⋆˚꩜｡ i love you ˙⋆✮

wren | 21 | MDNI sideblog challengers obsession is real

[zweigscore]

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ challengers enthusiast 𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ⊹ half stuck in 2014 ₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ⊹

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎˚.⋆ ⋆⭒˚｡⋆ writer + artist ˚.⋆ ⋆⭒˚｡⋆

ABOUT ME

MASTERLIST

MY AO3

[challengrsfanatc]

tashi duncan who insists on being the one to take your nudes because she’s a girl and your best friend so it’s not weird.

and you just say “sure” and let her manhandle you in all the positions she’s imagined you in late at night whilst having a hand down her panties.

“arch your back a little bit,” tashi’s ordering you the fuck around, a concerningly serious expression on her face as if this was a professional photoshoot and not just some nudes to send to a lousy guy that couldn’t even treat you right. “boys dig that shit.”

and then later, when she’s “deleting” all the photos that aren’t sexy enough (it’s a lie, obviously—you looked perfect in all the pics), she’ll e-mail all of them to herself.

[challengrsfanatc]

patrick zweig slutty shorts 💝

ughhhhh thinking about the way they hike up his thighs though

the fabric pulls up whenever he positions himself to serve, revealing all of that hard-worked muscle slick with sweat. and all you can do is stare from the sidelines, drooling at the sight of his curved and fuzzy thighs twitching with every swat of his racket.

the thin sheen of sweat against the sweltering summer sun only serves to define his muscles more. it makes his pants stick to his lower limbs, and it also makes him look so fucking hot to the point that you’re pressing your thighs together, rubbing them subtly. desperate for some friction.

but then he catches your eye and sends you this subtle wink and suddenly, you’re at a shitty fucking motel room, thighs clamped around one of his.

patrick’s skin is still sticky with sweat, and it combines with the sheer amount of wetness coating your sweet pussy. it does make stuff a little easier, to be fair. you’re humping his thigh like a bitch in fucking heat: rolling your hips and moaning pathetically. leaving faint, crescent-shaped marks with the way you’re gripping his shoulders. all until you finally cum upon catching sight of the view of a smug, grinning patrick leaned back against the headboard of his trashy bed—acting as if he totally wasn’t about to ruin his slutty fucking shorts upon seeing you fall apart right in front of him.

and the next morning, you’ll try to ignore his lousy jokes concerning your licking your own slickness off his thigh.

[zestoflemon]

my snoopy joshes

[capyclara]

happy challengersversary yall

[artheon]

Undeserving

✎ warnings/tags: solo smut, pathetic art, art being a cuck, slight somno, invasion of privacy, MDNI!!!

✎ authors note: I'm ngl this has been sitting in my notes app for almost a year now LMAOO anyways please leave any kind of feedback as I have only recently started posting my fics and would love to hear your opinions!! <3

✎ wc: 950

Art was about to turn off the little lamp resting on the bedside table when he saw your phone light up. He know your password, of course he did. You were never the type to hide things, were you?

So as any curious person ever, he checked. It was just a notification of someone liking your story. Nothing weird or out of the ordinary.

Art promised he would put it down. He wasn't the type to snoop around in your stuff (unless it was your underwear drawer with those pretty pink lacy panties you never wore for him) But hey! It wasn't even snooping! He just wanted to take a cute photo of your sleepy face, drooling like a toddler as you slept.

He looked at you, sleeping soundly next to him with your ass pressed up against his growing bulge. He was being a gentleman, keeping his hands (and dick) to himself, trying to completely ignore the urge to fuck you in your sleep, even though you guys went over this multiple times.

You asked him to do stuff to you while you slept. He insisted on not doing anything. He preffered when you were actually able to react, to moan, to scratch, to pull, to kiss.

So naturally, after he took the photo he went straight to your gallery to stare at it. He got slightly distracted. Scrolling up, finding tons of candid photos of himself he never even knew existed. He found it cute. That until, he scrolled even further up, finding older.. videos. Ones he knew he should absolutely not be watching for obvious reasons.

Art did it. He knew he shouldn't have. He checked the date of the video, and sure enough, the two of you weren't even dating yet. But he was so curious! You never took videos when you guys had sex, so he was naturally curious about the guy who actually got you to record this. Pressing the 'play' button, he couldn't help but let out a soft, quiet gasp at the screen.

You, sitting on someones lap at the edge of the bed, wearing a skirt that didn't cover shit and those pretty pink panties he never got lucky enough to see you in. Legs spread wide open for the camera, while the guy who's lap you were sitting on was pumping his fingers in and out of you.

He couldn't make out who the guy was. The angle being pretty weird, your heads not visible, but he could tell that it was you. He knew your body like the back of his hand.

The mystery guy leaned into your neck, leaving hickeys and bite marks all over you. The moment he saw those dark curls he knew. He fucking knew.

What he also knew, was the fact that you dated Patrick before him. But the thought of it always messed with his head. The thought of always coming in second when it came to Patrick Zweig.

Matches? Sure, he was used to it by now, but you? That fucked with his mind and he hated it.

What he also hated? The fact that he was getting hard. He was practically bursting out of his briefs at this point. He felt pathetic. Really?

Getting hard cause of a video of his best friend fucking his girl? That was a new type of low. Even for him.

He couldn't help but rewatch it. Again and again, bringing his hands down to feel his erection. He glanced at you, (still asleep thank god) before he drifted his focus back to the dimly lit screen.

He scrolled to the other video. You, on your knees in front of Patrick who was deep in your throat. For fucks sake, did you ever take him that deep? His mind was all fuzzy as he bit back a moan, sliding his hand into his boxers, finally freeing his cock that sprung out instantly. His tip already filled with sticky precum, as he started slowly pulling it.

You were looking up at him with your tongue sticking out while Patrick was basically violating your throat. Art never saw you in such state when it came to him. So eager and cock hungry.

He scrolled to another video, only using one hand to keep the phone steady. (The other one was busy stroking himself.)

This one probably took the cake. It was filmed from a higher angle, Patrick holding the phone.

You were on your back in the same pink panties which Art wasn't deserving of pulled to the side, as Patrick was stroking his cock, teasing your entrance. The panties were almost fully drenched with his precum, as he continued teasing your cunt. After a few slaps, he finally thrusted into you, causing a visible bulge on your stomach, which he was pressing down on with his hands.

Art was a mess at this point. He rolled to his side, barely reaching and opening the drawer you kept your panties in. He grabbed the one you were wearing in the videos with Patrick and wrapped it around his pretty, flushed tip. He didn't care if you woke up at this point even though he knew you wouldn't (you were a deep sleeper) He was letting out his moans, still trying to keep himself quiet to an extent.

He kept looking at the bulge Patrick caused in your stomach. His cock began twitching more and more as he finally looked down to his cum soaking your panties. He looked at the screen one last time before going back to your home screen and turning it off. Fuck. He was sure he could never satisfy you as good as Patrick did.

