Telling Some Guy That You’re Celibate But You Tell Clark He Can Nail Your Shit 🎶🎶

Rawrkki's sims cc dump

Hello eveyonee!

the time has finally come to showcase my sims cc collection that i promised you all. this is all the cc i have collected from july - september. it has taken me ages to put this all together so thank you for your patience :D

Hair ::

dahlia hair , jenn hair , silas hair , helia hair , helena hair , farah buns , suki hair , cassandra hair , page braids , aventia hair , bordeaux hair , byrdie bun , haven hair set , queenie hair , julie and cassie hairs , katniss braid , flowers bun , lucia bun , rachel hair , rin hair , futaba hair , laura ponytail , henrietta hair , gladys hair , libby hair , cassie hair , bonnie hair , funke hair , the curls collection , hye hair , nia hair , camille hair , iris hair , meiko hair , alexa hair , eylen hair set , bellatrix hair , gia hair

Sets ::

(g)i-dle - tomboy set , the downtown collection , romantic pajama set , y2k style set , the solstice collection , the scream collection , winter essentials , year of the rabbit , affection set , girlieZ collection , juicy tracksuit , fairy grunge lookbook , sweetie set , the mimosa collection , meadow winds set , vellichor set , nostalgia set , the thrift set , the gossip collection , bohemian child set , karaoke set , secret society collection , lovebirds set , sunday nights collection , senior year collcetion , kumikya sweater collection , agos dress , neve set , cyber cargos , brand new set , random top collection , silky dress , luna leggings , ankle biter set , bizochito set , recolor dump (you'll have to find the meshes yourself sorryyy) , sunny skies , star collection , baby doll top , skirt collection , fold down pants , band tees , silly shirts , stripes bikinis

Makeup ::

nya eyeliner , gyaru gals , spiderlike eyeliner , graphic liner set , countess set , sour fruits set , sophia lipstick , bad bixch eyeliners , pastel y2k collection , eyeshadow n212 , sukeban eyeshadow , starliner , magbay eyeliners , nose graphic liner

Presets ::

elven ear presets , nose presets , mouth presets ,

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Thank you all for being so patient, and im sososo sorry this took sooo long to make, ive been having some personal problems so that has taken away a huge chunk of my time. There is more i couldve included but honestly this wouldnt have ever made it out of the drafts if i tried to add all of that. If you want to see some more mods ive collected, my pinterest where everything is here: :D Thank you again for all the support, and hopefully some new content should be out soon for you guys!

Love you alll

-Atlas

pairing ➵ luke castellan x fem reader

wordcount ➵ 755

content warnings ➵ angst, hurt no comfort (does this count as hurt no comfort?) implication of intercourse, makeouts w luke!!!

luke’s pov!! 💝

LIFE AT CAMP HALF-BLOOD WAS MISERABLE to say the least.

Luke watched as young teenage boys and girls, almost always younger than him, journeyed on quests their pathetic excuses of parents couldn’t be bothered with on their own.

He watched as they came back, eyes shadowed over with grief. Bodies weighed down by a fortnight of constant battle and little to no sleep.

He watched as sometimes they didn’t.

Solemn news raced across the camp as the words of a fallen friend made its way back home.

Life at Camp Half-Blood was miserable.

Well, until he met you.

It was a typical sunny morning, the scorching heat of the sun tanning the skins of the youths.

He was spilling his water bottle over his head onto his bright tufts and down his shimmering, golden skin for relief.

When he shook the water from his hair he glanced across the camp, and somehow, as if by fate, his eyes found you.

He hadn’t seen you before today. He was sure he’d remember the way your beauty seemingly rendered him speechless. You sat laughing with a few Aphrodite kids—perhaps your siblings? Silena was sitting closest to you on your right, and Drew was on your other side. He surveyed as you all giggled, eyes mischievously filled with gossip.

How had you flown under his radar? Your laugh ringing in the wind, cheeks puffed out from the action. Your orange camp shirt was tied up in a makeshift crop top, pink beaded bracelets tied onto your arms. He didn’t know whether you had makeup on, or if Aphrodite kids were just that naturally beautiful.

When you get up with Silena and Drew (he assumes are your sisters) he takes in the rest of your outfit. A tight jean skirt adorned your hips. The fabric accessorized with jewels. It was short—a little too short.

He let his pink clouded gaze memorize your figure. The soft skin of your legs taking up his eyes. He was hooked on the way your hips swayed side to side, a bit sensually for a teenage girl to be honest, but he didn’t mind.

Luke’s a great deal of embarrassed and practically feels the definition of creep when he stares back up to your face and makes eye contact with three, cabin ten girls that have their mouths slack open from his not so well disguised eye fucking.

He sees you close in on yourself, expression guarded when he tries to reclaim control of this awkward situation by sending you one of his Luke Castellan, the most popular camper, smiles.

Silena squeals, and punches your shoulder. Sending him a flirty wave with flicks of her fingers. Drew does the same and they bump your hip to follow suit. Undoubtedly doing what Aphrodite kids do best—matchmaking.

The next time he sees you, he detects you don’t actually need your sisters pushes to do something. Your long, manicured nails drag down his forearm and you slide your soft hand into his. Pulling him along to the quiet, deserted woods of the night.

He lets you shove him into a tree, momentarily stunting him from the aggressiveness of it all.

Damn, Aphrodite kids sure are freaks.

He loses himself in your kisses, your touches. Soft moans taking space in the night sky.

After that? Luke and you are inseparable.

Well, at least in the night. During camp hours you guys usually avoid having to encounter one another. It’s not like he’s ashamed of you, and vice versa. He loves what you two have. And he wants to keep the sweetness of it all to himself for just a little longer.

Especially when he has you beneath him, backside covered in the dirt from nature’s floor. You’re writhing under him, asking him to do anything and everything to you.

He likes the way your hand touches his scar, hesitantly moving up to kiss it sugarly.

“You’ll always be everything to me.” You had panted, lips rosy colored and raw.

So why is that now, as you're staring him down in a clash of bronze swords and armour.

You look at him like he’s nothing to you.

He didn’t understand why you chose Camp Half-Blood over him. Over your Luke Castellan. The Gods were irresponsible and immature. Luke couldn’t keep pondering over all his sparks of anger in rants of the camp, and Olympus—did it really not clue you in on his nasty resentment to the olympians?

Life away from Camp Half-Blood is miserable.

Even more so away from you.

© kisscastellan | all rights reserved

i just called to say i love you - jj maybank x fem!reader

summary: jj is missing his girlfriend a little extra one night.

a/n: so ptx is releasing a new christmas album soon and this is one of this cover is one of the singles they released (i recommend listening to it while you read!) and i could not stop thinking about it with jj, so here's a shitty blurb about it lol!

warning(s): none, this is all fluff (there is some cursing though and it is not proofread so its probably a mess)

wc: 771

You let out the heaviest sigh yet as your nails dug into your scalp, tired eyes trying and failing to find meaning in the textbook chapter in front of you. Whoever wrote your physics textbook deserved to get it thrown at them — the way you were suffering, you would do it yourself.

Your freshman year of college had started a little over a month ago, and your professors were already drowning you in work. You knew that would happen with a STEM path, but dammit if you weren’t partially regretting it.

But kinematics and mechanics were temporarily pushed to the side when your phone started to ring, and though the bright screen blinded you for a second when you opened it, a smile soon found its way across your lips.

“JJ!” you exclaimed after accepting the call, your boyfriend’s face immediately popping into your mind. “What are you doing up this late?”

“Wow,” he responded, his voice dripping with mock contempt. “First time we’ve actually called in a month and that’s what I get?”

You chuckled and turned away from your desk, pulling up one of your legs onto the chair. “Sorry. Hey babe, how are you doing? Also, what are you doing up at 2 AM? I’m not your bail call, am I?”

“You have such high hopes for me,” he said with a small laugh of his own. “But no, I’m not in jail this time. Everything’s fine, I just… I miss you a lot. I’m really proud of you, but I’m also really selfish. Y’know, you’re paying your college like, a million dollars just to go there. I give you my company for free. I think we know who the better deal is.”

That got the first genuine laugh out of you in a while, but your heart ached all the same. You had been so busy with college and your internship and everything else under the sun that you didn’t exactly have time to feel emotions, but thirty seconds of talking to your boyfriend and you were seriously tempted to hop on a flight home. This call was like a little pocket of the OBX, and it was something sorely missed.

“I know you’re joking, but I gotta agree. I know this’ll get me a degree and a better future or whatever, but I’m kind of regretting my entire life.” You picked a thread on your sweater and stared out the window — nights like these, you really missed the Outer Banks. “I miss you too. I wish you could be here with me.”

“I do too, babe.” A thousand miles away, and you could tell that he was smiling on the other end. “But, uh— it’s probably better for me to stay here. I don’t understand any of your science shit.”

You gasped and put a hand to your heart. “You mean you don’t want to hear about centripetal acceleration and dry friction?”

“I could listen to you talk about it all day, but I have no idea what any of that means.” The two of you laughed, and when it quieted down again he continued, a slightly more wistful tone. “But seriously — I would listen to you talk about physics for weeks if it meant I got to hear your voice. I miss you a lot more than I thought you would, and I guess that’s why I’m here. I just called to say I love you.”

And if your heart wasn’t hurting enough, those words could’ve caused it to burst on the spot. An uncontrollable smile spread across your lips as a searing heat rushed to your cheeks, and you felt like a little girl with a crush again. “Oh, JJ… I love you too. So much. I’m so sorry that we haven’t talked in so long; I swear I’ll make more time in my schedule—”

He cut you off with a chuckle. “Babe, don’t worry. I know that you’re busy, but you don’t know how happy I am for you. You’re gonna be the smartest fuckin’ thing to come out of the Cut, and I’m gonna be there for you every step of the way. Okay?”

You bit your lip, an attempt to stop the overflowing happiness from rushing out of you, and you nodded despite him not being able to see it. “Okay. You have no idea how much I love you.”

“I think I have a small idea,” he said, a familiar lilt in his voice. “Because when you get us to space, I call shotgun in the rocket.”

You laughed and rubbed a hand across your forehead. “Deal.”

Cuddle Bug

summary: a flashfic exploration of Wally's inability to be anything but a plural image when you're within reach. aka: he's codependent as fuck and neither you nor he care.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: fluff. smut lite. AU - everyone is alive (zesty).

bon reading, frens

___________________________🍃

Wally Clark's love language is physical touch. No surprise there. The guy needs cuddles like flowers need sunlight to thrive. Always has. Being a ghost for 40 years exacerbated that need, and now that he's a real boy again, he can't help himself. Wally sits too close, hugs hello and goodbye, touches arms and knees when he's telling a story.

It's just that much more amped up when it comes to you.

He was affectionate before you and he became inseparable. Lightly grazed your hand when he walked beside you, found every excuse to tackle you when he tried to teach you football techniques. Ajay and Charley stood there like extra wheels even though it'd been Wally who'd rallied everyone to the field.

What? Your giggle's so damn cute! No way was Wally going to be able to focus on anything else!

Besides Charley's just as bad when Yuri's around, and Simon can't even function when Maddie gives him the eyes. So, everyone can suck it as far as Wally's concerned.

During group activities, Wally would find a way to sit next to you. Would squish his long limbs between you and Maddie and give you a bright, boyish grin. Sometimes he'd stare Xavier down until he got the hint and scooched closer to Nicole at the lunch table, leaving a gap that Wally could settle into beside you. His arm around your shoulders and his knee touching yours. Totally innocent.

Wally brought your favorite snacks to Game Night, established himself as your personal chauffeur despite the fact that you lived closer to Simon and Rhonda, and loyally helped you filter clothes when you and the girls went shopping. Yes. He'd made himself one of the girls just to spend time with you. Don't look at him like that; it worked, didn't it? 👀

Since accepting him as your boyfriend (he grins so big, his cheeks ache), Wally's dependence on your touch, warmth, shape against his, has increased a hundredfold.

You sit on the picnic table before the first bell, chatting to Maddie and Claire about something Wally isn't listening to, his arms around your waist, upper body slumped between your legs, head resting on your thigh as you rake your fingers through his thick hair. Oh, he could die all over again and be the happiest of ghosts just for this. Not that he wants to be a ghost again. Not unless you're with him this time. Which would require you to die, too, and that's a terrible thought and he's never going to tell you about it. But the sentiment remains. Wally doesn't want to do anything without you, ever.

He managed to convince the secretary to put him in all your classes, pouting and pleading his case that he'd been dead since 1983 and, "it's so traumatic coming back, she's the only thing I have that feels real...please?" A tactic that he should stop abusing, but it worked on all the teachers when he requested to be sat next to you. Every time a teacher caved, Wally would fold into the desk beside you, beaming like a winner. And who cares? Mina and Ajay, and Charley and Yuri pulled the same doe-eyed trick and got what they wanted, why couldn't Wally do the same?

On Fridays, everyone piles into Wally's high school best friend's living room—Rodney now Wally's legal guardian for reasons—to have movie marathons. There's trivia to guess the movie. Winner gets one veto and can insert their own choice, but there's three movies in total so pick wisely! They figured out awhile ago that Wally sometimes (always) lets you win trivia when it's his turn to play his lineup. You never veto anything, equally as eager to watch what he opts for. It drives Simon and Ajay insane.

He takes over a whole couch, the three-seater, sprawls long-ways and tucks you between his legs, your body draped over him like a blanket as he wraps his arms around you and doesn't let go for anything. He traces patterns on your back, cradles your head against his chest, soaks up the physical contact like a sponge after years of ghostly numbness.

In the school halls, Wally keeps his hand on your hip. He kisses your head and cheeks and jaw. Doesn't care who sees because you're his girl and he'll do what he wants, thank you. He's proud that you call him yours and wants to show off who his heart belongs to. This one! This one said yes!

You're in his lap more than your own seat when the group descends upon Max's Diner after football games (that, no, Wally doesn't participate in. That era is firmly in the past and he'll never don a jersey again; sorry mom, God bless, rest in peace). His hands are all over you as you engage Rhonda in conversation; on your thighs, waist, back, hips. Anywhere and everywhere that's still appropriate in public. His head under your chin, eyes closed as he listens to your heartbeat, strong and steady, the rhythm matching his.

Wally rolls over in his bed, crushes you beneath his weight as he plays dead—knock on wood that that won't happen again for many years—and tries to stifle his laughter when you struggle to reverse the position. Eventually, he showers your skin with kisses, nudges between your thighs and laces his fingers with yours, pressing his smile to yours before kissing you deeply.

The sex is amazing, but nothing beats the afterglow when he has you pliant and sweet, curled into him on your side, your face in his chest, his hand on your lower back, whispering how much he loves you as you doze. Call him codependent, but Wally doesn't want to spend even an hour without you. He isn't a lost puppy, knows how to behave like a man. He just spent too many years being forgotten that he still has trust issues.

And you don't mind. You welcome it, in fact, and that makes Wally feel safer than he ever has. It makes it easy to ignore the looks people give you and him when you agree to go somewhere, "only if Wally's invited, too" because you and he are a package deal. And he does the same for you. Obviously, not for the same reasons, you're perfectly fine being alone, it's just that Wally's not ready to experiment with your absence just yet. Maybe never will be.

Rodney's long since accepted that Wally's room has become your room. From married and childless to married with several formerly-dead teenagers and their SOs, Rodney and his wife have accepted their homebase status like champs. They treat you like family—you have a house key for the rare occasion Wally isn't with you after school—and acknowledge that Wally can't sleep without you without suffering.

He stays curled around you all night, kisses you awake, big hand trailing from your waist to your hip as he nips the top knot of your spine and grinds his morning wood against your ass. God, you get him hard so easily, Wally sometimes thinks he should get checked out. You hum then sigh then turn in his arms, hook a leg over his and press yourself against him in exactly the right way.

Through half-lidded eyes, Wally gazes at you. Licks his lips as he rocks his hips slowly and watches your expression go from sleepsoft to wanting. You like how that feels baby? You want it inside you? And he kisses you deep and thorough, rolls you onto your back to fit between your legs, groans when one of your hands squeezes his ass through his boxer-briefs.

He needs to be inside you yesterday, loves how you feel, tight and wet and hot around him. Soft touches turn hard, light sweeps of lips turn to teeth and tongue and fresh bruises on your neck. Wally loves to taste you first, to prolong his pleasure by giving you yours, his tongue delving into you and sucking your clit gently; deliriously slow because he can't get enough.

It's not until you're begging him so pretty for his cock that he finally lets himself fuck into you, so hard and sensitive his brain explodes upon fitting deep inside you on the first thrust. A refrain of fuck, yes and oh God baby, you feel so good fills the room—sorry Rodney—the headboard smacking against the wall in time with Wally's hips. Throughout, Wally holds you like something precious, kisses you like salvation, breathes you in like he can't live without you.

He makes sure you come first before he even thinks about letting go, the sensation of you shaking apart around him ripping his own release right from his core. Wally licks into your mouth, moans like a beast, and then, one two three more stunted thrusts and he goes still. Hazy eyes hold yours and you can see the depth of his emotion for you. At least, he hopes so. How he'll treasure you forever. He'll never love anyone as much as he loves you. That's a promise and a threat and he smiles a lazy smile at you as you begin to giggle.

"What's so funny, baby?" Wally nudges your cheek with his nose.

"Nothing, I promise, I'm just...really happy." You tell him and he moans in delight.

"You don't feel suffocated or claustrophobic like Rhonda said you would?" Wally asks, a little insecure. Okay, a lot insecure, even if he doesn't usually feel that way about how reliant he is on your proximity. You've never given him a reason to feel anything but safe and happy and loved, but still. Rhonda knows how to hit bone even when she means well.

You shift, forcing Wally to look at you, your hands cradling his jaw, "Never. I will never, ever want this, us, to be anything but exactly how it is. I love having you all over me."

"Yeah?"

"Yes." And you grin, a warm little thing, "I like sharing everything with you. It's nice. My very own witness to my life."

Wally kisses you again, another slow, deep, sentimental gesture; everything he feels poured into it, before he settles down on top of you, careful not to crush you, his head above your breasts and his eyes fluttering closed. Relaxed. Sated. Safe.

Wally Clark's love language is physical touch, and, in this second chance at life, he's profoundly grateful to have found someone fluent in it.

fin.

🍃___________________________

also on AO3!

if you liked this, you may also enjoy Fifty Seven.

fluff. between 1982 and 1983, Wally meets and falls completely head over heels for a girl who changes everything. his biggest fan, his greatest love. you.

Crush

summary: prompt fill. you and Wally are buddies. friends who share mutuals; occupy the same social circles, but have never spent any time just you and him, exclusive and alone. That? is something Wally is desperate to change. and it seems you feel the same way... (request)

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: smut lite. feelgood. oneshot. AU - everyone's alive. getting together.

joyeuses Easter, fam 🐰🐣🥕

___________________________🌻

Crush

Wally's head lifts as soon as the door opens. The little bell tinkles; the breeze carries your perfume through the space. He closes his eyes, inhales deeply, not more than a fraction of a second, but he still feels exposed.

Cue vibrant, colorful background; glitter and hearts; slow-motion and strings. You step through the door and into frame, looking like a vision. Crisp against the fading world behind you.

God dammit, Wally has a problem.

Not that anyone seems to notice. Whatever crush Wally has on you is explained away by his excitable nature. His touches sweet, but not exclusive. His attention cute, but equally spread amongst those he loves.

Wally doesn't feel like it's equally spread. At all. Not even a little. He feels like you're the only thing he can see, hear, smell, touch. You occupy more brainspace than his own personality.

Does he even remember his address? His birthday? His name?

You plop down in the open seat beside him—saved just for you, and no one argued because, at this point, it's expected—and smile brightly at everyone, offering greetings and apologies for being late.

No. Wally doesn't remember anything about himself, but he sure as shit remembers everything about you, including your ridiculous coffee order which the barista kindly delivers to the table upon Wally's signal.

You turn sideways in your seat, patting a rhythm on Wally's leg, imparting your giddiness as you rev yourself up for Sunday Trivia. Wally's heart practically erupts from his body, Alien chestburster, fucking wrecked and melted and soppy the instant your hands and that gorgeous smile land on him.

"We're gonna win this week," You declare, ruffling his hair as you correct your position to take a sip of your coffee. "I can feel it."

"That's what you said last week," He chuckles, desperately hoping his cheeks aren't as pink as they feel.

As casual as can be, he swings his arm up and rests it on the back of your chair, thumb stretched to swipe the soft skin of your shoulder. Wally's eyes are glued to the blank trivia answers sheet as he pretends to be totally normal about you, not hyperventilating on the inside at all.

"Yeah, but last week Rhonda brought Quinn. This week, Rhonda and Quinn are busy. We're gonna win," You explain with a grin, eyes sparkling when you wink at him.

Fuck your kissable smile, your lickable skin, your soft shapes that Wally wants to trace with his fingers and tongue and teeth. You can't look at him like that.

Somehow, he manages to play it cool; holds up his end of the conversation like a champ, teasing you as much as flirting, and making you laugh so suddenly, you almost spit-take all over poor Charley, innocently sitting across from you.

"You guys are the worst," He grumps, "You need to be separated."

"Absolutely not," You say without hesitation, "We're too good a team."

Wally agrees around the girly squeal lodged in his throat. Thankfully still in there, and not out in the wild for everyone to hear and judge.

Trivia starts minutes later, the emcee upbeat as always, and you and Wally kill it. Through cackles and competitive rants and good-natured heckling, you and he take home the prize: A weird-looking, multicolored crocheted monstrosity with too many arms. Made lovingly by one of the baristas. Or made in spite.

You name him Samuel.

Wally falls more in love.

"We need to think up a custody agreement," You say through a chuckle as he escorts you to the bus stop, squishing Samuel to your chest.

Wally studies Samuel with an ill-concealed look of disturbance, "Nah, it's, uh...he's all yours."

You burst out laughing, "Do you hate our child, Clark? He can hear you, you know."

"I love him with my whole heart," Wally defends, eyes wide in mock-surprise that you would accuse him of such a thing. "But I think he'll be happier with you," another look of distaste at Samuel, "I'm willing to sacrifice my legal rights."

"You're a shitty liar," You shove Wally's arm playfully and he just about swoons. Your touch, no matter how innocent, is like fire.

And then that's it, all done, Sunday over. You're on the bus, blowing an exaggerated kiss at Wally as you board with Samuel and leave Wally standing on the curb like a lovestruck idiot.

He's so gone for you, it's not even funny anymore.

‗•‗

Wally hates weekdays. This isn't new. He hated them before you transferred from the fancy school to Split River High last year. Only now, he hates them more. Because you're a social butterfly—not unlike him—who bounces from group to group and spends lunch on a rotation.

See, thing is, while you and Wally are inseparable during group activities, you and he don't actually hang out. You aren't besties who make one-on-one plans unless it's to hit every antique store in the radius of town to hunt down something haunted for Maddie's birthday. Usually with Simon and Nicole in tow.

So, not one-on-one, but that's as close as Wally's come to it. And, God, does he savor those moments. When the group is smaller and he doesn't have to split his attention; can keep it squarely on you where it belongs.

