#Art Donaldson x Reader

[zweiginator]

art would be embarrassed to admit it but one of his biggest fantasies is his girl pinning him down and holding her vibrator against the head of his dick until he's crying and begging to cum

oh YES!🩷🩷🩷

whimpering and grabbing the sheets, biting his lip so hard he’s about to draw blood. he feels so strange; he’s never tried to cum like this and you’re telling him to hold it but he can’t. :((

“don’t you dare cum.” you yank on his hair. his cheeks are flushed, mouth ajar as he nods.

“mhm. i won’t—“

you don’t believe him. you press the vibrator harder against his weeping tip.

“you won’t?”

he swallows, adam’s apple bobbing. shakes his head.

“i pr—promise.”

“open your mouth.”

he does it, so obediently. like he was waiting. you spit on his tongue and smirk as his hips jerk up. you know he’s about to cum and you know he could never hold back.

but god he looks so pretty, tummy covered in ropes of cum, cheeks magenta, the hue of embarrassment creeping up his temples.

[artdcnaldson]

*taps mic* "Ahem... jerking Art off and making him swallow his own cum"

The crowd boos. "That's disgusting!" One yells. "He'd never do that!" Another shouts. Then, everyone gasps and turns around as someone in the back stands and speaks up. "Yes, he would." Says no other than Arthur Clive Donaldson himself.

Alternatively.... cumming in you and then eating you out...

And the crowd goes... home!

🚬

Sighhhh <3

But yeah <3 Especially thinking very hard about jerking off sweet little 2006 Art. Perhaps even comforting him in your hotel room after he's lost the junior US Open final </3

He wants to feel desired, like he's won something. So he feels vindicated when you're clinging to his side, all starry eyed and happy to be in his presence. Patrick is across the room talking to Tashi, showing off his trophy with that dazzling, perfect, smarmy, frustrating smile of his. So he tries to focus on you, as you tell him about how you also won in the mixed doubles tournament, and you saw his final that morning and you thought he played really well.

It doesn't take much convincing to get him to your hotel room— he didn't really want to stay at the afterparty anyway, feeling like Anna Mueller with his stupid little plate engraved— Art Donaldson, runner up. He feels better on your bed, with your tongue down his throat, moaning into your mouth as you strip him out of the fancy outfit his grandma had bought him, expecting a win. A nice white button down, black slacks, his grandad's cufflinks. Even a goddamn tie.

"You're so hot," you murmur against his lips, once he's down to his boxers and you can feel him hard, tenting the fabric. "Can I touch you?"

And, fuck, on a night like this, who is he to refuse?

Your hands are so so soft around him, slick from spit so he can glide in your palm. Slow, practiced. You kiss him so sweetly as you jerk him off, tongue brushing his, licking into his mouth. You can taste the soda he had at the party, the cigarette he'd puffed on while you waited for your shuttle back to the hotel.

"Jesus that's—" He trails off, hips bucking up into your fist, seeking more. But you set the pace, and you want this to be slow. So you just smile, nod and kiss his jaw. You twist your fist a bit and make him groan, so his head falls back and you can trail your hot kisses down his throat. "God, you're killing me."

You relish in having him like this— panting and falling apart in your hand, literally. Art Donaldson— golden boy on the court. You toy with him— slowing down when his moans get too fast, when you feel his balls drawing up and his cock pulsing... speeding up when you want to feel his breath hot, panting against your throat, his kisses insistent.

He doesn't even have time to warn you before he's spilling into your hand. Hot, thick ropes that drip between your fingers. He groans and buries his face in your shoulder, embarrassed by his inability to last during a simple handjob.

"Sorry, that's... sorry," He stammers, his cheeks pretty pink. His cock flags, just a bit between his thighs, and you know this isn't the first time you'll make him cum that night. Not even close.

You kiss his cheek once, then bring your fingers up to his lips. He hesitates, just a moment, before his tongue peeks out, lapping at his spend on your fingers. His nose wrinkles, just a bit at the unfamiliar taste, but he obeys, until there's no trace of him left on your palm other than his spit.

You kiss his lips and taste his cum on his tongue. It doesn't take long for him to get hard again.

[jesuistrestriste]

thinking about alien!art who literally is heads over heels in love with you from the moment he lands on earth.

he tries to court you with alien rituals and gifts from his home planet with his broken english

he always begs you to pull out your telescope so he can point out his planet to you </3

this is soo cuteeee ahhhh

his pretty eyes looking all over you for the first time while he gets in your personal space — and he doesn’t know the concept of that or why his closeness would make u uncomfortable so he’s confused when u step back from him:( but then he’s gifting you bags of sparkling gems and vials of uniquely flavored sweet liquids that he brought with him from his planet to hopefully win your affection

he lays his head on your shoulder when you two stargaze every night, and he cries for the first time in your arms when he finds out what homesickness is. he’s clinging to you and rubbing his face in your neck, softly sobbing about his community so far away..

but he loves it on earth with you, and he doesn’t want to leave. he feels so deeply intertwined with your soul, finding it hard to imagine anything that could change how much he adores you.

while he doesn’t necessarily look too different from humans on earth, one might be able to tell when they see him looking utterly bewildered at the sight of couples in public pressing their lips together. he’s like ? what? is that ? why are they doing that :( ? are they trying to eat one another ? is that what beings on earth do ?

so you’ve gotta be the one to explain kissing to him. sigh.

