#I'm really bad at writing Patrick sorry

[sceletaflores]

isn't it messed up how i'm just dying to be him?

pairing: stanford!art donaldson x stanford!fem!reader

summary: and there it is. there’s that glimmer of attention, that hint of acknowledgement of him. the heavy look of rage taking over your features, the bite in your tone, it’s what art’s wanted for months. your undivided attention.

—or: art tries to get through to you about patrick, it doesn't go how he thought it would.

word count: 6.2k (i'm so sorry lmao pls still read it's good i promise)

warnings: 18+ SMUT MDNI, p in v, rough sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it y’all!), switch!art a little bit, creampie, kinda hate sex but not really, more like angry sex, swearing, fighting as foreplay, art is lowkey a little gay for patrick (it's literally canon), tiny bit of manipulative!art, art is just kinda an asshole in disguise honestly, hints of mean!reader cause i live for that shit, tashi and reader are cute besties, art being a bad bro, porn with too much plot, no use of y/n.

authors note: so this is basically a re-worked version of art and tashi’s dining hall scene when he’s trying to convince her that patrick isn’t in love with her. it’s really similar just way more messy and angry and with sex. this is literally just a tiny thought i had that somehow spiraled just a little bit, but i needed some lowkey asshole!art in my life. i had so much fun writing this, like way too much fun lmao. title is a lyric from fall out boy’s "sugar, we're going down swinging" cause that song fucks so hard and it's soooo art coded. okay bye! mwah xoxo

psst! tftw series masterlist!

Art Donaldson is a patient guy. He's nice, understanding, empathetic. It's something he prides himself on, lots of guys on campus are pricks, but not him. He's "the sweet blonde guy that plays tennis, like, really well!" according to most people who've met him.

That being said, he's not blind to the fact that you frustrate him to the point of wanting to shout himself hoarse and rip his hair out.

It's been a while since he and Patrick met you for the first time at the Open, and Art has been through hell and back about a million times over by now.

He still so vividly remembers watching you step onto the court, the almost visceral reaction he had. The crowd was cheering and clapping nearly as loud as they were for Tashi. There were even a few signs made in support of you scattered throughout the stands. Big poster boards plastered with your name and your winning streak and pictures of you playing, tennis balls and rackets drawn from markers decorating them.

It was obvious you were a favorite, and it was more than obvious how much you lived for it.

Smiling and waving to the crowd, fully basking in their respect and adoration. You were nearly glowing, Art couldn't take his eyes off you. He could tell that Patrick was thinking the same thing, if the way his thigh tensed up where it was plastered against Arts was any hint, his breath slightly catching as you started stretching.

"Goddamn..." Patrick had muttered under his breath. Art could distantly see his hand clench on top of his thigh when you bent over to tighten your laces. He always tries to be less shameless than Patrick but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t just as affected by you, fighting the urge to shift in his seat.

After you and Tashi walked up to the net with matching smiles and shook hands for a little longer than usual, it was time to start. Art watched as both of you got in position on the opposite ends of the court. Both of your faces lost the easy-going, excited expressions you’d shared when you first walked out, hardening in concentration as Tashi got ready to serve.

Patrick and Art openly gawking at the two of you would have been embarrassing if it wasn’t so fucking justified.

You and Tashi made magic happen on that court. 

It was powerful hit after powerful hit. Tashi’s backhand was out of this world, your overhand was a monster. Every rally, every volley, every serve was pure perfection. Art had never seen tennis played like that before in his life, he couldn't help but get sucked into your world the longer he watched.

The match was close, completely neck-and-neck throughout each set, neither of you willing to give an inch to the other. Tashi won by a single point, hardly wasting any time before she vaulted over the net to come barreling into your open arms, crashing into you so hard it knocked the two of you to the ground.

You both grasped at each other like lifelines on the hard concrete of the court as the announcer crowned Tashi the 2006 girl’s U.S Open champion.

Art let out a long breath and deflated a little deeper in his seat. His mind racing, he didn’t need to look at Patrick to know he felt the same. They sat in silence like that until the stands were practically empty. 

“What time did you say the party was again?”

Art pointedly ignored Patrick staring at him with a shit-eating grin on his face, stretching his arms out in feigned nonchalance. Patrick just snorted, shaking his head and squeezing Art’s thigh.

That was then, now Art sits across from you in the Stanford dining hall at the same table you two eat lunch at everyday, trying to stay cool as you complain about the latest biology lab you’re doing. 

He’s hardly listening to you, too busy trying his best to not glare too obviously at the hoodie you're wearing. One that he knows for a fact belongs to Patrick. You must have kept it the last time he was in town. The Nike swoosh embroidered to the front almost mocks him. Art puts his water down with a little more force than necessary.

Patrick and you being…whatever the two of you are now was something he tried his best to be okay with in the beginning.

Patrick’s his best guy, Art should have been so stoked that you were into him as much as he was into you when the two of them walked up to congratulate you and Tashi at the Adidas party. Only being able to steal you away from the house after you said your goodbyes to Tashi and her parents, inviting you to join them down at the beach.

It was obvious you were playing into Patrick’s attempts to get in your pants. Not blushing or averting your eyes shyly when he blatantly checked you out, throwing out smart comebacks to his sleazy lines, looking up at him through your lashes and biting your lip.

It would have been soul-crushing if Art wasn’t such a good friend. So, he stifled the rising feelings of jealousy and plastered a smile on his face as he watched Patrick shamelessly flirt with you.

It wasn’t like it was your fault. Art didn’t come on as strong as Patrick, he never did. Plus it wasn’t like he and Patrick had talked about who could try and score with you prior to the party, anything was fair game.

Besides, you were nice enough to Art that night. Chatting about college admissions and smiling at him over your coke bottle. Sure, it stung seeing you laugh at Patrick’s stupid jokes while the two of you smoked off the same cigarette, but there was nothing he could do about it.

You choosing Patrick had nothing to do with him. Everyone always chose Patrick, he was used to it by now.

At least he thought he was, but the longer it was just you and him, the more angry he felt each time Patrick would visit and steal all your attention. It wasn’t just jealousy or frustration anymore; it was a gnawing, consuming rage that twisted his insides every time he saw you light up around Patrick.

Patrick didn't fucking deserve you. You were too good for him. Nothing like all the easy, ditsy girls he fucked his way through at the academy. You were special, unlike any girl Art’s ever met. Patrick would just take you for granted. He'd grow tired of you, completely dismissing you when he got bored enough. Any day now he'd call Art to spill on his latest hookup with some chick he met on tour. 

But Art didn’t want to sit around and wait for that day to come. He couldn’t stand the thought of you being hurt by Patrick’s inevitable indifference. The idea of you, heartbroken and discarded, made his blood boil. You deserve more than that. You deserve someone who sees you for who you truly are, not just a trophy. 

Art knows he could be that person for you if you’d give him a chance, if for once you’d look at him instead of Patrick. He just has to find a way to get you to understand that.

“Pat texted me this morning,” you say from across the table, boredly poking at your pasta. “He’s gonna be here later this week, says he wants to go see 30 Days of Night. You and Tashi should come with us.”

Art hums noncommittally, not looking at you as he takes another bite of his salad. You do this a lot– extend invites to Art and Tashi when you and Patrick go out.

Art knows you think you’re being nice by trying to make them feel included, but getting invited usually means having to watch Patrick touch you and kiss you and walk around with his hand in your back pocket.

Art’s fork stabs into his salad roughly. He takes a slow breath, trying to calm the emotions starting to swirl inside him. “Yeah, sure,” he says eventually, forcing a smile. “Sounds fun.”

He sneaks a look at you from under his lashes. You’re already looking at him, brow raised at his clipped tone. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

Art shakes his head, waving a hand dismissively. “No, no, it’s fine. I’ll be there.”

“Okay,” you say slowly, still watching him with a hint of skepticism. “Are you alright? You’ve been weird all day.”

Art lets out a small laugh, but it sounds more sour than sweet, and finally looks up at you. You look back expectantly, concern lingering in your eyes. “Nothing, it’s just…” he pauses, drumming the fingers of his left hand on the table, “the fact that you two are still going out surprises me. That’s all.”

He regrets it as soon as he says it, words sounding way more patronizing than he wanted. His chest immediately tightens with guilt, but he doesn’t wince or shrink back like he normally would, just keeps his eyes on you.

Your brows furrow, a tiny frown pulling at the corners of your lips. “What?” you ask, fork stilling in your hand. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Art just sighs, putting his fork down and leaning towards you. “I know Patrick better than you do,” he says with a tiny shrug, “he’s always had a hard time with…commitment.” He says slowly, searching for the right word.

You don’t say anything for a couple seconds, eyes scanning over his face slowly like you're examining him. Art forces himself to not start squirming under your intense, studying gaze.

You don’t seem to like what you find, eyes narrowing as you push your tray away from you and lean back in your seat. “Are you seriously shit talking your own best friend right now?”

Art’s brow raises, that wasn’t the reaction he was expecting, at all. His jaw ticks in annoyance, his hand balling into a fist on the tabletop.

“I’m not trying to shit talk him,” he says calmly, voice tinged with frustration. “I’ve just seen how things go with him. I’m looking out for you.”

Your eyes harden, disbelief mingling with irritation. “So, what? You think you know what’s best for me or something? Are you my keeper now?”

That pisses Art off, now you’re just being an asshole. His brows furrow, arms crossing in front of his chest defensively. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.” He says, tone harder than before.

You scoff, anger spilling over your face. “Well what the fuck do you mean then, Art? Because you dancing around whatever it is you obviously want to say is really starting to piss me off.”

Irritation flares in Art’s chest, piercing and sudden. He swallows it down, breathing out his nose slowly to try and calm himself. The air between the two of you is tense now.

You’re loud enough that a few people sitting at tables nearby start to quiet down, discreetly trying to listen in.

“Patrick doesn’t love you.” Art says spitefully, his fingers grip the muscle of his arms tighter. It’s childish, but he doesn't care.

Your eyes widen, clearly caught off guard. You recover quickly, letting out a disbelieving laugh as you push away from the table with a harsh scrape of your chair. "Excuse me?" Your voice cuts through the air, sharp and incredulous.  

He stays silent, letting the weight of his words hang heavy in the air. Your eyes narrow, searching his face for any sign of retreat, but Art meets your gaze head-on, jaw set stubbornly.

You stand with your arms crossed over your chest as you stare down at him. “Why are you telling me this? Why do you care if Patrick loves me or not?”

Why do you care? The question makes his heart drop down to his stomach. Dread mixes with the anger in his chest. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go, he doesn’t want to make a scene in the middle of the dining hall. You’re just being so difficult.

You’re jumping to defend Patrick, not even trying to hear him out, just like you always do. Still refusing to give Art the attention he deserves. It’s fucking infuriating.

“I’m just saying,” he says, voice distant and cold, “he hasn’t been in love with you for a while. He’s told me.” 

It’s a lie, he’s hardly spoken to Patrick recently, but he’s in this now. He may as well go for broke, he always plays to win after all. 

Your face contorts grimly, another disbelieving laugh punches it’s way out your chest. You don’t seem to notice the amount of heads turned in your direction, or maybe you just don’t care. “Oh, he’s told you that has he?” you parrot back mockingly, head cocked to the side as you stare daggers at him, “That’s fucking bullshit Art!”

Art clenches his fists, jaw flexing in anger. He’s never seen you this mad before, never expected to be the cause of it. But at the same time he’s fucking angry too. Angry at you. Angry at Patrick. Angry at himself.

His eyes narrow, holding your own heated gaze without backing down because if there's one thing he hates most, it's losing. “You don’t get it do you?” He mutters quietly, shaking his head in dismay. 

Your jaw tightens, eyes blazing as you lean forward, bracing your hands on the table to get up in his face. He can smell the familiar fruity sweetness of your perfume.

“What’s there to get? The only thing I’m getting right now, is a front row seat to you being a vindictive little prick.” You bite out, breath fanning over Art’s face. “Who even said I wanted Patrick to be in love with me? Who said I gave a fuck about any of that?” You question sternly, brows furrowed as you scowl at him.

Art scoffs loudly, his face twisting in disgust as he rolls his eyes. His blood boils at having to sit here while you bitch him out. He wants to strangle you, to take you by your shoulders and shake you so that you’ll listen.

To make you see what he sees. To make you love him. “Please,” he hisses through gritted teeth, shifting so he’s leaning across the table just as you are, his eyes dark. “Everyone wants Patrick to love them. Everyone wants his attention. You want it.”

You just blink at him, taken aback by his outburst. You stare at him, not budging as your eyes scan over his face for a second time. And there it is. There’s that glimmer of attention, that hint of acknowledgement of him.

The heavy look of rage taking over your features, the bite in your tone, it’s what Art’s wanted for months. Your undivided attention.

After a few tense seconds you just laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “You might be the worst fucking friend in the world.” You say simply, like you're reading off this week's forecast.

Maybe he is.

Art can feel the heat rising to his cheeks in anger, in embarrassment, in hatred, in lust. The way you’re looking at him makes something stir deep in his gut. His heartbeat echoes in his ears.

You’re so mad, but in that you’re giving him a hint of your attention, giving him the time of day, and you’re still fucking defending Patrick. Rage seethes in him, hot like fire. Yet even in this moment, you’re the only person that really matters. The intensity of your gaze pulls at something raw inside him.

“He doesn’t deserve you.” His voice is lower, pinched with thinly veiled frustration threatening to boil over.

"And you think you're the expert on what I deserve, Art? Last time I checked, your own love life’s track record isn't exactly stellar."

It’s a low blow, bringing up how Tashi rejected him a while back. He hadn’t told you about that, so Tashi must have. He laughs, but his lips are pulled up in a sneer.

"Don’t start deflecting,” Your name falls from his lips sharply, stabbing through the thick tension in the air. “This isn't about me, it's about you. You're setting yourself up to get hurt, and I'm just trying to warn you–"

"Yeah, well, I didn't ask for your fucking opinion," you snap, "maybe you should focus on your own damn problems.”

Art’s jaw tightens further, his frustration finally getting the best of him. "Fine, do whatever the hell you want. But don't come crying to me when Patrick does what he always does— leaves you for someone new."

You stare at him incredulously, shock and anger warring in your expression. "I can't believe you just said that."

"Yeah, well," Art mutters bitterly, looking away. "Believe whatever you want. Just know that he’s playing with your feelings.”

