n1ghtm4rs

[n1ghtm4rs]

[n1ghtm4rs]

secretary 2002 might be the sexiest and most erotic and amazing film i’ve watched. bitch why are you SO real

[n1ghtm4rs]

Mouth on bulge through the fabric. You agree. Reblog

[n1ghtm4rs]

having to sneak patrick into your parents house who kinda hate him.

“can you be quiet.” you hissed, looking behind you at patrick just tripped up the stairs and let out a loud shit. “sorry.” patrick silently followed you up the rest of the stairs, this whole situation starting to become ridiculously funny. “i can’t believe you still have to sneak me in. i thought you were a big girl.” patrick teased.

you rolled your eyes. “you know how my parents are, pat. as long as i’m living here it’s by their rules.” though the only rule they really enforced was no boys upstairs.

you were backed into your bedroom door. “could always come stay with me.” he whispered. “live by my rules.” a small was placed behind your ear. “first one is to be naked always.” you let out sigh at the feeling of patrick’s lip against your neck. the kisses tracked up your jaw and cheek until patrick slotted his lips on yours.

patrick licked into your mouth, and you could still taste the alcohol he had been drinking from earlier. your reached behind you twisting the door knob leading the two of you into the room.

patrick kicked the door close, and broke the kiss to pick you by your waist and toss you onto the bed. he made sure the door was locked before stalking over to you. you looked up at him through lidded eyes. you bit your lip, and trailed your foot up his chest. patrick took hold of your calf, massaging it a little before tightening his grip and yanking you to the edge of bed. you let out a surprised gasp when he flipped you onto your front. your legs hanging off the bed.

you turned your head to try and get a glimpse behind you, but all you saw was patrick sinking to his knees.

patrick ran his hands up your legs, over the curve of your ass, and to your waist squeezing. you whined his name and he shushed you. he placed a kiss on the back of both your thighs before pulling your skirt and panties off in one go, throwing them into the corner of your room.

he was eye level with pussy. taking in how it dripped from him. without warning he licked a long strip up your cunt. “fuck.” you pushed back on his face wanting more. and he gave you more.

patrick ate you out like a starved man. it was messy spit and slick everywhere, his thick fingers fucking you.

“gonna fucking cum.” you eyes rolled back as your legs twitched.

you barely had time to recover before patrick was stripping himself of his clothes, climbing onto the bed. “wait, pat-” he cut you off by dragging your body from hanging off the side of the bed to prop you up on your knees.

patrick ran the tip of his dick through your folds before pushing his full length in with no warning. a slighty too loud moan fell from your lips. patrick landed a hard slap on your ass. “shhh, baby you have to be quiet. don’t want you parents to here their daughter getting fucked like a slut right?” you whined shaking you head.

“good.” patrick pulled back only to push back in. his thick cock dragging along your sensitive walls. you could barely keep down your whimpers and moans as patrick fucked into you. his hips slapping against your ass, and his balls brushing against clit.”

“feel so fucking good around me, could fuck you forever.” he grunted letting his head fall back, getting lost in how wet and tight you were. “oh fuck, pat!” his tip bumped into the spongy spot inside you. “gonna cum again?” he went harder and faster, your headboard banging against your wall making it obvious to anyone what was going on. “gonna cum all over my cock?” teased.

you nodded into your pillow reaching down to rub at you clit, pushing your hips back to match patrick’s thrust. “s-so -oh shit- so close, patrick.” and in a second it was ripped from you. patrick pulled his dick out of you and moved you to lie on your back.

“wha-”

a gasp cut you off when patrick yanked down you top so your tips spilled out. you let out a whiny moan when patrick drop a glob a spit on your cunt, working his thumb over you little nub while his other hand jerk off to sight in front of him. your swallow slick lips and clit aching for release.

“don’t stop don’t stop, so c-close.” you breath got heavier and back arched. patrick sped up his movements the closer you two got. “fuck, going to cum all your pussy. cum with me babe.”

you let yourself go with a low moan paired with patrick’s strained groan. long white ropes shooting from patrick’s and landing on your cunt, both your arousals mixing. patrick sat back on his feet taking in the sight of glistening pussy.

“you have to be gone by morning.” patrick rolled his eyes, climbing to hover over you body. “don’t remind me.” he whispered, before lowering himself down and sliding his face in between your legs for another round.