[zweigscore]

It's my 1 year anniversary on Tumblr 🥳

happy anniversary to me and my freaky blog 😛😛😛

hoping motivation strikes me soon it’s been tough tho

[yuex10]

challengers doodles from my rewatches....i love this movie so much!!!

[zweigscore]

Neeeed your fruity Tashi x Helen fic 😍

ask and you shall receive :)))

WHITE WINE & POMEGRANATE

SYNOPSIS: patrick needs help getting his stuff from helen’s house after the challenger is over, now planning to move in with art and tashi. tashi agrees to help but is star struck by the woman she sees.

PARINGS: tashi duncan x helen, slight tashi x art & art x patrick

CW(18+): porn w/ plot, cheating, fingering, cunnilingus, tribbing, slight intoxication, not proofread <\3

WORD COUNT: 2.9k

AO3 LINK

the ending of the challenger was very relieving, but also so stressful after all they’ve been through. the highs and lows of their relationship coming back and being created. it especially got to tashi, but she’s glad to have her life back to what it was like, back in that hotel room.

she would never admit it out loud, but she’s happy to have patrick back in her life. like part of her had finally healed. but there was still a lot of healing left to do.

the three of them had gone out that night for dinner, and to reconnect. really reconnect, catching up, finding their energy and flow again. it was really beautiful.

they managed to come across the topic of where patrick would live.

“i don’t really have a place to stay, you know? i’m still just going from house to house i guess.” he admitted from behind his beer.

“you could stay with us?” art pitched. patrick looked over at tashi with surprise behind his eyes, looking for her approval. the smile on her face was all that needed to be said.

ㅤꨄ︎

“so where are you staying right now?” art asked. they were all slowly walking towards their cars, the night breeze hitting them just right. patrick’s cigarette hung from his lips.

“i’m staying at this girls house i met… on tinder.” he blew the smoke out.

“is this the same girl from the hotel?” tashi asked.

“yeah. uh… helen.”

tashi recalled seeing her. she sat at the bar, on their date; brown hair coming just past her shoulders and styled. wine glass in her hand, white wine. her suit perfectly fitted to her figure. her long legs crossed over. she seemed very put together.

“you can’t even remember her name?” tashi half-spat at him.

“no- yeah, her names helen. i’m just crashing there. do you think… maybe, you could help me get my stuff from hers? i dont have a lot, i just need someone else there with me.” he spoke down to the ground, stepping on the cig to put it out.

tashi leant against the side of the car.

“sure. you go home art, we’ll be back.” she tossed art the keys and winked at him.

tashi made her way into patrick’s car and watched art drive off as patrick started the car. patrick looked over to tashi and began to smile, he opened his mouth to say something but was cut off, “we are not fucking patrick.” she said, not looking at him. he let out a sigh.

“later?” he asked.

she gave him a smirk and a shrug as they drove off, making their way to helen’s house.

ㅤꨄ︎

they arrived in front of the house, a nice single story house. patrick parked the car and got out.

“i’ll be back. i’m just gonna talk to her.” he said closing the door and making his way to the front. tashi hopped out of the car, stopping patrick in his tracks.

“what are you doing?” he whispered harshly.

“i’m not sitting in your car, it smells.” she explains.

“can you stand on the other side of the car then?”

“why would i do that? i’m not an animal patrick.”

patrick stops himself, not wanting to start another fight, and starts back towards the house. he knocks on the door, and there stands helen. tashi can just make out her face from the distance. she’s still wearing her suit, must’ve just gonna home. her hair tied up in a neat bun, like she was getting ready to shower maybe?

she sees them talking, and helen peers over patrick’s shoulder, making eye contact with tashi. her body language seems more tense, starting to question and argue with patrick. she pushes him towards the door as she walks towards the car. patrick walks inside and sees helen making her way up to tashi.

“can i help you?” starts helen.

tashi is a little taken aback by this small outburst.

“sorry, im just here with patrick to get his things. he just-“

“i saw you. at the hotel. what are you to him? hook up? girlfriend? you just like stealing dates?” tashi can hear the anger rise in helen’s voice.

“no. i- i don’t know. i’m just here to help him get his things.” tashi tries to raise her voice.

she thought helen would be a bit nicer, maybe she assumed wrong?

helen looks her up and down, biting her lip while catching a thought. “okay. you can have him. i’m over him, he really smells.”

tashi smirks. “i don’t know where he showers.”

“i don’t think he does.”

they both laugh. finally finding a level to meet on.

“i- im so sorry for my outburst. um- im helen.

“it’s fine, i get. i’m tashi.”

helen holds out her hand to which tashi shakes. her hands are soft, a bit cold, and her nails are well manicured.

“i’m sorry you had to live with him, he can be a lot.” tashi says softly, still holding her hand.

“is he moving into your place?”

tashi nods.

“i’m sorry you’re going to have to live with him now.” helen jokes. she lets go of tashi’s hand and crosses her arms, smiling towards the ground.

“you’re living on your own again?”

“i guess so. but it’s okay, i’m so busy with work, i think it’s for the best.” helen replies.

tashi sees patrick opening the door with a bag full of his things, struggling to get out the door. helen looks back and sighs.

“okay, well. you have a good night tashi.”

tashi nods. she sees patrick still struggling with his bags and decided to take the chance. she looks inside the window to see a pen sitting on the back seat. she opens the door to grab it takes helen’s soft hand.

“well, if you ever feel lonely and want to grab drinks. call me.” tashi whispers, writing her number on helen’s palm. their eyes lock, helen’s blue eyes blown and shimmering. they both smile at each other and tashi feels a tug in her chest.

“tash can you help me already?” patrick shouts from the house. she finally moves, grabbing a bag and throwing it in the back seat. patrick places everything inside the car and hops in the front seat without saying goodbye. he starts the car and opens the passenger door for tashi.

“see you.” tashi whispers as she gets in the car, and closes the door. patrick swiftly drives off as helen is left there in her driveway, heart almost broken if it weren’t for the tinge of hope that just bloomed.

patrick turns up the radio loud and speeds down the road.

“you couldn’t even say ‘bye’ to her?” tashi argues. patrick doesn’t respond.

“fucking loser.” she mutters.

ㅤꨄ︎

later that evening tashi sits on the couch, watching some tv show she doesn’t know the name of, slightly dozing off. art walks in and sees her, legs resting on the coffee table. he walks over to her and kneels in the ground, kissing her knee and taking her out of her sleepy state.

“hey.” she says in a groggy voice, her hands find their way into his hair. he kisses up her legs and sits next to her, kissing her neck and cheek.

“how was it with patrick?” his arms come around to hug her and pull her into his body.

“it was fine. i met the girl, she was nice, but patrick was so rude to her.” she relaxes into his touch.