You're fun and flirty and dynamic, always up for an adventure. Creative. Silly. A positive influence who drives Wally to be a better person. You make him ambitious. Force him to see things from new perspectives, even in the small bursts he gets of your sunshine soul.

He's not obsessed, you are 😒

Doesn't matter how much more time Wally wants to spend with you; you've never indicated that you want the same. You seem content bouncing into his arms when circumstance brings you and he together, and you merrily leave it at that.

Wally's going fucking crazy thinking about you from dusk 'til dawn, while you flutter between friend groups, none the wiser, animatedly waving to him when you catch his eye across the cafeteria. And, Jesus, you're gorgeous, eyes squinted up like that to accommodate your megawatt smile.

Sometimes (often), Wally wonders what your face looks like when you're not smiling at him. When you're feeling something that isn't bright and buoyant. Say, for example, desire. Do your features slacken? Do your eyes go heavy? Do your lips part on a sigh as Wally's hand glides lightly up your spine, fingertips skipping between the vertebrae, his mouth centimeters from yours, humid breath mingling—

Shit. Fuck. He's hard. Shifts his hips under the table and prays no one notices.

They don't, thank Christ, Rodney and Ajay arguing about who should've won the Mock Trial last week while Charley complains that none of it matters, it's fake, and they'd be terrible lawyers anyway.

When Wally looks up again, you've vanished, likely breezed off to Art Club or Robotics or to get ready for gym. He doesn't know your schedule, can only guess, but he knows it involves people who aren't him and, yeah, so what, he's jealous.

He wants your attention all for himself. Wants you to want him as much as he wants you because it's killing him being the only one to exist in this state of desperation and delusion. He needs you to notice him. Needs you to trip over yourself because you caught a glimpse of him. Needs you to blush and stammer and giggle nervously when he pins you with his gaze.

Honestly, Wally probably needs a new hobby.

‗•‗

"Samuel misses his daddy," You tell him, right in his ear, above the music blaring from Xavier's shitty truck stereo.

Wally's brain bluescreens so hard—...daddy...—he thinks he passes out for a moment. You're pressed up against his side, a hot line of flesh his hand itches to touch, squeezed like a sardine between Wally and Simon.

It's another outing. A day trip to Bradford Beach. Carpools and highway games and, now, godawful karaoke that Claire's DJing from the passenger seat, a wicked grin on her face as Simon belts out that part from Bohemian Rhapsody for the third time in an hour.

Wally still can't breathe when he chances to look you in the eye, sees you grinning manically in your seat as you blink those sweet, faux-innocent eyes up at him. You know what you did, naughty little girl. And you're clearly not sorry at all. You clearly want to get Wally flustered and tight-collared and hot.

Or he's misreading you completely, and that's your regular teasing look, Wally's just so fucking horny for you he sees what he wants. Confirmation bias or whatever.

"He does?" Wally manages to put some volume behind his voice. "And what do you think I should do about it?"

You shrug, "Whatever you want."

I want to fuck you against a wall about it, Wally thinks, but outwardly smiles, toothy and cheerful. "Maybe I should take him next weekend. You know, make sure he knows his daddy loves him." And he stares intensely into your eyes when he says the last part.

He isn't sure, but he thinks it works. A beautiful pink blossoms on the apples of your cheeks, and Wally has to hold himself back from punching the air.

This is new. This sort of intense, almost intentional flirting. Winding you up for the sake of getting you flustered. Ohhh, Wally's going to have fun with this. Is determined to coax that blush out of you again and again until you snap.

Does this count as a new hobby?

‗•‗

Okay. So. Apparently, you lock in, challenge accepted, because things aren't going exactly how Wally planned. He's at his wits' end, vibrating out of his fucking skin, ready to explode while he watches you gyrate to the music. Nothing too nasty-filthy-dirty, but your body moves like liquid, and your hips give Wally too many ideas to keep track of.

You're dancing with Claire, bodies tightly fitted, both wearing big smiles, and smeared in glitter and rhinestones. The second weekend of Summerfest. A handful of the group pitched in to stay from Friday to Monday morning at a cheap Airbnb not too far from the park.

It's sundown, the air finally cool, the bass shaking the earth beneath Wally's feet, and he's totally enraptured. The past month has been heaven and hell combined as you and he played flirty chicken. Who will take it there.

Maybe you think it's a game, maybe you're serious about seeing him fall apart for you; he doesn't know and, frankly, doesn't care at this point. Gone too far, in too deep. And, fuck, you fill out those tiny denim shorts so well, that beaded top barely clinging to your tits as you rub your ass against Claire's thigh.

He tries to focus on the music, on the crowd and the atmosphere, but it's so hard—he's so hard, thank God his shirt is long and boxy—and you're throwing your head back, smooth neck on display, singing along like a wet dream.

Wally isn't going to make it to the end of the night.

Next stage, next band, lake air doing a shit job cooling Wally's skin when you shimmy into his space after shooing Claire toward the cute guy who's been falling over himself for her since noon. You and he mimic each other's goofy dance moves, safe, silly, to the first three songs.

And then, the air punched out of his chest, you fit yourself so neatly against him, back to chest, head on his shoulder, twisting and writhing to the sexiest song of the summer. His hands clench your hips, keep you pinned, and he doesn't have the mental power to care if he's being too obvious anymore. He has to feel you against him, right on his hard-on.

You must feel it, there's no way you don't, but you aren't pushing him away, your fingers instead kneading his thigh so nicely his eyes close and lips part and he's panting like a dog into your neck. His lips graze the shell of your ear, breath tickling your skin.

"Fuck," He chokes when your ass hitches against his cock, stars exploding behind his lids, his fingers so tight in your flesh he's sure he's going to leave marks.

He feels you shiver, feels your gasp on his cheek as he gazes down at you, and he knows his eyes are dark, blown greedy in a need he can't ignore like he used to. Your eyes are equally as heated and, yep, that's fucking it, he has to touch you, taste you, make you beg for him to take you apart and piece you together again.

The night is cut short. An Irish exit. The journey back to the Airbnb is quiet, stifling, thick with desire that neither you nor he acknowledges until he pushes you through the door and presses you against it once it closes with a resounding click. His hands on your ass as he lifts you so he can grind his cock against the imprint of your pussy through those sweet little shorts.

Your legs wrap around his waist, your fingers tug his hair, and Wally's vision whites out.

"Jesus, babygirl, I've never needed someone so bad in my life," He rasps, teeth sinking into the join of your neck and shoulder, "I want you so bad, baby, please."

And you keen, head thrown back, hips matching his movements, perfect body tensing and releasing in his arms as you hump into him.

"Wally~."

It's a plea and a command that he's only too happy to oblige. Carries you into the one room with a lock and throws you on the bed you and Claire were going to share while Wally and Diego took the pullout couch in the main space.

So much for that. Claire probably isn't coming back tonight, anyway, and who knows what Diego got up to, most likely with Nicole and Charley and Yuri, deep in the crowd at the final performance of the night.

You were looking forward to it. Guess you changed your mind, Wally smirks into your throat, even more turned on at the thought that you needed to put him first. So hot for him. Desperate for his hands on you. His lips. His tongue. Don't worry, baby, he won't disappoint.

It's a struggle to get that beaded top off you, laced and knotted so intricately, Wally's tempted to just rip it off you. So he does. Beads fly everywhere, showering the bed, oops. But, you laugh, roll him onto his back to straddle his hips, and then surge into him to kiss him for the first time.

God yes, this is exactly how he imagined it. Your soft lips yielding to his, wet and deep and slow, in stark contrast to his frantic hands trying to touch every inch of your body at once.

You bear down as he grinds up, his cock straining, dribbling, and there's a damp stain at the front of your shorts that tells him what he needs to know.

"Gonna be such a good girl for me, aren't you?" He says, voice wrecked, hand fisting your hair to hold you still so he can have your attention. "Aren't you, baby?"

Fuck, so that's what you look like when you're foggy with desire. That's how you sound. Wally's convinced he's not going to last much longer under those eyes, hearing those noises; weak and wanting and just for him.

He flips the position, loves how you feel under him, body so soft it fits into his lines and angles perfectly. Shorts and panties and boxers go flying, and then he's on you, in you, deep as he can get, moaning wantonly with your nipple between his teeth.

"You're such a good girl," He praises, "Taking all of me."

You arch, bearing down harder, taking him impossibly deeper, and your pussy is so perfect he thinks he meets God. He can't keep himself still anymore, as much as he wants to savor the sensation of having you so completely around him. He begins to move, sharp, hard strokes that force those sounds he's getting addicted to from your chest.

"Oh, fuck, Wally," You whimper, meeting his rhythm, over and over and over, stoking the fire, making his brain smoke and his belly tight and his body so hot he'll combust, he knows he will, how can he not.

"That's it, baby," He pants, moving faster, harder, testing angles until you scream in ecstasy, pussy gripping him tighter because he found what he was looking for. "You like how I feel inside you?"

You're a mess beneath him, and he can't get enough. Is fucking starving for more. He rears back, takes you with him as he settles on his haunches, you held in his lap, your arms around his shoulders as he bounces you on his cock.

He can't stop, can't slow down, can't fathom anything outside of this moment as he beats his cock into you from below. Sweat on his brow, licking into your mouth when you begin to tremble and warn him, you're gonna make me come, and, fuck yeah, he is.

Holy shit, you're a goddess when you let go, screaming his name like rapture. That's all it takes, pussy convulsing around him, and he's gone. Plummeting over the edge headfirst into pure, absolute euphoria.

Wally collapses on top of you, head between your tits, sucking in gulps of air as his hands smooth down your sides, thighs, up again and along your arms so he can lace his fingers with yours above your head.

When he lifts his head to look at you, he goes soft as pudding. The smile you're wearing is completely lax, blissful and sweet, and he has to kiss it.

Minutes later, the afterglow thinning, "So," you say quietly, gazing up at him with a sparkle in your eye, "That finally happened."

Wally cocks his head, "Finally?"

"Yeah, Clark. Finally." You snicker, "I've only wanted you to do that to me forever." You fix him with a look, one that tells him he's an idiot, "You're not very good at picking up hints, are you?"

He chuckles, shakes his head in disbelief, "Seriously? No. I'm more of a direct-communication guy."

"You suck at that, too, then," You decide, smile growing, "Because you never directly communicated that you liked me like that."

"Nor did you," He points out, one eyebrow lifting. "So, you suck just as bad."

You lean up and lip his earlobe, "Trust me, Wally, when I suck, it's not bad."

Ah, so this is how he's going to spend his night, huh?

This definitely counts as a new hobby.

‗•‗

The next morning, cuddled close and feeling affectionate, you murmur, "Samuel's gonna be happy that his daddy's back in the picture."

You have got to stop using that term if you want to walk normally again, baby, please.

"Just Samuel?" Wally grins as he licks and nips your pulse point, his big hand gliding down your side to your hip. He rocks his hips forward so you can feel exactly where calling him daddy gets you. "No one else?"

"Can't think of anyone," You say, but your voice is breathy and high.

"That's too bad. I was really hoping you wanted me around." He plays at detaching from you.

Immediately, you cling to him, expression grouchy and words fierce, "You're not going anywhere, Wally, I waited way too long for this."

He melts, eyes going all soft and tender, his hand finding your jaw, thumb on your cheek, dipping in for a short, fond kiss.

"Me too, baby."

"No. Really," You implore, "I had to get new hobbies, Wally, it was driving me insane. I couldn't think of anything else," and you say it so easily. So direct and honest, his heart swells.

"Pick up anything interesting?"

You snort, "No. Just long drives to the sex shop in Cedarburg."

Blue. Screen.

"That counts as a hobby?" He wheezes, mind already churning out images of you indulging in your new pastime. Yep, yes, yeah, Wally could see himself partaking in that one, no resistance.

"It occupies a lot of leisure time, and I do it for pleasure. Pretty sure that's the definition of a hobby."

Wally squeezes your ass, drives your hips into his to show you how interested he is in hearing more about how you spend your free time.

"You know," He starts, lowering to graze his nose up your neck, dry lips following, hips beginning to grind at a slow, lazy tempo, "I heard that couples who share hobbies stay together longer."

"Yeah?" Said in a breath, your back arching and your chest pressing into his. "I definitely wanna make this last." Then, sultry and playful, "When should we start?"

Wally smirks. He doesn't bother to respond, simply spends the first hours you and he are supposed to be at the festival memorizing your body: where to touch, bite, kiss, lick.

Mastering the craft, as it were, because Wally Clark takes his hobbies very fucking seriously.

🌻___________fin.____________

also on AO3!

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if you enjoyed this, you may also enjoy Cuddle Bug.

fluff. smut lite. a flashfic exploration of Wally's inability to be anything but a plural image when you're within reach. aka: he's codependent as fuck and neither you nor he care.

— right by my violets

luke castellan x fem reader / cw suggestive content

title from n side by steve lacy. loosely related to the killerverse so its only semi canon and u don’t have to read the series to understand ! i’ll call this ch 8.5

Your favorite time to jumpscare Luke is when he’s just come fresh from a shower right after training.

He always smells like that tropical shampoo he likes and never fails to collapse in his bed face down, perfect for scaring him so hard he jumps.

You throw yourself into the space next to him, and the bed nearly collapses under you.

Luke groans, his face pressed firmly into his pillow. “Ow, killer.”

“I didn’t even jump on top of you this time!”

You try not to be too upset at how unsurprised he was at your jumpscare — you’ll have to start finding other ways to scare him — while your eager hands reach to pull back his top sheet.

You freeze in place when the sheet makes it below his shoulders.

“Luke?”

He grunts in response.

“Why are you naked?”

His startled laugh is muffled by his pillow. “‘m not. Now lay down and quit it.”

Your greedy eyes eat up the sight of his bare back, but you don’t let his nice skin get to you that easy. “I’m not lying down with you if you’re naked, you perv.”

He catches you by the fabric of your shirt when you slide away from his tickling fingers.

“I’m wearing shorts.” Luke rolls onto his back before he nudges down the sheet around his waist. Black fabric you recognize as an old pair of basketball shorts peek out from underneath.

You very respectfully do not let your eyes linger for too long when you take a seat next to him. He laughs anyway. “Sorry, babe. I know how upset you get when my clothes are on.”

You run your thumb over his waistband. “I’m devastated.”

Luke likes to act cocky like this, but you press the back of your hand against his face and feel how flushed he is. You smile a little evilly when you kiss his cheek.

You rest your head against the junction between his shoulder and upper arm, a spot he always insists you lay on even when his arm goes numb after an hour. He wastes no time linking one of your hands with one of his.

“Your farmer’s tan is starting,” you point out, letting your free hand travel up and down his chest. The skin of his torso and upper arms, spots usually covered by his camp tee, are just a few shades lighter than the rest of his lower arms. He feels very soft. “I think that means you should start training without a shirt on.”

“I’m sure everyone would love that.”

You trace a vein that goes down his arm before you wrap your hand around the skin of his opposite bicep. “I sure would.”

He sighs a little while he shifts to get more comfortable, probably sore from throwing around his sword all afternoon. “Don’t worry. You’re wearing my last clean shirt, so I guess it means I’ll have to.”

You wrinkle your nose. “You’re such a boy, hero. Is that why you’re half naked right now? You didn’t do your laundry?”

He groans when he presses half of his face into your hair, like the thought of washing his clothes is enough to make him sick. “I’ve been busy.”

Too busy. He’s been putting in extra work lately.

“I know. It feels like you like Claudia more than me.”

Claudia’s the old training dummy that was retired to the back of the storage closet. Luke unearthed her a few weeks ago and hung her back up next to the new ones, giving her a second chance at life. She was already battered and falling apart before, so Luke’s new training regimen means she’s bordering on decomposing.

Luke cracks your knuckles with his hand, and you do the same for him, pressing down on his fingers until you hear the snapping sound. “I care about you both equally, sweetheart.”

You try reaching behind his head to smother him with his pillow, but he yanks it out of your hands so he can chuck it across the room instead. Without any other viable weapon, you throw your leg over his side and reach for his neck.

Play-fighting with Luke is funny because you both are perfectly aware of how strong the other is. He’s watched you decapitate a line of Telekhines with one blow and you’ve watched him wake up to kill an Empousai before going back to the nap he’d been having.

But the second you’re messing around like this, it’s like the two of you have never seen a day of fighting in your lives. You press against Luke’s arms with the same strength you’d use to open a bag of chips, and he pushes back with the same effort.

“I hope you and Claudia will be happy, then,” you say, squealing in fear when he sits straight up. “Won’t be able to force her to give you massages, though.”

Luke stands up and you tighten your legs around his waist so he has to carry you around. Your arms go around his neck because he’s too tired to support you with anything other than a lazy arm under you, and he taps along your back as he moves closer to the door.

A shiver goes down your neck when he catches your earlobe with his teeth like the weirdo he is. “Don’t tell her. But you’ll always be my favorite.”

“Thanks, I guess.” It feels like your external body temperature has jumped a few degrees since Luke is so warm. He makes his way over to the en suite bathroom and flicks the light on, and you realize boredly that he’s getting ready for bed.

Before you can start complaining, he sets you down on the counter so you can talk his ear off. Luke is very focused during his nighttime routine, his brow knit while he washes his face thoroughly and tries to keep track of how long he’s been brushing his teeth for.

You entertain him with the story of how one of your younger sisters is trying and failing to let this Hephaestus kid know she likes him. He squeezes your thigh intermittently, and you let the point of your foot nudge his side while your legs swing.

He spits into the sink and then runs the water. “Halle actually tripped into his arms like that?”

You nod morosely. “Faked slipping and everything. It felt like something you would do, it was that bad.”

He looks so offended at your comment you can’t help but smile.

“I’m not that bad,” he defends, choking on his own laugh when you squint in disbelief.

“Luke, you pretended to get a concussion during volleyball so you could sit out with me.”

He shoots his hand under the spout to try and flick water at you, but it ends up being more like having a hose shot at your face. Cold water drips down your chin and onto your shirt, making dark spots in the green fabric.

You look up at him. He’s giving you a wide eyed look, his hands up like he’s facing a feral animal. “Wait, wait, wait—”

The two of you wrestle for the handle of the sink.

You win, though.

Luke ends up having to wipe water from his eyes and use his towel to dry off his chest, which is now dripping with water. “I deserved that.”

You kiss his cheek when he steps between your legs. “Thank you for admitting it.”

He plants one on your lips, too. He tastes minty, so you kiss him again, a little bit difficult now with the way he’s smiling.

“You ate my gum?” he asks.

“No,” you lie, shifting forward off the counter so your chests are pressed together. Your noses bump when you tilt your head for him.

“I hope you enjoyed it.”

“There were only two left.” Your eyes cross as you try and stare into his despite how close your faces are. “And those sticks are small, Luke.”

He’s still smiling, but his eyes have trailed down to your lips now. “Kiss me again and I won’t be upset.”

You give him a peck before sitting back.

Luke frowns, his brows knitting so deeply it’s like his face is going to wrinkle in on itself. “That doesn’t count. I didn’t even feel it.”

You give him another brief kiss along his jaw. “Find me a dry t-shirt and I’ll give you a real one.”

You’re surprised you aren’t physically blown away from how fast he leaves the room.

The sound of him tearing through his dresser is loud. He trips over something during his search, mumbling stuff under his breath as you hear him unzip something.

“And it better be clean, Luke!”

It takes him a few minutes to come back to the bathroom, his face flushed and chest heaving.

The shirt he presents you with is ugly and old.

“Holy shit, dude. Did you find this in a museum?”

You remember making these a few summers ago before a bunch of you and Luke’s friends left for the school year. The shirt’s been through the wash too much and the marker has faded, but the front and back are littered with Luke’s failed tie-dye job and the names of old friends. You find your name written in block letters along the neckline.

“Nope.” He shakes his head a beat later while he catches his breath. “Found it stuffed under your clothes in your drawer.”

Luke’s dedicated a section of his dresser to you, and it's always full of your stuff. You slide your hands down his arms and give him a look.

“Why’d you go through all my clean clothes just to give me your old shirt?”

He’s grinning, trying to lean in already. “You’re not allowed to wear your own clothes here. It’s not right.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you say, but you’re very quick to let him splay his hand across your back.

He pinches the wet shirt off of your skin. “D’you want me to help you take this off?”

Freak.

You let him do it anyway.

He’s basically giggling the entire time, the process taking so much longer because he’s trying to keep his eyes on the ceiling while also working your new shirt back on. The second your head pops through the neckline, he’s crowding you into the counter again.

He leans in so close that your mouth parts on instinct. “So, when do I get that kiss that you—”

You give it to him, and he shuts up quick.

You think it’s sweet how he always kisses you like he’s never done it before — starved of the taste of you and the feel of you under his hands.

Luke’s hands stray to the sliver of skin at your midriff. His fingers are calloused but never harsh — he squeezes your sides, and he has to kiss you hard so you stop smiling.

His left hand follows your spine up under your shirt and lands on your opposite shoulder, holding you so close to him there’s no room to move away.

“Luke,” you complain. You wish he were standing closer to you.

“Yeah, yeah.” His hands scoop under your thighs and he lifts you off the counter again. “We gotta work on your patience, babe.”

You flick off the bathroom light for him while he takes you over to the chair by his bed. It’s old and small and definitely not made to fit two people, but he collapses into it anyway, and you follow with no other choice.

The two of you kiss slow and sweet — the kind you think are your favorite.

Sometimes, your kisses are the opposite. They can be sweltering and quick, ones that are just out of sight and ones that happen only when you manage to sneak away from your cabins for long enough.

You can’t quite tell how long you and Luke sit in his chair for. But it’s long enough for your hearts to start beating in sync and long enough for your legs to grow tired from the stupid chair.

Luke’s lips are red and a little swollen, though he doesn’t seem to mind at all. He doesn’t let you get more than an inch away before he’s dragging your lower lip between his teeth and pulling you back in.

You tell yourself you’re going to pull away at least ten different times, but then you feel his hand inching interestingly high and then he sucks a mark underneath your shirt where your name is written and then you feel limp and then you don’t pull away anymore.

“Hi,” he says, when you drag him off you so you can take oxygen into your lungs again. He has to look up at you since you’re kneeling over him. “Catching your breath?”

And trying not to pass out, you think.

You swipe your wrist over your lips, which are a little bit slick with spit. “Yeah. Hold me?”

“No,” Luke deadpans, though he’s already encouraging you to sit down on him to shift your weight off your knees. He brushes hair from your face when you tuck yourself against him. “Wanna sleep now?”

You’re a little lightheaded, but you don’t want to sleep. Your eyes slide closed involuntarily when you feel his chest rise and fall against yours. You smile because you can feel the heat emanating off his skin. “Nope.”

“You sure?”

“Yep.”

Luke laughs while he fusses with the way your shirt sits on your shoulders. His fingers trace over where your name is inked on the fabric. “You going to give me more than one word answers?”

Your mouth runs a little dry when you remember he doesn’t have a shirt on. You poke at him and the little bit of sunburn on his shoulders you know will turn into a tan soon. “No.”

