Jealousy's Game

jealousy's game

description: plotting to make your ex jealous at a party, you pick the last person anyone could expect. theodore nott.

pairing: theodore nott x slytherin!fem!reader

contains: partying, drinking, mentions of smoking, mention of past relationship, jealous ex, kissing, cocky theo!

song rec: MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT by elley duhé- "just call my name, i'm yours to tame"

w.c: 1.5k

an: saw the above pic of lorenzo on pinterest and i knew i had to write something about him at a party.

the slytherin common room was a whirlwind of shadows and light, the flickering candles casting an eerie glow across the sea of faces, all twisted in various expressions of amusement and mischief. the air had the scent of alcohol and smoke, a potent cocktail that seemed to fuel the already boisterous spirits of the partygoers. the music thumped through the ancient stones, a bass line that seemed to resonate in the very marrow of the castle.

you wove through the crowd, your eyes scanning the room for any sign of trouble. as the leader of your own little slytherin clique, it was your duty to keep an eye on things and ensure that your gathering didn't devolve into chaos. but tonight, your attention was snagged by something far more personal. in the corner, your ex, a boy whose name you refused to let yourself remember, had his hands all over a giggling girl, their lips locked in a display that was no doubt for your benefit. his eyes flicked up to meet yours, a smug grin playing across his features. he knew you were watching, and he reveled in it.

you felt a spark of anger, a flare of indignation, but you weren't about to let him win. not here, not now. you had moved on, grown stronger, and you wouldn't let his pettiness tarnish your night. your gaze slid over to theo nott, the charming rogue with a silver tongue and a penchant for drama. he was surrounded by a flock of eager girls, his laughter a siren song in the smoky air. you approached him with purpose, tapped him on the shoulder, and leaned in close. "theo," you whispered, your voice low and sultry, "i need a favor."

his eyes glinted with mischief as he turned to face you, the champagne bottle in his hand paused mid-pour. "oh?" he drawled, raising an eyebrow. "and what might that be?"

you nodded in the direction of your ex, the corners of your mouth curling into a smirk. "i want to show him i'm not bothered. make it convincing."

theo's eyes followed your gaze, and he took in the sight of the boy with a knowing look. he set the champagne bottle down, his hand brushing against yours as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. "alright," he murmured, "let's give him a show he won't forget."

his arms slipped around your waist, pulling you into him with a confidence that sent a thrill down your spine. your ex's eyes widened, his smug smile faltering for a moment before it transformed into a scowl. you felt a twinge of satisfaction, but you didn't let it show on your face. instead, you tilted your head back, laughing at something theo whispered, playing the part of the enamored girlfriend to perfection.

his lips met yours in a kiss that was the perfect blend of passion and playfulness. theo's touch was light, teasing, as if he was daring you to break the act first. your heart raced, not from the kiss itself, but from the challenge of keeping up the charade. you wrapped your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss slightly, your eyes never leaving your ex's.

his hands tightened around your waist, and you felt his body tense, the heat of his anger palpable. theo, ever the showman, didn't miss a beat, his eyes fluttering closed as he kissed you more fervently. the crowd around you cheered, the sound of their applause and whistles blending with the throb of the music. it was a heady sensation, one that made you feel alive and in control.

you pulled back slightly, a mischievous glint in your eye. "is that convincing enough?" you asked theo, your voice barely audible over the din.

he grinned, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "oh, i think we've got his attention," he said, nodding towards your ex, who was now red-faced and glaring at the two of you. "but why stop there?"

you couldn't help but laugh, the sound a little too genuine for the situation. theo's arms remained around you, his fingers playing with the fabric of your shirt. "fine," you said, playing along. "let's really make him squirm."

theo took your hand and led you to the makeshift dance floor, where bodies moved in a rhythmic frenzy. the music swelled around you, the beat matching the pulse of your heart. you danced with him, your movements calculated and sensual, every step and sway a silent message to your ex. theo's hands were sure and firm, guiding you with an ease that was surprisingly comforting. your ex's gaze was a fire that burned into you, but you didn't let it get the best of you. instead, you leaned into theo, letting your bodies meld together in a dance that was more of a performance than anything else.

his hands roamed your back, his touch a whisper against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. you matched his every move, your hips swaying in sync with his. the other dancers parted around you, creating a bubble of space, as if the two of you were the only ones in the room. the music grew louder, the lights dimmer, and the world outside the party faded away. for a moment, it was just you and theo, locked in a dance of spite and rivalry.

but as the minutes ticked by, something began to shift. the anger that had fueled your actions started to give way to a different kind of heat, one that had nothing to do with spite and everything to do with the chemistry that had always crackled between you two. theo's eyes searched yours, the playfulness replaced with something more intense. the kiss had been a ruse, but the dance had become something real.

his hands slid down to the small of your back, pressing you closer, and you felt your breath hitch. your ex was forgotten, lost in the haze of theo's embrace. your movements grew more natural, less forced, your bodies moving together as if they had always been meant to. the music was a siren's call, and you were lost in its seductive rhythm.