[kafka-ish]

Art Donaldson would be the perfect person to lose your virginity to. It doesn’t even matter what the context is. Whether or not you’re each other’s firsts, desperately clinging to one another, still fully clothed, both pressing hot and heavy, sloppy, kisses onto your bodies and lips, not caring about the drool and spit, too enamored with the other one, too caught up in the breathless heat of the moment. You two can barely contain yourselves. And of course you want more but you’re somehow both ashamed, too embarrassed to use your words, to say anything that would indicate going further than this. It’s so fucking stupid considering your current position: your neck has already been bitten to the brim, littered with bite marks and bruises and it’s not like you’re exactly shy about rutting yourself against his thigh as a means for friction. Anything you can get, you’ll take; Art’s the same. You can feel his erection through his jeans and you can tell he’s uncomfortable, poor thing, but all you can think about is how big he is underneath them, what his cock looks like, all pretty and pink and weeping, and his even prettier face, what he’ll look like when you blow him. You wonder what kinds of sounds he’ll make, if he’s even louder than when you guys are just making out. So your hand moves down, out of the curiousness of it all, not forgetting to trace his jaw before your fingers ghost over the bulge that pokes at your stomach. You can feel him smile into your lips that this is happening. Even though he’s quiet, you hear him mumble, what are you doing? He sounds shy even when he’s trying to be playful.

“Nothing…” you breathe back, moving your hand away. His breath hitches and he starts to whine once he feels the pads of your fingers on his abdomen. This is your pathetic way of trying to give him a hint: you scratch your nails uselessly at his v-line, then hips before reaching for the hem of his shirt in a lazy attempt to try and remove it.

“Not fair.” He pouts like a girl but all it does is make you want to kiss him more, which you do. You attach your lips to his with more vigor than before. You kiss his stupid pout until it’s gone and he’s groaning, a fucking mess with his mouth open; he has to pull you apart from him which physically pains him but he has to in order to undress you the same way you did for him. “There we go. That’s better,” he says. Takes a minute to fully take your figure in. Appreciate it. “Much better.” A giggle escapes your lips. You don’t know if you should be embarrassed now that your chest is revealed to him for his eyes’ full discretion. He’s not exactly discreet with these things. But it’s Art Fucking Donaldson and you also can’t help but be flattered.

“Thanks.” You can feel your cheeks heat up, all flushed at the compliment and under the spotlight of his admiration. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you say, immediately regretting it. But it doesn’t matter. He locks your lips with his so he can keep you like this: in his grasp, in order to pin you down, switch positions. Him on top, now. You’ve never seen him this dominant. And he makes his way, through the sloppy, spit-ridden suctioning of his lips, that once held yours, to your neck, collarbone - lingering on the spot he knows that’s sensitive, stomach, and hips. He’s slow and tentative with his movements, wanting to draw out every second of the moment.

He hums against your skin, the vibration of his lips sending you into pure bliss. But he stops before he can go any lower. Looks up at you. Your face is all a mess, all twisted and scrunched up just from the heavy petting and light butterfly kisses - a vision that should’ve been the other way around: you eyeing him, getting a glimpse of what you do to him before wrapping your lips around the head of his dick. But there’s no going back. He asks if you’ll let him eat you out.

You want to say yes but there’s a moan caught in your throat, so you nod instead, vigorously shaking your head.

But it’s not enough for him. He needs vocal validation. He crawls back up; his breath is hot, hitting your temple as he whispers in your ear. Mumbles something like please, I want to taste you. And you give in, managing to muster out a please, too. That’s all he needs to hear. And he’s back where he started. Pulls your panties down with his teeth before lapping up the want and desire and wetness that the fabric prior had been collecting.

You could scream, but he’s already moaning for you. He gets off on the sole feeling of his head between your legs and how you’re dripping, drenched just for him.

“God, fuck me.” The words slip from his lips onto yours and your free ones say,

“Okay.” He wonders if he hears this correctly. He’s rutting into the mattress. His hard-on is about to burst. It doesn’t help when you say his name. His chest and cheeks feel hot and heavy even without clothes.

You pull him up by his neck, kiss the spot where your fingers left prints only to leave a different type of mark with your teeth.

“But I wasn’t finished,” he says sadly. He wants the first time you cum to be on his tongue. His head dips down again but right now you need to feel him. You cup his head in between your hands, tell him, that’s okay. And one trails down to his button of his jeans, relieving him of the tight feeling of his boxers, only to guide him to the tight entrance of your pussy.

“Isn’t this much better anyway?”

[ghostgirl-22]

okok this is an xfem!reader ask but could you write something like the video on the link with art?

https://x.com/sugarfemdom/status/1858661845122642119?s=46&t=3CW6FsXs0MAE69-4ntnOGQ

this is SO stanford!art to me it’s not even funny, like??? him and his pretty little girlfriend trying this for the first time and it’s completely new to art but he’s so lost in it he can’t even be embarrassed about how good it feels

Answering this sooner rather than later since Twitter has been trying to shut down the porn links. Y’all are so horny… and I love you for it <33 🥹

CW: 18+ !NSFW! Explicit (porn link)

—-

Art is this beautiful boy, tall, dorky, handsome and smart. Really incredible tennis player. You’d gone to your first tennis match to see Tashi Duncan, just like the rest of the school and while you were walking around the courts he was in the middle of his match when he smiled at you. You smiled back, thinking nothing of it, surely he just did that when he had an audience. But then next thing you know he’s asking for your number and the rest is history.

