patrick gets horny whenver u send him a voice message like even if it's just u saying '' i found the best cereals ever at the supermarket this morning'' it gets him hard like he just finds ur voice hot
literally you’ll be rambling on in a voice message about the silliest shit like “omg babe look what i found at the store this morning you wanna see?” and he’s BRICKED UP sending you a picture of the prominent imprint of his leaking cock through his jeans, a wet spot forming where the drooling tip presses against the hard denim — because let’s be for real this man does not wear underwear for the most part.
he’s sending you a grainy video on his shitty little phone, groaning in the background as he tugs his cock free and swipes a thumb over the head to collect a bead of pre, smearing it across the length of him that twitches with each featherlight touch.
you’re sending him another voice note, then, purposefully sultry, voice breathy and quiet with anticipation.
your phone rings. once, then twice. you let it ring for a while before answering; and when you do, you are not disappointed.
you can hear the clenching of his jaw, the tick of that vein that pops with every grunt as he fucks his own hand fervidly, no doubt leaking all over himself. you hear the wet rutting of his hips and the slick sounds of his fist flying over his cock.
and he’s gasping, throat working around the desperate sound as he pleads, begs you over the phone to come over. to help him.
who would you be if you didn’t oblige him?
you’re only five minutes away anyway, and you know exactly where to find him.
sprawled on the bed, t-shirt hiked up over his abdomen that bows and dips with every heavy breath, resting just above twin red nipples that are peaked with the chill of the room. jeans around his thighs, dusted with dark hair, and the bush around his sack curling out and over the zip of the tight material.
he’s furiously rocking his hips up into his own hand, shining with sweat that you want to lean down and lick out of his every pore like a thirsty kitten.
so you play the role of the good girlfriend and get on your knees when he asks in that gravelly cadence that flips your insides out. laying with your cheek against his thigh, cockhead resting against the back of your throat, lips stretched thin over the girth of him and nose pressed snugly to that thick thatch of hair at the base of him. just… resting there. letting him sit comfortably as his cock drools liquid down the back of your throat - what it is, you don’t care, you take it all greedily despite not knowing.
when he’s finally tired of waiting, he hooks those thick thighs up and around your neck, clamped either side of your head. and uses you like a toy, fingers curled cruelly into your hair, moving you up and down on the length of him with such vigor you’re worried he might be rattling your skull.
not that you can think about the repercussions. you’re too enamored by the way you’re making him feel good - so, so good. perfect, he says.
your thighs tighten of their own accord when you think of the reward you’ll get later for this.
Summary: Patrick has been wanting Art's girlfriend for too long. He's not proud of it. When you, Art, Tashi, and Patrick go to a frat party, Patrick finds himself in a compromising position alone with you and maybe... gives in.
Warnings: drinking, mentions of masturbation, slight blowjob, patrick going down, tipsy sex (consensual), yearning, cheating but it's not actually cheating...
Patrick hated wanting you. It was the worst part of his every day. Crossing paths with you, he hated every moment. Seeing you after your classes, he hated every second. Every millisecond he spent alone with you he hated with an incredible fiery passion and it was awful- because what he hated more than anything is what it would do to Art if he found out just how badly Patrick wanted his girlfriend.
It was Jessie’s Girl on the radio. Stupid fucking song, Patrick thought. You, Tashi, Art, and Patrick were sitting in your dorm room talking about tennis. Art had his arm around you, leaned up against the wall on the pink comforter of your elevated bed. Every now and then, Patrick noticed how you leaned your head toward Art and he would kiss your forehead in the sweetest of ways and it was just sickening.
Tashi snapped in Patrick’s face. “Earth to Patrick?” She said, gesturing in question. Patrick turned his head.
“Hm?”
“What did you think of Art’s backhand today?” She asked. Patrick looked at Art, then back at Tashi.
“It was fine, I mean he didn’t lunge enough on that first big one, but it was fine.” He half-assed a response. He looked at you, pretending to understand the conversation. You weren’t at Stanford for tennis, you were there for creative writing and Patrick knew just how disinterested and tired you must have been from being at the court all day and coming back just to talk about tennis. “Can we change the topic though, Tashi? We’re boring Y/N to death.” He gestured to you.
