sydney. 9teen. writer. directed by luca guadagnino. painter. clairo’s muse and wife. infected with the slushy virus. call me ladybird. secret fourth of ATP. west side story lover. ate my cannibal boyfriend. whiplash enthusiast.
obsessed with . . . challengers. always & forever probably
MDNI, nsfw thoughts/reblogs on my page, most if not all writing nsfw! minors pls block or ignore
warnings: afab!reader, reader wears a dress, smut, car sex / semi-public sex , piv , age gap; reader is 25 & art is 34 , sub!dilf!art later becomes dom!art, dirty language , teasing / flirting , pet names, bwc!art 👀 , affair/cheating , finger sucking , mentions of lily (and tashi with patrick also having their affair) , m!receiving oral , riding , swallowing of cum
circois: could this be described as a taboo relationship ? idkk
"you look good." he says you step out of your house, closing the front door.
he walks around the car, opening the door for you. "thank you, art." you say as you kiss him, a smile creeping up on his lips.
you get inside the car, sitting and fixing your dress as you sit.
he closes the door and walks around, getting inside the driver's seat.
"where are we going?"
"guess." he starts the car and briefly looks over at you— your legs, your outfit, your beautiful face, the small smile perked on your lips. those kissable & soft lips.
"uh.. i don't have a clue!"
"that restaurant you mentioned the other night? when i fucked you in the bathroom?" you chuckle and scrunch your nose, "shut up."
"you remembered." he nods and smiles, "i'm not that whipped."
"how's lily?" he clears his throat and sighs, "with tashi, in that crappy hotel."
you chuckle, and roll your eyes, "god, you know she's still fucking patrick, right?" art nods and places his hand on your thigh, the red traffic light shining over you two as he turns to face you.
"and i'm still fucking you. its equally fucked up." "technically, you're in a open marriage."
he squeezes your thigh, moving it annoyingly higher. "can we not talk about my 'fucked up' marriage? or tashi." he shrugs and shakes his head, the light turning green, "tonight is about you."
"it's always about me." you whisper and he smiles, " 'cause you're sexy." he smirks.
your hand makes its way to the bulge in his jeans, that had gone unnoticed until now.
he lets out a choked whine, "baby."
you reach a red light.
your hand unzips his zipper.
he's hard.
a moan slipping past as your finger graze over his hard cock.
"we're not gonna make the reservation if you keep going."
"fuck the reservation." you smirk and unbuckle your seatbelt.
once the light turns green, art drives into the nearest empty parking lot, an applebee's.
art groans and leans his seat back, giving you space.
"for taking me out." you whisper, leaning over to face his opened jeans.
he lifts up his hips, pulling his boxers and jeans down just enough.
his cock springs up, hitting your lips causing his breath to hitch and deepen from the feeling. "such a sensitive thing." you whisper.
licking his tip, you grip his shaft, your hand jerking off his cock.
"please." he whines, "you want it? my mouth? on your cock? so dirty." you whisper, spitting on his tip and rubbing it over with your fingers. your hand moves up and down, exactly at the right pace.
his hips jerk up— he wanted more. "be patient, baby." you smirk, feeling his hand moving its way to your ass– gripping and slightly slapping.
you finally take all of his cock into your mouth, gagging as he hits the back of your throat. "fuck!" he moans as his hips thrust, making you gag again, " 'm sorry, fuck." he whimpers as he looks down at you.
his hand squeezes your ass, the other lays on your head as you move it up and down. "feels so good, fuck." he whispers, "you take me so good." you moan around his cock, causing it to twitch at the contact.
you lift your head— a string of saliva connecting his cock to your lips as you begin jerking him off again. "i'm close, sweetheart."
you smirk and kiss the tip of his cock, "want you to cum on my mouth." you look up at him, your hand still moving around his cock. "dirty girl." he whimpers.
his cock twitches once again. you lick his shaft up to his tip, your mouth open as he finally reaches his climax. his warm liquid falling into your mouth, lips and even getting on your nose.
you swallow it, your fingers cleaning up what fell on your nose, sucking on your fingers— he moans at the sight. his cock getting harder, if it was possible. "wanna fuck you. feel you, baby." he whimpers— reaching for you, to which you obey by moving over to his lap.
he bunches up your dress to your hips, revealing your underwear; a pink lace. "sexy." he whispers, his lips come in contact with yours— a sensual, deep, sexy, soft and warm kiss. his tongue crashing with yours as you fight for dominance.
his fingers move to curl over the waistband, ripping your panties. "i'll buy you more." he whispers against your lips, his eyes not leaving yours as his cock comes in contact with your entrance. he watches your face as you sink down on his cock, stretching you out once again.
"art.." you moan against his neck. he shushes you softly, his hips beginning to rut up against you, your breasts bouncing at the contact. "let me take care of you."
you begin leaving wet kisses against his neck, biting his skin softly. "your pussy's squeezin' me so good, bunny." he whispers against your ear.
your hands move down towards his buttons on his button up, unbuttoning them; revealing his very toned chest and abs (from his very hard working tennis years), you moan at the sight— and the fact his tip just hit your cervix.
your hands lay on his abs. he begins to slow down, a signal for you to take control – which you do. you begin lifting your hips, his dick twitching inside of you at the sight and feeling of your pussy sliding up and down on him.
"fuckin' hell, art." you breathe out as you slam down, his cock hitting your cervix once you do. "oh fuck!" he moans out, throwing his head back — his hands move out to grip your hips, helping you with your movements.
if anyone walked by, they could see the car shaking. the foggy windows. and they could probably hear you both moaning and the skin of both of your hips slapping against eachother. the sound of both your liquids as you moved against art's cock.
the filthy sounds of an affair. of sex.
and fuck, did it feel so fucking good. everytime he hit your cervix; a moan from your lips. everytime he gripped your hips; a whimper from his lips. everytime you moved your fingers over his abs; a thrust of his hips.
"fuck art!" you moaned, throwing your head back – your back arching. "are you close, baby?" he whispers into your ear as he grips your skin, helping you bounce on his cock. "yes, fuck, yes." he moans at the sound of your voice, weak, whimpering.
"cum for me, baby. all over my dick." you let out a pornographic moan, your hands gripping his curls, "oh fuck, angel." he whimpers as he thrusts into you, his cum filling you up.
your breathing is heavy, your head against his as you take in what just happened. "i think we missed our reservation."
ok i will be going back to actual font size cause i lowk dont wanna do this. fuck aesthetics. also this is like months old. 😅😅
possessive patrick this, possessive patrick that, what about possessive reader? But like scarily possessive. Please get my vision
Cw: baby trapping, creepy scary reader as the ask suggests
Patrick who calls you crazy to his friends because you blow up his phone and monitor who he’s following on social media even though you’ve only hooked up a couple of times.
“She won’t leave me alone.” Patrick shows some of the boys on the tennis team the wall of text you’ve just sent him. How you need him to take you—your relationship—seriously. It’s disrespectful to go out drinking and partying without you. How could he just blow you off like this? Not answering for two hours is ridiculous. Four missed calls and a few more texts.
“Just block her, dude. Jesus.” They slide Patrick’s phone back over to him. He gnaws on the inside of his cheek.
And the thing is—he should block you. He’s thought about it. But something about how tight and wet you get when he fucks you. How fucking grateful you are when he comes around. Knees pushed to your chest because you want him so deep. Begging for him to cum inside you, heels digging into his ass.
