vendetta-ari - Tumblr blog

vendetta-ari · 4 months ago

Note

you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to but..

patrick spiking arts drink with like viagra or an aphrodisiac and then “helping him out” because he’s such a good friend <3

Oh but I want to!! <3

This is post Artrick and Patashi break up and Patrick and Art end up in Vegas at the same bachelor party for a high school friend. Maybe Art has it coming? Maybe Patrick is like the best friend he’s ever had <3

Heed all warnings cause Patrick is totally remorseless and unlike everyone who does something bad in those old black and white movies I’ve been watching lately, he absolutely gets away with it. Sorry not sorry!

CW: intoxication, secret drugging, cnc, dub con (in the sense that Art doesn’t have all the information, but he wants it, he told me). This is pretty much what it says in the ask. Obviously don’t read if this makes you uncomfortable. Not proofread.

—-

It’s bad and wrong, and wrong, and so fucking wrong.

Patrick might tell the truth later. Might let Art get back at him because even for him this is kinda fucked up. But to be fair, he only did it because he was horny. And maybe he wanted a little revenge.

It all started at the bachelor party. It’s the first time they’d seen each other since Tashi’s injury and everything.

Both of them trying to put it all aside for their high school buddy Addison’s Vegas bachelor party. He’s hosting it with his husband to be…this older, rich tech company guy. Patrick thinks it’s a bit annoying. Even if he was gonna marry some dude he wouldn’t want the guy crashing his bachelor party— he should have his own and hang out with his own friends. but that’s beside the point.

Patrick thought Art wouldn’t dare show up because Patrick was always closer with Addison. Art probably thought the same thing about him. And yet…surprise.

Thankfully they barely have a minute alone together sober. Sober, Art is so cool.

Cool.

Cold.

Icy, even.

Totally Remorseless. They make small talk. He’s dating her now, the little shit. She’s coaching him. He’s playing Indian Wells in a few months. Patrick ponders hating Art. He doesn’t know if he’s quite there yet but it feels like he’s close.

He still looks so pretty though.

It’s a reunion of sorts. A lot of their old teammates came. Addison rented the penthouse suite in the Bellagio, private elevator, crazy views… fifteen guys… seven rooms, not that anyone plans to sleep.

Art and Patrick had been known to read each others minds in the past and it feels like that hasn’t changed. Apparently they’ve silently agreed that the last thing they want is people asking things like… “what the fuck happened? you two used to be so close.” Which is how they end up in this unspoken truce pretending like it’s all normal between them. All the way down to the expectation of them sharing a room. Which is fine because, again, no one is really planning on sleeping.

Everyone meets up in the afternoon and they start in the casino. Getting tipsy on watered down liquor while they all spend way too much money. All of them rich kids, or recovering rich kids. Patrick’s not using his parents money but he’s still reckless like he is, so certain he’s gonna make it all back on the craps table. Art doesn’t gamble so Patrick decides to make him blow on his dice, as a joke the way girls do in movies. of course he wins it all back and quite a bit more on a real risky bet. It’s annoying in the way. He’s glad he won but it feels like it’s Art that can’t lose. Suddenly everyone at the table is asking him to bless their dice. Like he’s just so fucking lucky all the time.

Patrick doesn’t push his own luck. Whatever the fuck is left of it.

The whole group cleans up and goes out to dinner in the evening. They catch up on their lives since school and tell silly, fun, embarrassing stories to Addison’s husband to be. Afterwords they go to a show. A magic show. Tipsy and cheering at the tricks like they’re back in 6th grade. It’s easy. It’s fun, actually. He barely has to be alone with Art.

By 11pm they’ve started bouncing around the strip from club to club. Bar to bar. Party to party. Mostly gay bars and drag shows which no one minds because honestly they all just love Addison so much. They’re getting properly drunk now.

It’s then when Art begins getting attention on a level that even he’s not used to from all these really hot guys… that’s when everything gets messy. Drunk and flushed, Art has no idea how to receive any of it except to turn all his repressed homosexual energy back onto the safest target. Patrick.

“We’ll just pretend to be together, you know? So they stop…touching me.” He explains loudly in Patrick’s ear.

Patrick smiles, just about drunk enough to put up with this bullshit. “Okay…fine… whatever… fuck it.”