You chucked, “I’m fine, I’ll live.” You said. Art chuckled and apologized. You were sweet the way you smiled, the way your lips pulled back to reveal the prettiest teeth. Patrick fucking hated it. “I do have to ask if you guys heard about the party later?”
Everyone perked up, even Tashi, who was usually still stuck on the topic of tennis. “At the frat?” Art asked.
“Yeah,” you replied, small smile still there. “We could go to that if you guys aren’t tired. I know Patrick has been in need of an excuse to drink for ages now.” You referenced him and it took all he had not to explode. You made it so hard to breathe around Art, it practically suffocated him.
“Yeah, we can go,” Art said, sitting up. His arm removed itself from around you and Patrick hated his internal rejoice. “They start at like, nine right?”
Tashi stood up, “Nine. That’s in forty minutes, meaning we are kicking you both out and meeting you at Art’s dorm to pregame. You still have the giant vodka bottle right?”
“Under my bed,” Art grinned and stood up before kissing you goodbye. Patrick had to look away. “Sounds perfect. See you soon.”
Art pulled Patrick out of the room, leaving you and Tashi to get ready. The moment they were out of the room, both boys braced each other with excitement. Frat parties meant unbridled college drinking and quite possibly a cigarette or two as well as girls in minimal clothing. Patrick recalled the last time you all went to a party, you wore a t-shirt that looked a little too snug on you and when you were drunk you confessed to Patrick you bought it in the kids section of the thrift store. Patrick could not get the thought of you in the little shirt out of his mind for weeks after that.
“Tonight you can make a move on Tashi,” Art said, punching Patrick in the arm. It snapped him out of his trance once again. “Once the drinks get on, you know, make your move.”
“Not sure if I should yet,” You told him. Tashi was your front for liking you. It was simple- if you turned Patrick on in any way, he blamed Tashi if Art asked about it. If he blushed, if he did anything telltale, he blamed Tashi. So Art was sure Patrick was head over heels for her and not you. His cover. “I think I’d like it better if we were sober.” He reasoned. It was a fake reason.
“And let her hook up with some frat guy?”
“It’s college, she can do what she wants. It would mean more sober.” He did not care that much.
“Ah,” Art nodded. The two boys sat in Art’s room and tossed a stray tennis ball back and forth. Art spoke again, “Oh I didn’t tell you but Y/N and I had what was probably the greatest sex of my- hoping OUR lives last night. I’m telling you the ‘coconut’ thing is very real, all credit to her for it.”
Patrick felt nauseous, but the idea of it was enough to pull a pillow over his lap. “Damn, I think I read about that in a magazine. It’s that good?” He had to engage, unfortunately.
“Oh yeah,” Art nodded, raising his eyebrows. “I’ve never had a girl do that to me, it was crazy.”
The conversation went on and it was hard and Patrick was hard and overall it was just a shitty situation and Patrick hated it. He took the deepest breath to get through it. Eventually the conversation was over with a knock on the door. Art was fast to get it. Tashi was visible first.
“You guys didn’t even change,” she said.
Art shrugged, “Should we have?”
“Probably, the theme is traffic lights. You’re wearing green, buddy, that tells women you’re go to hookup.” She pointed at Art’s green shirt. Patrick peered to see if you were behind Tashi, but you weren’t. “Y/N is finishing her eyeliner she’ll be over in a second. You two, change.” Tashi said. She was wearing green, Patrick noticed before she shut the door. Art threw two red shirts on his bed from the dresser under it.
“You going green tonight?” He asked, taking off the shirt he was wearing and tossing it to Patrick.
“For sure,” Patrick grinned. Art took out the big bottle of vodka from under the bed and took a swig before pulling on a red polo shirt. Patrick pulled on Art’s green shirt and did up the buttons but not all the way. He handed Patrick the bottle and Patrick took a swig. Tasted awful with no mixer, Patrick knew you’d complain. He dug in his pockets for change and found he had enough for a bottle of Coke, which he’d get on the way there.
Art opened the door just as you approached Tashi and both of the girls walked in. Patrick’s eyes fell on you all too easily. You were wearing black, a black skirt, a square-neckline tank top. There was no red or green on you, but fuck, you looked gorgeous. Patrick noted your perfect eyeliner and the perfume you usually wore to parties and he hated the way it filled the room when you walked in.