You huff, throwing your arms out at your sides in frustration. “What fucking feelings Art!” you say loudly, not quite shouting but you’re getting there. “Sure, Patrick and I fuck but that doesn’t mean we’re playing husband and wife with each other!” 

You’re definitely way too loud, voice steadily rising in volume the more you talk. Seemingly not caring about who’s around to hear you yell about fucking Patrick. “In fact,” you continue, shaking an accusatory finger at Art, “you’re the one trying to get in my head and play with my feelings, you fucking hypocrite.”

His mind whites out, filled with blinding jealousy all over again. He wants you so fucking badly, he could be everything you needed. Why can’t you see that? How could you be so blind? How could you not see that Patrick was using you, just like he used everyone else?

Art leans further across the table as you speak, his hands coming up to grip the edges of it tightly. “You’re so fucking naive, you know that?” He snaps in a biting tone. It’s harsher than he’s spoken to you during this whole fight.

Your voice drips with sarcasm as you lean forward, eyes locked on his. "Oh, well forgive me for not seeing the truth according to Saint Art."

“So fucking naive.” He repeats, spitting the words across the table meanly.

“And you’re a fucking pussy.” You bite back, leaning in even closer so Art can see your lips form around the words maliciously. You sway close enough that the tip of your nose bumps against his. His breath catches, going ragged in his throat. You’re so close to him. He can smell you, can practically taste you on his tongue.

He wants to take you in his arms, to hold you and kiss the anger off your face. The only thing keeping him from lunging out is the way you look. Your whole body is rigid with anger, eyes dark and cheeks flushed. You’re so beautiful. He has to remind himself that he’s supposed to be pissed at you and fight the urge to pull you in and really taste you.

But then you're backing away completely, “I won’t waste my time on stupid shit like this,” you mutter, turning to pick your bag up off the floor. “Thanks for lunch, Art.” You say sarcastically, not even looking at him as you turn on your heel and walk towards the dining hall’s exit before he can respond.

Art’s heart lurches forward at your words, not with pain, but with want. He watches you leave, the regret quickly setting in once you’re not here to play into his resentment. It hits him like a cold shiver, he wants to feel good for speaking his mind, for telling you how it is. Maybe on some level he does, but it’s overshadowed by how awful he feels.

Art stares down at his unfinished salad, appetite gone. He sighs loudly, standing up to toss his own tray plus the one you left behind. He tries his best to ignore the stares he can feel following him as he walks out.

ᯤ

Art wallows in misery for the rest of the day, skipping the practice he had planned after lunch. He just locks himself in his dorm, laying on his mattress and staring at the ceiling as he replays the fight in his mind. Replaying every word you said to him, every word he said back to you, every angry look you gave him. 

He thinks about texting you a thousand times. Typing and deleting different messages until he eventually gave up. He knows you’re beyond pissed, that him reaching out will only piss you off more and he wants to try and salvage this before you completely shut him out. The thought of losing you is why he never wanted to bring it up in the first place, regret settles in his gut like a ball of lead.

And yet, there was a small part of him that hoped, despite the shit show in the dining hall, that you’d see the quiet care he showed, the way he was there for you, and choose him for once. But hope was a dangerous thing, and Art wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold out.

Hours go by with nothing from you, it’s the longest you’ve gone with talking since the semester started. He forced himself to study for his biology final in a lazy attempt at taking his mind off you. You’d usually be in his dorm room right now, all spread out on his bed like it’s your own as you talk his ear off about something like your asshole psychology professor. 

The longer he sits at his desk the longer the ache in his chest consumes him. Art would do anything to know what you were thinking right now. He’d grovel for your attention, he’d fall to his knees and beg and plead if that’s what it took for you to forgive him. 

He’s getting ready for bed when his Blackberry pings on his night stand, it’s almost embarrassing how fast he rushes over to it. His heart stutters in his chest when he sees it's a text from you. It’s only two words, a simple ‘come over’. 

Art’s never moved faster in his life, rushing out of his room with only his phone, wallet, and keys. 

He makes it to your dorm in record time, nearly sprinting across campus to hurry up and get there before you change your mind. All that needy rushing completely vanishes once he’s actually outside your door. 

Art hesitates, staring at the little door decals taped on with your name written on them in black sharpie. He rests his ear against the door, but he can’t hear anything. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth, brows pinched as he wrestles with himself.

“C’mon Donaldson, don’t be such a little bitch.” Patrick’s voice rings out in the back of his mind. He takes a breath and knocks on the door.

Barely a second passes before it’s swinging open and you're there, gripping the front of his shirt and dragging him inside your room. Art's back hits the closing door with a thud, his breath catching in surprise. His hands shoot out to brace on either side of the door, knocking over a racket resting on the wall. Everything he brought with him falling to clatter onto the wood floor loudly.

You look rough, eyes slightly red and puffy like you may have been crying. Your breath comes out in short, quick bursts as you stare up at him. All the anger he swore would come rushing back when he saw you drains out of him in a second.

His face softens, a tiny frown on his lips. "Hey, what’s going on?" he asks, voice a mix of confusion and worry. His hands come up to hover near your hips, hesitating at the last second, not sure if he should touch you.

Without a word, you’re flying forward while yanking him down by his shirt. Closing the distance between the two of you with your lips crashing against Art’s. It’s so sudden, so completely out of left field, that Art stumbles forward a few steps, hands gripping your hips tightly to steady himself.

It’s almost pathetic how easily he kisses back, not even hesitating. Flashes of Patrick’s face go through his mind as he eagerly reciprocates, not stopping him from pulling your hips flush against his. He definitely might be the worst friend in the world, all the loyalty he felt to Patrick tossed out of his mind the second your tongue slides past his lips.

It’s intense, there’s no romance or gentleness about it. Your lips move against his almost violently, all the aggression and anger from earlier still very much there. He’s never kissed a girl like this before, it’s not how he imagined his first kiss with you would go. He’s still getting hard in his sweats anyway.

Your tongue fucks into his mouth roughly, it reminds him of the time he and Patrick kissed when they were still at the academy for “practice”. He moans loudly into your mouth, letting you dominate the kiss and just trying his best to keep up. Your teeth clack against his roughly, biting down on his bottom lip hard enough to have him whining embarrassingly high and needy.  

“It’s over with Patrick,” you breathe hotly, slick lips brushing his with every word. “I want you to fuck me.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

Art’s dick feels hard enough to burst out of his sweats by sheer force, but he pauses, pulling away from you with a hesitant look. "I-" he tries, voice cracking slightly. He can feel his cheeks starting to burn as he clears his throat. "I don't think that's a good idea. It's so soon, and I mean you're obviously going through something and I don't want to take advantage of yo-"

An incredulous laugh bursting from your lips effectively cuts Art off, your eyes roll to the ceiling in dry amusement. “God, Art.” you scoff, both hands pushing off his chest to create space between the two of you. He keeps his hands on your hips, the thin material of your bottoms bunching in his grip. “You’re such a fucking little bitch, you can kiss me but you won’t fuck me? What is it? You scared of Patrick or something?”

The taunt hits Art like a slap across the face, he freezes for a second before disbelief gives way to white hot rage. You just stare up at him smugly, lips red and wet. Art bares his teeth, using his strong hold on your hips to force you backwards until your knees hit the edge of your bed.

“You’ve pushed me and pushed me and pushed me,” he spits, glaring down at you as he speaks. “Acting like such a fucking brat. You want me to fuck you?” He pushes you back onto the bed roughly, covering your body with his, letting his weight sink you deeper into the mattress. “Fine, I’ll fuck you.”

Art sits up, ripping his shirt over his head and tossing it somewhere behind his shoulder. Your greedy eyes rake down the toned muscle of his torso, hands coming up to lightly scratch your nails over his abs. His breath hitches, goosebumps breaking out all over his skin. He grabs your wrists, forcing them down and pinning them to the bed. “No touching.” he chastises, leaning down to bite the skin of your neck roughly. Sucking hard enough that he’ll definitely leave a mark. 

His dick twitches against the inside of his sweats at the thought of you walking around campus with his claim staked on you, at the thought of Patrick, if he was still coming down, seeing it and immediately knowing who left it there. He slides his knee between your legs, he can feel the warmth radiating from your pussy, can feel how you’re so wet it’s soaking through your bottoms and onto his thigh. 

You hiss at the sting of his teeth, trying to squeeze your wrists out of his strong grip. Your thighs tighten around his knee, hips bucking up against him. “Are you gonna fuck me anytime soon, Art? Or do I need to find someone else that’s not all talk?”

Art chuckles darkly, nipping at the sensitive skin of your collarbones. “You can bitch and moan all you want, but I haven’t even touched you yet–” he leans forward to whisper directly into your ear, “–And you’re still fucking soaked for me anyway.” He drags his tongue along the shell of your ear in a dirty stripe. 

You let out a keen, pretty and high, grinding your hungry pussy against his knee faster. He lets go of your hands, grabbing your hips and flipping you onto your stomach. Tossing you around like it’s nothing, just manhandling you.

“God,” he groans, big hands coming up to knead the meat of your ass, spreading it lewdly making you moan softly. “You’re so fucking hot.” He whispers, words falling from his lips like he couldn’t hold them in any longer.

Art keeps one hand tight on your hip, the other fumbling with the drawstring of his sweats so he can push them down to finally free his aching dick. Letting it spring out to slap up onto his bare stomach, trailing a thin line of pre-come across his abs. 

You squirm under him, feet kicking out as you struggle in his hold. Your head craning over your shoulder and zeroing in on his dick, hard and red and leaking. “You came over here with no panties on, Donaldson?” you taunt, pushing your ass back onto the sensitive length of his erection. “How slutty–” 

“Shut up,” he snaps harshly, but his dick twitches where it’s dragging over the seam of your ass. He’s leaking like a faucet, leaking like a girl, all over your light green plaid bottoms. It strikes him suddenly, how familiar they look. He stares at the worn down fabric covering your ass, at the way his pre-come stains the material darker, at the way they hang too low on your hips, too big for you. 

“Are these…are these Patrick's,” he asks slowly, voice low as his fingers skim over the soft material. You chuckle wickedly, wiggling your hips back teasingly. 

“Yeah, they are,” you say, sliding your ass back and forth over Art’s dick. “You’re leaking jizz all over your best friend's pants, Art.”

Art groans loudly, chin dropping to his chest as hips jerk against your ass involuntarily. A full body shiver wracks through him like lightning, eyes screwing shut as he tries not to come all over your ass. “Shit–” he bites out sharply, voice rough and scratchy. He can distantly hear you laughing at him through all the white noise buzzing in his ears.

He breathes out through his nose, willing himself to calm down. He needs to be in control for once, needs to teach you a lesson for ignoring him for so long.

Art’s hands come up to the waistband of your– Patrick's– pants, fingers digging underneath the loose material and forcefully yanking it down along with your panties, only pulling them down to your mid-thigh. You yelp in surprise, hands gripping the sheets of your bed tightly. 

“I need to get inside you, right fucking now.” he rumbles thickly, flipping you onto your back again. He needs to see your face when he fucks you for the first time, needs to burn it into his mind forever.

“Fuck yes,” you reply eagerly, arms coming up to circle around his shoulders. “Finally.”

Art doesn't reply, eyes fixed on your bare pussy, so fucking wet and shining underneath the shitty ceiling light of your dorm. His mouth waters, he wants to drop to his stomach and eat you out until you're shaking and squirting all over his face. His dick drools at the thought, but he’ll have to wait. He needs to fuck you.

He takes his dick in his hand, dragging it through the silky skin of your soaked folds. He spreads your wetness around your clit, rubbing the leaking tip over you back and forth teasingly. You whine, thighs starting to shake on either side of him. He drags his dick back down to your clenching hole, lining up and slowly sinking inside the tight, wet heat.

Art doesn’t give you any time to adjust to the thick head of his dick breaching your tight hole, burying himself to the hilt inside of you with a sharp thrust. 

“Fuck!” you cry out, legs coming up to wrap tightly around his hips, digging your heels into his lower back. “Shit, fuck you’re– God, you're so fucking deep.”

“I’m going to use your fucking pussy however I want,” Your name falls from his lips, dirty and blistering. “because it’s the least I deserve for putting up with your bullshit for so fucking long, and you’re going to be good and lay there and take it.” He drives his point home with a mean thrust of his hips.

“Fuck you, Art.” you mutter back, trying to keep up the bratty act even though your voice is going breathless and needy.

Art doesn’t ease into it, pulling back only to start pounding into your pussy ruthlessly. Sharp slaps of his hips stinging your ass each time he drives back in, your eyes roll back in your head, slack lips parted in pleasure as he fucks you. 

Art can’t help but lean down to claim your mouth, kissing you a little too sweetly for the moment. He can’t help it, not when you’re under him making the sweetest noises, letting him fuck your perfect fucking pussy like he owns it. God.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Art growls, breaking the kiss to rest his sweaty forehead against yours. “You’re so fucking, tight. Feels so fucking– shit, so fucking good.” His hips speed up, desperately rutting into you.

“Art,” you whine, nails scratching down his back hard. “I’m so close, fuck I’m so close– keep going, don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop–”

He cuts off your rambling with a kiss, groaning at the way his name sounds getting fucked out of your mouth. The loud squelch your pussy makes each time he buries himself back inside has his ears burning, he can feel you soaking the skin of his thighs with every thrust.

“Wanna feel your tight pussy milk me dry,” he grinds out through gritted teeth, picking up his pace. “Fuck, I‘m gonna come, I’m gonna fucking come.” He ruts into you harder, splitting you open with every thrust. The skin of your ass turning red and raw from how hard he’s giving it to you. 

Your hands come up to bury themselves in his hair, tugging sharply to make him look at you. “Inside,” you pant, eyes glazed over and wild, “come inside me Art, please. I’m on the pill you can, you can come inside me.” Your legs tighten their hold on his hips, ankles locking snugly over his lower back so he couldn’t even pull out if he wanted.

“Fuck!” Art shouts your name hoarsely, hips stuttering as he unloads in you. Hot come spraying the walls of your pussy. You let out a broken moan, your whole body shaking as you come with him. Your pussy chokes his dick so tightly, gripping him like a vice, milking him.

Art tilts his head up, catching your lips with his to greedily swallow down all your moans. He keeps going, shallow thrusts of his hips working you through the aftershocks of your orgasm until you’re kicking at his back, whining at him to stop. He collapses on top of you, his sweaty skin sticking to the fabric of your shirt. 

