#indie band patrick

[stereopticons]

Thanks for the tags, @kiwiana-writes @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @indestructibleheart! The one sentence I wrote yesterday plus the handful I managed tonight are pretty much everything I’ve written in the last ten days. I’ve spent a lot of time internally screaming at myself to just open the damn doc while just staring at a wall. It’s not been great! But here are a few sentences. It’s still sunday in a few places plus they stole an hour from me, so it counts!

“And you’re sure this is the right moment?”

David watches Patrick’s throat bob as he swallows hard, then nods. “I’m sure.”

David kisses Patrick’s shoulder lightly. “Then we should probably get dressed.”

It sounds simple enough, but their nerves make getting dressed a bit of a comedy of errors. David trips and nearly goes crashing to the floor because he’s too busy staring at Patrick’s naked ass to pay attention to putting his underwear back on. Patrick accidentally tries to pull on David’s jeans, and while the thought of Patrick wearing his clothes does something funny to David’s heart, there’s no way that that pair in particular will fit over his tree-trunk thighs. Eventually, though, they manage to get all the right clothes on the right body parts with no major injuries.

Patrick takes a deep breath and puts his hand on the doorknob, but doesn’t turn it. Recognizing the fear for what it is, David rests his hands on Patrick’s shoulders.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “Whatever happens, however this goes, I’ll be here.”

@alienajackson @mostlyinthemorning @hippolotamus @apothecarose @ramonaflow @jamilas-pen @l56895 @lizzie-bennetdarcy @nontoxic-writes @smblmn @chelle-68 @myheartalivewrites @rmd-writes @beaiola

[stereopticons]

Thanks for the tag, @kiwiana-writes! I know this one is in indie band patrick a lot but the fun thing about that wip is that searching it makes the google docs app crash on my phone so I had to find this myself.

But it’s the ones where he and Patrick are holding hands as they walk down the street or cuddling in front of a fireplace, or the one where he was sitting on the couch while Patrick played him a song he wrote on the piano, those he has no idea what to do with. It’s a secret he’ll take to his grave, but the most recent of these dreams featured Patrick staying and taking care of him after a nighttime oopsie-daisy. This genre of dream leaves him to wake with a deep ache of want in his chest, not a raging flame like the sex dreams, but a slow-burning ember.

Tagging @hippolotamus @indestructibleheart @alienajackson @apothecarose @chelle-68

This week’s word is…

🎶 SONG 🎶

Find the word in any WIP and share the sentence containing it. Reply, reblog, stick it in the tags, tag us in a new post, or keep it private. All fandoms, all ships, all writers welcome.

[take-me-back-to-eden]

Movements // Third Degree

[amymbona]

Challengers - the band

Among equally famous Arctic Monkeys or Gorillaz, fans have got nuts over the quickly rising indie band formed in 2006. Challengers consists of three uniquely charismatic members, each one equally as genuine, and yet they all fit together like pieces of puzzle, creating a what fans appreciate as the trio of the decade.

Fitting into the genre of pure english indie, the trio doesn't fear to bounce into the world of rock or deliver a heart-touching ballad, so versatile that it appears unbelievable to many. The critics deem Challengers as an immortal piece of music that will continue to live on and be appreciated decades into the future. Even the thirsty fans seem to agree.

Tashi Duncan

The frontman - in this case the front lady - carries the aesthetic part, providing a gentle caress with each of her smiles, known widely by her fair amount of dark toned lipsticks and pairs of leather pants. As the main vocalist, her voice is heard in most of the songs, and she is essentially the voice of the band.

The gorgeous grace with which she carries herself can hardly he matched, and by many, Tashi is often refered to as the bitch, which takes away from the beauty of her soul. Contrary to a popular belief, Tashi Duncan is a gentle human - a fact supported by all the fans that have met her - as she never misses an opportunity to hug a fan or sign a paper.

A sex symbol, often compared to Amy Winehouse or Fiona Apple, she's often reduced fo a pretty face - much to her fans' disappointment. The talent she possesses is nothing short of a gift, given to her by gods above, and certain female singers have expressed both their jealousy towards and support to the star.

Art Donaldson

Known as the people's sweetheart, the most one could spot of Art Donaldson is the messy mop of his curls peeking from behind the drum set. With often admired set of muscles - which many female fans attempt to grasp once the drummer ventures in public - it's no issue for him to be pounding into the drums and cymbals all night.

His steady beats offer a stable background to all of the band's songs, resembling the rhythm of our heartbeats. But the man who's been named as the best drummer of the current music wave is much more than that.

It's no secret that Art Donaldson does most of the songwriting, providing his fans an insight to his soul, which doesn't resemble the harshness of his clothing style at all. Upon further observation, it's clear that most of the lyrics are centered around love, affection, eroticism and gut-wrenching feelings. This gentle compassion, paired with a cute smile, makes Art the most wholesome face of the genre of indie.

Patrick Zweig

This man is not famous just for his pretty face, though it is the feature he is the most recognized for. With the electric guitar constantly glued to his hands and the enthusiasm of an eight-year-old, Patrick Zweig jumps from one side of the stage to another. Some might say he is a bad influence, supported by the handful amount of evidence of nicotine and alcohol induced behaviour.