“you think he should be taught a lesson?” art whispers jokingly into her ear. she giggles and rolls her eyes.

“maybe another night.” she kisses his cheek, and meets him in the middle for a full kiss. soft and warm.

she’s so happy to be back to where they were.

her phone buzzes next to her and she sees it’s an unknown caller. art lets her go as she stands up to take the call.

“hello, this is tashi duncan speaking.”

“tashi hi. it’s helen.” the voice from the other side of the phone spoke.

“hi. how are you?”

“i’m okay. sorry for calling so soon, i just. i wanted to ask if you’d like to come over sometime soon? for a drink and to talk?” helen’s voice shook.

“yeah. i’d love that. what time?”

a pause.

“tonight?”

tashi thought for a moment. how would she even get out there tonight without it seeming suspicious?

“sure.”

“see you soon.” the line goes dead.

tashi puts the phone down and sits next to art again.

“who was that?” he asks, settling back into her touch.

“work stuff, don’t worry.” she hums, kissing his head. maybe it won’t be so hard to get out again.

ㅤꨄ︎

an hour goes by. tashi had put lily to bed with a story and a kiss, as art and patrick settled into bed. she walks into their bedroom and already sees patrick passed out. art lays next to patrick, leaving some space for tashi next to him.

“are you coming to bed soon?”

she kneels on the bed and kisses him slowly.

“yes, i’ll be there soon. just go to sleep.”

“okay.” he replies softly, already falling asleep.

by the time tashi goes to leave the room, both the men are deep in a sleep, tangled up in each other.

she gets to the car and drives back to the house she was just at before, with a feeling coming back to her chest.

she parks in the driveway and makes her way to the door, knocking gently.

it opens to a more cozy dressed helen. she’s wearing a blue slip dress, holding a glass of white wine. her demeanor seems more calm.

“hi. come in.”

tashi smiles, taking her shoes off and making her way inside.

“you’re already better than patrick. he never took his shoes off.”

“ugh, of course.” she replies.

helen’s house looks cozy, candles lit around, pictures of paintings and families hung up on the walls, soft colours complimenting the space.

helen sits down on the couch and pats the space next to her. tashi complies and makes herself comfortable.

“would you like a drink? i’ve just got pinot grigio.” helen asks.

“that’s perfect.” tashi smiles as helen pours her a glass with the one that was sitting on the table already.

she takes a sip and already feels comfortable. helen sitting with her legs up on the sofa, head resting on her hand that’s held up by the cushion of the couch. she stares at tashi with admiration.

“so how long have you know patrick?” she starts.

“god. forever it feels like, we met at a party back in 2006, we would’ve been 18 then. but we haven’t actually seen each him in years up until recently.”

“huh. we?” helen questions.

“uh, yeah. me and my husband. he was actually friends with him before i met him. i met them both at the same time, and then i became a home wrecker i suppose.” tashi reminisces.

helen looks at tashi hand, the ring that sits on her finger. she takes her hand and looks at the ring up close.

“so you’re married, huh? what are you doing with patrick then?” she asks.

“it’s- i don’t know where it’s going. we haven’t really gotten into it i guess. i think they wanna talk about it more tomorrow.” tashi’s breath shutters as she feels helen’s hand again.

“and what are you doing here?” she whispers, tashi’s hand close to her lips.

she can feel her breath fan over her fingertips. her eyes locked onto her own brown ones.

helen brings tashi’s finger up to her lips and gently kisses it. tashi can feel the knot in her chest tighten. the gentle kiss turns to helen taking her finger into her mouth, sucking it down to the ring as tashi lets out a small whimper. helen takes the ring between her teeth and slides it off her finger. she takes the ring out of her mouth and murmurs, “would your husband be okay with this?”

tashi pauses in shock, heart racing and heat blooming below. she takes both wine glasses and the ring, placing it on the table in front, and dives in to kiss her. her mouth hot on her lips.

the kiss is messy, rough, and wet. helen opens her mouth and allows tashi to slip her tongue inside, feeling around the walls of her mouth. she tastes like wine and mint. her hands find their way into helen’s hair, undoing her bun and letting her hair fall down to her shoulders. helen’s hands pull tashi in by the waist, allowing tashi to straddle her. helen’s hands feel up under tashi’s top, she grinds down into her lap as helen swallows her moan. tashi tugs at her hair as helen’s hands feel around the curve of her ass, encouraging her to move. both their wet heats meeting behind the fabric of their clothes. helen takes tashi’s lips between her teeth, allowing tashi to moan aloud, head thrown back as helens lips make their way down her neck. she sucks at her jaw, leaving a wet red mark.

helen reaches up to take tashi’s shirt off, black lace bra underneath. her hand comes up to grope her breasts from under the bra, as her mouth continues to work at her collarbone. her tongue licks up her neck and to the shell of her ear.

“mmhh i want you.” helen breathes into her ear. tashi groans, she takes helen’s hand and guides them towards her groin. she humps helen’s hand as her eyes stare into hers. helen’s hand grasps her crotch making tashi jolt. she stands up quickly, taking her pants off and sitting back on helen’s lap.

helen’s hand find their way back beneath tashi, fingers teasing the fabric of her pink panties. they’re soaked with her slick already. helen moves the fabric aside and feels tashi’s slick folds between her fingers.

her fingers slide inside her hole, wetness clenching her as tashi moans and moves her hips.

helen takes her finger out, soaked in tashi’s slick, and guides them up towards her clit, rubbing circles into her.

“hm so wet for me already, your husband can’t do the same?”

tashi, already lost in the feeling, can only manage a series of delicious moans. her lips crash back into helen’s, tongue dancing against hers, as helen’s finger comes back to her entrance, and inserting another, thumb rubbing her clit at the same time.

her fingers move in a perfect motion, hitting the soft spot inside tashi and making the knot tighten below. her heat building up fast. suddenly there’s emptiness below her, helen’s fingers have left and are now at her waist. helen pick her up and flips her on her back, quickly pushing her legs apart, seeing her weeping pussy exposed. she kneels on the ground and looks up at her.

“let me make you feel good.” helen mutters as her breath fans over tashi’s heat. tashi nods as helen laps her folds with her tongue. tashi’s legs spread on the couch, head thrown back as helen eats her out, she’s never felt this good in her life. the pleasure constantly building up makes her head fuzzy. spit drips out of tashi’s mouth, unable to do anything else other than feel good. helen’s tongue pushes up in her entrance as she noses her clit. her juices gush from her as her orgasm almost waves over her.

“w-w—wait.” tashi manages out. helen stops and brings her head up, mouth covered in tashi’s slick.

“is everything okay?” helen questions, panting.