All it takes is for you to witness one interaction between him and his best friend Patrick, for you to realize your new boyfriend isn’t entirely straight.

They’re play fighting with each other. Patrick chasing Art around the courts while they’re giggling. He’s all too happy to be caught and wrestled to the ground, Patrick between his legs. The other boys are just laughing at them, you think they probably know too.

You fantasize about the thought of them fucking when you’re in his dorm room that night. You’re riding his cock and he’s losing himself, mesmerized by your full bouncing tits (he wishes he could slide his dick between them).

“Fuck yes… oh baby… oh god, you’re so fucking wet baby…gonna lose it… gonna give you whatever you want….” He’s moaning, crying, squirming as you bounce your hips, up and down, the sound of skin slapping together obscenely. His cock feels so good you don’t even care that Patrick could be back from his night out with Tashi at any minute. In fact you hope he walks in on you and gets so hard he has to fuck your boyfriend right in front of you.

You’re so caught up in the fantasy you tease a finger up inside of his ass without much warning.

“Oh shit,” you whisper as his moaning takes on an entirely new pitch. You tease a second finger inside him. “You like that baby?”

“Nngh yes… yes,” he groans, moving his hips. “Oh fuck. Fuck me baby. Please, please fuck me.” His hips bucking up uncontrollably and almost immediately he’s coming inside without even the pretense of needing to pull out. Thrusting himself helplessly while grinding into your fingers. Its so hot you start losing it too. He’s so fucking lucky you’re on the pill the way he’s filling you up.

He’s so lost in all of it that he barely bats an eyelash when you suggest that he let you fuck him for real.

“Of course baby, whatever you want,” he whispers, completely sated, gently kissing your face, as you curl up next to him in his single. He starts drifting off to sleep right away.

His mistake. You come over the next night with some of your lingerie. “Can you wear this out tonight baby?” You ask, pouting your lips. He loves when you play innocent.

“Fuck baby,” Art says shyly. “You’re serious?”

“Mmhm, if you wear it all night and be a good boy and don’t come I’ll give you a surprise,” you coax. It’s all he needs to actually do it.

Patrick gets home as you and Art are dressed and on your way out to the movies. You can’t help yourself. “Is the bra too tight baby?” You ask in front of Patrick.

“Uh…” Art stammers immediately turning red as Patrick starts grinning.

“I can help loosen the bra but there’s nothing I can do for the panties if you’re still hard,” you say softly.

“Where you guys going?” Patrick asks, patting Art on the shoulder, broad grin still on his face.

“Movies,” you smile. “He’s gonna be a good boy for me.”

“I bet,” Patrick says staring at Art but you don’t miss the heedy look that momentarily passes between them. You hate being right all the time. Even if they haven’t fucked, they want to.

*

Except for a few moments where Art has to take his time to hide his erection before getting up, he’s such a perfect gentleman all evening.

“I promised you’d get surprise right?” You say smiling when he’s standing so needy in front of you, clothes on the floor, dressed only in your lingerie, his dick straining the fabric.

“Y-yes,” he stammers. You make him sit on his bed. Again you have no idea when Patrick will be home but you really don’t care. You show him the strap on, you pull out of your backpack and there’s only one way to describe his reaction. He’s antsy, eager even, but he’s pretending like he doesn’t want it as much as he does.

“Have you ever done this before?” You ask gently.

He ponders his response for just a moment and then nods, shy. “My last girlfriend,” he whispers.

“Mm,” you hum. You ease on the strap and lube it up like you’re doing it with a real dick… the whole time he’s anxious. Legs crossed, his cock so full it’s leaking, dripping through the panties. You settle on the bed, pulling his soft hips forwards. He’s so pale in comparison to you, his skin so surprisingly smooth. He’s barely got any hair anywhere, he says he shaves for aerodynamics or whatever… You know nothing about tennis but you’re pretty sure barely having any pubic hair isn’t gonna make him a better player. It does make his dick look even bigger though.

You pull him onto your lap and slide the panties to the side so you can push the strap inside, he’s whining holding his breath as you guide it in. “Is it too big baby?” You ask gently.

“Mm, it’s good,” he breathes, pitched high and tight. He fucking loves this.

You start guiding it in and out of him. He’s taking it in stride, slowly rolling his hips on your dick. “That’s right,” you say gently. “Fuck yourself on my big dick baby.”

“Mm love you,” he groans. He’s said stuff like that before when he’s in the heat of the moment. You don’t take it seriously. He’s tugging the bra down, teasing his nipples, pinching them. You’re so wet you’re practically grinding your pussy against the harness as he’s riding it. You grab at his dick, sliding it out of the grip of the panties. So pink and achingly full. He’s moaning like a girl as you jerk him off, arching his back into the mattress, grasping at your legs, losing himself while he’s moving his hips, riding the strap.

You’re going a little crazy. You imagined he’d like it but you had no idea he’d like it this much.

“Good boy, fuck. You’re so good,” you whisper, over and over. Watching him fall apart with the strap shoved up inside him. Moaning like a slut.