Known for his unrealistically swiftly executed guitar riffs, Patrick is the one to transform the ideas into music, as the band itself has mentioned. Most of the early hits were made purely under his supervision, which helped set the initial direction the band would evolve in. Perhaps he is the one we should thank for having Challengers become real.

It was particularly Patrick who stole the hearts of many young ladies, successfully earning himself the title of the womanizer. Multiple women were spotted leaving the Zweig residence over the last few months, wearing evidently less clothing that they entered the luxurious villa in. As the most extroverted and publically followed member, Patrick Zweig might as well be the loudest element of the three-man band.

[jesuistrestriste]

would ever write some sub patrick too?

absolutely, i just need to come up with some fic/drabble concepts for him. maybe i could expand upon the challengers x detroit become human (android) au that ive been doing with art and crank out an android!patrick piece..

all i know is that patrick, to me, is a huge brat. he does not submit easily (as art does) and prefers to be pushed/teased into his submission. ie he wants to wrestle for the control.. ie he wants to be put in his place.

[playfairband]

NEED SOME NEW MUSIC? Are you a fan of indie / alt rock, post punk, and emo?? Do you love bands like My Chemical Romance, Bloc Party, and Citizen??

Check out my band’s new EP that just came out!! You can say you liked us before we blew up

[kellymagovern]

The Sundays - "Goodbye" [x]

[playthe-piper]

My favorite game to play: Is my music terrible or do I wish I was patrick stump?

[dustedmagazine]

Bill Callahan — Resuscitate! (Drag City)

Photo by Patrick Masterson

One could argue a bit of malleability, some openness to interpretation, is a hallmark of any decent song, but Bill Callahan’s songs are more often than not built with loose borders, pockets to be filled with riffing and vamping, space to stretch the legs. While he undeniably releases records of songs — YTI⅃AƎЯ, the album in support of which he was touring for Resuscitate!, was his eighth under his own name and something like his 19th if you count the Smog works — there’s a degree to which they bleed around the edges, unfurling in ways that make you forget where you started and with only a vague awareness that it will eventually end.

Such unfurlings may be less comforting or familiar for the indie-rock audiences from whence Callahan came, but they’re practically de rigueur among jazz and jam band audiences — which, curiously, is whom Resuscitate! seems to propitiate over the course of its 10-track, hour-and-a-quarter runtime. Where Callahan’s records hint at or explore with restraint such reaches, in person, they’re allowed to bloom in full. Songs naturally mutate once they've been laid to tape, Callahan says in the liner notes, but these songs were evolving with a Bruce Banner-esque ferocity and needed to be documented.

It’s hard to imagine a better venue for such documentation than Chicago’s Thalia Hall, a stately former opera house dating from 1892 in the Pilsen neighborhood with excellent acoustics regardless of where you stand or what you’re watching. It’s also hard to imagine a better group of backing players, with veteran Chicago concern Natural Information Society’s Joshua Abrams and Lisa Alvarado and tenor sax man about town Dustin Laurenzi, plus stalwart Austinite guitarist Matt Kinsey, Dirty Three drummer Jim White and Congolese singer-songwriter Pascal Kerong’A (who opened for him on the night in question) all playing their part during the course of the March 2023 midtour set. The results are illuminating.

A word about the tracklist. In an interview for The New Yorker a couple of years ago, Callahan told Amanda Petrusich he has a particular talent for sequencing (“It’s the only thing to do with making music that I think I’m good at,” he laughed), so he presumably gave great consideration to what ultimately got released — and what didn’t. That’s also illuminating: Left out of Resuscitate!’s final tracklist is “Cowboy” (Gold Record), “Bowevil” and “Drainface” (YTI⅃AƎЯ), “Too Many Birds” (Sometimes I Wish I Were an Eagle) and “In the Pines” (A River Ain’t Too Much to Love). Callahan’s set may have erred on the heavy side of recent material (as much of this tour did), but he was even-handed in what he cut and ruthless in how he ordered what was left; only opener “First Bird” is left untouched in its original place.

He would’ve been fine leaving the sequence as he played it, frankly, but Resuscitate! sharpens Callahan’s considerate cowboy demeanor even whilst songs expand in length and narrative moments stretch out in relatively small spaces, extending into stories that meander, convoluted and beautiful as any bedtime story.

You could see why this would appeal to certain festival folk, and the mood on the ground that night was very much akin to one you’d find at an appreciative Oslo show or a late-hour Bonnaroo set despite a healthy heaping of reverent Callahan faithful. The whoops and hollers are there in the margins of or breaths between as songs unfold like loose unbuttonings, ebullient exclamation marks left in the wake of, say, Laurenzi tearing it up during the nearly 13-minute “Coyotes” or occasionally breaking through the mix as “Naked Souls” hits its groove. Such flavor is endemic to live albums, but it’s interesting how much Callahan has tried to collar it despite the music’s open-world expansiveness. Not that he was ever much one for it, but there’s also minimal banter; the focus remains squarely on the songs’ real-time evolution.

Smog standby “Keep Some Steady Friends Around” might be the most indicative track for where Bill Callahan was at during this snapshot in time. It’s as domestic as its newer setlist compatriots — and heavier in a way, as though Callahan has deeply observed over the decades what it means to have steady friends around, and what it means to build a gate. What Resuscitate! reflects is where that gate lies: Forever the folk troubadour but now with a more stable home life to lean on, Callahan can afford himself the luxury of opening up that gate and letting more of himself out — though what he lets in remains the provenance of his closest confidants and spiritual tribe. Even at his most open, the gate remains a gate.

