#josh o’connor x reader

[roryheartz]

dirty scruffy insane possibly murderer priest josh?? oh im seated

[kolsmikaelson]

AND THEN THERE WERE THREE…

NOTES — just saw challengers today and absolutely needed to write smth for these two! only used a gif of art because theres none of the two of them and almost none for patrick </3, i’m a little rusty with smut so bare with me

WARNINGS — 18+ content mdni, slight challengers 2024 spoilers, fem!reader, kinda dom!art, pure smut/little plot, art/patrick interactions, talk of previous art/patrick sexual encounters, spit play, oral (m receiving), tit sucking, dirty talk, mentions of anal, little bit of aftercare, not proofread, lmk if i forgot anything!

REQUEST — Pls write a smut fic with reader and Art fucking in the hotel room (with Patrick watching) and reader asking if Patrick can join them and ofc Art can’t say no because he finds the idea of this super hot. Maybe reader makes Art and Patrick make out like in the movie 👀

WORD COUNT — 1.6k

join my taglist or follow @rodrickhefley to see when i post

None of you were too sure how exactly this had started. You, Art, and Patrick had stumbled back into their hotel room after leaving the beach, each of you finding your own place to sit after Patrick opened up a beer, took a swig, and passed the can to you. You’d taken a seat closer to Art, having naturally gravitated towards him more so than Patrick. And quickly, you and Art were making out, leaving Patrick to watch. 

You blamed the beer. And the fact that you found both Art and Patrick incredibly hot. One minute you’re at a party, dedicated to your best friend, Tashi Duncan, and the next you’re sitting on the beach being invited back to the guys’ hotel room, and the next after that, Art is stripping you of your clothes while Patrick takes a seat leaned up against the wall opposite the foot of the bed. 

“Can I-” He begins, fingers fiddling with the hem of your shirt, desperation clear in his eyes. At your nod, Art quickly yanks your shirt over your head and immediately pulls your body flush against his. He’s planting soft, wet kisses up and down your neck as his fingers work the back of your bra. His eyes widen the moment it drops to the ground. 

Giving you a moment's glance he quickly sucks one nipple into his mouth, licking and sucking and biting. Feeling as though he’s neglected the other one, he pinches and tugs on the opposite nipple, smiling around the one in his mouth at the moans you let out. 

“Yeah, baby? You like this? Me with your tits in my mouth and my best friend jerking off while watching us?”

For a moment, you’d forgotten about Patrick. Your eyes shoot open, landing on him instantly. The sight of him, slouched against the wall, his hand already wrapped around his cock, with his eyes fixated on both you and Art. He looked so hot, you weren’t sure how you’d forgotten that he was even there. 

“Mhm, ‘s hot.” you admitted, turning Arts face back to you, tugging his bottom lip back into your mouth. The blond pushes you back onto the beds that were pushed together - Patrick’s idea if anyone were to ask - and begins kissing up your stomach only stopping long enough to kiss each of your nipples. He grabs your face, pushing his fingers into your cheeks, making you open your mouth, before letting a large glob of spit fall from his mouth into yours. 

“Swallow.” He smiles when you do so without complaint, even going as far as to look as if you wanted him to do it again. 

Patrick moans at that, louder than before. Sure he and Art had messed around before, when they were both single and bored and needed a good fuck, that wasn’t new, but hearing that commanding tone in the blonds voice sent a shiver down his spine. 

“God, that was hot.” Patrick sighs, laughing when Art gives him the finger. 

“Fuck off, Patrick.” Both of them know he doesn’t mean it, if he wasn’t wanted there, you or Art would’ve said something, but you didn’t. whether Art knew it or not, both you and he wanted him to stay, and keep watching.

At some point during that interaction, you weren’t sure when exactly, Art had shed his pants and underwear. He was dragging the tip up and down your slit, up and down, stopping every few seconds to slap your clit with it. When your eyes finally landed on his length, it made your jaw drop. He was big, bigger than you’d seen before, he was long and girthy with veins running along the bottom of it. 

He slowly slides into you, admiring the look of pure bliss on your face. He’d never seen anyone look so angelic. The closest comparison he could make was how Patrick looked when he’d first given him a blow job. He wouldn’t call the look on Patrick's face angelic perse, but it was hot, really hot. The reminder of that, and the way you’ve begun clenching around him, spurs him into you. His hips snapping into yours, his heavy balls hitting your ass with each thrust. It was unlike anything either of you had felt before. 

I want him to join.

You weren’t sure that the words had actually left your mouth until the blond on top of you stopped his thrusts, looking into your eyes for a moment. 

“That what you want, baby?” He murmurs, kissing sloppily up and down your neck, shivers running through your entire body at his touch. His fingers falling to your clit, flicking at it. The pleasure was almost enough to make you forget that he’d even asked a question. 

Almost. 

“Please,” Even in your fucked out state, you couldn’t help but want more. 

“Come on, Zweig. You heard her.” Patrick grins, hopping to his feet, although slightly hesitant. He wasn’t sure where to go, or what to do. But his nerves dissolved the moment Art turned around, and gave him that look, one that he knew meant that everything would be okay. It meant that he just needed to get over himself and have a good time, everything would work out. After that he’s on the move towards you, giving Art a harsh slap to the ass as he goes past him, laughing when Art swats back at him. 

Patrick all but flies onto the bed, having kicked his underwear off the moment he stood up, and his shirt is long gone, a mix of yours, his, and Arts clothes are scattered around the hotel room, sure to have lost at least one thing. But none of you had it in you to care, too overwhelmed with pleasure. Your mouth opens before he’s even fully on the bed, but he gets the message, quickly positioning his tip in front of your mouth, thrusting a few times before losing control and fucking your throat. 

The three of you move in tandem for minutes, or maybe it was hours, Art would thrust into you, rubbing your clit with his fingers, while Patrick would be pulling himself out of your mouth at the same time. It felt as though this was a regular occurrence, as though it were normal. And god did you hope it would become a normal thing. The three of you, together, making each other feel good. 

Tapping Patricks thigh lightly, you hum happily when he pulls out of your mouth, giggling at how quickly he begins to check and make sure you’re okay. 

“What? What’s wrong? Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” The words come out of his mouth at lightning speed and it’s difficult for you to understand, but Art had and his thrusts slowed to a stop, hands leaving your body, giving you a questioning look as if repeating everything his friend had just said. 

“I’m fine baby,” And then you say something neither of them could quite hear. 

“Gotta speak up for us, sweetheart. Can’t do what you want us to do otherwise.” That comes from Patrick, Art nodding along with him. 

“Want you two to kiss.” The words fly out of your lips and you’re suddenly shy, pressing your face into Patricks thigh, nipping at it softly. 

Both men smirk at you before making eye contact with each other, giving a subtle nod. 

“Well c’mon man, you know how I like it.”

The combination of Arts words, his sudden thrusts and Patrick taking it upon himself to flick at your clit, push you over the edge. The power of your orgasm makes your legs shake, your mind empty of anything this isn’t you, Patrick, or Art. 

They’re still kissing, it’s all teeth and tongue and spit. It’s messy, and it only stops long enough for Arts mouth to fall open, moans spilling out as he comes inside of you, hot spurts of his come flooding your insides, leaving a white ring around the base of his cock as he fucks you through both of your orgasms. 

At this point, Patrick has taken a step back, and is watching again. He’s stroking himself with one hand, squeezing just right and out of nowhere, Art reaches out, cupping the dark haired man's balls, tugging and rubbing on them just the way Patrick likes. The added pleasure sends him crashing over the edge, he barely has the time to move and aim his cum to where you and Art are connected, spilling himself all over your cunt and Arts cock. 

Art pulls out and the three of you fall into a pile of heavy breathing, sweat, spit, and cum on the beds pushed into the middle of the room. Once you all catch your breath, Patrick is the first to speak. 

“Wow.” It was simple, but it made you all burst out laughing. 

“Wow, indeed.” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his pec, turning to do the same to Art. 

“That was fucking hot.” Arts words make you all giggle yet again. 

“Okay,” Patrick leans you into Art and pushes himself off of the bed, “‘m gonna get you two cleaned up, be right back.” He reassures you, hearing you whine at losing his presence. He comes back with a warm washcloth in hand, and a small cup of water in his other. He hands the water to Art motioning for him to take a drink and then give you some as well, while he bends at the waist, resting his knees on the floor and taking the cloth to your core, cleaning you as gently as he could before moving onto Art. Tossing the cloth to the corner of the room he pulls both you and Art into his embrace, enjoying the quiet for a moment before you break the silence. 

“Round two? Whoever makes me cum harder gets to fuck me here first.” You smile slyly, placing your hand on your ass, giggling when Patrick snatches you from Arts hold, muttering something about how he ‘got you first last time and that it’s his turn now.’

[callyourose]

match point, chapter one.

