far back he is in his healing process. it should only become more and more apparent, as we see characters like tina (the beef/the bear became vital to her success/development as a chef AND person, both for the people AND her love of food), marcus (not hiding his grief, but using it to help rationalize how much his mother loved him and wanted to be surrounded by people that love him), and richie (finding a purpose through service/expo and understanding he can start over again) push through their own traumas and struggles to become better people. if donna can be not only present at sugar's bedside during labor, but WELCOMED at this point in the show, it makes carmy's inability to heal all the more present. claire is an important part of this puzzle: she helps us see a window into a world where carmy is balanced emotionally, but unbalanced professionally, because he has no idea how to make the two coexist.

however, the idea that he can be balanced emotionally at all is so fucking enticing——with the help of someone who experiences stress in the same way as him (and who is familiar with his familial trauma), he has the opportunity to grow up and move on from his family trauma and wounds perpetuated by the industry he works in.

on the flip side of this....... his inability to process any of this is starting to impact syd. and frankly, that's some bullshit. his lack of communication, inability to community build/trust ANYONE, and his violent stubbornness is pushing her into the same space that he was in under chef fields, in a much slower, more subtle manner, and for slightly different reasons. her panic attack at the end of the season could read in two directions to me: her stress over the responsibility of changing so many people's lives has boiled over once she remembered that the beef once was truly great (hey five star review on the fridge!), OR, she realizes how much she isn't in it for the food. fuck a Michelin star: she wants to cook with her family. chef terry says at the end of "forever", in the garage with carmy, that she's so grateful she got to do whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted, where she wanted, with the people she wanted to do it with. sydney is so close to having those things at the bear——but carmy's dysfunction is keeping it just out of arms reach. the two of them are now on opposite sides of the approach from last season: syd dying for a star, and carmy dying to cook for the woman he loved. now, carmy is hungy for recognition again, desperate to prove something, and sydney is remembering (thanks to the conversation with other chefs during the ever funeral service) why she loved cooking in the first place. so this leaves us to wonder: should she stick it out? for the people? or make something of herself? is she carmy, or is she terry? i guess we will just have to see.

all this to say: every character is connected. the bear is a show about family, found and blood, and the choices we make for, with, and because of the people we love, for better or for worse. food is only the center of it, because it's the center of all of our lives. you can't hate claire without understanding where she sits in the web of the berzatto family. and really, you can't hate her if you understand what her presence means for carmy, for syd, and the restaurant as a whole.

[puppyeared]

adhd comix

[perilegs]

my sweet little baby man is no longer with us

[tangledinink]

I can imagine the first cycle after moving. Probably Leo because Donnie likely has internal scarring, so leo goes through the process of laying his eggs, panics, his brother can't help, and finally, *finally* they ask for help. It's not willingly. It's not for fun. It's purely necessity. It's purely because there's *literally noone else* and the idea of telling anyone at all is so scary that the way they do so is in a note. Splinter sits them down and basically walks them through "You're safe, you're fine. We can handle this however you feel most comfortable, including getting you both on blockers if you prefer" and they just.... sigh. For the first time, there's *someone else* in their circle, and it's willing and it's warm, and it's *safe*. There will be tears.

Yes, except I'm not convinced that either of them could stand to tell anyone. Even if it was literally life or death (which it has been before,) I'm not sure if either of them could bear to give up that information. Donnie is finally, finally away from the people who hurt him when he got found out last time, and even though logically, he knows that it's different here, he's absolutely petrified of the thought that the same thing will happen again and it won't be over anymore. He's still horrified by the idea of anyone else knowing about Leo when he's gone to such lengths for so long to protect him, and Leo is likewise terrified in the same way. They've spent years with this being their more closely guarded secret, and that's going to be really difficult to give up.

But it's really not a secret they'll be able to keep for long.

They're in a completely different environment, with far less space and privacy. They're both stressed as hell and Donnie WAS on birth control and taking all sorts of vitamins and supplements to make sure he didn't eggbind again and now he's suddenly not and it's not only messing with his body, it's fucking scary. It literally keeps them both up at night. Neither of them know how to wash blood out of clothes or sheets. There's no private en suite bathroom they can sequester themselves away in. They're both literally making themselves sick with anxiety trying to deal with this, and they're used to handling this on their own, this is routine for them, but they're not used to all of this.

