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teaching dean how to moisturize with cocoa butter

“what the hell is this? i’ve never felt my skin so soft before!” dean had the biggest smile on his face as he traced his hands over his smooth skin while you playfully rolled your eyes at him. 

making dean soul food for the first time: 

oh dean would fall in love with you even more. we already know this man loves his food, so just imagine how he’d react to trying the most flavorful and seasoned food ever. 

“Baby, you really outdid yourself with this! best food i’ve ever had.” he praised while talking with food in his mouth. you couldn’t help but to laugh at him, poor guy has been eatin nothing but cheeseburgers his whole life. 

when you see he’s on his last bite, you sit a slice of homemade peach cobbler in front of him. dean throws his head back with a groan. “shit, sweetheart, you must really love me, huh?” 

dean not realizing that your hair appointments take more than an hour. 

“sammy! I think y/n left me! she’s been gone for hours.” dean said in disbelief as he sat on the couch. sam rolled his eyes at his dramatic behavior. “she’s getting knotless braids, dean..that’s gonna take more than an hour. 6 hours at best.” sam calmly stated.

his words calmed dean’s nerves but that got dean thinking. “how the hell do you know that?!” dean questioned as sam stuttered over his words. “i just like doing my research.” sam defended. dean side eyed his brother but carried on with his day.  

a/n: random little thoughts that came to my head..hope y'all enjoyed!🥰

main masterlist

supernatural masterlist

cuddle pile ❪ n. ❫ — 〔 /ˈkəd(ə)l pīl/ 〕 𝟏. refers to the grouping of three (3) or more persons close together in a ‘pile-like’ formation in a caring manner, usually for sleep.

“the cuddle pile gives sam and dean the physical touch they’ve been missing.”

IN YOUR ENTIRE TIME KNOWING THE WINCHESTER BROTHERS, you’ve found yourself in a cuddle pile with them two times.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT !!!

██████████████████████████

bring back dry humping.

… please don’t ask about this one. i honestly don’t know what came over me (it was dean)

𖤐 ────────────────────────

“fuck,” dean breathlessly grunts out against your lips, the curse swallowed by your mouth attacking his.

you’re straddling his lap on his bed, hands buried and tugging on dean’s hair, kissing each other like it was the last thing you were ever going to do.

and in all honesty, you’d be happy dying just like this.

from the moment he stepped into the bunker after back-to-back solo hunts, he had that familiar look in his eyes— the look that silently screamed he needed you.

but tonight? it was… different.

sure, you guys always went at it like a couple of horny, pent-up teenagers— but this?

it was borderline primal.

you weren’t entirely aware of how you both had somehow made it into dean’s room at some point— or even on his bed, but you couldn’t give it another thought.

because you and dean weren’t just making out. you were grinding, tugging, pulling, grasping at each other, attempting to close nonexistent space that had been gone ages ago. and the pleasure from the mere friction of just fabric rubbing against both of you being almost too much to bear.

you’re completely out of breath, short pants and sighs leaving your swollen lips right onto dean’s own. you’re still kissing at each other like no tomorrow, pushing your hips down into his while dean’s buck up into yours, the heat thrumming through your bodies as you move as one.

both yours and his actions are desperate, erratic, and getting increasingly sloppier— but neither one of you seemed to care.

there was something so significant about you and dean still being fully clothed, not even having actual sex— and though you had every reason to rip off all the fabric between the two of you, neither one of you actually made the effort to.

which made everything somehow even more intimate than if you were both naked.

you sigh once more against dean’s mouth as his hands trail down from your back to the curve of your ass— letting out a groan when he grips the skin through the denim and tugs you against him harder, letting you feel exactly what you’re doing to him.

it would be a crime to not give dean what he wants— because at the moment, you wanted it, too.

so you quicken your pace and the intensity of the movements of your hips on top of him, denim on denim scraping together harder between both of you, grinding against the bulge on dean’s jeans, eyes screwed shut in pleasure as you bite down on his bottom lip.

and then you hear it.

breaking through the sound of rubbing fabric and heavy breathing, you hear it.

a whimper.

you almost missed it, but there was no denying the desperate sound that had left dean’s mouth as he continued to sloppily buck up into you, eyes half-lidded in ecstasy with his lips parted against yours, his face scrunched in pure pleasure.