↳ masterlist

⸺ In which Art and Patrick find themselves intertwined with the relationship of tennis superstar Tashi Duncan and her best friend, Lennon Caddel.

LENNON CADDEL WASN'T SCARED OF TASHI DUNCAN. I mean, she was her best friend. Sure, Tashi was rude to some, intimidating to most. But Lennon might have been the only tennis player at the US Open that year who wasn't scared of her. She had learned that following her best friend around like a lost puppy was the best tactic, and she had gotten pretty good at it. She loved Tashi, adored her. No matter how good of a tennis player Lennon was, sometimes even better than the superstar herself, she would blush and smile and shy away from any praise from her. Tashi was the one that everyone noticed. The way she dominated the tennis court, even in a duos match. The way she swung her braid over her shoulder post win, while her opponent was throwing a temper tantrum just across the net. Everyone was enthralled by her. And Lennon understood it because she was too.

   "I'm just asking," Patrick said in between sips of Coke, standing in front of a poster of the stars of the evening, "If you had to pick, Lennon or Tashi?"

Art just shook his head. He and his best friend had been having this conversation for the better part of the day, beginning as soon as the girls finished their duos match. "I already told you dude," smacking Patrick on the back of the head, "I can't pick. I won't."

"Ever the feminist, Donaldson," the brunette replied turning his back to the posters and his friend. "It doesn't matter to me anyway. I'd let either of them fuck me with a racket."

Art tilted his head and raised his eyebrow, turning his neck to look at the boy next to him. A remark was on the tip of his tongue but he didn't get to start it before he was smacked on the shoulder and urged to look in the direction Patrick was pointing. 

He turned his body fully, scanning the lawn to find what Patrick was so urgent he see. There, standing around a table, was the duo of the hour. Lennon and Tashi were only about 20 feet away from them. They were huddled together, whispering and glancing at... them? Art caught Lennon's gaze and Patrick caught Tashi's and the two girls looked away quickly, giggling to each other. Tashi pinched the outside of Lennon's arm, causing the girl to yell out an "Ow!" and laugh. 

"Dude..." Art started, but Patrick was already in route. He was halfway to the girls before Art even had time to think.

Jogging to catch up, he was right by Patrick's side when he started with a "Hi."

The two girls froze before slowly turning around, Lennon's face was red and Tashi was biting back a laugh. "Hi," Tashi echoed.

There was a beat of awkward silence before Art jutted his hand out in Lennon's direction. "Art Donaldson," he introduced himself to Lennon before offering his hand to Tashi. Patrick followed suite with the introductions causing Tashi and Lennon to glance at each other and smile. 

"We know who you are," the taller girl responded before bumping her best friend's shoulder.

"Oh yeah, we know all about Mr. Fire and Ice," Lennon winked and Art and Patrick were convinced they were going to faint right there. Tashi Duncan and Lennon Caddel were not only talking to them, but they knew them? This is what their dreams were made of. 

"Uh..." Patrick started, unsure of how to respond before Art jumped in.

"You guys were fucking incredible today. Truly."

The girls bid their thanks and echoed their praises. The two best duos in junior tennis, magazines would call them. 

It wasn't long before Lennon and Tashi's parents had to steal them away. Photos with their trophies and kissing each others cheeks were in order. Patrick and Art hung back, gazing at them in awe. Each boy had subconsciously chosen a girl that they had their heart set on, even if it wasn't obvious yet. You could see it in the way their stare lingered on one girl before moving onto the other. You could almost feel it in the air.

Patrick and Art lingered at the party for longer than they intended to. They wanted the opportunity to talk to the girls again; get one more glance at the expanse of Tashi's legs in her dress and the batting of Lennon's eyelashes. They were about to give up, but almost as if they read their minds, Lennon and Tashi descended the stairs and into the area where the boys were sitting. Patrick called them over, the duo whipping their heads in their direction before sharing a smile and heading over. 

"You guys are still here?" Lennon asked, leaning into Tashi's side. 

"Uh, yeah! Great party," Art responded. He was leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. He might as well have had hearts in his eyes. 

The girls shared a glance, and echoed their thanks. Both Art and Patrick were practically drooling in their presence. It was cute to Lennon, cute and embarrassing to Tashi. She was used to this.

"Don't you guys have a final in the morning? That you should be... I don't know. Resting for? " She asked, trying to have a real conversation. She was tired of the praises for the day. 

"I mean, yeah," The boys looked at each other and shrugged. "But we pretty much know how it's gonna go." 

Lennon and Tashi shared a look. It was getting late and even if Art and Patrick weren't going to rest, they were. 

"We should probably-"

"You should come by," Patrick interrupted. 

Tashi bit back a laugh. "Come by where?"

Patrick and Art scrambled to their feet. "Our hotel, he means. I, we, would love to talk about tennis with you guys. And Stanford. And..." Art glances them up and down, "Whatever else you want to talk about."

Tashi glances at her friend, who's already looking at her. There's a silent plea in her eyes, one only her best friend would be able to pick up on. 

But Tashi grabs Lennon's hand and begins to pull her away with her. "Goodnight," she winks. Lennon waves them goodbye and turns in the direction Tashi is pulling her. The boys can hear them bickering quietly as they leave.

"Was that a yes?" Patrick asks.

Art keeps his back turned to him, his gaze still following the girls as they leave. "It wasn't a no."

[gladiatorcunt]

- # 🍁 THE NEMEAN LION !!

feels so ugly when i’m honest

cw: afab reader, ambiguous era, dubcon coded, insp. by this ask, patrick and reader have noncon somno fantasies about the other (so rlly it’s more cnc), patrick is gross and mean, situationship/roommate!patrick, unprotected p in v sex & relying on the pull out method, weed mention and wine mention, art guest star appearance (patrick mentions him), oral (afab reader receiving), hints of: foot fetish, dacryphilia, cnc in general, plus sized!reader, mythological themes, 3k words of me losing my marbles, one use of daddy, we don’t gotta be in love you knowweeeeee i don’t gotta be the oneeee you knowweeeeeeeeew

You’re making him crazy, Patrick knows it. He shouldn’t spend his mornings humping his pillows that you hold in your lap during movie nights. He definitely shouldn’t be stealing your panties and strangling his cock with the lacey fabric that’s going to end up smelling so foul from how much he’ll use the same pair over and over. He thinks he can catch your scent on his clothes when you’ve never actually been close enough to leave a reminder of you behind. Sometimes Patrick gets so frustrated with continuing at this same snail’s pace that he wishes he could just grab your face and smush it into his musky crotch. He’d let you go if you were about to pass out, maybe. You can’t get shit twisted if you’re unconscious.

He’s telling you another one of his stories, hoping to see a twinge of… something swirling in your irises. You just hum too much and squirm a bit, ever the overactive listener. Patrick would cut off his balls if it meant that he could hear anything resembling a moan from you, not just little signs that you’re listening and not speaking. The transformer movie’s reached a point where you don’t really have to pay attention, so you cutely shuffle your mess of blankets around on the couch so you can give Patrick your undivided attention. He’s had to start keeping space in his closet for the large throw blankets you bring along even though you refuse to let him turn the fan off.

“Yeah, I was with Art actually. We ate each other out back in the day, y’know, to see what it was like. He sat on my face and fuckin’ almost broke my neck, his thighs were gripping me so tight.” He coyly tilts his head to the side, pretending to be shy about the whole thing.

He narrows his eyes and analyzes your reaction. You dart your gaze around the room for a split second, struggling to tamper down the blossoming warmth in your stomach and the insecurity that comes with never being able to catch up with Patrick. You’ve confessed to it a couple times, usually after a couple of bottles of whatever cheap alchohol he’s got on hand. His nails shred into his palms with the effort it takes not to give you something to talk about, even if you think they’re only dreams.

“When was the first time someone ate you out? I can’t be the only one shoving my foot in my mouth here.”

God, what he’d give to have your feet in his mouth, and vice versa.

You play with the fluffy black blanket in your lap, making eye contact with one of the cartoon nutcrackers on it and not Patrick as you answer his question. “Oh… I’ve actually never been eaten out, maybe that’s why no one’s made me cum.”

It’s a like his world has been hit by an unexpected asteroid and blown to smithereens, bits of membrane and curdled dna scattered across the milky way. The gross-ness imbued in his bone marrow leaks out into vaccum of space as he processes this truly fucking suprising piece of information. Never in his life has Patrick been told something that just can’t be true, not when there are still good things in the world. Not when that helpful little tidbit will split him open and take over his every waking and sleeping thought.

He shakes his head, blinking rapidly. “What? What the hell do you mean no one’s ever eaten your pussy?”

“I, I don’t know. The people I've been with have just never gone out of their way to do it and I didn't make a big deal out of it.”

His heart’s breaking in half and you clearly have no idea. Patrick scrambles to sit up and grabs your hands to stop them from fiddling with the blanket anymore. There are a thousand things he wants and needs and just has to say but all he can do in the present moment is keep shaking his head and crowding you against the right arm of his tattered gray couch.