His mouth pulls up at the sides. “Okay.”

You groan when he throws you over his shoulder and gets up from his uncomfortable little chair. Luke spins you around a bit, giving you a 360 degree view of his room before he tosses you onto the bed. He yawns but doesn’t lay down, just smiles down at you.

“What’re you doing?” you ask. You hook your leg around his so you can drag him closer, and he just grins, amused.

“Nothing much.”

The bed shifts when he settles over you, one of his knees between your legs and the other digging into the space next to your left thigh.

Words die out quickly — mostly because you’re busy slipping your tongue into Luke’s mouth. But the coherent thoughts only leave your head when he takes your waist in one hand and reminds you just how much he likes you too.

Goth CC Finds + Links ☠

So since the new goth kit is coming out, there is a lot of controversy surrounding it. Many people saying its not enough, not the correct style, or they simply cant afford it. Today I present you with an alternative! Shining a light on the CC community, I have for you 30 links to different packs, clothes, hair, accessories, and makeup revolving around the goth style.

Please enjoy these finds & keep in mind that the Goth style is very broad & has many types of styles to it, as this is my own interpretation. ~ DelSolSasha

from left to right

✩| 1 2 3 4 5 6 |✩

✩| 7 8 9 10 11 12 |✩

✩| 13 14 15 16 17 18 |✩

✩| 19 20 21 22 23 24 |✩

✩| 25 26 27 28 29 30 |✩

Also, don't forget to check these cc creator's full websites & patreons because there is sooooo many great goth finds on their pages!

Thank you to the wonderful cc creators who are beyond talented | @bluecravingcc | @evellsims | @bloodmooncc | @sixamcc | @madlensims | @simcelebrity00 | @daylifesims | @aharris00britney | @aladdin-the-simmer | @pralinesims | @trillyke | @/reginaraven | @uxji | @luumia | @/tomichan | @busra-tr | @atomiclight | @lonelygravescc | @/YNRTG-S | @pinkycustomworld | @remussirion | @/seleng |

SILENT DEVOTION : twisted allegiance

♦ sequel to SILENT DEVOTION ♦

pairing : patrick zweig x f!reader | art donaldson x f!reader | patrick zweig x tashi duncan

rating : explicit

word count : 23.3k

contains : smut 18+, obsession, delusion, stalking, jealousy, toxic relationship, abusive relationship, manipulation, cheating, oral sex, vaginal sex, anal sex, rimming, masturbation, eating disorder

summary : Patrick Zweig had finally noticed you, but not in the way you had always dreamed of. After rekindling his relationship with Tashi only to break up soon after, he turned his attention to you, seeking revenge on both his girlfriend and his distant best friend. There started a secret relationship fueled by twisted desires and mutual manipulation.

Patrick Zweig wrote on your wall. Hey, need to talk to you. Add me on aim (zweigpat).

Your fingers trembled as you clicked on the aim icon and began typing Patrick's username. You had no idea about the matter he wanted to discuss, but specifics were irrelevant in that moment. Patrick Zweig wanted to talk to YOU and no one else. Homework could wait, and grades suddenly felt insignificant. This was far more important. As you typed the first word into the chat box, everything around you faded away, the world growing still and silent.

You: Hey Patrick: Hello! You: So what's up?

The message on your Facebook wall had vanished. Was he trying to hide the fact that he was talking to you? You didn't mind being his dirty little secret. If anything, it made the situation even more thrilling.

Patrick: Nothing much, I was just wondering how are you all doing? You: Sounds like bullshit, what are you scheming Zweig? Patrick: Alright, I want to get back with Tashi… And I don’t know if she would be open to the idea. I know you guys are friends and I thought maybe you could help me with that.

Friends? Hardly. The thought of helping him get back with Tashi made your stomach turn. Patrick was yours, and you knew you could never compete with Tashi. Yet, the temptation was undeniable. You longed to see him back on campus, to have him close, to watch him play tennis with Art, to see him devour lunch. You even missed overhearing him and Tashi through the door.

You: Have you talked to her? She's been quite down since you left..

You couldn't reveal that Patrick was actually the least of her concerns. Her recovery had been long and difficult. As the weeks passed, her prospects of regaining her status as a tennis prodigy grew more and more uncertain.

Patrick: Did she mention me?

She hadn't, but to keep the conversation going, you had to lie.

You: Sure.. Patrick: What did she say? You: Can’t tell you, she’d kill me! Patrick: Come on! You: I can only tell you that she feels lonely.

Considering how much time she was spending with your boyfriend, she was anything but lonely.

Patrick: Noted, thanks <3. How's Art, by the way? He's not really responding to my texts.

The sight of the heart icon on the screen stole your breath away. Butterflies swarmed within you until there was little of you left. Was it genuine? Or was it out of habit? Was this the kind of message he was used to sending to Tashi?

You: We haven’t been talking that much either… Patrick: Did you guys break up? You: Not that I know of, he’s just very busy. Patrick: Busy with what?

You were hesitant to tell him the truth.

You: Guess… Patrick Zweg is typing. Patrick: Oh, so they played us both? B-) You: Don’t worry he will be back when he’s horny. Patrick: Don’t say that. Art’s not that type of guy. He’s a good one.

Patrick held Art in high regard. And Art played that role perfectly. He was charming, endearing, the kind of man destined for marriage and fatherhood, fully devoted to his family. But you didn't desire that with him, and he didn't desire it with you.

After offering reassurances about your relationship with Art, Patrick signed off for tennis practice, leaving you staring at the screen. Finally, you had a means to contact him at any time, day or night.

●

It didn’t take long for Patrick to be back on campus. It appeared that Tashi lacked as much self-restraint as you did when it came to him.

Spotting him in the main quad under one of the colossal arches, despite being fifty feet away, you immediately recognized him by his unique aura. The man-of-your-dreams-you-want-to-ride-to-ruins aura. He leaned against a wall, cigarette in hand, observing some students playing footbag, a grin on his face.

He now sported a short, tousled beard with hints of red highlights. One of your high school girlfriends had once told you that her older boyfriend’s beard had been bleached by her pussy’s juices. You wondered if the same applied to Patrick. If so, who were the lucky girls and how many of them were there? It hadn’t been long since he had returned, yet you found yourself consumed with jealousy. Making yourself sick over a mere speculation, not even a fact. 

You also wondered if his cock shared the same fiery hue? In your recollection, dark curls adorned his lower abdomen, though it had been quite some time since you last saw him bare-chested. 

As soon as he caught sight of you, he dashed over and enveloped you in a hug, his cigarette dangling from his lips. He appeared before you in a simple ensemble of a sweatshirt and jeans, the fabric obscuring the contours of his arms and thighs that you once found fascination in observing. “Hey you!” Unsure how to respond, you shakingly wrapped your arms around him, returning the embrace. Inhaling deeply, you took in his scent, feeling a closeness you had never experienced before, yet paradoxically distant due to the barrier of his thick clothing. The blend of his cologne and sweat stirred a sense of homesickness within you, as if Patrick had always been where you belonged, your home.

He pulled away from the hug, a huge beam on his face. You were confused by his action. He had never so much as touched you before, so hugging you was a whole new level. Was the sudden intimacy due to the fact that it was only the both of you? Free from the presence of Tashi and Art?

“What brings you here?” You inquired politely. "Tashi." He replied, a sly grin forming on his lips. Your eyebrows arched in surprise. "Oh? Congrats!" You mustered a semblance of happiness, though it was a challenge. What a fucking cunt. You were glad she had brought him back here, but you couldn’t shake the thought of Patrick being all over her later tonight and fucking her like never before. "I should get back. She’s waiting for me. Didn’t want me to smoke inside." He said, extinguishing his cigarette with a stomp. How could she? Watching Patrick smoke was the most enticing thing ever.

“I guess I will see you tomorrow for lunch?” You asked, hopeful. Tashi couldn’t monopolize your man like this. She should at least let you have him for lunch and dinner. Watching Patrick eat was one of your small joys. He was a messy eater and devoured his food as if his strict athlete's diet didn't exist. He often ended up with food all over himself and stains on his shirt, but you found it endearing. Every time, you had to resist the urge to lean over the table and lick his face clean. “Sure, see you.”

●

The day had been dragging on slowly. Classes were boring, and being back at your dorm wasn’t any better. You laid on your bed, staring at the ceiling and waiting for the hours to pass. A knock pulled you out of your reverie. When you opened the door, you found Art standing there with a huge grin on his face. Of course, he was here now that Tashi was busy. “Hey babe.” He enveloped you in a hug and planted a kiss on your jaw. Babe? You had never been the type to use pet names before. "I missed you so much." He mumbled, his mouth all over your neck, covering it with kisses. You knew he was lying, you hadn't crossed his mind a single second before Patrick's return.

You tilted your head, allowing more of his attention, feeling the warmth of his breath against your skin. "It’s been so long, I thought I was single." You teased, a playful edge to your voice. Art whined softly at your comment, his pout making him look even more guilty. "You know phones exist, right?" He avoided the question with a nuzzle against your neck, his lips brushing your skin in a way that sent shivers down your spine. "You think I’m just going to take you back because you’re acting all cute and affectionate?" He nodded eagerly, his eyes wide and hopeful. "You will have to work for it." Your hand moved to the waistband of his shorts, pulling it back just enough to peek at his growing arousal. "Work very hard." You added, your voice dropping to a husky whisper. Truth was, you didn't really want him back in your life, but horniness was making you take unwise decisions. The logical part of your brain screamed caution, but the way he looked at you, the sight of his beautiful cock, and the familiar scent of him clouded your judgment. Plus, at this exact moment, Patrick was likely balls deep into Tashi and you couldn’t do anything about it.

He flashed a triumphant smile at you, clearly pleased with your response. Without breaking eye contact, he grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head, revealing the toned muscles beneath. Taking your hand, he guided you towards the bed, his touch gentle but insistent. Art’s intentions were clear. He was ready to show just how hard he was willing to work to win you back. The night was young.

●

You: Guess who came back sucking on my tits the second you came back. Patrick As expected? You do have really nice tits.

Had Patrick been paying attention to your body? His words kept replaying in your mind, each repetition making your core grow hotter. You had never considered your breasts as an asset until now. Sure, you knew you had decent-looking boobs, Art had been crazy about them, but realizing that Patrick looked at them with such appreciation changed everything. At that moment, you decided that bras were now out of your life.

You: Did you take a look at Tashi’s tits between two sessions of eyeing mine? How are things going between you two? Patrick: We talked. Kinda. Fucked too.

The news, although very predictable, hit like a sucker punch, knocking the breath from your lungs. You wanted to cry.

You: So that’s why I have Art back. He can’t do anymore ass kissing with Tashi if your tongue’s already there. Patrick: Why are you so mean to him? You: Don’t you think it was unkind to leave me alone for weeks?

Patrick did not respond to the message, leaving your question hanging in the air. Patrick was capable of doing anything except accept the fact that Art was a flawed human being.

●

Lunch in the cafeteria did little to alleviate the tension among all of you. While things seemed fine between you and Art, your relationship with Tashi remained strained. As for Patrick, you didn’t know. One second he was complimenting you and the other giving you the cold shoulder, so it felt. Aside from a few insignificant remarks, everyone was mainly silent. “Let’s go practice.” Art said, nodding toward Tashi. Tashi gave Patrick a gentle kiss on the cheek. You half-expected Art to do the same out of courtesy, but your cheek remained untouched. You didn’t exist when Tashi was around. They gathered their trays and headed to the counter, leaving you and Patrick alone.

“Art is pissed at me, I don’t get it. It’s not like I tripped Tashi.” Patrick blurted out. “Even Tashi forgave me!” He sighed, leaning back in his seat before switching to another. “To be honest with you I never understood why they were mad at you to begin with.” You shrugged. It had all happened so suddenly that you had no time to analyze the situation. Art’s unkindness was still a mystery. “Oh thank god, I thought I was going crazy.” He said, sitting down next to you and grabbing a slice of bread from your tray, taking a bite. There was something oddly captivating about his chewing and the crumbs scattered across his lips. You found yourself wanting to lick them off. “I can try to find out what’s bothering him, if you want.” You offered, your gaze still fixed on his lips. “You’re a saint.” He said, puckering his lips and blowing a kiss at you. 

Was this how Patrick Zweig behaved when he saw you as a friend? His overly flirtatious manner was making it difficult for you to think clearly. “Oh, far from it.” You replied absentmindedly, your mind filled with unholy thoughts of laying him on the table, straddling him and tearing his clothes off. “You’re right, I’ve heard things.” He said with a playful grin. You rolled your eyes and stole the slice back from him, taking a bite. “If you want my best guess, he’s just being an ass. That’s his thing lately.”

●

The routine was back on : Art would clandestinely enter your room at night whenever the urge struck him. Without so much as a word or invitation, he'd launch into a monologue about his day. After a few minutes of venting, he'd typically undress you and fuck you until dawn. While the encounters were generally pleasant, not always culminating in climax. Art knew well enough how your body worked to make it worthwhile. 

Art was sitting on your bed while you occupied the desk chair, both of you facing each other. "Patrick seems to be worried you're mad at him." You mentioned, uncertain of what response to anticipate. You were already convinced that Art was pissed off at his friend and deep down, you knew why. Would Art lie to you or be brave enough to assume his conflicting feelings toward his friend. As Art unbuttoned his pants, he glanced up at you, his expression almost incredulous. Was the idea of you conversing with Patrick really so unbelievable? "How do you know that? Do you two talk?" He questioned, a nib of jealousy detectable in his voice. "Sometimes. He used to ask a lot about Tashi and you while he was on tour. He wanted to ensure both of you were doing well. He missed you guys tremendously." Art snorted loudly, his tone tinged with amusement at your sudden interest in Patrick. "Typical of him. Chatting with everyone except the ones who matter." He remarked, pulling off his shirt. "He just wanted assurance that you'd be open to hearing from him. Can’t you understand that and be nice?" He tossed the shirt in your direction. "Are you joining the Patrick Zweig fanclub now? Should I call him up so you can give him a warm welcome?" He mimicked a fellatio, his fist thrusting towards his face as his tongue pressed against his cheek. Yes, please, do it. The idea was enticing, you couldn't deny. “You’re insane.” You sighed, standing up and throwing back the shirt with force. "I hate how effortlessly everything falls into place for him. He believes he can simply return, and everything will be back to how it was." You rolled your eyes as you sat beside him and gave his thigh a comforting pat. "He's your closest friend. He came back for you, and yet, you're treating him like shit. At the very least, you should have a conversation with him." You urged, pressing your lips against his in an attempt to soothe him. "He came back for Tashi." He corrected with a hint of frustration. Tashi again. You liked the girl, most of the time, especially when she would get Art out of your hair, but she was beginning to hit on your nerves. "And what if he did? You're always with Tashi too. Would you blame him?"

With a playful shove, you pushed him onto the bed and straddled him, firmly pinning his hands above his head. "Now, be a good boy and make up with your best friend before I really call him and give him a warm welcome." You teased. He laughed, swiftly rolling you over so that he was now on top, his hands gripping your thighs. You appreciated these rare moments when he would take control. "Give me a warm welcome instead." He murmured, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

You had to admit, it felt surprisingly good having Art back in your life. He was scratching an itch you couldn’t quite reach on your own. But you weren't naive, you understood why he was there. It irked you that he was playing the same manipulative game you were. If you didn't outwit him quickly, you would end up being the punchline of this twisted joke. You knew it was time to have a serious talk with Tashi.

●

After your passionate moment with Art, he decided to take your advice and talk to Patrick over a game of tennis. With the boys out, you found yourself standing in front of Tashi's door. When she opened it, her surprised expression spoke volumes. "Can I talk to you?" you asked softly. She hesitated only for a moment before widening the door to let you in. The room was filled with Patrick's belongings, his distinctive scent lingering in the air. You sat on her bed and patted the spot next to you, inviting her to join.

"I need to have this conversation with you because I consider you my friend and I trust you." The words felt hollow, a facade masking your true intentions. Initially, your approach was far from genuine, but over time, you'd grown to appreciate and even admire her. Yet her recent distance had revealed how little she valued your friendship and you simply stopped giving a fuck about her. "Even if I felt abandoned by you." You continued, a hint of vulnerability seeping into your voice. She nibbled on her lips, anxiety evident, and nodded. "I know, and I'm sorry about that." She murmured. "I know your injury isn't easy to handle, and I could have been there to help you through it. But you chose Art over me." Here came the guilt-tripping. If you wanted to regain the upper hand, they needed to see how poorly they had treated you. Perhaps realizing how much time they'd spent together lately would open their eyes and finally bring them together, leaving you to be Patrick's shoulder to cry on. "I didn't..." She began to explain, but her words faltered, lacking conviction. "I didn't see either of you for weeks. But then suddenly, yesterday, Art remembered I existed. And I know why. Because last night, you chose Patrick over him." You revealed, trying to play the part of the wronged woman. Lowering your head, you pretended to struggle with voicing your concerns. "You're being ridiculous, we're just friends. I swear." She protested. Whether she truly believed it or was simply an incredible actor, she sounded convincingly sincere.

“I don’t know what is going on between you two…” You played with your nails in an attempt to act hesitant. “Nothing!” She assured you once more. “But please, stop playing with us, it’s unfair. I don’t want to be the girl he uses to jerk off in when you’re not giving attention to him. And I’m sure Patrick doesn't want to be just a dick to you.” The words were crude but necessary.

“Things like this happen all the time. I can understand, I won’t make a scene. But please, stop lying to yourselves. And if I’m wrong and there’s nothing, please make things clear with Art so he finally stops hoping you will notice him.” If she didn't grasp your point now, Tashi Duncan truly was the dumbest girl you knew. "Alright. I will get going. Goodnight, Tashi. I hope I will see you around." She nodded and muttered a small ‘goodnight’ to you.

You closed the door behind you, unable to suppress the smile forming on your lips. Tashi was feeling like shit. Good. You hoped she would question everything in her life. You knew your plan would work better on Tashi than on Art. More than being called a cheater, Tashi dreaded being called a manipulator and a bad friend.

●

You sat on the floor of your room, a magazine in your hands, tensely flipping through the pages but the words and images couldn't hold your attention. You were anxiously waiting for Art to arrive. You were supposed to go out tonight, and part of you wondered if he was trying to make amends for the distance he had put between you over the past few weeks. But he wasn't there. He was more than an hour late, and you had no message from him. Where the hell was he? More than the date itself, you were impatient to find out if Tashi had mentioned your little encounter to him.

Finally, a knock sounded on your door. "Come in!" You called out eagerly. When Patrick entered your room, your voice wavered. How unexpected. “Tashi just broke up with me.” He revealed, prompting you to roll your eyes in response. Your scheming had paid off. Tashi had made her choice, likely explaining Art's absence. A surge of triumph swept over you. However, Patrick appeared devastated so you held it in. Fortunately for him, you would be there to cheer him up.

"Grab a beer from the fridge.” You gestured, hoping to ease him into opening up to you. Gaining his trust was crucial, it could lead to anything. "What was the reason?" You inquired casually, masking your enthusiasm. "She said she realized what we had was going nowhere." He replied, bending over to retrieve a bottle from the fridge. Your gaze lingered on the curve of his backside. What a firm tasty looking ass.

"So I guess that's why Art's not answering." You questioned, though you already knew the answer. Flipping a page, you pretended to be deeply engrossed in your reading. "We were supposed to see each other, but I guess I'm nothing next to Tashi Duncan." You muttered, reflecting on how your perception of her had changed in just just a few minutes. You used to think Tashi Duncan was the shit, the girl who had everything you wanted. She had Patrick, a promising future, passion, and beauty. Now, she was just a single girl with a shattered future and a useless passion. 

"What's his deal?" Patrick asked as he uncapped the bottle and settled down in front of you, his long, muscular legs crossed. Even the simplest gestures from Patrick ignited a fire within you, leaving your body warm and your mouth dry. You found yourself mesmerized by the curl pattern of his leg hairs and how his shorts barely grazed his thighs, revealing faint tan lines. "I'm not sure he's into me." You confessed, feeling vulnerable in Patrick's presence for the first time. Everything before had been calculated to sneak yourself into his life, but now you spoke the truth. No matter how much you had manipulated Art, it seemed he was playing you back. "Who wouldn't be into you?" Patrick's words echoed in your mind. Who indeed? Then why, Patrick, aren't you? You knew he was merely being kind, yet his comment caused your heart to skip a beat. You lifted your gaze to meet his, offering a grateful smile.

"I think his heart is elsewhere." You stated, locking eyes with him. "I'm sure there isn't anything between him and Tashi." He attempted to reassure you, though you sensed his own growing doubts. "I don't mean just Tashi." You interjected, raising your eyebrows, silently urging him to catch on. It took him a minute. "Oh. I don't think Art swings that way." He chuckled nervously, taking a sip of his beer to deflect the tension. "Do you?" You asked, curious to discover more about the man you had loved for so many years.

He gazed into the void, quiet for a few moments before sighing and shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t know. Maybe?” His eyes absentmindedly fixed on your magazine. So it seemed boys were in fact also in the competition for Patrick’s heart. You fought the urge to sigh in frustration, not wanting to appear judgmental about his sexuality. “I actually had a crush on Art back when we were teenagers. Did he tell you about the jerking off?” His eagerness to share the story was palpable. “He did. We had a pretty wild night after that.” You replied, recalling the intense masturbation competition you both had after the story.

"You're welcome." He chuckled, flattered by the revelation. You had never truly noticed the timbre of his laughter before, finding it almost heavenly. If you weren't already deeply in love with him, you might have fallen again right then. In that fleeting moment, you found yourself fixating on his teeth, marveling at their straightness and whiteness despite his smoking habit. When he grinned, it was like he had more teeth than seemed humanly possible, each one perfect in their own way. The desire to feel them sink into you surged through you, an urgent need that couldn't be ignored. You needed him. Tonight, you decided, would be the night you fucked Patrick Zweig. But for that, you had to make a move. "You know, my first time humping a pillow sort of involved you too.” You confessed, finally revealing one of your deepest secrets to someone else.

"Me?" You nodded, then continued with the story. "I was a young, impressionable girl, and what's more impressive than sweaty, shirtless tennis players? You just happened to be there." You lied. He was the sole focus of those fantasies. There was no one else present, just Patrick and his ridiculously tight shorts. Like tonight, just you and him and those damn shorts. "You're welcome, once more." He teased, bowing as if he were an actor on the stage of your imagination. "You should have approached me back then. I would have gladly helped you make those fantasies more vivid, maybe by showing you a ball or something." He remarked with a playful smile, to which you managed to respond, though inwardly you felt like crumbling. Years spent trying to capture his attention had led to nothing. And now, he was casually admitting to being open to anyone back then? Did that mean you weren't good enough to be even just ‘anyone’? "Do you ever remember seeing me back then?" You asked him, needing to hear the truth, no matter how painful. He pondered it for a moment, long enough for you to realize he didn't recall. "I wish I could.” He replied. Why did he wish that? Did he see your presence in his life as something valuable? You remained silent, your gaze fixed on the magazine, trying to absorb the words on the page to keep tears at bay.