Patrick Masterson and Margaret Welsh

[stereopticons]

wip wednesday

(one day i'll make a banner)

Thank you for the tag, @kiwiana-writes! I tried to write some more on indie band patrick or the RWRB fic I started last week but this week has been Bad and I haven't been able to. So I'm going to share another snippet from indie band patrick and hope I haven't already shared it (I could go back and look but I think we all know I'm not going to do that).

“I guess we should stop,” Patrick says, even as he kisses the pout off of David’s lips. “Wouldn’t want you to get in trouble with the boss.” David rolls his eyes and captures Patrick’s lips in another kiss, nipping lightly at his bottom lip. “I really should go, though,” Patrick continues. “I’m teaching a guitar lesson on the Upper West Side this afternoon.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

The tips of Patrick’s ears go delightfully pink. “I was, uh, just in the neighborhood.”

“Honey.”

“Okay, I just wanted to see you,” Patrick confesses, the blush now spreading across his cheekbones. David tries to contain his smile as the warmth in his chest takes over. No one has ever crossed half of Manhattan just to see him. Hell, an ex who lived in Turtle Bay referred to their relationship as long distance even though David’s loft was barely half an hour away by car. He reels Patrick in for another kiss. 

“Are you coming to the show tonight?” Patrick looks up at him, lips swollen and hope etched on his face. 

David quirks an eyebrow at him. “Is that…wise?”

“It’ll be fine. We’ll just have to keep our hands to ourselves.”

Tagging @indestructibleheart @hippolotamus @chelle-68 @mostlyinthemorning @carolrain and anyone else who wants to share something

[eastritual]

double header this weekend get fckn ready asheville 💚

[take-me-back-to-eden]

Movements // Coeur D'Alene

[shapinginvisible]

Today I discovered the band called Cindy Lee from Canada. This song is currently playing in the background for the third time.

The way I came across this band, half an hour ago legit, is by seeing an article with this title "Who is Cindy Lee? Pop's most mysterious sensation." Due to me being super curious I went on YT to search the sound first and liked what I heard.

"People were also eagerly scrambling to find out: who exactly is Cindy Lee anyway? There was no PR campaign, no interviews, and no social media presence. In fact, as it transpired, it was the enigmatic drag alter ego of alternative Canadian singer-songwriter Patrick Flegel, whose band Women had been a combustible but admired act in the 00s indie rock scene, releasing two acclaimed albums before splitting after an onstage fistfight. " - You can read the article HERE   

[geminimoonxs]

GOOD GIRLS GO TO HEAVEN. BAD GIRLS GO BACKSTAGE.

an au where art and patrick are bonded by music and an unfortunate habit of falling for the exact same type of girl.

💌 note: hi angels! hope you like this. it's not proofread and english is not my first language so i apologize in advance if writing sucks. not sure if i'll write pt.2 but i do have more ideias for this plot...... cw: +18. mdni. threesome. praise/degradation. drunk sex. unprotected sex. petnames. cumplay (if you squint). idk. shit gets nasty.

art was the kind of kid who wouldn't stay still. he was well-behaved, sure, but he had that kind of curiosity that turned into restlessness. he'd throw himself into every extracurricular thing he could get his hands on. by twelve, he could already hold his own on both drums and guitar.

his grandmother rarely said no when those blue eyes lit up asking for something. she put up with the noise, let him practice, let his friends come over to play and sat on the couch when their little band wanted to “perform” for her. even back then, patrick was already the frontman, the one whose energy moved everything and held the act together.

so yeah, it started as a joke. now the band wasn’t exactly serious either. it was just a hobby, a distraction named velvet. 

they'd play gigs in pubs and at a few events around town. nothing big. mostly indie-rock covers: stuff from the killers, the strokes, and a lot of arctic monkeys. it made them some cash, but it was more about the thrill of being on stage and the joy of sharing something that kept them close. it was also for the girls, especially if you’d ask patrick.

when you met him on campus for the first time, he was hanging a poster for their upcoming show.

“hey,” he said, pointing at the poster with one hand when you came closer to check it out. “you should come this friday. the guys play some really good music. i’m the vocalist, but my opinion still counts, right?” he grinned.

that was enough to convince you. well, the fact that he was tall and had strong arms didn’t hurt either. plus, it wasn’t like you had much to do on friday anyway. so naturally, you picked a mini skirt, your favorite pair of boots, and a friend to drag along.

the place had a decent crowd, but it wasn’t packed. the two of you ended up getting a good spot, front and center, right where patrick could set his eyes on you again. 

his vocals were cutting through the room — low and raspy, keeping up with the tune of “the adults are talking”. he was charismatic like a real star, making eyes at the crowd, taking up space on stage, and pulling the other guys into his orbit.

“you forgot to mention they were all hot,” your friend julia said, laughing into your ear.

“i only knew patrick before tonight.”

but she was right. they were all pretty cute. the drummer sat a little hidden off to the left, but you could still make out his angelic features under the red lights. 

he was looking at you. probably amused by your white crop top that read ”say no to drugs and yes to drummers”.

you weren’t sure if the set was done or if they were just taking a break, but the band stepped off stage for a bit. not long after, you spotted patrick at the bar with his friends, nodding for you to come over.