your dean. the six-foot, larger than life tough-guy hunter that kicked ass and took names had just whimpered under you.

because of you.

dean hesitates his movements, embarrassment kicking in— yet his lips refuse to leave yours entirely.

but you don’t hesitate.

no, that sound leaving dean only spurred you on more— you immediately increase your pace, grinding your hips against his even faster, humping on him so erratically that his bed frame starts to literally shudder— and so does dean.

oh, he’s a mess. soft and needy whimpers are shamelessly being pulled from him now, coming out muffled against your mouth, getting increasingly louder and louder as his hands still grip and tug at the back of your ass. your hips rock on his hard bulge while both your movements become sloppier and sloppier— and it’s hot in every sense of the word.

dean cums hard right then and there, spilling into his jeans without any warning— you can tell he didn’t expect it, either. it’s because of the way a surprised gasp, then a half-whimper and half-grunt falls from his lips onto yours, the overwhelming sensations suddenly becoming completely unbearable for him.

you can feel the dampness already soaking through the fabric of his jeans onto yours when his hips stutter and his movements become stunted— his grip on you becomes almost painful, groaning and gasping out your name like a prayer while riding out his high.

and for one fleeting moment, dean thought it really was heaven.

──────────────────────── 𖤐

dean sneaking in through your window because he cant sleep!

tw. fluff. slight angst. slight sub dean? teasing.

the tap against your bedroom was so gentle you convinced yourself you’d imagined it.

but then it came again- a soft tap tap tap, more insistent this time like whatever is waiting on the other end is getting impatient.

groggily you peeled yourself from the cozy duvet, rubbing your eyes as you crossed the room to the windows ledge. pulling back the curtain you nearly jump-

“you’ve gotta be kidding me…”

dean winchester grins up at you from outside- all pearly and proud with a pile of stones in his hand. he waves smugly as you unlatch the window, pushing it open enough to feel the cold breeze.

“dean,” you whisper trying and failing not to smile. ..”what are you doing outside my window?”

“i..” he rubbed the back of his neck. “didn’t wanna wake your dad up..”

“you woke me.”

“yeah.. sorry bout’ that.” he huffed leaning back on his heels.

despite it being nearly midnight and the weight of getting into trouble hanging heavy on your shoulders- you laugh curling your finger at dean to climb up.

a few grunts and “fuck..” under deans breathe is all you hear before his boot curls over the window, then his hands as he pulls himself over before landing on your floor with a soft thump. his dirty boots leave a print on your carpet making you scowl.

his brown hair was a mess like he’d been running frustrated hands through it for hours, wearing an old led zeppelin shirt and gray sweatpants instead of his usual jeans. you shut the window behind him.

“you know you could text..” you murmur.

dean pats his pockets. “i lost my burner phone- sorry.”

with your arms crossed you watch as dean walks around the room- fingers trailing on the desk before reaching for the picture of you and sam sitting in the back of the impala. he laughs under his breathe before placing it back down gently.

something wasn’t right, noticing his tense shoulders and how nervous he seemed to be. the complete opposite of the annoyingly cocky dean you know.

“i came to ask you something.” he says suddenly turning back to you. you shift on your feet hoping dean cant sense how fast your heart is racing.

“okay..”

his embarrassed smile made your chest ache- something you’d never seen before. “i was wondering if i could y’know.. sleep in here, with you. i sleep better when theres somebody there-“

you didn’t answer immediately, a little shocked and flushed at what he just asked.. how it would work. the dark circles under his eyes are what finally convince you.

“sure, d.” you mumble.

relief washed across his face so quickly it nearly broke you. your heartbeat finally slowed as his shoulders relaxed.

“i don’t wanna make you uncomfortable.”

“you wont.. just take your boots off. i dont want dirt in my bed.” you teased while dean chuckled, kicking off the boots and leaving them at the window.

silence filled the room after- you could tell dean was nervous about sleeping with you even though he seemed to brag about having a lot of experience.

you grabbed his hand gently, calloused skin pressing against your soft as you climbed into bed- dragging dean along with you.

he hesitated looking between you and the cot before crawling in next to you gently- like even the mattress will push him away with rejection. for a man who usually carried himself with so much confidence, he somehow looked uncertain about where to put his arms.

you reached out first slipping an arm around his waist. he seemed to tense up- like a beaten dog feeling soft pets for the first time, then almost instinctively melted into you.

he buried his face carefully against your shoulder like every muscle in his body had finally been given permission to let go.