"What about you, by the way? Have you ever experimented with a girl?" His question broke the silence, and you silently appreciated him for that, despite the randomness of the inquiry. You could feel yourself sink into sadness before that. “Maybe?” You answered briefly. “That’s all? Tell me more!” He took a sip of his beer and leaned closer, eager to hear your story. “It was brief and innocent so don’t get excited.” You sighed, pointing your index finger at him. “Too late!” He joked, smirking at you. “Your girlfriend, well ex.” You continued, noting the sudden change in his expression. His face had dropped instantly. “Just a kiss.” You reassured him. “I’m not sure how I would label myself but that night if she had wanted to experiment more, I think I would have gone along with it.” It was true, you would have fucked Tashi, regardless of whether Patrick had been involved or not. “Believe me, Tashi has experience with girls.” He remarked, leaving you momentarily stunned. It made perfect sense, though you felt a pang of disappointment. “Oh so it was just me not being her type?” You feigned heartbreak, clutching your chest as he nonchalantly shrugged in response. In reality, that revelation really stung, another missed chance to explore what Patrick had experienced. “That’s ok, I’m still young. I have time to fulfill my fantasies.” You said with a pretended tear-wiping gesture, masking your true feelings.

"What kind?" His question felt intrusively intimate. His body so close to yours as he was delving into your kinks. This scene reminded you of the scenarios you often imagined late at night while teasing your clit. “I don’t know. There are many things I haven’t experienced. Like eating a girl out, pegging, cuckolding, choking, stuff like that.” Why did admitting your kinks in front of Patrick make you feel embarrassed? You wanted him to see you as someone open to anything, a woman comfortable with her sexuality, and the epitome of a cool girl.

"Choking? Art doesn't even do that?" He asked, confusion written all over his face. Art had probably recounted the one disastrous attempt you both had made. "Not really." You admitted with a sigh. "We tried, but he's too scared he will hurt me so he was more or so… hugging my neck, like a scarf." You grabbed the beer from his hand, took a sip, and then placed it back in front of him. "I should give him a class.” He joked, smirking at you. "Oh, so you're an expert?" You teased, feeling the conversation shift into flirtation. You had to analyze your game and play your cards right. You watched him gulp down the rest of the beer, a proud smile spreading across his face. He nodded.

"The trick is…" He began. "...to place your hand near the collarbone, not up here." He pointed to the area beneath his chin. "It's not about applying too much pressure, unless that’s what you’re into, of course. It's about holding firmly. And it's better to squeeze the sides of the neck rather than the front."

"Like this?" You placed your hand around your neck, attempting to follow his advice.

"No, wait. Stand up." He instructed. Both of you stood, and he placed his calloused used-up hand around your thin neck, gripping it firmly. In that moment, you felt like his racket between his hands. You let out a slight gasp, licking your lips as your eyes locked with his. The moment his hand closed around your neck, you realized it wasn't the sensation of being choked that enticed you. It was the feeling of surrendering control, of putting your life in someone else's hands, that made your legs tremble. Without thinking, you reached for his crotch, grabbing his dick through his shorts. He was semi-hard. He looked at you, confusion flickering across his face as he immediately released his grip on your neck. "Don't do that, or I won't be able to control myself." He warned. You had crossed the line, there was no way back now.

You surely didn’t want him to control himself. You craved for him to take you right there, right then. Continuing to stroke his length, the fabric was the only thing separating you from the object of your fantasies. He buried his face against your shoulder, a mixture of neediness and hesitation evident in his actions. You slipped your hand into his underwear and pulled out his dick. After hearing Tashi talk about it so much, you had imagined plenty of things, but the reality was beyond your expectations. While its length was a bit above average, it was the girth that was truly remarkable. You couldn’t ignore the sight of his uncircumcised head. You had only seen those in porn before, and you weren’t sure how to proceed. "Wow…” You stepped back until you reached your desk, sensing his inner conflict about whether to retreat as well. Perching on the edge of the desk, you seized the elastic of his pants and pulled him closer. You licked your palm, ensuring it was slick with saliva, then wrapped your hand around his length. Slowly, you pulled back his foreskin to reveal his head. Your eyes remained fixed on the captivating beauty of Patrick's member. Patrick’s hands, which had been resting still on your knees, slowly made their way up your legs. His touch burnt your skin. If he touched your thighs just right, you knew you could come on the spot. His hands were now under your dress, exploring the fabric of your panties. You were thankful that Patrick had found you on a date night. You were clean, shaven, and wearing your sexiest underwear. You gasped when you felt one of his hands slip inside your panties, his fingers brushing against your folds. Oh my god, Patrick Zweig was touching your pussy, and you were touching Patrick Zweig’s dick. You bit your lower lip, anticipating as he rubbed your cunt. You continued to jerk him off, reveling in the sounds you were eliciting from him.

In a swif movement, he slid the straps of your dress down, exposing your bare tits. With one hand, he fondled your breast, while his index finger delved inside you. Leaning in closer, he circled your nipple with the tip of his tongue. "Patrick..." It was the first time you had moaned his name directly to him, a name usually reserved for your private moments alone. You parted your legs, inviting him closer, still stroking him energetically with your hand. A second finger quickly joined his buried index but you wanted more, you wanted him. "Fuck me..." You pleaded, gazing at him with desperate eyes. He met your gaze and withdrew his hand from your panties, stirring a whimper from you at the loss of contact. You could sense the conflict in his expression. He knew it was wrong, but the desire was overwhelming. You knew it was for you. He closed his eyes briefly, exhaling heavily, then shifted the crotch of your underwear aside. You felt the tip of him rubbing against your entrance before he swiftly entered you. If he wrestled with his conscience, it was a fleeting battle. You wrapped one leg around his hip and gripped his buttcheeks, pulling him closer to you, seeking the intimacy and connection you had desired with him for years. 

There was nothing tender or affectionate about your actions, you both moved with an animalistic urgency. Patrick was fucking you in a way that no one had before. The noises escaping your lips were uncontrollable, matched by Patrick's own passionate moans. Determined to give him an unforgettable experience, you poured all your energy into matching his thrusts with your own, both of you lost in ecstasy. While Patrick lavished attention on your nipples, your lips yearned for his touch, craving attention amidst the raw intensity of your pounding.

Both of you were so absorbed in outperforming each other, striving to make the other come the quickest, that neither of you noticed the sound coming from the door. There were insistent knocks. “It’s me, I’m sorry I’m so late.” Hours late, Art's voice finally came through the door. Patrick placed his hand over your mouth to silence you. The presence of Art outside seemed to drive him to fuck you even harder. You sank your teeth into his hand and tugged at his hair, determined to elicit delicious sounds from him. You were silenced but he wasn’t. You were willing to risk being caught just from the thrill of it. Just for the sensation it would bring you in that exact moment.

“I talked to Tashi… I understand if you’re mad…” Oh, you were the opposite of mad right now. “Text me if you’re awake.” And with that he left. Had Art been more persistent and attempted to turn the doorknob, he would have stumbled upon you, legs entwined around his closest friend, who was avidly thrusting into you with his shorts pooled around his ankles.

Patrick's hand left your mouth and returned around your neck, the other firmly gripping your ass. The lack of air made you desperate to moan his name, but all that escaped were gasps as you tightened your legs around him, drawing him nearer. Despite feeling dizzy, you continued to bounce against him eagerly.

You longed for him to meet your gaze and kiss you, but Patrick kept his head resting on your shoulder, eyes closed. The only sounds were the manifestations of his pleasure through his moans and cries. You sensed his body shudder against yours as he gripped the base of his dick, preparing to withdraw.

“No! Fill me up, please.” You begged, voice barely audible. You reached between you, grasping for his balls and squeezing one firmly. They were full, brimming just for you, and you couldn't bear to waste a drop of that precious seed. “I’m on the pill.” You assured him. Patrick only needed little persuasion to remain deep inside you. As a final effort, you tightened around him, intent on luring every last drop from him. He grunted your name as he climaxed inside you. His gaze locked on you as you welcomed his release, each slow thrust pushing you closer to the edge. It was watching Patrick reach his peak and call your name that finally pushed you over, making you explode in a breathy moan.

Patrick Zweig had come inside you. You had made Patrick Zweig come. You! Patrick Zweig! The reality of it was almost surreal, but the warm sensation inside you served as a proof.

He finally released your neck, and you let out a loud gasp, panting to catch your breath. As he slowly pulled out, you whined at the loss of contact, quickly closing your legs to keep his load inside you for as long as possible. The silence that followed made you anxious. He had not said a word yet, just looked at you, biting his lower lip nervously. Was he regretting it already? Then he started laughing. What the hell was so funny? He wrapped his arms around you, resting his head against your breast. You let yourself melt into his embrace, stroking his hair. "I wanted to do that for a while.” He confessed. Did he? Really? "Me too." You replied quickly, relief and joy flooding through you.

●

Afterwards, you had continued to fool around in your bed for hours. Mouths and fingers exploring every body part. Now it was daylight and you laid sprawled across him, your limbs entangled in an intimate embrace. Your head rested on his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat like a comforting melody. As your fingers twirled the soft curls of his chest hair, Patrick held you close, his fingertips gently caressing your hip in a soothing motion. You wanted him to fuck you once more, but something seemed to be holding him back.

You could hardly believe it had happened. The only evidence was the state of your sheets: wet and stained with various body fluids. And the ache in your cervix. Tashi had been right about that too. Patrick loved sliding himself fully inside, regardless of the pain it caused.

The delicate way he touched you felt far more intimate than when he was inside you earlier. You still craved his kiss, which he refused to give. Every single time you had tried to move closer to his face, you were met with his cheek. Weren’t you good enough for him?

“I’m going to break up with him. As soon as I regain the use of my legs.” Patrick chuckled, playfully hitting your thigh. “No, don't do that.” No? Why not? You just had sex with your boyfriend’s best friend. Wasn’t this the beginning of your life with Patrick? “If he’s going to mess around with my girlfriend, I might as well borrow you from him.” Your heart sank. Was this all it was? Revenge? You wanted forever with Patrick, not just a quickie to get back at his ex and his friend. Yet, if this was the only way to have him, you were willing to be part of his scheme. “You know I messed around with your girlfriend too.” You reminded him, hoping he would see how ridiculous his plan sounded. “Should I fuck Art to get back at you then?” He proposed. Okay, so he thought all of this was a joke. “Only if you let me watch.” You said, a smirk on your face. You were going to play his game until he would realize that you are the only one for him. You could do that. Fuck Art. Literally and figuratively. In response, he pinched one of your nipples. You whined, sinking your teeth into his in return. “Do you have any place to stay tonight?” You asked, covering his chest with gentle pecks. You were curious to know if he would accept Art’s invitation to sleep on the floor of his dorm when you had a perfectly good bed for him. All he had to do was fuck you.. "I guess Art’s room.” So you weren’t even good to sleep next to. “Art invited me to the Kappa Sigma party." Patrick mentioned casually. Ah yes, the party. You had received an invitation as well. The captain of the tennis club, a frat boy, had extended invitations to the entire club. It appeared both you and Patrick were Art's plus ones.

You weren't particularly looking forward to the event. Tennis players were so… psychotic. Except Patrick, of course.

“I’m invited too. Won’t it be awkward to be in the same room as Art?” You traced kisses up his neck, following the curve to his jaw. Gradually, you moved towards his lips, but just as you approached, he turned his head, and your lips brushed against his cheek. He still refused to kiss you. You had fantasies of becoming his little whore for years, and now those desires were becoming a reality. You were only good enough for his cock. “Why would it be? You’re his girlfriend, I’m his best friend.” 

●

After a second and third round, Patrick finally left your room. Despite the hurtful words he sometimes spoke, having sex with him felt instinctive. Whether your legs were draped over his shoulders, wrapped around his waist, or spread beneath him, he always knew how to make you come.

Time had come to prepare for the party.

The most challenging part of your routine came first : taking a shower and erasing every trace of him. Unsure of whether you would be able to experience feeling Patrick so deeply inside again. The fleeting thought of stopping your pill and keeping your legs crossed for a couple days to try and baby-trap him had crossed your mind. Yet, you quickly had dismissed it. If you weren't good enough to be kissed, surely you weren't the ideal candidate to be the mother of his children. Yet. You had to convince yourself that it was only because he didn’t know you well enough yet, to prevent bursting into tears in the shower.

Once you finished cleaning yourself, you turned on the radio, filling the bathroom with music as you applied makeup in front of the mirror. You had gotten better at this. With effort, you could clean up nicely. Gray eyeshadow was a reliable choice as well that complemented any outfit, ensuring you couldn't go wrong. Adding a touch more blush than necessary, you finished with pink lipstick. Releasing your hair from its tie, you slipped into a short red dress with spaghetti straps. You paused to scrutinize your reflection in the mirror. Your stomach had flattened noticeably, yet it still lacked the tone you desired. You also noticed the creases your thong was creating against your hips. You discarded the problematic underwear and replaced it with simple black lacy panties. It wasn’t the most appealing choice when naked, but it looked much better under your dress. You doubted you would end up with Patrick tonight anyway. At best, you might lure a drunken Art into your bed, and that man didn’t care about anything other than your bare cunt.

Art and Patrick knocked on your door around 8 PM. When you opened it, they stood side by side, the tension between them seemingly dissolved. Was mutual betrayal the secret to a long lasting friendship? They looked striking together, almost like a destined pair drawn to each other despite their differences. Art, the polished one, sported blue jeans paired with a buttoned-up blue shirt, his hair styled just the way he knew you liked. Patrick, the more casual counterpart, wore a black T-shirt, that you knew was borrowed from Art, and washed denim jeans. His hair, ruffled and wild, seemed to have escaped a brush since you had viciously tugged on it earlier. Art was a sight, you knew it by the heads turning every time he walked into a room. But Patrick was the one who cut your breath away.

"Hey babe." Art greeted, planting a soft kiss on your lips. "Looking good.” He added, his eyes sweeping over you from head to toe. "You look like a slut." Patrick mouthed. You beamed at him. From that man? That was the best compliment you could get. "Thank you." You answered Art, though your gratitude was directed at Patrick. “Hello Patrick.” You greeted him. He only responded with a nod.

The frat house lay just a short ten-minute walk from your dorm, yet at that moment, you regretted choosing high heels over flats. Why did girls always have to dress sexy, enduring the cold just to catch the eye of their crush? Shivering slightly, you felt Art's arm wrap around your waist, drawing you close as you walked together. Patrick trailed behind, silent.

Arriving there, the frat house lived up to your expectations : it was smelly and not particularly clean. You stayed close to Art and Patrick as a group of boys and girls engaged in a lively discussion about the next tennis match. Their enthusiasm for the sport amused you. In that moment, you couldn't help but think of tennis players as the nerds among jocks. As the conversation shifted to the US Open, you noticed Patrick had drifted away. Probably dreading the moment they would finally ask him how his career was doing. Spotting him leaning against a wall with a beer in hand, you couldn't suppress your grin, feeling like a lovesick schoolgirl showing all her teeth. He returned your smile. A simple gesture that filled you with warmth knowing you were the reason behind that blinding smirk.

Your moment was interrupted by Art’s hand on your back, inattentively stroking it. His fingertips ventured under the stram of your dress, lightly tickling your skin beneath the fabric. While you and Art weren’t the most affectionate couple in public, reserving touch for intimate moments, his gesture on your back was one of the few he dared to display openly. You sensed Patrick's gaze burning into your back, his stare affecting you more than Art’s touch. You watched him drink his beer, his eyes fixed on your back. When he finally looked up and met your gaze, he tilted his head, silently commanding you to follow as he left the room. Without hesitation, you stood and followed him, though you quickly lost sight of him. Suddenly, a hand grabbed you, pulling you into the bathroom. It was Patrick, leading you into a cubicle. Once inside, he locked the door behind you both.

The small cubicle barely had enough room for both of you, and the smell made you want to gag. But those details were insignificant, your heart was pounding faster than ever. Patrick had requested you. He set his empty beer on top of the toilet and stood before you. "Blow me." He commanded in a whisper, his gaze fixed intently on you.

He didn't need to ask twice. You dropped to your knees before him. There was something deeply degrading about kneeling on the piss-stained floor of a frat house bathroom, but you were more than willing to endure it for Patrick. You unbuttoned his jeans and unzipped them, then pulled his pants and underwear down his legs. 

This was all you had ever wanted : to worship him like the god he was. Kneeling before him, you showed your devotion, rubbing your face against his full sack, nuzzling him like an animal in heat. You never knew a smell could make you so wet until now, the mix of sweat, soap and musk drove you wild. You tried to wrap your lips around one of his balls, eager to suck on it, wanting them in your mouth. Looking up, you saw him watching you with curiosity. Maybe you should save your freaky side for later.

Grasping the base of his cock, you trailed your tongue along his shaft, coating him with saliva. You looked up, striving to maintain eye contact with him. You wanted him to see how well you were taking him, to realize that you were made for him, that your mouth was meant to receive him. You pulled his foreskin back, licking around the crown and flicking your tongue over his slit. He whimpered, running his hands through your hair before grabbing handfuls and tugging on it. Wrapping your lips around his length, you started giving his cock big sloppy sucks, cheeks hollowed. "Look at you..." He whispered, before pushing himself deeper into your mouth. You moaned at his action, sending vibrations to the head of his cock nestled at the back of your throat. While you loved having him inside your pussy, nothing compared to the sensation of him filling your mouth. Cupping his sack, you started palming it, applying just the right amount of pressure. You bobbed your head, taking more of him with each movement. As his pubes began to tickle your nose, you knew you were close to taking him fully. Yet, you pulled away, wanting him to beg you to swallow his nut. “No, don’t stop, please…” That was fast.

In an effort to make this as pleasurable as possible, you teasingly licked your index finger, sucking on it long enough to give him the chance to stop you if he wasn’t comfortable. When he didn't, you placed the wet tip against his asshole, pushing past the barrier of flesh slowly, quarter inch by quarter inch. You weren’t sure if Patrick had ever experienced anything there before, but he didn’t seem to mind your finger seeking out his sweet spot. Your curiosity had led you to spend hours researching prostates online, so you knew exactly how to find it. You curled your finger, applying pressure to his prostate, causing him to whine. He loved it. 

Your lips returned to their place, wrapped around his length and Patrick wasn’t static anymore. He was now fucking your throat like you were just a hole for him to use. Each thrust drove his tip against the back of your throat. Drool dripped uncontrollably from your mouth. You gagged once but quickly refocused, determined to keep your throat open. It felt as if your future with Patrick hinged on the quality of this blowjob. Tonight, no sore jaw or nausea would stand in the way of your goal. Your finger movements matched the rhythm of his thrusts, intensifying the sensation. After a few minutes of intense sucking, he pulled back slightly, keeping just the head of his cock in your mouth. He was throbbing. He came, mouth agape and eyes shut in ecstasy. God, he looked stunning.

You swallowed his semen and stuck your tongue out, showing him what a good girl you were. You had swallowed a lot of Art’s cum in the past, but this had been an entirely different experience. A revelation. You had tasted Patrick, and now you wanted to consume him whole, to suck him dry every hour until his balls ached and he begged you to stop. You craved only his DNA inside you, nobody else, not even yours. You wanted to disappear and become an extension of him. 

Patrick rubbed the tip of his dick against your tongue, making sure he was clean. He then wiped the corner of your mouth with his thumb, fixing your smeared makeup. Your makeup was now ornamenting the base of his dick. You withdrew your finger from inside him. He started dressing up next, hiding his still semi-hard cock in his underwear, adjusting it. You helped him pull up and zip his pants before rising to your feet. It was time to leave. This was usually when he would begin to act distant, as if you somehow repulsed him in a post-nut clarity. Smiling awkwardly, unsure how to behave, you exited the cubicle.

Although a part of you had wanted to lick your finger clean and get another taste of him, you had opted to scrub your hands with soap instead, not wanting him to think of you as even more of a freak. You were bent over the sink when he placed his hand on your butt, massaging it firmly. You weren’t disgusting to him anymore? You could feel one of his fingers pressing against your asshole through your underwear trying to return the favor. “You have the most fuckable ass on earth.” He whispered into your ear, his warm breath tickling you. Was he out of his mind? You had starved and pushed yourself to your limits to get a butt like Tashi's, and you were still far from achieving it and yet he wanted to fuck yours. You looked at him, confused, in the mirror's reflection, almost in awe that the man of your dreams was drawn to you. "It sounds so tempting, but you know we can't stay here forever…" If the thrill of being caught was a motivation for him to act interested in you, you could play along. Patrick's fingers were now caressing you through the fabric, from your clit to your ass. He could feel how wet you were. You let out a gasp and quickly slapped his hand away. "Behave, and maybe I'll accidentally leave my room unlocked tonight." You left the bathroom first, trying to appear inconspicuous. No one was around to see Patrick following you out of the cramped restroom.

When you joined him, Art was engrossed in conversation with his classmates about a demanding coach and difficult training, topics that went over your head. Had he paid any attention to you, he would have seen the smeared makeup and disheveled hair, but he didn’t. You found their discussion boring and wished they would talk about something more general. Boys could be so boring. Except Patrick, there was nothing dull about Patrick. Where was he now by the way?

You scanned the room, expecting to find him alone in a corner or engaged in conversation with some guys. But that fucker had chosen to piss you off. Your attention was drawn to two girls deep in conversation with Patrick. Both were attractive, one a tall redhead and the other a petite brunette. Though they were only chatting, you sensed their interest in him. It seemed everyone wanted to fuck Patrick given the chance. One of his remarks made them both laugh. Who the hell were those whores? The only thing that reassured you in this situation was the way his eyes would occasionally meet yours while he spoke, as if he was silently watching over you.

You leaned closer to Art, resting your head on his shoulder, hoping to elicit a reaction from Patrick, but nothing. You needed to grab his attention. You trailed soft kisses from Art's shoulder to his neck and finally whispered behind his ear. "I really want to kiss you." You attempted to sound seductive, but your voice remained raspy from the aftermath of Patrick's cock forcing its way down your throat.

Art smiled at you and leaned closer, offering himself to you. You eagerly grabbed his face between your hands and passionately kissed him. His lips tasted like liquor and you could tell he had consumed a significant amount by his lack of concern regarding the presence of his peers witnessing the sloppy kiss happening before their eyes. You were practically shoving your tongue down his throat. The idea of kissing him with the very same mouth that had just taken Patrick’s load moments earlier was more thrilling than the kiss itself. Would Art taste his best friend on your tongue? Would he attribute the tangy aftertaste to the drink you had earlier? As you pulled away, you noticed Patrick watching you both with a smirk. You could tell he had thought the same exact thing as you.

You pulled away and whispered into Art's ear. "Baby, I'm really tired. I'm going to sleep. See you tomorrow." You kissed him goodnight and left the common room.

You already anticipated that Patrick would follow you to your room minutes later to finally have what he couldn't get earlier.

