#also this season is bananas i love it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bunnys-kisses · 2 months ago

Note

hii little bunny <3

i like make an order of banana bread, jos louis and english muffin, with a expresso shot and tonic water served by Lewis Hamilton, please

bakery menu!

want to submit your own order? then hit up the menu! i love to hear what you'd want to order! thank you for anything you send! i hope you have a lovely day/night! thank you to this anon for your order, enjoy!

banana bread ("i'm going to fuck that sweet pussy of yours until the only word your little brain can form is my name.") + jos louis ("does someone need a daddy?") + english muffin ("aw, is someone crying?") + espresso shot (dirty talking) + tonic water (age gap) served by lewis hamilton (formula one)!!

cw: smut/pwp, dirty talk/degrading language, age gap (20s/late-30s), slight daddy kink, dom/sub, sugar daddy au

lewis hamilton was on top of the world. the billion dollar man, nothing could top him. not even the pretty thing on his arm. you have tried to top him, even tried being on top of in a cow girl position. but lewis loved when you were underneath him, his cock dragging in and out of you while you clawed at whatever you could get your hands on.

"does someone need a daddy?"

it was after singapore, the start of a small break in the season. which left you confused because wasn't there just the summer break? regardless, lewis invited you to stay a few days before you headed back to his home in monaco.

you didn't know what your relationship to lewis was. he paid for almost everything in exchange for your time and attention. when you tried to use methods to save money, it only made the man shove more money into your bank account. however, the words 'i love you' never came up, but you called him daddy when he fucked you. there were promises, he'd never leave you out to dry. which meant that even if this arrangement ended, he wouldn't do it suddenly. and would make sure that you were taken care of. but something often nibbled at your core, that lewis would die before he cut off the relationship you had.

but lewis also liked to make you cry in the bedroom. not heavy, sad tears. but rather the euphoria of his cock being buried into your sweet cunt night after night. you were a stress toy that lewis could have deep conversations with. the doll he could bite at, but also gift the world to.

you tried not to think about it too much. not when he had you pressed chest first against the door of the hotel room. his chest up against your back and his hands up the skirt of your dress.

"lewis." you said with your breasts up against the door, your back arched to let him press into your further. you sniffled a little as you felt the pain in your chest from being pressed so hard into the door.

he licked his lips and rubbed against you further, his hand found the waistband on your panties. the panties he bought for you specifically. he asked, "aw, is someone crying?" there were times where lewis treated you like a slut.

he was older, domineering in a sense. the world at his finger tips. there was a power to him that called you in like a siren's song. so even when he teased you, it excited you. maybe you were a slut after all.

he continued to feel you up and you loved it. his strong grip, the grip that kept his hands on the steering wheel, were all over your body. and it made you hot all over. you could feel the excited in your chest as he continued to touch you. your core throbbed with a need for him. even without the money, you had a deep urge to let him fuck you like he did every other time.

you moaned a little and he kissed your neck roughly. his grip got harder which made your back arch further. you were always so responsive to him, it made your heart race. you knew he wouldn't fuck you up against the door.

"i'm going to fuck that sweet pussy of yours until the only word your little brain can form is my name." he said almost softly, with tenderness as if he wasn't pushing your panties down to your ankles, "i want to see your squirm, sweetheart."

"please, daddy." you whimpered before you were pulled away from the door. you ended up in bed with him soon after, his hands in your hair as he pulled you in for a softer kiss.

you whined against his lips as he laid you out on the bed under him. he admired your beauty. you softness, your figure. you drove him crazy. the bed felt soft under you, it felt even softer when lewis got you undressed. you could feel his gaze on you, as he looked at your face once more and smiled.

"you're making me warm." you said.

"good." he said as he got his shirt off, "i want to make you hot." he kicked off his socks and soon his pants. his toned, tattooed body made you swallow.

"daddy."

"i know, sweetheart. fuck, you're beautiful." you knew he was being serious with his words. the sight of you enticed him as you were both eventually naked. he splayed his hand out across your stomach and leaned in for a soft kiss. his lips then trailed down your jaw and neck and he watched you squirm.

you wanted to cover your face from shyness, but he'd tie you up on the bed before he let that happen. and you could still feel the familiar ache of rope against your skin. he was between your legs once more and licked his lips.

"and what do we say to daddy before he fucks you?" he flashed you a smile.

you swallowed, feeling more embarrassed, "please and thank you." he beamed at you and you yelped as you were pulled closer to him with your hips raised to his cock.

"always the good girl, aren't you?" he rubbed his hard cock up against your achy cunt. he could practically see the embarrassment on your face. he loomed over you as he was painfully close to slotting himself inside of your pussy, "don't be shy, sweetheart. you know i adore every inch of you. it calls to me, you know. when we're apart." he was closer into your space as he slipped his cock into you slowly.

a moment of tenderness.

he held onto your hips, not hard enough to bruise you. but, enough to keep you under him. his lips were soon close to your ear, "so good for me. most would've been long gone by now. but you like when i fuck you, don't you? you like when i make a mess of you and throw some money at you." he pressed down further on you and you whined, "like a proper whore."

you shuddered, your pussy tightened around his cock and he chuckled as he started to move against you. his pace was quick and rough, he loved his sex rough and fast. he loved watching you squirm and try to hold onto his shoulders.