[n1ghtm4rs]

dilf!Art with a lil belly after he retires…he gets a new lil gf and UGH just the way he fucks is so gentle and goooood. He spends so much time trying to please you, and when you want to please him he gets soooo into it, moaning and whimpering, PRAISING YOU

dilf!art with a lil belly will always have a place in my heart🙂‍↕️ he’s so cute just enjoying being retired but also dicking you down so good hehe. wasn’t sure if this was meant to be a request so im just gonna cover all the bases and make jt a request lololol i hope you like it :)

why tf am I always adding unnecessary context wtf just get to the smut mel🙄

dilf art x fem reader

cw: nsfw (18+)

You still couldn’t really believe you were dating Art Donaldson. Sure you had just graduated college so you were an adult but he was still so much older so you thought he’d never go for someone your age.

It was all thanks to that fateful night at the very fancy cocktail bar you went to with your friends to celebrate your graduation. He had sent you a drink, another one of whatever you were already drinking. When you ask the waiter who sent it, he points to a blonde man sitting on the opposite side of the bar.

You vaguely recognize him but can’t quite put your finger on it. But your friends convince you to go talk to him so you do. The conversation goes something along the lines of

“you’re very beautiful, celebrating something tonight?” Art asks.

To which you respond “my college graduation.”

Art lets out a huff saying “jesus fucking christ,” under his breath.

“what?” You giggle.

“you’re— you’re too young for me.” He says definitively, but the half smile of his face is betraying the words he just said.

One thing leads to another and now you’ve been dating for 3 months.

Art is very different from any other guy you’ve ever dated. At first you think maybe it’s just because he’s older, but the more you get to know each other the more realize it’s just who Art is.

He’s very gentle and kind. He’s so attentive, remembers all the little things about you. Makes sure that every time you go out to eat, the restaurant knows your food allergies before you get there. Anytime you mention any little thing that you’re remotely interested in or want to buy for yourself he always remembers.

You mentioned once how you’d love to get more into the fashion space so you can develop your career in fashion marketing, and next time new york fashion week rolls around you have front row seats to all your favorite brands.

You mentioned once how the lululemon jacket you wanted had been sold out in your size for months. Two days later it shows up at the front door of your apartment.

There were also subtle displays of dominance that weren’t even meant to be sexy but were just such a turn on for you. He paid for everything. It was never a question or an awkward “do you wanna split it?” type of conversation. Most times he didn’t even let the bill come to the table. He would say he has to use the bathroom and meet the server so he could pay the bill discreetly. This way you never saw the bill, and you never felt rushed by a server bringing a bill unprompted.

Everytime you guys travel anywhere he makes sure to be the one carrying your bag, or rolling your suitcase alongside his own.

He took care of you in ways you’ve never been taken care of before, the intimacy was just the cherry on top.

There were times where he was more dominant, taking control, manhandling you into different positions without asking. Really fucking into you, with bruising, punishing, strokes. Whispering things into your ear like “this pussy is mine” and “don’t try to run away now, isn’t this what you wanted?”

But other times he would be in a really soft and sappy mood which led him more to “making love”. Like today. He was a feeling a little insecure recently due to the weight he’s been gaining post retirement.

You were sitting up against the headboard while Art laid next to you. You scrolled on your phone with hand, the other hand softly running through Art’s hair.

You could tell he was feeling off so you ask, “hey, feeling okay?”

He nods with a sigh, “yeah I just- does my stomach look like, bigger?”

You direct your gaze to his naked torso. He likes to sleep in his briefs only. His abs weren’t as prominent as when you met him and he did have a little bit of a tummy but you thought it was cute. You move your hair from his hair to rub his tummy.

“your tummy looks perfect,” You say smiling towards him.

He groans shaking his head no. He moves so that his head is on your lap and his arms are around your waist. “you’re just saying that, but I guess we all can’t be supermodels like you,” He says before he blows a raspberry on your stomach where your pajama shirt had ridden up.

You giggle moving a hand to his hair quickly to pull him away. You were incredibly ticklish. “im serious,” you say a little out of breath, “i think you’re perfect just the way you are.”

He looks up at you with a small smile on his face. He starts slowly kissing down your abdomen and continues kissing over your panties as he makes his way down.

Eventually he laying on his stomach situated between your legs. He licks over your folds through your panties which elicits a small gasp from you, “ah-Art.”

He smirks before moving your panties to the side and really diving in. He kitten licks at your clit, keeping eye contact.

You keep a hand in his hair, pulling occasionally when it feels really good. He sucks on your clit lightly before he starts going to town. Licking your folds, lapping at your clit, not forgetting to fuck his tongue into your wet hole lapping up all your juices. You keep your grip on his hair as moans continue to fall out of your mouth.