“Then they’re so fucking stupid, I can’t believe you don’t know what it feels like to have a tongue up your cunt.” He states, a firm declaration that has you throwing out a hand on his bicep to ground yourself.

Patrick looks crazed above you, dark hair impossibly soft and pupils steadily expanding outward. You slide your hand up his arm (trying to ignore the muscle there, what it’d be like when they flex as he picks you up by your ass) to place it on his firm chest. You open your mouth, trying to cobble together any kind of response you can think of but your mind is blank. Patrick seizes the opportunity and smahes his mouth against yours, when the clashing of your lips is over there’s more blood than spit. He flicks his tongue out to catch the little drops of blood dripping from your lips, moaning after he swallows each one.

You’re catching your breath, “You… you can’t… just do that.”

He rolls his eyes and grins, “I did. I can hear you through the walls at night you know? Rubbing your pussy on one of my pillows that you think I don't know you stole, crying for me.”

Damn, that’s what you get for making risky decisions while you’re ovulating. You knew you washed it and should’ve snuck in while he was out to throw it on his plaid comforter and act like it never happened. The longer you kept it stuffed between your plush thighs, smothering it in the natural scent of your pussy, the more your shyness grew. It was easier to spend your nights like that then explore the possibility of doing something else with your time, but now you’re just wishing that you hopped on Patrick’s stupidly huge dick while he was passed out and snoring and called it a day.

“I… I’m sorry, okay? You can have it back.” You say and keep the grumpiness out of your tone, having to come to terms with hoarding nothing that smells like him anymore.

“Just shut up and be happy, be good for me.” He punctuates it with a mean squeeze to your face, slowly sliding his hand down to hang around your throat and falling to his knees in front of the couch.

Maybe it’s the cheap white wine, maybe it’s the subpar edible you had earlier, but you throw caution to the wind and sink your fingers into Patrick’s hair. Your breath happily flies out of your lungs when he pushes your knees apart, coaxing your white lace panties off with his teeth. The bright lights from the TV cast a glow around him, and you hate how pretty he looks. Like if Hercules was a modern porn star, muscles rippling and eyes spearing through you as he catapults you to the stars.

The roughness of his fingers feels heavenly as he smooths them down your inner thighs, “Nice and fat pussy, dripping all over the place. Saying hi, right? It’d be rude of me to not say anything back.”

So he does, spitting right on your clit and spreading it all over your pussy. Patrick shuffles closer and takes several big lungfuls, humping the air with every whiff of your artificial body wash combined with your much more attractive musk. He opens his mouth wide and latches onto your soaking folds, flattening his tongue and licking broad stripes up your cunt. He laps up your juices sloppily, almost wagging his tongue wildly in an effort to suck up whatever he can.

There’s a coil forming in the pit of your stomach, winding tighter and tighter with every swipe of Patrick’s wet tongue. Your face flames in embarrassment once again, you don’t really know if you look bad from his point of view but you can’t stop yourself from throwing your head back against the couch and scrunching your face up. He gives your asshole an open mouthed kiss, half to tease you even further and half because he just couldn’t resist. It was glistening and winking at him and everything.

“Fuck! Fuck! That’s so- how are you so good at this?” You mewl, raking through his hair thoroughly like you’re searching for something you lost.

Patrick’s ego grows in size and he smiles as he moves to your clit, hollowing his cheeks and suckling rapidly. He buries his face in your pussy and drinks you down in several gulps, picking up speed when you resign yourself to telltale moans about much you need to cum. He flicks the tip of his tongue against your swollen clit and slows down right when you’re apart to fall over the edge. He actually chuckles into your mound and winks when you glare at him. He cuts off whatever bratty retort you armed yourself with by going back to nearly inhaling your clit without warning.

“Ungh- I really-really fucking hate you, but don’t you dare stop, I’ll kill you.”

Each suck sends pulses shooting up your core, and that scary coil in the depth of your guts tightens blissfully. You squirm, the very definition of a hot mess as you grind against his face. The friction was never enough but you keep corralling his nose into your pubic hair, fruitlessly rutting your hips with no end goal other than the urge to hump whatever’s available. You panic for a second that you’ll suffocate him or he’ll be grossed out by you not shaving, but you shouldn’t underestimate him. If anything, Patrick groans at the heady smell. Getting it straight from the source and fucking the air during his suckling.

His eyes never stray from you. Your agonized face straight out of a renaissance painting, too strung out and burning with pleasure to resemble anything normal. Your thick thighs, jiggling with every move you make, you can’t seem to decide between humping his mouth like a bitch in heat or trying to squeeze his head like a watermelon. Your sounds, wails and cries and moans and whines, he’ll have to record you next time, play it anytime and anywhere in case you misunderstand what this is. The first documentation of how much cum and fluid you can paint him in, whatever color or thickness you’ve got for him. He’ll wring it all out of you eventually, film a home movie series to chronicle every squirting session and the like.

Gun to his head, you taste like those old fashioned butterscotch hard candies. Decadent and sweet, if he could he’d sink his teeth into the slippery supple flesh and pull and rip.

After several rounds of cruel edging, your brain whites out so hard, you can almost form the blurry shapes in your peripheral vision into a red spiked tail and horned wings. Patrick’s ruining you entirely, you know that now, and the movie’s already over but you don’t spare the scrawling credits more than a weary glance. Your soul is probably cartoonishly swimming through the putrid air towards your body, but your sweaty body is shaking too much to receive it. There’s a ringing in your ears as you blink yourself into awareness, Patrick unbuckles his jeans and a blunt pressure stretches your hole out.

“Sorry, ‘m out of condoms, I’ll pull out, baby.” He huffs out, praying to whatever’s listening that he doesn’t just start pummeling your shit.

You feel your stomach bunching up before you see Patrick’s dick disappearing into you. The feeling of being split open on something so thick has you reeling, no one else you’ve been with has left you spiraling quite like this. In a room full of dicks you’d be able to spot his, you’d just have to find the one that has the back of your throat tingling and going dry just from a sniff and a look. You’d cry if he pulled out now, it’s already too late for you. This is such a stupid decision, sloppy rough sex with your roomate-turned-situationship on his worn out couch that’s older than the both of you combined.

It’s one hell of a story, and maybe some moments in life should be allowed to boil down to that. The hand loosely wrapped around your throat tightens its hold, you welcome the thumb pushing into your mouth without prompting. The depravity of it all makes you feel owned, has you seriously considering living your life as some guy’s exclusive pet whore. The ‘squelch’s and the ‘schlick’s that come with his savage thrusts and milk white strings connecting the base of his cock to your puffy pussy.

Every breath you think you’re going to be able to take, he steals from you and mocks your whimpery “unh-unh-unh~”’s in his raspy mid-fuck voice.

“This is the only dick you’ll be hanging off of from now on, got it? Can’t let some lousy jackass try to sew his balls to this pussy when it’s not even gonna cream around him.” You say yes to that hissed demand, yes of course, Daddy.

Patrick plunges his cock to the hilt into your cunt in one sharp stroke, gasping and gripping your hip to distract himself from the way your walls are clenching around his length. Every part of you is greedy apparently, you’re perfect for each other then. The position he has you in is so filthy, he’s standing and hosting your legs up over his shoulders, folding you in half on the couch. His dirty levi’s pool around his feet and the sound of his belt hitting the floor inspires awful thoughts in you. Your sweat mixes together and trickles down your legs, sticking to his leg hair.

You can have it soft once he’s gotten this demon off his back and out of his system, you can ride him while you’re cozied up in bed, lazily rolling your hips until you get tired a couple minutes later and clinging to the caresses on your love handles. Patrick has to destroy something before he can even stand to think about putting it back together, your insides and you yourself are no exception. Your walls feel like the finest quality silk around his throbbing cock, leaking inside of you as he clutches onto your ankles. The TV’s automatically shut off by now, and the lack of background noise enhances his animalistic grunts and deep moans.

“Gonna fuck your tits next time, fuck-what the fuck-you’re too damn tight, massage them for you after, rub your cunt raw-“

Patrick fucks like he’s staking claim on a spoil of war, you’re learning, as if the pale ferryman’s hot on his heels and this sliver of time is the only sacred thing he’ll ever get in his wretched mortal life. All his, gone limp between bloody jaws and killing hands. He snarls in your face as he pounds your pussy, angling his hips to stab deeper in you than should be medically possible. You don’t when you start tearing up, but Patrick does nothing to wipe away your tears, not even lick them up. He just fucks you to the point where you’re crying, shutting his eyes as he throws his head back so you can’t see that he’s crying too. The both of you borrow from different sources of emotion.

“You sounded so scared when you were cumming, made my balls twitch, was cute.” Patrick tells you in between messy kisses, more focused on almost eating your face than properly locking lips with you.