“Oh fuck, baby, I-I can’t stop—“ he gasps as spurts of creamy white shoot up into the air, he’s coming all over himself, heated sticky liquid coating your hands. “Mm,” he whines. “Mm fuck. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“It’s good baby, it’s okay, holy shit. You liked that a lot huh?” You say gently crawling on top of him.

“Mmhm, thank you,” he says softly.

He’s so adorable you kiss him slow and soft.

“Have you ever had a boyfriend baby?” You whisper.

“Mm,” he whines. “N-not really.”

“What about Patrick? He’s hot right? You ever let him fuck you?”

Art squirms a little beneath you and you grin. “It’s okay, you can tell me later. First I want you to use your mouth for something else.”

“Mm yeah,” he says, licking his lips eagerly as you ease the strap off and move to straddle his face.

[diyasgarden]

art donaldson with a partner who is a bright, vibrant maximalist!

[saintzweig]

art donaldson x mean girl!gf hcs :3

୨ৎ personality for the character (reader) is based off jade west from victorious!

୨ৎ if there were three things people remembered you by, it would be your rbf, your brutal (sometimes unnecessary) honesty and your boyfriend who is your complete opposite, art donaldson.

୨ৎ you and art dating came as a surprise to everyone, he was an angel while you were... you've had your moments.

୨ৎ they all came to accept it sooner or later, seeing as how the two of you balanced each other out. with art around, the chances of your outbursts were lower and with you around, art learned how to stop being such a pushover.

୨ৎ art loved your transparency and honesty, the way he doesn't have to walk on eggshells around you or decipher whatever is going on in your brain because you express so clearly the emotions you feel.

୨ৎ other people may have their thoughts on you, gossip about who you are and all that but he knows that they're all surface level, he knows you better than anyone so he knows it comes from a good place.

୨ৎ you're overprotective of him and your close friends, you don't like it when other people cross boundaries and make you (and him) uncomfortable.

୨ৎ he's pretty much the only person who's well equipped to deal with your moods, knowing when to pull you away when things become too much and you're starting to get irritable from overstimulation. he knows how to calm you down, help you ground yourself.

୨ৎ on the rare occasions you blow up on him, he tries not to take it to the heart. he knows it's more the situation than him, you were blowing up at him and not about. but it still doesn't change the fact that it hurt, so he goes quiet and leaves you alone.

୨ৎ you tell him to fuck off and he will, but just in the other room. he knows you'll come around soon enough and make up, so he doesn't approach you unless you make the first move.

୨ৎ usually you find him wrapped up on the couch, with a tray of meal on the coffee table waiting for you. even when you were so unfair to him, he still wants to take care of you.

୨ৎ "it's alright, darling. you were just stressed, i know you didn't mean it"

୨ৎ aside from that, he finds it hot when you're mean to other people. especially when you're jealous :3 which is often, considering art is pretty famous on campus.

୨ৎ this man would stand behind you while you go off on a girl that tried to kiss him, giggling and blushing while holding your hand.

୨ৎ he also likes it when you end up using your mean-ness for good lol, someone's yelling at the pregnant cashier lady at the grocery? you're giving them the same energy. a professor is trying to humiliate someone in front of the entire class? they can kiss their job goodbye.

୨ৎ you and art balance each other so well, when he's too shy or too much of a pushover to disagree with whatever, you push him to do it anyways and remind him to prioritize himself. when he's doubtful of himself especially in his tennis career, you tell him that a man with his talents is allowed to be a little arrogant.

୨ৎ he's so malewife energy and he's well aware of that, i swear his type in women are assertive and feisty ones.

[leftoverghosts]

✩ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ · what is history but a fable agreed upon?

be careful what you wish for ( lest it come true ) · · ─── · college!art x gn!succubus!user

Art Donaldson accidentally summons a succubus while playing with a Ouija board, hoping for a laugh. To his shock, the demon appears, offering him a taste of the extraordinary and a night full of temptation and danger. Art’s disbelief quickly turns to intrigue as he faces the unexpected consequences of his curiosity.

pay a fair price for what you want · · ─── · hades!art x persephone!user

You, a tennis star, find yourself trapped in a toxic marriage to Art Donaldson, a retired legend whose mentorship turned into a relentless obsession. As his love becomes suffocating and his grip unrelenting, you must confront the dangerous depths of this bond to reclaim your freedom or surrender to his infatuation.

naturally impudent; only by custom · · ─── · crownprince!art x lady/heiress to a dukedom!user

In a kingdom bound by duty and alliances, you, the heiress of a powerful duke and the rebellious crown prince share forbidden midnight encounters in the shadows of an ancient library. As your rivalry deepens into love, you must navigate the delicate balance between desire and the obligations threatening to tear the two of you apart.

the flowers were summoned to a meeting · · ─── · flopping!patrick x manicpixydreamgirl!user

As Patrick Zweig’s eccentric, crystal-loving girlfriend you use candles, moon water, and affirmations to manifest his tennis victories. But as his ranking plummets, Patrick begins to suspect your magic might be working against him.

act in haste and repent at leisure · · ─── · 'homeless'!patrick x gn!ex-partner!user

After months apart, Patrick Zweig unexpectedly shows up outside your window in the middle of the night—shattering the glass and your peace in the process. What begins as chaos might just turn into a tender reunion, as old sparks reignite over grilled cheese and unspoken words.

reason and love are often at odds · · ─── · crownprince!patrick x crownprincess!user

Newly married to the Crown Prince, you find yourself at the winter estate, away from the world’s expectations. As you and Patrick embrace the solitude, the warmth of your love deepens, and he shows you a side of himself filled with tenderness and devotion, free from the weight of royalty.

i have revenge bedtime procrastination badly right now!! and i know i will regret this, but please!! i've been so excited about this drop as i worked on them slowly. titles ib aesop's fables. let me know what you think, i always love feedback! also!! i'm playing around with the posting template! i want to be aesthetic like you babes. xoxoxo.