"such a good girl for me. your pussy can take anything i can throw at it." he chuckled, his voice in your head. which left your thoughts cloudy with hot want.

you could feel your heartbeat quickening and you felt hot all over. it was painfully hot for you. you could feel the thrum of pleasure in the back of your mind while he worked your body. lewis was good that way, he knew exactly how to make you squirm.

as if he didn't spend a season break examining and figuring out what made your back arch and your toes curl. he tried everything and you took it all. now lewis knew what you liked and how to make his sweetheart fully melt under him.

he believed he was a gentleman that way. as if he weren't roughly thrusting against you and it made your head spin. he kissed you deeply, to keep the moans down to a minimum. you tasted sweet like sugar and were softer than velvet. you drove him crazy, so much so that those three little words seemed to bubble up in his brain.

instead he pulled away and looked at you with his dark eyes, "you like being using like this. you love how i feel against you. it's cute when you try to squirm out of my touch. because you know you never will. i like you too much and i'd be an idiot to let another man touch your pussy."

he dragged against the right spot and there were stars behind your eyes. you kicked your feet out a little bit and he pressed you further into the bed. his thrusts became quicker and your noises got louder. his kisses became hotter as they dragged across your chest.

"please, lewis. fuck." you squirmed a little more as you felt the pleasure bubble in your chest. he continued to move against you and everything in you burned like an out of control flame.

the kisses on your lips once more were heavy and it made you pant heavily. you felt like a dream to him, you felt like heaven. and he felt like heaven to you. the kisses deepened while you held onto him tightly.

you came with his lips on yours. nails dug into his shoulders as he moved against you. you felt the rush of pleasure through you as he continued to move against you.

you tensed up then relaxed against him before he continued to make out with you while he fucked you. the bed squeaked under you and he felt the same thrum of pleasure you did.

with a few more heavy thrusts of his hips, he pushed himself deep inside of you and finished. he held onto your hips and felt the heat course through his body. when he relaxed after the height of pleasure, he slowed his rapid thrusts to a stop and kept his cock inside of your pussy for a moment.

he went in for a kiss, with a bit of heat to it. you groaned against him and held onto his shoulders tighter. eventually he pulled out and laid next to you on the bed.

his arms were loosely around you and he occasionally pressed kisses against your heated skin. he said, "anything you want. it's yours." he said like a promise.

you turned to look at him and softly smiled, still basking in the post-orgasm bliss. you replied, "would it be cheesy to say i want you?"

he smiled, "a little bit. but, i did promise anything." he pressed against you, his arm draped over your hip. he smiled, "so i guess you can have me." something made you heart skip, you kissed him deeply.

"then, i guess i have you." you simply replied before he took you by the head and kissed you deeply. he may fuck you to the point of tears, but you knew that lewis cared deeply for you. as you cared for him. <3

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queensunshinee · 2 months ago

Text

His favorite toy- Part 2 || Art Donaldson x reader

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Warnings: SMUT (p in v sex, oral sex), super toxic relationship.

Word Count: 6.5k

(part 1)

His favorit toy- Part 2:

Two months have passed since the last time Art and I fucked. Although it wouldn’t be fair to call it that, because I don’t fully know what it was. I only know he said he thinks he loves me. Neither of us made the minimal effort to rekindle any kind of relationship. I kept sitting with Janet and Shane, and he stayed in his place next to the friend he invented.

Occasionally, if I focused, I could feel his gaze on the back of my neck, but maybe I was imagining it. Maybe I also imagined his declaration of love, maybe I lost my grip on reality for a moment. Maybe more water needs to flow under this bridge. Maybe Tashi Duncan needs to be his, like he is hers, so I can stop dreaming about him at night. How did I become so dependent on the emotions of a girl I have no desire to exchange a word with? How did I lose someone I’m not sure was ever mine? And more than anything- what made me spend so much time in this endless whining?

A few days after that party, Luke sat next to me in one of the classes we share. He looked so good that if I close my eyes, I can imagine it's Art. A remarkably pathetic thought, but it works. Except he isn’t cruel. He doesn't try to deceive me or lead me to the point he wants me to reach. He’s interested in me and my hobbies, and sometimes he walks me from class to class, but in these two months, he hasn’t made any move beyond placing his hand on my shoulder. Maybe he thinks I have lice. Maybe he thinks I won’t be good enough in bed to risk our boring conversations about the eco-intro professor.