They'd probably metaphorically limp through a few cycles before their family puts it together and gently confronts them.

Venus probably figures it out first. She's pretty smart, and incredibly observant, and after all-- she quite literally experiences the exact same thing. April may not lay eggs, but I think she'd be able to get the idea after a bit as well. And while I think Splinter would realize something was wrong pretty quickly, Draxum would probably realize what was wrong first. Splinter has April, so he has a little bit of experience in this realm, but Draxum has Venus and so he has far more experience.

And so when they do sit them down and talk with them, it's going to be really scary at first. And then they get to, "you're safe, you're fine, we can handle this however you feel the most comfortable. It will be okay. No one will hurt you."

And then there's finally other people in the know, in the circle, people who will actually help them. And yes-- there will definitely be tears.

[frobby]

My heart goes out to all anime duos where only one of them got a nendoroid. Im sorry that your boyfriend died or something😔

[ghostgirl-22]

im imagining one of the many times patrick is begging to fuck art he suddenly says something like “just let me put the tip in at least baby” and art isn’t in the right mind to see why he shouldn’t cause theyre grinding against each other and licking into each other’s mouths so it shouldn’t be much different. patrick cums so quickly too

Whoops anon this is gonna be a 2 for 1. I hope you don’t mind <3 But Patrick begging made me think it’s perfect for the holiday challenge too so… here’s Art staying over a few nights during winter break. Post Patrick dragging him to his dad’s office Christmas party where him and his brother dressed up like Santa (for some Christmas themed reason) sorry this is all over the place anon. <3

Deck the halls 🎄💫

Day 15: Begging

CW: 18+ !NSFW!

Pair: Artrick

—-

“I think you’re so pretty,” Patrick whispers, he’s still wearing the santa hat, and coat, drunk on spiked egg nog. His dad doesn’t even celebrate Christmas but his office sure knows how to put on a Christmas party.

“Shut up,” Art says, but he’s smiling his stupid pretty little half smile.

They stole candy canes from the Christmas tree in the lobby of his dad’s office, even though Patrick’s stupid brother said they couldn’t. And thank god, because Art’s still sucking on his. Lips stained red, cheeks all flushed— Patrick meant it when he kept telling him all night he’d make the perfect Santa’s elf. “You just blush so yummy,” He teased relentlessly, “especially after Santa fucks you.” That was when Art pushed him away.

Art’s all risky business right now, nothing on but his dress shirt, boxers and socks. His slacks are draped over the chair in the corner of Patrick’s bedroom. He’d wanted them off since he spilled a bit of egg nog on them and Patrick teased him for the way it stained.

Patrick grabs at Arts tie and he steps closer to where Patrick’s sitting on his bed, stopping between Patrick’s legs as Patrick loosens it.

“Come sit on Santa’s lap,” Patrick says, grinning.

Art rolls his eyes, but he’s so soft about it. “You’re so stupid when you drink. You know that right?”

“Come on, sit on my lap. I’ll give you whatever you want.”

“The perfect backhand,” Art says.

“I’m Santa, not Jesus,” Patrick points out and Art shoves him. Patrick laughs and grabs onto his arm pulling him closer still, takes him by the waist and lifts at his dress shirt. “Come on, lemme fuck you.”

“Don’t do that— they’re right next door,” Art says, pulling the candy cane from his mouth and turning to look at the closed door like Patrick’s brother and his wife are just going to appear in his room out of thin air. When they don’t, he pops it back into his mouth. Patrick keeps touching him. He’s not concerned about how close they are, they’re really boring and Patrick is 100 percent certain they’re probably already asleep.

But he tries to ease Arts nerves anyway. “Please. I promise I’ll be quiet,” Patrick sighs, talking to Art’s pretty waist. Art’s got the perfect little belly button. Patrick presses his lips there and feels Art suck it in as he tangles his fingers into Patrick’s hair.

“What are you doing?” He giggles cause he’s ticklish and he pushes Patrick’s head away for the same reason.