“I don’t own any yellow,” you said, shrugging. Nobody batted an eye. You kissed Art, who was wearing the brightest of reds and Tashi grabbed ahold of the big vodka bottle and took her swig. Patrick didn’t say a word, but slipped out to the vending machine just down the hall, returning with a bottle of Coke which he knew you’d probably need now for a mixer. He put it right in your hands wordlessly, even when you said thank you.
Tashi wore a green tank too much like yours, but it didn’t look the same or as flattering. Patrick wondered if maybe he would turn Tashi into a real distraction, but even if he was drinking, would she really be worth it? He was wearing green, so he probably wouldn’t have to settle for Tashi, but at this point, looking at you in that skirt, that top, focusing on the small sliver of your waist that showed in the middle and the way your collarbones looked against the black of the shirt, he knew he would HAVE to find a distraction tonight. Especially if he was drinking heavily, which he did plan on doing.
You all decided to go around 9:40, just before girls had to pay to get in. Everyone had a decent buzz and you’d filled half of your coke bottle with vodka, so you were set. Patrick found it endearing you couldn’t drink vodka straight- kind of cute. Patrick tried to ignore how you and Art walked hand-in-hand. He took the big bottle and took another large swig.
The party was loud and pretty packed on both floors. Stuffy, too. You immediately dragged Tashi away to dance with you, a complete lightweight. Patrick decided to occupy himself by teaming up with Art at cup pong. The beer was flowing, the vodka was passed around and girls were asking Patrick to come with them downstairs, upstairs.
“I’m going to find Y/N!” Art yelled to Patrick over the music. Patrick nodded, being pulled one way by a redhead who looked nothing like you. Any distraction he could take, really. She kissed him but he hated it. She was sloppy, slobbery, and he made an excuse and walked away. He spotted you and Art, and even with the alcohol you’d had it was not easy to see how you kissed him. You were shorter than Art was, which meant you were shorter than Patrick and the kiss was strong and Patrick just couldn’t look away no matter how much it hurt to see. He hated it. Every second of it.
He turned away and shook his head, saving himself. And he walked up the stairs just for a better view of things. He opened doors to multiple people making out, but the room at the end was surprisingly empty. And Patrick entered and locked the door. He laid down on the bed on his back, the ceiling spinning and the music downstairs muffled but echoing around his head.
Why did you have to be so hot? Why did you have to be so gorgeous? Fuck, it was stupid how into you Patrick was, so head over heels and dumb over you. A million girls at a party and all he could think about was you, just you, only you, all you. You and Art, kissing, touching, the details of the sex just spun around his head. It made him hard, he hated it, he hated how guilty it made him feel. He hated thinking about your perfect waist in that top, he hated thinking about your tits in that top, he hated thinking about what you’d look like without it. It was stupid. Patrick rubbed his eyes and swore at himself. “Fuck.” And tried to put you out of his head. He waited for the boner to die down before going back out to the party to hopefully find a distraction and keep it so that he kept away, but the second he opened the door, there you were. Outside of it. “Y/N,” he said.
“Patrick!” You greeted him. “I’ve been waiting for the bathroom for like ten minutes.”
You were drunk. Patrick peered back into the master bedroom he was in, “There’s one in here?” He suggested. You slipped past him in seconds, your scent wafting. He shut the door behind you. He waited until you came back out, guarding the door just in case.
“Thank you,” you said, fixing your skirt as you came out of the bathroom. “Have you seen Art, by any chance? He said he was going to play cup pong but I didn’t see him.”
“I haven’t,” Patrick answered, eyes lingering on your frame.
“That’s fine,” you nodded, walking over to Patrick. You stood in front of him, looking up. “Have you seen Tashi?” You asked. Patrick stepped back. “Okay, are you afraid of me, what’s that about?”
He didn’t think you’d notice. “I haven’t seen… Tashi and no, not afraid.” Patrick chuckled, even through the alcohol. He hardly had it in himself to laugh, he was going through every possibility right now. He hated that he was alone with you, he wanted you to leave, he actually was quite afraid at the moment.
“You stepped back,” you said. “Do I smell bad or something?"
“Not at all, you smell good,” Patrick spoke faster than he could think. “I’m just- maybe we should find Art.”