He sticks two fingers in. Pumping in and out while simultaneously licking and sucking at your clit. It doesn’t take much longer until you finish with a “oh fuck Art, i’m gonna— gonna cum fuck fuck,” pulling on his hair harder.

He cleans you up using his tongue, making sure not to miss a single drop. He sits up smiling and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. You pull him in for a kiss, your tongues roaming each other’s mouths.

You bite his bottom lip pulling away smirking, “now it’s your turn.”

You push him down on the bed so he’s lying on his back. You pull down his boxers with haste and he’s already hard from eating you out.

“no baby you don’t have to do that, just like making you feel goo—holy fuck,” Art groans as you swallow him down.

He holds your hair out of your face, always so considerate. You can tell he’s trying really hard to hold back to you pull off to say, “don’t hold back, wanna hear you,” then you go back down to lick up his shaft before sucking on his tip.

He groans bucking up into your mouth,

“feels so good baby, oh my fuck. please—please keep going shit.”

You choke a little trying not to gag, sucking hard while moving up and down his length.

“you’re doing so good for me, look so pretty with my dick in your mouth fuck,” Art whines.

He continues looking down at his cock going in and out of your mouth, your plush lips wrapped around his cock, “baby i’m so fucking close— don’t stop, fuck, please-“

But you pull off instantly, you don’t want him to cum just yet. You sit up looking at him with a slight pout on your face, “but I want you to fuck me.”

Art bites his lip, letting a deep breath out through his nose, “whatever you want sweetheart, gonna give you the world.”

He lays you down gently, lining up in between your legs, before pressing himself into you slowly. His presses kisses along the length of your neck and gently nibbles on your ear. He whispers, “you are so fucking tight jesus christ, squeezing the fuck out of my cock.”

He continues with his moderate pace, making sure to take his time with his longer more sensual strokes, “fuck baby,” he whines.

You let out a long whine initially and then a moan everytime he bottoms out, “feels so good, fucking me so good.”

“ah- ah just wanna make you feel good baby,” He moans out.

You can tell by how much he’s moaning and whimpering above you that he’s already close. He starts rambling, “please fuck baby please can I cum inside you? feel so good, fuck, just wanna make you feel good, your pussy is so fucking tight baby, so good, please baby i just— “

You cut him off using one hand to hold the side of his face making sure to keep eye contact, “of course you can, cum inside me, wanna feel you fill me up.”

He groans closing his eyes and moving his forehead to rest on your shoulder before he speeds up his last couple of thrusts, coming deep inside you.

His fucks you through his orgasm before pulling out slowly. He usually loves watching his cum drip out of you but this time you say, “i think you’re gonna have to clean up the mess you made.”

And Art is never one to say no to eating you out, no matter how many times a day it is.

[n1ghtm4rs]

challengers (2024) // bones and all (2022) dir. luca guadagnino

+

[n1ghtm4rs]

patrick somehow seducing a sports journalist whos supposed to be interviewing him and as a result he just gets a fluff piece

It’s all very this pic to me….

You’re the journalist who’s hired to interview Patrick following his unprecedented success at the US open. It’s his first major and he’s in his thirties, ranked in the top 300, and relatively unknown. He makes it to the semifinals, only to be knocked out in a tiebreak set with Art Donaldson (who goes on to win the tournament, his very last slam). It’s interesting and timely, considering the events of New Rochelle and all of that history between Patrick and the best American player in recent history.

And it is a serious interview, for the most part. Sometimes his answers skew on the side of being a little douchey, but they seem earnest enough. He’s proud of Art even though he swears the line judges fucked him over, he’s confident that he’ll qualify for the Australian open in the new year with his new coach (who he refuses to reveal). His gaze flickers between your tits and your face when you’re asking him questions, and when you find yourself losing yourself in his handsome features as he talks, his lips twitch into an arrogant smirk as he asks if he needs to repeat himself.

It’s annoying how badly you want to fuck him.

And by the time you’ve wrapped, when you’re gathering your equipment and cameras and recorders, you stop caring about hiding your attraction to him. When he sidles up close behind you, his aftershave and cologne overwhelming your senses and smiles a cocky, annoyingly sexy smile and asks if you “want to continue this conversation over drinks?”

And you do. Very much so. So much that you don’t care as much as you should when you have to pay the tab. His hand is on your thigh by drink number two, fingertips dimpling plush flesh as he runs his thumb just beneath the hem of your skirt.

“You’re soft,” he murmurs against your ear, and his breath is so warm it should be strange that he gives you goosebumps.