●

The doorknob to your bedroom turned, and you knew it was him. You were lying in your bed, on your stomach in your underwear, pretending to read a book. In reality, you had meticulously prepared yourself the first few minutes, ensuring you were immaculately clean inside. The remaining quarter of an hour was dedicated to selecting the perfect position for him to discover you in. After locking the door behind him, he stood for a moment, taking in the sight of you, before sitting on the edge of the bed. His hand roamed over your thighs and the curve of your butt.

"I can’t believe you kissed Art with that nasty mouth." He chuckled, playing with the elastic of your panties, his fingers brushing against your ass cheek. You dropped your book on the floor, rolled onto your back and looked at him with a taunting smile. “Oh I’m sure he loved the taste of it.” You teased. His hand now rested on your lower stomach, gently stroking it with light fingers. Your skin was burning under his touch. He seemed much less interested in that part of your body. “I used to spit his jizz back into his mouth and he would always swallow it like a good boy.” Patrick let out an unexpected snort, the sound echoing softly in the quiet of your bedroom, catching you off guard. Was he making fun of you? “I can’t believe you even exist.” What did that even mean? Was he repulsed by you and your actions? The fact that his hand lingered so close to your womanhood, yet he refrained from touching you to ease the fire in you, didn’t reassure you much. What if you had ruined everything?

He leaned in closer, closing the distance between your faces. It was something you had observed about Patrick before : how intimately he needed to be to communicate. He looked at you with a yearning in his eyes, a playful giggle escaping his lips. It was clear he had indulged in a few drinks as well. "What?" You asked, a smile on your lips as your eyes remained locked with his mesmerizing green gaze. "I want to taste that tongue too." He said. Oh god, it was happening, the moment you had always waited for, when everything in your life would suddenly click into place. "Then do it." You teased, sticking your tongue out playfully at him. Kissing him would mean crossing a new boundary in your relationship. It wouldn't just be about fulfilling primal desires, it would also satisfy your craving for affection.

You could feel the heat of his breath mingling with yours. You closed your eyes as his tongue brushed against yours with an hesitant lick. His light touch, more a hesitant exploration than a proper kiss, initially caught you off guard. Deciding to take charge, you closed the remaining distance and drew him into a proper kiss, imbued with urgency.

You wanted to consume him entirely, to have him whole within your mouth. Your lips pressed fervently against his, tongues dancing and exploring. Patrick tasted of beer, a sharp reminder of his earlier indulgence and the actions that followed. In that heated moment, you wondered if he could sense the lingering taste of his own flesh and Art's touch upon your tongue. The kiss was wet, a bit too eager, your mouths struggling to find harmony. Patrick was a messy kisser, and you savored every chaotic second of it. His enjoyment was evident in the sounds he made : a captivating blend of moans and gasps for air.

Saliva mixed as your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, wanting more of him, needing more of this connection. His hands found your hip, drawing you in until there was no space left between your bodies. Each movement desperate, as if trying to convey all the unspoken words and feelings you had kept hidden all at once.

When you parted to catch your breath, you kept your lips pressed against his, inhaling his oxygen as if it were your own. Wow. You thought, still trembling from the encounter. Your world would never be the same now that you had experienced such bliss. Once more, the visions washed over you, images of wedding, babies, and growing old together. But they were abruptly interrupted by Patrick's impatience. "Roll over, I want to see your ass." He demanded. He didn't need to repeat himself. You existed to fulfill his every command. If he desired you as his slave, you would oblige without hesitation. You surrendered onto your stomach, glancing sideways to observe his next move. He gently pulled down your panties, and you assisted by lifting your hips. His hand came down hard on your butt, delivering a sharp spank that silenced any further movement from you. A startled moan escaped your lips in response. It seemed like if there was one thing in this world Patrick Zweig took seriously, it was ass play. After the sting of the slap, he replaced it with warm, tender kisses on your bottom. He slid his fingers between your cheeks, circling your asshole before gliding down to your womanhood, plunging his index finger inside you. "You're so wet for me..." He murmured. You bit your lower lip, nodding eagerly. You were always wet when it came to him, as if his presence kept you in a constant state of arousal. He added a second finger, spreading them apart to widen you. "Get on all fours for me. Spread those sweet cheeks of yours." He commanded. You obeyed without hesitation, getting on your knees and reaching back to spread yourself open for him. Your chest supported your body weight as you positioned yourself, completely exposed and vulnerable, offering yourself fully to your lover, your panties hanging on your legs. 

Then, his lips joined in, and you felt his tongue on your clit, softly sucking the bud. A moan of his name escaped your lips. His face was buried deeply between your legs, the tip of his nose brushing against your entrance. It was so different from when Art went down on you. Art was meticulous and slow, but Patrick was messy and eager, mirroring his kissing. You couldn't tell if you were extra wet or if Patrick was just salivating like a starving man. His tongue slid up to your asshole, and he began flicking it there, sending shivers through your entire body. His fingers had withdrawn from inside you, but they still lingered, teasing your swollen folds, roughly massaging your clit, almost abusing it. You were a moaning mess. It was the first time Patrick took the time to focus solely on your pleasure. Sure, it was likely a prelude to fucking you afterward, but for now, his own gratification wasn’t directly involved. He just wanted to make you come. He was lavishing you with long, deliberate strokes of his tongue, starting from your ass and trailing to your pussy, teasingly inserting the tip into both openings each time. As his tongue worked its magic on your pussy, you felt the waves of your first orgasm building. You gasped, pushing your hips back toward him. "Pat-..." You moaned, your legs trembling, making it difficult to stay on all fours.

His fingers neared your asshole, his index circling it before slipping the first joint inside, your juices acting as lubricant. The sensation was underwhelming, you could barely feel his touch. Why was he acting like you were a virgin? Why was he handling you so gently? You yearned for him to ravish you like a wild animal. "Fuck me already!" You whimpered, glancing back at him. He withdrew, gazing at you as if seeking confirmation, then hastily pulled off his shirt and unbuttoned his pants, kicking them off in a rush.

"Got any lube?" You nodded, opening the bedside drawer. It was filled with an assortment of accessories that made Patrick snort. "You’re well prepared." He joked, leaning over you to rummage through the drawer. When he grabbed the lube and started to pour some onto his fingers, you stopped him. "Not too much. I want to feel you stretching me…" You said, watching as he bit his lower lip, clearly affected by your words. He coated his length with a quick stroke of his hand, then positioned himself behind you, teasingly rubbing his tip against your entrance. You had always thought it was impossible to hate Patrick but in that moment, you found yourself oddly resentful of Patrick. After several agonizing strokes along your crack, he finally pushed himself into your ass. You gasped, unprepared for the sudden fullness and the way he stretched you wide. You expected him to at least take his time with his cock, that wasn’t the case.

"You've got all these toys, but deep down, you're just a cockslut." He remarked. And maybe he was right. After all, most of those toys had been used with thoughts of Patrick's cock in mind. "Look at you, swallowing me whole. So hungry." He observed as you clenched around him with all your might. It wasn't as effortless as he made it sound, but there was no need for him to know that.

He rested his hands on both your hips and began moving inside you at a deliberate pace. You instinctively pushed back against him, syncing your movements with his. The sensation of his balls slapping against your entrance sent a rush of heat through you. His balls were undeniably your favorite part of him. Was it because of their symbolic significance, representing the potential to mother his child one day? Or was it their aesthetic appeal, hanging so perfectly beneath his thick cock? You couldn't quite pinpoint the reason. Releasing your grip on your cheek, you placed your hand over his on your hip, interlacing your fingers with his as he thrust into you with increasing intensity. Oh my god, you were holding Patrick Zweig’s hand. Well, sort of. 

You really were losing it. Patrick Zweig was fucking you in the ass, and all you could fixate on was the sensation of your hands touching. “Fuck, you’re so tight…” He murmured, spurring you to tighten even more for him. As enjoyable as his thrusts were, it was his voice and fervor that pulled the moans from your lips. His free hand left your hip and stealthily made its way to your clit, massaging it with the same intensity as his movements. The combination of his fingers on your sensitive bud and the rhythmic impact of his balls against you sent waves of exquisite pleasure through your body.

You glanced back at him and were struck by his breathtaking beauty. Sweat droplets clung to his hair and nose, his mouth hung half-open, and his eyes were locked on the point where your bodies met. When he caught your gaze, he placed a firm hand on your head, pressing you into the pillow. Without missing a beat, he continued to ram into you, his grip holding you down as he drove you both to the edge.

Tears streamed down your face, but there was no pain, only an overwhelming sense of euphoria. This was divine. The joy of being with him, of fulfilling his desires, consumed you entirely. It was an ecstasy you could no longer contain. "More…" You pleaded, pressing yourself closer to him, needing him with an intensity that bordered on desperation. He was pounding into you like a man possessed, your comfort an afterthought. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the room, a rhythm that matched the frantic beat of your heart. The delicious sound filled your ears, heightening your pleasure. When your second orgasm took you over, you weren’t quite ready for it. You wanted to explode at the same time as him to experience bliss by his side but your body had betrayed you. You tightened around his cock and let out a high-pitched moan, almost too quiet to hear. Patrick continued a few more thrusts before reaching his own climax and when he finally came, he collapsed onto you, pressing you into the bed. His chest heaved against your back, his breath hot on your neck, his cock still buried deep between your cheeks. You felt him more intensely than ever before, his heat consuming you from the inside out. Breathless, sweaty and tear-streaked, you buried your face in the pillow, feeling him panting above you. He brushed the hair off your face and kissed your neck tenderly. “Wow… baby…” He whispered in your ear. Baby? If he wanted to kill you, he had just found the way.

●

Patrick had stayed the night, and it had been far more intimate than the previous one. After fucking, you both had showered together, which inevitably had led to more sex. The shower had felt somewhat pointless as you had ended up lying naked together on your stained sheets. Patrick had lit a cigarette, and amidst casual conversation that covered everything and nothing, he had mentioned his concerns about the tour not going well. You did your best to reassure him, emphasizing how he was the best player you knew and only needed to regain his confidence. He had also confided in you about the pressure from his parents to pursue a more conventional career. You had always assumed being the golden child of a wealthy family would be the easiest thing in the world, but Patrick seemed to be struggling under the weight of his family's expectations. After discussing his challenges, he had turned the conversation to you, asking about your classes and showing genuine interest in your life. It had made your heart flutter, while you enjoyed hearing about him, it meant a lot that he had wanted to know about you too. The night had continued with passionate making out until your tongues were sore, and eventually, you had both drifted off to sleep in each other's arms.

Yet, your bubble was on the verge of exploding. He was officially leaving campus tonight. Determined to prolong your time together, you had skipped classes, rarely venturing out from your room except to fetch food. Clothing had become an optional inconvenience, discarded whenever possible.

You both lay naked on the bed, your head at the foot while Patrick rested at the other end, his legs extended. The room had fallen into a comfortable silence. Between the moans that had ceased and the exhaustion that lingered, words seemed unnecessary. "You've got cute toes." Patrick remarked suddenly, his finger tracing a line along the arch of your foot. "Toes?" You asked, taken aback by the unexpected attention to such a trivial body part. Was Patrick secretly a freak like you? “Yeah, mine are all fucked from the tennis shoes.” He raised his foot to your face, exposing bunions and calluses. As you examined his foot closely, memories of a particular sock hidden under your bed flashed through your mind. A sock you had savored so intensely that it had become even more pungent, forcing you to wash it reluctantly. The desire to experience that tangy taste again overwhelmed you. Fixating on his foot, you seized it and enveloped his big toe with your lips, sucking gently as you gazed into his eyes. As you continued, you pressed your own foot against his crotch, massaging it. Despite the redness and swelling from the intense attention it had received throughout the night, Patrick seemed to overlook any discomfort, lost in desperate moans of pleasure. You switched to his second toe, giving it the attention it deserved. And so on until all of his toes were covered with saliva. "Had worse in my mouth." You chuckled, your foot still working him over. Patrick bit his lower lip, curious. "Like what?" He asked. "Oh, you know, your best friend's cock." You shrugged, causing him to sigh. "No need to be a bitch about it, you sucked him plenty, no?" Was trash-talking his friend off-limits? Wasn’t what he was doing even worse than that? "I thought it was alright until I got a taste of yours." You explained, hoping to lighten the mood. 

"I've never felt like this before." You confessed, inching closer to Patrick to meet his gaze. You sensed your words had stirred something within him. "I will never be the same." Cupping his face, you compelled him to look directly into your eyes. "Do you think I can go back to how I was living before you?" You didn't wait for his response, pulling him into a deep kiss. Deep down, you knew his answer wouldn't be what you wanted to hear. Kissing Patrick felt inexplicably right, it was a sensation you doubted anyone else could comprehend. His tongue entwined with yours, sending sparks through your body, his rough lips meeting yours in a perfect union. When you finally pulled away, you both lingered in a silent exchange, words seeming futile. "Let's grab lunch, he's probably waiting for us." Patrick muttered, stepping back and retrieving his clothes from the floor. If you wanted Patrick all for yourself, Art needed to get the fuck out of your lives as soon as possible.

●

"Did you make it home okay last night?" You inquired, your gaze fixed on Art. The glare you shot him betrayed your frustration. You hated him for even existing. "Yeah, I got back early." He replied calmly. The three of you were seated at a table, sharing a meal. You couldn't help but notice how effortlessly Patrick reverted to his usual self, while you struggled not to fixate on him and envision his fingers up your cunt. It infuriated you that he could act so nonchalantly, treating you almost like a stranger. "Really? Then why didn't you text this morning?" The accusatory question slipped out unintentionally. You hadn't bothered checking your phone much that morning, but the absence of any message from Art had surprised you when you finally did. You were itching for a confrontation, and any excuse would do. "Practice. Lost track of time." Art explained, sensing your displeasure. He knew he was in hot water. "I was waiting for your messages." You replied curtly. "Patrick and I had a lot to catch up on." Patrick? Your Patrick? The same guy who was fucking you all night? "Oh really? You were with Patrick?" You squinted at Art. He turned to Patrick, hoping for backup. Patrick nodded. "Yeah, we hung out." He lied. You had always sensed that he would choose his best friend over you, and now you were certain of it. "You're a terrible liar." You accused Art, raising your voice. "And you're no better." You pointed at Patrick, disappointed by his lack of support.

Pushing your barely touched tray away, you stood up. "I was with Tashi, but I didn't want to upset you... I knew you'd get mad." Art confessed finally. "I'm just mad that you're a liar." You sighed. "I talked to her, I think you’re mistaken about us." Art tried to reassure you. "So you don’t only talk to me when you're horny?" You confronted him, eyebrows raised, waiting for an explanation. "I don't do that." He claimed. What a fucking liar.

"Then why do you disappear when it's not about sex?" You demanded. "I haven't forgotten our date two days ago. Just one date, and you couldn't make it until it was too late to go out because you were with another girl. Do you think I'm stupid?"

At that point, you were grasping for reasons to end things with him. You didn't care if he had slept with the entire team on the frat house floor, or even Tashi. What mattered was that he was holding you back from your love story with Patrick. Without waiting for his response, you walked away from the table. You may have been the one labeled a cheating lying whore, but Art was the one left feeling in the wrong. Good.

●

You were hiding in your room, seething with anger at both boys. Patrick, for siding with Art, and Art, for simply breathing. A knock on the door interrupted your fuming. You walked over and opened it to find Patrick standing there. "I wasn't expecting you." You said, stepping aside to let him in. No matter how angry you were, you couldn't leave him standing at the door. You locked it behind him. "I told Art I’d talk to you after your fight." He began. You sighed, already bored with the conversation. "What was that about, anyway?" He asked, looking genuinely confused. He didn’t seem to grasp how irrationally you could act when it came to him. "I'm mad at you too." You confessed, crossing your arms in front of him. "Me? Why? I was just trying to act unsuspicious." He said, raising his hands innocently. "So no matter how sore my ass gets, Art is always going to be your favorite?" You asked, hoping he would reassure you of your importance to him. He didn't answer. "I said I would try to talk to you, but I was thinking of using my tongue in a better way." Sex, again. The only thing that really worked between you two. He wrapped his arms around you, placing a soft kiss against the side of your neck. You tilted your head, letting him nibble on the skin there.

Before you knew it, Patrick was beneath you, his hands on your breasts as you rode his face. His tongue delved deep inside you, expertly fucking you with it while his nose rubbed deliciously against your clit. You could tell by his gasps for air that it was getting harder for him to breathe, but you loved it. You had never had sex as much as you had this weekend, and the muscles in your thighs were terribly sore, your clit on fire, and your walls irritated but you couldn't stop. You didn't know if you would ever see Patrick again, and if you did, who knew if you would become his dirty little secret once more? You rolled your hips over his tongue, your fingers tangled in his hair, slightly tugging on it. No matter how much you focused on his mouth, you just couldn’t relax. Both exhausted and saddened by his impending departure. His beard was also chafing you so bad. You lifted yourself off his face and chose to straddle his hips instead. “Don’t like it?” He asked as you moved away from his mouth. “Love it, I just want to feel you.” You replied, pulling him into a sloppy kiss. His face was covered in your juices, and kissing him felt like eating your own self out. Patrick’s hands found their way to your ass, spreading your cheeks as wide as possible. You started grinding against his crotch, rubbing your swollen clit against his length. Both of you moaned into each other’s mouths. You knew you had to be quick. It would be suspicious for the two of you to spend too much time together. But you didn’t want to rush, you wanted to give him a proper goodbye. After a few more rubs, you slid your hand between your bodies and aligned his length with your entrance. As you sat down on his cock, the pain was sharp, your inner walls could barely handle the friction anymore. You weren’t wet enough. You quickly pulled away and grabbed the lube bottle, spreading some into your palm and coating his length. If your body couldn’t accommodate him naturally, you’d find another way to ensure he could move inside you. Tossing the bottle aside, you sat back onto his length. The slickness made it much easier.

Despite the pain, you were determined to make him come. You wanted to see his face in that moment of release, to feel him fill you up. Ignoring the discomfort, you bounced on him with relentless determination. He started thrusting up to match your pace, and you clung to his chest, riding him with fierce intensity. Nothing about your union was pleasurable anymore, but you continued, driven by a desperate need to connect one last time. You simulated a few moans to keep him engaged. The fact that you were having sex with Patrick Zweig and faking it was such a crazy idea. However, it seemed to work well enough for him to assist you in bouncing faster on his cock. He continued to fuck you passionately. Your thighs were in such pain that you wanted to give up, but you couldn't. You had to be enough for THE Patrick Zweig. Sweat was streaming down your forehead as you continued to rock your hips on top of him.

He was nearly there. His fingernails dug into your skin, and he closed his eyes. When you felt him pulsating inside you with little to no release, you realized that his body was as exhausted as yours. You collapsed on top of him, embracing him as tightly as you could. "I don't want you to leave." You told him, your eyes welling up with tears. "I know." He responded, pulling you into a soft and slow kiss.

“Now make up with him and go be a good girlfriend.” Is that what he wanted you to do? Sure, you would do anything for him.

●

Watching him depart was heart-wrenching, even though you knew he'd return soon, for Art's sake. Standing in the parking lot with Art, waving goodbye as the car pulled away, a knot tightened in your stomach. You wanted to cry, scream, throw a tantrum like a child, but you couldn't afford to. You had to maintain composure in front of Art. 

"I'm still sorry about earlier." He said. After your intimate farewell with Patrick, you had called Art to apologize for overreacting. Blaming it on your menstrual cycle, you had claimed you forgot to take your pill yesterday, and Art had paid the price. This excuse also bought you a few days' respite from him coming near your inflamed crotch. Or so you thought.

He enveloped you in a hug from behind, nuzzling your neck. "Did you go for a run again? You smell." He remarked, catching a trace of Patrick's sweat. Despite your shower, it seemed your body was becoming intertwined with Patrick's. "Yeah, I will go take a shower." You replied, meeting his gaze. "Let me come with you, I could use one too." He suggested eagerly. Dread filled you, but if Patrick wanted you to pretend nothing had happened and fuck Art, you'd comply. 

In your bedroom, you hurriedly shed your clothes, aiming to get to the shower and scrub yourself clean between your legs before Art joined. "Did you smoke in here?" He asked, making your heart race. Caught red-handed. Despite opening the window and changing the sheets, Patrick's scent lingered. "No, but Patrick was here earlier, trying to convince me not to dump your ass." You deflected, shrugging it off as you stepped into the shower and drew the curtain. Desperate, you lathered soap over your folds, trying to erase any trace of Patrick. It stung horribly. Art joined you in the shower, his hands exploring your body eagerly.

"Art... We shouldn't... My pill." You pleaded, attempting to halt his eager touch on your swollen clit, but he persisted. A gasp and a grimace of pain escaped you, mistakenly taken by him as sounds of pleasure. "I can still make you feel good." He insisted, dropping to his knees and lifting your leg onto his shoulder, burying his face in your crotch. You whimpered as his tongue teased your clit. Why was he so fixated on eating you out? Couldn't he be more like other guys who enjoyed being blown? "What if I'm bleeding?" You tried to dissuade him, but he disregarded your concern. "I don't care.” He replied. Freak. "You're so swollen, I think you might really be ovulating." He commented, his tongue still flicking over your pussy. With a sigh, you closed your eyes, praying for this to end as fast as possible.

Thank goodness, Art proved to be a gentle lover with a smooth chin. It wasn’t exactly pleasurable, but at least it didn’t exacerbate the discomfort you were already feeling. Once again, you summoned your acting skills to feign enjoyment, letting out a fabricated moan as he continued to explore your labia with his mouth. Gripping his wet hair firmly, you emitted another simulated whimper. Art delved his tongue deeper, and you silently hoped any trace of Patrick was long gone. "I'm close..." You murmured, then closed your legs around his head, simulating an orgasm. He released your leg and stood up, wrapping his arms around your neck and kissing you deeply.

For a brief moment, guilt crept in within you for manipulating the boy. However, you quickly reminded yourself that he had only ever been a conduit to Patrick, nothing beyond that.

●

It had been a few days since Patrick had come home. Although he was physically far from you, your relationship had grown stronger. You would talk online for hours, and on lucky nights, you would get to hear his voice when he called you on the phone. 

That day, you had spent hours at your computer, waiting for Patrick's AIM icon to turn green. It was already too late for you, you could tell you were madly in love. Your life revolved around Patrick, and you wanted to be available whenever he needed you. You lived to serve him. You had always been a bit excessive when it came to him, but now you were a lost cause.

You: So what’s up with you? Patrick: Thinking about your tight cunt. You: Are you? Patrick: Send pics.

He wanted a picture? Of you? That was concrete proof that you were a significant part of his life. Significant enough for him to want to keep a part of you with him while he was away. You hastily kicked off your sweatpants and hurried to your desk to grab your compact camera. Setting the timer, you bent over and spread your cheeks in front of the lens. Flash. Grabbing the camera, you examined the picture closely. You looked huge. Placing the camera back on the desk, you reset the timer and sucked in your stomach this time, ensuring to spread your labias wide. Another flash. This one looked a bit better. Your crotch looked so much healthier than during his visit. You connected the camera to your laptop and dropped the picture into the conversation.