His tongue hangs out of his mouth as he abruptly yanks himself out of you and lavishes your belly in ropes after ropes of cum. You’d reach down to dip a finger in and taste it, but you’re too annoyed at the thought that he’s depriving you of an orgasm again. You haven’t even decided whether you’re going to pout or flatbout get up and leave when Patrick’s sliding home once more. You give him a punched out gasp, sort of pained and kind of relieved, in response. He hisses through his teeth, grinding them together like it’s burning the flesh on his cock to plunge back into your searing pussy. Actively breaking and remaking you. Both of your muscles tense up as the wave threatens to crash over you.

“You can cry some more, if you want, I'd like that a lot. Beg me to save you from what I’m doing to you, to this tight pussy.”

Happy or sad, doesn’t matter. He knows you like it when he keeps you from fighting back, you suit being manhandled and made to take dick better than anyone else he’s slummed it with.

He hunches his back forward to kiss you again, and you claw red stripes down it as your tongue maps out every inch of his mouth. He pulls back and you spend several seconds like that sharing breath. You don’t realize what you’re saying out loud, things like ‘Holy shit you’re so fucking big-so good-it’s so fucking good’ and ‘Feels better than i thought it would, how is that even possible?’ It’s like your own little sex obsessed podcast, centering every episode around how situationship dick is on another level and will irrevocably destroy you. Patrick chuckles, he can’t wait to hold every treasured compliment from you over your head. You could say you’re done with whatever this is when he leaves the toilet seat up again but he’ll never forget you howling for him and his cock to never leave you.

Patrick will swing himself over the net into overstimulation before the next time your pussy’s clamping down on his thick cock and spasming, but he’ll be damned if you’re not gonna end up passed out and drooling while the sun rises. You can spend future movie nights cockwarming him, if you can stand to endure the sickeningly perfect stretch without being allowed to get your cunt beat. You’re mewling when you froth the base of his dick again, your walls pulse around him like you’re a cat laving up your favorite cream. Tonight’s not the night where you’ll be getting it straight from the source, maybe when you’re willing to take certain risks. His smiles are the most genuine when you drag out your whine to follow the speed in which he pulls out to paint your body. Tangy ribbons hanging over your love handles and dripping down to your ass cheeks.

[euphoriaslux]

two’s a party.

summary: you recently transferred to stanford, and decide to tutor a tennis player in your class. he has a friend. severe indecency ensues.

word count: 3.3k

warnings : smut, threesomes, f!oral receiving, swearing, smoking, drinking. slight cuck energy if you squint (i’m sorry ((no i’m not))). no challengers spoilers!

a/n: this fic got away from me big time but this movie has rotted my brain and as a result i have written utter debauchery that i will not apologize for. just had to get this out of my head, enjoy!

-

stanford science hall. monday , march 3.

You swear the last thing you’ll hear before your body is lowered into your grave is the process of lactic acid breakdown.

It’s 2:30 PM. Kinesiology 189 with Professor Wilson, a lanky middle-aged man with a PhD in exercise science and a half-grown beard that you don’t think will ever fully grow in, is almost over. He’s teaching Extended Studies of the Human Body in a humid classroom filled with student-athletes, most of whom are trying to stay awake, trying to hide that they’re taking a nap, or making no attempt to hide that they’re on their phones. You don’t really blame any of them, because the professor’s voice is so soft and monotone that it feels like he’s begging everyone to pay attention to anything but him. You’ve managed to stay somewhat on course with the thread of today’s lecture, the notebook in front of you filled with scribbles of incomplete molecular structures and somewhat legible drawings of the muscular anatomy of a hamstring.

This class is required for your biology major since you’re on a pre-medicine track. You don’t know why you’re doing it, the whole doctor thing, but you’ve developed a weird fixation for this class. The functionality of the body, how muscles stretch and tear with each movement, and how amino acids work to build them back even bigger.

And, possibly because of the tennis player who sits four rows ahead of you every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.

His last name is Donaldson. You know because of the faded label on the massive bag he throws on the floor every time he walks into class, at least ten minutes late with a backward Stanford Tennis cap on his head. His first name remains a mystery, partly because he never talks in class, and mainly because you’ve made no attempt to speak to him. You like to think it’s because you’re so focused on the curriculum.

Professor Wilson knows your name, though, since you’re in his office hours every Thursday at 11 A.M. In part because he gives out most of the answers to his homework, and because you just transferred to Stanford your last year and very desperately need a letter of recommendation for medical school. Hence why you agreed to tutor a student with lower than 60% in the class during one of your meetings. And why everyone in the class was staring at you right now.

“... first come first serve, so reach out to her sooner rather than later.”

You give a tight-lipped smile, glancing around the room. Most people have looked away, back to their distraction of choice, but you meet eyes with the fluffy blonde-haired tennis player.

stanford library. wednesday, march fifth.

It’s 11 A.M., and you feel like your brain is about to explode if you look at another practice set.

“Hey”.

Your head whips around to the harsh whisper, only to be met with the blue-eyed mystery from your class. He has that large bag slung over his shoulder, with the end of a tennis racket peeking out of it. His hair is slightly stuck to his face, and his compression tee is slick to his chest like a second skin.

“Hi,” you whisper back. He smiles before tossing his bag on the floor and sitting in the chair across from you, either unaware of or completely ignoring the glares he’s receiving from the other students studying.

“You know,” he pulls out some kind of nutrition bar from his bag, unwrapping it and taking an aggressive bite, “for someone advertising their services, you’re pretty hard to find.”

“You’re in Mr. Wilson’s class, right?” you ask, hoping your subdued voice will remind him that he’s in a notoriously quiet place. He hums, pointing at you with his half-eaten snack.

“And I’m trying not to fail, but you didn’t leave your number anywhere in the classroom, and you bolt after every class. So how am I supposed to patronize your tutoring services…” he trails off, his volume the same level as when he walked in. You furrow your brows as he leans back into the chair.

“That’s when you say who you are.”

You feel a burn on the back of your neck as you tell him your name. He glances down towards the problem set you’ve nearly finished.

“How do you turn in any of those, I can’t get halfway through one of them.”

You pause for a moment before leaning slightly across the table to whisper:

“This new weird thing called studying. I think it just got approved by the CDC.”

“Very funny,” he shakes his head as reaches for your binder with your class schedule printed out on the front of it.

“Why are you taking so many bio classes?”

“Because I’m a biology major,” you can’t help the sarcasm dripping from your voice, and he looks at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Sorry, you’re making this too easy for me,” you raise your hands in conceit.

“I have practice every day at five so you can tutor me for like an hour beforehand,” he says before standing up, crunching up the silver wrapper and stuffing it into the front pocket of his blue jeans. You scoff at his sentence.

“Well, thank you for so generously fitting me into your schedule,” you roll your eyes, turning the page in your textbook. He grins.

“Tell the coach you’re there for Art. They’ll let you through.”

stanford tennis courts. friday, march 7th.

It’s 4 PM, and the California sun is sweltering. Your shorts feel like they’ve become a part of your legs, and your bag feels like it weighs a thousand pounds. By the time you make it to the tennis courts Art is already on the green concrete, shirtless with beads of sweat dripping down his face and chest. You hear his grunts as he sprints across the court, hitting the ball toward a slightly taller brunette with dangerously short red shorts. You watch them at the entrance for a few minutes, slightly entranced as the two play so seamlessly, as if they know every move the other person is going to make. You force your eyes away as you walk up the bleachers, stepping over leftover water bottles and chip bags to sit down and grab your notes from your backpack. It takes a couple more minutes for Art to notice you, yelling your name after he turns around to grab a ball his partner had hit particularly hard. You wave, and he says something you can’t hear to the brunette before the two of them jog across the courts and up the stands to where you are, blocking the sun as the two stand side by side.

“Who’s your friend?” you ask as you stuff the problem set you were working on in between the pages of your notebook.

“I’m Patrick,” he says, with a toothy smile and his ears poking out from under his hair. He has a bit more of a boyish charm to him than Art does, whose eyes are glued to his brunette counterpart.

“Are you in Mr. Wilson’s class too?”

Patrick opens his mouth to answer but Art speaks first, slightly pushing his friend with his shoulder as he says “He doesn’t go to Stanford, too busy being a tennis pro.”

Patrick rolls his eyes but his smile doesn’t leave his face. You notice how different this Art feels from the one in the library, how direct his playfulness is and how close he and Patrick stand together, their sweaty torsos nearly melding together.

Interesting.

“Like, Andre Agassi level pro?” you smile as the two of them laugh. Patrick raises the bottom of his shirt to wipe the sweat off of his forehead, and you can’t help but take a glance at the exposed skin just above his waistband.

“Sorry, he’s like the only tennis player I know.”

“No, no I’m taking that as a compliment that you think I’m on the level of Agassi. No takebacks if you see me play,” Patrick points at you.

“Will do,” you salute, turning over to Art.