“you okay?” you whispered.

a tiny nod- before his arms wrapped carefully around your torso, thumb brushing against your flushed skin.

his breathing slowly began to even out.

“you know..” you murmured into his hair “next time you don’t have to climb through the window.”

his sleepy voice came muffled against your shoulder.

“…yeah?”

“you can knock.”

he hugged you just a little tighter. “…can i come back?”

you brushed your fingers through his messy hair, the scent of his shampoo mixing with your pillow.

“you never have to ask, d.”

dean didn’t answer- his breathing slow and steady, the tension finally gone from his body. within minutes the hunter who looked like he’d been up for days was fast asleep, held close in your arms where you know he’ll finally be safe.

Eater!reader

pairing! eater!reader (afab) x artrick (Patrick shows up a little later but I'm still unsure if I want to continue with the BOTH of them or just art cause it kinda started out being just art but somehow Patrick ended up in the mix too oops)

summary! eater!reader and art used to be childhood best friends, that is until something goes very wrong...

warnings! 4.3k words. biting. bleeding? (idk kind of) I think that's all?

A/N: idk anything about tennis but I tried my best so I hope it makes sense... I've also never eaten anyone before so...

dividers by @theo4reos n @strangergraphics

The first time you tasted blood was on the blue cotton sheets of someone else’s bed. Side by side, facing each other, giggling like the world didn’t exist out of those four square walls. You'd known this boy all your life - you sat next to him at school, you’d sit there on the side while he practiced tennis, watching as the sweat dribbled down his skin. Oh, his smooth, delicious skin. You could never tear your eyes away from it no matter what, the bob of his throat as he gulped down water after every session and you swear you could see the blood running in his veins as he did.

It was a Saturday night, and he was leaving the next day to head off to some tennis academy. He’s great at it, tennis. He loves it. But this was probably the closest you had ever been to his face, you could see your own reflection in the well of black in his blues, and you could see the glimmer of brown that mixes in his right eye, you could count the number of teeth that appeared with every smile or laugh, the outline of his teeth - every jagged edge, and even the little curves. God, you wanted to taste him so bad. He must taste sweet, like honey, or… cherries or… like chocolate or- “OW!”

And then he’s pulling away, and thats when you saw it. And when you tasted it in your mouth - that sweet, viscous flavour and the deep red of it staining his fingertip and… the look in his eyes, like you were a fucking monster. And… maybe you are. You could hear the sound of his grandmother padding up the stairs “What’s going on? Is everything alright?”. No, no, everything is not alright. You just bit your best friend! Like… like an animal!

So you ran. You ran out of his room, pushing past his grandma and ignoring her ”Where are you going?”. You ran down the stairs, not even bothering to put on your shoes - you couldn’t, and why should you anyway? You’re a monster. You ran down the street, the cool cement under your feet, tears blurring your vision and the guilty taste of sweetness still lingering in your mouth. Sobbing as you dug through your pocket for your keys, dropping them at the violent shake of your hands. And you saw your mother sitting there on the couch, TV illuminating her face and then worry replacing it. “What happened?”

You couldn’t even form words, you just shook your head, shame washing all over you - something that not even being in the comfort of your mother’s arms could wash away. “i’m - I’m a monster, mom!” You sobbed out, muffled into her cardigan.

“Monster… what are you talking about? What happened?”

You shake your head, “I-i i bit him, mom, i bit art! The-there was blood on his sheets an-and-”

Your mom pulls you up to your feet abruptly, shaking your shoulders, eyes blown wide with panic, “You did what?”

“I… i bit him, mom… but i didn’t mean to do it! We were just talking one moment and then the next-!”

She reaches for the remote on the coffee table, turning off the TV immediately, then she’s frantic - clearing any trace of the two of you, photos on the fridge, shoes in the rack, then she’s going upstairs. “Five minutes! Get everything you can get in five minutes! We have to go now!” That was the first time you’d seen your mother so frazzled, and you gulped back your tears and went up to your room. You shook everything out of your school bag - the bright pink one with stupid pins all over it, salty tears dripping and soaking into your clothes as you stuffed them into your bag, then your books, and then your diary.