You: You sent a picture. Patrick: Fuck, I want to be inside you so badly. You: Can I get a picture too? Patrick: Patrick sent a picture.

It exceeded all your expectations. The photos revealed Patrick's lower abdomen, his hand gripping his erect penis tightly, and his large sack prominently displayed. Unfortunately, you couldn’t see his face. Was he biting his lips? Were his eyes closed? Was he looking at your picture while touching himself? It didn’t really matter, your hand was down your panties anyway, touching yourself.

Patrick: I qualified for the Sacramento Capitals. We could see each other then. I could come pick you up tomorrow. You: Really? I would love to.

Ever since Patrick had filled you and made you complete, classes seemed utterly pointless. Skipping a few days and failing them didn't concern you. It was evident you were securing your future as an athlete's wife. However, Art posed a challenge. He expected you to always be there, playing the role of the sweet, devoted girlfriend.

You: What do I tell Art? Patrick: I don’t know, find an excuse. Your family cat’s dying or something like that. You: You know my pussy’s already dying for you.

It only took a second for your cell phone to ring. “Hello?” You answered, a smile on your face. “Am I speaking to the aching pussy?” He teased. "Aching is the word. You fucked me so hard I could barely piss without it burning like hell." You whimpered, prompting a chuckle from Patrick. "I know the feeling. Is it still sore?" It had only just started to calm down after four days, the perfect amount of time to feign a painful period and keep Art's dick as far away from you as possible. "No." You replied. "Then make it sore for me again." He said, catching you off guard. Patrick wanted phone sex? "Grab one of those little toys you have.” He instructed. You opened the drawer and picked out your favorite purple vibrator. "What should I do with it?" You teased, you knew what to do but you wanted to hear him say it. "Is it a vibrator?" He asked, his voice husky. You hummed in confirmation. "Play with your clit.” He commanded. Positioning the toy against your bud, you switched it on. "It's on." You gasped, the vibrator buzzing against your clit. "Are you stroking yourself too?" Your voice was breathless with anticipation. "Like hell, I am." Patrick replied, his voice deep and filled with desire. You imagined him as he appeared in the picture he had sent you earlier, and a moan escaped your lips at his revelation. "Imagine it's my pussy milking you." You whispered, matching the rhythm of the vibrator with the pace of Patrick's heavy breathing. "I'm fucking you so good, you're so tight around me." He groaned, his voice sending shivers down your spine. You closed your eyes, picturing Patrick above you, his body pressed against yours. "Play with your tits, just for me." Patrick urged, his voice thick with arousal. With your free hand, you slid under your shirt, grasping your breast and massaging it, imagining Patrick's hands on you. "My nipples are so hard. Like my clit." You moaned, your arousal building with every word he uttered. "Patrick..." His name escaped your lips like a plea. "I'm so hard too, baby." Patrick murmured, the endearment sending a rush of heat through you. Minutes passed in a haze of pleasure and desire. You felt your pussy clench around the vibrator as it vibrated against your folds, mirroring Patrick's intensity on the other end of the phone. "Patrick!" You groaned, the sound echoing through the room. You heard him whimper on the other side of the line, confirming he was just as affected. "Good girl, I hope you'll be as good tomorrow." Patrick whispered huskily, his voice low and intimate, leaving you breathless and eager for more. 

"I miss you so much. I can't wait to see you." You panted, the dildo still vibrating beside you. He had already hung up.

●

Coming up with an excuse had been easier than expected. Art was a family man, so when he heard about your sick aunt's health declining and your mom wanting you to be there, he nearly insisted you leave immediately. You mentioned that your cousin could pick you up tomorrow for the drive back home. It was the best you could come up with, knowing he would have insisted on meeting any other family member. 

That night, he had decided to stay over to offer his support. Throughout the night, he had managed to remain appropriate, but now it was morning, and you were both cuddling in bed. His morning wood was pressing against your stomach. "I will miss you so much." He murmured, his hands wandering to your ass, giving it a squeeze. You could feel his desire, his need for you. Your aunt was dying, and he wanted to have sex? What a weirdo. There was no way you were going to let him spoil your body. You needed to be squeaky clean for Patrick. "I will miss you too." You lied, trying to keep your voice steady. His hands became more insistent, sliding into your pajamas, but you were determined not to give in. You pulled his hands out of your pants and shook your head. "I'm not really in the mood... Want me to blow you?"

Fellatio was the easiest way to get him to come. It only took some energetic sucking and a few tight strokes before he would make that weird sound and release himself. Today wasn't any different. After about ten minutes of bobbing your head and moaning as if it were the most appetizing treat, Art exploded in your mouth. Exactly what you didn’t want. You had hoped to trick him into coming into your hand, but he had not warned you beforehand. Now what? You had always swallowed before, you couldn’t just suddenly spit it out. So you swallowed his cum reluctantly, then hid your face in his neck, pulling him into a hug. You felt sick.

You glanced at his watch. Saved by the bell. "Don't you have to go?" He followed your gaze to his wrist and sighed. "My coach is waiting." He placed a soft kiss on your lips and began dressing in the clean clothes he had brought from his room. You watched him, feeling indifferent. "Don't forget to text me once you're there." He reminded you. You nodded. "Have fun at practice." With a wave, he exited the door, leaving you alone.

The moment he left your room, you rushed to the bathroom, kneeling in front of the toilet bowl. You shoved your fingers down your throat, forcing yourself to be sick. You needed to purge any trace of Art from your body before meeting Patrick. You wanted to be pure for him.

Staring at yourself in the mirror, you confronted your reflection. You were about to live the romance you had dreamt of for two full days with the man you loved, yet you had never felt so ugly. Apart from the few precious moments Patrick granted you, you hated your life and yourself and it was showing from the outside. You brushed your teeth hard, trying to scrub away the taste of your boyfriend.

●

With your travel bag slung over your shoulder, you made your way to the drop-off area. It was risky for Patrick to pick you up right outside the campus, but you didn’t care. Sure, Art knew many students, but not many were aware of your relationship with him. You were willing to risk it, you had missed Patrick way too much. Besides, you wouldn't be exactly heartbroken by a breakup.

When you spotted Patrick's car, you hurried toward it, your steps quickening with excitement. You opened the passenger door to find Patrick greeting you with a big smile. You jumped into the car, closed the door behind you, and threw your arms around his neck, pulling him into a deep kiss. Your tongue eagerly met his, tasting cigarettes and energy drinks. You felt like you were finally home, nestled in his embrace. It had been so long that you had almost forgotten how much you loved him. "Hey, handsome." You greeted him, your heart fluttering. "Hey, beautiful." He replied, giving you butterflies. You knew he was just mirroring your words, but you chose to ignore that fact.

Once you were buckled up and had placed your bag on the back seat, Patrick started the engine and drove off campus. The drive was only a couple of hours long, but you were excited to spend time in his company.

He offered you snacks and soda, which you declined. There was no way you wanted to feel bloated and fat in front of Patrick. The radio played some pop songs that Patrick hummed along to, making you smile. You decided to sing along, inviting him to join you. Soon, both of you were singing out loud, as if you were the only two people in the universe.

“I’m so proud of you for winning your spot there.” You suddenly said, reaching for his ear and playing with it. It was the first time you had dared to touch that part of him. Somehow, it felt like one of the most precious parts of his body, maybe because you cherished it so much. “Thank you.” Patrick replied with a smile, his eyes still focused on the road as he held the steering wheel. You continued discussing tennis and university, carefully avoiding mentioning Art.

Remembering that you hadn't texted Art, you pulled out your phone and quickly typed a message.

← [To: Art - 8:13 PM] I’m with my cousin, we’re almost there.

You tried to hide who you were texting, but Patrick noticed. He fell silent. You quickly slipped your phone back into your pocket. “Where are we staying?” You asked, trying to divert his attention from your texting. “Hotel.” He replied curtly. You couldn’t believe that Art had managed to ruin things even from miles away. “What kind of hotel?” You pressed, trying to get him to talk more. “I don’t know, a nice hotel?” He shrugged, no longer smiling. You already missed the sight of his teeth. You turned to him and placed your hand on his crotch, grabbing his dick. “Will you fuck me there?” You asked, squeezing him hard to get a reaction.

He glanced at you, biting his lower lip, and nodded. You pulled your seatbelt aside and leaned over, pulling his cock out of his shorts. “Can’t wait.” You mumbled, holding his length in front of your mouth. You wrapped your lips around the head, sucking on his foreskin. “Don’t.” He whined, leaning back against his seat. “I took the car right after practice and I’ve been on the road all day. I haven't had a chance to shower yet.” You looked up at him. “You think that will make me stop? I want to do it even more now.” You said. You loved it when he was all smelly and musky. You loved your Patrick all nasty. His scent had the power to drive you mad. 

“You’re a freak.” He said, a smirk on his lips. You gripped his shaft firmly at the base, your other hand caressing his balls, while your tongue traced every inch of his length. Your mouth was all over him, intent on reminding him of what he had been missing out on. The intensity with which you pleased Art earlier paled in comparison to the energy you now put into drawing passionate moans from Patrick's lips.

Whether it was the distance or the thrill of performing the act in plain sight, Patrick came in no time, filling your mouth with his warm release. As you withdrew and tucked his member back into his shorts, his cum lingered on your tongue, a taste you adored. You yearned to savor him endlessly, wanting to hold onto him forever. Eventually, you swallowed, feeling his warmth settle in your stomach. It was probably the best spot to store it after your pussy and your ass.

When the car stopped at a red light, he grabbed your neck and pulled you into a sloppy kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth as if searching for something. You moaned softly, taken aback by his boldness, enjoying every moment of his embrace. The green light allowed you to catch your breath. “How come you never try to spit it back to me?” He asked, glancing at you. How could you explain to him that you wanted to consume all of him, not letting a single drop go to waste? That you needed to be filled by him, that it wasn’t just a want but a need? That his cum belonged to you alone? That it wasn’t even his anymore?

“You’re too tasty.” You mumbled, looking out the window.

●

“This place is crazy.” You had not visited a lot of hotels but this one had to be one of the high end. “Courtesy of daddy.” You didn’t know much about Patrick’s parents except that they were extremely wealthy. You imagined Patrick’s dad to look similar to him but with salt and pepper hairs and lines on his face. In that moment, you wished to still be around in the future to witness Patrick grow old and gray. You pulled him into a tight embrace and grabbed his butt. “Could I get the discourtesy of daddy then?”

“I have to sort my bag before the match and then I’m all yours, babe.” He said, placing a soft peck on your lips before pulling away. He started rearranging his rackets and replacing the grip tape on one of them. You watched him work, tempted to tell him what you had done with his rackets in the past when you were desperate for his touch. But some things were better left secret for now. You could however reveal how seeing him with a racket was a true turn on.

"You know, I used to fantasize about your backhand." You confessed as you watched him inspect his racket intently. "My backhand?" He responded, taken aback by the unexpected revelation. "Yes." You continued, unabashed. "I wanted you to swing that racket at me with all your strength, just like you do with the ball." By now, he understood how violence was a turn on for you, but he had never ventured into anything that could potentially harm you. Did he have it in him to be the rough motherfucker you wanted him to be? "I wouldn't even care if it put me in a wheelchair or killed me." You added boldly. "I would gladly die that way."

He stared at you with a mixture of disbelief and intrigue, as if you had proposed the most audacious plan. Yet, beneath his initial reaction, you sensed he was intrigued by the notion. When he rose from his seat and took his racket, sitting at the edge of the bed, you knew exactly what was about to happen. He patted his lap invitingly. "Come here." He said softly. You obediently stretched out across his lap, presenting your butt to him. With a gentle touch, he lifted your skirt and slid your panties down, exposing your bare skin. The first smack of the racket against your flesh made you jump slightly. You whined like one of those porn girls but you couldn’t help it.  "Hard, you said?" He asked, his voice low and teasing. You nodded, biting your lower lip, eyes closed in anticipation. He lifted his racket high above his head, poised as if preparing to serve, and then struck you with all his might. A scream escaped your lips, tears welling in your eyes from the undeniable pain. The impact reverberated through your body, the sensation lingering deep within your core. The pain was intense, but a part of you loved it. "Is this everything you dreamed of and more?" He asked, his voice tinged with amusement. You couldn't respond, the pain rendering you speechless. Instead, you nodded, burying your face in the sheets of the bed.

"I could play tic-tac-toe on your ass." He remarked playfully, setting aside the racket. Leaning in, he placed gentle kisses on the red marks, his touch tender against the lingering sting.

Things had escalated quickly. Both naked, Patrick's head was now nestled between your legs, lavishing attention on your neglected pussy. He sucked on your clit thoroughly, as if his life depended on it. Your hands tugged at his ears, now bright red and matching the color of your swollen bud. A wave of pleasure surged through you, and you moaned his name repeatedly, like a mantra.

His tongue had soon been replaced by his cock, stretching your entrance as he pounded into you with relentless force. Your legs wrapped around his waist, your hands tangled in his hair, and you struggled to keep up with his pace. The intensity of his thrusts reminded you of the first time Patrick had fucked you, but this time, his tongue was all over your mouth, filling it with his spit. You wondered if this was how he always acted when desperate for cunt. The sensation was overwhelming. You could feel yourself leaving your body, every muscle tensing up as you clenched hard around his dick. The orgasm surged through you, and you moaned into his mouth, your cries muffled by his eager kiss. Your body trembled, riding out the waves of pleasure as he continued to thrust, his own moans mixing with yours in a symphony of ecstasy.

"I'm about to come…" He gasped, swiftly withdrawing. He knelt over you, stroking himself as he hovered above. His gaze locked onto your breasts as he exploded all over your chest. Though you had fantasized about being covered in his semen countless times, you couldn't help but feel disappointed that all that cum was going to waste.

“This is so hot. Can I take a picture?” He queried, grabbing his phone on the bedside table. “You don’t need to ask, I would do anything for you.” You confessed, posing for the picture, eyes staring into the lens and legs parted.

●

That morning, you woke up nestled in Patrick's warm embrace. Despite the lingering soreness from the night before, you felt a rare sense of complete happiness. Patrick slept soundly beside you, his arms wrapped around you. With the match scheduled for the afternoon, you knew you had time to enjoy the quiet moment, watching his peaceful expression. It still amazed you that such a handsome man belonged to you, in a complex, undefined way, but still belonged to YOU. You cherished every part of him. The unruly eyebrows, the envy-inducing lashes, the delicate freckles on his prominent nose, his full lower lip, and the stubble that adorned his square chin. You gazed at him, knowing deep inside that you could never love anyone more. You remained there, lost in admiration for over half an hour until he stirred awake. As he opened his eyes, you leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss on his lips, finding charm even in his morning breath.

You sat upright in bed, the sheets draped over your naked body, feeling discomfort radiate from your sore ass. Every movement seemed to intensify the pain, so you opted to recline back against the pillows. 

"What time is it?" He asked, rubbing his eyes sleepily. Glancing at the clock, you replied. "10:53 AM." His yawn was contagious, even though you had been awake for a while already.  "Let's get dressed and go grab lunch." He suggested, rolling off the bed to head for the shower. You briefly considered joining him but decided to use the time to text Art, reassuring him that everything was going smoothly. When Patrick emerged from the shower, towel wrapped around his hips, you couldn't help but admire him with a sense of awe. Truly, you felt like the luckiest girl alive. "Your turn." He said, nodding toward the bathroom as he moved past you.

You felt like you had reached a new step of intimacy when Patrick casually entered the bathroom to use the toilet as you brushed your teeth a short while later. He nonchalantly pulled out his dick and pissed in front of you. It seemed odd to think so, but you found it insanely hot. Not the piss part, although if Patrick had that kind of fantasies, you wouldn’t mind, but his ease around you, making you feel like you were already his wife.

An hour later, both of you were showered, dressed, and on your way to find something to eat. 

Even a trip to a burger joint with Patrick felt like a date, or at least you hoped it was. Opting for water, you mentioned feeling nauseous to justify your choice. There didn't seem to be anything remotely healthy on the menu. Meanwhile, Patrick ordered a full meal: burger, fries, and coke.

Watching him devour his food with such happiness filled you with an inexplicable sense of contentment. You couldn't suppress the smile that spread across your face as he indulged in his meal, sauce smearing his chin and nose. He looked like a child. You couldn't help but picture your future children being just as messy as he was. Perplexed by your hungry gaze, he extended a fry towards you.

"I haven't had fries in ages." You remarked as Patrick offered you one. You hesitated briefly, aware of the calorie count in just one fry. More than five. You had checked the info every single time you had craved some. The grease made you think twice, but you took a bite to please Patrick. "Don't they serve these almost every day at the cafeteria?" He asked, his mouth full. "I've been on a diet." You confessed, hoping for some praise on your efforts. Art had mentioned Patrick noticed the changes in your body. Instead, he frowned, scanning you from head to toe. "I don't think you need to diet. You're perfect as you are." Perfect? You weren’t ‘just fine’, you were perfect. The compliment shook you. "Even before? I was so chubby." You said, surprised. He fed you another fry. "I never thought you were chubby." He admitted. You knew he hadn't paid much attention to you in the past, but how had he missed that? "You hardly noticed me before. But admit it, you wouldn't have fucked me earlier this year." You said, rejecting the last fry offered. "You know why I wasn’t eyeing you before." Tashi. Or was it because of Art? "But I always thought you were hot." Did he? It was hard to believe him given his previous lack of interest. "You were always Art's hot girlfriend in my mind. Well, you are Art's hot girlfriend." He corrected himself. Why did he have to bring Art into this? You dreaded whenever his name was mentioned in the conversation, knowing it could spoil the moment. Hoping to sidestep any tension, you reached out and placed your hand on his thigh, then slid it up to his crotch, giving a gentle squeeze.

"You're insatiable, aren't you?" You shook your head playfully and kept teasing him through his shorts while sipping your water innocently. "I have to save my energy for the match." He said, removing your hand. “I would usually allow a quickie but I know that won’t be enough for the little slut that you are, so keep your hands to yourself.” He whispered into your ear. You pouted like a child at his remark. You knew the sudden name-calling, as hot as it was, was due to the mention of Art. You were starting to know Patrick by heart. He suddenly felt dirty for what he was doing to his friend so he needed to degrade you to make himself feel superior. You were the whore who seduced him. He didn’t mean to fall for it. You didn’t mind that he blamed you. What bothered you was the lack of physical touch.

If Patrick wasn't going to give you what you desired, you were determined to make his life miserable until he did.

After lunch, you chose to sunbathe on the balcony of the room. You had discarded your top to achieve an even tan. "Everyone can see you, you know." Patrick commented as he settled at the foot of your lounge chair. You shrugged. Why did he care about your breasts if they weren't going to be in his mouth? He cupped one of your tits, squeezing it. "No, save your energy for the match." You mocked, echoing his earlier remarks. "Such a whore." He pinched your nipple in reprimand for your attitude, then turned and walked back into the room.

In the hours leading up to the match, you busied yourself by dropping random objects and bending to pick them up in front of him, occasionally ‘accidentally’ brushing against his dick. You could see the frustration building in his eyes. He was fed up with you.

The drive to the court was brief, yet you couldn't resist teasing him more by slowly pulling up your skirt at every turn. You felt his gaze on your legs and chest, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. Your outfit wasn't drastically different from usual, but going commando added an element of novelty, showcasing your perky nipples and tight cunt to him. He clearly didn't fully comprehend who he was dealing with.

Once he parked the car, you hopped out and helped carry his tennis equipment. If fucking you was too much for him, then carrying his rackets should be, too. You had spent the entire morning treating him like he was incapable of anything by himself. You opened doors for him, wiped the corners of his mouth, assisted with his dressing, and even offered to wipe him when he excused himself to the bathroom, always using the excuse of conserving his energy. It was obvious he was amused by the situation and also enjoyed being treated like a princess.

Standing in front of the building, he took his bag back from you. “I don’t fuck losers, so you better win.” You warned him. In truth, you didn't care about the score, but you knew he needed the motivation. You were convinced his recent losses were due to a lack of support. He needed someone to cheer for him. “I’m just saying this for you." You teased, giving his ass a playful slap. "The guy you’re playing against is kinda cute. He will do." You shrugged and climbed up the bleachers to find your spot in the audience. As you settled in, you watched Patrick disappear into the building, a smile lingering on his face.

●

The first set had been a display of Patrick's skills, his forehand blistering the lines and his serves thundering past his opponent's defenses. Cheers from the crowd echoed around the stadium, encouragement punctuated by the occasional groan of dismay from his rival. You applauded enthusiastically. Perhaps you were biased, blinded by love, but Patrick's talent on the court was undeniable. You couldn't fathom why he hadn't already won a Grand Slam.

But as the second set unfolded, you knew why. The match took a different turn. Patrick's focus wavered, and with it, his precision. Unforced errors crept into his game, and his opponent, seizing the opportunity, began to make his way back point by point. The scoreboard tilted against him, the second set slipping away 6-4.

"Zweig, come on! I know you've got more in you than that!" You shouted at him. He glanced up at you, a smirk playing on his lips. Meeting your gaze, Patrick felt a surge of determination. This match was far from decided.

Entering the decisive third set, Patrick knew he had to regain control. The tension was high as the score grew tighter with each point. Sweat covered Patrick's forehead, his muscles tense. With every stroke, he fought to assert his dominance once more, refusing to let doubt cloud his mind.

At 5-5, the match hung in the balance. Patrick served with newfound determination, his first serves finding their mark with accuracy. He broke his opponent's serve with an impressive passing shot, seizing the opportunity with a groan of victory.

Serving for the match at 6-5, Patrick felt a surge of adrenaline. His serve was met with a return, but he anticipated it perfectly, sprinting to the net to deliver a crisp strike that left his opponent stranded. Match point.

As he walked to the baseline, he caught your eye in the stands. You subtly uncrossed your legs and parted them, revealing your lack of panties to him. You didn’t care that all the court could see your pussy right now, you wanted Patrick to fully admire his prize. You could sense his distraction at the sight of you, but he swiftly refocused himself. Winning was crucial if he wanted to claim you. The final serve was met with a powerful return, but Patrick was ready. He moved forward, anticipation guiding his racket as he unleashed a cross-court winner.

The stadium erupted in an echo of applause and cheers. Patrick dropped his racket, arms raised in triumph. He had won, not just the match, but the game you both played. Amidst the applause, he searched for your beaming face in the crowd, acknowledging the essential role you had played in his victory. He wiped his face with his towel and shook his opponent’s hand. You waited until the court's audience had dispersed and the cameras were no longer rolling before you joined your man.

Leaping into Patrick's arms, you wrapped your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist. He instinctively gripped your thighs for support, his body glistening with sweat, looking more attractive than ever before. "Congratulations!" You exclaimed, drawing him into a passionate kiss. His lips tasted salty from the sweat covering his face. "Follow me." He murmured against your lips as he carried you inside the building. If he thought he could easily shake you off now, he had another thing coming.