“Or we could just stay here and let him find us. It’s so much quieter in here.” You stepped toward him again and brushed your hair behind your ears. “You’re tall. I never noticed just how tall you are.” You told him. He almost laughed, he would have if you were anyone else. “What is your problem?” You asked, sounding almost offended.
“Nothing, nothing,” Patrick said. He hated how close you were to him. He hated how good you smelled, he hated how he was above you and could see you all too clearly. “Nothing is my… problem.” He swallowed hard. He had too much to drink for this.
“I’m surprised you’re in green,” you said, changing the topic again. Drunk you was all too believing, at least you wouldn’t catch on. “I thought maybe you’d have yellow because of things with Tashi. But Tashi is also in green.”
“Tashi isn’t my type,” Patrick let slip. You looked at him curiously- he hoped you wouldn’t remember. “And you’re in black, what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Means I don’t own anything yellow,” you reminded him, stepping closer when Patrick took another step back. Patrick was about to start sweating even in the air conditioning of this one specific room. You looked at Patrick through your eyelashes and he fought all the blood in his body from moving downwards. He debated running, he debated leaping out the window, anything. He didn’t even want to meet your eyes. “Patrick.” You said his name and he was throbbing. He hated you, he hated this, he hated this room, this bed, this lighting, your stupid lack of yellow.
Yellow?
“You were going to wear yellow?”
“Mhm,” drunk you nodded. “I like red but it’s not me.”
“Yeah…” Patrick said. He stepped back and you stepped forward. He was truthfully very afraid of this version of you.
“Art likes red, he used to be green, but now he likes red. And I’ve never been a red kind of girl.” You continued. He stepped back, and you stepped forward. Patrick was a lot bigger than you, but he was being backed into a corner. “I like yellow a lot more.”
“Yeah but Art likes red, so there’s that and…you…” Patrick said with almost a panic to his voice. His heart beat fast in his chest, he couldn’t finish his sentence the way you were looking at him. “Fuck, Y/N, I’m so confused.”
You grinned and put your hands on your hips, you were so gorgeous when you smiled like that. Patrick’s insides did a backflip. You shook your head, your perfect hair flowing. “Art is red, I am yellow. Art knows I’m yellow.” You said. Patrick shook his head. There was silence and you blinked hard before speaking in the flattest tone.
“Patrick, I know you want to fuck me.”
He went cold. His whole body went cold. He wondered if he was hearing things, he wondered if she really just called him out here, drunk, in a room alone. He must have been dreaming of having a nightmare but it was something for sure. All he could choke out was, “H-hm?” You looked at him knowingly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He said.
“So you’re going to pretend like you haven’t been thinking about it all night?” You prodded. Fuck, Patrick thought, I’m losing my mind. He was thinking maybe he had alcohol poisoning because you were sweet and you were cute and what you just said was... hot.
Patrick played dumb. “Thinking about what?”
“What it would feel like to fuck me.” You answered, too bluntly. Maybe he was dead and this was an afterlife. “I know you think about it. I know when you want it. I know you’re not that into Tashi.” You called him out. His skin burned red hot. You were reading his mind. He had no idea you, so sweet, could talk like this. Could even revolve around this.
“Y/N, I- you can’t be saying shit like that,” as if he wasn’t hard. As if you didn’t notice every time you’d made him hard before.
“Like it’s not true, Patrick. Tell me it’s not true.”
He blinked. He couldn’t. “I-“
“Fuck me.” You said. You didn’t ask.
“Whatttt the fuckkk,” Patrick dragged out. This wasn’t real. This was some wet dream. He wanted to say yes, he wanted to say no. He never hated you more than he did in this very moment. “I can’t.”
“You can, I know you can,” you said, stepping closer. “I want you to.”
This was scripted. This was a test. This was evil. All the possibilities ran through your head. “Why?” That is all he could choke out.
“Art likes sharing with you, does he not?” You gestured to Art’s shirt he was wearing. “Patrick, I know you want to. I’m not asking.”
“Fuck, I-“ he would consent. He would consent a thousand times if it wasn’t his best friend's goddamn girlfriend. You looked at him with those eyes, those eyes he absolutely hated. You were perfect and you were asking for it, and you were still Art's. You were Art's.