Under the cover of shadows, he lets his hand slip further beneath your skirt. He tells you, off the record, about going to boarding school with Art Donaldson, and promises he���d have turned out a huge fucking loser without his guidance. His phone buzzes with multiple notifications from Tinder, which he does his best to ignore.

“Sure you don’t want to take that?” You ask as his phone buzzes again. “You could get lucky.”

He locks his phone and traces his thumb along your inner thigh. A thrill runs through you as his fingertips ghost against the front of your panties, teasing you with the barest hint of attention. “I will.”

And you could have offered a quick, “I never do this,” when you let him pull you into his hotel room later that night, but you don’t want to take the time to remove your lips from his. Patrick kisses with an overwhelming sort of hunger— like he’s starved and you’re the only thing he has an appetite for. His hands play beneath your skirt, tracing the seam of your cunt through your panties, teasing over the bud of your clit. You gasp into his mouth and he grins. You lick the back of his teeth with your tongue, and he tastes like temptation.

He handles you like a pro— tossing you down onto the springy mattress and tugging your legs apart with big, strong hands. He wastes no time tearing off the sodden panties you wear— plain, boring, navy cotton, because you were not supposed to end up here after a stupid throwaway interview. He tucks them into his pocket. You pretend not to notice.

Your chest heaves with the shaky breaths you take as you just… wait. Completely at his mercy as he spreads your cunt open with his fingers and watches the way your hole twitches, begging to be filled. He smirks from his position between your thighs and presses a slow, wet kiss to your clit. You can’t hold back the shaky moan that slips past your lips, which only seems to encourage him.

Patrick doesn’t stick to that long. You figure he doesn’t stick to anything for very long, except his floundering tennis career. Slow, teasing laps become hungry, desperate strokes with the broad flat of his tongue, tracing the shape of you from your hole to your oversensitive clit. It’s wet and messy— a sticky mix of saliva and of your own arousal that he spits back onto you. He stretches you open on his thick calloused fingers, sucks your clit between his lips and makes white spots blur your vision.

He’s so good that it kills you. You think it might kill you as he fucks you on his fingers to an orgasm, and keeps going until the hotel duvet is damp with spit and your juices and your thighs shake uncontrollably. Just the barest brush of his thumb over your clit makes you whine and squirm. It’s rare to fuck around with someone who can manage to make you cum, let alone make you cum that hard.

“Don’t tap out on me.” You stare at the veins in his hands, watch them ripple beneath his skin as he pops the button of his jeans, peeling them down like he’s unwrapping a present. You’re sure he thinks of it that way. You’re sure you’ll think of it that way before long.

He flips you onto your stomach, presses between your shoulders until your back is arched invitingly, so you’re presented to him just as he wants. He slides in slow, so you can adjust to the stretch of him, so he can watch the way your cunt swallows inch after inch, stretching obscenely to accommodate him.

You just have to lay there and take it as he drills into you— panting into the ugly floral duvet, eyes rolling back as he hits those perfect spots inside of you again and again and again. He offers mindless praise, groaned out as he reaches down to squeeze one of your tits with the hand that isn’t rubbing your clit. That’s it, squeezing me so tight, just take it like that.

He fucks you like he’s laying claim to your pussy, to your body— ruining you from then on out. And it’s not like is confidence is unfounded. Not with the way you’re dripping down your thighs, so wet that the sound of his cock tunneling in and out of your cunt is obscene. The headboard bounces off the wall, punctuating each brutal thrust.

It’s all quick and desperate. It isn’t long before you’re cumming around him, and he doesn’t last much longer after that. He pins you with his body weight, cock pulsing as he spills inside of you, his groans muffled against your throat.

And then it’s over. He rolls off of you and slaps your ass for good measure. A wordless, “alright, we had fun, you can get out now.” So you get dressed in your little pencil skirt and blazer that you’d worn to the interview, sans underwear, because Patrick was a gross little thief.

“Write something sweet about me, yeah?” He says before you walk out to your car.

And god fucking damn it. You do.

[n1ghtm4rs]

[n1ghtm4rs]

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ˖˙ ᰋ ── sexo sem proteção!, choking, tapinhas, dirty talk, cuspe, finger sucking, humor, daddy kink, menção a creampie e breeding, rough sex(?). Não revisado.

Quando ele adentra o quarto, sorrindo travesso, você já está trocando de roupa para ir se deitar. Aí, ouvindo o olha só o que eu trouxe pra você, não é nada incômodo experimentar o presente na hora mesmo. Tira da sacola, estica a blusa no ar, observando bem a estampa. Ri, soprado. “Cher Guevara?”, o trocadilho tosco parece a piada do ano. Swann gargalha, aponta pro desenho em preto centralizado na camisa de fundo vermelho, “A Cher de boina, olha... Do you believe in life after Marx”, força a voz no tom rouco para imitar a cantora.