“One more minute, baby!” You hear your mother call from down the stairs. And you’re just about to leave, slinging your bag over one shoulder, when you hear the clink of metal against metal. You catch the shine of the keychain art bought for you one summer - it’s a racket. At that time, you thought it was stupid cause… you don’t even play tennis, you barely even understood it, but he said it’s cause ”he can always trust you to catch him, even if it’s a drop shot, or a lob or-"

“We have to go. Now.” You’re interrupted by your mother who seems calmer now, and then she’s rushing you out to the car, speeding out of the driveway as if you guys didn’t build a home here for the past twelve years, for the entirety of your life.

“I have to tell you something, but you have to promise to stay calm. Can you do that, baby?”

You nod your head, “You’re probably feeling confused, or… disgusted with yourself, but… it’s all going to be ok, i promise. I remember my first time, i could barely recite the alphabet and yet, there i was. But… i promise you, it’s going to get easier, and… you’ll learn to live with it.”

You haven’t learnt to live with it. It’s been, what, six years? It hasn’t gotten any easier, the urges are still there, maybe now so more than ever cause you’ve been clean for so long. You’re just better at resisting now. It’s easy, just don’t talk to anyone, don’t make friends, don’t hang out with someone alone. You learnt your lesson from the first time. You were just minding your business, eating lunch at the cafeteria alone, like always, when- “Hey.” You look up from your laptop, pressing the space bar to stop the show. You’re pretty sure you’ve never seen this guy before… but he’s looking at you like you’re one of the seven wonders of the world - all wide-eyed like a puppy, sweaty blond hair tucked underneath a backwards cap, you recognize the polo though - it’s the tennis teams and… you’re definitely not on the tennis team.

“Um… do i know you?”

“You don’t remember me? Ouch,” He jokes, a small smirk on his face, but he looks nervous too, with the way he keeps fiddling with his fingers. That’s the good thing, you guess, you’ve become more observant now, picking up cues from everyone else, so that you can blend in better, to not stand out.

“I thought you’d remember me, considering how you bit my finger off and all… and also the fact that… you were my best friend.” Oh. Oh no. That’s where you know him from. Wow, life has a funny way of screwing you over.

Art sees the speechless look on your face, “i-i mean my finger’s fine and all! Just… i was a little heartbroken when you left… and you didn’t even come to say goodbye. I was waiting for you.”

“...You’re not mad at me?”

“Why would i be mad at you?”

“Well… cause, i… i did bite your finger off.” You say cautiously, he seems way too at peace with that fact.

“Yeah, like, six years ago. I’m fine now, i promise.”

You bite your lip, and retrace all those features that you tried so hard to forget but that you’ve missed so much.

“Um…” He clears his throat, ducking his head down shyly under your gaze. “So… you go to Stanford now?”

“Um… yeah, and… you too?”

“Yeah, i’m a part of their tennis team here, we just finished practice so…” He gestures to himself, the sweat running down his hair, his neck and- you avert your gaze, feeling those urges creeping in.

“Um… we have a match coming up… against Pepperdine. Maybe… you’d like to come?”

“I’m not sure… im going to be very busy…”

“But i haven’t even told you when the match is going to be…?”

Oh. Fuck. “Uh… yeah, i mean, just in general i’m going to be very busy.” You say, with an awkward laugh.

“Please?”

He’s always been good at that. Pulling out those puppy eyes to persuade you, even when you were kids. “Alright… fine. I mean… i’ll try.”

His face lights up, a satisfied smile on his lips, “Great! It’s next Saturday, so don’t be late. Oh, and maybe you should just give me your number just in case.”

“In case…? Of what?”

“In case you try to run away again.”

So, here you are. At a fucking tennis match, your first one after six years. Jeez, what ever happened to staying away from people? You’re too pliable, one bat of his eyes and you’re already saying yes. Worth it, though. You think to yourself as you watch him step out onto the court, hair seeming a brighter shade of blond in the hot sun. And he moves to stand on his side of the court, facing the stands, facing you. He searches through the sea of faces and spots you, and a relieved smile seeps all the tension out of his body, like he was actually worried about whether you came or not. The umpire calls for him to serve and… smack. The match starts.