“nice shirt,” patrick said with a grin. “since you’re clearly into drummers, this is art.”

the guy behind him smiled, just a little, like he was as surprised by the intro as you were. 

“it’s just a shirt. you don’t need to get jealous,” you teased, raising an eyebrow at the brunette. “but your friend did kill it on stage.”

“band rule: we don’t get jealous over groupies.” he winked, watching you a little too closely, like he wanted to see if you’d flinch.

god, he was annoying. the kind of guy who flirted by stressing you out. and he knew he looked damn good doing it.

you shot him a look. “what if i’m just here for the music?”

“then both art and i end the night crying,” he joked, and wandered off to go hassle someone else.

art was still standing there, awkward but not moving away. there was a heat crawling up the back of his neck, stupid and fast. his fingers twitched at his side like they were searching for something to hold onto: a drink, a cigarette, anything.

“you were really good up there,” you said, quieter this time.

“uh, thanks. i saw you during the set. kind of hard to miss.”

you tilted your head. “because of the shirt?”

he hesitated, then looked right at you this time. “no. not just that.”

behind you, julia’s laugh rang out sharp and warm, unmistakably hers. you turned and saw her leaning into the bassist, the two of them locked in some kind of back-and-forth that looked suspiciously like flirting.

long story short? by the time the pub started clearing out, they invited you both to tag along to a friend’s place. no one questioned it. it just sort of happened, like gravity pulling the night forward.

the weed came out somewhere between opening beers and stealing the couch cushions. patrick lit up with one hand and passed it around like he owned the air.

everyone was talking over each other, laughing while recalling band stories or demanding for more alcohol to be poured. still, your attention was focused. 

pat was sitting on the floor, across from you and art to your right. they exchanged subtle looks like they could communicate in silence but you had decoded the tension by now. 

both clearly wanted you, but it didn’t feel like they were competing… just waiting. 

“so, how often does this happen?” you asked. 

“what exactly?” art asked, voice too innocent to be real.

“you two going after the same girl.”

“depends,” the brunette drawled smoothly, voice roughened just enough, “are you asking because you want us to fight over you or you want to know if we share?”

“oh, i wouldn’t want you guys to fight. i’m not a homewrecker.” you laughed, secretly still studying their faces. “just want to know if i should be flattered or if you do have a record of falling for the same type of women.” 

art took a sip from his beer, then stared at the bottle like he knew patrick was going to say something embarrassing. 

“there was this one girl, tashi. my ex. art ran into her bed to make her feel better when we broke up. but i forgave him.”

well, there it was. a reason for art’s ears and cheeks to get even redder. he tried to explain himself but patrick didn’t even listen, just kept going.

“and there was alice, in highschool. but she was the one who asked to kiss both of us. said it was her birthday gift, so naturally we couldn’t say no.” 

“well, so you do share.”

“upon request, yes... i also help arthur out when he’s too shy to make a move, which happens often” 

“real charitable, patrick… why don’t you shut the fuck up?” art muttered, but it didn’t have much bite. 

you sipped your drink, watching them bounce off each other like this was just how it always was. it was kind of cute, honestly. the way they talked over each other, the way art tried to hide how much he actually cared what came out of patrick’s mouth. something about it clicked in a way you weren’t expecting.

“so,” you said, grinning, “how long have you two been dating?”

the blonde one choked on his beer. the other one snorted. two complete opposites, fire and ice. 

“we’re not —” art started, cheeks going red again.

“yeah, he hasn’t had the balls to make a move on me yet.” pat joked, reaching his hand to playfully mess with art’s hair. “he thinks i’m out of his league.” 

something flickered in the space between their laughs. something in the way art didn’t quite look at him, and the way patrick didn’t stop grinning, like the edge of the truth was brushing up against both of them.

you didn’t know it, but band nights did get wild sometimes: late sets, green rooms with no real locks, adrenaline running high. nights where patrick would be deep into some random girl moaning on an old couch and art would be just steps away, pressed against her even more random friend in the shadows, trying not to pay attention. doing his best not to stare at the way patrick’s hips moved and how his hands wrapped perfectly around soft curves. trying not to get fixated on the sounds he made, rough and breathless. 

he never talked about those nights. not really. but he remembered them too clearly.

julia called your name from across the room. her voice cut through the haze, laced with whatever new discovery she’d made.

“come here. the guys made pizza!”

you excused yourself with a smile and headed her way, weaving past the tangle of bodies and bottles. patrick watched you go, then turned to art with a very familiar expression, a grin that always meant trouble.

“you gonna shoot your shot or just sit there looking like a kicked puppy?”

art blinked. “what?”

“don’t act confused. you’ve been staring at her like she’s the second coming of christ all night.”

“fuck off.”

“no, seriously. it’s cute.” patrick leaned in a little, voice dropping low, amused. “you’re in love already, huh?”

art shook his head quickly, but the tips of his ears betrayed him, flushed deep red. “she’s clearly more into you,” he mumbled. “you’re the one making her laugh.”

“because i’m funny,” patrick said, deadpan. “that’s not the same as her wanting my dick.”

“it usually is.” 

“god, you’re hopeless.” 

you came back a few moments later, hands empty. “they’ve managed to make premade pizza go wrong. it’s cold, ugly and disgusting.”