[artslovergirl]

Stanford!art as a secret admirer pleaaaaase

hiii! sorry this took me literally a month to finish i am still not very good at keeping a drabble a drabble and this one really got away from me but i promise in the future that hopefully wont be the case....anywhoo! enjoy! (ty for being my first request ever!) also shoutout to diya for helping me a bit with characterizing art having a crush on someone! mwah!

admittedly, art felt like a creep. not enough to stop sneaking glances at you across the lecture hall but definitely enough to feel hot shame crawl up his neck whenever you would accidentally meet his eye contact.

he quickly glanced away and stared back at the blackboard, trying to pretend that's what he had been looking at all along.

he began fiddling with his pen, pushing the plastic end of it nervously against his lips. he could feel your eyes on him for a few moments longer before turning back around to face the professor.

great. now you probably actually thought he was a creep. which is not exactly how he planned your first form of contact to go.

...alright, to be fair, he never had an exact plan in the first place? but "make awkward eye contact" wouldn't have been a part of it. that's for sure.

he was a little out of his element here. stanford was a hell of a lot bigger than mark rebellato was.

back there, most of the girls knew him, sometimes even liked him already or he had patrick as his wingman. (or when it came to tashi, competition.) but here? he felt so unsure all of a sudden. it felt like all of the experience he had with dating seemed completely useless.

when he first saw you, he was still pretty infatuated with tashi. but that doesnt mean he didnt notice how hot you were. as more time passed the more he realized that tashi and patrick were apprently locked in (go figure the dude finally learns commitment just in time. read bitterness.) and the more he saw you, the more he heard you talk in class, the more he saw you laugh with your friends, the more you wouldnt leave his mind. not to mention how fucking smart you were. well, are.

the lecture ended and as always you were one of the first people out the door. you were always in a rush. or maybe you just had another class all the way on the other side of campus?

he wondered what your major was. he wondered if you knew he played tennis. he wondered if it would even impress you if you found out. he hoped it would.

---

art was sitting in the cafeteria stabbing his fork into his salad that consisted of like 70% veggies and 30% eggs.

he had to say, he was definitely getting sick of eggs at this point. he took a small sip of his gatorade.

usually, he drank blue, but he decided to try red today. maybe because it was patrick's favorite flavor or maybe because he needed at least a little change in routine.

unfortunately, as he went to place the bottle back down on the table, he almost knocked it over as soon as he suddenly noticed you standing by the vending machine. and then turning around. and.. walking towards him? holy shit.

at first, he thought you would just walk past him, but you stopped at his table. he didn't know if he believed in god, but at that moment, he certainly felt like a favorite.

"hey," you smiled politely, "sorry to bother you, but do you happen to have a quarter? that thing doesn't seem to take nickles." you nodded your head towards the vending machine at the entrance of the cafeteria.

"uh." his brain tried to play catch up. "um, yeah, let me check." he let out a small chuckle so he wouldn't sound so nervous, but it sounded more like he was wheezing. he pulled out his wallet, ripped apart the velcro, and checked. he silently celebrated when he noticed he did, in fact, have a few quarters. "yeah, how many do you need?" he looked up at you. his cheeks felt hot.

"oh, just one is fine." he nods, and suddenly, in front of your presence, it seems a lot harder to properly grab the quarter from his wallet. he does manage, though, and as he hands it to you, he feels your fingers brush against his palm.

as if transferred from your fingertips to his palm it felt like a surge went through his body, traveling through his arteries and sparking at the tips of his fingers and toes. you hand him your nickels in exchange. before you could turn to leave, he quickly interjected, "we're in the same class, right? english literature?"

he didnt know where he was going with this, he just wanted to keep talking to you.

your eyes flashed with recognition.

"oh, yeah! art, right? you sit behind me?" you knew his name. "yeah, yeah, that's right." he nodded, his fingers drummed against the table. there was a short lull in the conversation as he desperately tried to grasp for anything to talk about that wouldn't seem like he was hitting on you (even though he kind of was.)

"so, uh, this is actually good timing because i've been sorta meaning to talk to you anyway?" his lips pulled into a familiar charming lopsided smile.

"oh, really?" you tilted your head. "yeah." he nodded, his hand going to fidget with curls on the back of his neck that stuck out of his backwards cap.

"i, uh, need some help with some of the material, and, you know, you're so good-"

"oh, i'm not that-"

"nah, c'mon no need to be modest," there's that grin again, "i don't think i've ever seen you get a question wrong."

you huff, feeling embarrassed at the unexpected praise, "well, it's literature, so it's all interpretation, it's hard to be outright wrong."