Right now, the points are 9-8, with art in the lead. It’s been a while seen you’ve seen a match so you’re a little rusty, but you can somewhat remember the rules - faint echoes of what art told you when you were kids ”when we reach a tie break, the first one to reach seven points, and has a two point lead on their opponent wins.” And judging by how his opponent lands the serve out-of-bounds? Art wins. He flashes that cocky, tired grin, not at anyone in particular, but then he looks up at the stands - at you. You’re clapping along with the crowd, save for a few cheers, you give him a small smile when you meet his eye - a quiet congratulations. He gives you a small nod, his smile seeming to fade as he walks off. That’s the thing - quiet. You were never quiet, you’d cheer for him at his matches back then, like actual, big cheers, like you were proud of him, even when it was just a silly match with one of the other kids at the local court. But that’s ok, he’ll just have to try harder next time.

Wait for me at the cafeteria, i’ll be only five minutes

I just want to take a quick shower!

So, you sat at your usual table, scrolling through your phone as you waited for him which - why were you even waiting for him? You didn’t have to… not really.

“Hey!”

You look up to see art, fresh and hair still a little damp from his shower, having changed into clean clothes, a bright smile on his face like he’d been searching every corner of the cafeteria for you. You give him a small smile in return - weak, but it’s ok… he can work with that. As he walks over to your table, you notice a brunette trailing behind him, hands tucked into his pockets and a small grin on his lips.

“This is patrick… i hope you don’t mind if he tags along,” he gauges your reaction, “but i can ask him to leave-”

“Wow, art, so much for missing me, huh?” Patrick interjects, and Art shoots him a look like please, shut up.

“I don’t mind… i don’t plan on staying that long either,”

“Why? I thought you had time…?”

“Well… yeah, but um… something came up.” You weren’t sure if you could control yourself around the both of them, this is probably the longest you’ve ever talked to someone outside of groupwork.

“When do you have to go?” Art asks, a little dejected. “Um… soon, probably.”

Patrick scoffs, “Are you actually busy or do you just not want to spend time with us?”

“Uh…”

Art elbows him, subtly, in the ribs, then he looks back at you, apologetic. “It’s ok… i understand. We can just… go back to my room if you want? It’s a single, cause i’m here on a scholarship”

Back to his room? Alone? Does he not remember what happened the last time the two of you were alone? It’s not like you’d exactly be alone… Patrick would be there too, so maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to control yourself, right? Normal. Just be normal. You can do that.

Shit. Fuck. Shit. Fuck. What were you THINKING? The moment you guys reached his room, Patrick immediately went to remove his shirt, does he not care that you are here too?!?! Now the two of them were sat on art’s floor, facing you, where you sat on the edge of his bed - better to distance yourself.

“Art never told me he had a girlfriend,” Patrick says, a smirk on his face as he takes a swig of the beer that he brought.

“She’s not my girlfriend… just a friend, pat.” Art mutters, giving you a shy look from the ground.

“Really? Then does she know about your little crush-”

Art shoots him a look, that gets him to take another sip of the beer, but that doesn't hide the smug little smirk he’s donning.

“So… what did you think of the match?” What did you think of me?

“it was nice…”

“Nice…? So you liked it? You had fun?”

“Yeah, yeah, I had fun,”

Art nods his head, seemingly not knowing how to continue the conversation, you seem so different from the girl he used to know, the girl who bit his finger then ran away.

“Patrick plays tennis too, you know? Yeah, he just went pro… thinks college tennis is below him” Art says with a slight tilt of his mouth.

“I never said that… I just said that I think it’d be stupid to waste my time here, when I could be making a name for myself out there, in the real world." Patrick says, gesturing with the can of beer.

“How do you guys know each other anyway?”

“Remember that tennis academy I told you about? The one that…” art says, looking at you

“Oh… the, uh… the mark rebelatto…”

“Mark rebelatto tennis academy, yeah that's the one. He was my roommate,” art shrugs

“I still remember the first day you showed up, and you had this cast on your finger and you still haven't told me how you got it!” Patrick says.

“Yeah, I don't remember ever telling you I would,”

“Art tells me you guys were childhood best friends, isn't that sweet? And hes still helplessly in love with you years later, it's like something out of a movie, man!” Patrick says, aiming for the rubbish bin, but missing so the can ends up on the floor. Art’s cheeks are reddening now, as he picks at the fabric of his shorts.