It’s quiet for a while, the two of you silently trying to catch your breath. Your hands come up to his head, sliding into the messy strands of his hair. “It’s pretty late now,” you say slowly, nails scratching against his scalp softly. “You could…you could stay here if you want.”

Art hides the wide grin breaking out on his face in your chest, arms coming up to circle around your waist. “Yeah, that sounds good.” He whispers back, squeezing the soft skin of your hips once.

It’s only later, when you’ve fallen asleep on his chest, that he stares up at the ceiling lost in thought. He’s too worked up to sleep, so fucking thrilled that it worked. His plan actually worked. You’re his now. He looks down at you, glowing softly in the moonlight filtering through your window, deep hickeys scattered across your neck. He drags his fingers along your cheekbone, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

This is what he’s wanted for so long, you.

You asleep in bed with him, you curled up in his arms, you with his come steadily dripping out of your swollen pussy.

Art can hear his Blackberry start buzzing on your nightstand, lighting up with an incoming call. Even from far away he can read the name displayed on the screen. Patrick. He lets it ring.

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[iholdwhatican]

tension

part two to reunions - must read part 1 first!

pairing: art donaldson x reader x patrick zweig

length: 3.2k

author's note: this took wayyyy too long for me to do yall, i'm so sorry. these two have a tight hold on me and i'm in the trenches. i've got some good stuff lined up tho, and i'm super excited to write it heeheehee :) also smut in the future will be much longer and much more detailed, just fyi

tags: y/n is art donaldson's wife ; birthday party ; art is down bad ; patrick wants y/n ; possessive!art ; the boys are fighting ; no use of y/n ; pining ; sexual tension ; sugar mommy y/n? ; unapologetic flirting with your bff's wife at his birthday party

warnings: sexual content, p in v, not super detailed but still there!

summary: the stressful night of the birthday party continues, and you find yourself pinging between art and patrick like a tennis ball. how the hell did you get yourself into this?

originally posted by iholdwhatican

It took four minutes and 36 seconds of Art and Patrick being alone outside before the anxiety became too much. Your dress was too tight against your skin and the chatter of the guests rattled in your skull. Your mind replayed the anger on Art’s face over and over, convinced that he’d direct it at you the moment he came back in. And if you were being honest, you couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss. 

Your blood boiled with the ferocity of it, and an ache in your core begged for another taste. 

Another three minutes and 18 seconds passed while you downed half of your second glass of wine. You made conversation with a few people who caught your eye, making sure all the food and drink were up to par. Not that you really could care about that right now. Your mind was a jumble of thoughts about the two men on the balcony. 

Art, Patrick, Art, Patrick, Art, Patrick, Art, Patrick

“You look like you’re gonna puke.” 

For the second time that night, Patrick Zweig’s voice made you jump. 

You looked at him, catching sight of that damned smirk that made your stomach flip, and furrowed your brows. One quick scan of the room came up empty for your husband, forcing the anxiety in your chest to worsen. 

“Where’s Art?” You asked, not missing the way your voice wobbled slightly. 

“Relax.” Patrick responded, resting a hand on your shoulder, “He went to the kitchen, I think. I didn’t kill him. And he didn’t run for the hills either.” 

You decided not to comment on how easily he’d read your worries without you saying anything. For some reason, you were an open book to him. 

A deep sigh left you. You licked your lips anxiously- which immediately caused Patrick’s eyes to fall on your mouth. 

“What happened out there?” 

The man gave you a shrug, letting his hand fall back to his side, “Nothing, really. We just talked for a bit. He told me I could stay, as long as I stopped flirting with you.” 

“So does that mean you’re going to stop?” The idea made you slightly unhappy, which in turn filled you with guilt. Why were you so excited by his flirtations when you had a wonderful, loving husband who treated you like a queen? 

But then Patrick grinned, and you knew the answer before he said it, “Well, I’ve never been one to do what I’m told.” 

A smile grew over your lips, and you tried to hide it with an eye roll, “Why don’t you mingle? Try some food. I’m going to find my husband.” 

He didn’t miss the enunciation you put on ‘my husband’, and you didn’t miss the way his eyes darkened as you said it. You didn’t give it time to linger, instead turning away and moving towards the kitchen. 

You knew the look Patrick had in his eyes. You’d seen it a dozen times in Art’s. On the court, over a board game, in all sorts of scenarios. And every time, even now, the look sent a chill down your spine. 

That expression was clear, resolute competition. 

Just as Patrick had said, you found Art in the kitchen. With his back to you, you had a perfect view of his tense shoulders and hanging head as he poured himself a glass of water. He was all wound up, and you knew it was your fault. Now it was your responsibility to fix it. 

You stepped up behind him, sliding a hand between his shoulder blades. He didn’t hesitate to lean into the touch, a subconscious reaction. He knew it was you just by the feel of your hand on him. And, even if he might be furious, he still found comfort in it. 

“Hey…” You breathed, leaning to the side to meet his gaze. Art looked at you over his shoulder, a half-smile quirking his lips up, “How are you doing?” 

“Hey.” He responded, turning and sliding his hands over your hips. Your chest pressed against his as he leaned down and placed a kiss on your hairline. Then he just lingered there, breathing in your smell, “I honestly don’t know. I just- it was so weird to see him.” 

“Yeah, of course it was.” Your words reached him in a soft, comforting tone. The guilt of putting your perfect, doting husband in this situation was enough to make you feel like you had barbed wire around your neck. You had to pay penance- somehow. You rubbed your hand in circles over his back, “I’m sorry, sundrop. I don’t know what I was thinking when I invited him.” 

Sundrop. A nickname that went way back to the early days of your relationship. Art was an energetic puppy dog with a halo of golden curls and a smile that made your insides feel hot. He was what you pictured a personification of the sun to be, hence the pet name. He pretended not to like it, but his eyes always sparkled a certain way when you said it. 

Art pulled his head away to peer down into your eyes, his own pensive and confused, “No, baby, don’t be sorry. It was a great fucking surprise. Just… a surprise.” 

You shook your head. He was so fucking good to you, “You’re allowed to be mad at me.” 

“Mad? At you?” In one quick motion, he picked you up and set you on the counter. Your legs opened for him without hesitation, allowing him to slot right in between them, “I don’t think that’s possible.”

You fought the blush rising in your cheeks and rolled your eyes, “You think too highly of me.” 

“No. Never.” He replied instantly. He kissed your chin. Then your jaw. Then your neck. Then down your throat, “As far as I’m concerned, you’re God.” 

“Art-” You argued, though you weren’t sure what for. You tilted your neck back and offered yourself up to him. 

“I could spend my life on my knees for you and be happy.” His words were muffled as he mouthed at your neck, sending shivers down your spine. This, combined with the kiss from earlier, was making you ache with need. You were half-tempted to end the party early and take your pretty husband to bed. 

You bit your lip when he ran his tongue over a sensitive spot above your collarbone. If he wasn’t in between them, you’d be squeezing your thighs together. 

When Art pulled away, his eyes had darkened. Dilated pupils and heavy breaths told you all you needed to know. He was just as fucking horny as you were right now. His hands held your hips tighter. 

“Do you think we’d be left alone long enough for me to show you how much I mean it?” He asked. It was almost as if he were begging. As if he couldn’t bear the idea of doing anything other than dropping to his knees and devouring you. 

And God, when he looked at you like that, you had no choice but to say yes. 

Unfortunately, fate intervened, and you were kept from making a scene at your husband’s birthday party. 

“Hey, you two, quit snogging and come entertain us!” One of Art’s tennis friends called, sticking their head into the kitchen. The big grin on their face told you it was just teasing, but you still felt your face burning with embarrassment. 

“It’s my birthday, let me do what I want.” Art jeered right back, lifting you off the counter and back onto your own two feet. You laughed airily at the comment, feeling more light-headed than anything. 

Before following his friend back into the action, he whispered a quick, “Later, okay?” to you. And then he left you standing in the kitchen- touch-starved, foggy-headed, and excruciatingly aroused. 

It was then that you realized you didn’t even get to ask him what happened with Patrick.

Upon re-entering the party, you found yourself taking note of two things- or rather, two people. One, Art- conversing with some friends from the foundation with a big grin on his face. Two, Patrick- having his fill of finger foods from the refreshment table. He was alone. And though you tried to fight it, you found yourself gravitating towards him. 

“Do they not have food where you’re from?” You teased, falling into place at his side. Your gaze slid over the spread before flicking up to his face. 

You’d caught him mid-bite, and he attempted to swallow quickly and regain his composure. Something warmed slightly in your chest. Endearing. 

“Well, I’m kinda… in between places right now.” He explained, tongue stuck in his cheek to clear out residual bits of food, “And there’s never stuff as good as this.” 

You let the compliment slide away, instead focusing on his more troubling response, “Are you homeless?” 

“What? No.” He chuckled, as if the question were preposterous, “I go all over for tennis. It’s just easier to stay on the move.” 

You raised an eyebrow, “And on off-season?” 

Something in his expression darkened, only for a moment, and then he was back to cocky smiles and overwhelming confidence, “I’m too busy to care about that. And what’s it matter to you, anyway?” 

“I’d like to think I’m a good person.” You said, plucking a snack off the table and popping it into your mouth. You chewed it halfway before continuing, “And a good person worries if they think someone they care about isn’t doing well.” 

Patrick grinned at you for five long seconds. And it took him actually saying the words to realize where you’d slipped up. 

“You care about me?” 

Shit. You had not meant to say that. Why was this man so damn good at getting every little thought in your head to spill out of your mouth? 

“If caring about you means I don’t want you sleeping under a bridge somewhere, then sure.” 

“Okay, I would never let it get that far-” 

“I wanna help.” 

He blinked, “Help how?” Briefly, very briefly, you thought of your bed. Your comfortable, spacious bed, perfect for three individuals. You could picture it- you, safe and sound and nestled between the two men. Art, your lovely, obedient husband on one side, letting himself love and be loved. And Patrick on the other side, nice and cozy with a roof over his head and a full belly. 

The image flashed in an instant, and you were left with hollow, heavy guilt. You swallowed. 

“How much do you need?” 

“Huh?” You rolled your eyes at him, “How much money do you need? To keep you afloat for the next little while. And I’ll send you home tonight with leftovers.” 

Patrick let the words wash over him, slowly smiling as they did. He took a step towards you, close enough that one tiny shove would have your bodies pressed together. You could smell him, all sweat and cigarettes and woodsy cologne that made your head spin. You’d been wound up all night, and this was absolutely not helping. 

“You gonna write me a check? Use your hard-earned money to get a practical stranger a hotel for a couple nights?” He murmured, heavy on the charm, “What would your husband think?” 

He knew he’d gotten under your skin. He knew what he was doing. He was fucking enjoying this. 

You tried to hold your ground, looking up at him through your lashes, “It’s his money, actually. He makes sure I never have to work unless I want to.” 

“Guess he treats you pretty well. And look how you’re taking advantage of it.” His hand lay on the table next to yours, his fingertips nearly brushing the skin of your wrist. How bad would it be if you closed the gap? 

You bit your lip, “You’re allowed to turn me down.” 

“I don’t think I’d ever turn you down, Mrs. Donaldson.” 

Something about that title, something about the way he said it, made your blood run hot and cold at the same time. It reminded you of the myths of sirens. Beautiful monsters of the sea that used their voices to bring others to their demise. Talking to Patrick had that same type of allure, and the sense of danger. 

“Then tell me what you need.” 

“What do you think I need?” 

Oh, you could think of a few things. But you could also feel a pair of eyes on you, and you knew exactly who they belonged to. Part of you wanted to tempt him, see if you could get another reaction like out on the balcony. However, you quickly shot the idea down. Not right now, not in the middle of a crowded party.

Lips curving into an innocent smile, you pushed yourself a step back from him, “I think you need a nice place to sleep. And a few good meals. And maybe a hug.” 

The sudden switch-up took Patrick by surprise, but he handled it smoothly and responded only a beat later, “You’re offering?” 

“At least for the first two.” You didn’t know what you’d do if you were in his arms. With the way you were feeling now, with two glasses of wine in your system, your boundaries were getting blurrier and blurrier. How humiliating. 

His bottom lip jutted out into a pout. Which unfortunately dragged your gaze right down to his mouth. It took you a moment too long to meet his eyes again. 

“What, we can’t hug? Don’t you consider me a friend?” 

“I do.” You shrugged, tucking loose hair behind your ear, “Maybe I’m just not a touchy person.” 

A lie. You knew it, and you could tell by the look on his face that he knew it too.

“Yeah.” He smirked, sounding the opposite of sincere, “Art’s wife isn’t a touchy person. Sure.” 

You needed a cold shower. Or to go have some one-on-one time with your vibrator. Or maybe move to the seaside and spend your days going mad in a lighthouse. You weren’t sure. All you knew was how increasingly hot you were feeling. 

“Speaking of Art, go talk to him. Try to make amends. Meet some of his friends.” You suggested, glancing over at your husband. He wasn’t watching you anymore, at least not straight on. But he had a radar when it came to you, and he was very diligent in keeping tabs. No matter what.

“You trying to get rid of me?” Patrick asked lightly. No heat behind the words. 

“Oh, yes.” You admitted, placing your hands on his shoulders and pointing him towards Art, “Find me again before you leave and I’ll have your check.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” He grinned at you over his shoulder, sending a wink before sauntering off. 

Finally, you felt like you could actually get a breath in your lungs. 

The party had ended. Guests went home, Patrick got his check and headed to a hotel you recommended, and you and your partner left all the cleanup for the morning. You barely gave it a second glance as you went up to bed with him, your hand held tightly in his. 

Art fucked you like a starving man that night. You barely got into the room before his lips were plastered on your skin, his hands unzipping your dress with quick precision. He was usually much more reserved, but something about tonight had made him ravenous. And he wasn’t the only one.

You ended up on his lap; bare chests pressed together, skin sweaty and breaths heavy as you rolled your hips into him. His hands clutched your thighs, keeping you close, fingers pressing into the flesh. You pulled on his hair and his head immediately fell back. As if he were a puppet for you to position and use however you wanted. His eyes looked up at you with a fire in them you’d never seen before, but the adoration, the reverence, was all too familiar. 