"see, that answer just confirms it." he says.

you chuckle, finally giving in and accepting the compliment. "so..you want my help then?" he nods. he really prayed you would say yes because this was really his only plan on how to get to know you.

you mulled over it for a few seconds. then you nodded. "yeah, okay, let me give you my number and we can figure out the details later. i got another class in like-" you glanced back at the clock, "shit, 3 minutes."

you hastily ripped a piece of paper out of your notebook scribbled a number on it and left it on the table. "oh, and thanks for the quarter!" you yelled back (even though you didn't even get to use it) before booking it out of the cafeteria. guess he was right about you always being in a rush.

---

4:58 pm. 2 more minutes till you'd knock at his door. art did another once over of his room. now he wasn't exactly a messy guy but he had to admit his dorm had never been this clean before. actually maybe it was too clean...would you think that was weird? like would you think he was a neatfreak? girls probably weren't into that.

he began messing up his bedsheets just a little so it wouldnt look like he had just spent the past three hours obsessively cleaning every inch of his dorm. even though thats exactly what he did.

it was a pretty small room but you'd be surprised how long it can take to clean if you're doing a real deep clean. not to mention the pain in the ass that doing laundry in college was.

he did all of this because, keeping true to your word, you did make plans with him to help him out with some of the reading.

you : does 5pm on saturday work 4 u?? :-)

art : Yeah, I'm totally free!!

(in hindsight the two exclamation points were probably a bit much.)

just as he was about to check out his hair for the 5th time today, there was a knock on the door. he glanced at the little digital watch on his wrist. 5pm sharp. wow, you were punctual. was it weird that he found that hot?

art quickly brushes a few unruly curls that were sticking out of his backwards cap away with his fingers before moving to open the door.

---

"so, what's the exact stuff you're having trouble with?" you peered at him from his bed, which you were sitting on, which he was being very cool about.

you had asked him if it was okay to sit there after you had exchanged a few pleasantries and then chatted for about 10 minutes.

it was mostly about class at first, then turned into more personal topics. you asked him if he was on the tennis team, because of all the..well..tennis gear in his room.

he nodded and told you about his tennis scholarship. you chuckled and said you had never really watched any matches at stanford so far, but you'd like to see him play.

he really tried to not seem overly enthusiastic about that but he did tell you the exact time and date of his next match.

apparently, you thought the sport seemed "really impressive". ( i.e. you were impressed. i.e. you were impressed by him playing tennis. or that's at least how he heard it.)

then, after he found out you were an english major, which wasn't a surprise, you finally brought up the topic of studying.

he spun in his desk chair, to face you.

"just some of this..interpretive stuff...i feel like i never know what the professor wants to hear from me." he tapped the end of his pen against the book he was holding. "well.." you shifted into a cross-legged postion, you were wearing shorts and he was trying really hard not to stare at your legs.

"you probably shouldnt be thinking about that in the first place, you know, what the professor wants to hear? you should think about what you actually got from the book." he knew this was pretty standard advice but when you said it, it sounded like the most intelligent, world-changing thing he'd ever heard.

"riiight...what if i didnt get anything from it?" he smiled sheepishly, leaning his head on his hand. you scrunched up your nose and playfully rolled your eyes, "oh, come on, how can you read classic literature and not get anything from it? i don't believe that."

you scooted forward a little. a little closer to him. a nervous chuckle left his lips, his gaze swept back and forth between you and the book before settling on you.

truth be told, he was doing fine, at least grade-wise, and even if he wasn't, it wasn't like he was striving to become an english professor, he mostly decided to take this class on a whim. but the part about struggling with interpretations was true, it just maybe wasn't necessarily a dire enough situation to require your help...

"well, maybe youre not asking yourself the right questions before you read." you hummed, gently tapping your finger against your leg. "can i see your notes?"

art panicked a bit at that. he wasn't sure why, but suddenly someone looking at his notes felt oddly intimate. you would be able to read the bits and parts of the book he regarded as important enough to jot down. what he liked. what he didn't like. perhaps it was a little intimate.

he tried to play it casual, though, and nodded as he handed you his english lit folder. his nerves only got worse the longer you took to read through them.

then suddenly, you smiled and nodded a little bit before looking up at him again. he prayed that you couldn't see the way his heart was trying to escape his ribcage right now.

"you know, you couldve just asked me out."

before his brain could even process that sentence, his mouth seemed to go into immediate action to splutter out some kind of denial in order to salvage this, "what? i- no, no, that's not- i mean, seriously why would-"

"i mean, i wouldn't have said no. like you didn't have to pretend to need my help. you clearly don't need it-" you gently tossed his folder back onto the desk. "-plus you're cute."

he didn't move for a good few seconds until he finally caught up to what had just happened.

now, this would've been the moment where he would've liked to be really cool and smooth in his response, but instead what happened was: "um..so then are we..like are you.."

in his defense you kind of caught him off guard. like completely. he had had a plan. how the study sessions would transition into friendship, and then maybe, hopefully at some point would transition into dating. he was a patient guy, really, and you had just skipped like...everything.

"are you free tomorrow?" you asked, as you stood up to grab your bag. wow, you were really taking the wheel at this point. and he discovered that he had shockingly little problem with that.