It doesn’t feel pretend though, especially when they end up soaking wet at this all night foam party just downstairs in their hotel. It’s way too late at night, so many guys jumping up and down all sweaty and hot. Boys kissing. Touching. Shirts unbuttoned, the music too loud, skin too soft. Art hanging all over him, so drunk they actually start grinding to the music. The bass competing with Patrick’s heartbeat for which can go faster. Feelings so complicated Patrick might need 24 hours in the psych ward to sort it all out.

What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas right?

Patrick needs a minute. He leaves Art alone, barely able to take anymore. He uses the excuse of needing the restroom. It’s not even a second before at least two guys are swooping in, competing to take his place, one of them their other teammate Lachlan who’s got a wife at home and a child on the way.

God.

Patrick needs another fucking drink. Addisons already at the bar and Patrick leans in next to him.

“What’s that?” He asks Addison as he’s adding powder to his glass.

“It’s a magic pill,” Addison laughs.

”Magic?” Patrick hiccups.

“Yeah like… like horny candy.”

Patrick pouts, brows raised in confusion. maybe he’s a little too drunk for this game.

“Viagra. Sometimes i spike my boyfriend— my fiancés drink with it. See.” He holds up a little pill and crushes it under his glass on the bar

Patrick laughs. “Isn’t that kinda fucked up?”

“Well…I mean… probably yes… but you know he’s older. So I feel like I’m doing this for his ego.” Addison explains.

“Hm,” Patrick ponders. “Have you ever tried it?”

“I’ve had a sip of his drink before when i didn’t want him to know i spiked it. We ended up going at it all fucking night.” Addison grins. “It’s not necessarily for guys our age…but there’s no harm in it as long as it doesn’t last more than four hours i guess. which is easy if you just fuck. Here. You can take one with your… boyfriend? girlfriend?”

the way Patrick feels right now, his dick is so hard he can’t even fathom the point of viagra but he lets Addison drop the pill in his hand anyway. who knows? He’ll be 24 in six months. A proper grown up. maybe his dick will be the next part of his body that will lose the will to live.

“Are you still bisexual Pat?” Addison leans in stroking Patrick’s bare chest. “Cause we’re kinda open and wouldn’t mind trying it with you tonight, and you know… the more the merrier if you want blondie to join us.”

They both glance at Art, dancing all drunk and unabashed between both guys. their hands all over his lithe figure while the speaker blares Bad Romance by Lady Gaga.

Patrick rolls his eyes and looks back at Addison. “He may be a fucking tease but we both know he would never. But I think I need more to drink before I get back to you.”

“Well…You know where to find us… preferably before this kicks in!” Addison raises his glass.

Patrick waves to the bartender, fingering the pill in his other hand. Then it sort of hits him like a ton of bricks. This nasty idea. More than a little fucked up. He almost wants to touch himself just thinking about it.

He orders two drinks. Rum and coke. Nothing crazy different than what they’ve been drinking all night. Crushes the pill into dust under the cold glass and swirls his finger with the powder into the glass he wants to give to Art..

Oh he feels a little gross. Most people around him too drunk… the bartender too busy to notice what he’s doing.

Art doesn’t think twice; he trusts Patrick so much. What a wonder to betray someone and still think you can trust them so completely. like none of it matters. Art let’s Patrick “save” him from the other boys touching him.

“I swear i feel like Lach was turned on,” he hiccups, swallowing the drink down. “Like I could feel his… you know what.” He continues in Patrick’s ear.

”Really? Could you?” Patrick asks, dryly. Stupid. He still acts so�� innocent oblivious. Patrick just wants to fuck shake him. He’s beyond hating Art. He doesn’t hate him. Could never hate him. He does hate that after all this fucking time he’s still not over him.

It doesn’t take long for Art to feel it. He’s back to clinging to Patrick. All over him as a way to keep the other boys away. Patrick starts to notice him adjusting himself, getting breathy, getting anxious. Gripping a little too tightly.

“Uh I need um…um… is it too hot in here?” He says in Patrick’s ear. “I need water.”

“What?” Patrick asks like he didn’t hear him. Keeps his body pressed close, hot breath in Patrick’s ear.

“The room… I think I need to go back to the room.”