“i- want you. need—feel you.”

helen nods. she pulls tashi’s panties off, and stands up to do the same for herself. tashi moves to lay more on the couch. she lifts her leg up as helen lays on top of her, pussy hovering over tashi’s. their slicks meet, gliding in circles and their moans sync. their hips jolt together as their clits bump. helen’s lips meet tashi’s again, tasting herself on her lips. she feels hot, pleasure surrounding her. helen meets her movements, grinding down in time. they both get lost in the feeling and end up breathing into each others mouths, chasing their impending orgasms. they jump each other in a feral way, almost animalistic.

“tashi, mphm, gonna come-“ helen moans.

all tashi can respond with is a messy nod, nose bumping hers. their movements become more erratic as they both come with gentle screams. slick gushing out of both of their heats. helen collapses on top of tashi, both coming down from their highs. tashi pants into helen’s hair. she smells like pomegranate. helen gently kisses tashi’s throat, coming back to earth.

“shit.” tashi huffs out. she’s never had an orgasm like that. never thought she’d have one with a woman, but now that she has she feels addicted to it.

“maybe you could stay over, if you’d like that?” helen asks.

tashi thinks for a moment. art and patrick lay in bed at their hotel room, not knowing what she has just done. she feels guilty, but slightly less guilty than she did last night.

this isn’t the craziest thing in their relationship, one more hook up couldn’t hurt.

[zweigscore]

i watched the drama last night and it slightly fed into my challengers yuri mind. thank you 🙏🙏🙏

[h0neyficavenue]

⋆｡° ✮ bf!artdonaldson tired from work and just needing to taste you

⟡— cw: oral sex, slight cnc

the front door creaks open, and art donaldson steps inside, his body hot and heavy from endless drills with tashi. his tennis shirt clings to his toned torso, damp patches spreading under his arms and down his back. the heat of the day lingers on him, his muscles aching with exhaustion. his age is catching up and so is the pressure of performing. for sponsors, for tashi, for competitors. he kicks the door shut behind him in frustration, dropping his bag by the entryway with a thud.

he just needed some way to take the edge off after a long day. then, he looked up and there you were.

in the kitchen, standing at the stove, stirring a pot of boiling pasta. you were humming and jamming along to some catchy song playing on your headphones. as adorable as you are, nothing can distract him from how desirable you looked. your tank top hugs your curves, the thin straps slipping slightly over your shoulders, and your booty shorts ride up just enough to show the curve of your ass as you move.

art’s eyes lock on you immediately, a low groan escaping his lips. he crosses the room in a few strides, his sneakers quiet on the wooden floors. his large hands find your waist from behind, pulling you flush against him. you feel the heat radiating off his body as he nuzzles into your neck. he inhaled deeply, his breath hot and ragged against your skin.

‘god, you smell so good’ he murmurs, voice rough and needy. his lips brush your neck in a soft kiss, then another, trailing wet open-mouthed presses against your skin. you know he is trying to draw a reaction out of you, as his kisses grew more insistent, doing exactly what makes your heart race.

his fingers dig into your hips, tugging you closer so your ass grinds against his groin. you can feel him hardening already, his cock thickening through his shorts. he rocks his hips slowly, rubbing himself along the cleft of your cheeks, a whine slipping from his throat.

‘not now, art,’ you say, trying to focus on the pasta, the spoon still in your hand as you try to stir. ‘i’m cooking. it might burn if i don’t watch it.’

but he doesn't let go, his whines growing more desperate as he presses his face into your hair. ‘please, baby,' he begs, his voice cracking with need. one hand slides up under your tank top, cupping your breast firmly, his palm rough against your skin. he starts massaging, fingers kneading the soft flesh, thumb circling your nipple until it hardens under his touch. His other hand stays on your hip, holding you in place as he grinds harder, his cock throbbing against your ass.

‘i’ve been thinking about you all day,' he whines, squeezing your breast a little harder, pinching the nipple between his fingers. 'tashi pushed me so hard out there, but all I could think about was this. coming home to you. touching you. tasting you.’

you arch slightly despite yourself, the spoon pausing in the pot, but you shake your head, a shiver running down your spine from his persistent kisses trailing back up to your earlobe, where he nibbles softly.

‘art, seriously, the pasta,' you protest weakly, though your body betrays you, leaning back into his chest.

he buries his face deeper into your neck, lips brushing your ear as he massages both breasts now, pushing your tank top up to expose them. his hands are insistent, rolling your nipples, tugging gently, making you gasp.

'i need to taste you,' he pleads, his voice a broken whimper. please, i need it so bad.'

before you can respond, his hands drop to your shorts, yanking them down along with your panties in one swift, desperate motion. they pool at your ankles, leaving your pussy bare to the kitchen air. art spins you around, backing you against the counter, his blue eyes wild with hunger. sweat drips from his brow, but he drops to his knees right there, hands gripping your thighs to spread them apart.

you feel exposed, the cool counter edge digging into your lower back, but his needy gaze pins you in place. ‘art, wait-‘ you start, but he cuts you off by diving in, mouth latching onto your clit with a hungry suck. his tongue flicks rapidly, desperate and sloppy, as if he's been starving for this all day.

you gasp, fingers threading into his damp hair, pulling him closer even as you half-heartedly push at his shoulder. he groans into your folds, the vibration shooting through you, and laps at your entrance, tongue thrusting inside to taste your growing wetness. his hands knead your ass, pulling you forward so he can bury his face deeper, sucking on your inner lips before flattening his tongue for broad, eager strokes from hole to clit.

'taste so fucking good,' he mumbles against you, whiny and muffled, his cock straining painfully in his shorts, a wet spot forming from his pre-cum. he ignores it, too focused on devouring you, sliding two fingers into your pussy and curling them to stroke that sensitive spot inside. he pumps them fast, matching the frantic rhythm of his mouth on your clit.

your legs shake, the pasta forgotten as the pot boils over on the stove, steam hissing. art’s whines vibrate against you, he's relentless, needy, fucking you with his fingers and tongue until your resistance crumbles. you clench around him, moaning loud as your orgasm hits, flooding his mouth with your release. he swallows greedily, licking every drop, not stopping until you're trembling and spent.

finally, he pulls back, chin slick with you, looking up with those pleading eyes. ‘more,' he whines, rising to kiss you hard, sharing your taste on his tongue. ‘i need so much more of you, baby. please.'

[snoopylace]

grunting, grinding & more grinding

authors note: not proofread..also this is a repost from my old account hehe

wc: 0.8k

🐇

it was late, practice had gone over time—you flopped into art’s bed, his dorm was always cold and it felt so good you nuzzled into the sheets. not bothering to take your sweat soaked clothes off.

art walked in not too long after you, he flopped on top of you, hands wrapped around your waist as he kissed the top of your hair, smiling.