“hideous,” patrick agreed immediately. “but not as disgusting as you ditching me.”

“i was gone for two minutes.”

“longest two minutes of my life.”

you rolled your eyes, but still let him pull you into his lap when you went to sit back down. and that’s when he took another hit from the blunt, held it, then leaned forward, tapping his fingers gently against your jaw until you turned toward him. no warning, no question. he brought his mouth close and exhaled the smoke straight past your lips. 

the kiss you shared wasn’t rushed or desperate. it was very intentional, with one of patrick’s hands holding on to your waist like he’d never be done exploring your mouth. 

art didn’t hang around for long. he’d moved to the other side of the room, engaged in shallow conversations and looked away fast when you glanced his way. he was busy trying not to wonder what your mouth would taste like if he had been the one to offer the smoke.

“you want him too, don’t you?” pat asked in a low voice as he ran his nose down your neck softly, just to bite into it. his voice didn’t carry any judgment or jealousy, just pure unfiltered curiosity. 

“he’s cute.”

“oh, i know.” he admitted with a small laugh. “if i get you what you want, will you be able to take it? or are you just being greedy?”

he was toying with your mind, letting the possibility sit there within reach. he was clearly in charge of your body too, hand moving to your thigh, slightly parting your legs so the miniskirt would look even more obscene. no one else was paying attention to the two of you.

just art. his blue eyes wandering shamelessly from your black lace panties peeking out, to patrick’s smirk.

“i’ve never done this before.” you said, honestly. 

“we’ll go easy on you,” patrick said, his fingers lazy where they traced a slow line up your thigh. “he’s a good boy and i don’t bite too hard either.”

he stood then, giving your hand a small tug and guiding you down the hallway. the bedroom he pushed you into was messy, something you could tell even with the lights off. pat lit a single lamp on the nightstand, the low light casting warm reflections over your skin as he got you to lie down on the mattress.

you didn’t have much time to think. his hands were on your hips again, one knee between your legs, mouth already on yours, moving slow and confident, coaxing. he kissed like someone who knew how to get what he wanted, but didn’t mind taking his time getting there.

“you’re too beautiful,” he murmured against your skin. “let me see you.”

the crop top was gone quickly, revealing your breasts sitting perfectly in a black bra. his mouth watered at the sight, but he didn’t rush – just leaned down to kiss your lips again, deliciously slow. one of his hands traveled up your skirt, fingers lightly tracing where your panties had gone damp.

your head tipped back on instinct, eyes closing as you felt his digits push the fabric to the side and finally touch you how you needed it with his thumb pressuring small circles on your clit.  

you were so lost in the moment that you didn’t even notice patrick clumsily balancing his phone with the wrong hand, thumb fumbling the screen as he typed. the text to art was simple: 

| “sos. need a condom.” 

he knew it would work. would lure him in. and it did. art did anything for him.

less than five minutes later there was a knock on the door. 

you startled at first: legs snapping closed, eyes locking on patrick’s in quiet panic.

“it’s just art,” he said calmly, placing a sweet kiss to your jaw. “gonna let him in, ok? we’re going to take good care of you.” 

you nodded, head already consumed by the fantasy of being the center of their attention. dripping at the thought. 

he opened the door just a crack. art stood there holding the foil square like it burned his hand.

“thanks,” patrick said. and then he opened the door wider.

“pat — ” art barely got the word out before being interrupted.

“come on, man. don’t be shy.” the brunette said with a smile. “we both want you here. doubles the fun.”

art stumbled into the room before he could stop himself, face lit up crimson. he looked everywhere except you, until his eyes inevitably dropped and there you were, lying across the bed, hair splayed, skirt rumpled up, those soaked black panties still on display.

patrick stepped close behind him, lips brushing the shell of his ear, “don’t make her  beg, hm? show her how much you want her.”

their dynamic was amusing to watch. it felt like art obeyed out of habit, knowing it was safe to walk into whatever patrick picked for him. 

he crawled up to your body, eyes fixated on your lips. “can i?” he asked, waiting for your confirmation before leaning in. 

art kissed you like he’d been holding back for hours. flammable, trembling, hands shaky as they palmed your waist and chest.

you couldn't hold back a moan as you felt patrick get back in the bed, his face finding your neck, hand traveling to your back and unclasping the bra with practice. it soon joined your top on the floor. 

“god, you’re gorgeous.” art breathed. there was nothing casual about his tone, he sounded devoted. 

he touched you carefully, peppering kisses all over before latching to your nipple and staying there. the feeling of his lips and the sinful way patrick looked down to watch him sent something straight to your core. 

one of your hands fell on art’s curls, tugging gently, while the other palmed pat’s bulge through his jeans. the brunette wasted no time stripping your skirt and settling between your legs.

he didn’t take your panties off, not yet. his mouth met the fabric first, tongue pressing in, soaking it even more, making it cling tight to your skin.

“patrick, please…” you moaned, feeling his hands pressing harshly on your tights, keeping you open. 

“so spoiled. bet you’re loving all of this.” he hissed, finally dragging the lace down your legs. “dying be our little plaything, aren’t you?”

you didn’t reply, cause art’s lips met yours again. you kept moaning into his mouth, letting him ground you while pat’s tongue worked. it felt slick and warm, alternating from bullying your clit to teasing your entrance. 

patrick lapped at your folds like a starving man and when his fingers got in the mix it didn’t take long before you were arching your back in response. 