Your name fell from his lips over and over again like a prayer. The single word weaved with threads of devotion, possessiveness, desire. A song joined in chorus by whatever nonsensical phrase entered his head. I love you, so perfect, all mine, please, please, please. 

He was claiming you. Marking his territory in his own special way. It didn’t matter that Patrick wasn’t here to see it, or that he probably would never even know. As long as Art could tell himself that you were his, he’d be okay. Jealousy was a good look on him. 

You could feel your core tighten with each and every movement of his hips against you. You weren’t going to last much longer. But by the look in your husband’s eyes, neither was he. 

Parted lips claimed yours in a messy kiss, tongue sliding into your mouth and exploring every open space. Then you were being flipped over; back pressed into the mattress as Art rocked into you with reckless abandon. He intertwined his fingers with yours and pinned your hands above your head without ever breaking the kiss. 

You lasted about thirty seconds. Finally, the tension in you snapped and your orgasm washed over you in waves, leaving you limp and trembling. Art finished only a moment later. You could feel him pulsing inside of you as the aftershocks slowly faded away. The room reeked of sweat and sex and your head was spinning. 

Art, your precious, dutiful man, rested his head on your chest as he attempted to catch his breath. You could feel the tickle of his lips kissing your skin, the soft squeeze of his hands on your hips. You ran a hand through his damp hair, fingers massaging his scalp. 

“I love you.” He murmured against your ribs, right over your thundering heart. He said it like he couldn’t quite believe he was allowed, like he didn’t believe you were here, that you were his. 

Dark hair and cigarette smoke flashed through your mind. Almost-touching hands and paper checks. 

“I love you.” You responded, kissing his hairline, “Happy Birthday, baby.” 

The only response you got was a tired, happy sound and another kiss to your collarbone. A quick adjustment later and the two of you were tucked under the blankets, your head on Art’s chest and his arm around you. Neither of you cared enough to clean yourselves up or to put pajamas on. Art was already softly snoring next to you, and you could feel your eyelids getting heavy.

As you listened to the baddump of his heart, a strange thought flitted through your mind. You’d just had the best sex of your life, and it was because of Patrick. You weren’t the only one who’d been thinking of him while in the throes of passion. The notion made something strange twinge in your gut. 

And then, like he’d somehow read your mind, your phone lit up with a text. 

Patrick Zweig: You free for lunch tomorrow?

***

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[yesimwriting]

I keep thinking about your style of writing the reader in the movie challengers and my girl would NOT have a good time 💀

She would see this trio being lovey dovey with her and she would be so shy she would have a heart attack... She just wants to organize her sticky notes in alphabetic order leave her be.

Now if she was already in the friend group, she would totaly just get up and go to bed:

Trio: *on the verge of hooking up*

Reader: *yawns* would you look at that, well bye!

Trio: its not even midnight.

Reader: well, beauty sleep yk?

Trio:😔

ART:🥺

But also:

Art: we will be in eachothers life forever right?

Reader:duh! Your my friend 😀

Art: 🥺🥺

anon i can literally feel you understanding my writing, omg, we are so connected

however the trio is so hot and charming and good at flirting i fear it'd take an unnatural level of self control to not accidentally hook up with them

i agree that this scenario is definitely influenced by wether or not reader is already friends with them, so let's take a second to talk about both:

if reader wasn't really friends with them first, i can see her going to tashi's party. she starts talking to tashi to congratulate her, and then patrick and art invite both of them over.

tashi and her joke about it, but when tashi says she wants to go, reader's already regretting her life choices. she's finally making a (very pretty, very intimidating) tennis friend, she can't back out.

it'd start off so calm, everyone passing around a beer, and reader feeling like drinking during a tournament is already rebellious of her. maybe patrick hands her his cigarette and she takes a drag bc she's convinced she can pass off being this chill person.

she's even fine when art rests his hand on her knee for a little. everything feels light, friendly. and then patrick tells that story about teaching art how to jerk off, and reader's still not overly affected bc she's not directly involved. for a beat, she even thinks it's kind of cute that art's flustered.

and then tashi gets on the bed and there's an immediate switch in energy. reader immediately knows the window to leave without being labeled 'weird' or a 'mood killer' is slowly closing. so she mentions the time, and when anyone tries to get her to stay, art is for sure the one that helps her out. he's a sweetheart like that <3

art agrees that it's late, and would probably even offer to walk her back to her room. or, if things didn't feel too tense, he might ask her if she wants to go with him to get some ice and stay for one more beer. a subtle reset to help protect reader's boundaries. he's so bf material, i'm sorry.

----

now, if reader was already friends with them:

i feel like if patrick and art had a close girl friend, hotel room would not be the first time they came close to hooking up 😭. even though reader is still shy, there's a familiarity between them that has her feeling secure.

bc she knows them, she can tell when they're in a bit of a flirtier mood. patrick's hand is on her knee and art rests his chin on her shoulder, all while they're giggling and kicking their feet at everything tashi says. reader's spider senses start tingling. thirsty bitches.

her first thought is: 'i didn't hook up with you guys at my high school graduation, and i'm not hooking up with you guys now.'

i think the main difference if she's already friends with them is that reader feels a little more comfortable slipping out. there's a bit less social pressure bc they're already friends, so there's less pretending.

patrick would probably be more comfortable teasing her if they were already friends. he'd be touchier, asking reader if she'd sit with him for a few more minutes, and then he'd walk her back to her room. scout's honor.

art's quicker to pick up on reader being uncomfortable if they're already friends. he's going out with her to get ice and asking her if she's feeling okay. if she seems extra shy or like she feels bad for not being super okay with everything, art will probably stay out with her a bit. he'll talk to her about stuff she likes and then walk back to her room.

i love your side note about art and reader's dynamic, he'd find everything so endearing. like, yes, reader is the one making promises to be in art's life forever without a second thought. that is his very necessary second emotional support best friend that he pines after.

he's making sure everyone leaves her to her color coded sticky notes and tennis practice if that's what she wants!

[amymbona]

Can you write something about Patrick with a girl who talks a lot?

You could talk his ears off and still be listening, fucking reading your lips if he has to. Headphones go off when you speak. And you speak a lot. You're aware, right, you have a little rambling problem. But you just have a lot to say about every single topic!

In class, you always talk the most, constantly raising your hand and contributing when the professors allows you. You choose different topics and make the longest presentations just so you could tell everyone all that you've managed to remember. And, what's best you keep Patrick interested. He's genuinely been putting a lot more effort into learning and preparing for classes, especially when he's in your presence. Even when you're talking about a difficult topic, about something you don't understand, you keep brainstorming out loud. Every single math equation you solve, you keep mumbling under your breath.

"Alright, both sides are divisible by two so we can do that, mhm, then five-x goes onto the other side. No, no, no, the other way. Three-y goes there. Yup. Now five x minus two x. Oh! We can divide that by three, mhm."

And Patrick is listening. He's fucking sitting there on your bed, eyes glued to the glasses that keep sliding down youe nose, watching as you lick your lips and nod, encouraging yourself that you're doing it the right way. And, fuck, you look fucking stunning sitting there in your little shorts and working on your stupid math problems.

There's never a silent moment with you. You're a bubbly extrovert, making sure that no meeting leaves the two of you in awkward silence. You always find a topic to talk about, even if it's just the weather, and sometimes Patrick gets annoyed that you're paying so much attention to everything around you, always finding topics to talk about that you kinda forget he's here, next to you.

"Do you ever shut up?"

He doesn't mean it in a bad way, not even considering talking rudely to you. But the sentence slips past his lips before he could stop it.

"What?" your head snaps towards Patrick, lips parting in confusion. Did you hear him right?

But apparently, there's no going back for Patrick. Not now. "You talk a lot."

Oh. Your mouth closes slowly and eventually, after a few seconds of processing his words, you nod, gazing down at your lap. "Yeah, um, I guess, yeah. I guess I do. Sorry."

Fuck. You look like you're about to cry right now. Like you're about to shatter into pieces because now, at this moment, you realise how much you've really been talking. Not just around Patrick, but around everyone else too. You always talk, pulling all the attention to yourself and the things you see, that you don't give anyone else a chance to speak their mind.

Patrick shifts closer, his thigh pressing into yours. He absolutely didn't mean that. He never wanted to see you cry.

"No, no, no, listen," he begins, panicking at the glossy sight of your eyes. Fuck, he's really messed up this time. "I meant it like... You talk about everything. Everything around you. But never about me."

About him? And why would you possibly have to talk about Patrick?

"About you?" you mutter, gaze nervously raising to settle on his freckled face. "You... You want me to talk about you?"

"Yes," he nods.

"But why? I mean... We talk about you, don't we? About tennis, about Art... There's a lot of stuff we mention, isn't it?" you keep murmuring bashfully, once again prolonging your speech despite trying to hold back.

Patrick shakes his head and takes one of your hands in his. "That's not me, that's different topics."

"Then what is you, Patrick?" you wonder.

"I'm me, Y/N. I don't want to talk about the weather or some random shit. I want to talk about me, about you. About us."

"Us?" you gulp, eyes flicking between his own. Apparently, his words are still not settling in your brain in the right way.

"You're so stupid sometimes," Patrick sighs, balling both of your hands into little fists and resting his shoulder on your knuckles. For how much you talk, your mind seems so empty all of a sudden.

"What do you mean, Patrick? I'm sorry, I just don't really understand you, like, we've never talked about this before. I thought we like talking together? We're on the same wavelength and we-"

You're roughly shut up by Patrick grasping your face in his hands and pressing his lips against yours, effectively interrupting your speech. He's desperate, really, and don't know what else to do to just shut your mouth for a while.

And after a moment, his lips begin moving slowly, parting and ghosting over yours in a gentle kiss. His hold on your head loosens and fingers slide over your cheeks which have surely heated up at the sudden gesture. That's definitely not what you expected to happen.

It takes a while for Patrick to pull away, a thin trail of saliva hanging from your lips as he does so, leaving you completely flabbergasted. He chuckles at your flustered expression, running over your lips with his thumb.

"Sorry. I just had to shut you up somehow."

[poppy-metal]

you get so excited when he writes back. you don’t tell your parents about him, because they never like the boys you bring home anyway, and there’s no need until you actually do bring him home. you’re quite surprised when he does reply, again another thing you didn’t think about, another display of your short sightedness.

hey

thanks for the letter. i don’t get many so yours made my day. you’re a very pretty girl. you know i’m bad don’t you? you shouldn’t be writing to a guy like me. but im happy you did. you said you think im beautiful. tell me more about what you think of me, and what you thought when you watched the trial. what did you think of that cunt of a judge? also, have you done this before? have you spoken to other killers? you have to tell me. i have to know. don’t speak to any others from now on. they might not be as friendly as i am.

yours truly

patrick zweig

aka the hamptons hatchet man xx

you kiss that letter a thousand times and sleep with it under your pillow. you spend hours crafting the perfect reply, while patrick spends his time hoarding his meds to drug guards, and begins stashing away any and all sharp objects he can get his degenerate paws on. anything to reach you before the loose men of the world do.

THE HAMPTONS HATCHET MAN..... stop because him using a hatchet.... swinging it over his head and bringing it down.... I like this visual, I'm seeing it. and thing is he mostly just killed bad people, people who pissed him the fuck off - alot of people feel sympathy for him, especially women. but most of them are cock hounds - they just want a taste of danger without actually knowing what it means. he's kind of disturbed by them. the desperation. he's definitely not the man to harp on about morals, but really?

but there's something about you - you're not horny, for one. you're kind of silly - sweet. you're not writing him because you want a "bad boy" to write you back, you saw something in him you relate to on a deeper level, you feel connected to him on an emotional level. you say you understand what it's like to feel helpless and alone and angry. you're the only girl he ever writes back.

his handwriting is shit - but something about it makes your heart full. the way the ink bleeds in places - the sharp aggressive scrawl. you kiss the paper, blot it with your lip stain.

the connection isn't sexual to start - not for you, anyway. it's not long though that your stomach starts fluttering in your belly at his crude language. a throbbing between your legs you haven't felt before. you wanted to be friends. let him know he had a friend.

he keeps saying fuck in his letters, though. keeps calling you things like sweetheart and good girl and princess - and it makes you feel funny. you feel so guilty, you've never felt this way before.

do you tell him? maybe he can explain these feelings to you. he's much more experienced and he's your friend. he would be honest with you, upfront.

I dont want you to be mad at me - but my feelings are changin' towards you. not in a bad way - I don't think. I'm not sure, actually. maybe it's bad. I care about you. you're my friend. but sometimes...... sometimes when I think about you and the way you speak to me I feel a little funny. it's like butterflies but down there.... you know in my private place. I know it's inappropriate to talk about it - mama would beat my hide for even mentioning my private parts to another man. I'm just so confused. it gets wet. almost like an ache. but not the ache I get in my stomach when it's my monthly - that's a bad ache. this feels different. I know there are things I don't understand that other people do. would you tell me? I don't like not understanding what's happening to my body. I don't think it's bad. if I had to pinpoint it - I'd say it's almost good. but too much good. I'm sorry I'm botherin' you with this. I just trust you more than anyone else. with everything. with me.

[slasher-male-wife]

hi!! ok so i saw ur one shots on slashers dating an airhead, but i LOVED patrick’s one shot. so i wanted to ask if you could make a little fic on that one shot?

I'd love to write this for you. What I wrote before is called head cannons and what I'm writing now is called a one shot btw. I totally understand getting them mixed up though. I hope you enjoy!

They're stupid but...I kind of like that: Patrick Bateman x airhead reader

Warnings: Attempted murder, Patrick has a soft spot for you

Patrick invited you over to his apartment. You work with him at the office. You're an assistant for one of his coworkers and he's heard other men in the office talk about how dumb you are but he's never really believed that you could be that dumb. Patrick is in the bathroom now, putting on his clear rain coat. You're waiting in the living room on the couch, news paper spread all over the ground.

When Patrick re enters the living room he notices you holding up one of the newspapers. 'Odd' He thinks to himself. Walking over to the kitchen where the ax lays he notices you really reading the news paper.

"Y/n?" He asks. You lower the paper and look at him. Realization washes over his face. He assumes you just saw the ax and the rain coat but you set the paper back on the ground.

"I'm so sorry you probably had those there for a reason. I didn't mean to mess it up." He stares at you blankly trying to determine if you're just playing dumb or if you really are that dumb.