his fingers curled into the fabric of your shirt, his grip tightening as he pulled you closer still. theo's eyes searched yours, and for a moment, you saw something there that made your heart race: desire, raw and unfiltered. it was the kind of look that made you feel like you were the only person in the room, the only one that mattered.

his hand slid up to cradle your neck, his thumb brushing against your jawline in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. you leaned into his touch, unable to resist the magnetic pull that had always existed between the two of you. your ex's presence was a distant memory, a forgotten plot point in a story that had taken a turn you hadn't expected.

theo's eyes searched yours, looking for any sign of hesitation, but all he found was the same burning need that was reflected in his own. you tipped your chin up, parting your lips slightly, inviting him to close the gap between you. he didn't need any more encouragement than that. his mouth found yours again, this time with a hunger that was unmistakable. the kiss was no longer a show, it was a declaration, a silent promise of passion and fire.

but just as you felt yourself getting lost in the moment, a hand roughly yanked you away from theo. you stumbled, breaking the spell, and found yourself staring into the concerned eyes of one of your best friends. "what the hell are you doing?" she hissed, pulling you through the crowd and away from the dance floor.

you blinked, your cheeks flushing as reality crashed back down around you. the room was spinning, a dizzying mix of lights and shadows. "i-i don't know," you stammered, your voice breathless. "i just wanted to make him jealous."

your friend's eyes went wide, a grin spreading across her face. "oh my god, you two were on fire!" she squealed, her grip on your arm tightening. "i can't believe it! you and theo nott!"

you managed a small laugh, your cheeks still flushed from the dance. "it was just to make him jealous," you murmured, trying to convince yourself more than her. but the thrill of the kiss, the way theo's hands had felt on your body, made it difficult to maintain the facade.

your friend's squeal grew louder, drawing the attention of several nearby partygoers. "are you kidding me?" she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "you and theo nott? that's the juiciest gossip this party has seen in ages!"

you rolled your eyes, trying to play it cool. "it's not like that," you said, though your voice wavered. "it was just to get back at my ex."

but the look in theo's eyes as he watched you being dragged away said otherwise. there was a hunger there, a yearning that you couldn't ignore. the dance had changed something, and suddenly the lines between friends and enemies, lovers and rivals, had blurred into something unrecognizable.

"And the Nobel prize goes to...@semperamans"

i'm going to hell bc all i can think about is attendin' a picnic and betty is there :( and you like her, you really do, she's pretty and nice but she's johnny's fucking wife n'that's a problem because johnny is yours :( doesn’t johnny know that it breaks your heart to see the two of 'em together? johnny is supposed to be holdin' onto you :( dropping kisses on your knuckles as you tug him toward your tent :( but no. he’s doing it with betty. you really don't wanna be toxic, don't wanna be mean, but it does make you feel better when you see johnny's smile splat on the fuckin' ground when he and betty rejoin the group and he sees that you're sat on danny's lap. so you decide two can play this game.

everything becomes about danny. danny. danny. danny who extinguishes your on-fire marshmallows. danny who licks his thumb and swipes your lower lip to get the sticky residue off. danny who poses you here and there for photographs because "m'gonna need somethin' to show my ma and pa when i tell 'em 'bout the girl i'm gonna marry." and oh! johnny is mad, but this is what he wanted, right? wanted you to pretend like you weren't madly fucking in love with him. who wanted to parade his wife around in front of you. so you enjoy yourself! you avoid benny's confused looks! dodge johnny's furrowed brows! slip past him on the way to danny's tent with a smile and a petulant wave because this! is! what! he! wanted!

but now it's gotta be three in the morning and betty is sound asleep, snorin' softly in his ear, and Johnny can only imagine the things danny is doin' to you. to his baby. he lets out a sick-sounding sigh that stirs the woman at his side, but she doesn't wake and he's left to fight with his fucking brain until he can't stand it anymore. he shuffles into his shoes, slips his jacket over his pajama shirt, and ventures into the night searchin' for you. he doesn't know what he's gonna do - what he can do - i mean it's not like he can cause a fuckin' scene without betty gettin' suspicious, but he thinks about what would happen if he were to stroll by danny's tent and hear those precious little mewing sounds you make when you're close to cumming and god, he knows he'd tear the world apart - tear danny apart at the very least.

it's quiet, though. when he presses his ear to the nylon he hears nothing, which is good, he supposes. but fuck, he's not going to be able to sleep - not gonna be able to close his eyes without seeing you and danny. you and danny. you and danny.

"benny? y'wake?"

johnny doesn't wait - unzips benny's tent and let's himself in - and that's when he finds you. his sweet angel curled against a barely conscious benny.

"she came in 'bout two hours ago. right after y'went to bed." benny mumbles, rubbing his ringed fingers down your arm. "s'real upset at ya." johnny knows. he fucking knows and wants to kick his own ass but what is he supposed to do? he didn't know you or benny existed ten fucking years ago when he married betty. if he had... if he had then things woulda been different. so that's what he tells him. tells benny all that and how he doesn't know how to fix it - doesn't know how to make it right - just knows he loves you so much it hurts and that he doesn't feel the same for betty, not anymore.

so that's what you hear as you pretend to sleep in benny's arms.

n'that's what turns betty's stomach as she presses her ear to the canvas.

Unironiclly if someone made this 4 me I think I would actually fudging crumble. 🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🖤💋💋💋

Ur sparkle jump rope queen 👑

Dude why are my friends so gorgeous like when I'm around them my self esteem is lower then the apple bottom jeans + boots with the fur girlie could ever go...

Luv it

tension

part two to reunions - must read part 1 first!

pairing: art donaldson x reader x patrick zweig

length: 3.2k

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

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

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

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

originally posted by iholdwhatican

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

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

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

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

“You look like you’re gonna puke.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What happened out there?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

That expression was clear, resolute competition. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You care about me?” 

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

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

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

“I wanna help.” 

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

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

“How much do you need?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then tell me what you need.” 

“What do you think I need?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Patrick Zweig: You free for lunch tomorrow?

***

Taglist: 

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I fell...I fell for 4 Theo....I fell 4 Theo with piss kink 🎀🎀🎀

hi would you do a theo w/ piss kink? like you two are having sex and he pisses in you or like on your pussy? or he makes us really overstimulated and we do it? love your writing soo much btw babe!!!

tw piss !!!!!!!!!!

“fuck, need you so bad right now.” theo growls into your ear, his voice low and raspy, teasing you as you feel his erection grinding against your bare thigh, naked bodies pressed against each other. “fuck me then, theo, please” you beg, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck to pull him closer as you feel yourself grow even wetter at his alluring words, craving desperately to feel him deep inside of you.

his hips come to a halt momentarily, as if he’s contemplating, while he gently grips your jaw and tilts your head, giving him access to your already hickey-covered neck. “hm. but i need to pee real bad, though.” he whispers softly, a sense of frustration in his tone as his mouth latches onto the skin of your neck, planting sloppy, wet kisses right on your sweet spot, making you let out a breathless gasp.

you hook one leg around his torso, wanting to keep him as close as possible while you run your fingers through his soft, brown locks. you feel the precum from his pink tip leaking onto your bare legs, making it incredibly difficult for you to control yourself, yet you release your grip on him to let him go as you let out a defeated sigh. “it’s okay baby, i’ll wait for you here.” yet, to your surprise, he doesn’t get up to go to the bathroom— instead, his wandering hand trails down to your dripping cunt, pressing firmly against your inner thigh as he spreads your legs further apart.

“not— mm… needed.” he mumbles softly against your skin, his other hand roughly massaging your tits, causing you to narrow your eyes at him in confusion. “theo, what do you— oh.” you then realise what he’s hinting at, having done it once before, and you instinctively spread your legs further apart, your head spinning at the thought. “alright, alright… go for it.” theo lets out a surprised but exhilarated chuckle, a wide grin forming on his face as he groans against your neck. “oh, fuck. you’re fuckin’ perfect, you know that?”

theo eagerly moves back to kneel in front of you, his painfully full bladder desperately needing release as he bites his lip, eyeing you hungrily. he places one hand on your thigh to push your legs open, while the other grips his cock, aiming it right at your glistening cunt. “così perfetta.” he groans as he lets go, a stream of urine shooting from the tip and plashing directly onto your already soaked cunt, trickling down your legs onto the sheets.

“mmm, feels so good baby.” you moan ecstatically, feeling the hot liquid right on your aching clit and dripping entrance while gazing up at him with seductive eyes, your hands teasingly massaging your tits. he shakes his head in disbelief with a smug smile plastered on his face, unable to understand how he got himself a girlfriend this fucking hot as he stares at your drenched body in admiration, his head cocked slightly to the side. “fuuuck. almost makin’ me cum too right now.”

he lets out a sigh of relief as his bladder is finally empty, then taps his dick against your pussy, shaking off the excess liquid. “yeahhh… that’s— that’s better.” he eagerly moves towards you once again, his hands resting on either side of your face as he hovers closely above you, his piercing eyes hungrily staring at you and his hot breath on your skin sending shivers down your spine.

“now, where were we?” he whispers right into your ear, his pulsating cock prodding at your wet entrance, soaked with a combination of his piss, your arousal and his precum. with one quick thrust, he abruptly pushes in until he’s ball deep inside, causing you to moan loudly. he quickly sets a relentless rhythm, his hand traveling down to where your bodies meet as he uses his own piss to rub fast circles on your swollen clit.

“my dirty girl, hmm? all mine. and so fucking perfect.” he growls possessively, the hand that was toying with your clit now slowly wandering up until it lands on your bare stomach, right where your bladder is. he lightly presses down on it, making you squirm and whimper— and you quickly realise exactly what he’s trying to do. “gonna fuck you so good, cara mia, until you’re making a mess everywhere.”

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reminder: reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated and keep me motivated. ty! ♡