“you wanna come for him, princess?” art asked, surprising you with confidence that you had no idea where it came from. 

he never felt this worked up before. he wanted to reach for patrick’s hair and keep him in place, so your moans would keep flooding the room. he wanted to taste you off of patrick’s lips until both of them gasped for air.

but he wouldn’t dare be the one to start it. so he just watched as your legs trembled, as you clenched around pat’s fingers. 

patrick looked up with a lust filled gaze, chin glistening as he offered art his digits, coated in you. “there you go.” he murmured in satisfaction as art’s lips parted without hesitation, soft and eager around his fingers.

it wasn’t as good as getting the kiss art was fantasizing about, but you tasted so sweet that it still made his head spin. 

“now, it’s not fair that we have her sitting here so pretty and we’re both still fully clothed is it?” pat asked, clearly having fun to be the one commanding the whole thing, giving it rhythm. “give her something to look at.” 

he came closer and slid art’s red flannel off his back, letting the blonde get rid of the worn out grey t-shirt that was underneath it too. 

you were positively surprised by the view. art had a slim frame, but his arms and abs were defined, like sculpted marble. his pale skin was painted in a few brown spots that spread along his shoulders and back, like a constellation. 

he was still fidgeting his fingers, looking at patrick for guidance before you took his hand and placed it at the hem of pat’s shirt yourself. you helped art lift the fabric, kissing every inch of skin that was revealed on the way. 

you barely noticed the shirt hit the mattress — your eyes were already caught on something much more interesting. right above you, patrick reached a hand to the base of art’s neck and rested his forehead against his. they were inches away from each other’s lips. 

you saw it happen, the moment patrick pulled closer and art gave in. it was all tongue, an urge suppressed for too long before this night creeped up on them. you could feel art’s cock twitching in his pants as you tried to open his zipper.

“you two look so cute, aching for each other like that.” you laughed, not even close to poking fun at them… just honored to be in the middle of it.

patrick smirked, tugging your hair lightly until you straightened up between them. he pulled both you and art in, everything blurring into the messiest kiss you ever experienced, not sure anymore where one person ended and the other one began. 

“can’t wait, i need you.” art whimpered, tugging his pants and boxers down himself. at that point you couldn’t even be sure if he was talking to you or his best friend. 

patrick lifted your face slightly, stealing all of your attention to his brown eyes. “you said you could handle both of us, so now you’re gonna be good, ok?” his tone was calm, almost condescending. “if something feels too much, you tell me. if you change your mind at any point we stop, no questions asked.”

you nodded, heart pounding, legs already shaking. you felt oddly safe in their arms, like maybe you’d already memorized their bodies and their voices in another life.

“come here. bend over,” patrick instructed, easing you down until your ass was in the air and your face rested in his lap. “wanna watch art have his way with you first. let him get you ready for me.”

you couldn’t think. not with the sight of art’s flushed tip leaking as he stroked himself coming closer to you. he placed one hand on your hip, calloused fingers from the drumsticks grabbing with no restraint left. the other hand lined his cock with your entrance, until he pushed in, painfully slow. 

“f-fuck — ” he gasped. “you’re so wet. it feels too good.” 

patrick glanced down over the scene with a smug satisfaction burning in his eyes, looking proud of himself for setting everything up. maybe later art would finally admit he was a mastermind, after all. 

his own pants dropped just enough to free his length, which bobbed dangerously close to your face. you kissed down his happy trail, breath hot, one hand wrapping around the base just before your lips met his tip.

it was big enough for you to choke on it, small tears forming on the corner of your eyes. but he didn’t force it. didn’t guide. his hand simply stroked your hair back, gently, like he wanted to watch you try.

“you can do better than that.” he rasped, pulling out long enough for you to catch your breath. “has art fucked you stupid yet?” 

he didn’t wait for an answer, just eased you back down with a curl of his fingers, coaching you into a steadier rhythm as you moaned around him.

truth was, it was nearly impossible to focus with art pounding into you and his short nails digging into your hips like he was holding on for dear life. 

the way patrick spoke and the view of his thick cock sliding into your mouth did something to art too, you could tell by the beautiful noises leaving his lips. 

“shit, i’m gonna come, i need to cum.” he exhaled, equal parts despair from the overwhelming sensations and embarrassment for not lasting as long as he’d like to. 

“it’s ok.” pat cooed, gently dragging him down for another kiss. “fuck her through it. let me feel how you shake from it.” 

art didn’t stand a chance. not with you clenching around him like that. not with patrick whispering filth that close to his mouth.

he came inside you. didn’t mean to, but the moment his body broke, his hips snapped forward, burying himself deep with a low, wrecked groan. it was like his whole body forgot how to let go.

you blinked, dazed, face still in patrick’s lap, lips wet from his cock. art collapsed forward, forehead pressed between your shoulder blades, chest heaving.

patrick looked down, unfazed. almost proud again.

“you came inside her?” he asked, barely laughing, like he already knew.

art nodded, cheeks flushed and eyes still unfocused.

“you on the pill?” patrick asked you, hand brushing hair from your cheek.

“yeah,” you whispered, legs still trembling.