Fuck, this was awful. And there was nobody Patrick hated more than himself when he kissed you.
Full force, so hard you stumbled backward. His large hands cupped your face. You tasted sweet like cherry coke and kissing you was everything he’d wanted and fucking more. You kissed back with more than he had even been able to imagine, hands gripping his shirt tight. Art's shirt. You were Art's. You were everything.
Patrick didn’t waste a fucking second, his hands traveled smoothly down from your jaw to your chest, your waist-god your perfect fucking waist- your hips, your ass. You wrapped your arms around his neck and there was nothing more guilt-bringing than the way your lips grazed along his jaw and neck, kissing a trail so easily.
You weren’t sloppy, despite the alcohol, it felt calculated, it felt fucking good. He wondered still if he was dreaming but the crude awakening was that this was wrong. It might have been everything, but it was wrong and it was shady and it was fucking dirty but you were here and you were kissing him and you were locking the door, and fuck, you were too perfect.
From the second he met you, Patrick wanted you. You’d kept him up at night, distracted him during the day, you threw his tennis game and for all of that he hated you. He hated your perfect fucking lips, how soft they were, how they felt when you got on your knees, undid his fly, pulled away boxers and put them over his dick. He hated your soft hands and how they assisted. He hated your perfect eyes, your perfect eyelashes that you looked up at him through. He hated the noise you were forcing out of him as your head bobbed. It took all he had not to push your head down, but he wasn’t an asshole despite how desperate he was to feel more of you.
“Fuck,” Patrick groaned. The sight was too much. The guilt set in the more he looked at you, perfect, on your knees for him. You were Art's. He stopped you, though. But only to kiss you again. The bed was right there but he dropped to his knees on the fluffy carpet and kissed your neck, down your neck. You raised your arms and he practically ripped your shirt off to reveal you in the most perfect bra he’d ever seen. God, you were so beautiful. You arched your back and Patrick didn’t miss a beat unclipping your bra with one hand. You threw it across the room.
His mouth traveled down your chest, taking a nipple in his mouth. The small whine you made was fucking intoxicating and there was something to be said about the way it made his cock twitch. Kissing down your stomach, Patrick unzipped your skirt. It was all too easy.
This was so wrong, he thought, looking at the lace of your underwear. No shirt, no skirt, and shoes already gone. O,h it was so crude, the way you slipped your underwear down right then and there, leaving yourself entirely bare for him on the floor. He discarded his pants and boxers, pulling off Art’s shirt. It landed with the lightest thud and there was nothing left there shared by Patrick and Art but you.
Patrick kissed down your stomach, sick as he imagined Art doing the very same. But he wondered how good Art was as Patrick gently opened your legs to reveal just how soaked you were. Practically dripping. There was nothing, no morals going to stop him from burying his face in you. And he did just that.
“Fuck!” You cried out as heat spread throughout your whole body. “Patrick!” You squealed as he licked gently over your clit. He’d barely done anything- but Patrick took pride in his tongue skills, so it wasn’t too surprising. And you tasted perfect- better than he had imagined. Sweet, but the way someone should. And it was more intoxicating than anything alcoholic present. He pushed his face into your cunt, licking as deep into you as he could, licking stripes all the way up and all the way down and drawing circles on your clit with his tongue. You squirmed at all of it, breathing heavily, unable to control the noises you were making. He seemed to have found a sweet spot not on, but near your clit and he tongued a pattern into it and snuck his fingers over, gently rubbing above your entrance before slipping his pointer and middle finger into you. Your back arched, bringing him closer as he simultaneously pumped his fingers into you and licked.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you moaned. “Oh god.” You pulled his hair, and you gripped the carpet. Patrick, who was untouched, finished right then and there. As he let out a strained groan, he didn’t stop either action. His fingers pumped in and out of you, wet, soaked, tongue tasting you without end. “I’m going to-“ you moaned and breathed heavily, “Fuck, Patrick, don’t stop!” You ordered. Feeling you tighten, he only worsened his pace and in seconds you came undone on his hand and face.