“hi baby,” he grinned, getting off of you completely. art sauntered over to his closet, throwing his shirt to the ground. his abs flexed, and you could feel yourself getting embarrassingly wet. he could you feel checking him out, your gaze roaming around his body.

you were sitting up now, and he had climbed back into bed—shirtless. your hands traced over the lean muscle of what were his shoulders, chest and arms. you turned over and had art grabbed the back of your thigh, lifting you up to sit on his lap. you giggled and leaned in for a kiss.

it was messy, spit drooling down both your chins—all teeth. you could tell he was hard because you could feel him against your underwear and now you were completely drenched. art could feel that you were wet—just the mere fact that you were soaking through your underwear was just enough to tell that you craved him bad.

his hips lifted up to grind against you agonizingly slow, the clothed friction giving a different kind of feeling. “art” your voice was shallow, breathy—and completely filled with lust.

art needed you so bad, he craved you. he grabbed your hips, bunching your skirt up to your waist. he pulled your underwear to the side not bothering to take it off. he was tired and way too lazy to even undress you or himself properly.

he pulled his shorts off, then his boxers—they were spongebob boxers..but it didn’t really matter. “you’re so pretty” he caressed your cheek, his hands going to your hips once more before slowly settling you onto his cock. “fucckkkk—“ he let out a groan, throwing his head back into the pillow.

🎾

his hands lazily moved your hips, bouncing you up and down, his eyes watched the creamy ring form against the base of his thick cock—watching as your cunt completely sucked him in, you could feel him against your cervix.

“art, artt..fuck fuck fuck—“ your moans were obscene and pretty. if he could he’d take a picture just to show tashi, you were gripping him so tight he could cum inside ya right then and there.

his thumb lazily traced over your clit, he was barely putting in the effort and it was driving you insane.

you didn’t really remember when he flipped you over, face down ass up—pounding into you deep—like there was no tomorrow. the sound of skin meeting skin filled the room.

god he was making you feel so full, and you could feel yourself getting insanely drunk on his cock.

a couple more thrusts and art could feel himself getting close—it was so pathetic—his hips snapped up into you, releasing hot thick ropes of cum inside you, he heaved—his breath ragged, uneven and jaw clenched as he slumped against you.

you found it cute that anytime he came his jaw would clench, he caressed your cheek—rolling you over onto your side, wet, lazy kisses trailed up your neck then downwards, his head making his way down to settle between your thighs, art kissed the inside of your thighs mouth nearing towards your pretty cum filled pussy, and when he got there his tongue didn’t let up—he dived in like a starved man.

your legs locked around his head, fingers running through and gripping his hair. art grunted in appreciation, you could feel him smirking against your folds, that stupid dorky smirk. he lapped at your clit, spit dribbling down his chin, he could taste a mix of his cum and yours. it made him hard.

art fell back on his knees to admire your fucked out state, your hole fluttered. “cmon babygirl —you got one more in ya’—please?” art bat his pretty eyes before rubbing fast circles around your clit, “you got it—jus’ one more..”

his name fell out your lips like a prayer, “o-ohh!! fuckkkk..” your voice went up a pitch and he watched as you came all over his fingers. the sight was a pretty one, you body writhing on the bed, legs shaking and quivering.

his head went back down in between your thighs to collect your juices, as soon as he finished he climbed up on top of you, removing the sweaty hair strands out of your face, you let out a breathy sigh as art smothered your face with kisses.

he got up shortly after to get a towel,to clean you up. he wiped the insides of your thigh, changed your clothes and kissed your forehead. “you did so well f’me sweet girl..”

you let out a soft hum and it didn’t take long before you dozed off completely.

art mumbled a soft goodnight, pulling the sheets over you both before shutting off the light.

𝐖𝐖𝐖.𝐒𝐍𝐎𝐎𝐏𝐘𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄.𝐂𝐎𝐌// @fawnstqrn @spunkkitty

[patrickzweigsdefender]

push me down (mdni)

pairing : patrick zweig x gf reader

summary : Patrick has been so lonely on tour. You’d let him record you? Right? Just once?

warnings&extra : minors do not read, p in v, smuttttt, dirty talk, art is in here too bc I can’t leave him out, reader is basically Tashi, porn..?? making???… they make porn. baby used once. sorta kinda proofread x1.

consider reblogging if you feel kind 🤍

Patrick’s been out on tour. All over the country and somehow never anywhere fucking near you for a drop by visit. Or a sleepover would be nice, too. It’d be so fucking nice.

He’s been in Atlanta and New York City and Denver and Los Angeles and Chicago and every major city in America, it feels like.

Today, he came back. It’s been two months since you last saw him. 54 days. 1 month and 24 days. But who’s counting?

Naturally, within three minutes of being back in your dorm with your roommate so fortunately absent from her side — you’re already basically ripping each other’s clothes off. You been through almost two full cycles without someone living and breathing with a real life dick to help you through that. Sloppily fingering yourself and whining on a call with him might feel great then, but it’s not enough.

It feels like maybe your body’s been yearning for him. Your fingers can’t reach that far and it doesn’t feel nearly as good when he does it.

So after a few minutes of standing around and asking him about the tour, he glances at your bed. It’s made, which he thinks is cute. You look over too, like you don’t already know what it looks like. Or that you bought XL condoms and they’re sitting in your bedside table right now (he did the same thing). You look back at each other, a smile tugging at his mouth until you two give up on this fake purity scene.

That’s how you get here. Straddling his hips, knees digging into the soft mattress below you two as he helps you tug off your shirt.

“Missed you,” He huffs, tugging you back down to mouth along at your neck, his warm palms sliding up your back to fumble with the clasp of the pretty bra you put on for him. He doesn’t exactly take it off just yet. Just slipping his fingers under the clasp and tugging it back to let it snap back against your skin.

You hum in response, the heat between your legs quickly growing as you rock down against him, your eyes closed and brows furrowed. You hear him chuckle as he lazily grinds up into you, his breathing hitching as his heavy, aching dick glides against you. It feels so fucking good even over all your clothes you’re still wearing.

You don’t even notice you’re making sounds until he says something. “That feel good?” He mumble, gently taking a handful of your hair and tugging it back so he can see your face. “Sounds so pretty.”

You nod senselessly, your hands shamelessly pushing his shirt up as he continues to grind against you. You can’t stop moving for some reason — all this sudden friction and Patrick, Patrick, Patrick after he’s been gone for so long has your body strumming with excitement.

He seems like it, too, the way he always has both giant hands on different parts of you, moving and running his calloused palms and fingers over your overheated skin like he can’t decide where to touch. He’s quiet for a few seconds, not really saying much. He’s usually talks a lot when he gets back from tour. Or when you fuck.

But he isn’t. He’s panting in your ear, sure, but nothing else. But it must be going over your head because you just keep rocking on him.

“Baby,” he hums, putting his hands on your hips, guiding you. You look down at him. He’s got his brows furrowed, hair all messy from your hands, a vein running along his temple pulsing, freckled face flushed. “I was — thinking, on tour,” he starts.