"No that's fine. I was just wondering what you were doing." You nod and look him up and down.

"Is it raining outside? If it is you don't have to walk me out to my cab I can do it myself." You say standing up.

"No, no. Just sit there for a little while alright?" You nod with a smile still on your face. Patrick ducks back into the kitchen and runs a hand over his face. 'How can they be so clueless?' He thinks to himself, 'I mean they deal with stocks and important finance all day. They're stupid, obviously...but I kind of like that.' He spends a few more moments in the kitchen before he walks back out to the living room. Now not wearing the clear rain coat, "Y/n can I ask you something?" He asks moving to sit next to you on the couch.

"Of course Mr. Bateman." He smiles a polite but empty smile.

"Please, call me Patrick. But I was wondering if you know how stocks are going at the moment." You pause for a moment before you bite your lip then smile.

"This is going to sound really bad. But I don't know a thing about stocks. I feel so guilty all the time because I'm working around them so much but I just don't know a thing about them." His smile grows more sincere as he wraps an arm around your shoulder.

"I don't think that's a bad thing at all Y/n." He says.

[americas1suiteheart]

Better Off As Lovers

Patrick Stump x Reader

This was also posted on Ao3 if you prefer that platform, this whole text is the link. :)

[Summary; You and Patrick have been friends since middle school and have been going to tours with him and the band to watch their shows. At one of the shows, Patrick decides to play one unreleased song he just so happened to write for you to confess his feelings. (I dunno this is kinda the summary but I'm also dumb as shit and can't make a correct summary).

[Notes; I felt like writing a little something for him as I've been wanting to for a while now, and here it is! And honestly, guys, if I end up wring more Patrick x Reader fics they're all most likely to be song fics or fics based off of some of the music videos, sorry but man I'm a sucker for song fics.

[Warnings; Some cursing and some bickering back and forth between Pete and Y/n over stupid stuff. Really really cheesy and unrealistic ig. Also Y/n is kind of really fucking stupid as well, but for the sake of the fic.

[Word Count: 4,068 (This is literally the longest fic I've ever written oh my gods.)

<Playing- Bang The Doldrums by Fall Out Boy>

1:32 ────ㅇ────── 3:31

God, why are these tour bus seats so uncomfortable? You'd figure that because they were meant for people to sleep in, they would be more comfortable.

You get up and stretch, heading to the cupboard where the band keeps all of the snacks to look for your hidden stash in the back.

"Where the hell are they?" You say, muttering to yourself.

You continue to scrounge through the cabinet to try and find your two twin packs of Twinkies, only to give up and walk to where the boys were hanging out.

"Hey, did any of you guys eat my Twinkies?" You call out as you walk to where you can hear the boys talking; a curtain was the only thing acting as a door for the area.

Just as you open the curtain to the "room" (aka the six loft beds that were separated by just a curtain), you see Pete and Joe munching on your beloved creme-filled cakes.

"Are you kidding me?" You say, your mouth agape and eyebrows raised.

"I told you guys so."

The two boys look at each other and then at you, a twinge of fear apparent on their faces, the creme filling on the corners of their mouths, and the wrappers thrown onto the floor.

"You two so totally owe me two boxes of Twinkies, I mean it! One box from each of you two! How did you find them?! I hid them!" You flail your arms about towards the boys, the guilt becoming more apparent on Joe's face.

Pete and Joe shuffle in their spots, licking their fingers and corners of their mouths to get the creme off from their messy way of eating.

"Honestly, you're kinda bad at hiding stuff; it wasn't that hard to find them," Pete says with a shrug.

Patrick kicks his shin from where he was sitting from across, earning a hiss of pain and a dirty look from Peter.

"I'm gonna eat all of your fucking Blow-Pops." You say, leaving the sleeping area and heading back to the snack cupboard. You can hear Pete's shouts, telling you not to touch them.

Opening the cupboard, you immediately spot a party-size pack of Blow-Pops with a large piece of duct tape stuck on to the bag, big bold letters drawn with a black Sharpie reading 'PETE'S LOLLIPOPS!!! DON'T TOUCH!!!'

Pete really liked those things, and he would individually count them to keep track of how many he had, so that way, if someone decided to take one or two of them, he would know. Which is kind of insane of him now that you think about it. Actually, scratch that, Pete was insane—PERIOD!

You grab the bag and grab three handfuls of lollipops, shoving them into your hoodie pockets and putting the bag back into the cupboard.

"Give them back, Y/n!" Pete says, grabbing your shoulders just enough to keep you from moving.

"Hell no! Buy me back my Twinkies and then I might just give you all of them back." You say putting one hand into your pocket to take out a Blow-Pop.

"Those Twinkies were practically begging to be eaten by someone, man; come on, those were in there for days without being touched."

You unwrap the lollipop, pulling your hand up to pop it into your mouth, Pete's mouth falling agape as you do so.

"Was that one of the apple ones..."

You nod your head, taking it out of your mouth. "And I've still got more. And as I said, I'm not giving them back until you buy me back, my Twinkies,"

"God, fine! But promise not to eat anymore until we get to a gas station! Especially not the Apple ones!"

"Will do," You pop the Blow-Pop back into your mouth as he lets go of your shoulders, looking defeated as he walks back to the room all of the others were still in.

You smile to yourself, sitting back into the seat you were originally in.

------------------------------

You and the boys get out of the bus, heading into the gas station as the drivers fuel up. You immediately head for the drink section, looking for a can of Arizona tea.

What the hell man, where are they?

You continue to look for another minute or so until you finally give up, heading to the soda section where Patrick was.

You had somewhat of a crush on Patrick. You always have to be honest.

You went to high school with Patrick, so you've known him since sophomore year. You had a lot of classes with him too and often hung out with each other both inside and outside of school, making you closer to Patrick than you were to any of the other kids and considering him your best friend.

When he first started playing with Joe and Pete and officially being in a band with them, you started going over to practices with him, getting to know the two better, and when Andy joined the band, it was the same with him.

Now that you think about it, you have no clue how liking him could have been avoided. He's sweet and smart—a little awkward at times too, but nonetheless an incredible guy.

I mean, the whole reason why you started looking into learning some music technology was so that you could be with him more often. A lot of what you started doing was to get to hang out with him more often.

"Boo!" You say, grabbing Patrick's arm gently.

"N/n, there you are," Patrick says, turning around to look at you, holding out two cans of Arizona tea to you.

"What the hell, I just spent like, two minutes looking for these; where the heck did you find them?" You chuckle, taking one of the cans.

"I'll never tell.." Patrick chuckles, a cheeky grin on his face.

"Well, thank you Patrick. I appreciate your kind gesture very much."

Andy and Joe run by you and Patrick, with Pete doing the same shortly afterwards. Some screams and laughs came with that as well. You could see the cashier trying their best to make it through all the noise, with a look on their face that could only be explained as exhaustion and frustration, clearly not wanting to be at work.

You look at Patrick and sigh, knowing that you'll have to yell at the three once again as if they were children, regardless of the fact they were all older than you and Patrick.

You walk to the snack aisle, where you can see Joe and Andy crouching down, assumingly hiding from Pete for whatever reason, and walk up behind them. Andy had a bag of skittles in his hand and a sprite in the other, while Joe carried a twin pack of Twinkies—just as you asked him for—and a bag of chips and diet coke in his arms.

"What are we hiding from?" You whisper to the two, who jump slightly and look back in response.

"Pete," Andy replies quietly.

"Well, we've gotta go; you guys will have to finish this up some other time, preferably when we aren't in a public place."

You hear footsteps from behind and stand up, turning around to see Pete walking slowly, putting a finger up to his lips as to say "don't say anything," and you shake your head and mouth, "No."

"Come on guys, go check out we need to get back on the road," you say, turning back to Andy and Joe.

Pete groans and fully stands up, Andy and Joe doing the same.

"God, you're such a grump all the time, no fun," Pete says, walking up to the cashier.

Patrick comes up from behind you, putting his hand on your back. "Is everyone ready to go?"

You blush from the contact, nodding your head in response, and walk to the register where the boys were checking out.

"No, I paid the last time. It's Andy's turn to pay now, remember?" Pete argues. The cashier looked like he was about to snap; if it was a cartoon, steam would probably be coming out of his ears right now.

"I'll pay, fine dude, just chill out," Andy says, pulling out his wallet and handing the cashier his credit card.

The cashier puts their items into a plastic bag, and Andy grabs it and leaves with the other two.

You and Patrick walk to the register, putting your items down on the counter.

"Sorry about them by the way, they get rowdy sometimes," Patrick says, attempting to break the awkwardness by making small talk, leading it to get worse.

"Your total is $9.34," the cashier says with a deadpan look on his face.

The two of you pull out your cards and look at each other. "Let me pay for it, please; you had paid the last time, and it was almost 20 dollars," Patrick says with puppy eyes.

God, this guy always knows how to get his way with that look.

"Alright then, Pat. Thank you," You thank him, putting your card away.

Patrick pays and the cashier puts our stuff into a plastic bag, handing it to him, with him thanking the guy and telling him to have a good day.

You two walk back into the bus, and Patrick places the bag on the couch in the lounge.

"Do you want both of these in the mini fridge?" Patrick asks, taking one of the tea cans out of the bag.

"I'll have one now and save the other for later, if you can put one in though, that'd be awesome."

Patrick nods and puts one can and one of his sodas in the mini fridge plugged in next to the counter where the broken toaster sat. Now that you think about it, how long has that thing been broken? Why haven't any of us bothered to replace it?

You open one of the cans, walking into the bunk area, and sit on your bunk at the top, letting your feet dangle above the middle bunk.

"Y/n, here you go," Joe says, handing me two twin packs of Twinkies.

"Thanks, Joe. Here are your Blow-Pops back dickhead," you say, taking the wrapped cakes and taking all of the blow pops out of your pocket, handing them to Pete, who was sitting next to Joe.

"Jesus, dude, how many of my fucking Blow-Pops did you take?" Pete exclaims.

"A couple handfuls, I think," you reply, taking a drink of your tea.

-----------------------------

"Alright guys, we've got a couple more songs to play; are you ready?" Pete shouts into his mic, earning cheers from throughout the crowd.

The boys continue playing a couple more songs.

The band had been playing for an hour and a half now, playing some of their newer songs from the newest album they were working on, those of which you had the pleasure of getting to listen to before they played them for others, as well as songs from Take This To Your Grave and From Under The Cork Tree. The crowd was singing the lyrics along with the band, enjoying all of it.

"This is the last song for tonight and is another one from the album that we're currently working on; this one me and Patrick worked on together is called Bang The Doldrums!" Pete says, wiping some of the sweat off of his forehead.

Patrick adjusts the strap of his guitar slightly, walking up to the mic. Him and Joe begin to play together, with the rest of the band joining in.

You listen to it for a bit, you hadn't recognised the name but you figured that they had probably changed it.

'I wrote a goodbye note in lipstick on your arm when you passed out,'

What the hell? I haven't heard this one yet.

'I couldn't bring myself to call, except to call it quits,'

This is great; why hadn't they shown me this one? They all sound amazing.

Patrick looks at me as he sings the next verse; his face tinted a slight red, maybe from how out of breath he was getting? God, he always looked so pretty like that.

'Best friends, ex-friends till the end, better off as lovers, and not the other way around,'

You listen to the lyrics; why did he look at me like that in that exact verse? Maybe I'm just going crazy.

'Racing through the city, windows down, in the back of yellow-checkered cars,'

You continued to listen, enjoying the sound of the way they were playing.

Then once again, Patrick looks at you, looking less nervous and giving a slight smile as he sings the same verse.

'Best friends, ex-friends till the end, better off as lovers, and not the other way around,'

You can feel your face rapidly becoming warm, oh?

You think for a bit, your mouth slightly agape as you stand still. You just hope what you think is happening and what he's implying is actually what it is. No, no way. You guys have just been friends since high school; there's no way.

'..in the back of yellow-checkered cars. You're wrong, are we all wrong?

'Best friends, ex-friends till the end, better off as lovers, and not the other way around, ex-friends till the end, better off as lovers!'

The song ends, and the band thanks the crowd before exiting the stage, allowing the stage technicians to begin striking and taking everything down.

You were still standing there as the crowd began to clear out. Shit, you should get to the boys. What do I do about how Patrick looked at me? What if I ask him about it and I'm totally wrong? Oh god, I'm screwed.

You begin to head to the door that lead to the backstage lounge, a security guard protecting it from letting anyone else in. The guard immediately notices you and lets you in.

You nervously walk to the same area that the boys were in, knocking on the door and hearing Joe shout, "Come in!"

You open the door and smile at the boys, who were sitting down, drinking water and using towels to dry themselves off.

Where's Pat?

"Hey guys! You sounded awesome tonight, what was with that last song though? I'd never heard it before." You greet, sitting down on one of the metal pull-out chairs across from everyone else.

"Thanks! We were going to show you Bang The Doldrums when we were first working on it, but about halfway through writing it Patrick had said something about waiting to play it at a gig instead, something about surprising you, I dunno," Pete says in response, taking a chug of his water bottle.

"Where is Patrick, by the way?" You ask, rubbing your hands on your thighs.

"I think he went to go and look for you actually; try ringing him or go and look for him; he's somewhere around here," Andy says.

"Shit really? I'll go try to find him now. Do you guys need anything that could be outside of this room?"

"Can you get us some more water? I'm still totally parched man," Pete asks, taking the towel he had on his shoulder to wipe his face off.

You nod and get up, leaving the room and closing the door to go and look for Patrick.

How on earth do you know where every place in this theater would be? This place is huge..

After searching around, you finally decide to go outside to check if he was in the tour bus by chance, only to see him sitting on a curb next to the door hidden from all of the different fans still exiting the venue.

"Pat? What're you doin' out here without a sweater on? It's freezing right now." You speak out, walking to where he was and sitting to the left of him.

"Oh, I went to look for you, and when I came out here, it was way cooler than it was in the theater, so I stayed out here to cool off a little bit," Patrick says, straightening his back and looking at you.

You nod in a way of understanding.

"How'd you like the show, though?" Patrick says, after a few seconds of silence.

"It was great! You guys never have a boring gig; everyone was loving it. What was the last song about though? I had never heard you guys play it up until just now." You say excitedly.

Patrick shifts slightly, looking away from you as his face flushes, now looking slightly embarrassed.