Your chest heaved, your eyes shut. Patrick was drunk on you, he was dazed- he was so fucked. But you were a slut, apparently. His at the moment, turning around where you lay on the carpet and climbing onto the bed. Patrick was so fucking glad he had two condoms in his pocket that he dug into there was nothing that could stop him from fucking you absolutely senseless at the moment. He was frenzied, out of control and this was so fucking wrong, but with your taste still on his lips how could he not?
He got up, rolling the condom on as you situated yourself on the bed, ass facing him. He was dreaming, this was not real. You weren't real, but you were Art's. Patrick couldn't help himself. “This is okay?” He asked, just making sure. He itched for it, he had itched for it for what felt like forever, and at this point, his desperation and the situation were too much. All of his morals were fucking destroyed.
“Yes.” You said with enough enthusiasm that Patrick had no problem fucking into you from behind. You cried out in pain, not used to something so thick, but you were so wet, it slipped in like nothing. And Patrick grabbed your hips hard enough that tomorrow you’d be bruised. And he fucked you shamelessly as if Art wasn’t even a factor in this equation. It was so wrong, but back arched and stomach against the bed, you were his at the moment. His to fuck. Who cared about the aftermath when you felt so good?
You were perfect and tight and wet and the noise of skin on skin was like music. You cried out every time Patrick thrust into you, feeling him absolutely fill you every single time. He wondered if Art ever fucked you this hard, filled you so well. He wondered if you sounded like this with him, a moaning mess.
“Fuck!” You cried out, “Harder!” As if you weren’t already taking it hard and fast. Patrick had no problem slamming into you, rough as if this had been months in the making. As if he didn’t picture this every time he was alone in bed. As if he didn’t dream about this. You grabbed onto the bed for dear life and Patrick was nearing his end.
“I’m so close, you feel s- you feel so good,” Patrick choked out. It was too easy, but he didn’t want it to be over. The warning was good enough for you apparently because you purposefully tightened around him, pulling him dangerously close to the edge. “Fuck, you feel amazing.” Patrick groaned.
“Fuck me harder,” you begged. And Patrick used all of the force he had to fuck you, the headboard slamming against the wall so hard it put a small dent in it. You moaned so loudly, Patrick swore to never let that sound go and saved it like an audio file to his memory. “I’m so-“
“Fuck, I’m going to come,” Patrick said.
“Yes,” you moaned. “Fuck, Patrick.”
He gripped your ass and waist and pulled you back onto him as he fucked you harder than ever and you almost shrieked from how good it felt to be so filled, so fucked as Patrick spilled into you. Your mouth hung a little open as you followed suit, letting out every noise you felt and breathing heavily. Patrick swore as he finished that he saw a flash of light, something of the sort, maybe he saw God. His orgasm was long, leaving him practically twitching and he filled the condom with everything he didn’t know he had.
You were a sweet girl, no wonder you liked it rough. Patrick was sweaty, fucked out, and pulled out, pulling off the condom and collapsing flat on his back. You sighed and laid there, absolutely ruined. Your mascara streaked down your face from how good you were fucked.
“Oh my god.” This post-nut clarity was the worst. It hit Patrick that he just fucked the living daylights out of his best friend’s girlfriend. The guilt came at him like a semi-truck. Patrick had just fucked up majorly, he was starting to think up ways to disappear. “Fuck.”
“Hm?” You mumbled, absolutely whipped.
Patrick rubbed his face, trying to get rid of the feeling, but it settled in. Fuck, he had just fucked the girl he was completely obsessed with but at what fucking cost? She was drinking, he was drinking, what the fuck would they do about this? How would they get out of this?
“I’m fucking awful,” Patrick groaned and not in the good way. He cleaned up with a nearby tissue and put his boxers and pants back on. His heart beat fast in his chest, he wasn’t rested enough from the sex so it all came like a headrush.
“Why?” You asked, still laying perfectly naked on the bed
“The fuck do you mean why?” Patrick said a bit more harshly than he intended. “I just fucked my best friend’s girlfriend.”
“Oh relax,” you said, sitting up. You were so perfect, Patrick couldn’t hate anything about you. “He’s fine with it.”
Patrick choked on absolutely nothing and it turned into a cough. “He’s what?”
“He said I could,” you replied, pulling your bra back on, then your shirt. Patrick stood there, dumbfounded, putting his shirt back on. “Patrick, it’s okay.” You chuckled.