“Promise you’ll never leave me.” You stare into his eyes and you’re scaring him a little. Pupils blown wide, your hands pulling Patrick’s curls taut. So he can’t get away.
Patrick nods. Another thrust.
“No,” you grab his face and slap him. “Fucking say it.”
Patrick hates himself because this should annoy him. It should drive him to calling the police. He should pull out and tell you to never speak to him again. But fuck you turn him on. How much you need him.
“I’ll never leave you. Love this pussy.” Spits in your mouth and you lean into it, swallowing it.
“Do you love me?” Nails digging into his back.
“Fuck—love you so much.” He’s so close he’ll say about anything to cum. And when he does, you lie again, promising you’re on birth control.
summary : patrick is disgusted with himself that he finds a christian prude like you so attractive. luckily, you’re not that hard to break
warnings : NSFW 18+, i am not responsible for your media consumption, religious trauma and religious themes, loss of virginity mentioned multiple times, masturbation (m), dry humping, no use of y/n, baby used 3x, umm not proffered sorry :3
consider reblogging if u feel kind 🤍
master list here
Patrick wanted you. No, he’d say he needed you. Almost as much as he needed to wreck you so badly that your pretty lips would never speak of the church again.
That you’d never enter another service with those flowy dresses that still manage to drive him crazy because he knows what you’re trying to hide underneath them. That you’d never again put a hand on his chest when you two are kissing all sloppy, hot air and breathing too hard in the summer heat, and pull back, hair tousled from his hands and pink lips all wet and your voice shaky just to say - “we can’t,” - and pull his hand that’d been slowly migrating to the waistband of your shorts.
Ever since his mom started forcing him to go to the services after fighting a guy at the academy, he thought it was all so fucking stupid. (Not the religion as much as the people because he didn’t focus too hard on the preacher after he found you.)
He thought all Christian girls were long dresses and purity rings and fucking prudes — and, you are, to an extent.
But it made it hotter for him. He saw you — sitting there on a bench nearby, listening intently with wide eyes like the preacher knew everything, hands folded obediently over your Bible.
Your long dress and the sliver of skin just above your ankle, the only visible part of your legs. He almost died on the spot. Of course, his dick thinks first and somehow that single piece of skin makes his dick twitch. In church. He’s going straight to hell.
But then, the shame. Thinking for one second a prude like you might be able to be attractive to him felt like a slap in the fucking face. Church girls are always too good for anybody. Always waiting for the right one. Saving themselves, or some bullshit like that.
That’s why he was so surprised when you agreed to a first date after a half assed proposal and a flashy smile. Then even more surprised when you took it upon yourself to arrange a second date, before the first one even ended.
And it’s an understatement to say Patrick’s fucking crazy for you.
The first few dates were almost five months ago now. Patrick would say he’s a relatively patient man, and he enjoys make outs just as much as the next guy. But there’s just so many “we shouldn’t”s he can take when he’s constantly that fucking hard around you. He feels like an animal. All the time. Patrick jerks off — obviously. He’s eighteen years old. And before you it was more than average. But now, just a quick kiss in his truck before Bible study and he’s speeding to get home and shove those panties he’d stolen from your hamper in his face. He can’t help himself. By now, all his girlfriends had given up something.
Even in 9th grade, his girlfriend of about 3 weeks was just itching to get his hand in her pants. And obviously he went with it.. but you’re different! You’re kind and gentle and sometimes you meow back to stray cats and he starts thinking that, ‘okay, maybe christian girls aren’t so bad’. But it just can’t be true. Because he fucking needs you, and you won’t give it to him. Nothing other than kissing and his hand gently groping you through your t-shirt before you giggle like it’s a joke and swat his hands away. It’s not a fucking joke.
He, honestly, has an endless list of what he wants to do with you. To you.
Because, honestly, it’s what he thought about the first time he saw you. And now it invades his mind. Constantly.
Like when he’s sprawled out on his bed late at night after not seeing you for a day or two and all he can think about is how fucking bad he wants you there right now. He teases himself for a while, running his fingers along his lower stomach and dipping into his waistband just to see how it feels like he imagines you will. He imagines your sweet voice and your pretty mouth and your shaky hands and the body he’s traced as much as you’ll allow, and then the body he hasn’t. He imagines how fucking perfect you’ll be when you finally give it up to him. On your back in his truck, in the sluttiest panties you could find in your underwear drawer. He imagines the way you’ll be strumming with excitement after being forbidden to even touch there for all eighteen years of your life. He imagines the way you’ll be soaked through your panties, the soft cotton sticking to you like a second skin before he peels them off and finally sees you.
He squeezes his dick the best he can through his sweats at how fucking tight you’ll be. About how you’ll feel different than all the girls he’s been with because even though some of them were also virgins — they weren’t you. They weren’t untouched, they weren’t completely dirtied by him. You are. The only person to have kissed you for so long or let you touch him wherever when you got too curious, even though you would never try below the belt.
He thinks about what your virgin pussy would feel like. Gushing all over him and squeezing him tighter than his fist ever could. Pulsing and throbbing around him. Leaning down and kissing your tears away as you get used to his stretch. Permanently ruining your perfect body.
He gets off on that. His breathing picks up, forcing his freehand over his mouth as his hips jerk up into his hand, no matter the two layers of fabric separating him. He comes like that, whining into his palm and squeezing his length through his sweats, feeling his body tremble and release into his boxers.
He has a lot of fantasies about you. More than he should, probably. Definitely more than the girls he’s been with.
You told your dad you’re going to hang with a girl friend of yours and instead sit in Patrick’s truck on some dirt road outside town, slowly navigating to the backseat after some talking. Dragging your mouth along his as you plant yourself in his lap. Catching his bottom lip between yours so lewdly he groans into your mouth.
“Mm,” he hums into your mouth, moving to kiss down your jaw. “Can’t wait til you finally let me fuck you.” You whine softly, tilting your head to the side to give him more room. “Bet you’re tight as fuck.”
It gets heated enough that you start touching him, letting your hands roam places of him he thought you might never lay hands on. It’s not a lot to anybody else, but the feeling of your soft hands touching him over his shirt after so many months of your hands in his hair and on his face, it might be the best fucking thing he’s ever felt. Your hands drift a little too low, grazing his waistband just enough that it gives him an extra heartbeat in his dick, beating unsteadily against the seam of his jeans.
“Fuck,” he hisses, head tipping back against the seat, his hands on your hips loosening involuntarily. He lets out a little frustrated whine that makes your stomach flip. “Don’t go too — too low.” He mumbles, gripping your hips tightly again as he catches himself slipping.
“Why?” You hum, sliding your hands back up, then back down. You’re curious, who can blame you? You’ve been shielded from anything borderline sexual and the entirety of the male anatomy since you were a baby. Now here sits your boyfriend — all flushed and needy and whining, apparently.
He scoffs, glaring at you like he’s mad. He’s definitely not mad. “You know why,” His breath hitches when a thumb peaks into his waistband. He groans your name softly, hips shifting.
You pause for actions. This.. is definitely sinful. Making out was pushing it, of course — but this is really pushing it. You notice your hands are shaky where they aren’t firmly pressed against him and your heart is achy feeling.