Patrick shrugs. They tell a couple of the guys they’re leaving. And of course get teased for being lightweights at 4 in the morning. Only in Vegas.

Art has his eyes closed, knees knocked together, too drunk, so aroused. He’s resting the side of his head against the wall of the private elevator as they make their way up to penthouse.

”Sleepy?” Patrick asks, standing in his space.

Art’s all glassy eyed, cheeks flushed, pupils blown wide when he gazes at Patrick. “Um… yeah… yeah.” He stammers.

Patrick smirks, tangles his fingers into Arts damp hair. He hums, eyes closed immediately, lips parted. And then the elevator dings and Patrick lets go. Arts eyes open and he stumbles out behind Patrick.

In the room Art’s trying to hide it from Patrick. Trying to keep himself together. He drinks a lot of water from the mini fridge. Tries to go in the bathroom but Patirck gets there first. Not to pee or anything, he’s too fucking hard for that. Probably just to keep Art from jerking himself silly over the toilet.

Patrick strips down to his boxers for sleep. Brushes his teeth in the mirror. The whole time he’s tenting, so ridiculously aroused, thinking of Art squirming, Viagra unknowingly coursing through his system.

Patrick decides he’s probably not a good person but right now he doesn’t fucking care.

He reaches inside his boxers to adjust himself before returning to the bedroom, but he has to touch himself just a little first. A few gentle jerks over the length of his dick and he’s catching his breath. He tucks himself up, snug against the waistband of his boxers and takes a few deep breaths.

When he walks back in the bedroom, Art is sitting on the edge of the bed, one hand down his pants, tugging himself, little soft moans escaping his lips. He panics when he sees Patrick and tries to save face but it’s kinda too late.

“Uh sorry… uh… it’s not—”

“You like boys Art?” Patrick teases.

“No… I just… I think I’m overstimulated.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah I… I… it was a lot of touching. I was…” he takes a deep breath. “I mean I know I was a little bit um… turned on when they were…when the three of us were…when I could feel…”

“When they had you sandwiched between them?”

”Fuck.” He whispers. “yeah a little…i guess more than I thought.” He admits.

Patrick sits next to him on the bed. “Yeah me too.” He pads his palm over the outline of his own cock.

Art staring, fingers gripping the sheets as he whispers a barely audible, “Jesus.”

“We could… maybe… help each other out,” Patrick suggests.

Art looks up at his face, eyes narrowed.

”I mean nothing would change. It’d just be a one time favor between… old friends.”

Art looks down again, knee bouncing. Desperate enough to say: “Okay um…you mean like jerk off together? Like in high school?”

“Or…” Patrick gets on his knees on the floor in front him.

“Patrick I—I’m not gonna do—“ he stammers.

“I’m not asking you to… do you want me to do it to you or not?”

He takes a deep, shaky breath and then he nods.

Patrick moves between his thighs and tugs his zipper down further, eases his boxers down and hears Art let out a gentle gasp as his cock is released. Oh it’s painfully full. Poor thing he’s practically humping into Patrick’s mouth the moment he gets contact.

“Mm, fuck,” Art sighs relieved to get the sensation. Patrick almost wants to touch himself. Can feel his heartbeat pounding in his ears while licking all along the base. Taking his time, swirling his tongue around the tip. He looks up at Art as he does it. He’s got his eyes closed, one hand holding himself upright on the bed and two fingers of his other hand shoved deep into his mouth as he moans around them.

Oh. Right. Fucking oral fixation. Patrick’s drunk brain vaguely supplies.

He’s distracted for a minute while kissing along the tip, licking, teasing, sucking and watching Art slide his fingers into and out of his mouth. Gorgeous little thing.

Patrick severely underestimates how close he is. And suddenly his face is getting painted with heated pearly liquid. “Oh.. ohfuckfuck’msorry… fuck.” Art groans around his fingers, hitching his hips involuntarily as more and more spurts out.

Patrick opens his mouth and catches some on his tongue, he can’t help laughing a bit at how fucking crazy all of this is. On the floor of the penthouse suite at the Bellagio and he’s on his knees for his ex best friend who’s all drugged out on harddick medicine, and probably just gave him his first ever facial.