“How? Why?” He put his hands behind his head, just dumbfounded.
You slipped into the bathroom and Patrick waited for your reply. What the fuck- what the fuck? Part of Art knowing was so fucking embarrassing but at the same time confusing? You slipped back out, “I’m yellow tonight, remember? Art knows. And he likes that it’s you and not some stranger.”
“He let you? He knows?”
“Oh yeah. And I wouldn't go for anyone else anyways. You grinned, putting your underwear and skirt back on. “That was… I’m… you were.” He didn’t expect to face you stuttering. “I’ve never been eaten out like that before.”
Patrick laughed and you giggled. Somehow, in some fucked up way, he was in the clear? He guessed it was Art-like to share his girlfriend. But there was no way- “Really?”
“Never. You're good.” You smiled your winning smile and both of you fixed yourselves up again without talking about it. Patrick was more than satisfied and satiated. All of that was crazy, but so good. He'd finally have to stop using his imagination late at night now. He wondered how much Art actually knew... Like clockwork, there was a knock on the door. Patrick's heart still skipped. You hopped over and answered the door.
"Found you," Art grinned. You smiled and kissed him, wrapping your arms around his neck, and for once, it didn't make Patrick feel sick. He'd kissed you too now, it was easier to self-insert. He almost laughed at the thought. "You guys okay?"
"Oh, yeah," You nodded. "I'm gonna go find Tashi and we can go in a bit!"
"Sounds good," Art said. Patrick silently wished you wouldn't go, but you were gone. Art came in and shut the door. "You guys..." He lead on. Patrick's heart raced. But Art just laughed, "Did she do the coconut thing?"
Patrick rubbed his eyes, still a little shellshocked at the situation. Art knew his best friend, "You're her hall pass. I already took mine when we started dating." Art continued. "We both had one for our college eras. Plus, I don't really mind all that much. Thought I would, but it's you, so."
His heart slowed just a little, "Hall pass." he repeated like it was foreign. Art walked over and clapped Patrick on the back, their faces close.
"Yeah. It kept things interesting." Art said with a grin. "So are you going to tell me about it or are you just going to stand there looking like you've seen a ghost?"
Patrick couldn't help the grin that came with that true relief. He hadn't fucked himself over, Art was asking about it like you were something shared. Laughing over it, even and answering all his questions, asking your own. You were now, hall pass wearer of the year, with the door between two best friends. As bad as Patrick was feeling about it still- he knew he'd be satisfied from now on. The relief was also that he couldn't hate you so much now. It would be easier for sure.
As far as this went, it was rarely referenced from that point on. Things moved forward like nothing even happened. It was easy and natural and done with. But nobody truly forgot, not Patrick, for sure. Something to go down in your college-era lore and nothing more.
Was listening to that zombie song earlier and just woke up having a zombie fiction idea . It's gonna be long and I wanted it to be like. Zombie version of this character can't really speak? Like their mouth is completely torn so they can't communicate. Can't remember certain stuff or even much knowledge cus their brains r all rotty but 1 thing they can remember is they love u :33 so choose which character!! I should do this for! Some chapters with smut
Hellooo my dears 😂I wanted to say I made an second account because I want to do fanfictions about Harry Potter and On MY BLoCK in this Account but i also want to do IT fanfictions and riverdale and I made an other account for that so pls go followe 💓I would be so happy the name of it is @patricks-kink
Requests are open there too I would do anything for you guys ♥️ I made an other account becaus i think Harry Potter and It fanfictions in one account NOo don’t like it 😂💗
send me headcanons, AU's, imagines, fic recs, literally anything. i don't make fun of ships or who you like to top or bottom!! for any ideas read the tags if u feelin it
Are u serious about soul punk smut? If so here you go if not ignore me. *insert dialogue in somewhere* Patrick is sweaty from the show. Bu you've been waiting. You're already on the bus. All you have on are his gloves from the last show. He sees you the moment he walks in with more energy than ever and you walk up to him asking if it's ok, it is and you rip re buttons from his shirt. Leaving in the tie and soon you're both naked, sprawled in a mass of electronic beats and cool accessories
((always serious abt sp smut)) but oMg could u imagine ??? this would be so !!! him naked w/ a bow tie?? w t f