You push a few more fingers into his waistband, feeling the hot skin under his jeans. “Jus’.. wanna see.”
“Yeah?” He nods senselessly, running his hands down your sides to grip your ass. “You wanna see?”
You meet his eyes. His chest is heaving and his eyes are wide like you know everything. He huffs again and glances down at his lap, your hand still in his waistband. “M’ so fucking hard right now.”
You can’t find it in yourself to pull away. He’s so wanting and he looks so fucking good with his brows furrowed like he’s in pain, lips parted, sweat growing on his hairline with the heat swirling around you in his stuffy truck.
“Okay,” you breathe. You’re going to have to pray for this later. “Show me.”
He catches your eyes again, his head tipped back slightly against the headrest. He slowly reaches for your hand, taking your wrist in his big hand and guiding it lower.. then even lower. Til you feel something firm and throbbing under your palm through the fabric of his jeans. You bite your tongue to keep from saying something you’ll regret and have to pray away.
He keens and spreads his legs even wider when you press the heel of your hand into him. His breath picks up instantly. “Shit. Can — let me take them off, baby. Please. Then no more.”
You glance up at his face. His green eyes seem dimmer than usual, eyes half lidded. He looks.. sexy. You never thought you’d use that word.
You nod without thinking, retracting your hands to let him take them off. He reaches down quickly, pulling his shirt up to give him room, pinning the fabric between his torso and his arm, then reaching down to unbuckle his jeans.
You let your eyes roam what you can see already. Dark, coarse hair growing down and disappearing into his jeans. It makes your stomach flip in a way you can only describe as primal. There’s a V shaped line parallel on each side of his lower stomach. It feels like opening a present, to you, the way his body is so effortlessly beautiful. God is funny that way.
Patrick finally shoves the jeans past his hips, belt jingling as he tries to settle into the seat behind him. He’s got these gray boxer shorts on that have a little wet patch on the front.
Now, you’ve never seen this before. Excluding the covers of Playboy magazines in the gas station which you promptly avoid. But he looks big to you. He’s got the cotton stretching around him, pulled taut. It’s definitely bad how you wanna pull them down, too.
His hands coming to rest on your thighs, rubbing them. You notice he’s breathing harder. “..well?” He huffs. You can tell he’s trying to break the tension but it seems impossible when your first real life dick is one very thin fabric away from your real life hands.
You glance up at him. He’s beginning to form beads of sweat along his hairline, dark curly baby hairs sticking to his forehead. There’s a faint pink along his cheeks and nose, underneath the freckles painting his face, then some pink on the tips of his ears too. You’d like to lick the sweat off him. Oh. That’s not a good thought.
You can feel dampness start to pool in your panties, your thighs clenching together as he stays tense. You shift on his lap, swallowing and trying to not make a big deal out of how you can literally feel your pussy throbbing over a real life boy. Not a TV scene of a heated make out from your favorite rom-com.
A real boy.
In this moment, you cannot seem to fathom why God would make Patrick so incredibly teasing. Or why he would make your paths cross if he knows it would lead to this.
You swallow, hands resting on your thighs. “..should we..?”
His eyebrows furrow for just a moment before he seems to get what you mean, nodding vigorously. “Yeah. You want me to take ‘em off?”
You hesitate for a moment, an uneasy kind of feeling in your stomach. But there’s a much more intense, hot feeling between your legs. One outweighs the other and you nod.
He reaches down, watching your face. Because in some strange way he wants to make sure you’re still okay with this, even as hard as he is right now. It wouldn’t be the first time he went home with blue balls.
It’s terribly slow how he peels his boxers off. Slowly, more and more hair gets revealed until — the real thing comes out. It’s a little bit more strange looking than you imagined, but it still makes your stomach flip.
His dick comes out of his boxers, springing up fast before it slaps against his stomach. Your first thought is he’s huge. You haven’t seen any before, but he feels big. And it looks kind of heavy and it’s got those big, weird, thick veins running up it. He’s leaking from his pink tip and the dark hair curling all around it makes it much hotter to you.
“Oh god,” you mumble, breathing harder. You’ve suddenly forgotten all about youth group and your pastor preaching of the deadly sin that will corrupt your innocent, youthful body. Lust. It felt like he was really speaking at you, specifically. After a night with Patrick, and you feel like you two didn’t do anything unforgivable or anything — but the thoughts you have about him definitely are. The positions you imagine yourself in. The way he’d sound and the way he’d look when he finally sinks into your pussy and fills you.
“Baby,” Patrick mumbles, chuckling a little. It’s a laugh, sure, but he seems a little stressed out at the lack of attention to his dick. He gently rubs the sides of your thighs. “It’s not gonna bite you. You wanna touch it? Just to try?”
You look back up at his face. His brows are furrowed, a smile tugging at his mouth. You look back down. It’s.. kicking. You didn’t know it could do that.
“So.. just grab it,” you mumble, reaching out. You wrap an unsteady, nervous hand around him. Just the top, to see what it does. You can feel your heart beating hard in your chest.
But almost immediately, his lips part. His smile fades and he lets out a little sigh, suddenly a lot more breathy than usual. His head tips back against the headrest and he lets out a little ‘yeah’. That must be good.
You glide your hand down. It’s easy considering how wet he is all over. You glide your hand back up, back down. Patrick just grips your thighs tighter and groans a little louder. The sound makes you wanna hear more.
“Squeeze — squeeze me a little. Need pressure.” He mumbles, opening his eyes to look at you. He thinks you look incredibly pretty with his dick in your hand.
And you do as he says. You squeeze him a little, focus more on the top than anywhere else, since it seems like he enjoys that spot more.
“Fuck,” he whines. “That’s good. Yeah.”
In any other situation, with any other girl, Patrick might’ve fixed it. How bad your handjob is. He might’ve adjusted her grip or throw her off his lap and asked her why all the practice she’s had with other guys is fucking useless.
But he doesn’t. Because it’s so bad in a way that it’s good. That it’s hot. Because it’s you. Because you have never, in your entire life, have been this close to a cock and your inexperience is making his dick kick in your palm. The idea of ruining you, of this being the start of that, is making him so fucking hard.
You just focus on his face. The way his eyebrows are furrowed all pretty and he’s got his bottom lip pulled between his teeth. His chest is heaving and he’s making these little muffled sounds that you’ve never heard him make before, but they sound perfect.
You’ve never heard him before. Not like this. Nothing more than a little grunt or a sigh when you’re kissing. Not full on moans and whimpers. It’s nice.
It’s weird to think about how you shouldn’t be doing this. Because it makes you feel guilty, of course. You’re ruining yourself, making a mess of the church and God will have to forgive you for this. But, at the same time, you feel.. empowered. Like a child sneaking off with a stolen candy bar, or something. The giddiness of doing something so forbidden you get shamed to even think about. It’s making between your legs feel all warm and needy.
He’s got his eyes on yours. Watching the way you’re breathing through your mouth, too, and the way you blink at every new sound that slips out of him. Watching the way your eyes are all nice and wide and innocent like he’s god himself.
He reaches up, threads his fingers into your hair, and shoves your mouths together. He swallows down the surprised sound you make, kisses you until you melt into it, and pushes his hips up into your now paused hand. He groans softly into your mouth, licking into it and feeling you shiver like you always do. His hands slide up your back to feel the overheating skin. You feel him everywhere, all over — it’s overwhelming but at the same time, the best thing you think you’ve ever felt.