"I mean, it's not that it sounded bad or anything; it sounded great, but, during that chorus, you kept looking at me and, well," You say awkwardly, avoiding saying what you actually wanted to say.

It stayed silent for a couple of seconds before Patrick broke it.

"Sorry about that, I don't know if it made you weirded out or anything." Patrick says quietly.

"'Weirded out?' Pat I don't think you can really do anything to weird me out honestly. I didn't mind the contact all that much really." You lightly laugh, quietly mumbling the last part.

After saying that, you notice Patrick relax a bit, as if he were relieved and a little bit of a weight was off his shoulders.

"Y/n, can I tell you something?" Patrick says looking down at his shoes, his voice shaky.

"Yeah, of course," You reply, anxious for his words, yet somehow excited at the same time, wondering what they might be.

"This is going to sound so stupid, gosh. Um," Patrick chuckles, trying to calm his nerves as he twiddles his thumbs together, then proceeding with what he was saying. "I uh, would you hate me if I said that I really liked you, and not in a friend sort of way but um,"

You stay quiet for a few seconds, mouth slightly open and eyes wide. You're glad that it was dim in the little corner you two were sitting at so that he wouldn't see how red your face was turning.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anythi-" Patrick apologises before getting cut off by you.

"Patrick, don't be sorry," You say.

Patrick furrows his brows, creasing his forehead slightly, turning to look at you with confusion clear on his face.

"You have absolutely no idea how long I've waited for you to say something along the lines of that," You continue, grinning widely.

Patrick's face softened, a small smile appearing onto his face.

"So, does that mean that, well, you know," He says, looking at some cracks in the concrete, kicking at a pebble aside.

"Yeah, it means exactly that, Trick," You put your hand on his shoulder, trying to get his attention back.

He looks back at you, smiling, his eyes that you looked into so often seemed to shine brighter underneath the dim light that the venue had over the door in the back that barely showed any light where you two were sitting.

Patrick brings a hand to your face, caressing your cheek. You lean into his touch, doing the same as he did.

His eyes glance at your lips for a millisecond, quickly returning to your eyes.

"Can I kiss you?" Patrick asks quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nod your head and lean in as he does, fluttering your eyes closed.

Patrick closes the gap between the both of you, his breath warm. The kiss is soft and sweet, not pressed too hard against each other but still with passion. Your lips seemed to fit perfectly with his, as if they were made specifically for the both of you and just the both of you alone.

You two pull away, pressing your foreheads together, panting ever so slightly from the lack of oxygen the both of you got during the kiss.

There was a peaceful silence for a few seconds, you swear that if it weren't for the muffled music and talking of the crowd outside Patrick would've been able to hear your heart beating out of your chest.

"God, if I knew this would be the outcome I would've told you years ago," Patrick chuckles lightly.

You smile, now realizing that this wasn't a dream and that your best friend since high school really confessed what you dreamed he would for years now. That you two really kissed and it wasn't some guy that you pretended to love in hopes of letting your feelings for Patrick disappear, and you were so glad that your mind and heart didn't let that happen.

"Oh my god finally, you two are idiots," Pete says, standing on the steps that lead to the door to get backstage.

You and Patrick quickly pull away from each other, your face burning up quickly.

"What the hell do you mean 'finally'?" You say, looking at Pete in confusion.

"We've been waiting for you two idiots to finally say something to each other for years now,"

You look at Pete for a few seconds, the cogs in your head turning.

"What?"

"I mean, you two were so painfully obvious, I'm honestly surprised that you two didn't figure it out way earlier man. Oh! Wait, wait, who confessed first? Was it you Y/n?"

Joe and Andy walk out and stand next to Pete.

"Did it finally happen? Who said it first, do you know?" Joe asks.

You and Patrick stare at each other, completely baffled.

"Was it Patrick?" Andy asks.

You flush even more, looking back at the three, then quickly looking away.

"It was totally Patrick, I called it! Come on pay up you two,"

Joe and Pete groan, taking out their wallets.

"Did you guys place bets on us?" Patrick asks, getting completely ignored by them.

"How much was it again, I don't remember it's been like 5 years now," Pete asks, looking at Andy.

"I think it was either ten or twenty,"

"Can we just say it was ten? I don't have a twenty or two tens on me and I don't want to go to the ATM tomorrow morning." Joe says, rummaging through his wallet.

"Sure that works," Pete and Joe both hand Andy one ten dollar bill each.

"What the hell, was Andy the only one that thought I would confess?" Patrick says. He seemed more upset at the fact that Pete and Joe put their bets on you confessing first rather than him.

"Come inside, it's freezing out here and we still haven't gotten our waters yet," Pete says, holding the door open for Andy and Joe.

You get up and gesture for Patrick to do the same, walking to the doorway.

"I fucking hate you and I hope you know that," You whisper to Pete jokingly, proceeding inside with Patrick and Pete behind you.

"Love you too N/n.." Pete says sarcastically, walking to the table where a load of plastic water bottles were, grabbing three of them.

"I hate him," You say, looking at Pete walk away and disappear into the room the three were in before.

"Me too sometimes but honestly if it weren't for him I probably would have never said anything," Patrick looks at you.

"What do you mean?"

"He's the one that organized the whole plan of playing Bang The Doldrums and not showing it to you until earlier during the show," Patrick answers, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Huh, he told me you said something about not showing me until now. You know, maybe I don't hate him as much anymore now."

Patrick laughs, grabbing your hand and pulling you along to the table, grabbing two bottles for himself and you.

You smile to yourself, looking at your entangled hands then at him as he walked you to the room the boys were in.

You couldn't have been happier in all the years of your life up until now, and you wouldn't change or trade it for anything in the world. You were happy that you finally got to be like this with Patrick, the boy that was always so nice to everyone no matter what, the boy that knew exactly what to say if anyone was ever down, the boy that never left you no matter how difficult or bad it got.

This was the boy that you fell in love with since the moment you saw him, and he loved you back.

3:13 ─────────ㅇ─ 3:31

This took me forever to finish, and thank gods that I hyper fixated on FOB again (more than many times throughout the making of this fic,) because if not it wouldn't have ever gotten finished. I think I might end up writing more fics for Patrick, let me know if you would like for that to happen, send in some requests if you would like as well! Thank you for reading this seriously, regardless if your new or if you've been a follower since I started posting my fics on here, I appreciate you all for continuing to read my stuff because it makes me truly feel like I'm getting better and that people enjoy my stuff.

[l13]

Can I request Web slinger and reader smacking his ass and his reaction yk what the spot request said please but with Patrick O'Hara

OMG I CANT BELIEVE SOMEONE ACTUALLY WRITES FOR HIM

you'd startle him so bad LMAOO "Jesus Christ, woman!!"

definitely wants to get back at you after that, so he slaps your ass every chance his gets. But the slaps he lays are brutal, and when you turn to look at him over your shoulder with disbelief written all over your face, he grins lazily, "Why the long face, honey? Y'started it,"

Over the days tho, the slaps get softer, and he makes sure to sooth your pain with one or two squeezes, cooing down at you if you wince or pout at him, "Awh, darlin'. Did I hurt you that much? 'm sorry sweetie,"

all the effort you put into your acting was worth it, because Patrick had finally let his guard down, and now it was your turn to get back at him. And honestly you just wanted an excuse to touch his butt. Sauntering around with those tight jeans of his, spurs clicking as he went. How could a grown man look so slutty while walking?

You caught him at the best moment, too, right as he bent down to grab a beer from the fridge, and you bit your lip as you watched the material of his jeans hug his form perfectly. This time you were quick with it. Slap, squeeze, and bolt. Only you didn't run, you couldn't help but stay and gawk at his ass a while longer.

"Christ, this again? Thought we settled this,"

"I'm not starting anything baby, you just looked really good. Swear on my life." lie, lie, lie

"Mhm, I know better than that you lil' minx. Y'done feeling me up?"

"Nope,"

[russsiangirl]

dancing with patrick zweig... ( x reader )

this man cannot keep his hands off of you.. he loves holding onto you whenever and however he can. he definitely watched dirty dancing ( per your request ) and was like "hey we should try that.." so you did! Patrick looked down at you with that stupid smirk on his face. You had tried to focus on stepping on time, tried your best. But he was just so distracting. His hands were rough from years of tennis but they felt so nice against your warm skin. Your breath was heavy as you went to go start the dance over again for what felt like the millionth time. "Look, are you even trying here?" You can tell he's messing with you, but you still don't let up. One thing you didn't expect from Patrick was that he knew how to dance, and he knew how to dance pretty damn well.

"I'm sorry Mommy and Daddy didn't get me dance classes when I was younger." You knew it was a low blow, it definitely was. But you loved riling Patrick up, seeing how far he would take it. What his breaking point was. You grinned as he huffed before tightening his grip and pulling you flush against him, chest to chest, hip to hip. Your breath caught in your throat as he lowered his head down to the shell of your ear, his breath hot against it.

“You think Mommy and Daddy taught me how to do this?” His voice was a low rasp as he snickered in your ear. The position you were in didn’t exactly help either. Your chests were pressed against each other as you were slightly perched on his thigh. Y’all were trying to copy the dance from ‘Dirty Dancing’ after all.

Leaning back slightly, you put your hands on his chest, pushing away lightly. “You’re a prick, y’know?” There was no heat behind the insult, it was purely playful. But with the way Patrick looked at you, eyes lidded and mouth parted slightly - you couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

“Yeahh, but you love it, don’t you?” Well, you’re fucked. You try to find a reason to leave, to get out, to break out of the trance that Patrick Zweig has you in. You can’t leave though, you can’t lose what you have, can’t lose this moment.  Your jaw drops just a bit at his question. Almost shocked, almost. You knew Patrick. You knew how he played. Tennis or not. Your face flushes at the proximity, how close you were - how you were practically on his lap. It was seriously fucking you up.

Your gaze drags from his beautiful green eyes to his pretty lips, his lips that just begged you to kiss him. You wanted to kiss him so bad, to drown every smartass comment that he had with your lips. You wanted him to be speechless, you wanted Patrick Zweig to shut the fuck up for once. You wanted to kiss that stupid smirk off of his face.

So you did.

You cupped his face with your hands, practically cradling his jaw as you smashed your lips onto his. A shocked gasp rising in his throat before you swallowed it down yourself. It’s sloppy, desperate, a last-resort to tell him how you really feel. Inhaling quickly as he picked you up by the backs of your thighs, his grip slightly painful. The only thing you could focus on right now was him.

This was gonna be complicated.

I WAS NOT PLANNING ON WRITING FOR PATRICK BUT OOOOOOh. yea guys!!! sorry if this is a bit much im .. yeah

[rebouks]

-- anon

I'm sorry, but what kind of accent does Ivan have? He's the only sim who speaks that way and now that he's more in focus, I can't help but wonder where he comes from! Also, while I'm at it, I've also noticed that you stay loyal to the Sim world ("speaking in Tartosan" "a Tartosan goddess", etc), and while it's obvious that Tartosa was based on Italy and Spain, do you imagine your characters being from real countries and with distinct cultural backgrounds?

hmmm idk that he really has an accent as such, it's more that he speaks more loosely/common than every one else. i don't really have voice claims or any real countries to pin these pixels to cos they're sims u kno, it'd probs get messy if i started tying things to irl and not others.. so nah, other than rough stuff like vaguely japanese for mt. komo or italy for tartosa i don't pin em to real places ig you could use my northern english accent as an example tho, like my mom is pretty well spoken but still northern right? so she pronounces her t's n shit but my accent is way more common and i drop all mine to a ridiculous extent (if i was to write butter or water the way i'd say it it's practically unreadable lol.. like bu'uer? bUHer?? idk lmao) so Ivan probs speaks like me tbh.. Tommy, Rhys and a couple others speak that way too and Oscar does when he's drunk

-- @zosa95

For Bryatt!

Disagreements: How often do they argue/disagree? ehhh probs not a lot, i can't imagine Wyatt engaging in pointless arguments, he'd just walk off lmao

Sex: Who moans the most? Brynn..

Family: Who changes the diapers? mostly Brynn

Family: Who gives their children ‘the talk’? idk ig with Ellis it'd be Wyatt but it'd be like "wrap it up n' pee" so i can see Brynn adding to that 😆 all Brynn if they have a girl tho

Affection: Who gives the most kisses? Brynn!

Sleeping: Who wakes up with bed hair? Wyatt.. u know Brynn has pictures of that shit

Home: Who does the groceries? Wyatt.. gotta make sure actual food is in the house u kno

Miscellaneous: Who kills the spiders around the house? no one.. lil spider did no one any harm 🕷

Miscellaneous: What do they tease each other about? hmm idk if they tease each other all that much tbh, they're playful but not at each other's expense u kno

-- @akitasimblr

hello becca! for salton, pleeeeeeease <33

Who is on top? Sid most the time lmaooo.. let's face it, Alton be lazy n' submissive

Ever had sex in public? a couple times

Do they ‘fuck’ or ‘make love’? in between? mostly the latter

Where is the strangest place? probs a broom cupboard or smth at uni idk lmao 😆

thanks!!!

-- anon

I know you don't do WCIF but would you mind sharing the creators you like most for male sim clothes? I struggle to clothe my guys a lot and I noticed you have a huge cast of male sims, so I was wondering. My bad if this sort of ask is unwelcomed too tho

but.......... skjdskj idk darte77 and gorillax3 are prolly good places to start or u kno.. google

-- @akitasimblr

hello becca!!! one more extra i wish to know of: well, a couple now, rickey love and patrick harvey :) a) where are they living now? b) what do they do for a living? c) any chances of seeing them again in fib (or their daughter...??)? thank youuuu!

ohhhh idk.. i think the whole point of em, as sad as it may be, is that Oscar n them lost touch n they kinda fell off the face of the earth u kno? a price Oscar paid for his choices ig never say never tho! and we'll see 'em again when i eventually get round to doing a uni flashback for Oskie so yay! 🤸‍♀️

OC Deep Dive Questionnaire Tag

A set of 20 questions to get to know your OC! ty for the tag @dandylion240 @hannahssimblr @sirianasims & anyone else i forgot <33

ROBINNNNNNN 🧡

What uncommon/common fear do they have? that Oscar will disappear off into his confusing world of horribleness Robin doesn't fully understand yet ;-;

Do they have any pet peeves? not rlly.. pretty hard to piss the guy off

What are 3 items you can find in their bedroom? headphones - cameras - letters ^^

What do they notice first in a person? their thoughts 👀🧠

On a scale of 1 to 10, how high is their pain tolerance? idk.. 4/5? i imagine he's kinda used to feeling other ppls pain as well as his own but he's still a baby ;-;

Do they go into fight or flight mode when under pressure? FIGHT!