“What happened between you guys, anyway?” Patrick says, looking between the both of you like he can sense the tension, the unspoken between the two of you.

Art looks at you, mouth parting but hesitating like he doesn't want to answer for you.

“Um… well art left and… um, he left for the academy,” you say, gesturing to Patrick “and… I left town.”

“Yeah, she really disappeared in a flash,” Art says, clicking his fingers, with a light chuckle like it's supposed to be funny but it lands flat.

“Right… and that's why you were moping like a puppy for the first few weeks of school?”

“I was not moping like a puppy,” Art mutters under his breath.

As Art caught you up to date with everything that happened at the academy - the matches he played, winning the us open for boys doubles with Patrick, an embarrassing retelling by Patrick of art ‘coming-of-age’ - you couldn't tear your eyes away from all the skin. Even the little ones - their necks, their arms, biceps popping and flexing every time they crossed them, or leaned back on them. And Patrick, it's like he knew you were eyeing him (but not entirely for the reason he thinks), giving you a sly look between every sentence, catching your eye and giving you a smirk. You wonder how he would taste. Would he taste like art? Sweet, like honey, coating your mouth like a virus spreading.

Slowly, without even realizing it, you slid off the bed. Your body naturally making its way over to the exposed skin, tempting you. Your back was against the side of the bed now, leaning towards patrick even as he pretended not to notice the additional warmth by his side. But Art notices almost immediately, of course he does. He remembers that look in your eyes, dazed, and out-of-it, as you brought his finger to your mouth - in what he thought was a sweet gesture, but it was only when he felt the excruciating pain and saw the blood dripping down - that he realized it was not.

You feel a warm hand on your knee, and your head snaps toward, almost predatory, and you see art’s pale hand against your skin and that’s only when you notice that you’re mere inches from Patrick's neck. You move back immediately, “What’s wrong? I thought we were having fun?” Patrick says, upon seeing you recoil from him, a small smirk on his face like he can’t help but be amused.

“It’s getting late… i thought you said you were busy?” Art says quickly, giving you a way out.

“Uh… yeah, yeah, no,” you stand up abruptly, smoothing down your shirt even though it’s not crinkled. Art stands up with you, like he’s a dog tethered to you.

“I’ll walk you back.”

The walk back is quiet, a little awkward from how quickly the two of you left his room, leaving behind a very confused patrick.

“When was the last time?” Art says so softly, you almost don’t even realize he’s talking to you because he’s not even really looking at you, he’s looking down at each contact of his shoes against the pavement.

You look at him, confused, “Last time…?”

“Last time you…” He looks up at you, hesitant, “The last time you bit someone?”

Oh. “It was a long time ago…”

“How long?”

“It’s been a couple of years,”

“...Why did you do it?”

You look at him, and he’s stopped walking, looking at you earnestly, like he’s been waiting for this day.

“I… i don’t know.” Lie. You know why. Your mother told you why. But you couldn’t possibly tell him that, basically telling him that yes, you are in fact a monster, someone who craves the taste of others - of him.

“Is it hard? To resist, i mean… i saw the way you were looking at patrick, the way you were looking at me earlier.”

You shake your head quickly, starting to walk again, “No, like i said, it’s been years so… so you don’t have to worry about me biting your finger off again or anything,” you say with a small chuckle, trying to make light of the situation.

“You were close back there, i saw it, you know. That look in your eyes, i recognize it.”

“Yeah but, it’s not like i would’ve actually-”

“Yeah, cause i stopped you.” He pauses. "But I'd let you do it again."

You were there for his next match, and then the matches after that. You are sitting in the stands at his last match, someone slipping into the seat beside you, “Hey,” You turn your head to see Patrick in the seat next to you, you remember the incident from last time and suddenly you’re feeling queasy. You give him a small smile and nod in return.

“What’s wrong? You were cosying up to me last time… i don’t bite, you know” Patrick teases, eyes looking at you even as art walks out amidst the cheers of the crowd. You keep your eyes on art, trying to ignore his gaze. “I wasn’t cosying up to you, the room was just very small.”

“Right… and now, you won’t look at me either even though you were practically eye-fuckinbg me the entire time last time.”

You let out a quiet sigh - this was going to be a long match.