“good,” he said simply, and without waiting, he pulled you up. his hands gripped your hips and dragged you into his lap, cock still hard and slick with your spit, pressing up between your thighs. he didn’t bother lining himself up with his hand, he used your body instead, rocking your weight until your entrance caught on his tip. “then it’s my turn.”

he pushed up. slow at first, stretching you wider with the thickness of him, groaning into your neck when he bottomed out. his grip stayed firm, holding you steady while he filled the space art had just left.

you could still feel art’s cum inside you, warm and dripping, all of it being fucked back into you.

patrick growled against your skin. “you were made for this, weren’t you?”

you whimpered, hands flying to his chest, trying to brace yourself but he was already going quicker, deeper, letting his frustration pour into every thrust. 

behind you, art was still breathing hard, but not gone. his eyes followed every move, hand sliding over his own cock, still half hard, slowly stroking. his other hand found your spine, tracing it down gently, grounding you.

patrick was muttering filth against your throat, fucking up into you harder. “god, you’re so fucked out already. such a mess.”

“pat…” you moaned, voice weak.

“that’s it. take it,” he growled, eyes locked on yours.

art’s voice broke through, quiet and calm, a sharp contrast.

“you’re doing so good,” he whispered, kissing your shoulder, then your jaw. “just a bit more, ok? he’s almost there”

he kept stroking himself slowly, the rhythm in perfect counterpoint to patrick’s roughness. he kissed your lips between words, sweet and soft.

your skin was burning. you felt yourself tightening again, caught in the middle of them. 

“come for me, please. i need to see your face.” art said, touching your clit gently. your body gave into his command. 

patrick groaned beneath you and slammed in one final time, cock pulsing as he came. his hips stuttered, teeth pressed to your neck as he spilled into you.

“fuck, you’re perfect.” pat hissed as art kissed your temple. “we should keep you around.” 

💌 taglist: @jamespotteraliveversion

[jesuistrestriste]

patrick and art who never got into tennis and instead formed an indie band in the early 2000s.

art sings and plays the guitar while patrick plays the drums.

they don’t exactly ‘blow up’ at first, but they do eventually gain a pretty decent following. and with this following came groupies.

they took a handful of them on their small state-wide tour; kissing and touching and humping and fucking each other every night after the shows — fueled by alcohol and weed and a little bit of arrogance.

one of their little groupies happened to be you.

you’re their favorite, actually.

you can take everything they give, and you can deal it right back when they need some sense slapped into them. sometimes literally.

pat likes to pull down your panties at the back of the tour bus and buck into you rhythmically from behind. his fingers will curl into your waist before he sneaks a hand down the front of your stomach and then lower to seek your sweet spot. rubbing it with fast circles of his thumb. his mouth’ll find your neck, and before you know it he’ll be sucking and biting like he’s starved of the taste of your body (even though you sucked him off before they even got on stage). he smells like sweat and peach vodka. “who’s my biggest fan, huh? thaaat’s it… louder, baby… louder—! aagh-! fuck, fuck fuck-“

art’s a lot more sensual and slow. he likes to go down on you, spreading open your legs as he eases you down into a chair in the green room of the show’s venue. licking a glassy stripe up your folds before he smushes his face into your wetness and shakes his head from side to side, pushing his tongue into your hole as he moans. he likes when you grab a fistful of his messy blonde hair and force his head back so he has to look up at you. it’s even better when you let him rut against your foot. he’s a disaster personified; blue eyes rolled back, hands shaking on your thighs, and the scent of his almost-sleazy cologne wafting off of him in waves as he worships you. “mmmnn, god, i could stay here forever… come in my mouth, please… i wanna feel you come on my tongue…”

best band ever.

[matchpointfaist]

hii could you do an art donaldson rockstar au? not necessarily in a band with tashi or patrick like ive seen other fanfics but one where he's just in a band if that makes sense :')

ive been thinking about him as the underrated guitarist or drummer for a bit now shfhshd. maybe reader is a huge fan of the band and goes to a lot of shows idk

hope you find the time for this request and i love your fanfics xx

i'm just a teenage dirtbag baby, like you! 💿

rockstar! art x groupie! reader

tw for smut, drinking, drug mentions (indie sleaze art i love you)

the first time you'd seen art's band live, you'd been half drunk and unable to tear your eyes away from the bright blonde daydream of a guitarist. he was captivating in a way no one around you seemed to notice, pulling you into a trance with each movement of his fingers on the chords. the show was at a shitty dive bar littered with posters peeling from the walls and discarded cups decorating the floor, but he played like he was somewhere else, somewhere bigger. ever since that night, you found yourself seeking them out, snagging fliers from bars and asking around within your friend group. nearly every friday night, you found yourself at the edge of the stage, screaming along to the lyrics like you'd been a longtime fan. and each time, your eyes lingered on art, on his bright eyes and smug grin, like he knew he was the highlight of the evening. your friends kept pushing you to make a move, to make him see you among all the other girls in the crowd. eventually, you worked up enough liquid courage to try.