“You ready to study?” you ask him as he makes a comically loud groan, his head falling back. Patrick laughs, reaching over to ruffle his friends hair.

“You do remember that’s why I’m here, right? Midterms are in two weeks.”

“I definitely have not forgotten that.” he says. You purse your lips just as Patrick’s eyes seem to light up.

“I’m staying at the Courtyard Hotel for the weekend. You two can come over and study, I need to review my last match anyway. Kill two birds with one stone,” Patrick suggests.

“Just studying?”

“Just studying,” Art says, wrapping his arm around his friend's shoulder. You glance between the two of them, trying to decipher the unspoken communication they seem to be doing. But you can’t crack it, so you shrug.

“Sure.”

“Let us finish this set, and then you’ll have me all to yourself. Sound fair?”

“Wow, what a privilege. Don’t take too long, it’s hell on Earth out here!” you yell the last part as Art jogs down the steps and back down towards the net. You look up once you realize that the sun is still being blocked, and Patrick is still standing in front of you.

“You ever play?” he grins, flipping the tennis racket in his hand.

“Tennis? God, no, that would not be a pretty sight. I’ll stick to what I’m good at,” you gesture to the books and notes in your lap. Patrick nods.

“If you ever want to learn, I could teach you sometime, you know if-” he’s cut off by Art yelling his name, and you both glance to see him with his hands on his hips.

“Go, don’t keep your boyfriend waiting,” you wave him off, and you swear you can see him blushing. Must have been the glare.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says over his shoulder as he runs toward Art.

courtyard hotel. saturday, march 8.

It’s 11 pm. There’s a cold shiver in the elevator as you wait to get to the fourth floor, your tennis shoes tapping against the floor as one hand plays with the handle of the pack of beer in your hand while the other crumples and re-crumples the piece of paper with the hotel room number Patrick scribbled on it.

what are you doing?

You don’t have time to think about the consequences of your actions as the robotic voice signals that you’re on the fourth floor, the elevator doors fluttering open. It’s like your feet have a mind of their own, as you find yourself almost mindlessly wandering through the hotel halls until you’re planted in front of room 4B. You raise your hand to knock on the door but before you can make contact with the wood it’s thrust open, and Patrick is standing behind it. His dark hair is slightly tousled around his face, his striped shirt unbuttoned and his black boxer briefs low on his waist. He’s smiling, that same big smile as before, but his face is a little flushed, a gentle pink hue touching his cheeks. The two of you don’t say anything for a few seconds, as if you were both testing to see who would concede first to acknowledge the other’s presence. You raise the pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon in your right hand.

“I brought studying fuel.”

You were never good at waiting.

Patrick laughs before he moves slightly out of the way to allow you to walk into his room. It’s small, with a queen-sized bed and a tiny desk, and the A/C emits an odd rumbling sound as it smacks against the window. Clothes and scorecards are strewn across the floor, and the scent of cigarettes permeates the room. You place the alcohol on the floor before deciding to sit on the bed, kicking off your shoes as you cross your legs. Patrick seems to stall for a moment, smiling to himself before closing the door behind him. He doesn’t lock the door, but you didn’t notice.

“Art’s not here yet?” you ask, watching as Patrick walks over and tears open the cardboard case, cracking open a can. Taking a sip, he leans against the desk as he smiles.

“Art can be bad with time.”

“As I’ve noticed,” you reach your hand out to motion towards the drink and Patrick hands it to you, staring as you take a large sip.

“Well,” you wipe the side of your mouth, “I told him to bring the topics he wanted to study, so I guess we can’t do anything until he gets here.”

Patrick nods with a slight pout, his fingers playing with the pop tab of the can. “I guess we can’t.”

“How’s tennis… stuff,” you laugh as you finish the question, not sure of exactly what to say.

Patrick seems to tense a little at the mention of the sport, moving over to sit next to you on the bed. His knee grazes your leg and you feel a slight buzz at the contact as he takes the beer from your hand.

“I’m kinda fucking it up right now,” he says, and you furrow your brows.

“How? You were like, really good yesterday.”

He chuckles, shaking his head slightly. He hands you the beer and you finish it off, placing the empty can at the bottom of your feet.

“I’m good with Art. It feels so fucking natural and easy with him. But in my other matches, I don’t know. I just … can’t replicate it.”

You nudge him with your leg.

“Sounds like you two were made to play tennis together.”

He makes a noise of agreement, his hands slowly moving to ghost over your thigh.

“You and Art are pretty close?” you ask as he plays with the bottom hem of your shorts, but he doesn’t say anything. You take his silence as a yes.

“Do you ever get jealous?”

“Of Art?” he asks, almost incredulously. You shrug.

“Yeah, or jealous of the girls he’s with. Either or.”

Patrick sits on that for a few moments before smirking.

“What’s mine is mine, and what’s his is mine.”

You laugh at that, a real deep laugh, and Patrick giggles next to you, the both of you tipsy from the can of beer you finished. You reach over and put your hand on his flushed face, rubbing your hand across his cheek.

“What were you doing before I came?” you feel his face warm even more against your skin as you position yourself closer to him.

“Practicing- or, sorry, rereading my scorecards from my last match.”

You tutted as you moved your hand to the back of his neck, gently running your hands through his hair.

“You can tell me the truth, Patrick.”

He turns his head to press a gentle kiss to the palm of your hand before looking up at you as if to check if that was too much. Whatever your expression is gives him the confidence to move down to your neck, his tongue licking your skin.

“I think you know.”

You feel a pull in your lower stomach at his words, muffled by his mouth nipping at the sensitive spot just below your ear, and he sucks hard enough for you to put your hand around on his face at the pressure. Pulling his face up, the two of you stare at each other for what feels like an eternity, and his eyes glance toward your lips. You wanted to wait, to make him beg and plead for it, but your body seemingly pulled you forward as your pressed your mouth onto his.

You were really quite bad at waiting.

He tastes like tobacco and faintly of the fruit medley in the dining hall, and you sigh as his lips interlock with yours and his hand grabs the back of your neck, pressing you into him. The kiss gets messy and hard, his tongue gliding over your bottom lip and into your mouth as you lift your leg to straddle Patrick, grinding into him. He whimpers into the kiss as his calloused hands drop down to the waistband of your shorts, hesitating for a moment before dropping his hand into your underwear. You grind just a little bit faster as his fingers press circles into your clit, covering your mouth with your hand as you moan.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs as he uses his other hand to guide your hips, and your move your hands down to tug firmly on his hair. You can feel your climax building, the pressure in your stomach getting closer and closer to taking you over the edge-

You both jump at the sound of the hotel room dor slamming shut. Art is standing there, in that damn backward cap and a Stanford tee shirt as he crosses his arms over his chest, saying nothing as you and Patrick sit up straight, him adjusting his crotch and you smooth down your shirt, avoiding his gaze. Finally, the silence is broken by Art laughing.

“Christ, I’m not the cops,” he slips out of his slides as he waltzes over and opens a can of beer, drinking about half of it in one go. You look at him, and at Patrick, and then back at him, not knowing what the hell you just got yourself into.

“You want to fuck him right?” Art asks, and you can’t help your small gasp at how easily he said that. You glance at Patrick, hoping he’ll know what to say, but he’s just staring at Art.

“I-um,”

“So, no one’s stopping you,” Art cuts you off, taking a final swig of his beer and moving to stand directly in front of you. You open your mouth to try and explain, but before you can talk Patrick’s mouth is on yours again, his hand roaming your body. His grip is firmer now, his fingertips digging into the side of your stomach. He tugs at the bottom of your shirt and you separate, breathless as you pull your shirt over your head and toss it on the floor. Patrick’s mouth moves down to your neck, then your collarbones, and then your chest as he reaches around to take of your bra, and you feel on fire from Art’s gaze across the room. As Patrick kisses down your stomach and yanks down your shorts, you turn over to meet Art’s eyes.

“Come here.”

Whatever resolve Art was holding onto crumbles as he quickly takes off his shirt and slips out of his Nike shorts, tossing his hat on the dresser. In a flash Art’s hands are on your neck, tilting your head around to kiss you as Patrick lifts up your hips so he can take off your underwear. Art’s lips are softer than Patrick’s but he kisses you a little bit harder, his hand cupping the base of your neck. Somehow, they both taste the same. You moan into Art’s mouth as you feel Patrick’s tongue swirl around your clit, rolling your hips into his mouth as Art’s cock presses into your back. It’s just so much so fast, and that familiar buzz starts to pool in your lower stomach.

“Look at him,” Art turns your head to Patrick and you look into his eyes as you cum, Art’s hands hold your head forward as a wave of euphoria crashes over you. Patrick’s hands are digging into your hips as he stares up at you and Art. Your chest heaves up and down as you try to catch your breath, leaning against Art as Patrick leans back up, his mouth a few inches from yours.

“Who do you want first?

[catharticconsolation]

requests bot dump: valentine’s release

the iron claw.