You break away to breathe, kissing down his jaw.
This is the farthest you’ve ever gone. I mean, you have his bare dick in your hands. That’s no light feat for you. He doesn’t want to let this moment go where you’re all needy and wanting and pliable — to go to waste? No. He can’t let that happen.
“Baby,” he huffs, rubbing your thighs now. You hum against his neck, shifting on his lap. “Do you want — do you want me to try..”
You glance up from where his shoulder and neck meet. He is horny. Obviously. And even with how bad he does want to be inside you right now — he also doesn’t wanna fuck this up forever. Who knows how you’ll react. Saying he wants to fuck you versus actually trying is much different. Catholic girls are unreliable, dodgy prudes, as we know.
“Do you want me to touch you? Too?” He mumbles, chest heaving. His dick still standing at attention as you slowly work him with your hand, but coming to a halt at his base as you work over that question in your mind.
“Okay,” you breathe before you can even think.
He reaches out slowly. He doesn’t go underneath any clothes yet, but cups your clothed pussy. It’s obscene to him how hot you are down here.
You let out a soft gasp, gently rutting your hips against his palm once with a shiver. It feels to him like you’re holding back, trying to contain yourself. He smiles a little and presses his palm onto your clit, smile growing at the soft whine you let out.
“You touched here before?” He mumbles, gently rocking his hand against you.
Does he have to say these things? Ugh. “..a few times,” you glance away.
He doesn’t wanna overwhelm you, of course not! But he can’t stand the idea of you not knowing how good he can make you feel. Or the idea of himself not fucking a Christian virgin. It would be a waste.
“C’mon,” he mumbles, sliding his hand up to the buttons of your jean shorts. “You’re all wet. Lemme take care of you.”
He begins to undo them.
Your heart feels like it’s beating out of your chest like a cartoon. You catch his eyes. This isn’t really what the preacher said it would be like. It isn’t what you said it’d be like when you vowed to be abstinent until marriage. The preacher made it seem like it was disgusting and vile. Like lust was a deceiving, cunning, inhuman thing, or you should be ashamed for wanting something like that. Something gross and intimate and sexual — something you should only share with your future husband.
But it doesn’t feel like that to you. It feels natural.
When you kiss Patrick, it’s not like you have to tell yourself what to do. It doesn’t feel like the devil when you’re mouthing at his jaw and pretending to be shifting in his lap to hear that needy little moan he always lets slip. It feels almost like the opposite. Like God put you two on his earth together to make each other happy, to please each other. You like that thought.
You move around to peel them off until they’re laying on the floor somewhere.
God, you’re beautiful. You’re wearing these pretty white panties that have a little bow on the front. Patrick has to look away when he sees how fucking wet you are — your panties are soaked all the way through, just liked he’s imagined, see through so he can see your perfect pussy he’s been fantasizing about for months.
“God.” He groans, raw, rough. It takes him a few seconds to focus back on you again. He slowly reaches out, lets his fingers glide against your damp panties, feeling the overwhelming heat coming from you.
You let out a little gasp, brows furrowing slightly. This feels much different when the hard seam of your jeans digs into you on a bumpy road. That feels good, too, but this definitely feels better. A lot better.
You’d only touched yourself purposefully a handful of times but tried to stay away from that. No matter how good it felt. You knew it was a sin, a horrible one at that, to surrender to your flesh’s wants instead of obeying God’s word. So why aren’t you pulling away now?
“Holy shit,” he whispers, gently finding your clit through the fabric and rubbing small, soft circles.
You let out a breath, chest heaving. You find you want more. A lot more. Your hips roll forward, into his hand, and he applies more pressure happily.
You know you shouldn’t be doing this. At all. You can feel yourself growing wetter, your hands leaving Patrick’s forgotten cock to grip onto his shoulders instead, using him as leverage to get off easier.
Patrick is in fucking heaven. He’d dreamt of this for a very, very, very long time (only a couple months, actually, but that’s an eternity with his sex drive). His mouth is open, huffing and studying your face with his eyes to make sure you’re still enjoying what he’s doing. This is great. But his real heaven would maybe be having your pretty mouth on his dick, watching your beautiful eyes water and you gag around his fat cock, having never done that before.
Shit. Maybe he’ll get you to do that next time. On the knees you’ve only ever prayed to your God on before.
“Hold on,” he hums softly, putting his freehand on your hips to stall you. You groan softly, hips slowing gradually and he smiles a little at your reluctance. “We can — we could do it at the same time.”
You nod and reach down to his dick again, but he laughs, shakes his head, and grabs your hand gently. “No, baby, I mean..” He takes your hips in both his hands, lowering you down til you’re sitting on his dick, perched between his thighs.
You can feel his rock hard outline underneath you, pushing apart your pussy lips through your soaked panties and nestling deeper inside you, where it’s more sensitive. You gasp softly, hips already rocking to their own accord.
He swallows and pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, nodding. “Yeah.. and jus’ move.”
So you do. You can feel every ridge on him, every vein pulsating with need underneath you. His voice is low like you’ve never heard it before. “There you go, baby. Yeah. That’s good.”
You catch his eyes. Locked onto your face, like they have been all this time, rolling your needy sexes against each other in a way other teenagers your age wouldn’t blink twice for. But it’s different for you, much different. He knows that. He can see the sparkling cross hanging above your shirt right now, actually.
You don’t stop him as he pushes up your shirt, over your bra, and traces your torso with his big, rough hands. He’s all over, unlike in a way you’ve ever had him, overwhelming and hot and humid.
“So pretty, baby. D’you feel good?” He huffs, brows furrowing as you keep moving over his dick. Patrick actually doesn’t enjoy dry humping that much, it usually gives him some awful sensitivity on his dick and he enjoys the real thing much more. But this is you. You’re all wet and warm and slippery wearing your cute panties, and he’ll take what he can get. He won’t say it doesn’t feel good. It feels great with you. Maybe he just wasn’t into those other girls all that much.
It’s only now you notice the small sounds you keep making, rolling your hips all the way back to grind his length along your swollen clit — breath hitching when his tip catches between you. “Yeah.” You breathe, nodding intensely.
“Fuck.” He whines, grabbing at the your tits through your bra. He’d love to take it off.. but he won’t let himself ruin all of you in one night.
Sparks of heat flood your lower body, pussy throbbing with need as you try to push yourself lower, harder against him. His head tips back and hits the glass behind him with a soft thud. He just lets you rut against him, using his dick to get yourself off. His hands fall to your hips, just letting you take the reins.
Pressure is building quickly in your core. You’re louder, now, and so is he, groaning into the hot air like you’re both in heat. You move your hips faster, chasing that sweet release you’ve never felt before, letting it overwhelm your body and senses. Letting your hands dig into his shoulder, rutting against him like an animal.
You can tell it’s happening for him, too. His fingers jabbing into your sides and hips and ass to keep you moving. His hips beginning to thrust up below you as his breath quickens, whispering soft little praises meant just for you into the air that make you throb. “That’s so fucking good,” He mumbles, breathy, eyes locked on your soaked panties. His eyelids are heavy like he’s struggling to stay awake. “Keep going baby. Gonna make me come.”