The moment art saw you, the both of you, in the stands, he couldn’t take his eyes off. So yeah, he missed a few easy shots here and there but he was distracted. If only patrick would stop trying to fuck you in front of everyone here then maybe- whoosh. The ball flies past him again, probably his hundredth missed shot in this match alone. He lets out a frustrated groan - Game. Set. Match. He lost, his first loss in this season, which just so very happens to be his last. He looks up at the stands, to see your reaction - would you be disappointed? would you feel bad for him? But no. He’s not sure if you even know if he’s lost, you seem like you’d much rather be talking to patrick right now, than to pay attention to him. Art… has never been the jealous type (ok that’s a lie), but he can’t help but feel a certain anger towards his best friend - he just got you back, no way is he letting you run away again.

Art seems off when you guys meet him later, he’s changed into a clean grey stanford shirt and tennis shorts, but he seems distant, even the smiles and responses he gives Patrick seem strained - curt, and perfunctory. The tennis team was throwing a party to celebrate the end of the tennis season, the three of you were sitting on the couch - Patrick was between you and art. Art kept looking over at you, longingly almost which is funny cause he’s looking at you as if you are worlds away not literally just one person over. His cup sits between his thighs, grip loose around it as he just watches you and Patrick talk. Patrick’s hand was on your thigh now, arm around the back of the couch, and your eyes keep flicking to his neck - it's right there. You wonder if anyone would be able to hear him scream through the loud music.

“Hey, how about we go somewhere a little more private?” Patrick asks, his voice becoming rougher as he says that. You nod your head without even really thinking, you can't think. You can smell him. He smells like beer, a little sweetness, a little sour. And right now, it's your instincts talking, not you. So as he stands up, you pull yourself up too. He's taking your hand and he's leading you upstairs to the toilet there. You hear the door click behind you, and he's crowding you against the bathroom wall. His hands cup your face and you see that small smirk on your face like he's about to dig in. And then his mouth is on yours - this is the first time you've been kissed since your first one ended up with stitched lip. His mouth is hot and heavy against yours and really, you can't even think about biting him which is a good thing, he's like filling all your senses. His tongue is shoving into your mouth and you let out a whimper at the intrusion.

You can feel his hands on your thighs, slipping up under your skirt, and then he's hauling you up, ”mmph-!” you let out into the kiss at the sudden movement, he's moving your thighs to wrap around his waist, or at least trying to, but you're like a fish out of water.

Patrick breaks the kiss, breathless as he pants out against your mouth, “don't tell me this is your first time…” he chuckles out, breathlessly, “That's even better…” And then his lips are back on yours. You whimper helplessly into the kiss, this is the first actual human contact you've had in years. And it's coming at you full force - no training wheels.

This is also the first real taste you've had of someone after so long, and that dormant urge in you is clawing to break free. You let out a soft gasp for air as his mouth moves off your lips to your neck, his teeth nipping at you, one thigh edged between your legs. Your hands are in his hair, as he trails his mouth even lower, and to satisfy your urges or at least, try to quell them. You start mouthing at his curls, slick with sweat hidden between each strand, but that doesn't bother you, after all, there's more to taste anyway, then your lips move across his forehead and he lets out. a little laugh at your eagerness, but it's muffled in all your desire - you're not thinking, you're feeling.

You hand cups his jaw, tilting his face up as your lips trail down, grazing his cheek, his jaw, that little smug smile on his lips, then finally his neck. You let out an animalistic groan as your teeth make the first contact, grazing the tender sweaty skin, and you can hear a chuckle from above, “I didn't peg you for the aggressive type…” You can't even reply, your teeth graze his skin, nipping his skin between your teeth, and he lets out a soft groan. You lick a stripe over that spot on his neck, like you're a doctor sterilizing the surface before operation, and he's your patient.

You sink your teeth in, biting down on his meat, and he lets out a loud groan, tugging on your hair, “Fuck, yeah… just like that.” Your teeth bite down a little harder, desperate to taste his flesh, and you're sure you can feel blood trickling into your mouth when-

“What are you doing?!” Your head snaps towards the sound of muffled music, and you see art standing there, eyes blown wide and chest heaving, like he's been looking for you, his eyes dart between a panting patrick, and the blood dribbling down his neck, and your own bloodied lips.

You feel Patrick go limp in your grip, and before you know it, his body is slumped on the floor.