Patrick wipes a lot of it off on his arm and thumbs some of the excess off his cheek and nose, licking it into his mouth. “Well fuck.” He breathes. “You got a lot of that in you.”

“Oh god…I didn’t mean to…Jesus, Pat look….” Art whines. Somehow he’s still almost as hard as he was before.

Patrick runs his fingertips gently over the length, still spasming lightly. “You really had fun tonight huh?”

“Oh fuck… this never… this never h-happens.” He stammers.

“Really? You don’t get this turned on for women?”

Art presses his lips together, like he doesn’t want to admit to anything. He sits on his hands. “I um…”

“Why don’t we try this,” Patrick says. “Don’t freak out…” He goes to his travel bag for lube.

“What—“ Art begins when he sees it.

“I said relax,” Patrick says.

Art leans back on his elbows as Patrick straddles him. “What are we doing?”

“You already fucking jizzed in my face, just relax. You owe me this.”

Art takes another shaky breath. Patrick covers his palm in lube and covers Art’s heavy, swollen cock. Art groans and shivers at the feel of it. So fucking sensitive. Patrick eases his own out and then takes them both in hand, lined up he starts jerking. Both of them moaning immediately, like a chorus, the sound filling up the room.

It’s sinful actually. The way it sounds. It’s probably something that would’ve made Art cry when he was 14 and so very afraid of drinking alcohol and swear words and sex before marriage.

Now he’s moaning like a whore around his fingertips, hips jerking up into Patrick’s fist, both of their cocks heated and swollen. Patrick is barely hanging on. He wonders if anyone else came home. If they can hear them fucking, neither of them holding back as Patrick moves faster and faster.

Art falls apart seconds later, come coating Patrick’s palm, dripping between his fingers. and then Patrick’s following shortly after. Shooting spurts of come, aiming some at Art’s bare chest maybe as a little bit of payback. “Take them out of your mouth,” Patrick hisses. Art gazes up at him and slowly pulls his fingers out.

Patrick pushes him all the way down on the bed and kisses him roughly. Art drawing his knees up, socked feet flat on the bed and arching into it. Tongues and spit everywhere. Patrick taking a minute to replace his lips on Art’s mouth with his come stained fingers. just to feel the eager way Art sucks them in, pulling hard with his tongue. If Art realizes he’s tasting himself, tasting Patrick, he isn’t complaining.

Patrick pulls out, wet and sloppy and turns Art’s pretty face back into the kiss, deepening it till he’s moaning into Patrick’s mouth. Doing everything he can for more of the sensation. Grinding his hips up, his still heavy cock sliding along Patrick’s bottom.

“Oh fuck,” Patrick groans because it’s still so hard. “You wanna fuck me?”

“mm, my god,” is all Art can manage.

“I won’t tell your girlfriend.”

That draws him out of whatever messy trance he’s in and Art pulls away from Patrick, panting. “Oh god… why won’t it go away? ‘m is there something wrong with me?” He whines, suddenly teary eyed.

“Like what?” Patrick asks, carefully. He doesn’t want to over do it.

“I dunno… I dunno. I’m so… did i drink too much? I just… i just wanna… i feel so fucking horny…and I can’t calm down. I just… i wanna just… fuck. I’m… I’m so sorry, Patrick.”

Tired and drunk and overstimulated from all the sex he starts getting emotional. “I’m so sorry for everything. I think I love you. I think I’m fucking in love with you, Patrick. I think about you all the time when I’m fuck—”

”Okay shut the fuck up,” Patrick snaps gently, because the last thing he wants is to feel bad for him on a sentence like that. The last thing he wants is to spiral thinking about the two of them together getting everything they want without him. “You want my help?”

”Yes,” Art sniffles.

“Here…” he hands Art the rest of the lube. “put this on and just… you can fuck me till you’re all fucked out. just imagine I’m a fucking fleshlight or something.”

“Really?” He hiccups, and he looks so grateful like he’s gonna cry again.

“Hey… come on, stop man. Just… I’m doing you a favor. Don’t fucking cry about it.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers and wipes his nose on the back of his palm. “I’m sorry. you’re right. Thank you so much. I’m sorry.”

Patrick rolls his eyes and settles onto the pillow. he’s going to hell probably. Art is so fucking drunk, thinks he’s just trying to come down from some normal night where he got too overwhelmed. He thinks Patrick is just being such a good friend.