His words make your stomach flip. It’s a little bit crazy to you (and him) how fast you went from this innocent, cross necklace wearing, Bible thumping prude to… whatever this is. Humping his dick to get off like a fucking dog. He likes the fact he can make you do that. Make you wanna take off your long skirt and dresses so he can get his hands all over where you haven’t even touched before.
It happens suddenly, when you’re focused on his face, and itching up on something you can’t name but feels fucking amazing. Your hips still and then jerk, him bumping into your puffy clit as you come. It washes over like a wave, intense explosive pleasure that washes over your whole body and leaves your pussy throbbing with need after.
He seems to do it too at the same time because he lets out this amazing sound almost right after you, cursing your name and shoving his hips up into your sticky panties.
You stay like that for a moment, a little startled by the sudden cum all over you, but overall relaxed. You let your hands drop from his shoulders and rest your head against his chest. His hands slip underneath your shirt on your back, feeling the overheated skin there. His breath is hot against your shoulder as he catches his breath.
summary: everybody wants you, but only he gets you.
word count: 2,725 words; 14,613 characters.
warnings: swearing, alcohol/drugs, unprotected sex, p in v, mommy kink, use of good boy, praise kink, slight feminization, talk of pegging, intoxication.
a/n: i won't lie this is butt. i haven't written anything in months and this was the last thing i was working on, so i genuinely lost the flow w this lol... this is not as smutty as other fics mainly bc i lost motivation halfway through
the sound of nelly furtado’s ‘promiscuous’ blares through the house so loud, art thinks his eardrums might start bleeding. patrick has no sense of how loud his speaker actually is.
he didn’t even want to throw this party, but patrick insisted. something about needing to ‘unwind, relax’, or in simpler terms, he thinks art should get laid tonight.
but if he’s being honest, art isn’t all that interested in hooking up with anybody tonight. not unless it’s you. sweet, beautiful, angelic you.
you and art had been… something. not quite lovers, but not just friends, either. he’d liked you for so long. maybe even started to love you. but he never thought you’d reciprocate.
so he got around, fucked any girl that would let him, which was great to bury his feelings deep in the ground. until you found out. you’d walked right in on him, with a random chick he met at a party.
he didn’t know you’d come over to confess how much you liked him. and you’d left without a word, and he hadn’t heard from you since.
as friends of the same person, you and art were often in the same room. exchanging sideways glances and small talk up until one of patrick’s infamous ragers, where he’d been tipsy enough to work up the courage to come talk to you.
it had only spiraled from there. sneaking out in the middle of the night to your dorm to hook up, pulling you into the locker rooms after tennis practice to kiss you silly. it had been perfect. until it stopped being casual.
there was some foolish, naive part of him that was hoping he’d catch a whiff of that frilly perfume you always wore, and then he’d see you walk through the door with your girlfriends, with glittering eyeshadow smeared on your lids, that pale pink lipstick you always wore pressed onto your lips.
he heard a commotion coming from the living room as more partygoers shuffle in, and his head unconsciously hung low when he didn’t spot you at first glance. of course you weren’t here. why would you be?
then, from behind him, patrick’s obnoxious voice calling out your name snapped him out of his thoughts, and he looked up quicker than anybody could say ‘who’s that?’
god. god, god, god. holy shit, you were here. hanging off the arm of some fucking fratboy that wasn’t him.
“earth to artie…. you alive in there?”
“huh?”
art blinks, a few of his curls flopping in his face as he shakes himself out of his stupor.
“dude. you’re staring.”
“i’m not staring!”
patrick gave him a look then, one that said he could see right through him. art huffed out a breath, deliberately avoiding looking at you or your new boy toy.
he mostly mingled with his teammates, and with a few girls that looked mildly interested in him. by the time you were finally alone, he was tipsy enough to make a beeline for you, ignoring the startled gasp of the sorority girl chatting him up.
“hey,” he breathed, trying to act casual. which was hard, considering he felt his pulse race just from your presence. and probably the fact that his face was flushed from alcohol, and he wasn’t too sure how he sounded.
“hey,” you murmured back, clutching your red solo cup. you looked good tonight. fuck. this was such a bad idea.
but the alcohol currently flowing through his bloodstream made it seem way less bad. especially when he risked a glance down and got an eyeful of your cleavage.
very bad idea. because no more than twenty minutes later, you find yourself in art’s bedroom. in his bed. his chest is pressed to your back, gripping the side of your jaw, moaning into your neck.
this wasn’t the first time art had brought someone back to his room and it certainly wouldn’t be the last, but there was something different this time. there’s almost a sense of forever when he’s with you.
he’s biting his lip hard as he feels you around him. there’s something so different this time around that makes you feel like more than just a fling. art is a playboy but he can’t remember the last time he’s felt this way.
he pushes these thoughts away for now. he’s already forgotten your friends and your reputation and now this whole thing between you is becoming too easy for art to fall into. he runs his fingers down your spine, his blunt fingernails scraping against your skin making you shiver.
you’re so wet, and he’s so turned on that all he can focus on is how you feel around his cock, squeezing and pulsating.
“art. art.” you say, panting as you try to get his attention. he continues biting and nipping at your neck, humming in acknowledgement, his mouth too occupied to actually reply.
you reach up, grabbing a handful of his curls, giving them a sharp tug in warning. art pulls away with a slight moan and pouts at you. “ow,” he whimpers softly.
“i’m trying to get your attention.” you scoff, shifting slightly and pressing back against him. art groans in your ear and his grip on your hips tightens.
“god,” he whines, and bucks up against you again. “you’re supposed to be nice to me now, remember?” his breath is hot against your neck and his grip on your hips is probably going to have you marked up for days, and he can’t say that he minds if that’s the case.
“i was never the nice one out of us.” you say as you try to roll your eyes. your attempt falls flat because your retort ends up being choked off by a moan as his hips buck against yours again.
he groans against your neck. “you’re so mean.” he says, then his teeth gently nip at your collarbone. "and you're a dick, but—“ you cut off when art hits that spot, making you see stars as a gasp escapes your mouth.
art grins like the devil himself as he registers the noise that just left your mouth. he makes a mental note on where to aim from now on so he’s able to get that reaction over and over again.
“and you love it,” he coos in your ear, giving an unceremonious roll of his hips making you moan again. he’s still reeling from the fact that you decided to stay longer, let alone end up in bed with him. he had expected you to go straight home after the party.
“i don’t love you,” you spits out, trying sound firm but sounding very much the opposite and a lot more desperate than planned. “yeah, that’s why you’re currently in my bed.” he says back without hesitation which causes a shiver to rack through you. his hand is still gripping your cheek and his thumb gently brushes against your bottom lip.
you reluctantly open your mouth enough for him to push his thumb inside. this has definitely not been one of his better ideas. your lips close around his thumb as a moan leaves his throat. art pulls his thumb out and moves your hair away from your neck so he’s able to kiss and bite at your skin.
his other hand moves from your hip to the back of your thigh, pushing your leg up to give him a better angle. he’s losing it and he’s not quite sure what to do. art wants to pull you closer and stay like this forever. he wants to tell you about all the feelings he buried deep inside after your fight. he wants all of it.
but he won’t. he can’t. art buries his head into your shoulder instead, letting out a deep breath as he fights the urge to tell you everything he’s been feeling for years now. “missed you.” he mumbles against your skin.
at that, something snaps inside of you. art’s… fine in bed, but you know better. he wants to be dominated. you reach back to cup the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his golden curls. you tug him closer to you, murmuring—
“c’mon. be a good boy for me."
those words do something to him. art’s head drops and he’s whining against your shoulder which would’ve been funny if he wasn’t feeling so incredibly wrecked. his voice is coming out as a strangled whine. his hand grips your thigh, the pressure sure to leave a mark.
he’s starting to forget why this happened in the first place. all he can think about is you and the sinful things that you’re whispering to him. he’s ‘supposed’ to be the one making you do and say these things but you flipped it on him, and now he’s wrapped around your finger. your tight grip on his neck is the only thing keeping him grounded right now.