●

Dropping you to your feet, Patrick led you to the locker rooms, which were empty for now. He pushed you into a cubicle and locked the door behind you. The scent of the room brought back memories of the frat house’s bathroom. "You've been teasing me all day. Now, you're going to pay for it." He warned. Pay for it? How? You grinned at him, sticking your tongue out playfully. He bit down on it gently, pulling you into a deep kiss, his hands roaming over your ass, groping you possessively. “Aren’t you tired after focusing so much on your tennis?” You teased, sliding your hands down his damp shorts to grasp his ass as firmly as he was gripping yours. “You’re such a cunt.” He grabbed your hands, removing them from his shorts as he flipped you over and shoved you against the way. Your nipples hardened against the cold wall. He pulled out his hard cock and plunged himself into you without any foreplay. You gasped at the sudden penetration, feigning dismay even as you loved every second of it. “People will hear us..” You whimpered as he started thrusting into you “Let them hear, I don’t care.” He retorted sharply, thrusting into you as your moans filled the room. You ensured your cries were loud enough to trick him into giving you deeper thrusts. Gripping your neck, he kept you facing the wall as you arched your back, inviting his forceful entry. Patrick exploded inside you without warning, then withdrew, leaving you frustrated. Noises beyond the door indicated you were no longer alone. 

"I should punish you like that and not let you cum." He whispered in your ear, eliciting a whimper. "Please…" You pleaded, spreading yourself for him. "I will be good, I promise." You reached for his cock, but he slapped your hand away and re-entered you slowly, inch by inch. This was how he was making you pay for it : agonizingly slow thrusts that left you desperate. Moaning louder, you urged him to quicken his pace.

Laughter and whistles drifted through the walls, signaling that your little fun was no secret to others. Everyone knew someone was being fucked in there. 

Finally giving in, Patrick began to ram vigorously, the wet sounds of his powerful thrusts reverberating through the room as you struggled to stifle your cries. "Patrick!" You moaned, your voice muffled by the wall you were almost kissing. Your orgasm washed over you, your legs shaking as you silently thanked the wall for supporting you. He slowly pulled out and flipped you around, capturing your lips in a sloppy kiss.

“Let’s go back to the hotel.” You giggled, pulling down your skirt. You could feel his cum running down your thighs, but you didn't care if anyone noticed. You wanted to parade your used-up cunt like a trophy. Patrick’s second trophy of the afternoon. Stepping out of the cubicle had been a challenge. As you stepped out, all the players turned to look at you, their faces adorned with wide grins. They knew what had happened in there, and it truly felt like a walk of shame. However, with Patrick standing beside you, holding your hand proudly, you felt like you could face anything.

●

Both of you had just emerged from the shower, wrapped in the hotel's luxurious bathrobes. Patrick sat on the bed while you positioned yourself behind him, legs on either side, tenderly brushing his hair. "I wish it could always be like this." You murmured, as Patrick closed his eyes in bliss.  "What do you mean?" He asked. You dropped the hairbrush onto the bed and began to massage his scalp. "You and me." You replied. He sighed, already knowing where this was headed. This wasn’t the first time you had expressed your desire to be with him exclusively. A request he would simply ignore, no matter how much you would make him come to try to convince him. "I can't stand seeing their faces anymore. No one understands me quite like you."

“I don’t get you. You’re just totally freaky and I accepted it.” He said, unsure if his comment would sting. But it didn’t, it was true, and you both knew it. “Please, let me be yours.” You whispered in his ear, your breath warm against his skin. Your heart pounded as you waited for his response, hoping that this time, things might be different. Patrick leaned back into you, his body relaxing further under your touch. The silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken words and possibilities. “I won’t be demanding. I will let you do anything you want to me. I will let you use me and toss me around. And when you’re done with me, I will let you fuck every pretty thing you see and not be jealous, I promise.” 

Your pleas elicited a burst of laughter from him before he fell silent, lost in his thoughts. "We can’t." He finally admitted, his voice barely audible. "I’d be the worst friend in the world."

Your hands paused in their gentle massage, and you leaned in closer, your lips brushing against his ear. "Fuck Art.. Claim me. I promise to be good." You pleaded softly, your voice a mix of desperation and longing. You eagerly began to nibble on his earlobe, craving his closeness.

Patrick turned his head slightly, his eyes meeting yours. "He’s my best friend and I already ruined things between us. This would destroy him." He replied, a sad smile tugging at his lips.

You understood that this wouldn't shatter Art. He didn't invest enough in you for it to cause any real pain. However, Patrick's betrayal would certainly sting. Yet, it would serve as the ideal pretext for Art to sever ties with Patrick, freeing himself from a friendship that held him back from Tashi.

"Plus, you probably only find this so endearing because you like chaos. You’re drawn to the secret rendez-vous, the homewrecking and the desperate fucking. I told you, you’re fucked in the head."

You sighed, resting your forehead against the back of his head. And here he was again with the agression. "You know that’s not true. I have wanted you ever since the moment I laid eyes on you. Remember the US Open Junior championship? Recall the girl waiting for Art outside the locker rooms? Did you truly believe I was waiting for Art? I simply couldn't compete with Tashi. But I promise you, I can be better than her."

He didn't respond immediately, but his hand reached up to cover yours, squeezing gently. Though he didn't speak, his subtle gesture conveyed a clear message, urging you to remain silent.

You slid off the bed and positioned yourself in front of him, loosening the belt of your bathrobe until it fell away, leaving you standing bare before him.

"Please. Tashi can’t make you come like I do.” You whispered, feeling the heat of his gaze tracing every curve of your body. You knelt before him once more, this time in a physical plea. If he sought devotion, you were prepared to demonstrate desperation.

"What about Art?" You loosened his robe and pressed your face against his crotch, nuzzling between his legs. “He can’t fuck you like I do.” You chuckled, savoring the musky scent from his balls as if it were the strongest drug. Though you had never indulged in any substances, Patrick was undeniably more addictive than anything else in the world. “I can’t do that to him…” He gazed down at you as though he were weighing the prospect of claiming you for good, even though you had been his since you were fourteen. You sensed he was on the brink of surrender. “He chose Tashi over you months ago.” You sensed his muscles tighten beneath your fingertips.

“Shut the fuck up.” His words were sharp, and so was his touch. He roughly shoved you aside, causing you to fall back onto your butt. Tears welled up in your eyes as you gazed up at him, searching for a hint of the connection you thought you shared. But it was clear : Art mattered more to him than you ever could. 

"Please" You whispered, voice trembling with a mix of heartbreak and anger.

Patrick's eyes were cold, devoid of the passion that burned between you a couple of hours ago. "You’re the one who fucked up, he didn’t do anything. They didn’t do anything." He replied, his tone harsh and unyielding. Of course, you were the only one to blame. "It started as a game, but now... I can't do this." 

“Now what?” The weight of his silence crushed you, the realization that this relationship had no future was cutting deeper than any physical pain.

“Tell me you don’t like me and I will leave you alone...” Without saying anything, he looked at you with conflicted eyes, then turned away abruptly, leaving you with a heavy silence that spoke volumes.

●

Patrick hadn’t uttered a single word at the hotel after that. The only time he spoke was to urge you to get dressed, as it was time to return to campus. The car ride back to the university was painfully silent, with only the radio and your muffled sobs breaking the quiet.

Once close to the campus, he pulled the car over to the side of the road, turning off the engine. The sudden silence was deafening. He turned to face you, his eyes filled with a mixture of longing and pain. The silence stretched on, and you could feel the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on you. Finally, unable to bear it any longer, you leaned over and kissed him. For a moment, he kissed you back with a desperate intensity that made your heart ache. But then he pulled away, breathless and shaken.

"I do care about you. More than I ever thought I would.” He whispered so quietly you had to strain to hear him. In that moment, it felt like there were only the two of you in the world. Those were the words you had been dying to hear, and it felt like he was only willing to admit them out loud once. Patrick Zweig cared about you. Maybe not as much as you cared about him, but it was a start. You were confident you could find a way to make him love you.

With a smile, you reached over to his crotch and slid your hand down his shorts, massaging him. That was the thing with Patrick, you didn’t know how to show your affection in any other way than through your body. Everything else felt...forbidden. Was it because you were in a relationship? Not exactly. Was it because you had idolized this man for so long that he had become some kind of god to you? Most likely. Patrick seemed unreal to you, and feeling his body was the only way to make sure he was real. He allowed himself to get lost in your touch for a moment, moaning at the sensation before abruptly stopping you. “Fuck, you’re truly mad.” He removed your hand from down his pants. “We can’t. Let’s drive you back.”

You had imagined countless ways to convince him to keep you. You could remain his side piece for the rest of your life, offering him your body before he went home to his wife and kids. Yet, you were certain he would find a way to reject you anyway. Deep down, you knew it all came down to his loyalty to Art, not your relationship with him. Now, you were parked in front of the campus.

“I love you.” You had wanted to tell him that ever since you first noticed him at fourteen. Saying it felt like the most natural thing in the world, it felt as natural as breathing. You nibbled on your lower lip, looking at him with hopeful eyes. You didn’t expect him to reciprocate because you knew he couldn’t. No, he wouldn’t. No one in the world could love as fiercely as you loved him. But you needed him to acknowledge it. He closed his eyes for a moment, as if absorbing your words. Taking a deep breath, he nodded in response to your confession. Of course, he already knew. 

He unlocked the door, signaling for you to leave. Reluctantly, you opened the car door and stepped out. Patrick took a deep breath, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. "Take care of Art." Not a word for you.

"I will." You lied, your voice barely audible. You did not give two fucks about that asshole. You despised him and hated your relationship with him. Just thinking about him made you feel nauseous.

And with that, you turned and walked away, leaving behind the shattered remnants of a relationship that was never meant to be. For a fleeting moment, you considered stepping in front of the car and ending it all, hoping he might finally take you seriously and feel enough pity to let you stay even just an afterthought in his mind. But when you looked back, he was already far gone.

●

Not knowing what to do now that your life had been shattered, you wandered to Art’s dorm, hoping to find some comfort. You knocked on his door with urgency until he finally opened it. “Fuck, are you okay?” He asked, noticing your tear-streaked face and runny nose. “No…” You admitted, unable to hide the heartbreak you were experiencing. “Is she okay?” Who? Oh, right, your aunt. You remembered the lie you had concocted to slip away with Patrick. “She’s really not doing well. I think she’s going to die.” You replied, knowing deep down you were really talking about yourself.

Wrapped in Art’s bed, cocooned by the blanket, your face nestled against his neck while his hands traced gentle patterns on your back. Using him to dull the lack of Patrick had become a habit over the months, but now it felt unsettling, almost like betraying him. “I can’t keep lying to you. There’s someone else. Or there was.” You murmured against his skin, sensing his body tense beneath yours. “I already know.” He confessed. He knew? Why would he persist in perpetuating this farce of a relationship? The only rationale behind this seemed to be that the relationship held some benefit for him. Was it the intimacy? The status it afforded in Tashi’s eyes? “How did you find out?” You asked, seeking clarity on the matter.

“First of all, you never feel like doing it anymore, and you’re the horniest person I know.” He said. You barely had enough energy to fuck him, plus you couldn’t scrub yourself hard enough to remove the dirty feeling. “You have marks that I know aren’t just accid—” He poked at the bruise on your thigh, an obvious bite mark. 

“And you don’t care?” You cut him off. You withdrew slightly to study his eyes, but he remained silent, offering no response. “God, you really don’t care.” You slightly raised your voice at him. You disentangled yourself from his embrace and slid out of the bed. Standing before him, hands firmly planted on your hips, you confronted him directly. “I truly wonder what I am to you. Don’t you think I went and fucked someone else because I just got tired of my boyfriend ignoring me to spend so much time with his ‘friend’ Tashi…?” You emphasized the word 'friend'. It was wrong, shifting the blame for your infidelity onto him. But you couldn't help it. You couldn't bear to be the villain in this story. Patrick was your soulmate, and Art was just there in the meantime.

“You know she needs us." Art attempted to explain, perched on the edge of his bed, his gaze fixed on you. "Us? She doesn’t need me, believe me." You reassured him. Tashi couldn't care less about you, and now that she was out of Patrick's life, you felt no obligation to keep her in yours. "Maybe because you're playing besties with her ex." He said, the way he phrased it sparking doubt about what he truly knew. Was he aware of your secret relationship with Patrick?

"Maybe someone needs to. You barely treat him like he's your best friend. And for what? Because he satisfies your little girlfriend in ways you never could?" You intended to talk about Tashi, but the parallels with your own situation felt uncomfortably apt. From the way Art glared at you, it was clear he understood the message perfectly. "You're a coward, Art. If you made a move, you could have her. But you prefer your comfort. You like having me around to keep your dick wet, but you don't love me. I'm just convenient." His eyes were red, though he wasn't shedding tears. You couldn't discern if he was sad or simply enraged. That was the perpetual challenge with Art : his reluctance to communicate. Even now, he maintained a stubborn silence. "Why her, by the way? Is it because she chose Patrick and you can't get over it? Just fuck her already. Get it out of your system. Or maybe you already have? Did she get down on her fucked-up knee and worship your talent?" You regretted mentioning Tashi's knee, but it was at the heart of the matter. The catalyst for everything.

“I fucked someone else and you won’t even react. Call me a whore, insult me, be disgusted by me. I don’t care, just say something. Grow some balls and end things with me.” You practically begged him. Patrick had no issue calling you all the names in the world. Why couldn't Art do the same?

"Let's end it." He finally muttered. You weren't sure if that was truly what he wanted, but it was definitely what you desired, and the ever-so-accommodating Art might have just said it to please you.

“Finally.” You clapped at him, more mocking than applauding his courage. "Thanks for everything." Grabbing your shoes, you left his room without looking back. Walking barefoot down the dorm hallway, a lump formed in your throat and tears streamed down your cheeks. You were crying. Who would have thought Art fucking Donaldson would ever make you cry?

You wouldn’t miss Art, but you couldn’t believe that you had let the opportunity to be with the man of your dreams slip away because of a relationship that had ended with a snap of a finger. Art had shattered your life's blueprint, the plans you had crafted since adolescence.

●

You were finally free, and you had to tell Patrick right away. At last, you could be together with the man you were meant to be with. Practically sprinting through the corridor, you hoped to reach your room before his bedtime. Grabbing your laptop, you opened AIM, hoping to see a message from him. Thank goodness he was online, but there was nothing from him. You clicked on his username and opened your chat box, scrolling through the dozens of nude pictures you had sent him. 

You: I just broke up with him. Can I see you, please? Patrick: You truly love making my life insanely complicated.

You watched the "typing" indicator flash, but despite your endless waiting, nothing ever appeared on the screen. He was now offline. In a final desperate attempt, you sent him a ‘Please,’ only to be met with an automated response:

zweigpat can't receive IMs right now. Status is unavailable or offline.

●

As you lay in bed, tears staining your cheeks, you couldn't shake the feeling of rejection that hung heavy in the air. The weight of Patrick's silence felt suffocating, leaving you to wonder if he had blocked you out of his life completely.

Hours passed, the room growing darker as evening fell. Your stomach rumbled with hunger, yet you felt emotionally drained, as if life had been sucked out of you. A knock on the door shattered the silence, momentarily pulling you out of your misery. Could it be Art offering explanations? He had to be the last person you wished to see at this moment. Was it Tashi coming for a fight? She would destroy you. You had to admit, dying in her hands sounded quite sweet at the moment.

You hesitated before making your way to the door, the anticipation gnawing at your insides. With a shaky hand, you turned the doorknob, half expecting to see Art standing there with a remorseful expression. Instead, you were met with the sight of Patrick, his face etched with a mixture of uncertainty and longing. Your breath caught in your throat as you took in his presence, your mind struggling to process the sudden turn of events.

Before you could say anything, Patrick had closed the distance between you, his lips crashing against yours in a desperate, hungry kiss. It felt surreal, almost too good to be true. There he was, standing before you. Patrick Zweig. And he was yours.

He yearned for you with an intensity you had never seen before. His desperation for your touch, his craving for your lips and body, his longing for your love. All of it consumed him completely, making him a shell of himself. The roles were now reversed, and Patrick Zweig, once unattainable, now laid vulnerable at your feet. The power had shifted to your side. The longing in his eyes, the very thing you had waited for since you were fourteen, now seemed pitiful. He truly looked pathetic, and a twinge of revulsion began to creep into your thoughts. Patrick Zweig was yours and it felt disgusting.

♠♣♥♦

Tagging : @starrgurl46 @egcdeath @izzywags478 @serenadingtigers @justzluv

n/a : Here is part 2 of Silent Devotion. I'm not sure if this calls for another sequel. Is this turning into a series? I don't know, to be fair. I like writing about obssessive!reader (even though, she's not as remotely freaky as she was in part one) but it's always A LOT. I lose sleep over this. I also love that we got to see more of Patrick in this. Hope you liked it! (The amount of researches I had to do about facebook in 2006 and AIM.... I don't want to talk about it.)

See you next time!

MY LOVE. luke (pjo)

( master list )

IN WHICH… the half-blood campers live in a world where everybody is granted a soulmate. Everybody but the favoured child of Aphrodite, who was always destined to live a life without true love.

“My love is mine, all mine. I love mine, mine, mine. Nothing in the world belongs to me.”

( inaccurate details )

Warnings : Slight angst, not proofread (grammar mistakes)

A/N : late Valentines special… oops

—

Depending on what type of person you were, the concept of soulmates were either a blessing or a curse. To Y/N L/N, it was neither because she was never given a partner. The unseeable red string tied around her left ring finger never led to anybody else. Her skin never replicated the wounds of another person. Her world was always a scope covered in bright colours instead of depressing grey hues.

To others, her lack of a soulmate was great. She was free to love whomever she wanted without having to worry about a so-called soulmate. To her, it was hell. While it was true that she could like any person she chose, she would never be their first option. She was smart and beautiful and charming but their ideal pick would always be their soulmate.

It was sad, honestly. Especially when she knew boys would like her if soulmates didn’t exist.

Even when Y/N arrived at Camp Half-Blood, she was an exception. No soulmate meant no love life in other people’s eyes so it shocked everyone when Y/N was claimed by the very person who created the idea of fated partners. Aphrodite.

Y/N was awoken by loud giggles. She cracked an eye open, staring at her siblings across from her. “Why are you all up so early?” She almost groaned. It was seven in the morning and she knew her siblings always valued their beauty sleep. “Is Elvis Presley here or something?”

“No.” Silena grinned at Y/N, her cheeks flushing a pale pink colour, “Even better. A new boy just arrived last night and rumour has it that he’s cute. Cuter than Malcom.”

Malcom was an Ares kid. Ares and Aphrodite children always got along for some reason and because their parents had a complicated love relationship, so did they.

“Malcom isn’t that good-looking. What about Ben?” Y/N retorted, kicking her blankets off.

“I think Nigel is better.” Another sibling piped up, causing the whole cabin to burst into muffled laughter.

“That’s because you’re gay, Andrew!” They all exclaimed in unison, trying not to wake the other cabins.

Y/N leaned her head against her fluffed up pillow, gazing at Silena. “So, what’s this cutie’s name?”

“Luke.” Silena immediately answered, proud of herself for remembering the new camper’s name. “He came with Grover and a little girl.”

“Annabeth.” Andrew added. Y/N quietly hummed.

“Don’t be too loud.” She muttered, “I still want to sleep.”

As the commotion amongst her siblings died down, they too went back to bed. Y/N watched as Silena traced her soulmate tattoo before lying down, gently smiling. Y/N glanced at her own wrist, imagining her own mark inked onto her skin. What was it like knowing you were destined to love someone and they were destined to love you?

It must be reassuring.

Y/N didn’t remember when she drifted off, but she did and when she opened her eyes again, the sun was seeping through the light pink curtains.

Y/N lightly sighed as she sat up, running a hand through her perfect hair. That was a peek of having Aphrodite as her mother.

“Oh, you’re finally up. We thought you were sad. Too bad you aren’t.” Drew Tanaka was as cruel as ever. She was sitting at the vanity, applying a layer of pressed powder onto her face.

“Even if I did die, Drew, Silena would be the next cabin counsellor.” Y/N nonchalantly uttered as she stood up, stretching. Drew quietly scoffed and rolled her eyes.

“At least I have a soulmate.” She grumbled.

When Drew Tanaka hit hard, Y/N L/N always made sure to hit back harder.

“Yeah? Well, at least my ‘soulmate’ doesn’t hate me because of a rumour about me sleeping with his best friend. Which, by the way, was true.” Y/N quickly snapped back, leaving Drew speechless. Y/N was never one to act out but when someone asked for it, she delivered a killing blow.

Like any normal Aphrodite daughter, Y/N took her sweet time in doing her makeup. She could feel Drew’s glare on her as she swiped a red tint across her lips.

Y/N arrived at breakfast a little late, just in time to see the new kids stumble into the pavilion. Girls turned to whisper to each other, subtly pointing at the boy and blushing.

“That’s Luke and Annabeth, right?” Y/N questioned as she took a big gulp from her golden chalice. Silena quickly nodded, glancing at Luke.

“See, I told you he was cute.”

Y/N shrugged but Silena did have a point. Luke, with his perfect side profile, sharp jawline, and pretty curled hair, was a pleasant sight for sore eyes.

Y/N was caught off-guard when Luke sat down at the Hermes table and immediately lifted his head, his gaze settling on her without hesitation. Y/N quickly looked away, glancing at her wrist like she always did in hopes a tattoo would appear by some miracle.

Drew saw her moment of weakness and instantly commented on it. “Still no soulmate, Y/N?” Silena sent her half-sister a disapproving stare.

“Yeah. I’ll just fuck yours, I guess.”

Drew’s face sank for the second time. “Stay away from Sulan.” She hissed, glancing at the Demeter boy who wanted nothing to do with Drew.

Fate always drew people together so it was no surprise that everybody in Camp Half-Blood had their soulmates in the same place. There were multiple ways you could find your soulmate, depending on your mark.

Silena had her matching tattoo. Drew had that damned red string that only she could see. And Andrew could only sed the world in black and gray until his soulmate arrived, which they hadn’t yet.

Across the pavilion, Luke lightly nudged a teen named Chris. “Who’s that?” He asked, pointing at the H/C-hIred girl who was sitting with a group of unnaturally attractive kids.

Chris laughed for a short moment. “Y/N L/N. She will eat you alive, boy.”

“Has she found her soulmate yet?”

Demigods weren’t much better than their parents. They played around until they found their soulmate and that’s when they settled down. At least, for most. Some still had flings here and there, proving that they were just like the gods.

Luke’s question causes Chris to pause. He lightly chewed the inside of his mouth before stabbing his fork into a piece of bacon. “She doesn’t have a soulmate.” He murmured.

“How come?”

“We don’t know. She’s wondering the exact same question.” Chris shrugged before going back to his breakfast, “You can talk to her if you want but she’s a little mean so be careful of that.”

Luke quietly hummed, circling his finger around the rim of his cup.

The first time Luke talked to Y/N was when he and Annabeth were separated to go on different tours. Luke ended up with Y/N, who beamed at him and crinkled her eyes.

“Hi.” She effortlessly greeted him, waving.

“Sup.” Luke choked out, his voice accidentally going up a pitch higher. He cleared his throat. “I’m Luke.”