You nod, leaning down to mouth along his jaw.

He thinks, God, you’re so fucking needy. “Lemme — lemme get a video.”

There’s a pause at that. You pull your head from his neck. Your hips slow immensely until they come to a stop and you meet his eyes. “What?”

He licks his lips, chuckling at your suprise as he gently rubs the skin of your hips. “When I go back on tour.. it’d be nice to have a real video of us.”

You must not look very convinced because he kind of rolls his eyes, gripping your hips as he tries to talk you into it. “C’mon, baby, please. You know I wouldn’t show that shit to anyone, right?”

You tilt your head.. “Even Art?”

He hesitates a little, before quickly shaking his head and mentally punishing himself for even thinking about it. Because even though sitting in his best friend’s dorm with their hands wrapped around their leaking dicks as they listen to your pretty sounds Art has only imagined, sounds so fucking nice — he has to convince you right now. He can think and do something with that later.

“No — no. Not even Art.”

You hum.

Art’s always been hot. You can have Patrick and still appreciate Art, can’t you? You’re not blind. It’s just a little bonus that Art just has to sit there and pine for you. And maybe Patrick and Art sharing the same video of you, touching themselves together — makes you a little hot, too. Whatever.

You slowly rock back on his lap again and he makes a noise like he’s in pain. His eyes drop from your face to your hips moving over his lap. He’s throbbing, now. You can feel it.

“No..? You don’t wanna show him?” Your voice is smooth and teasing and it makes Patrick wanna cum right there.

He shakes his head, whining softly as you rock back forward. “If you wanted me to. I would.”

You always kind of noticed something odd about their relationship. They’re so overly touchy with each other, in a way that girl friendships are and in a way you’ve never seen a boy friendship be. The infamous ‘Kat Zimmerman’ story approved that for you. They are definitely not normal. And the way Patrick’s breath picks up when you bring up Art like this. The way his hips cant up a little harder at the thought of curly blonde hair and blue eyes and pale skin and toned muscles. The one thing he can’t have.

“Yeah?” You huff, rocking a little faster. Back and forth, back and forth. “Then show him. Then you guys can jerk each other off, or whatever.”

You honestly can’t blame him. Art is hot and he fortunately just doesn’t know how much. Because if his ego was a little smaller, you and Patrick would’ve agreed to a threesome ages ago.

He huffs a laugh beneath you, head tipping back to expose his tan, unmarked neck from being on tour. Nice to know. His black curls fan out against your pillow case and he grabs a handful of your ass, bicep flexing. “Mm, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You giggle a little, squirming on his lap as you try to continue. “Yeah.” Your eyes land Patrick’s shitty laptop hanging out of his bag on the floor. You break away for a moment to grab it and put it on your nightstand, letting him lazily grind up against you as you press record with a pleasant hum from the computer.

“Fuck yeah.” He groans softly as his eyes catch on the screen for a moment. He’s got his legs spread with you in his lap, both of you half naked and sweaty. His adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, looking up at you to see what you’ll do next. Obviously, this is turning him on. A lot.

You smile a little as you reach down, edging the waistband of his basketball shorts with your fingers, slipping one under the fabric to run along hot skin and coarse hair. You feel him shiver.

“Be real bad if this got out,” you start, dragging your manicured nails along the heated skin under his shorts, “Ruin your life.”

Of course he doesn’t want that. But considering since he’s got you on his lap in those fuck ass shorts and he hasn’t been this hard since he last saw you two months ago, the thought of everyone knowing how much of a slut he is for his girlfriend suddenly sounds so fucking hot to him. “Yeah.” He mumbles, hips rocking up into you with more purpose. He’d let you ruin his life if that’s what you wanted. “Every — everyone sees.”

You lean down to lick a stripe up his neck and suck a mark into his jaw before sitting back up.

“Mm,” You thread your fingers through the curly hair disappearing into his boxers, trailing down it until you meet his base. He’s thick and so unbelievably hard, it’s the hottest part of him by far, he’s so warm. He whines like he’s inside you and squirms. “You want everyone to see? You’re such a fucking slut. You’re gross.” You hum as you wrap a hand around him. He’s already soaked and leaking, so it’s not hard at all to start actually jerking him off.

“Shit,” He hisses, brows furrowing as your warm hand and mean words he’s dreamt about every night for two months finally engulfs him. He opens his eyes, half lidded as he slowly rolls his throbbing length into your warm palm. “Missed you, fuck,”

Patrick is the only boy you’ve ever fucked that openly moans in response to ‘you’re gross’.

He shudders when you swipe your thumb over his burning tip, head tipping back against your pillows when you twist your wrist.

Jerking off by himself is awesome too, of course. He had to do it at least twice a day away from you when he thought a little too hard about what’ll happen when he gets back home. But, for some reason, your small, soft hands that can’t cover as nearly as much surface area as his.. feel so much fucking better than by himself.

He turns his head when you lean down to press soft kisses along his neck, speeding your hand up. His eyes catch on the computer. Your arm stuck between both your bodies. The curve of your ass and the dip of your back. The way you can obviously see what you’re doing, even with his shorts still on, which somehow makes it even more erotic. He’s never been more turned on in his fucking life.

“Fuck me.” He whines softly, eyes rolling back as you tighten your grip and his dick kicks in your hand. His hands grip onto your thighs, squeezing the soft flesh there.

You slow your hand, cooing at him. You know how he gets when he’s like this — saying whatever pleasure induced bullshit comes to mind. “Yeah? You ready?” You hum, running just your fingertips down his dick, which makes his back arch up like he’s being electrocuted.

He pushes up into your hand with a soft sound, upset that you slowed down. “Ye — yeah,” he huffs immediately, nodding vigorously as he looks up at you. Eyes half lidded, brows pinched together. “Let me, baby. Please. Missed you so fucking bad on tour.”

That’s really all it takes. (Along with you also being concerningly horny, of course.) But soon, he’s unhooking your bra with so much practiced precision and pulling it off your arms, staring into the laptop because both of you are butt ass naked and he can’t believe his fucking luck. The hottest girl he’s ever seen on top of him and willingly letting him add it to his spank bank and show Art? Fuck yes.

“So pretty,” he focuses back on you, sliding his big hands back up your body to squeeze at your tits. “Missed these.” He guides one of your nipples into his mouth, sighing with what seems to be relief and runs his hands around your waist to hold your lower back.

You moan softly, staying there for a moment because it feels so nice when he does that. You reach over to the nightstand, shuffle around blindly for a moment, and pull out a tiny, foil square. You waste no time ripping it open and reaching down, guiding it onto him while he groans around your tit at the feel of your hand on him again.

“Fuck yeah.” He mutters, smiling as you lift your hips up to align him. His smile fades as you sink down, and instead his head lolls back, eyes close, jaw open.