“art,” you murmurs softly, pulling him back up. “i need you to look at me.” he whines and his forehead drops against your shoulder again. you laugh softly and reach up, gently grabbing his chin and making him look at you. “come on baby,” you coo and art is so gone for you.
yeah, art definitely has a mommy kink. just the way you’re talking to him has him dripping wet like a girl. the way you says that pet name makes him shiver and he can’t help the desperate sounds he’s making. “s’too much,” he whines out, his grip on your thigh and neck tightening. art’s head is a mess. he’s losing himself and he doesn’t want to stop. he doesn’t want this to ever end. but what he wants and reality don’t seem to be working together right now.
because he can feel the orgasm building behind his balls and his groin, and he really, really doesn’t want to cum before you do. you leans your head against his, your hand still against his cheek coaxing him on. “come on, pretty boy. be a good boy and look at me. i need to see those pretty eyes of yours, baby.”
those words cause him to moan and he’s practically putty in your hand. art obeys you and he opens his eyes, his gaze meeting your. his blue eyes are blown wide and slightly glazed over and he’s positive that he’s never been this whipped before.
you can’t help the smirk that graces your lips. “there you are. i thought i lost you there for a second.” you coo softly, rubbing soothing circles on his cheek with your thumb. art sighs airily and leans into your touch, the feeling like heroin to him.
his hips are pumping in and out of you, and he knows he can’t last much longer. he turns his head to kiss the palm of your hand, his eyes looking up at you through his lashes. “you always have me. completely yours.” art whimpers without thinking about it. once the words leave his mouth, he knows they’re true and there’s no taking them back now.
you smile softly at his words, your eyes slightly widening. “yeah?” you ask, gently rubbing his bottom lip. art takes your finger into his mouth and sucks on it. “yeah.” he says around it, pulling you even closer so your back is completely pressed to his chest.
your other hand is still on the back of his neck, playing with the baby hairs there. “sweet boy,” you murmur softly, your fingers tracing over his sharp jawline. art’s nose is pressed to your neck again and he places soft kisses on your shoulder. he likes being praised a lot.
loves it, in fact, though he’d never admit that to patrick if he was sober. every single one of your soft touches feels like it’s lighting him on fire, but he’s addicted to the burn. art has a thing for pretty girls who are snarky and feisty enough to put him into place. you are all of those things. “don’t stop,” he mumbles against your skin. “keep talking t’me like that.”
“like what? like i’m talking to a good boy?” you question, voice sweet as honey as you look back over your shoulder at him. art nods as his head drops to the crook of your neck again. “like that. just like that.” he groans, his hips speeding up ever so slightly.
“such a good boy just for me,” you say, your breath hitching because of the change in pace. “only for you,”he mumbles, the words muffled against your skin.
the words go straight to your core. “god, you were made to be spoiled,” you moan, pressing your back against him again. art’s grip on your thigh tightens because he knows that you’re one hundred percent correct.
art whines, the sound desperate and wanting. “i’d do all the things i’d never do for anyone else for you. only you.” the words are a jumbled mess, his mind too clouded and overwhelmed with you to properly form a sentence.
"y’know, next time— i should fuck you. you wanna be pegged, baby?" you know it’s a fantasy of his.
the statement is so sudden and so not what he was expecting that he almost comes right there on the spot. art lets out a strangled moan. “jesus, yes.”
“you sound so pretty when you whine like that.” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. art’s too far gone to think straight at this point. too lost in the heat and the pleasure between you. “please,” he whines softly. “please.”
“please, what?”. he whimpers, too far gone to think of a response other than the word please. “please, anything,” he says, his voice wrecked.
“anything?” you echo, your fingers gently rubbing against his scalp. art almost melts at the feeling, nodding his head yes. “yes.” he whispers out, desperately bucking his hips against you.
"go on then, baby. come for me." with those words, you clench around him tightly, and his hips stutter, as he babbles. “yesyesyes, fuck—!”
that’s all it takes for him to fall over the edge. art bites down on your shoulder, his grip on your hip and thigh tight enough to leave marks behind. you’re all he can think about and he’s pretty sure he just came harder than he’s ever come in his life. “oh, god,” he moans against your skin, his body slack.
he’s shaking, his body almost boneless as he tries to catch his breath. art buries his face into your shoulder, the feeling of you rubbing soothing circles on his arm making him feel sleepy and completely spent. he mumbles something incoherently against your skin and holds onto you tighter.
“you look wrecked.” you say, looking back at him and taking in the state he’s in right now. he looks like complete mess, but he’s a mess for you. his curls are sticking off in every direction, he’s panting softly, and there’s a small, red bite mark on his lip. art is completely ruined.
he whines softly at the sound of your voice. “s’your fault,” is all he can manage to get out in his current state. the only thing he can manage to do is bury his face back in your shoulder. his grip on you is still tight, almost as if he’s scared you might just disappear if he lets go.
you haven’t cum, and he seems to sense that, as he reaches down and thumbs at your clit the way he knows you like it. it doesn’t take long for you to follow him over the edge.
it takes a moment to catch your breath, but when you do, you pant out, “my fault, huh?” you ask, gently squeezing his arm. he nods without moving from his place against your shoulder. he whimpers softly, his breathing starting to even out. “all your fault, all you,” he mumbles against your skin.
you kiss him softly, feeling almost too endeared. “such a good boy.” rubbing your thumb across his shoulder, art shivers at the contact and nuzzles against you. “your good boy.” He murmurs softly, completely and utterly wrecked.
as he laid in your arms, he was content. he finally had you back, and prayed to every god he knew in his hazy brain that it would stay that way.
oh to be manhandled ( in a good way) by Patrick. He's so athletic, stamina 😈
And patrick WOULD manhandle tf outta you…you’d be shy and anxious to tell Patrick you want him to toss you around, use you. You love his strong arms and how he carries himself and you’re pretty sure he would be okay with it—but what if he’s not!!
Making out with him early on in your relationship and his hands find their way down to your ass, squeezing the skin while he pushes his tongue into your mouth, groaning into the kiss. You whimper when he pulls you further down on the bed by your waist, pushing his knee in between your legs while he tears his shirt off. Patrick must have noticed how your eyes got big and lustful and he teases you about it.
“Yeah?” He bends down, grabbing your chin with his strong hand. “You like when I toss you around?”
You nod, unable to say it out loud. And that’s the best sex you’ve had to date—patrick pushing your hips down and not letting you up, hands all over you, fingers shoved in your mouth. He drags his fingers down your body to play with your clit, squeezes your face in his hand and demands you open up so he can spit on your tongue. And when he fucks you from behind he doesn’t let your hips fall.