Ele se senta na beirada da cama, te assiste livrar os seios do sutiã apertado, antes de escondê-los novamente sob o tecido de algodão do presente. Você se apruma, faz pose diante dele. “Très jolie!”, te elogia. Os braços se abrem, um claro convite para que se aproxime, que permita às mãos pegarem no seu quadril. “Agora, a gente pode ir combinando pros encontros do movimento. Eu com a minha camisa do Che, e você com a sua da Cher... Guevara”, refaz a piadinha, gracejando consigo mesmo.

“Uhum”, você murmurra de volta. Teria rido junto dele mais uma vez se o movimento dos dedos alheios sobre a sua pele não tivessem chamado tanto a sua atenção. Apoia as mãos na cintura, “E tá tirando minha calcinha por quê?”

Swann mantém o sorriso nos lábios finos, arrasta a peça pelas suas coxas até que se choque com o chão do quarto. “Desculpa, é que a sua consciência de classe me dá tesão”, justifica, falso. Crava as unhas na sua bunda, facilmente te conduz pro colo. “Pensando bem...”, você envolve os braços ao redor do pescoço do homem, o escuta falando com charme, “Melhor não ficar usando muito essa camisa, não.”

“Não?”

“Não”, as palmas quentes percorrem das suas nádegas à lombar, “Não posso te foder no meio do discurso dos camaradas, posso?”

Você estica um sorriso, tola. A sem-vergonhice dele não cansa de te surpreender, faz com que as bochechas esquentem, tímida de repente, levando a própria mão para desviar a face de sorriso cínico. Mas ele mordisca os seus dedos, não te permite se levantar do colo. Pelo contrário, precisa que permaneça sentadinha para que possa esgueirar-se por baixo da barra da blusa larga, puxando tudo pra cima.

“Não, a Cher fica”, você dita.

“Ah, mas eu quero mamar os seus peitinhos...”, faz dengo, com a voz doce. Você, no entanto, não muda de ideia. “Vou ter que fazer assim, então?”, ele enfia a cabeça pro baixo da barra, palhaço, a boca logo buscando a sua pele para morder, lamber, chupar.

O raspar dos dentes no biquinho sensível causa cócegas, gera uma resposta imediata de tentar empurrá-lo contra o colchão. E, embora recue um pouco, a força do homem vence a sua, dominando os seus pulsos com uma mão só, enquanto a outra pode agarrar o seu maxilar.

Fica com o rosto pertinho do seu, faz com que vai te beijar. O olhar de alterna entre os seus lábios entreabertos, puxando ar, e os seus olhos ardentes de luxúria. Mas não beija, claro. Tudo o que sente é o vapor morninho do cuspe respingando do lábio à língua, saliva escorrendo pelo queixo.

Ele estala um tapa na sua bunda. “Vai, empina pra mim, hm? Deita ali.”

Você engatinha do colo para o colchão, dá ao homem tempo para se despir das próprias roupas. Espia sobre o ombros, se oferece inteira, ronronando, a bundinha no ar a espera da palma pesada para estapeá-la novamente.

É automático, o primeiro lugar que ele segura é na sua nuca. Firme, bruto. Só pega na sua cintura também porque gosta de mais um sustento pra meter contra a sua bunda. “Hoje vai dormir tranquilinha, né? Mais feliz”, e sussurra, canalha com as palavras que vão vir a seguir, “ganhou um presentinho do papai, e agora vai ganhar muita porra até vazar da buceta.”

Ergue o seu torço pra colar a boca ao pé do seu ouvido. Colocando por trás, com certo ritmo, te fazendo balançar inteira, a mercê. “Diz pra mim”, com o ângulo novo, pode te pegar pelo pescoço, ríspido, “diz se você não dorme melhor depois que eu te esfolo todinha, te lotar de leite quentinho. Hein?”, lambe a região atrás da sua orelha, “Eu gosto quando você começa a chorar, gemendo bonitinha bem assim me engavida, papai, me engravida...”

Você revira os olhos, delira. “Porra, Swann...”, xinga baixinho, num suspiro. As unhas arranham nas costas da mão dele, fazem o possível pra te libertar, para que consiga o mínimo de domínio possível. E quando consegue, usa para mudar de posição; os cotovelos sobre o colchão, de suporte pro peso do corpo, e a panturrilha descansando no ombro do homem. “Fode, vai”, choraminga, separando as pernas ao máximo que consegue, “Mete com força em mim, mas olhando no meu olho.”