"uh, yeah, yeah i'm free..like all day." he did have training in the morning but he truly would skip it just this once if it came down to it.

"2pm?"

"sure."

"i'll text you?"

"okay."

"so..it's a date?"

you had stood up from the bed and were suddenly already on your way out. probably because you could tell he needed a minute.

"yeah, a date." he nodded with a (almost lovestruck) smile he hadn't even noticed had snuck its way unto his lips. you reciprocated with an equally excited grin, "cool."

before he knew it, the door had clicked shut, and he was alone again. he felt warm.

"cool."

[s0ftcobra]

— CHALLENGERS BOTS / 2025 © S0FTSOUL.

★ : ART DONALDSON.

( hungry eyes ; au ) ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

❝god this summer is way too hot, and art is annoyed for accepting the role of dance instructor at the vacation resort. especially when the only student he has is you, a total dance newbie that doesn’t know what a dance space is. this is going to be a long summer.❞

★ : PATRICK ZWEIG.

( old money & jazz club ; au ) ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

❝laughter echoing, the view of men wearing their ironed suits, girls smiling with their drinks in hands. patrick likes to watch that; he likes to know that his family’s jazz club is doing well. but maybe he likes the view of you better — thinking he’d do anything to keep the smile on your face. going as far as thinking he want to buy you everything you deserve and want.❞

★ : TASHI DUNCAN.

( good luck babe ; wlw ) ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

❝tashi can’t stop thinking about you. about the roommate she had shared something with while being at stanford. it had been more than a friendship, she had been completely in love with you. but in fear of her family not understanding, she breaks up with you after college, moving on and marrying art donaldson. yet, the thought of you doesn’t leave her mind, and when she sees you at a sponsor’s party, she’s done for.❞

꒰ notes ꒱ :

new challengers bots, everyone says yay! the art one is heavily (totally) inspired by dirty dancing because i love this movie and art as johnny? yes. hopefully both art and patrick will be good since i had to play with their backgrounds. cheers!

🎾

[zweiginator]

being snowed in with best friend!art …. feeling awkward at first and you only live in a one bedroom so he sort of has to share a bed with you. eventually you move closer to each other and blame it on being half asleep and delirious. then the heat is on too high and art slips his shirt off. maybe a few days in you’re both annoyed and have run out of things to do, stuff to talk about. driving each other nuts and getting into an argument that ends in him fucking into you on the rug in your living room, lips glued to each others’ like you’d die without his oxygen.

[bae4faist]

can i get a little sick fic for art?? honestly i dont care who's sick i just love a sick fic. theyre so :(((

Yesss ofccc they’re always so cutee. Also im literally write while sick lol

A healing touch

It was a rainy afternoon when the sky darkened and clouds swept over stanford like a thick blanket. Inside your cozy little dorm, the sound of raindrops tapping against the window provided a soothing backdrop to the quiet atmosphere. You were curled up on the bed, a book in your hands, when suddenly, your pager buzzed with a message from your boyfriend.

“Hey, can you come over? Not feeling great.”

Your heart sank at those words. Art, always the vibrant and energetic spirit, was sick? You quickly gathered your things, grabbing extra blankets and his favourite stuffed elephant (it was really yours but he always loves it)

Upon arriving, the door creaked open, and you were met with a sight that made your heart melt—Art was wrapped in layers of blankets, his hair slightly tousled, and he looked up at you with tired, drooping eyelids. His cheeks were flushed, and he wore a soft, almost vulnerable expression.

“Hey,” he croaked softly, attempting a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Hey, puppy,” you replied, teasing him a little to lift his spirits, knowing how much he loved the nickname. “Let me take care of you.”

“Do I really look that bad?” he chuckled weakly, his voice raspy.

You smiled sympathetically, setting the teddy down and moving closer to him. “Just a little,” you said, gently ruffling his hair, feeling its warmth against your fingers. “Now, how about you get cozy, and I’ll take care of the rest?”

He just nodded, allowing you to wrap a thick blanket around him tighter, tucking it under his chin. You could see him relaxing already, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.

“I was thinking,” you said, “that maybe you should just lie down. I can keep you warm.”

Art, a creature of obedience and softness, succumbed to your gentle coaxing like the puppy you fondly called him. With a little lightness in his eyes, he eased his way to the couch, and you arranged the cushions for him, making sure he was comfortable. Then, you go to the bathroom cabinet to grab some medicine.

“Okay baby?” You ask as you give him some of that medicine you found

As he gets comfy, you fetched the remote, turning on his favorite show—even if he was half-asleep, the familiar characters never failed to bring him comfort. You pulled out another blanket and wrapped it around yourself, sitting beside him on the couch, your leg brushing against his.

Throughout the evening, you stayed close, occasionally checking his temperature and adjusting the blanket, ensuring he was warm. When his eyes closed for a moment, you brushed a strand of hair away from his forehead, feeling some relief wash over you as he sighed softly, relaxing under your care.

“You’re the best,” he murmured sleepily, and your heart fluttered at his words.

“You know it,” you teased lightly, but your eyes softened as you gazed at him. “I’ll always take care of you, puppy.”

Time seemed to dissolve around you as you shared comfortable silence, occasionally stealing glances at his peaceful face. But as the sun began to set, painting the sky in hues of pink and purple, a sudden wave of concern washed over you. You needed to check in on him—physically and emotionally.