♡David Von Erich- white wedding (by billy idol) Honeymooning on tour after a quick, rushed wedding was not the most romantic thing in the world. But to David, it was perfect, watching you sleep all soft and hazy next to him in a shitty motel bed. Because he’s with you.

♡Kerry Von Erich- someday we might (fallingforyou by the 1975)- Kerry’s been seeing you around, in the crowds of his matches, hanging around and cheering and so, so excited. Yet it still shocks him to see you in the back alley outside the venue, long after the fight is done, hands holding out a pen and a picture for him to sign, all alone in the cold.

shameless.

♡Lip Gallagher- enough for me to love (gypsy by fleetwood mac)- No one ever thought that Lip Gallagher would settle down. But here he is, with a girl and a baby boy, his little love, and a finally stable job. Maybe he’s healing.

♡Carl Gallagher- think you might hate me (girl, so confusing by charli xcx)- Neither of you know what’s going on between the two of you, and yet the bitterness and the hatred seems so, so satisfying.

challengers.

♡Patrick Zweig- jesus can always reject his father (family tree by ethel cain)- Patrick is in love with the pastor’s daughter, and communities like to turn on those who are different.

♡Patrick Zweig- make me dream of you (wicked game by chris isaak)- The world doesn’t know you. The world knows you from the stage, from being half naked and wrapped round a pole. But Patrick knows the real you, and he wants you.

misc.

♡Chandler Bing- so full of love, could barely eat (work song by hozier)- Chandler doesn’t often find himself being serious, but when his baby is upset, he suddenly knows just how to be tender, as if it’s second nature.

♡Carmen Berzatto- the street where mothers weep (i want you by bob dylan)- Family dinners never go well in the Berzatto household, and Carmy seems even more on edge just trying to keep you happy during your first time amidst the chaos. But he gets snappy, as always, and he always comes out as the asshole.

♡Kenickie Murdoch- born to handjive, baby- Kenickie is a sleaze, always has been and always will be. But it doesn’t deter you from hanging around, prancing around on his arm at every school dance.

♡Bob Dylan- melt back in the night, babe (it ain’t me, babe by bob dylan/ joan baez)- It’s easy for Bobby to switch up between oh so loving to closed off and empty. And yet, on mornings like this, you just wish that he’d come back to bed.

♡Spencer Reid- les (by childish gambino)-Spencer is getting tired of hiding you, and he might just be a little tipsy in the back of a taxi, sending the sneakiest of pictures of you to Morgan. He’s always said that he hates secrets.

♡Jake Peralta- crawling back to you (do i wanna know? by hozier)- Jake knows that he’s annoying, and he likes to think that he knows when to stop. But no, he doesn’t stop until you get scolded by the captain, and all of a sudden, he feels awfully, terribly sorry.

notes: these are all requested bots, sorry if they aren’t very good or valentines themed, it’s just that i didn’t really have much time to make anything else. credit to @toastray for the amazing dividers!

the link to each bot is the little red heart, happy Valentine’s Day, remember that bots aren’t real people, take a break if you find yourself getting too attached x

[kisses4kaia]

patrick likes his girls mean!! he loves the stuck up, entitled, princesses who demand their every need be catered to. so when he meets you, all designer rackets and chanel sponsorships, he’s gotta bite.

you’d heard of patrick, of course. whom of your peers hadn’t? the effervescent tennis prodigy with a blinding career practically inscribed in his fates.

you couldn’t lie, learning about his reputation as not only a tennis god, but as a sex one, too… you had to bite.

hell if you were going to make the first move, though. that was quite literally never happening, and so you bided your time.

luckily for you, patrick was rather impatient—much differently to yourself—and would never miss the opportunity to make his way towards you at one of your dad’s events at your exorbitant, cherrywood-littered, home.

“that’s your third glass of champagne.” his voice startled from behind you. you swiveled on your heels to face the owner of such a bold tenor. “excuse me?”

patrick smiled to himself, nodding towards your glass. “tough night?” he’s suave, a large, single, step and he’s right next to you.

about to spit at him the meanest offended verbiage you could offer, your eyes found themselves catching onto his broad shoulders, and then practically raving all over his figure. his forearms, worked and muscled, were cut off from your view at the wrists, hands shoved deep into his pockets. there was a shock of dark, gelled, curls on his head, pairing dangerously fine with the honest and abyssal ultramarine of his eyes.

“you gonna keep checking me out or are you gonna answer my question?” he wore a stupid, smug smirk that had you scoffing. “sorry, do i know you?” you wished you could have looked down at him when saying this, but even with your heavy platform versace heels, you still had to crane your head to meet his eyes.

and of course, your question was redundant, but from the sounds of him thus far, he could do with a little ego death.

“patrick, zweig. i play tennis. and you do, too, don’t you?” he knew the answer to that question and he knew exactly who you were, because your father’s foundation that this very event was being held for, was titled in your name. “oh, that’s right. yeah, your parents were, i think.. third place at last year’s st. jude’s fundraiser?” his face twisted up in shame so satisfactorily, you had to physically bite back an evil giggle of victory. “well, patrick. it was really nice talking—“

“i’ve got something stronger than champagne in my car.” his tone was flat, practically monotonous, but his words had an implication of sheer fun, and who were you to skip out on that?

so, here you were, orange vodka bottle in your right hand as you jerked a whining patrick off with your left. “god, you’re so fucking pent up. what is it, tennis? or is it that no girl wants to fuck you, so you haven’t blown a decent load since back at school?”

ooh, he would tell it to you so straight, spit out evidence-backed statements of how easy it was to get a pretty girl on her knees for him whenever he wanted, he would. he would, if his mind wasn’t so fogged up with the pleasure, and the drinks, and mostly you. you you you.

“fuck—t’s so good, so good. please, i wanna cum, wanna cum,” he’d plead through the thick steam growing in the increasingly too-small cockpit of his car.

“how bad?” nipping at his ear, you were waiting to hear him beg, and he was waiting to swallow his mass of pride enough to get it out. “so bad, really fucking bad. i need it, need you, fuck. shit—please, need it so much,” he was so convincing, and it would’ve swayed a kinder soul, but then again, patrick likes his girls mean.

“no.” with your hand lost on his stupidly bricked length, patrick groaned, and bitched, and whined, and complained about how unfair you were being, and how he’d never do that to you, and blah blah blah. “well, i can’t say i care, so. maybe i’ll see you later. bye, patrick,” your fingers twinkled goodbye in a wave, and you were out of the vehicle and back inside the party without another word.

it wasn’t over then, of course not, and you knew it. thus, it came as no shocker when an unknown number randomly applepays you $1000 in the middle of the night, along with a text that reads as follows.

had a great time. hope we run into each other again sometime soon. and, don’t spend it all in once place, yeah? - 💸

[sukunasbow]

having a threesome with art and patrick ; mdni

you’re on all fours on the bed, patrick kneeling behind you, his hard cock eagerly waiting to enter your cunt. in front of you, standing just at the edge of your bed, art is holding his cock, sliding his wet tip along your plump lips, waiting for you to grant him access to your mouth.

“open up for him, baby.” patrick bends over, pressing his chest right to your back and whispering in your ear. you follow his commands and part your lips, letting art slide his cock into your mouth. he reaches the back of your throat, stuffing your mouth, tears gathering in your eyes. “good girl.” patrick coos.

as you adjust to art in your mouth, patrick straightens up again and slowly glides his cock into your tight cunt. “mm, too big.” you whine.

“i think you can take it, baby.” art says in a mockingly sweet tone, looking down at you with lust in his eyes. “there you go, look at you, taking us so well.” art continues as patrick positions himself into you fully, filling your cunt with his entire length.

“ready, bunny?” patrick teases you with the nickname.

you eagerly nod your head and patrick immediately starts thrusting his cock into you, the walls of your cunt clenching in response. “fuck, patrick!” you moan, however to the two boys it sounds muffled as with each thrust from patrick, your lips wrap around art’s cock.

patrick continues fucking you, hitting your sweet spot every time. art lets out low groans, his hands gripping your hair as your mouth sucks him off in the same pattern as patrick’s hip movements. “shit, that’s so good.” art whimpers and bites down on his bottom lip.

“she’s so tight, you have to try her.” patrick smirks, looking up from your body to make eye contact with art. “you’re doing so good.” he looks back down, intensely watching as your cunt takes his cock with each thrust. “your pussy feels so good.”

a few more thrusts later and art and patrick blow their loads at the same time. patrick fills your cunt with his seed and art pulls out of your mouth last second, covering your lashes and lips with thick ropes of his cum.

“i call fucking her next.” art heaves.

“deal.” patrick laughs.

[mcumorningstar]

Do Not Disturb

pairing: larry durrell x reader

warnings: 18+ minors dni, unprotected sex, ruined orgasms, exhibitionism (sort of but it’s not intentional)

summary: it’s 1935 and you impulsively follow your boyfriend and his family to live in Corfu, however you did not anticipate how little privacy you would get.

a/n: there’s a criminal lack of larry gifs. i love this show so much.