It’s so fucking messed up but honestly it also feels really fucking good. Covered in lube. His unbearably repressed ex best friends dick, the same dick he’s been dreaming about since the first time he saw it. That pretty dick pumping in and out of him over and over again.

“And don’t worry,” he whispers to Art. “it’s not even gay” because Patrick is just helping him relax. “It’s not even real sex I promise.” Even though Patrick can’t count how many times Art comes. Maybe 4, maybe 7. How many times Patrick’s nutted all over the pristine hotel sheets. He knows he’s managed to spill at least 3 times before Art is finally done, done. And Patrick is covered in his come and sweat and spit and tears he couldn’t be happier.

Art nearly wets himself in his rush to get to the bathroom after it all. Probably just relieved to finally be able to go.

Patrick is so pleasantly sore and drunk and warm. He’s still covered in the sticky mess of it, knowing it’ll be much grosser on waking but he can’t bring himself to move. Art stumbles, back into the king sized bed, moving away from the wet spot but still burying his head near the crook of Patrick’s head and shoulder. So yummy.

He’ll probably tell Art at some point, maybe. Possibly. But right now the city is hungover, the sun is peeking in through the black out curtains and Patrick hasn’t felt this satisfied in a very long time. So easy… he drifts off into a peaceful sleep.

(Flop era going strong. Sorry so long y’all. I couldn’t stop yapping.)

194 notes · View notes

vendetta-ari · 4 months ago

Text

PLEASE I NEED SOMEONE LIKE THIS

20K notes · View notes

vendetta-ari · 4 months ago

Text

WHEWW i havent opened tumblr in a while but you know wgat that means😈..a shit ton of new art donaldson fics

11 notes · View notes

vendetta-ari · 4 months ago

Text

heat lightning

He isn’t usually an early riser.

Patrick remembers you told him that you placed the bed next to the window on purpose, so when the sun came up it would pour through the gauzy curtains onto your face. A thoughtful decision among the more careless scatter of objects around your apartment (which in all honestly he also felt had some level of thought behind it he couldn’t comprehend). Regardless, now with both of you squeezing into the twin bed, the hazy light passing through the chiffon is more of an alarm clock for him than you.

Aimlessly his hand wanders over the hem of your t-shirt. The bed is a bit too small for him, like most of the apartment, but he can’t stretch to get rid of the slowly developing crick in his neck. With your back pressed against his chest, there is no way he could move without waking you up too.

You’d probably wake up soon anyway; let him borrow a toothbrush and then take him into the kitchen for coffee, asking him to stay for breakfast. He’ll say no and you’ll ask again. Back and forth, until after a couple minutes of this little dance he’ll agree and you’ll smile. He wasn’t even supposed to spend the night. He told himself he wouldn’t, his car still parked outside of the building, but he knows he’ll stay for breakfast anyway.

His finger wraps around a loose thread from your shirt, as the sound of your heavy exhales softens to something lighter. A low, effortless noise as you shift in place, legs moving with a slight stretch before intertwining with his again.

His hand presses against your t-shirt, resting in the subtle groove between your waist and hip. He has to focus on keeping his touch steady, as the hand gravitates underneath the thin fabric to the warmth of your skin.

You mumble something that sounds like good morning, too tired to be coherent. For a moment, he rests his palm flat against your stomach, burying his face in your hair and holding you close as he takes in a shaky inhale. The warm, comforting smell pushes his hand to inch its way up to your breast, eventually cupping the mound over the soft cotton of your bra.

Your lips part with a soft sound he can barely hear over the thumps of his heart, only grounded in the moment by the way your hair brushes against his face as your head turns to meet his. Eyes half-lidded and cheeks flushed, he takes in the lingering drowsiness on your face, slowing each inhale and exhale to the same pace of your warm breaths that brush against the face. His grip on your breast tightens, suddenly feeling his hands are too large and brutish on you, but the thought is drowned out as your lips find his.