With a tender hand, you tucked the blanket over him more securely. “Art, how are you feeling? Really.”

He opened his eyes to meet yours, the gratitude evident in his expression. “Just tired, I guess. You’ve made it better though.”

“Good. Can I do anything else?” You leaned closer, willing to do anything to ease his discomfort.

“Just stay here; I like having you around,” he replied, his voice a soft whimper. “It makes me feel safe.”

Your heart swelled with warmth at his admission. You settled in, resting your head on the armrest and letting the warmth of his presence comfort you both. The two of you were enveloped in a cocoon of blankets, warmth, and shared breaths, creating your little haven amidst the rain.

As you drifted into a peaceful slumber, you felt Art shift slightly, nuzzling against you like a puppy seeking warmth. You instinctively wrapped your arms around him, craddling him.

The soft soft morning light seeped through the curtains, painting the room in gentle hues of gold, you found yourself wrapped up in a cocoon of warmth. Art laid beside you, his brow slightly furrowed, a remnant of discomfort lingering even in slumber. You couldn’t help but admire him, the way his messy hair fanned out on the pillow, and the way his breath came in soft, uneven bursts.

You shifted ever so slightly, tucking the blanket a little closer around you two, hoping the added warmth would soothe him. Nudging him gently with your shoulder, you whispered sweetly into his ear, “Hey, baby. Time to wake up.”

His eyelids fluttered, and he whimpered softly—a soft, endearing sound that tugged at you heartstrings. “No... I can’t be late for class,” he mumbled, trying to sit up.

“No, no, Art. You don't have class today. You’re sick,” you reassured him, you voice a gentle caress against the ruckus of his racing thoughts.

For a moment, he looked confused, lost in the fog of fever and sleep. “But the... the lecture on microeconomics?” He murmured weakly, his eyes still only half open.

You pressed a gentle kiss on his forehead, feeling the heat radiating from his skin. “It doesn’t matter... It can wait. Right now, you just need rest, and I’m right here.”

His brow relaxed with your words, and the tension melted away. He nestled back into your arms, a soft sigh escaping his lips as he have in to the comfort you offered. You wrapped your arms tighter around him, the world outside fading into an idyllic silence.

After a little while, you knew you had to get moving. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to get us some breakfast,” you whispered, carefully extricating yourself from his embrace. His sleepy eyes blinked open, a look of disappointment crossing his face.

“Don’t leave...” he murmured, reaching out for me.

“I’ll be just a minute. Don’t worry. Just focus on feeling better, okay?” You smiled, running your fingers through his tousled hair.

He nodded, reluctantly releasing you, and you slipped out of the dorm room, feeling the weight of love and concern in your heart. The campus was quiet, a stark contrast to the flurry of activity it would soon become.

As you walked towards the cafeteria, you spotted Patrick, Art’s only friend, standing outside chatting with a girl. He approached you, a puzzled expression on his face. “Where’s Art?”

You sighed softly, wishing you could alleviate the worry in Patrick’s eyes. “He’s sick, so he’s taking a day off. No tennis practice today.”

“Oh, shit,” Patrick replied, the concern written all over his face. “Thanks for looking after him I guess.”

With a light wave of your hand, you continued on your way, your thoughts lingering on Art. You knew he hated feeling unwell, but he was often so busy with classes and tennis that he sometimes needed the extra push to slow down.

When you returned, a warm paper bag in hand filled with the promise of breakfast, you found him still nestled in your guys’ cozy corner of blankets. You sidled up next to him, placing the bag on the bedside table before leaning in closer.

“Guess what I got?” You teased, your voice light.

His eyes fluttered open, faintly brighter than before. “You didn’t...?”

You chuckled softly, opening the bag and pulling out a couple of churros, still warm and dusted with sugar. “Your favorite.”

His face lit up with a small, appreciative smile, and you couldn’t help but press a quick kiss to his lips before handing him one. “Now, eat up, and don’t argue with me.”

As he took a bite, you watched him savor the sugary warmth, and you could feel your heart swell with adoration. Through the rest of the day, you kept the cheerful mood alive, your sweet nothings slipping from your lips as you scattered kisses like fairy dust over him.

“You’re the best boyfriend ever, you know that?” You cooed as you gently brushed your fingers over his forehead, feeling the warmth start to recede ever so slightly.

“And you’re the most amazing girlfriend. I’m so lucky to have you,” he replied, his voice soft and sincere, making butterflies dance in your stomach.

You spent the day cocooned in each other’s warmth, exchanging soft touches and whispers. You decided on spontaneous movie marathons, laughter mingling with heartfelt conversations and sweet moments of silence. The way he would look at you, his eyes sparkling with affection, made you feel treasured beyond measure.

And the next day, just like that, he was all better.

[parkerluvsu]

was any1 gonna release a subspace! art bot.. ive been yearning for it but now i can't remember who it was 😭😭

[24kmar]

GIVE ME REQS I BEG

[narelbedumb]

[itshelia]

My mom to her friends, my aunts, and literally everyone she knows: Yeah, my kid is so smart. She is on her phone a lot of the time, but it's not like you guys think, She is not like how kids nowadays are, She reads a lot of books on her phone!!

Me, a fanfic reader who can survive off nothing but just words and day dreams herself to sleep: