I’m Gonna Ball Him Up And Eat Him. Like A Fucking Cake Ball. We’re Being So Fed With All These Crumbs

if you dont continue the black beauty thing i fear im going to explode

i honestly hated black beauty 😓

but if y’all REALLY want it, i have some ideas for pt. 2…

anyways 70s!patrick picking you up off the side of the road in his cadillac. it was so hot outside and you looked like you were struggling to carry this huge suitcase all by yourself. and that’s totally the only reason he stopped in front of you. to help. not just because you had on the tiniest shorts he’s ever seen.

“hey.” he called out to you from the open passenger seat window.

“hi.”

you gave him the sweetest smile, and he almost felt bad for the dirty thoughts he was having about you.

“need a ride?” you contemplated the offer for a moment before ultimately giving in. “hm… sure!” patrick parked his car a few stops ahead then got out to grab your bag.

“i’m patrick by the way.” he said. you nodded introducing yourself. “so where are we headed.” he asked you, sliding back into the car. “la.” you answered. kicking off your shoes and throwing you feet up on his dashboard, before sinking into the passenger seat. “i’m gonna be a movie star.” you giggled. patrick hummed, his eyes closing in on the smooth skin of your thighs that had a slight sheen of sweat on them. “the new american dream.”

he let you take control of the radio switching from station to station singing to every single song.

“i just wanna say thank you for picking me up. been walking for forever.” you dropped your hand on his shoulder, playfully tugging at his ears. patrick flinched at the sudden action before chuckling. “you uh- look a long ways away from home. how’d you get so far out here.” you sighed. “well, i hitched from nevada with this trucker who ended up creeping me out, so at our last stop i jumped out with my bag and have been walking since. my legs are so sore.” you pouted.

patrick dropped one of his big hands on your thigh, and squeezed. moving his hand up and down massaging your leg.

you “subtly” clenched your thighs together whenever his hand got a little to high, and patrick had to hold back his smirk leaving his hand to just rest at the top of your inner thigh. “you know, i have a friend who’s a photographer for… magazines. i could totally get him to take you headshots, and introduce you to people.” patrick turned to look at you, catching how your face lit up.” “really?!”

patrick nodded and you huffed a laugh, jumping in your seat a little. “that’s amazing, oh my god. how could i ever repay you?”

“we’ll think of something.”

-

that something being you riding him outside his condo in palm springs.

“fuck, babe your body was made to be on film.” your t-shirt was lost somewhere in the car, and patrick had his rough hands groping at your exposed breast. your thighs were starting to ache again from moving up and down on his cock.

“you’re so big, can’t -fuck- can’t do it.” your movement flattered down into slow grinds. “uh uh.” patrick held you up by your waist, and started moving you again. “movie stars don’t quit do they? i’m already helping you out so much just be a good girl ride me. ok.”

he wasn’t exactly wrong. he was helping you out. giving you a ride, letting you stay with him, getting his friends to do your head shots.

“ok.”

you planted your hands on his clothed shoulder holding on tight as you started bouncing again. your whimpery moans sounded as sweet as the smile you gave him earlier looked.

“atta girl.” patrick locked his arms around your waist, and dropped his head in the crook of your neck. he bucked his hips up in fast thrust. “patrick!”

his hand found place on the back of your neck forcing you to keep eye contact with him. “god, your pussy feels amazing. so glad i picked you up.” you nodded along with his words. “would’ve been so lost without me, get picked by some creepy old man.” he says as if he isn’t one them.

“thankyouthankyouthankyousomuch” you mumbled.

“and you’re so fucking sweet.” he pushed back against the steering, the both of you jumping when the horn went off. laughs mixed in with your moans.

patrick let his hand travel down body his finger finding your clit, and he rubbed figure eights on you feeling your walls clench tighter around him. “gonna cum baby?” you nodded your head fast. your bodies moving in the same fast pace, from the outside anyone walking by would be able to tell what’s going on.

“oh god -fuck!- cumming!” you moans filled up the space along with the slapping of skin, and some you gushing all over patrick’s cock with light scream. “shit!” patrick’s rhythm got sloppy and he completely stilled inside of you, fill you up with thick ropes of cum.

the two of sat there in each other’s catching your breaths, your mixed orgasms dripping down onto patrick’s leather seats.

“the industry’s gonna love you.” you smiled at his comment threading your fingers through his hair not knowing you two were thinking about very different industries.

WHEN DID THIS HAPPEN?

THANK YOU SO MUCH 🤍🤍🤍

IT MEANS THE WORLD TO ME

guys i just had a vivid dream about my guy friend, we weren’t doing anything but we held hands for a long time and i still have intense butterflies… what the fuck does this mean. (i’m literally in a situationship with another guy)

i need advice from the girlies (for a girl who’s never had a boyfriend)

patrick zweig listens to the 1975 and identifies so fucking hard with matty healy. dont make the rules

lucky you | tattooartist!patrick x reader

warning: oral sex, m! receiving

the back of patrick zweig's tattoo shop smells like ink, antiseptic, and cigarette smoke, the faint hum of a tattoo machine still buzzing somewhere in the front. it's dimly lit, the overhead fluorescent flickering slightly, casting long shadows across the cluttered counter and the worn leather couch pushed against the wall.

but none of that really matters—not when you're on your knees, fingers curling against the rough denim of his jeans, mouth stretched wide around his cock.

patrick leans back against the counter, one hand fisted in your hair, the other gripping the edge behind him like he needs something to brace against. he's trying so hard to keep himself together, to maintain that usual cocky, unbothered demeanor—but you can hear him breaking. his breath shudders every time you sink down, his jaw clenching as he fights the little moans and groans threatening to spill from his lips.

"fuck," he breathes, looking down at you with half-lidded eyes, pupils blown wide with lust. "such a good fucking mouth. all it's good for, yeah?"

the words send a sharp thrill through you, and you whimper around him, throat tightening as you take him deeper. he feels it—his whole body jolts slightly, fingers tightening at your scalp as he exhales a sharp, broken sound.

"shit—look at you," he murmurs, voice rough. "making such a fucking mess."

sloppy doesn't even begin to cover it. your spit glistens along his length, slick and dripping down your chin, your tongue working him over with desperate, eager strokes. every time you pull back, a slick, obscene sound follows, strings of saliva connecting your lips to his cock before you take him in again, gagging softly as he presses deeper. patrick groans, low and guttural, trying to swallow it down, but he can't help it—your mouth is perfect, warm and wet and eager, and he's unraveling fast.

his shirt is bunched up just enough for you to catch sight of the ink just above his cock, black cursive letters etched into the sharp plane of his hairy pelvis: LUCKY YOU.

it makes your stomach twist with something dark and needy, makes your thighs squeeze together, makes your lashes flutter as you blink up at him, spit pooling at the corners of your mouth. patrick groans, his head tipping back.

"god—" his voice cracks, and you feel his thighs tense beneath your hands. his grip in your hair tightens, guiding you, pushing you down until your nose brushes against the base of him, until your throat flutters around him in a way that makes his whole body seize up.

it doesn't take much more than that. his breath catches, a curse tumbling from his lips, and then he's spilling hot and thick across your tongue, holding you there as he shudders through it. you swallow it all, greedily, eyes flicking up to watch the way his jaw goes slack, how his chest rises and falls in uneven pants.

when you finally pull back, licking your lips, patrick stares down at you, chest still heaving. and then—slowly, lazily—he smirks, shaking his head like he can't believe it.

"such a slut," he murmurs, voice dripping with amusement, satisfaction. "think i might have to keep you around, huh?"

his thumb swipes across your chin, collecting a stray droplet, and he holds it up to your lips. you take it without hesitation, sucking the pad of his finger into your mouth.

yeah. he's definitely keeping you around.

art slipping his thumb in your mouth while you ride him...

Greedy

NSFW!

The diner is loud, the chatter and clinking of silverware against plates. The neon sign outside flickers against the windows, casting a glow over Art’s face as he takes a slow sip of his milkshake, eyes locked on you.

“See?” he says, licking a stray drop of vanilla from his thumb. “Told you these were the best in town.”

You laugh, stirring yours with the straw. “I don’t know if they live up to all the hype.”

Art smirks. “You’re saying that so I’ll keep trying to convince you?”

You shake your head, but the way he looks at you—like you’re the only thing worth paying attention to in this entire place—makes your stomach flip. It’s dangerous, the way he makes you feel. Like this is normal. Like this isn’t something you’ll have to lie about when you go home.

By the time you leave the diner, the air outside is cool, the pavement damp from an earlier drizzle. You follow him to his car, his hand grazing the small of your back as you walk. It’s nothing, barely a touch, but it makes your breath catch.

Then, just as he unlocks the door, you hesitate.

Art notices. “What?”

You shake your head. “Nothing.”

But it’s not nothing. It’s everything. It’s the way his fingers brushed against yours when he paid for your food. It’s the way he leaned in closer than necessary to hear you over the diner noise. It’s the way your heart pounds every time he looks at you like that.

And then—like he can hear every thought in your head—he steps closer.

You don’t know who moves first, only that one second you’re staring at his lips, and the next, you’re kissing him like you won’t get another chance. His back hits the car door, his hands sliding up your waist, pulling you in. The kiss is messy, mindless, teeth and tongues and a little too much need.

His fingers tighten at your hips. “Get in,” he murmurs against your lips, voice rough.

You do and your memories start to mix-

“Come on, come on, like that, keep it up,”

“Don’t stop, keep moving,” you ran to not miss the ball, it all sounds to similar now—

“That’s it, keep moving,” now you try to move faster.

“Come on, you’re a champ, give me another one,” sweat dripped down your forehead, a twist of your hand and SMACK!

“One more, mhm, I know, just give me one more,” you sweat now too, you let yourself fall down and—SMACK!

God, you almost knock his breath away with that one.

“Shit, just like that!” the way he smiled and ran to hug you.

“Shit— just like that...” he readjusts your hips.

It’s like... he was talking to you about tennis, was everything about tennis?

His hands are on your waist, and you feel like you’re going to collapse at any moment. Everything feels so tight—his cologne makes you dizzy, and the streetlamp light barely reflects in the rearview mirror.

His hands go to your back, reaching for the clasp of your bra. “Sorry... can I?,”. You almost laugh, he has you riding his dick in the backseat of his car and still asks your permission to take off the only garment that supports your little dignity.

“Yes...” you hold on to his shoulders, he peels off the bra from you. He looks down and immediately gives them a light squeeze, making you release air that you didn’t know you were holding.

“Fuck— you’re pretty...” He looks into your eyes, and you finally feel naked, your insides clenching at his words. It’s as if he can read your thoughts, how much you’ve dreamed of him like this.

You kiss him to get rid of your thoughts. He sighs and keeps moving you. He kisses down your neck, through the middle of your throat, in the middle of your clavicles, tracing the parallel with his tongue before going down to kiss the mole right next to your nipple. Kissing his way to the other to kiss now only your nipple.

His hot sighs on your wet skin make your skin bristle, and you can’t hold back a moan.

He smiles and soon you erase the smile from his silly face, stamping your hips. Being a double-edged sword since you now feel full.

Right there... there it is.

He seems to notice and lifts his hips. “There it is...” he moves you a little, “yeah...” his moans echo on your thoughts. Eyebrows furrowed as he watches himself going in and out of you.

His expression has you in a trance, wanting to see more changes in his handsome face. He tilts his head back while you accelerate the movement with the help of his hands.

You can’t resist and kiss his neck, over and over, until you reach his lips. He moans even more because of the increased speed.

“Art—“ you moan his name, your breath constant on his cupid’s bow.

God he sounds so good.

He squeezes your ass when you do it, kissing you gently while he feels like exploding, which he doesn’t take long to. He cums inside the condom with a groan and before you can protest a last thrust has you gasping for air and holding his shoulders tighter.

“God...” Art groans, his head tilted back against the seat, chest rising and falling as he catches his breath. His hands, warm and strong, stay on your hips for just a second longer before they slip away.

The car is thick with heat, the windows fogged, the scent of sweat and him wrapping around you. You shift, legs shaky, reaching for your bra, but Art beats you to it. He holds it up with a smirk, letting the straps dangle from his fingers.

“You’re real proud of yourself, huh?” you say, voice hoarse.

His smirk deepens. “Maybe.” His fingers hooking onto the strap first. “Let me.”

The buzz of your phone cuts through the moment. You check it.

<<Mom: Where are you?>>

Your stomach clenches. You wipe your thumb against your damp skin before typing back, <<Still at school. Be home soon.>>

The lie comes easy now. Too easy.

Art is already pulling his shirt on, checking the time on his dashboard. “I should get you home,” he says, and even though you know he’s right, part of you doesn’t want this night to end.

The drive is quiet except for the sound of the engine, the occasional hum from him as he taps his fingers against the wheel. When he pulls up a block away from your house, he puts the car in park but doesn’t unlock the doors just yet.

You hesitate, not reaching for the handle right away. Art watches you, like he knows what you’re thinking.

Then, with that same cocky ease, he tilts his head, grinning. “Told you the milkshakes were good.”

You scoff. “Yeah. Totally the highlight of the night.”

He chuckles, low and knowing, then leans in. His hand slides up your thigh, stopping just before your knee, and he presses a slow, lingering kiss to your lips. It’s softer than you expect. Less teasing, more something else. Something you’re too scared to name.

When he pulls back, he taps your knee once, like a silent go on, before you change your mind.

You swallow and reach for the handle. The cold air bites at your skin the second you step out. As you walk up the street to your house, you can still feel his lips on yours, his touch seared into your skin.

You don’t look back. Because if you do you might kiss him again.

we are being fed

THAT’S MY IDIOT!!! OH MY GOD!! HE’S SO CUTEEEE AAAAAAAAAAAA

(He reminds of matty and I can’t stop thinking about it. Inspired by a edit I made :p )