He doesn’t hesitate, tongue pressing against your bottom lip seeking entry. When the warmth of your mouth accepts his, he groans into its depth, closing his eyes as he imagines you swallowing it whole. He can make out the faint rustle of sheets and the way your body moves against his, probably trying to turn to face him and deepen the kiss even more, but his hand slides down from your breast again, back to laying flat on your stomach. Steadier this time, authoritative only in the way an aching body can convey. He holds you still, and when the only sounds are that of your helpless breaths, he lets his hand move down deeper past into the band of your shorts.

His eyes flutter open with a sudden exhale, as his middle finger grazes the wet mark of your panties. You whimper, and he hooks his pointer to the damp cloth, pushing it to the side and watching your teeth bite down into swollen lips. Not a new sight, but a pleasant one. An instinctive reaction he doesn’t think he deserves to see. He watches the lips part again, as he gently presses the pad of his thumb to your clit, his heartbeat speeding up once more at the gasp that leaves your mouth.

The soft sound threads together his fragmented assurance in the reality of the moment, echoed through the increasing rhythm of his thumb against your clit. His middle finger pushes his way into you, and he groans alongside the next breathy moan that escapes your lips. Your body moves against his in a wavelike motion, guided by the growing pleasure and pushing your hair back against his face. His mouth finds its way to your ear, tongue tracing the edge of it as he pushes his index finger into your cunt as well. He bites down on your earlobe when you gasp at the added stretch, the sound intensifying the tender desperation in his chest. His free hand sneaks under and around you, holding you close, as he continues to push the fingers of his right hand in and out, attention split between the sounds you make, the smell of your body, and your wetness coating his fingers.

Your breath hitches, hand reaching for the bed sheet. He feels you squeeze around him as his heart somehow beats even faster. Your fingers grasp the sheets and he groans as one final harsh swipe against your clit sends you over the edge. The sounds of his panting breaths and your high-pitched sighs come together, your body shaking with a delicate tremor.

He isn’t oblivious to the growing ache between his legs, the straining in his boxers pressing into the plush of your thighs, but he just watches your chest heave in pleasure. He pulls away, to see you properly, letting you fall to your back, eyes half lidded, face completely flushed. Your hair is strewn around the pillow from sleep and satisfaction. Bliss, for you and for him.

Eyes opening properly, your lips move with your chest up into a breathless smile. He exhales, slow and deep, a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. As your hands move slightly towards him, he instinctively lays back down next to you. Closer, than before, head resting in the crook of your neck. His heart beats against yours at an erratic pace matched by the way your chest heaves with the aftershocks.

“Morning,” he murmurs, settling in place with a gentle kiss to your throat.

He lets himself smile into your neck when you chuckle.

author's note: this was really just an excuse to practice writing smut, which isn't something i usually do. shout out to @artstennisracket, @jesuistrestriste, and @newrochellechallenger2019 who really helped me find a balance between being smutty and my own writing style! and @voidsuites and @itsrensfairygardenn to just being angels who gave me the confidence to post this. i may make this into a longer fic? we'll see! thank you for reading, ily all <3

294 notes · View notes

vendetta-ari · 4 months ago

Text

LMAOOOOOOOO

738 notes · View notes

vendetta-ari · 4 months ago

Text

3K notes · View notes

vendetta-ari · 4 months ago

Text

RIFF. LORTON. JUST. NEEDED. PUERTO. RICAN. PUSSY.

thank yew for coming to my speech. now clap

55 notes · View notes

vendetta-ari · 4 months ago

Text

MISC BOT DUMP ⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚

18/03/25

featuring characters from: challengers, west side story, panic & the bikeriders

mike faist character drop!! yippee!!!

dont get ur panties in a twist patrick/tashi lovers they Will be back. hopefully this weekend or early next week with euphoria/saltburn/outer banks etc etc bot drop. probably better to do this rather than dropping a billion bots at once! also promise i'll drop a gn (or mlm) riff bot eventually. + u can probably tell i've watched like five episodes of panic i'll finish it at some point and make more event-based dodge

also some of the reqs were a lil vague so. took creative liberty n hope they all turned out somewhat okay !!

gender neutral unless specified otherwise. have fun

enjoy ! <3

ART DONALDSON

BOY NEXT DOOR

stanford!art x neighbour!user (m4f)

Art's always been real cute. Two years younger than you, just that sweet boy next door. A little bit awkward but you always put that down to the puberty years. But boy is he smitten with you. And when you're both back to spend winter break with your families, he can't miss out on another chance to talk to you. He's not a little boy anymore.