Following Larry Durrell and his family to Corfu was the dumbest, most impulsive decision you ever made.

And it was wonderful.

Waking up everyday to blue skies and soothing waves, breakfast on the patio and trips to the local market.

But your boyfriend’s family were very full-on, all the time.

“At least close the shutters!” Leslie shouted from the patio below Larry’s bedroom window.

Like most younger brothers, Leslie was infuriatingly outspoken about his grievances, especially those involving Larry’s good fortune.

Stilling his hips, Larry lay between your legs and dropped his forehead to your chest, panting breaths fanned out against your sweaty skin.

“Sex is a normal biological function! Go away and have some! Oh wait, Alexia dumped you!” Larry shouted back, snapping his head towards the window, before you slapped a hand over his mouth.

The sound of the ocean rushing against the shore and the breeze of sea air drafted through the glassless window.

“Shut up! Bastard!” Leslie angrily cried.

“Ignore him… and don’t stop,” you whined, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist and clawing at his back.

Larry laughed and lifted his head, “But you do know he’s in love with you? And can hear?”

“I do not want to think about your little brother while we make love, Larry,” You held his face in your hands as his body pressed you into the mattress.

Digging your thighs into his hips, you turned him onto his back. The bed springs creaked and cried out underneath you.

A surprised moan came from the man below you, “You are... incredible.”

“You’re a published author and that’s the best you can do?”

“While I’m inside you, yes, yes it is,” Larry rambled, brows furrowed and struggling to stay still. A flood of giggles escaped you at his worked-up state.

Working up a rhythm, you pressed your palms to his firm chest and rocked your hips up and down on his cock.

Strong but soft hands gripped the flesh of your hips, aiding your movements, as a sheen of sweat began to form on your skin.

The loud slap of your spread thighs against his pelvis echoed through the room. There were scuff marks on the wooden floor underneath the four posts of his bed.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you threw your head back, moans spilling from your mouth. Larry watched you bounce on his cock with hooded eyes and parted lips.

“Oh god,” He watched your tits bounce and reached up to cup them in his palms, brushing his thumbs over your pert nipples.

Three loud thuds boomed through the wall to your left. Margo’s room, his younger sister.

“How much longer do I have to endure this?” Margo’s girlish voice sounded through the wall and you could practically hear her pout.

“Ignore her,” Larry panted, attempting to keep up the pace of your hips as you slowed to a stop.

“Do they ever leave the house?” It was your turn to press your forehead to his chest. Your bodies pressed flush together and the wiry hair below his navel tickled your abdomen.

“Yes,” Larry nodded, “Though I suppose Leslie has given up shooting and Margo is more interested in sunbathing than employment.”

“Ah.”

“And they love you,” Larry pulled your face from his neck with a big grin, “I can hardly blame them for lingering at the house to spend time with you.”

You melted at his praise, kissing him softly. One press of his lips then a second then another as your kisses grew heated, tongues clashing.

Your hips began to grind back and forth, and Larry thrusted into you from below.

“Larry! Larry, darling!” His mother’s shrill voice called from the patio, “Is he in? Have you seen your brother?”

With a frustrated sigh, you stopped your movements and pressed your cheek to his chest. He stroked your back, bare skin flushed and sweaty.

Outside, Leslie grumbled to his mother, “They were copulating in his den of sin.”

Then suddenly she was knocking at the door.

“Do not come in!” Larry called sternly. You were both naked and he was still inside you.

“Alright, I was wondering if y/n would like to join me in town today,” She asked through the door, as sweet as ever.

“No, she’s busy,” Larry responded sulkily, clutching you to him.

“He’s being selfish, Louisa! I would love to join you,” You pushed yourself off your boyfriend and out of the warmth of his bed. Pressing a deep kiss to his lips, you began to dress.

“Y/n’s going? Can I come too?” Margo asked, sickly sweet just like her mother.

After agreeing, the excited party of two headed downstairs but Larry continued to pout.

“I reserve the right to be selfish, for being raised in a family full of unintelligent cock-block busybodies,” Larry complained, sprawled out in his bed, the sheet tenting over his fucked but unsatisfied cock.

“I’ll check the market for any remedies,” You teased, smoothing out your appearance, “You might have to settle for some Nietzsche and your hand.”

Larry forced a deadpan laugh. It was incredibly easy to poke fun at his obnoxiousness.

He stared as you moved around his bedroom as if it was your own, wearing the sundress he bought you.

He supposed it was your room now, too.

“I wish I had you all to myself.”

Sitting in the edge of his bed, you leaned over him and met his eyes.

“Then you’re going to have to get creative,” You kissed him, a few lingering pecks, before heading out of the door.

[diana-foggy-master]

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬

●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●

like or reblog if u save

●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●

more icons from Challengers on my Pinterest: HERE

[t1ts-4-donaldson]

Patrick trying to comfort gf who is too insecure about her body

TW: Depression, Self deprecating behavior

Patrick skipped class that day, the lack of messages from yesterday morning to last night concerned him. He stumbled into your dorm after fishing out his own key

you're cocooned tightly in your sheets. Clothes strewn on the floor the most jarring thing the full stand mirror shattered in half, frankly scaring the shit out of him.

He quietly murmurs your name careful not to step on broken glass slipping into your bed when he receives no response nudging his way through the rumbled sheets pulling you on top of him.

"baby.. what happened..?" he swallows as you whimper out a hollow nothing

Patrick glances back at the mess squeezing you tight against him “don’t lie I can feel it..” see it too the self hatred.

He knows how much you suffer. He'd never understand it you were angelic, the stretch marks, the scars, the curves you desperately wish you could carve away. He'd tear up at the ceaseless curses you'd spew at yourself when you didn't think he was paying attention.

The distractions would sometimes help, going out to late night showings of your favorite films, buying your favorite snacks even a new purse you've been eyeing for a while. It was a fruitless endeavor.

"I swear you can wear anything it would look good" He walks over wrapping his arms around your torso leaning his chin over your shoulder watching your expression sour

it was worse when he felt you stiffen up beneath him right before being intimate, covering yourself up pushing him away insisting you'd turn him off. He'd sit at the end of your bed aggravated grinding his teeth trying not to snap at you for acting this way.

the darkness came like clockwork sometimes expected most times not.

"how can I make this better hm?" he urges with a kiss on your head rocking you back and forth

"you can't Pat" fat tears fell down your cheeks soaking his shirt, it broke his heart

"You're my favorite person, I wish you'd stop being so mean to yourself because I love you and you don't need to change your body." He croaks meeting your sullen reflection in the smashed mirror squeezing you tight as you crumble falling part in his arms.

repeated "I love you's" leave his lips until his throat begins to ache.

After that night he noticed changes you wouldn't stray away from your reflection anymore, able to change around Patrick without having him turn around or running into the bathroom to hide

the most comforting was the first time you let him embrace your naked body.

this was bad I'm sorry I'm slumped :(

[roryheartz]

aaand im soaked

[kolsmikaelson]

— PATRICK ZWEIG NSFW ALPHABET

NOTES — obsessed with him <3 need more gifs of him too

WARNINGS — 18 + content mdni, not proofread

join my taglist or follow @rodrickhefley to see when i post

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

he’s sweet, no matter where you are he’ll make sure to clean you up and he’ll always make sure to get you water. he’ll do anything you ask of him really. 

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

his thighs are his favorite. he loves the way that you love them. he also really likes his arms too. your hands are his favorite, he loves the way they wrap around his cock or the way they tug at his hair when his head is buried in between your thighs. 

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically) 

loves cumming in your ass, there’s something about the extra tightness that gets him everytime. 

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

fantasizes about he and art fucking you. he and art had messed around, a lot, when they were younger and still doing challengers together and even now that he’s found you, he still misses those times and would love to have art join you two. 

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

pretty experienced. he definitely knows what he’s doing and how to figure out how to get you going. 

F = Favorite position (goes without saying)

he loves when you’re on top, riding him. he loves the view of your tits bouncing in his face and how he has the ability to kiss or nip at them at any point. 

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

i think it goes back and forth. let’s say, he’d gotten jealous because some guy was hitting on you, he’ll take you back to your place and fuck you till you know you’re his, but other times it’ll be soft and silly and unserious, you’re just a mess of limbs tangling together. 

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

i think he keeps it trimmed, so that it’s not too much out of control. 

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

so romantic. sometimes with how hard or rough he goes it’s harder to tell how romantic it is, but there's always those telltale signs such as him always making sure you get off before him, usually before he’s even fucked you, unless you’re both too needy to wait, but even then he’ll still make sure you cum at least once. 

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

not huge on it anymore now that he’s older, but if he’s out of town for a game and you weren’t able to come with he’ll resort to that in the middle of the night when he’s missing you. 