He groans softly as you fit around him. Sopping wet, soft, and just as tight as he remembers.

“Shit.” He grabs at your hips, letting you take the reins (though he imagined the opposite while on tour, he can swing both ways). He just lets you move, rolling your hips back and forth and watching as your breath stutters when his tip slides against that bit inside of you that you can’t reach yourself.

It feels amazing. Which he would say any other time, sure, but this is different. You haven’t seen each other in months and he has denied every touchy girl in any number of dark, sticky bars in every state. No matter how desperate he’d been to get someone’s hand on him that wasn’t his own. He’d wait. And he did.

He’s got his eyes on your tits, breathing heavily through his mouth, nodding to whatever sex induced bullshit you had to say.

“Missed this dick.” You mumble, eyebrows furrowing as you lean back and put your hands on his thighs.

“Oh god.” Is all he can groan as he watches you, mesmerized by the way your body moves and the way he can see the outline of his dick on the stretch of skin where your pelvis and stomach meets. He prays the camera catches it.

It’s embarrassing to say how fast he’s getting there. He hasn’t felt your perfect body in almost 2 months, and the rough, monotonous rhythm of his hand hadn’t been enough. He can call you. God, he can call you.

He can call and listen to you play with your pretty pussy and hear your little whines you let slip. But he wants to see it. He wants to fucking see you.

He tilts his head back, head digging into your pillow as he thrusts up into you, accommodated by grunts. Your eyes roll back, your back arches, you’re definitely receiving some sort of noise complaint.

“Gonna come.” He mumbles into the hot air, forcing his head forward to see your face. You’ve got your eyebrows furrowed all pretty and your jaw slack. You look like you’re in love with him. He thinks it’s funny you do that most when he’s fucking you.

He does. It fills the condom he’s wearing and the warmth makes you shiver. You do too. Patrick is the only guy who has ever made you come just like that. It’s easy for him, you guess.

You feel his body soften inside you as you lay on his chest, both of your breathing evening out.

“So.. I can show Art..?”

[itoldyatshirt]

APT x Saw

[zweigscore]

THIS IS MEEEEEE

[challengrsfanatc]

bf!patrick zweig hc

a/n: first post and im scared as hell… anyway, this is all nsfw. there might be some sprinkles of sfw stuff, but thats pretty much all. f!reader.

=====================================

- plays with your tits when he’s bored. not even in a sexual way too—he just slides his big hand under the collar of your shirt and starts to knead your breast lightly. relishes in the warmth too. maybe it’s just a way to keep his hands busy when watching a shitty action flick, or maybe he just wants to tease you. you can’t tell anyway.

- say that this was a college!au or something. the two of you would probably be at it like rabbits tbh. in your dorm, in his dorm, in the boys’ locker room, in the girls’ locker room, in the deep depths of the quiet library. anywhere and everywhere. art and tashi consider it a nuisance rather than the weird and perverted thing it really was.

- although if it wasn’t a college!au, i think the masturbating would go crazy. with patrick battling off in the pros and you just trying to gain some decent knowledge (or maybe vice versa) in college, all he needs is a grainy image of your pretty tits or your nimble fingers dug deep in your slick cunt to make his whole day. a low-quality video of his hand fisting his big cock, thumb stroking his painfully leaking tip was a great way to repay you anyway.

- both of you get your fair share of what you’ve been deprived of all of these months whenever he comes to visit. as far as he knows, tennis doesn’t really exist in his mind when he’s buried deep within your weeping cunt, your sweet moans intertwining with his own. nope, nowhere near your stratosphere.

- greatest eater ever, in my opinion. genuinely fascinates you with the things he can do with his talented tongue. in his mind, you smelled like the greatest thing in the whole fucking word. pressing his nose against the forming wet spot of your panties was heaven, and lapping your sweet pussy up was even better. includes his fingers too. likes scissoring his tongue and fingers in your tight cunt, and the subtle stroking of the tip of his nose against your sensitive clit was about enough to make it all feel better than intended.

- older!patrick meanwhile is rough as fuck. that’s not to say that once upon a time he used to be gentle and sensual or whatever, but there was at least a sense of passion when the two of you were at it. a sense of understanding and love. years had roughened and calloused him up, and when he was thrusting his thick cock in your slick hole, mumbling something about how good your pussy was, all there was was this underlying hate. to everyone if he was being honest.

[patrickzweigsdefender]

bible thumper

pairing : patrick zweig x catholic reader

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

would be pretty rad if u reblogged btw

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.

That’s all I’m writing I’m done bro.

[girliism]

post challengers art and tashi divorce and after months of throwing himself a pity party he gets on tinder. patrick finds his account when looking for a new date

SWIPE RIGHT

summery: while swiping through tinder art encounters an old friend.

pairing: art donaldson x patrick zweig

warnings: smut, handjobs, art dondalson confronts bisexuality kinda?

note: i accidentally changed it from patrick finding the acc to art cause i lowkey didn’t read the whole ask properly 😭 i’m trying to get back into writing and posting but it’s been awhile so i feel vulnerable so bare with 😭 and enjoy!

one thing art would not miss about this lawyer's office was how cold it was. he could practically see his breath when he talked. it was like they kept the temp down low on purpose. one thing he will miss is how it’s the only time he really got with tashi.

“so, we each get lily for a week, and we keep co-owning the foundation as usual, i get the house.” tashi was going over the things they agreed on for the divorce, and as a last attempt art reached his hand over to stop tashi from signing her name.

“please, tash, you don’t want to do this. please.” art didn’t know why he was hanging on to her so hard. he knew their relationship was over, it had been for a long time, but he had to at least try.

“art. let go,” she tried to keep her for as low as possible as not to embarrass him. “this is the best thing for us. for lily.” she pulled her hand free, and in a few swoops her name was signed on the dotted line. this was the end, and the only thing art could do was jump on board.

“great! we’ll send copies of the papers to each of you. it was a pleasure working together.” the lawyers got up, and shook each other's hands.

art stayed in that cold office for an hour after the papers were signed trying to figure out what went wrong. where did they go wrong?

that was months ago, and art still hadn’t adjusted to divorced life. it was easier when he had lily to make things seem semi-normal, but in the weeks without her he lived like he had in his early twenties. come home to an empty high rise, eat the bland dinner he meal prepped earlier that week by himself with only the twinkling lights of la in the distance to accompany him, crash on the couch with a beer in hand watching reruns of the office.

it doesn’t register when his hand slipped past his waist band to hold onto his cock, what does register is that fact that he couldn’t find pleasure. his mind was empty of anything worthy to jerk off to. he thought back to conversation with friends telling him to get on various dating sites.