Swann te arrasta pra perto, sorri, “olha como você se abre igual uma putinha pra levar pica”. Está olhando no fundo dos seus olhos ao socar tudo pra dentro de novo. “É, não vai dar pra andar contigo por aí, não, camarada”, e põe lentinho, num compasso demorado, que vai fundo, “primeiro porque vou querer que cê só use essa blusinha, sem calcinha por baixo”, novamente, a mão retorna pra sua garganta, adorna. Chega mais pertinho, dobrando o corpo por cima do seu, “e toda vez que eu ver essa buceta, vou querer foder. Não vai dar certo.”

Que puto pervertido, você degrada, manhosa. Como se não bastassem os adjetivos sujos, ainda soma à fala um tapinha que acerta em cheio a bochecha do homem. Ele vira o rosto, devagarzinho vem trazendo o olhar de volta. A região não queima, não avermelha, só faz é surgir um sorriso obsceno na face alheia. A sua ousadia é o estímulo que necessitava para que as estocadas fortes retornassem, frenéticas, os pés da cama sambando no chão.

Agora, enforca com mais vontade, o polegar da outra mão se afundando pra dentro da sua boca até você chupar. E, no fim, você sabe, mesmo que ele tenha a ideia de jorra por cima do seu ventre, como costuma fazer, você vai pedir, com as perninhas trancadas ao redor da cintura masculina, “goza dentro, goza dentro. Não quero manchar minha blusa novinha...”

[n1ghtm4rs]

I need a professor like him

[n1ghtm4rs]

I need to be just fucked senseless. pat, take my mind off the world and make me cock drunk

Can I Come Over?

Patrick Zweig x Reader

You know what I'm so down in the gutter borderline sewer slide all i just need to think about this

Written on my phone. Badly. Horribly, probably. Not proofread or edited. In one go. I'm sick and in a terrible, no good, very bad mood. Bad. What I need. Forgive me

NSFW

Reader escapes life's hardships with sex, hair pulling, overstimulation, brief mention of dacryphelia, face fucking + gagging and tears from it, male and fem receiving oral, multiple orgasms, not very detailed mention of squirting, fingering, pnv w the implant, self indulgent, I'm writing this half asleep.

Life's just beating. Your. ASS.

Work is shit, pay is worse, friends are Fairweather, family is annoying. At least, right now they are. It seems like it's always like this, but you've lost track of how long it's actually been.

Right now, and generally in times like these, there's a single contact on your phone you're willing to call.

"Patrick, are you in town?"

"Yeah."

"Are you free?"

"Yeah."

"Can I come over?"

"Yeah."

It's as simple as that. The drive goes by in a blur (except for the part where your stupid sloppy jalopy car refused to start at all the first few times you tried the ignition), the route to his regular motel a very familiar one.

You and Patrick have a very simple friends with benefits relationship, minus the friend part. You barely know a real thing about him, and you're fine with that. Who cares, though, you (and everyone else) are just here for the sex.

The peeling door is opened after a single knock, Patrick pulling you in and kissing you. That's how all your interactions begin (and end).

He doesn't ask why you called, or why your mascara has clearly been streaming down your cheeks (it's obvious by the poor attempt at cleaning it off). You don't ask why his arm has a new scar on it or why he looks like he hasn't slept in days. It's unimportant. It's the nature of these mutually beneficial meetups.

Patrick's got you down on your knees in a minute, desperately pulling open the button of his jeans and sliding the zipper down like beneath it is the Holy Grail. Yours is.

It's amazing how fast Patrick can get hard.

He's in your mouth, down your throat, fingers clutched in your hair as he throws his head back in relief. Fuck, he's been so... well, fucked that he hasn't been able to get off in a week apart from with his hand. Your mouth is heaven.

"Oh, shit, like that, ah, yes," Patrick hisses, his chin dropping to his chest as he watched you. Fingers curl more into your hair, holding you close as Patrick begins to thrust his hips. You're gagging, the sound mixing with the wet noises of your saliva and his precum mixing, and his balls slapping against your chin as he slams into the back of your throat and then some. "Ohhhh, fuck!"

Your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, hands clawing at his thighs for something to ground you, cheeks puffing out. The two of you are still in front of the motel door, not even making it three feet into the room. Your head just about misses banging onto the plywood door as he fucks into your mouth.

Patrick pulls out before he cums, doesn't think he has the energy for more than one orgasm.