“If you want it to feel good you gotta listen to me and keep those hips up.” He all but growls into your ear as he pulls you back up, smirking against your ear because he knows his fingers rubbing your swollen clit is making it impossible.
in need of a rough older pat to creampie me... #ovulating
Simply yes 🩷
Dilf!neighbor!patrick who has noticed you’ve been going on a lot of dates lately but obviously nothing is working out because it feels like twice a week there’s a new car rumbling up your driveway. So Patrick brings it up one morning as you’re going on a little stroll and he’s out on his walk. You’re embarrassed because you don’t want to seem like you’re easy or desperate but you tell him the dating world is hard for people your age.
“Not that you’re old or anything.” You backtrack, refusing to meet his gaze. He’s shirtless and covered in a thin veil of sweat. Hasn’t shaved in a while and his hair has grey peppered throughout. Of course you’ve noticed he’s hot; everyone in the neighborhood has. Husbands hate when their wives bring him up.
“It’s tough for people my age too.” He replies. It separates you two: he’s much older and you’re much younger. Forty-five and twenty-five. Twenty years. Nothing insane, but it feels wrong for him to flirt with you. Wrong for you to eat it up.
Maybe you let it slip that you’re not necessarily looking for anything serious—you just want a good, casual hookup partner. And to that, patrick perks up. A sweet young thing like yourself probably hasn’t been fucked properly. Hasn’t felt lightheaded and breathless after an orgasm. If so, he would’ve seen the lucky culprit coming back. You’d never let that go.
Somehow, you end up in his house the very next day and he offers you coffee or water or anything you want. You politely decline, too nervous. You’re certain you know what his intentions are and you’re more than willing to have sex with him. But is this weird?
Patrick’s hands are so big as they brush your hair away from your face and trace the outline of your cheekbones, your jaw, the curve of your neck. He mutters that you’re very pretty, and you feel shy and small. Weird, because you’re pretty sexually experienced.
Then suddenly his lips are on yours and you’re on his lap and you mindlessly grind against his cock because it feels so good. He’s the type to make you work for it; his hips are still and he’s intentional about turning you on so much that you feel sick with need, arousal soaking through your panties. An embarrassing amount.
Patrick rubs your pussy through your underwear and you yank on his hair. He grabs your wrists and tells you to be patient. He’s firm about it and you nod, mentally noting that you’d never let another man talk to you this way. But with patrick, it doesn’t feel like a choice. If you want your reward, you listen.
Eventually, the reward is you on your back, your legs slung over his shoulders as he stuffs his cock inside you, stretching you perfectly. It hurts but it feels so good to hear him grunt as he presses you nearly in half. Your thighs tremble and he makes fun of you for being so sensitive. So wet, yet he’s pushing so hard to fit himself inside you.
You scratch and claw at the leather of his couch and he scolds you.
“Relax.”
As if that’s easy to do when he’s watching every inch of himself become hidden inside you, slow, mean thrusts that make your pussy pulse and tingle.
“Fuck me—“ you beg. Maybe he’ll be mad; you don’t care.
“What do you think I’m doing, sweetheart?” He’s making fun of you.
“Harder.” You nod, thinking maybe, hopefully—he’ll agree with you.
A sharp snap of his hips. “Like that?”
You gasp and nod again. And as much as he loves to make you wait and beg he wants to cum and you’re driving him fucking crazy. So he does go harder, his hand grabbing into the arm of the couch as he ruts into you with so much force the cushions become loose and dislodged. You arch your back and try to squirm away because it’s too much and he’s hitting that spot inside you that you’ve only been able to find with a dildo and lots of time.
“Hold still.” He forces your hips down and you oblige, but it’s so hard and you tell him you’re about to cum.
“Me too,” he says. He asks if he can cum inside you, and drunk on him, you say yes. Please do.
So he watches himself spill inside you, a week’s worth of pent-up desire. You watch where you’re connected and patrick curses because you’re looking so doe-eyed and lustful and surprised. He smears some of it on your lips and you think you’re in love with him.
that fic where colt comes home to a needy girlfriend
warnings - smut, sub!reader, piv, afab reader, oral | w/c - 1.17k
the slam of the door against it's frames pulls your feet to the floor off your bed. colt has been out all day at work getting flung around in cars and wires being the perfect stuntman he is praised to be. before he can properly turn around from locking the door, you're standing behind with impatience and your hands twiddling behind your back.
"oh, hi baby! hi," he leans down to catch his lips in yours. you're quick to kiss him back, pulling him in by the cheeks with your hands. he groans into your mouth, realizing how much he's missed your touch after his extensive workload lately. colt's barely home, only hitting base to sleep because this new movie he's on is lining up to be the "most awarded" of the year with an a-list cast. while you're very supportive, the lack of moments of intimacy has put tension on your (sexual) needs.
after you don't let up on colt's lips for at least a minute, he pulls back dizzily-- from exhaustion and arousal. "somebody missed me, huh?" you eagerly nod to his comment and try to lean back into him. if you don't take your chances now, who knows the next time you'll kiss him relentlessly?
he puts his hand on your chest, slightly pushing you back, "hold on, baby, i just got home," he grinned through his words and watched the way your face started pouting feeling rejected. "what's wrong? i've been away too long?" his calloused hands sweep the sides of your face.
"just been missin' you, colt. i feel like you're so far away," you step back feeling a little embarrassed now. you didn't mean to come on so strong. "m'sorry." you shy away.
"hey, hey, don't be sorry," colt takes your hands from your timid frame. "why don't you go lay on the bed while i go take a shower and i'll be right there, okay?" you quietly nod to that and follow your given instructions, laying on the bed as you scroll through your phone waiting for colt to get out of his shower. your considering just getting in there even though you already took your own shower before you hear it turn off in the connected bathroom.
colt walks in your shared bedroom glossed and donning a towel around his waist. he doesn't bother putting on clothes, they'll be off and forgotten soon enough. colt's highlighted hair looks gorgeous in the dimlighted room, like every golden strand is slick with a call to attention that you’re happy to provide. you run your fingers through this hair as he sets himself down on the bed. "hi, again," he smiles, leaning into your touch.
"hi," your hands fall from his hair to his shoulders as you pull him into a needy kiss. his hands draw to your hips, squeezing lightly and guiding you to his lap with his lightly draped hardening cock sitting against your yearning clit.
he groans against your mouth when he grinds up against your body. "fuck, babe. i'm sorry for being gone so long," he apologizes with a lust-laced tongue. you press your hips with gentle rigor against his, moaning into his mouth.
"s'okay," you slur out. the way his dick grinds against your pussy almost hurts with how good it feels. like you infinitely want more. "please fuck me, colt. please." you mewl.
your plead leads him to lay your body down in front of him after one more distinct upward thrust into you, coaxing a moan from your wet lips. "i gotta get you ready first, huh? get you all wet?" he slowly slips you out of your underwear, your wetness stringing from your pussy to the gusset. "well, more wet, i guess."
he takes his time running his fingers down your hips, making you all warm and your skin tingly. colt likes taking his time with you. caring for you. he likes feeling how your whole body moves with every deep breath you take. "god, you're perfect. you're gorgeous, baby." he likes watching your face contort when he compliments you. the way your eyebrows furrow.
he thumbs your clit, gathering the slick from your folds to make his finger glide easier. "shit-" you're whimpering as he mimics circles on your bundle of nerves. before you realize it, his lips are wrapped around your pussy, drinking up every bit of juice he's coaxed out of you. "ah- colt!" your back arches off the bed.