“you don’t need to go looking for a new partner, you just need to get laid.”

the sign in process flew by, he verified his number and age, and the app took him to his profile. he should not be debating this hard over which pictures to add to his profile, but he spent a good thirty minutes on it before settling on three most recent ones. then came the preference question. art froze, his distance attraction to men is something he was happy never to confront beyond that faithful hotel moment in ‘06. his thumb hovered over his screen, his finger itching to tap one.

a defeated sigh and an impulsive decision later, art hit the both option and closed his phone, dropping his head back on the couch.

the ping of his notifications brought him back.

three new swipes

his eyebrows knitted together. more swipes came in. something inside him preened, it felt nice to know people still wanted him. as he swiped through the potential people it was all left. left, left, left, left— wait

patrick zweig, 33. 40 miles away.

art stared hard at the screen. 40 miles away. it was close, a thought he didn’t even know why he was entertaining.

it’s been a year since new rochelle. a year since he’s seen patrick. and the first time he does it’s from scrolling on a fucking dating app. art clicked on his profile, swiping through the photos patrick chose. shirtless ones, clothed ones, he rolled his eyes at the bio. looking for fun ;)

art doesn’t know what made him do it, maybe he liked torturing himself, but at that moment swiping right on an old friend felt better than drinking alone in an empty apartment.

hey.

he sat up, heart pounding, when text bubbles popped up not a second after his message was sent.

art…?

hey.

he contemplated hard on his next message before sending.

i have beer if you wanna hang?

text bubbles appeared and disappeared. the snap from art’s thumbnail breaking between his teeth brought him to reality. what was he doing? anxiously awaiting a text message like a kid with a crush, he was a grown man, but that didn’t stop his spine from straightening when patrick’s message came through.

address?

in the hour it took patrick to get to art’s apartment, art had tidied up his already clean living room. compulsively rearranging pillows until knocks beat against his door causing him to pause before striding over to open it.

patrick, as he was, dressed in a black and blue windbreaker, gym shorts, and sneakers stood in the hallway outside his door.

“nice place, i see you got a good settlement in the divorce.” he smiled that cocky side smile that’s been permanently glued to his face for as long as they’ve known each other.

“fuck off.”

patrick laughed, pushing his way into art’s apartment. “where’s the beer?” he made himself comfortable on the plush couch. art disappeared into the kitchen and came back with two miller lites and joined him on the couch . a great distance stretched between them, art tense and choking the hell out of his bottle sat on one end, and patrick relaxed flipping through channels sat on the other.

“what are you doing in la?” from what art gathered patrick had no fixed address, but the last time they saw each other was in new york.

“needed money, and there’s a tournament happening this week, so.” he shamelessly admitted. “why’d you swipe right on me?” the smirk on his face could be heard through his words.

art let out a small sound accompanied with a shrug. “i don’t know.”

“hm, so you finally realized you like men.”

the question was abrupt and hit art right on the chest. his drink caught in his throat before sliding down the wrong tube causing a coughing fit.

“why—what, what makes you think that?”

patrick squinted at him. “i wouldn’t have just randomly showed up if you only selected women you know.”

suddenly art felt exposed, his mouth dry as sat there in silence thinking of what to say. “i—uh, i didn’t notice. my finger must have slipped.” his eyes stayed glued to his socked feet in front of him. he could feel his ex friend’s gaze on him. his ex friend who’s known him for years and can tell when he’s not being honest.

“art. i think we’re both too old to still be lying to ourselves.”

for some reason he sounded closer than before, and when art turned his head to the side there was patrick’s face inches away from his. he didn’t pull away, he let his face stay in the close proximity.

“what would i have to be lying about?” it comes out as barely a whisper.

patrick’s gaze slips down to art’s lip for a second. “how you don’t want this.”

all rational thoughts must have left art’s head, because the second patrick’s lips hit his instead of pushing away he leaned forward. this kiss was different from the one in the hotel room. it was older and more experienced instead of young and naive, yet just as hungry.

patrick slipped his tongue past art’s lips, and a pathetic moan from art was muffled into the other man’s mouth.

large hands came up to grip art’s jaw, firm and steady, before trailing down his neck and over his chest to take hold of the beer still in his hands, removing it and placing it on the table.

“pat.” the old nickname falls easily as patrick moves his kisses to art’s neck. the scruff of his beard scratched against art’s sensitive skin. with a bite of his bottom lip art tries to keep his whines down, but patrick has hand under his shirt thumbing his nipple and his tongue licking over the faint marks he was leaving behind.

“we shouldn’t do this.”

“why not,” patrick whispered. “you’re allowed to want this, art.” his hand pressed against art’s slowly growing bulge. “let yourself have this.”

he’s denied himself so much for so long it was the least he could do. so when patrick’s hand pulled out his cock he didn’t stop him, he let his head fall back and relish in the feeling of someone else’s calloused hands touch him.

“s-shit.”

patrick brought his spit slicked hand to wrap around art’s cock. he was heavy in his palm, and veiny, he could feel them against his skin as he stroked up and down. milking sounds of pleasure from art.

“god, patrick.” he hissed when patrick pressed his thumb into his slit.

“good?” patrick smirked, knowing it was.

“shut up.” art hooked his fingers in patrick’s waistband yanking them down as best he could before patrick helped him. freeing his own cock.

patrick was always bigger, thicker, hairier, and it only got more apparent with age.

“put your hand around me.” patrick commanded and art obeyed, licking his palm before wrapping around patrick’s girth. “fuck, like that.” art matched his pace. up and down up and down.

the living room filled with their mixing groans and the slick noises coming from the frantic jerking. side by side they sat with their hands on the others cocks, lips connected in a messy kiss.

“oh, oh, fuck!” art’s hips bucked, his hold on patrick faltering. his dick throbbed and twitched, he knew he was close.

picking up his pace patrick’s hand moved faster and faster until art curled forward. broken moans and gasps fell from his lips as his shirt became stained with cum. “shit.” he leaned back trying to recover with deep breaths. what the fuck just happened? was swimming in his head but couldn’t focus on that because patrick took hold of his wrist restarting the motions of jerking.

“it’s not nice to blue ball your guests, art,” he teased. “aren’t you gonna finish me off?”

“aren’t you gonna ask nicely?”

a small smirk grew on patrick’s face. “please.”

art’s hand tightened around patrick thick cock, slow strokes turned into fast ones. “gonna make me come?” patrick knocked his forehead against art’s locking eyes with him. “i’m so fucking close. make me come art, make me c-come.” art moved his hand impossibly faster letting patrick twitch and moan against him until he was reduced to gasps. “s-s-hit art!”

with messy laps, stained hands, and labored breathing art and patrick sat with their shoulders brushing and their cocks softening.

“hey, can i sleep here tonight?”

art scoffed without any real negative connotation, before turning to look at a fucked out patrick. “yeah, you can stay.”

-

[misguidedtreestump]

The hanged man