“Trying to fuck you,” Patrick sighs. He gets to his feet and he’s suddenly in Art’s face. Art steps back but Patrick steps closer and pulls the candy cane out of Art’s mouth. He presses his lips there instead. Art opens up for him right away. His kisses are sweet like peppermint. And he’s licking and sucking on Patrick’s tongue as if he tastes like candy too. Patrick settles on the edge of the bed again excited at the way Art’s following him. He crawls onto Patrick’s lap so he can keep kissing. Patrick’s hard. Like cut diamonds hard, he’s been halfway there all night. He’s going insane at Art’s tendency to mindlessly grind against it. He’s imagining thrusting inside him, imagining how Art would feel, how he’d react. Art’s already so sensitive all over. Almost like his body was made for sex, Patrick just wants to test it out.

Patrick lays back on the bed resting on his elbows and he puts the candy in his own mouth watching as Art blinks himself into awareness now that he’s not kissing Patrick’s mouth anymore. Patrick can tell he still wants to grind. His hips aren’t moving fast but he’s still gently rolling them along the bulge in Patrick’s pants.

”Fucking please.” Patrick says, quietly. “All I want for Christmas is just to nut in you just once.”

“You’re so fucking…” Art licks his lips. He’s breathless. Kiss swollen. Flushed. Every time Patrick thinks he couldn’t possibly want him more, he gets prettier.

“I will fucking do anything,” Patrick begs. He says, undoing the buttons on Arts dress shirt.

“Patrick,” Art says matter of factly. “Your brother is next door.”

“And I’ll be so quiet. And if you need to you can moan into my pillow. Please. Pretty please. I wanna fill you up and watch it spill out.”

“You’re disgusting,” Art says softly, but he’s squirming.

“I know, I know I am,” Patrick grins, he bites into the candy cane, finishing it off. “But you like it.”

God the blushing. The way he can’t sit still. Patrick hopes he doesn’t lose it in his fucking pants before he even gets inside or all this begging will be for nothing.

“I um— I don’t think I can— your so— so much, Patrick, ” Art says, suddenly shy.

Patrick can’t help himself. He’s grinning like crazy. “Just tell me it’s too big. Tell me it won’t fit.”

“You’re such a freak, ‘m not sayin that,” Art says, he’s blushing something fierce. “I’m just saying…”

“Fine fuck it… what if it’s just the tip? Lemme put in the tip.”

Art sighs, a little smirk on his lips. “You’re so fucking obsessed.”

“Yeah well fucking look at you, princess. Of course I’m obsessed.” Patrick groans. He’s undone all the buttons on Arts shirt and he’s fixating on Art’s bare chest, his perky pink nipples.

Art rolls his eyes at the “princess” comment and Patrick grabs at either side of his shirt and pulls him into another kiss. It’s only moments before Art’s gasping into his mouth and Patrick’s sure if they keep this up he’s gonna come hard in his pants. He rolls them over so he can get Art on his back. And slowly, he pulls back from the kiss. Art’s following, sitting up on his elbows.

“Can I please? Just the tip, baby, pretty pretty please?” Patrick begs.

Art bites his lip and then nods. Patrick doesn’t waste any time, he tugs at Art’s boxers. Slides them off.

Art falls into a sudden fit of giggles and Patrick can’t help smiling at him. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “It’s your santa hat. I just started thinking about you putting me on the naughty list if I didn’t blow you or something.”

Patrick laughs, he’d forgotten he was wearing it still. He pulls it off his head and gives it to Art. Pulls the coat off and drops it on the floor so he’s only in his t-shirt. “For the record I think you’re just the nicest boy.” Patrick says, looking over his dick. It’s so pretty, flushed purple and so full it’s resting heavy on his tummy. “So so nice.”

“You’re so fucking horny, shut up,” Art whispers and Patrick laughs and undoes his own pants kicking them off. Art’s just watching him. “If you put in more than the tip I’m gonna scream and wake up your brother.” He says quietly as Patrick eases himself out of his boxers. It’s clear he’s getting nervous but the way he says it makes Patrick snicker.

“I’m sure you will.” He says smirking as he rubs his palm over Art’s upper thigh. “I have lube in there, it tastes like cotton candy.” Patrick says, gently. Gesturing to his night stand.

“You fucked someone else in here?” Art asks, curiously.

“My summer time girlfriend. But I bought it for you cause your so fucking special.”

“Cotton candy?” Art makes a face.

“Shut the fuck up and get it.”