"you're okay, jus' lie down. take it," it's hard when he's sucking the life out of you through your pussy. "you taste so good, babygirl," he's humping the bed as he says that and his bare cock against the linen pumps out precum like no other friction. "oh god..." the feeling of his tongue squirming within your pulsating hole is overwhelming, like all the nerves and veins in your body are communicating with each other to fuck with you.
"mmfuck baby m'gonna cum," you're so very close. he pulls back before you're there yet. "no, please-"
"it's ok, hold on." colt unsticks himself from the bed, sweat and precum glueing him down. fuck the shower at this point, it's like it never even happened. he lines himself up with your entrance and teases your hole with his tip. let's just say he's a comfortable size (if you're greedy).
he always asks "you ready?" to which you always nod. he pushes himself into you, slowly for your's and his sake. if he's not careful he'll blow his load in record time. "fuck," he mumbles. he breathes deeply before building a rhythm that satiates both of you. the drag of his dick inside you has you moaning embarrassingly loud. you're not even that loud, but c'mon, it's a little more than you'd like.
he's cradling your head, holding you close as he nears his orgasm. you shakily circle your clit, getting you back to the state you were before but now with colt inside you. your free hand grab whatever flesh of colt's it can find, pressing your fingernails into him. "please, please let me cum," you beg. he doesn't respond for a minute, dragging out your impatience and need for pleasure. instead, he's groaning loudly and hunching his hips into yours.
"you're doing so good. cum with me, please. fuck, i need it," he finally says against your lips before kissing them. he kisses up to your ear, stopping when he feels the tumbling release take over him. he's babbling nothings into your ear while you whine his name out, coming to your own release.
it feels unbearably good, tears prickling in your eyes. his body against yours ignites your skin into a million tiny fires. "god, colt." you breathe out. he's heavy breathing on top of you, practically dripping in sweat. "you should probably... shower again."
"what you don't like me like this? not clean enough for you?"
"shut up, you're stupid," you laugh out.
anyway, y'all quickly pass out from exhaustion and hold off the shower til the morning.
art and patrick made a habit of going to the grocery store together every week to replenish their shared apartment. it was more organized this way, both of them regulating their shopping habits for each other.
as they pull into the grocery store parking lot, it's filled to the brim with cars and the only spot in the lot is the very back, ways away from the entrance.
"everybody just needs to be here today, huh?" patrick chides. art nods silently, looking down at his fingers that are pushing against each other in his lap. he's been quiet the whole ride to the store. "are you okay, bud?" patrick asks. art nods his head, not shifting in position.
as patrick pulls into the parking spot, he looks over at art who looks like a sad puppy slumped in the passenger seat. "art. what's wrong?" patrick prys.
art huffs, clearly annoyed by something. he'd been out with a girl the night before, patrick assumes this is about her. "do you think my nipples look weird?" not a question patrick was expecting.
"what?" patrick furrows his eyebrows. art has never been openly insecure about his body with patrick before. it's not like art is cocky with his body but he doesn't purposefully hide himself. patrick appreciates this trait when their lounging around the apartment, getting to take in his unclothed figure. not in like a gay way though... in appreciation for his best friend. "why are you asking me?"
art's pouting, "that girl, from last night, kept touching my nipples and laughing," he's borderline crying and he feels pathetic for asking his best friend such a weird question.
"hey, it's okay. i'm sure your nipples are fine, art." despite his efforts of comfort, art doesn't seem satisfied with his lip still folded over. patrick tries to catch his line of sight into his but fails as art refuses to look over out of embarrassment. "you want me to look for you?" he's asking as if he hasn't seen his bare chest dozens of times before.
"hm?" art finally looks over with a flushed face.
"lemme see them," art reluctantly lifts his shirt, painfully slowly. patrick keeps his eyes on art's unveiling chest, drinking in the sight-- in an appreciative friend way. for some reason the space between his thighs gets a little hotter.
art's shirt rests on his thighs while he waits for patrick to say something. "there's nothing wrong with them, art"
"you can barely see them from where your sitting," two feet away, "she was really close up. she kept rubbing her hands against them, pat, it was really weird" patrick moves his hands to grasp art's pec, while simultaneously moving his head closer to art's, his other hand keeping him stable over the middle console.
patrick takes it upon himself to start rolling art's nipple between his fingers. "like this?"
art gasps, nodding. "yeah." both of the boys feel themselves getting the slightest bit dizzy at the contact. "what do you think?" he meeks out.
"they're good, art," he's whispering into art's chest at this point and he's right they are good, near perfect if patrick's being honest. art's too in his head to believe his 'biased' best friend. "you're okay." as a way of reassurance patrick starts placing slow kisses to art's chest.
"what are you--"
"i wanna show you how perfect you are." patrick gets art's chest wet with his saliva from the kissing and licking. art starts whining, out of embarrassment and arousal. he can't believe his bestfriend would go to this length to stop him from beating himself up over his physicality. he bets a lot of friends would appreciate how patrick treats him. right?
patrick splays his hands across art's right pec while kissing along his left one. in the front seats of the car it's quite uncomfortable to being doing all of this but patrick barely recognizes his comfortability as he's intently listening to all the sounds coming from art. it's a gift from God that no one is seeing what's happening between the two boys. "pat... mmfuck this feels good."
"yeah, i bet no girl's done for you, huh?" for him?
"n-no."
patrick pulls his face from art's chest. taking it a bit further, patrick grazes his hand over art's crotch, feeling how intensely hard he's gotten from this whole ordeal. patrick looks down and fuck you can see how obscenely rockish he's gotten. both of them. "you gonna thank me?"
"...thank you?" art looks very confused because he is.
"are you still nip-secure?"
"what? nip-secure?"
"insecure about your nips. which are completely fine by the way. i would know, they were just in my mouth." patrick's smiling like an idiot as he toys with art this way.
"ew, shut up, dude!" art pushes against patrick's chest shoving him into the driver's seat, sheepishly grinning.
"that doesn't sound like gratitude."
"i'm not thanking you for that. you're dumb." art shakes his head and keeps his gaze down at his feet under the dash. his heart is racing and he can feel the heartbeat in his chest and his damn boxers and patrick's fucking around and he knows he's not even going to get off right now. you know, because their in a fucking open parking lot.
"whatever, you liked it that's what matters," art just shakes his head at that. "let's go, this list isn't gonna buy itself." patrick opens the door and gets a foot on the concrete before art is refusing and fussing.
"I can't go in like this!" he gestures down to his vulgar boner. it's very obvious in his little tennis shorts.
"well, you better get it down, i'm not staying out here for longer than i have to." patrick laughs and shuts the car door, going to lean on the trunk of the car as he waits for art to fix his... problem.
it's a laughable amount of time before art gets out of the car with a noticeably less bulgeous crotch area. "okay, let's go." art quickly states as he walks hurriedly into the grocery store. they may or may not miss a few crucial items on the way out the store and speed home to finish a much needed conversation.
not beta read so if this sucks, soz. also i'm back after a long hiatus and looking for muts! tell me if u liked this and want anything similar/different! bio & masterlist coming soon.