RETIREMENT

painter!art x younger!user

When Art retired, it was just an unspoken fact that he would turn to coaching. So when he puts down his racket in exchange for a paintbrush, everyone is baffled. He doesn't regret it in the slightest, though—not when his rediscovered hobby leads to him meeting you, his new muse.

CHEATER CHEATER

stanford!art x user (m4f)

He’s always been the perfect boyfriend… minus the fact he’s in love with Tashi Duncan. When you plan to surprise him with a visit from his long-distance best friend, you don’t expect a text from Patrick telling you that your boyfriend and his girlfriend are sleeping with each other behind your backs. Time to avoid him like the plague.

NOT A LOT, JUST FOREVER

divorced!art x girlfriend!user (m4f)

Art was a broken creature after his divorce. No purpose in life without tennis or a marriage to keep him in check. So when he meets you in the waiting room of his therapist’s office, the pair of you just click. He’s found his new reason to live again, and he’s ready to take the next step with you: kids, marriage, the whole white picket dream.

WOMANISER

stanford!art x user

Without Patrick in the picture, Art finally doesn't have to play second fiddle anymore. No longer just his shadow, but the heartbreaker of Stanford University. And unfortunately, you're one of the victims of his sweet blue eyes and whispered sweet little nothings. But maybe, one day, he'll realise you're enough for him.

DOCTOR DONALDSON

stanford!art x best friend!user

Art knows when you're feeling under the weather, it gets rough. All the worst symptoms imaginable, resigned to a week in a dark room while your body struggles. He's all too happy to play the role of Doctor Donaldson and nurse you back to full health.

RIFF LORTON

DADDY MATERIAL

baby daddy!riff x user (m4f)

Having a kid was never in the cards for Riff. What was his motto? Born to die young, daddy-o. Except, well, now he's the daddy... The Jets will always be his boys, but he's got a real family now. If only you'd just let him in.

PRE-RUMBLE

riff lorton x user (m4f)

Riff is real pissed. Tony must have a loose screw in his head, the rest of his boys are too busy muckin' around, and the alcohol isn't easing his nerves for the fight tomorrow night. But he's got you, one of his favourite girls, to make it all a little easier.

FOOLIN' AROUND

riff lorton x user (m4f)

Riff's never been in love. But he thinks he's come pretty damn close with you. Maybe he's getting sick and tired of just sleeping in your bed and taking you dancing the odd time. Maybe this tough ol' gang leader wants to take you on a real date—make you his girl.

LET'S DANCY, GIRLY GIRL

riff lorton x user (m4f)

He loves dancing. All his boys spinning around nice girls in pretty skirts, a respite from the havoc of the rest of New York, just good music and laughter. When he sees you across the floor, the prettiest girl he's ever laid eyes on, dancing with one of his boys... well, Diesel can get fuckin' lost.

DODGE MASON

SAVE A HORSE

dodge mason x partner!user

You don't know jack shit about riding. All you know is that he's supposed to stay for eight seconds—or maybe it's seven?—on the back of one of those real angry looking horses, and then he... wins, or something like that. But you don't really care about the horse. No, you're interested in riding something else.

DOT'S DINER

co-worker!dodge x user

Dodge has always been a bit of a mystery to you. To everyone, really. You never really cared enough to delve past the whole 'loner boy' persona he has going on at school... until you got a job at the same diner. Your efforts to get to know him were fruitless; he was polite enough, but clearly disinterested in being your friend. But after spotting him at the rodeo last week, you finally have something to talk to him about.

DANNY LYON

THE VANDALS

danny lyon x benny's sister!user (m4f)

You've got him stumped. A completely mystery to him, shrouded in a shadow that he can't quite see past no matter how bright he shines a light. You don't have a Kathy to spout your secrets to him like your brother does, meaning Danny just has to figure you out himself. And he will. He's certain of it.

CAMERA SHY

danny lyon x user

Danny loves you, but you're a little difficult sometimes. Or maybe insecure is a better word. Which, for the life of him, he can't understand. You're beautiful—the perfect partner for him, in every aspect. So, please, just let him take some pictures of you?

294 notes · View notes