Art rolls over and pulls open the drawer, digging around. Patrick’s fixating on his ass. He rubs it gently. Almost climbs on top of him and pushes the head in right then and there. There’s so many things he wants to do to this ass. He’s seen Art’s bare bottom quite a few times when they were in school together, Art coming out of the shower. Patrick acting like he’s fine and then sneaking into the bathroom afterwards to touch himself.

“You have a lot of weed,” Art says as he pulls out a bottle from his night stand and inspects it. Same little unimpressed look on his face.

“Taste it,” Patrick says.

“Ew,” Art says.

“Fine give it,” Patrick says and snatches it away from him. He pulls one of Art’s legs up onto his shoulder to get him closer and Art does the same with his other leg. He’s just got on socks and the open dress shirt. Patrick wants him so bad. He wants him so fucking bad. Wants to be balls fucking deep in him for hours. At least an hour. Just wants to fuck him like crazy till he’s falling apart on his dick.

He coats himself in lube. Art’s holding his breath, there’s a wet spot on his tummy from where his dick is leaking. Patrick lines himself up and Art’s inhaling as Patrick presses up against his hole.

Fuck. He’s not sure if he’s gonna be able to fucking do this. Art’s so feverishly warm and virgin tight. Patrick’s struggling just to get the head in.

“Fuck,” Patrick breathes. “Oh fuck, you’ve never even put your fingers in here, have you? Holy shit.”

“W-why would I d-do that?” Art whines, pitched too high and too soft. Squirming beneath him. Patrick shivers.

“Fuck me, I’m gonna fucking lose it.” Patrick says breathlessly as he slowly, so achingly slowly, feels Art’s body open up around the head of his dick.

Art is making these little whiny noises, each sound going straight to Patrick’s dick. He can’t sit still, he’s wiggling like crazy and it’s barely… fucking… in.

“Holy shit,” Patrick gasps, he’s throbbing, aching. He strokes himself twice and he’s halfway fucking done.

“Oh my… fuck… oh Patrick it feels so….mm weird,” Art whines. And it’s too fucking much. Patrick pushes just a little more in… thinks he might just start fucking him… but it’s pointeless because just that little bit of movement combined with Art’s whining and wiggling and Patrick is suddenly gasping through one of the most intense orgasms he’s ever had.

“Fuck,” Patrick gasps breathlessly as he slips out, all his spend leaking out just after. “Goddamnit,” he groans. He’s literally never come that fucking fast in his life.

”Mm,” Art giggles. “I kinda like the tip.”

“Fuck,” Patrick sighs again, running his fingers tips along Arts legs. “You did that to me. You make me fucking insane.”

”I didn’t do anything,” Art says, grinning. “And you didn’t either.” He adds. He’s such a fucking brat.

Patrick adjusts Art’s legs so they’re on either side of Patrick’s waist and he leans over, buries his head against Art’s neck and shoulder, placing little kisses there. All while grabbing onto his dick. Art starts moaning right away as Patrick jerks him. He lasts longer than Patrick but not that much more before Patrick feels the wet hot spurt of liquid spilling between their bodies.

Patrick collapses on top of him when Arts finished. Feels him trying to catch his breath. He curls his fingers into Patrick’s hair and Patrick kisses at his throat, finishing a hickey he’d started.

“Next time I’m just gonna fuck you,” Patrick breathes against his throat.

Art snorts, “And who knows? Maybe you’ll last longer than 30 seconds.”

“So then you agree? I get to fuck you next time,” Patrick says, grinning up at him.

Art rolls his eyes, but there’s hope— because he’s smiling too.

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

only good thing abt the vous situation is that it lets me experience tecteun calling 13 the child that im 100% convinced she actually would bc shes the only one who uses tu for her

[unjest]

ITS BEEN A FUCKING WEEK. PASS THE DETRITUS

[mantisgodsdomain]

We are just now realizing that still being on the short list of kitten fosterers means that we're going to be having to handle weaning five 3-4 week old kittens that need to be fed every few hours while also having university four to six hours a day and honestly, that's not going to be very fun. We'd say "maybe we should have taken on less art challenges this year" but honestly we've been having a great time with the art challenges it's just the 4-6 hours of school that's been rapidly eroding our soul

[skitskatdacat63]

Christopher Nolan making movies: I'm gonna make a film that is so confusing and non-linear

[codenameregnar]

Garashir song of all time imo