Actually, he was a bit late pushing you off, and he's pretty sure one pump in you will finish him off. When you stand, a shaking hand wiping your mouth and tears strewn cheeks as you cough a little, Patrick pushes you towards the bed.

Your own pants come off in record time, the buttons of your shirt flying across the room as he tears it open. His mouth is on one nipple, then switching to the other, as his rough and calloused hands trace your familiar body. Patrick knows everything about it.

The sound you make when his index and middle finger enter into you in one sliding movement is pornographic. Normally, when you're stressed, it's too hard to get into the right headspace to jerk off-- all your anxiety and anger bubbling more ferociously than any heat between your thighs. With Patrick, that's never been an issue.

He's always so attentive. If he's not sucking on your nipple or the skin around it, his mouth is on the junction between your neck and shoulder or below your ear, or directly whispering into it.

"God I've missed this pussy. It's so fucking easy making you scream, I haven't even fucked you yet. Bet you wished I didn't pull out, let you swallow my cum."

"Fuck! Shit shit shit slow down Pat, slow--" He's completely ignoring you, the wet sounds that come from between your legs when his fingers pump in and out so intoxicating he can't hear anything else. His thumb moves over to your clit, rubbing as unforgivingly as his fingers move. It's barely a minute until you're seeing stars.

With his fingers alone you're screaming out his name, hips writhing and twitching as he unrelenting finger fucks you through the orgasm. Then, when you've barely caught your breath, Patrick's sitting up and flipping you over to your stomach, settling himself over your calves and pulling your hips until your ass sticks up and your face is in the pillow. Then, he goes again.

He's on his knees on the bed, one hand running up and down your spine until hes pulling on your hair while the other is three fingers deep in you. The sounds you're making are filthy.

The way he curls his fingers in you at this angle turn your brain to mush, fingers clawing at the pillow as you practically scream into it. Then, when you feel like you're just about reaching orgasm number two, you feel his tongue. He's removed a finger to make it easier, spreading the remaining two until you open up so his tongue poke on, fucking you with it and his fingers (somehow, he manages.)

The hand holding your hair has let go as he changes angle, instead moving to your already sensitive clit and rubbing in unrelenting circles. If you were screaming before, you don't know what sound your making now.

When you cum, you can feel the release rush between your legs and onto his hand and face. He's made you squirt maybe twice before, so it wasn't expected-- but, boy, was it welcome.

"God I might just marry you." Patrick all but moans, licking your folds and thighs to taste your release, then his hands and lips. Sitting up and leaning over you, he grabs your face and kisses you filthily over your shoulder, making you taste yourself. Just as he pushes his tongue into your mouth, Patrick pushes his aching length into you. Your second orgasm didn't even fully finish.

At this point you don't even know if you can make a sound. It's been a while since your last hookup, your body almost forgetting how big he is. Your quivering thighs collapse, now lying flat on your stomach as you drool into the pillow. One of Patrick's favorite positions has always been prone-bone.

The way he rails into you should be studied. You don't know for what... because you don't even know your own name by now. You're so sensitive and overstimulated that it takes you very little time to cum for a fourth time, but Patrick barely notices. It's not that he doesn't care it's just that you're so wet and so warm and so tight and so perfect, he can't really think of or pay attention to anything else. You're crying again, but Patrick doesn't worry. You tend to cry when you're cock drunk.

You can barely remember what's been troubling you all week. You don't remember what day of the month it is. What color his shirt was. All you can think of is-

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, ah, ah, ah"

In your ear. It's intoxicating. It's your favorite drug. If he really did propose, you'd say yes. You don't even know his birthday.

"God you're so perfect, fuuuuck 'm gonna cum, shit, please,"

You've got just enough in you to barely mutter "I got the implant. Need you to fill me, please please please"

With you begging, and your tears, and the way you squeeze so incredibly around him, and the red of your cheeks, and how your eyes flutter into your skull, and how your sweat tastes on his lips when he bites your shoulder or licks up the back if your neck, and how it sounds like you're actually whispering his name as your legs shiver; it's all too much. Thick, hot white ropes fill you to the brim, Patrick's hips stuttering as his balls draw up and empty. God he might just love you. He doesn't know your last name.

Your breath is shaky and you're both covered in a sheen of sweat, hair sticking to your faces in the musty motel room. Four times... you can't remember the last time you came twice in a row, let alone four.

He's sitting up again, your eyes falling shut as your breathing finally steadies. You assume he's about to leave for the bathroom, but then he's pulling your hips up again.

"Let's get you cleaned up."