Do they come from a big family/are they a family person? yeeeeah.. he likes some quiet time now n then but he loves his family sm 🤗

What animal represents them best? fuck if i know.. a fly on the wall? lmao

What is a smell that they dislike? stinky younger sibling diapers

Have they broken any bones? not yet.. somehow

How would a stranger likely describe them? weird.. QUIET

Are they a night owl or a morning bird? night owl.. it's peaceful when everyone's asleep 💤

What is a flavor they hate and a flavor they love? cilantro/coriander - pastries

Do they have any hobbies? photography - pissing around in the sea/on his bike/in whatever he shouldn't - writing to Alex - SPYING ON PPL

Boom, surprise birthday party! How do they react to surprises? u can't surprise the lil guy.. i dare u to try

Do they like to wear jewelry? yeah ig as much as a kid does.. string stuff, friendship bracelets or w/e

Do they have neat or messy handwriting? kinda messy.. maybe it'll be neater later

What are two emotions they feel the most? intrigue & overwhelmed

Do they have a favorite fabric? he said he doesn't care

What kind of accent do they have? ✨imaginary pixel land accent✨

and ty to anyone who's sent me any love trains recently <33333 ily all sm but i got overwhelmed the more i let pile up in my inbox so i deleted everything so i could breathe again 🙈

[makeyoumine69]

"did i give you permission to do that?" + "have it your way, then. just be prepared for the consequences." + "aw, it hurts? too bad. you're gonna keep taking it until i’m satisfied." + "i'd hate to do this, but you're giving me no choice."

Kinks: Dubcon, Teasing (received and given), Whipping, chains(literal)

Petnames: slut, kitten, darling, my love

Hello, my dear! Thank you so much for another request, I really hope you like it! I really couldn't stop myself writing it, lol.

— [MASTERLIST]; [1k Followers Celebration Masterlist]

It seemed that your role-playing had gone too far when Patrick blindfolded you and took you to an unknown place where you were eventually stripped and chained to the floor by the metal collar-like necklace.

When he finally removed the blindfold, your eyes watered from the dim light around you, but then they were wide open at the sight of him, playing with the whip in his so-fucking-skilful hands.

"What's wrong, kitten?" Bateman inquired mysteriously, looking down at you standing on all fours. "Nervous?"

Gasping, you swallowed hard and tried to move into a more comfortable position, only to be whipped; the sound of the blow echoing painfully in your ears before a piteous wail escaped your half-open lips.

"Did I give you permission to do that, slut?" he growled, tracing the tip of the whip along your cheek. "You really need to learn how to behave."

Bateman crouched beside you, pulling on the chain and grabbing your neck, enjoying every miserable sound you made.

"Pat," you hiccupped as he teasingly pinched your hard nipple, accompanying it with another whip stroke. "Please, s-stop!"

"Why should I, darling?" he hissed as his fingers continued to work on your swollen peak. "You didn't listen when I told you to stop seeing Paul Allen."

"But I didn't! We just met in the restaurant and… a-aaww!" you cried as the whip struck the sensitive skin of your thigh, causing tears to form in the corners of your eyes. "It was just an accident ..."

"Aha," he grinned, tugging on your hair. "Get down on your knees and open your mouth for me. Open it wide so I can see your fucking throat."

Trembling, you had no choice but to obey. The current situation became even worse when you felt yourself dripping so badly that you were about to scream from the way your body reacted to all the things Patrick did to you, even when they crossed the line. This man was a wholesome red flag, but still he set you on fire just by looking into your eyes.

"Uh, such a bratty little kitten," his mocking, low voice sent shivers down your spine. "I told you once, that I would let you have your way with Paul, but you should be prepared for the consequences if you made a mistake. Do you remember?"

Meantime, Bateman unzipped his pants with his free hand, the whip roaming across your rapidly rising chest.

"'Yes," you gasped, so close to passing out from the tension in your lower belly. "I'm really sorry."

Patrick hummed to himself, towering over your shivering little form. "I hate to do this, but you gave me no choice."

With a dark smile on his perfect face, he slapped one of your breasts - you instantly ached from the burning sensation on your skin, but he didn't even give you a chance to struggle as he shoved his beefy dick into your mouth.

"If you use your teeth, I'll kill you," his statement was so cold-blooded, while the way he thrust down your throat was so damned savage. "Mmm … you take me so fucking well ... "

Whimpering, you concentrated on saving your ability to breathe, helping yourself with both hands as his cock was really huge, you were drooling hard, you could feel the mixture of your liquids running down your chin and falling on the scorching skin of your breasts. From time to time, Bateman would force you to look up at him, because he always liked to see you choking on his dick, with your eyebrows knitted together, and he also liked your high-pitched, pathetic squeals when you struggled to take his length as far as you could.

"My slutty girl … arrghh, so slutty," he croaked, pushing his hips harder against your face and growling as you massaged his tensed sac. "Yes-s, mmhhm … I love your mouth, but I still have to fuck you."

You gasped loudly as he pulled out of your mouth with a squelch, and then Patrick moved away for a short period of time that you used to pull yourself together.

God, you didn't even know what was going to happen next. Just a few minutes later, you were shaking immensely as this bastard plunged a powerful vibrator into your slick pussy and put tight clamps on your sore nipples. To silence your wretched screams, he was about to use a gag, but first he bent down to your face to grab your chin as he craved to make eye contact with you.

"Any last words, slut?"

"Fuck y-you." You retorted in a challenging manner.

Chuckling, Bateman just admired the cunning smile on your face, stroked your cheek for a moment, and then gagged you a little harder than he had planned, but he enjoyed your pitiful whimpers anyway.

Whistling playfully, Patrick positioned himself behind your writhing body as the vibrator buzzed painfully inside your pussy, causing your inner walls to spasm so intensely. After he brought you down to all fours, he quickly spit on your tight asshole, rubbing a few circular motions into it before he began to ram in, causing you to wriggle underneath him in seething pain. It was crazy wet mess, your eyes rolling back in your head as he began to pound into you, his huge dick seemed to be hitting your brain.

"Aw, it hurts, darling? Too bad, argh… you're going to take it until I'm satisfied."

You only manage to mumble some nonsense in reply, finding yourself full as never before and trying to break free, but all Patrick had to do was pull on the chain to keep you close and soon he had you spread out on the floor, pinning you down and holding you there with his massive muscles; his hips rolling against yours, trying to find the most sick angle as he wanted to fuck you into oblivion.

"Shit, you're so fucking tight … gonna fill all your holes," your pathetic attempts to pronounce something only threw gasoline on fire, spurring him to slam into you even harder. "You're going to learn to obey me, my love ... I promise ya."

[sceletaflores]

•｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅ wip wednesday!

thanks for the tag babes! @guiltyasdave • nsfw under the cut! 18+ MDNI!

wip #1 • show me a little bit of spine! feat. logan howlett (& crimson!)

'five x-men walk into a bar, only three walk out…'

oops i don't have a sneak peek for this one...sorry chickens.

this is an official part two to "all's fair in love and viscera" cause i can't leave them alone to save my life! i finally decided on the name crimson for this specific reader, and the au as a whole will be called the to the bone universe (that’s also how it’ll be tagged on my acc!!!)

this is jealous!logan getting down and dirty in a bar bathroom after a special someone makes a move on his girl...wink wink nudge nudge. a special guest! a very special guest, cause what better way is there to get a man off their ass and admit they like you than dirty dancing with another man in front of him.

think degradation, biting, pain kink (obvi wtf). there's also some emotional constipation and just a hint of angst. it'll be so fun!

wip #2 • says he needs it bad (oh so very bad) feat. sub!logan howlett (& crimson!)

'it’s not often that logan needs this, but you’re always more than happy to give it to him when he does…'

double oops i don’t have a sneak peek for this one either…pls forgive me!

this is also apart of the to the bone universe but it's more like a non-connecting little blurb than another part...if that makes sense lol i just wanted to write more crimson!

all this is thanks to a lovely anon who sent in a req desperately needing me to speak on sub!logan. it's funny because ofc i'll speak on sub!logan wtf who do you think i am. it's honestly one of the fluffiest, softest things i've ever written...established relationship is really locking my ass down. it's still filthy though don't worry! think riding, think pain kink, think light dustings of a breeding kink. i really don't know how to explain this lmao it's gonna be great trust me!

wip #3 • hunting for sport... feat. logan howlett (& crimson!)

'there's a big bad wolf somewhere in these woods...'

You scramble backwards, stuck watching the way the brush starts to rustle as he gets closer. You push yourself back to your feet, muscles screaming in protest as you break into a sprint. It's all in vain, you know it is. He's only playing with you, letting you tire yourself out. He’s known where you’ve been the whole time, could smell you the whole time, could hear you the whole time. The two of you have been at this long enough now, his patience is starting to run thin. He's right behind you, if the violent thrashing of the brush over your shoulder getting louder is any indication. The dull sound of claws ripping through the forest floor growing closer and closer before the entire woods suddenly tilts on its axis.

this is also in the to the bone universe! can you tell that i'm really into this au? i physically can't stop writing them...another little fic that's outside the events of parts one and two :))) who would i be if i didn't write a chase fic for this man? that's the real question. more violence heavy than the other fics listed, i got bit by the freak bug and i need to write nasty sexy violence sorry babes.

wip #4 • give it to me like a man! feat. dbf!patrick zweig

'patrick comes to your college graduation party, he gives you the best gift...'

“Yeah, I've been pretty busy since the season started. Lot’s of traveling and shit, you know?” Your dad hums in agreement, nodding his head lazily. “For sure, my schedule has been killer this season.” He brags shamelessly, tone heavy with understanding like he and Patrick are in the same boat. Only your dad’s boat is a three million dollar yacht sailing to cushy televised matches and Nike shoots while Patrick is floating on a dinghy to some barely media covered ITF matches. “It’s a miracle I even had time to fly in for the party, isn’t that right sweetheart?” Your hand slides up the length of his cock in one slow motion, your palm grinding over the tip through the denim. “Yeah, daddy.” You say, voice going light and airy around the edges. Patrick thinks it’s being said to your dad, but when his eyes flick over to you, you’re already looking at him. Eyes half-lidded and shiny as your fingers brush over the metal of his zipper.

the long awaited dbf!patrick lol i know i've been dragging this damn thing out for like three weeks but it's the most "done" fic on this list so maybe maybe MAYBE it'll actually be posted soon...

anyway this is nothing but pure filth. just straight up nasty no plot at all pure sex and fucking hard gross style. lots and lots of dirty talk, degradation, risk play, sort of public sex, a barely there daddy kink...just me being nasty on a google doc for no reason!

no pressure tags! @ebodebo @artemis-b-writes @avocado-writing (it's technically thursday but like oh em gee who cares just do it anyway chickens)

[smt-obsessed]

✰MASTERLIST✰

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Hello! I'm a part of a lot of fandoms and I like to write!

Here's my Masterlist of all of the fandoms/characters I'll be writing for, and all of my works and works in progress.

But I write slower than fuck, please bear with me lol.

requests are open ♡

(check out my pinned post for more information.)

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☆ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

American Horror Story

(I can see this one being the cause of a lot of darkfics, especially Hotel. There will always be a trigger warnings list before anything I write, so please read it if you feel like you might need it.)

Kit Walker

Lana Winters

Cordelia Goode

Madison Montgomery

Misty Day

The Countess

James Patrick March

John Lowe

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Attack On Titan

(I'm gonna be honest; I haven't finished it. But I want to, even though I know the ending! But I've also been wanting to write for them... So please forgive me if they seem a little out of character, it'll get better I promise! I'll also probably be rewatching and getting caught up on it while writing these lol. I'll update y'all!)

Armin Arlert

Connie Springer

Eren Jaeger

Hange Zoë

Jean Kirstein

Levi Ackerman

Mikasa Ackerman

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Criminal Minds

(I had a really bad "Criminal Minds" hyper fixation 2 years ago, but I got out of it before I could finish any of the fics I had set up for them, so I deleted most of them like a year ago 😭)

Aaron Hotchner

Derek Morgan

Emily Prentiss

Jennifer Jareau

Penelope Garcia

Spencer Reid

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

D.C.

I just recently rewatched the first "Deadpool" movie and remembered how much I love it, so I'll hopefully be writing for him soon, as well as Harley Quinn! I'm also thinking that maybe I'll write about both of them x reader... But I'm not sure, we'll see!

Harley Quinn

Wade Wilson / Deadpool

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Jujustu Kaisen

So I haven't watched the second season 🙈 I was really liking it! but, in all honesty-

⚠SPOILERS⚠

I got spoiled on pretty much everything and I just could not continue on, knowing almost all of them were gonna die 😭.

Gojo Satoru

Megumi Fushiguro

Nanami Kento

Nobara Kugisaki

Yuji Itadori

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Life is Strange

(Fun fact! I've never played this myself, I've just watched Jacksepticeye play it a lot, lolol. ♡ I'll probably add Rachel and Sean to this list but I definitely need to re-watch those two first.)

Chloe Price

Max Caulfield

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

My Hero Academia

(This is the first place I tried to shift too (iykyk), It never happened- but I might try again soon!)

Denki Kaminari

Eijiro Kirishima

Iiada Tenya

Izuku Midoriya

JiTn BuWbaIigaCwaEra

Katsuki Bakugo

Kyoka Jiro

Momo Yaoyorozu

Shoto Todoroki

Tamaki Amajiki

Toya Todoroki

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Ouran High School Host Club

(My comfort anime. it's problematic but so good.)

Haruhi Fujioka

Hikaru Hitachiin

Kaoru Hitachiin

Kyoya Ootori

Takashi Morinozuka

Tamaki Suoh

Mitskuni Haninozuka

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Spy X Family

(I love this show, I haven't finished it yet- but that's only because I'm waiting for the second part of the second season to be dubbed on Hulu!)

Loid Forger

Yor Forger

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

The Sturniolo Triplets

(I'm hyper-fixating on Matt at the moment, so I'm really sorry if I'm slow at writing for literally anyone else. 😭)

Chris Sturniolo

Matt Sturniolo

Nick Sturniolo

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

The Umbrella Academy

(I absolutely love this show, I'm happy to talk about it with whoever wants to!)