“So I’ve heard. Y/N.”

They walked side by side in a comfortable silence until Y/N spoke again. “Where’s your third person?” She questioned. “And I’m not talking about Grover.”

Chiron had tried to keep Thalia a secret but the gossip still managed to reach Y/N’s ears.

Slowly, Luke pointed at the tree that had mysteriously appeared this morning. It guarded the barrier between the camp and the mortal world.

“He turned her into a tree.” Luke grumbled, clearly displeased.

Y/N didn’t have to question who he was. Zeus, the king of the gods and ruler of the sky, had decided to turn his only daughter into a tree.

“Yes. The gods have always been a little… questionable. Shall we continue with the tour?” Y/N guided Luke forward. She did most of the talking while he listened, or at least tried to. It was hard when an absolutely stunning girl was standing in front of him.

“And last but not least, the strawberry field. Pretty, isn’t it?” Y/N smiled as she stared at the fresh strawberries. Luke let out a small ‘yeah’ but he was still staring at her. Y/N clapped her hands together, finally bringing Luke back to reality. “That marks the end of our tour. Any questions?”

Luke shook his head.

“Great. Oh, and if you’re worried about your soulmate, they’ll show up at some point. All the new kids freak out over it. If you’re a demigod, it’s almost guaranteed that so is your soulmate.” Y/N smiled again, making Luke’s knees weak.

Where was a matching tattoo when he needed one?

“So, uh… your soulmate… what are they like?” Luke knew he was most likely overstepping a boundary when he asked that. But Y/N, used to the shame and embarrassment of not having one, merely shrugged.

“I wouldn’t know. For some reason, my mother wants me to spend my life alone.” Y/N laughed but Luke could see the pain that flashed through her eyes. The same exact agony that Luke had been experiencing after all his peers found their soulmates expect him.

“If it makes you feel better, I don’t have one either.” Luke piped up. “I guess we can be lonely together.”

Y/N carefully gazed up at him. She felt a glimmer of hope spark inside her chest but she shoved it down. She refused to get her hopes up. “Everybody has one, Luke. You do too. Maybe my mom just wanted me to play the role of Cupid.”

Y/N walked off before Luke could say anything else. Annabeth instantly replaced her. “What did you say to make her leave?” For a young kid, she sure had a sharp tongue.

“Don’t even, Annabeth.” Luke’s cheeks heated up in embarrassment. He never had a problem with getting girls to like him because of his good looks, but they never stayed. And Annabeth took every chance she could to remind him of their awkward moments.

“What did you say, though? Did you mention your pet crocodile again?”

“First of all,” Luke retorted, “It was a spider. It was not a crocodile. And someone set him free! I really liked him too. And, I only asked her about her soulmate.”

“You’re an idiot.” Annabeth deadpanned, “Why would you ask that? Can’t you see that it’s a sore topic for her?”

“Not everybody is blessed with your wits, kid.” Luke playfully ruffled Annabeth’s hair while she huffed in frustration.

She quickly swatted his hands away. “What’s if she’s your soulmate?” Annabeth blurted out. “She doesn’t have a soulmate. You don’t have one. At least, you don’t have the common signs. What if that’s your soulmate bond?”

Luke chuckled. “I don’t think it works that way.”

“Maybe not… but either way, she’s still staring at you.”

Luke had never turned his head so fast. Y/N was perched on her cabin porch, leaning against the pretty wooden railing. And just as Annabeth had said, she was looking at him.

“Soulmate bond.” Annabeth repeated in that annoying singsong voice of hers.

Even as Luke walked back to the Hermes building, he couldn’t shake Annabeth’s words. Was Y/N really his soulmate? The person he had spent his entire life searching for?

Maybe. Standing next to her just felt so… right. He knew the moment he saw Y/N step out of her cabin that she’d have his unwavering attention.

Months passed by like seconds and years passed like days. Luke found himself becoming an expert at wielding a sword and not even Clarisse could disarm him. Y/N never bothered to try, always wanting to keep her appearance pristine under the hot sun.

“Do you ever get bored just lying around?” Luke questioned as he stood in front of Y/N. She was lying down under a large tree, enjoying the cool shade.

“No.” Y/N answered, closing her eyes. “I just don’t find it fun swinging around a sword in the hot sun.” The heat from the large star was unbearable during summer. Y/N hated the feeling of her clothes sticking to her skin so she was commonly found under trees during the hottest season.

“Why not try swinging around a sword at night? It’s cooler at that time.”

“I’m good.” Y/N truely was a daughter of Aphrodite, caring about her appearance above all else.

“I heard Silena found her soulmate.” Luke uttered as he sat down, keeping his distance in case Y/N didn’t appreciate his company. But she said nothing so he assumed it was fine.

“Yeah. At least he’s nice. I’d hate for her to have an annoying soulmate.” Y/N laughed yet that familiar look of envy and sadness flashed across her eyes. Y/N did well in concealing her facial expressions but her gaze never lied.

Luke and Y/N were seventeen now, almost eighteen. They had known each other for years and Luke had managed to notice some of Y/N’s subtle habits.

He also knew her opinion on soulmates. She craved for one and found the courage to despise her mother for her lack love. She prayed for one when offering a sacrifice. She dreamed of finding her other half and every time she woke up, she was disappointed that it wasn’t a reality.

Y/N knew there was more to life than relationships but why didn’t she have a soulmate? That was a query only Aphrodite herself could answer.

“Still no soulmate for you I suppose?” Y/N asked, glancing at Luke who shook his head.

“The main reason I was looking for you was because I had some sort of… theory.”

Y/N raised her eyebrows, suddenly curious. She gestured for Luke to continue.

“I don’t have a soulmate mark. You don’t have one either. What if, in a way, our lack of soulmate marks is our bond? If that makes sense.” Luke almost stumbled over his own words, suddenly feeling far too nervous.

“You think… I’m your soulmate?” Those words felt foreign as they slipped past Y/N’s lips. She was staring at Luke in slightly disbelief. “I don’t know, Luke. Maybe we just don’t have soulmates.” Y/N chuckled at the end of her sentence.

Luke’s breath nervously shuddered. “Okay… so if we don’t have soulmates then I can like anybody I want?”

“Technically, yeah.” Y/N aimlessly shrugged.

“Then I chose you.”

Y/N stared at him with her eyebrows furrowed. “What? Why me?”

“Because why not? I’m not taking pity on you, Y/N. I genuinely like you. As more than just a friend. The moment I saw you, I knew that if I had a soulmate, I would want it to be you. We can take it slow if you want. I don’t care as long as I’m with you.”

Y/N could only muster up a nod, still in shock.

She didn’t know what she was expecting to happen after her indirect acceptation to his confession but finding a small bouquet of roses on her bed was not what she had in mind.

“Oh, those are pretty. Who are those from?” Silena was at Y/N’s side in an instance, curious to see the flowers.

“Luke.” Y/N muttered as she flipped over the card, staring at the messy handwriting that was undeniably Luke’s.

“So my manifestation did work!” Silena exclaimed, happily clapping her hands together. “I’ve been shipping you guys since, like, forever! And I knew you wouldn’t make a move so I manifested Luke to.” Silena proudly beamed as she rocked back in forth on her heels, “I’m so happy for you two!”

Drew, on the other hand, was not.

“Cute pity bouquet, Y/N.” The ravenette said as she waltzed into the cabin.

“I will slap you with the thorns.” Y/N fired back.

At dinner, Y/N ended up sandwiched between Silena and Drew. For two girls who seemingly hated each other, Y/N and Drew sure spent a lot of time together.

“Here comes your lover boy.” Silena teased as she watched Luke guide a new camper towards the Hermes table. Y/N wasn’t sure if she should stare or look away but Luke was already locking eyes with her, smiling so widely that you’d think his deepest wish just came true.

“He’s not your soulmate.” Drew uttered.

“I know. We don’t all have to follow the rules of soulmates, do we? You should know that better than anyone else.”

Drew scoffed, angrily stabbing her fork into a piece of meat.

Y/N didn’t eat much. Her stomach felt too queasy whenever Luke so much as glanced at her. Was she nervous? Her leg was continuously bouncing up and down so she must be.

She left the pavilion early, expecting Luke to follow after her and feeling proud of her guess when he did. “Did you like the flowers?” He asked, tilting his head to the side.

“Of course.” Y/N answered.

“I really like you, Y/N. Please, just give me a chance. Who cares about soulmates? You may as well be mine.” Luke engulfed Y/N into a tight hug, his hands resting at her waist and refusing to let go.

“I don’t know, Luke.” She whispered. She had spent so much time alone in the dark that she forgot what love even felt like. Was it the butterflies in her stomach? Or perhaps the loud pounding of her heart? Or maybe her cheeks that were flushed a bright pink hue under the moonlight?

All her worries seemed to effortlessly melt away as Luke suddenly kissed her. He stepped back just as quickly but Y/N wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him towards her again.

She wasn’t sure what was happening but she could feel small beads of tears roll down her cheeks.

“Why are you crying, pretty?” Luke asked, furrowing his eyebrows in concern. Y/N swiftly wiped her tears away. As stupid and it sounded, that was her first kiss. And it was the first time someone showed a genuine interest in her, someone without a soulmate.

“If we do this, Luke… you have to promise not to leave me too quickly.” Y/N whispered so that only he could hear her voice.

“I don’t want my soulmate, if they even exist, Y/N. I want you.”

Those words echoed in Y/N’s head. I want you. Those three simple words set off fireworks in Y/N’s stomach. She felt her heart skip a beat.

She really shouldn’t have indulged in her own feelings when Luke might have a soulmate of his own but she couldn’t resist him when he was looking at her with those puppy dog eyes.

After that fated night, Luke rarely left Y/N’s side. He seemed to be attached at her hip and even when Clarisse laughed at him, he ignored her. Y/N was happy for a while.

It was the new girl that caused her fragile relationship with Luke to shatter into pieces. She really should have seen all this coming. She always noticed the bruises that lingered on Luke’s skin. Bruises that weren’t his but ones he simply brushed off as small injuries from all his hard training.

Y/N was the first to walk out of her cabin and, by default, that meant she would be showing the new camper around.

She had arrived early in the morning and while she was supposed to be resting in the infirmary, Y/N found her under the tree she usually sat at.

“You should be resting.” Y/N uttered. She could only see one side of the girl’s face but nevertheless, she was still pretty. Dyed blonde hair with heavy bangs framing her delicate and pale face and light grey eyes that nervously shifted from the ground to Y/N.

“They kept pestering me about my scar.” She mumbled, refusing to show Y/N her full face. “It’s my soulmate mark but they kept saying it wasn’t. Apparently… my soulmate has already found someone.”

She finally turned her head to reveal the scar. It was a jagged line, perfectly mimicking Luke’s. Y/N stiffened as the dread began to set in. She felt like she was going to collapse. Luke always preached about choosing Y/N over fate but would he do so now that his soulmate was here?

“Right.” Y/N choked out. “Well, let me show you around first.” It took all her energy to hide her true feelings. She didn’t want this girl to know that she was slowly but surely cracking under the pressure.

“I’m Lila, by the way.” The blonde muttered, fidgeting with her fingers.

“Y/N.”

As usual, she saved the strawberry fields for last. Lila seemed impressed by the big, red berries that the Demeter kids had grown. “One last stop.” Y/N said as she led Lila to a certain cabin. She knew she would come to regret this but the matching scars weren’t exactly subtle.

Y/N knocked on the door and just as she hoped, yet dreaded, Luke answered. “Hey.” He grinned widely at her as he leaned against the door frame.

“Someone’s here for you.” Y/N stepped aside to reveal Lila. Luke paused before he chuckled.

“This is a joke, right? Y/N?”

But she was already walking, more like jogging, away.

Y/N watched from afar as Luke conversed with the girl who had the identical scar to his. It trailed over the same eye too and it wouldn’t take a genius to realize what that meant. Luke had finally met his soulmate.

And Y/N was alone. Again.

The favourite child of Aphrodite. The golden star. The beautiful role model.

She was always destined to spend her life alone and perhaps she should have fully accepted that instead of falling in love with Luke, someone she couldn’t have no matter how hard she tried.

She ended up skipping breakfast and merely sitting in front of the vanity mirror, soullessly staring at her reflection. She wanted nothing more than for an ugly scar to taint her pretty face just so she could claim Luke as her soulmate.

She traced a faint line over her eye with light brown eyebrow and imagined that it matched with Luke’s. That, in another life, she could finally call someone hers.

The cabin door opened. Y/N didn’t have enough time to wipe the eyeshadow scar off before Drew walked in. The black-haired girl made an immediate beeline for her half-sister. Y/N thought Drew was going to taunt her as usual but she was shocked when the cruel girl hugged her instead.

“Soulmate or not,” Drew whispered, “He should choose you.”

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Omf help the Wally smut is just perfect.

Imagine like Wally and reader finding aphrodisiac chocolate or something from an alive football player falling out of the pocket. Wally doesn’t know what it is so he eats it and

Oh well. Wally Clark experiencing aphrodisiac for the first time with mind blowing sex, pussy eating and cock blowing omg

Hello dear anon! So I had to do a little research thought this was like a sex pollen request and I'm not in the mood for sex pollen right now lmao. I did do some research on the chocolate itself and decided to spice it up a bit for storytelling purposes. I hope you like this delightfully naughty oneshot, I definitely got a bit carried away with it.

*Not My Gif*

Another game where the Split River Bandits demolished their rivals and Wally was cheering like they had just won the Superbowl on the field with the players. You smiled down at him as he waved at you excitedly, you waved back and watched as Wally ran up the stairs of the bleachers; a giant smile on his face.

"Did you see that baby?" He said excitedly, grabbing hold of the lapels of his letterman jacket you were wearing and bringing you close to his body and pressed a sweet kiss against your lips.

"I did!" You smiled back.

"Wow! What a game! That kid Patricks could totally go pro! He ran that ball in, all the way from the forty yard line. And did you see that interception?"

You felt a small pang in your heart, thinking about Wally's very short football career, and how far he could've gone had he not died on the field that night. "I did! It was amazing! They did good tonight." You smiled, pressing another kiss to Wally's lips. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to his body and deepening the kiss. His tongue slipping past and intermingling with yours, before you lightly pressed against his chest, pushing him away.

"Easy there, Tiger." You said, looking around to see if the rest of the ghosts were watching.

Wally smirked, before he pressed a quick kiss to your nose. "Going to go celebrate with the team and meet up with you later, baby."

"Okay." You giggled. "Have fun!" You shouted as you watched him climb back down the stairs of the bleachers, hooting and hollering with the rest of the team as they made their way into the locker room.

Wally loved celebrating with the players, even if they couldn't see him, he was jumping up and down with them enjoying the adrenaline rush of winning the last game of the season. He looked around at the faces of the people he'd known for the past four years, and wondered what the future held for this bunch and what the next group would bring to the table.

As the group changed out of their gear and into their jerseys to go celebrate the last win of the season off campus, Wally followed the group out as they left the locker room, Patricks was the last to leave. Hurriedly grabbing his backpack, he didn't notice it was open and Wally watched as something fell out of the front pocket.

"Hey man." Wally tried in vain, to get the player's attention, and just sighed picking up the little pink item, turning it over in his hands and seeing it was chocolate. "Oh sweet!" Wally opened up the chocolate bar and saw the three little squares wrapped in gold foiling.

"Oo fancy chocolate." Each square had a little symbol on the front of the square. Wally squinted trying to make them out.

"Is that a peach? Does that mean it's peach flavored? Hmm." He said unwrapping the peach chocolate and popped the entire square in his mouth. "Okay definitely not peach. Cherry flavored? Interesting. I wonder what the raindrop one tastes like." Wally pocketed the rest of the chocolate and went off to find you.

.....

You made your way back to your little spot tucked away in the school that you and Wally had claimed as your own. You knew Wally loved hanging out with the team for a while after a big win, so you went and hung out with Charley and Rhonda before making your way back.

When you got back to where Wally was, you saw him lounging shirtless on the mats that made up your bed/lounging area.

Wally's head immediately snapped in your direction as you entered the room. "Hey baby." Wally said, his voice sounding a bit gruff, as he got up from the mats and made his way over to you.

"Hey Wally." You smiled brightly. "How was the after part-" You were cut off briskly as Wally grabbed your hips and pulled you flush to him.

Your eyes widened but not only from the forceful sensation of Wally's tongue immediately slipping into mouth, his tongue dominating over yours and sucking on it. But also because when he pulled you close to him, you could feel his hard cock pressed against your stomach as it strained against his soft sweatpants.

"Wally." You moaned. Feeling his large hands, snake down your back and cupped your ass. Trying to bring you impossibly closer to his body than you already were, and you swore you could feel him buck his hips just the smallest amount against you. "What's gotten into you?" You grunted, trying to push him away but could only manage to break the kiss.

"I just missed you baby, that's all." He whispered, nuzzling your neck, placing soft kisses in the spot that he knows drives you wild.

"I was only gone for like an hour." You giggled, and then grunted as you felt him sucking on your sweet spot. "There's no way you could miss me this much after an hour." You stated firmly, pushing him harder and finally getting him to detach from your neck, holding him at arm's length.

You raised an eyebrow at him. "There's no way I've been gone for that long, that you could be this horny."

"What can I say? You drive me absolutely crazy." He purred, leaning closer to nuzzle at your neck. "Do you wanna feel how much you drive me crazy?" He said reaching for your hand and pulling it towards the waistband of his sweats.

"Wally!" You said pulling your hand back, and taking a step away from Wally.

Wally didn't miss a beat, as he took a step towards you, arms reaching. "Mmm. I love it when you say my name. I like it even better when you scream it when your sweet pussy is full of my cock."

"Okay!" You said putting your hands up and turning you back to Wally. "Someone had booze or drugs and you decided to indulge. I don't blame you but good lord this is -" Wally cut you off again as he grabbed you and snaked his arms around your middle, pulling you against his body.

He was impossibly hot to the touch.

"No drugs. No booze. I just have this desperate need to feel you cum all over my fingers, baby" He said and you watched as he gruffly shoved his hand inside your jeans, and began palming your sex.

"There's my girl. So wet for me already."

You gasped, as he slid two of his fingers inside your hot pussy, pumping them slowly into you. While his thumb traced small circles against your clit.

You couldn't help but jerk your hips into his hand, your head falling back into the crook of his shoulder as you could feel yourself growing wetter at Wally's touches.

"Wally." You whimpered. "What's gotten into you?"

He hummed against your neck, his nose dragging up and down your neck, inhaling your scent; as his fingers continued to lazily pump into you. "Nothings gotten into me, but I hope to be buried inside you tonight, baby." He growled punctuating his statement by pressing you harder against him so you can feel his cock straining against the small of your back.

You felt your eyes rolled to the back of your head, as you felt Wally's soft lips, brush against your neck. "God baby, you just drive me crazy." He whispered, before sucking harshly on the spot where your collarbone and neck met.

Causing you to buck your hips into his hands, as his fingers drove into you faster, your release just on the edge.

"Wally!" you moaned out and grabbed onto Wally's biceps, his presence a constant reminder that you weren't going to drown as your orgasm crashed over you, seeming to take the very breath from your body.

Wally pulled his fingers out of your pants and you watched as he put them in his mouth. You felt yourself growing hot again as Wally moaned around his fingers, tasting your release.

"Baby." He moaned. "I could just eat you up."

Before you could even react, Wally grabbed your waist and threw you over his shoulders and carried you back the two feet to the mats that were spread out on the floor. Laying you down, he immediately went after the tops of your jeans.

"These need to come off now." He growled, his large hands roughly yanking your jeans down your legs. You watched with trepidation as Wally took in the sight of you.

"Wally." You whispered, as Wally's hands reached for you again, his hands felt scorching against your legs as he traced them slowly up your legs, to play with the hem of your panties. "Wally." you whispered his name again, this time getting his attention. His dark brown eyes met with yours, making your heart jump.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and felt your cheeks heat. "What about you?" You said in an impossibly soft voice, but he heard it nonetheless.

"Trust me baby." He said taking your legs in his hands, so your knees were bent and pushed together as he rolled you to place a kiss on both sides of your hip. "Everything that's going to happen tonight is going to be purely selfish."

You let out a gasp as Wally suddenly flipped you over and grabbed your waist so your ass was in the air. You braced the weight of your upper body on your forearms, as Wally's hands traced down your back, playing with the hem of your panties again before pulling them down, leaving them pooled around your knees.

Wally had never felt like this before, he didn't know what was in that chocolate but he felt like his skin was on fire, and you were the tall drink of water he couldn't wait to guzzle down.

"Did you really think that sucking you off my fingers was going to be enough for me? I'll never get enough of you honey. Enough of your body." He breathed, kissing the small of your back. "Enough of your soft little moans." He said as he kissed the top of one of your ass cheeks, before biting it softly and doing the same to the other. "Enough of your sweet taste." He whispered before notching his leg in between yours and pushing your legs apart more, so he could nestle himself in between your legs comfortably. His hands grabbed your hips and brought your body back to his awaiting tongue.

You let out a loud moan, dropping your head to the mats under you, as you felt Wally's tongue dive into your hot center. He'd eaten you out a couple of times before, but this time was different, he'd never done something like this.

His tongue felt deeper, as it slid in and out of you, before finding your clit, and eliciting a groan from you as he sucked and flicked the swollen bud with the tip of his tongue. His nose nudged your tight hole, as he spread you wider for him. He ran his tongue back down the length of your folds and started to fuck you with his tongue again.

"Fuck baby. You always taste so sweet for me." He moaned against your skin, his hand running up the length of your back, keeping you arched into his mouth perfectly. "I could do this forever, keep you here like this for me. Maybe I could tie you up next time, and you'd never get away from me or my tongue." He chuckled, the image of you tied and whimpering as he pulled orgasm after orgasm from you making him even harder than he already was.

Oh yeah Wally Clark was definitely into overstimulation kink.

You let out a sharp gasp, as you felt Wally reached around with his hand and start rubbing your clit, as he started to fuck you with his tongue again and you knew you were close.

"Wally." You moaned, pushing your ass closer to his face. He hummed against you, his finger moving faster as you felt your orgasm build to a height you didn't think you could survive from.

"Wally." You moaned out again, feeling desperate as you clawed your nails into the mat, searching for an anchor to keep you sane. And in the next moment your orgasm violently ripped out of you, causing you to scream.

You felt Wally hold onto you, knowing that you'd tried to get away from the pleasure he was pulling from your body, as he continued to eat you out slowly through your orgasm.

He left you feeling boneless, as he lavished your sensitive pussy with kisses, lapping up your release. While your face was pressed into the mat, having no energy to even lift your head let alone pull away from Wally.

When Wally finally pulled his face away from your pussy, he was grinning ear to ear. "Best snack of the day." He chuckled. "Much better than that chocolate from earlier."

"What chocolate?" You asked through the haze of your orgasm.

"It's nothing baby." He purred as he traced his hand down your back as you heard the tell tell sound of his sweats being pulled down. "I'll share some with you later." He smiled before pushing himself into your tight wet pussy.

Tonight was going to be a long night