as their set ended, and you watched him unplug his guitar, the thought of approaching him pushed to the forefront of your mind. "hey!" you surprised even yourself by waving at him, feeling embarrassingly giddy when he turned to eye you curiously. "me?" he asked with one brow raised, resting his guitar against the amp. you just nodded, smiling in a way you hoped was sultry. "what's a pretty thing like you doin' talking to me?" his tone was light, teasing, as he jumped down off the stage, standing just inches from you. "i just wanted to say you guys are cool," you tried to ignore the heat in your stomach at the height difference between the two of you, "i've been coming to the last few shows," "i know," he grinned, "i've been wondering when you'd say something. what's your name, pretty?" you told him, unable to stop the flush from spreading across your face. "i like that," he hummed, "i'm art. art donaldson,"

you got swept up in the conversation, asking him a million questions about the band just to hear him speak, to watch his lips curl around the words. "little loud," he glanced up at the band that had taken the stage, "wanna get out of here?" you hesitated, but nodded anyway, following him as he grabbed two beers from the bar and led you to a side door, pushing it open with one arm as he held your drinks in the other. “you smoke?” he asked, handing you your drink as he fished a pack of cigarettes from his jean pocket. “yeah,” you nodded, watching as he placed one between his lips. he lit it with ease, taking a drag before passing it over to you, the smoke casting a fog over his features. “so how’d you like the show?” he asked, tipping his head back and letting it rest against the wall, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “oh, it was good,” you smiled, “i liked that cover you did, teenage dirtbag is a classic,” “yeah? you like that?” he grinned, watching you through lidded eyes, “hey, why don’t i show you our van? give you a little sneak peek into where the magic happens,” you knew it was bullshit, a plot to get you alone, but you went anyway, giggling as he pulled you along.

he made it through approximately two minutes of showing you around the equipment filling the back of the dingy black van before his lips were on yours, his hands fumbling with the door as he closed it behind you, laying you down on the floor of the vehicle. “god, you looked so pretty out there in the crowd,” he mumbled against your throat, littering it with kisses, “like watchin’ me, baby? hm?” “yeah,” you exhaled, your hands in his air, “yeah, i like it,” “my little groupie,” you could practically hear the smirk in his voice, “you gonna let me fuck you in my bands van, hm?” you responded by pulling him back into a kiss, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him closer as you pulled at his shirt. it grew more heated, needy sounds leaving the both of you as it got messier, more desperate, gnashing teeth and tongues laving at each others. he pulled away slowly, sitting up on his knees to look down at you, his pupils dilated as he traced the shape of your hips. “pretty thing,” he murmured, his voice thick and raspy. “want you,” you practically whined, reaching for him. he grinned, not even hesitating before pulling at the sheer tights you wore under your jean skirt. you gasped as you heard the material rip, swatting his hand, but relaxed as soon as his fingers slid beneath your underwear. “soaked for me,” he hummed, one hand on your clit and the other fumbling with his belt, undoing it clumsily and pushing down his jeans.

he pulled a condom from somewhere you didn’t even see, putting on with practiced ease before leaning down to kiss you sweet and slow, like he wasn’t about to fuck you in the back parking lot of a dive bar. “oh, art,” you gasped softly as he slipped inside of you, tentative and gentle at first, letting you adjust. “you feel so good, baby,” he mumbled in your ear, one hand resting lightly around your throat, the other busy between your thighs. as soon as you relaxed around him, he sped up, his thrusts getting rougher as you gasped and moaned beneath him. “there you go. fuckin take it,” he panted, his hand around your neck tightening just enough to have you clenching around him, “look so good, pretty,” you let out a mewl as he hit a particularly deep spot, your eyes rolling back. “god, art, right there,” you scratched at his back, nails snagging on the cotton of his beat up old t shirt, “m so close,” “let go f’me, i got you,” he panted, nearing the edge himself, “come on baby, show me,”

you came with a gasp of his name, your nails digging into his back hard enough to have him groaning as he filled the condom, his hips bucking. “oh, fuck,” he groaned, his head falling to your chest as he caught his breath, his hips stilling, “god, if i woulda known you felt that good i woulda called you out at the first show,” you smiled to yourself, humming, “well now we’ll just have to make this a regular thing,” he sat up, pulling out of you slowly and tying off the condom, tossing it, “yeah, maybe. i don’t really do the whole commitment thing, but i definitely wanna see you again,” you ignored the sting of rejection, sitting up and adjusting your skirt that he’d shoved up around your waist, “yeah, we can keep it casual. sounds good,” “you gonna come to my show next week?” he asked, passing you the clip that had fallen from your hair with a grin. “mhm,” you nodded, kissing his cheek, “wouldn’t miss it,” “just like i said, my little groupie,” he grinned, pulling you into a quick kiss, “here, i’ll even give you my number,” he made it sound like a favor, humming to himself as he typed it into your phone before passing it back, “get home safe, pretty girl,” “yeah, mkay,” you let him help you out of the van, straightening out your clothes. he reached around his neck, pulling at one of the necklaces before unfastening it. you furrowed your brows when he brushed the hair from your neck, putting it on you carefully. it was a short black chain, with a guitar pick dangling from it. “there ya go. somethin to remember me by till next week, hm? it’ll keep those other guys from messin with you,” “oh, thank you,” you smiled up at him, your fingers tracing the shape of it, “goodnight, art,” “night, baby,” he pressed a chaste kiss to the side of your head, patting your ass with a grin as he waved you off.

the next week, you were front and center, a fresh pair of tights for him to rip and his necklace dangling on your chest, right above the neck of your low cut top. his eyes fell to the shirt, his pupils dilating when he saw his band name etched across of it, homemade merch just for him. yeah, he’d have to be sure not to tear that off of you later.