And then he's tongue deep in you again.

[n1ghtm4rs]

{13:27} 🔎 Aprendi essa palavra nova em inglês, que se chama "whimsy"; não sei traduzir direito, mas ao mesmo tempo acho que às vezes falta isso no meu cotidiano. Whimsy no sentido de "hoje vou me vestir como se eu fosse uma personagem do studio ghibli. Hoje como se eu fosse uma personagem da Jane Austen. Hoje eu vou agir como se eu fosse uma rainha no séc 18", e é óbvio, óbvio, que não estou falando de viver num eterno faz-de-conta. Mas ao mesmo tempo, quando criança, sinto que era isso que trazia mais sabor ao meu cotidiano. Não é sobre viver num universo paralelo, mas fantasiar um pouquinho, só o suficiente para trazer um pouco de "whimsy" à vida.

[n1ghtm4rs]

Bestfriend!Art who is really frustrated because everything is going wrong and girls are rejecting him and he keeps losing matches and his coach is mad at him and his grades are slipping. He’s so upset and asks if he can come tell you about it. Of course you say yes; he’s your bestest friend. You expect him to rant like he usually does, shoving snacks into his mouth as he rambles to you in an oversized Stanford hoodie. You don’t expect to end up on your side, Art’s cock rutting into you as he furiously rubs your clit, saying he’ll feel better soon. He just needs to cum. And you grasp onto his hair like your life depends on it.

“Atta girl—“ another deep thrust. he still hasn’t said why he’s so upset. maybe he never meant to. “—taking it so good.”

[n1ghtm4rs]

Mdni

cw: degradation, voyeurism (he records so idk)

Patrick liked taking pictures of you, he would fill entire rolls of shitty disposable cameras with your face. Honestly it didn’t even matter what you looked like he took pictures while you were eating or sleeping or doing nothing. It honestly only made since to buy him a camcorder for his birthday. When he opened it you saw Glimmer of mischief in his eye but it went ignored. Still he mostly used the camera to film mundane things until one day you were sitting on your bed straddling him heavy in a make out as your hands pulled the hem of his shirt up he stilled.

“Wait—“

“Wait?” You looked at him quizzically, he never wanted to wait

Patrick nodded as he pulled out the camcorder and flicked it on pointing it at your face above him

“I wanna record”

You didn’t know if you should look at the camera or his eyes.

“Right now?”

He nods setting the camera on the nightstand “just for me I swear” what he meant was just for me and Art

You paused for a moment and nodded “ok”

This was the beginning of tapes upon tapes of just you two fucking

Tapes of him eating you out, tapes of you bouncing on his cock and his personal favorite tapes of back shots.

Tapes where one hand holds your head down smushing your face into the pillow while the other held the camera. Videos of you begging for more while he came on your back zooming in on where he was sliding in and out of you with ease.

He also liked videos of you sucking his dick eyes wide and mouth full as used you. The flash of the camera in your face when he called you a slut. “You probably fucking get off to this shit when I record you like a porn star—“ you couldn’t say anything so you hummed nodding around him. When he came in your mouth he would pull off of you and hold your jaw in his hand ”show the camera what I taste like baby.” And you would, your tongue lolling out of your mouth with reminders of his come on it.

So now when he was gone for tennis or you were out of town he had archives of videos to jerk himself off to.

[n1ghtm4rs]

DILF DONALDSON DILF DONALDSON DILF DONALDSON

[n1ghtm4rs]

OMG YESSSSSSSSSSS YOU’RE BACK!!!!

oh my god please don’t ghost again 😖😖😖 my feed is all art FEED US FATHER😫😫😫

i felt completely dead to the world during finals but i’m revitalized!!!!

thinking about rich boy patrick spoiling the fuck out of you for christmas … you figure you’re not dating or anything and you didn’t get him anything so you feel bad when he picks you up the day after christmas in his huge SUV and there are piles of bags in the backseat… jewelry and handbags and expensive perfume—stuff you would never dream of asking anyone for. you don’t know how to respond and you’re blushing. can’t even look him in the eye. patrick lifts your chin up.

“do you like it?”

“i—“

he knows you’re struggling to find the words. tears are stinging your eyes and you nod. you hug him tightly, arms slung around his neck. the soft curls at the nape of his neck tickle your forearms.

“i didn’t get you anything—i didn’t think—“

patrick just shrugs, chewing his gum. peppermint.

“don’t worry about it. just wanted to see that pretty smile.”

not a lie, but he knew you’d end up sucking his cock in the backseat, spit running down your chin.