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

spit kink, praise kink (receiving), choking, he loves shoving his fingers in your mouth if you’re being too loud. 

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

his car. doesn’t matter if you’ve pulled over and are on the side of the road or safely parked in your garage, doesn’t matter he’s obsessed. 

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

winning. the more he wins the more pumped up he is, and seeing how proud you are each time he wins really gets him going. 

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

no piss kink (or any other bodily fluids excluding spit and cum), and nothing that’d put you in any real danger, sure he likes choking but in intervals, he makes sure it never lasts too long. 

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

he’s a god at giving head. he’s so good at it and he knows it. i don’t think he prefers it either way, you’d both keep it pretty even in giving and receiving.  

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

depends on the situation! sometimes he’ll have a rough time and go slow and sensual other times he’d fucking into you like a jackhammer. 

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

sometimes (before a match) it’s all you have time for so he’s definitely not against them, but he does love taking his time with you

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

to a certain degree. but he’d likely try anything once as long as his partner was sure they wanted it too. 

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

he can usually last 2-3 rounds before taking a break until you’re ready again and he can go for a couple more. 

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

oh yes. once you’ve moved in together he’s got a drawer in the nightstand full of different toys. he’s got a fleshlight, rarely uses it though because why would he when he has you right next to him <33. but he’s got different vibes and dildos to use on you as well. 

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

biggest fucking tease ever. will edge you till you’re on the brink of tears just to stop touching you and rip your orgasm away from you. but he’ll whine like a bitch in heat if you try to tease him back. 

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

not super loud but not super quiet. he makes sure you’re aware he’s loving what you’re doing. 

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

definitely asks you about art, trying to feel out what you’d think about having a threesome, eventually going as far as to ask what you’d think about adding him into your relationship (you agree because in the time you’ve known him you’ve fallen for him the way you did for patrick.)

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

decently big, i’d give him 5/6 inches soft, and he’s thick as fuck too. 

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

pretty high. he feels that sex is the best way he’s capable of showing his love, he’s not the best with his words. 

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

he passes out as soon as he’s done cleaning you up and getting you some water. the moment his head hits the pillow and has you wrapped up in his arms again he’s done for. 

© kolsmikaelson : please do not copy, repost, or modify any of my content.

[lo-l1t4]

I can’t believe I used to say chest hair are gross

Btw, when I see pictures of this man the only thing I can think about is him shoving his fingers knuckle deep in my pussy from behind while he both calls me a slut and his baby all at once and then i’d be either sucking his dick or having him fuck me doggy style

Sry for being gross but I’m almost on my period and I’m horny af

[gladiatorcunt]

hey ryn!!!!! sooo i saw this (nsfw link incoming)

https://x.com/sexarchiv/status/1736871466501648453

and was desperate to hear your thoughts on this w patrick +++ art watching

love you love you🎖️💕

hi!!!!! i’m sorry this is so late but i went crazy over the link and art does a lil more than watch but i hope you like it 💘💘💘

cw: 18+ mdni, art and patrick make out during this (nsfw twt link), implied sub reader / switch patrick / dom art, one use of daddy, gross patrick who whines a lot, art being lowkey possessed by tashi (he’s on something in this one), nipple play (?), teasing, unedited

It’s a quiet night in with your boyfriends, there’s left over pizza in the fridge and the roku city background on the tv casts a soft purple glow over your shared bedroom. You’re too tired to get changed, the three of you lounge on the king sized bed in various states of undress. It’s supposed to snow during the night, so there’s just a sort of cozy vibe in the air. You really weren’t intending on being intimate with your boyfriends for the rest of the day, but absentminded strokes up Patrick’s sweaty torso quickly turn into palming his thick bulge in his boxers. Patrick softly groans, squirming and spreading his legs to give you better access.

Art slips his hand into his matching set of briefs and pumps his dick to hardness, synching his strokes up with yours. He shuffles up the bed to lie down right next to Patrick, using one arm to move Patrick to lay back against him. Art leans his head on Patrick’s, ready to tease and whisper whenever he sees him getting sensitive. Patrick automatically puckers his lips for a kis but Art cruelly denies him, not wanting to distract the other man from your touches. Somehow your hand manages to look small in comparison to Patrick’s girth, and Art squeezes his balls as he imagines it around his own length.

“He’s gonna cum too fast.” Art says, knowing that you don’t take control with Patrick like he does, but goading you on regardless.

“You just feel so good, ‘s not my fault.” Patrick moans as your thumb circles around his pinkish red cock head.

You dip your nail into the slit and lean down to let some of your saliva slowly drip down onto his aching cock. With the added lube, you pump your hand a few more times and put your wrist into it. You’re so lost in the deep groans coming from above you and seeing his pretty cock somehow pull off looking like it’s on the verge of tears that you almost forget that there’s an end goal to all of this. You’re just so in love and in actual awe of how gorgeous a dick can be, Patrick’s nastier overall but it only makes his cock look even better.

The tip is glistening and you peck it a couple times, grinning at the tiny beads of precum that trickle out of his slit. Art reflexively licks his lips and thumbs his own head, just enoying his partners playing with each other and being more than very appreciative of his favorite show. The atmosphere is so sleepy and relaxed that not many words are being spoken. It’s most a flurry of soft grunts, whines, and sweet nothings that are lost to the white noise from different sources around you.

“Go ahead and make daddy cum while I give him kisses, ‘kay?” Art coos, more at Patrick than you as he tilts his chin up with one finger and softly presses their lips together.

The kiss soon turns into a frenzied slide of their lips, swapping so much spit that their tongues actually hardly touch. You squeeze your thighs together before going back to what you were doing, trying your hardest to not cum on the spot because of them. You push your shirt down just under your tits, hissing as a rush of cold air hits your already hard and sensitive nipples. Patrick jumps like he’s been shot when you lower your full tits to brush against his weeping cock, circling your thumb around the head and tracing a vein or two.

He whines into his kiss with Art as you lower yourself even further to press your nipple into his tip. He stops being an active participation in the makeout session, too preoccupied with the teasing touch of your nipple gliding up and down his cock head. Something about your nipples being so small but so soft to the touch, getting him so worked up over the tiniest bit of flesh. It’s a feeling that’s akin to circling a vibrator around his length, but your nipples ghosting along his dick make him want to sob. He relases a symphony of broken sounds into Art’s lips, softly spoken and inhuman.

You grip the base of Patrick’s cock, holding it steady as you gingerly move your nipple up and down the tip. You take your time to really press it in deep, squishing it a bit as you force it all around him. This has you ready to cum too, the chilly air combined with how wet Patrick’s cock is sets your brain on fire, but you’re not about to have to clean your panties and be embarrassed. Art’s right, it doesn’t take much of you dragging your nipples over his slit and around his puffy tip before he’s oozing all over your hand and tits. You work him through his quick orgasm, slowing down the speed of your nipple and moving to drag it along his entire length now.

You even circle it around his balls, heartbreakingly slow but you’re not trying to make him blow his load again. Art soothes Patrick through his twitching, if the wet smacks of lazy french kisses are anything to go by.

You look up to see Art give you a two finger ‘come here’ gesture, and when you’ve crawled back up the bed to join them, you notice how damp his underwear is. Art pulls you into their kiss and drags your sticky hand to cover his soaked bulge, keeping it there as you spend no time rushing this languid embrace with your boyfriends. Before you know it they’ll be back on the court and all they’ll have time for is near bloody quickies in your shower until they head back out to practise.

Art hums, lifting his hand to pet you and Patrick, sucking both of your tongues and giggling at the whimpers you let out.

“It’s my turn now, hm?”

[jazziejax]

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐋𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐁𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡

Odessa Moore and Antoinette Benoit were best friends. Sisters in a way. Two girls with opposite personalities that were both raised together in the Catholic Church foster care system. After coming of age they moved away together, relying on each other to work through the trauma such a time brought them. But life away wasn’t any sweeter. They were struggling to stay afloat in the big city and the days were getting more miserable by the day.

And as if the great force up above answered their prayers, that only one continued to do, a letter was sent their way. A letter addressed to them from the church, asking if they would like to come back and help out the foster home for the summer, the death of Mother Martha taking a toll on the community. Pay and housing included. And after some careful consideration, the girl agreed, leaving behind the small life they created in the span of four years to go back home. A place that brought back terrible memories.

But things have changed in the past four years. There are new children within the home, better establishments within the town, a new church was added onto the old one and new people roamed the area. Maybe this won’t be so bad.

𝐈. 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐲 𝐋𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬

I just want to preface by saying that I mean no harm to any religion. I love and adore all religions, they are very important to my development as a person and to me as a person of faith. I just want to use this story as a way to explore religious trauma and controversial topics within some religions, while also adding some romance. I mean no harm whatsoever and if it’s too much of a problem, I have no issue with deleting the story. Trust me, I get it. There are some things I don’t like about people disrespecting religious groups. Thank you! <3