Allison Hargreeves

Ben Hargreeves

Diego Hargreeves

Five Hargreeves

Klaus Hargreeves

Lila Pitts

Luther Hargreeves

Viktor Hargreeves

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

The Walking Dead

(This is probably my favorite show ever; I've been watching it from the very start. Talk with me about it in my asks or messages!)

Beth Greene

Daryl Dixon

Glenn Rhee

Maggie Rhee

Michonne

Negan Smith

Rick Grimes

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☆ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

And that's it!

(for now at least)

I would like to restate what I said at the top of this post; I really do want to write. I love thinking of ideas, planning it out and writing it!

But I'm very indecisive person as well as a perfectionist and so honestly, I'm just very slow at it. 😅

I promise I'll try to post as often as I can though.

I love y'all! Ttyl. ♡

[veespee]

Can I please have some basic partner headcanons with Michael Andersen? It could be the slightest amount of romance I just wanna hug him bro I love your writing sm

thank youuuu, i can sure try!!:) sorry for the delay I'm so bad at answering asks now idk what happened 😭

Michael Andersen w/ a partner

-I don't think he'd be really touchy. The most he would really do is hold hands or a hug. I think he'd be okay with receiving stuff (kisses, hugs) but not really giving it? Idk if that makes sense. One of the reasons could be just the guilt he feels, and the fact that his partner is most likely going to become another victim. (ik kinda sad but i'm being realistic!!)

-Sometimes rambles about his favourite music or movies. He will just go on and on and forget that someone is listening, then get embarrassed.

-If Patrick takes control, he will probably start monologuing to Michael's partner about how much better he is than Michael. The whole 'i see myself as more of a leader' speech thingy he did to Shaun. Also i think Patrick would in general just be a little asshole for the hell of it. He would definitely pretend to be Michael then laugh in the person's face when they fall for it.

-Very gentle whenever touching his partner. Maybe it's from paranoia from the clock, but he won't ever pull/hit/make any quick and rough movements. So yeah, if he wants his partner's attention, it's going to either be a small nudge or a very faint touch on the arm.

-Sometimes plays the guitar for his partner. He's not good with playing in front of people, so he usually only looks at the guitar so he doesn't lock eyes with the person watching him. He also had little quirks he doesn't notice while focused, like biting his tongue, his knee bouncing slightly, and his eyebrows furrowing.

-Pretty big overthinker. Most of the times he keeps his thought in his head and doesn't express them, but if he's going through an episode, he would probably send a bunch of messages to his partner with a bunch of questions to confirm his overthinking.

-I honestly don't know if he can even be in a relationship (since he is technically a proxy and just a tool for Slenderman) but i think he deserves all the hugs and comfort in the world.

[irritablepoe]

no but ive only read a tell tale heart from the real author but just from that,,,i dont think poe would be very normal abt relationships especially with ranpo......i didnt finish perfume by patrick suskind (got kinda bored not bc it's bad but bc i just found something i like more ) but the secretive and quiet but extreme obsession of the main character reminded me so much of poe??? and i think i read somewhere that the real ranpo chose edogawa rampo as a penname because it sounds so much like edgar allan poe and even rampo's book title is like poe’s right it only added japanese at the beginning before the ‘tales of mystery and imagination’ so it's not rlly far off that their bsd counterparts would totally be paranoid and intense w each other <333

dont be sorry abt loving this ship a lot!! in fact,,,if possible, could u share a lil bit more of ur headcanons abt them hehehheehehhe i dont see them portrayed in this light often (like u said v v rare)

i think telltale heart is a good example of poe's writing tbh, his works often revolve around obsession and delusion but also with grief if you look at "the raven" for example (especially his poems are about grief and death a lot so)

i've not read perfume but i know the general plot i think and yeah it probably fits well

AND YES edogawa rampo chose this pen name partly bc of edgar allan poe, he also references poe's works in his mysteries which is fun!! both of them also partly write horror, especially edogawa rampo's works shook me to the core, it's so well-written but also so disturbing, i wouldn't recommend them just like that bc of body horror and uhh fetish writing ig? but the cases of akechi kogoro are also so fun to read as well and you can actually try and solve the mystery yourself!!

ANYWAYS, this was a lot of praising lol, i just really really love both of their works :D and these works are also part of why i think they're both fucked up in the head lol

my biggest headcanon i'm saving for when my fanfic catches up to what i've already written lol, so i'm not spoilering that (but if you wanna know i can dm you :3)

other headcanons that i've curated during the past months:

poe has some sort of dissociative disorder, he dissociates when he's too overstimulated or sth triggers him, also he possibly struggles with intrusive thoughts

ranpo has autism and npd

poe has a brother in america, his parents died when he was young

he had a drug or alcohol problem after he lost to ranpo - the guild giving him an opportunity to get revenge motivated him enough to mostly recover though

poe has some really dark fantasies and sometimes he lets it slip during crime investigations - ranpo doesn't mind, he's even amused

ranpo also secretly loves it when poe brags

ranpo and poe started stalking each other (maybe even since the beginning) until one of them realised and send a very clear signal that the other couldn't miss and since then they've been flirting via sending secret messages in a language only they know to each other - basically consensual stalking (yes i'm completely normal)(also i haven't decided who realised first but it was probably ranpo - i love the thought of ranpo getting all flustered too tho)

poe didn't only lose to ranpo in that mystery game. he also lost his reputation, his friends, his admirers. there was more going on there, they probably met before the competition and they were intrigued by each other before it all went downhill

when poe isolated himself he only had contact to his brother who desperately tried to get him out of his headspace. but he himself isn't the best at having stable relationships + he's also an alcoholic (inspired by irl poe's brother henry)

they're both incredibly jealous and do anything to keep the others attention on them (ranpo giving candy to poe to get his attention back, poe being pretty dramatic and acting up a lot, also obeying every wish ranpo has)

ranpo must have told poe about fukuzawa and fukuchi for him to be able to write about their past for when they were drawn into his novel - so that means they actually sat together and talked about their past. which is insane to me

i do have another headcanon post but i couldn't find it ahhh, but it has to be buried somewhere in all the ranpoe postings lol

okay that was a lot, thank you if you read all that tho hehe :3 and thank you for asking, i love talking about them hsdkjfsdhjfs

[unluckyhoneybee]

S*x education: Better Times (Lando Norris)

Part 17. Things keep moving and everything is changing, but there are better times coming.

MASTERLIST.

Previous part: Serious Talks and Possibilities.

Note: a good way to get back into writing again. There are good things coming. (PIC)

"What do you mean?"

"Norris lost power and has stopped the car too"

I let an ironic laugh out and leaned my head back. Our teams trying to keep us apart and the cars they built breaking down only a few meters apart.

"What a birthday celebration" I muttered as I climbed down my car. He was only a few meters away and made a funny gesture when he saw me there. I laughed although he could see me nor hear me.

We both walked away from the cars and were told to wait in a corner.

"Do you think Frederick will get angry if I stand to close?" I joked.

After that night at his house with Mila something felt different. Lando and I had been messaging. It was stupid, just a few memes or random stuff like happened (like me forgetting my Patrick Star panties on the hotel and him being all sad). But I felt hope. I didn't feel as if I had lost him anymore.

"I think we should actually stand back by back, I don't want them to think we are flirting" He answered and made me laugh.

We sat together on the barrier.

"Hey, what happened to your car?" He asked.

"Engine failure."

"Fuck"

"And you?"

"Power"

"Happy Birthday, I suppose" I said looking at him through my helmet. I saw his face squishing in a smile under the helmet and my heart beat faster. I love him so much.

"Yeah. I was hoping to celebrate and all. I suppose food poisoning and DNF are better plans"

I wanted to reach for his hand and grab it, but I stopped myself for the sake of my future. But there was something in me, something telling me to go forward.

"Are you... Are you taking the flight tonight?"

"Yes"

"At 23.45?"

He nodded.

"Me too" I bit my lip and thanked the helmet.

He nodded slowly.

"Maybe we can swap seats with someone and..."

"On a plane?" He asked "What if..."

I felt my heart sinking.

"Yeah, true."

"I'm sorry, YN"

The car arrived and we both got in it, parting ways once we were in the pits.

"I'm so happy for you, so so happy" I said hugging George as tightly as I could. "You deserve it so much and I'm incredibly proud"

He smiled at me with big eyes full of tears.

"I want you on the podium with me for the next time"

I nodded fast with tears in my eyes too.

When I was undressing, Sarah knocked at my door. I felt a shiver down my spine.

"Bad news?"

"I wouldn't call them bad"

I sighed. "Then?"

She showed me her iPad. Lando and I sat on the barriers and chatted together for long minutes while our cars were being pulled out of the place.

"And?"

"Well, the comments..."

lando4.fan: YN and Lando are made for each other.

YNYSNfanbase: Look at that, destiny.

lnxynfan: Both cars break down only 200 meters away from each other, i call it relationship goals.

landoismyhusband: She probably stopped on purpose.

↪ YNYSNfanbase: And why the fcuk would she do that?

I chuckled. "Well, at least they don't hate me"

"Frederic wants to talk to you, though"

I groaned and leaned back.

"Why? What have I done?"

"I don't know. I'm getting tired of this."

I looked at her.

"Do you really think we can win this?"

She sighed and sat next to me.

"I'm trying really hard. I can't promise anything, though?"

I nodded.

"Thank you for all of this. I could have just used Tinder and met a barman or something"

We both laughed.

"I think that would be worst."

I smiled and she took my hand.

"Lando is special, right? All of this is worth it."

"Yes" I bit my lip and blushed. "I think he is the one. We... We had just confessed when you appeared and everything exploded"

"Oh YN..."

"Bad timing, I suppose"

"There will be better times. I can promise you that"

"Really?" I felt tears in my eyes.

"Yes. I'm fighting hard for it"

"Thank you very much, Sarah. Really"

"Now. Let's go"

Lando's POV.

Sylvie sat next to me.

"People want you and YN together" She said with a sigh.

"I have seen it" I whispered. We were waiting for the plane. We had the seat together, that's why I had told no to YN. Sylvie was flying with me and I couldn't tell my girlfriend to seat somewhere else.

"We should post something." She gave me a sad look.

"Yeah. C-could you?"

She nodded.

She tagged me and I reposted it with a little heart emoji, then I put my phone back in the bag and sighed. It was awful. I didn't want to hate Sylvie, but every second of this stupid pretending thing was worst. She was nice and understood the situation, but every time we had to hug or hold hands, I felt more and more uncomfortable. I just wanted it to be over.

Then the plane arrived and we got on it. The first thing I saw when we arrived at the first class was her hair. She had her own merch cap on, backwards and kept her hair under control. I sighed.

Daniel was chatting with her, he had the camera in her hand and told her to smile. She did and I felt my heart clenching. I wanted to do that. I wanted to be the one taking pictures.

"See, beautiful"

"Not more than Valterri, though" She answered while peeking over to see the screen.

"That's impossible. You are the ugly driver in Alfa"

She punched Danny's shoulder and rolled her eyes.

I fucking miss her so much.

Then she turned around and the smile disappeared.

I looked away and moved to my seat. The flight was awful because I could hear her laughing and chatting with other drivers close to her.

"Lando"

I looked at Sylvie.

"What?"

"Is there really something you can do?" She took my hand and I wanted to pull away. "You are miserable like this"

I sighed.

"I'm not sure. I know her management team is working on it, but mine says there is nothing we can do on our side. She was the only one getting the consequences."

"You are stuck here with me and I can perfectly see you don't want to."

"Sylvie..."

"It's fine, Lando. It's not real. They are paying me for this"

I looked down at our hands together.

"I really love her, Sylvie. Just that"

"I know. We should break up once the season is over. And you could spend the break with her"

"Hidden on a dessert island maybe"

She smiled.

"Well, it's something. There will be better times. It's just too new."

Your POV.

Walking back from the toilet, I looked to the right, to Lando's seat. There he was sleeping with his girlfriend on his shoulder. I bit my lip and tried to not cry. She was the reason we couldn't seat together. Obviously her.

"It's fake." Danny said once I sat.

"I know"

"Then?"

"I told him we could sit together"

He gave me sad eyes.

"He loves you."

"I know"

"He doesn't like Sylvie. Like, as a person she is nice. Not a bad girl, Heidi knows her for a while and she is fine. But Lando hates spending time with her"

"Why do I feel better?"

"Because it's what you want to hear."

I smiled a bit.

"Am I a bad person?"

"No. You team are a bunch of dicks"

"Yes, they are. They are all actually a bunch of misogynist cunts."

He gasped.

"Sorry, I didn't want to ruin the vibe" I said smiling.

He rolled his eyes and slapped my knee.

"Bitch"

"Moron"

"Kids, I want to sleep"

"Sorry, Val," I said giggling.

"Yeah, sorry grandpa"

I leaned back on my headrest and looked at Daniel.

"He is not doing right, huh?"

"He manages."

"Well... I'm not much better. Like, I know I still have him. And we talk and everything. But I miss him madly"

"You should do something"

"Like what?"

"Meet? I don't know. Your thing is weird. Maybe have some fun. He is technically not cheating. And... Have they forbidden you to fuck drivers?"

"Not explicitly"

"Well. If it's not written in the contract..."

I rolled my eyes.

"Plus. It's fun to break the rules"

I laughed.

"Is it?"

He nodded.

"Have you?"

"A couple of times" He gave me a Daniel Ricciardo smile and I chuckled.

"Good. Then..."

"Just thinking, it's something Daniel Ricciardo would do"

"Yeah, the advice is not as good as you may think"

"Listen to me for once"

"Okay, okay"

I did. I listened to him. I took notes and once I was alone in my hotel room I took my phone.

Me: hey.

Lando: hi

Me: i'm tired of this shit

Lando: so I am, missy

Me: well?

Lando: well?

Me: is there something you want to learn about?

Lando: missy...

Me: room 236.

hi. I'm back (kind of). I hope you liked this litte part and just tell me if I forgot to add someone on the taglist because I had many people asking.

Next part: I'm here.

Taglist: @xgallysonegoodlung @lcuppo@ophcelia @damnyourlife @hannahholland1811 @somanyfandomsbruh @incalescentheart @storysf1ferrari @honethatty12 @pleasantducktimetravel