Maggie, the girl I work with, canceled at the last minute, so I ended up alone at the smoothie station and the register. I took comfort in the fact that it's exam season and not too many Stanford students would prefer to stand in line for a smoothie instead of grabbing a spot in the library on a Sunday night. "The usual?" I heard Art’s voice and lifted my gaze from the book I was reading. I blinked at him a few times, as if trying to figure out if I was imagining his smug smile. Maybe it wasn’t smug, maybe that's just how he always smiles when he sees me. Like he knows a secret he’ll never tell me. "I..." I tried to hold onto the reality as I knew it, "I don’t remember," I smiled without showing teeth, half-forced.

"Peach—" he stopped himself in the middle of the stupid nickname. Apparently, he understood from my look that it wasn’t appropriate after two months of radio silence. "Almond milk, banana, pecan, and coconut," he mumbled. "That’s $4.50," he nodded. I wondered if he was surprised, because I’d never asked him to pay before. I’d always used the free smoothie I got during my shift on him. "How a—" he started to speak, and I turned on the blender, seeing out of the corner of my eye that he was smirking and shaking his head. "Fair," he muttered. "Here’s your smoothie. Goodnight," I handed him the cup after a few seconds, with the most forced smile I could muster. He rolled his eyes in response and sat down in one of the empty chairs.

"What do you think you’re doing?" I asked. "Sitting and drinking my smoothie, obviously," he spoke again as if I were two years old. Like I needed him to mediate reality for me because I couldn’t understand it on my own. "Do you see anyone else sitting here?" I asked. "Just because the tables are empty because it’s ten at night and you’re working in a cafeteria-" he began. "This isn’t a cafeteria. It’s the—" "Doesn’t mean I can’t sit at one of the tables and drink my smoothie. Or are there new rules I’m not aware of?" I rolled my eyes in response. Smug dickhead. I was definitely not going to give him a second of my time. I went back to the book I was reading for my philosophy exam, trying to ignore his presence but realizing I was reading the same sentence five times in a row.

"What are you studying?" he asked after a few minutes of silence. "Why are you doing this?" I threw the question back from behind the counter, sighing in frustration. "What am I doing?" The usual smirk was plastered on his face. "Why are you here on a Sunday night, Art?" If I could stomp my foot to express protest, I would. "Because you’re here on a Sunday night." The smirk turned into a smile. I couldn’t tell if it was sincere. I never know if he’s sincere.

"What do you want?" I rolled my eyes and sighed, realizing he wasn’t going to leave. I knew he was stubborn in an almost inspiring way (or nauseating, depending on who you ask) and that he was always at an advantage with me. He always had the last word. All I had left was to let him say it quickly and move on with life. "To ask how you're doing?" he half said, half asked. He sounded hesitant, but I knew he wasn’t. I knew he was as confident as any other day. He knew exactly what he was doing. "Amazing. Anything else?" I found myself crossing my arms under my chest and saw him, without shame, shift his gaze, well… to my chest, raising an eyebrow.

"Arthur!" I felt like I was his aunt as he shook his head, almost playfully. "I missed you, Peaches. Is that so hard to believe?" He chuckled, still completely shameless. "Well, I didn’t." That was the first thing that came to mind, and the face Art made, along with the eye roll, only emphasized how much he didn’t believe me. "Why are you so mad at me?" His voice was amused as he approached the counter with his smoothie, grabbing the book I was reading without asking. "What course is this?" "Philosophy," I snatched it from his hand, and he grabbed mine with the speed of an athlete who works too much with his hands. "Let go," I muttered, not sure if I wanted him to release my hand or release me. But I was scared he'd agree and disappear again, and that was so fucking pathetic. "Never," he replied, keeping his gaze on me and giving my hand a squeeze. "It’s not fair, Art," I hated how my voice sounded. "What’s not fair?" he asked, tracing small circles on my hand the moment he felt me relax the muscle that had been trying to pull away from his touch. "What you're doing right now," I sighed. If he weren’t in front of me, I probably would’ve started crying out of frustration. "What am I doing right now?" The smirk was once again plastered on his face. "Trying to convince me everything's okay between us," I hesitated, and he shook his head from side to side. "Nothing's okay between us, Peaches. I hate it. I actually hate it. I think about you 80% of the day. Every time I want to talk to you, you're either with your friends or with Luke." He wrinkled his nose as he said his name.

"Why do you know his name?" I asked, studying him. "Because I looked him up, and I'm telling you, Peaches, he's fucking weird—" "You're fucking weird," I shot back, and he laughed, trying to move the hair from my face with his free hand. "Well, maybe you like us weird, maybe you've got a type," he tried to joke, making me roll my eyes. "Who said I like you, Donaldson?" I tried to defend myself, and Art wasn’t laughing anymore. He wasn’t smiling either. He just looked at me, not letting me read his expression. His hand, which had been playing with mine, tightened its grip, and his gaze locked onto me as if I was on trial for the words that just came out of my mouth.

"Let’s study for the statistics exam together tomorrow?" He changed the subject, not breaking his intense gaze. "Art—" "Study for the exam. Just that. I won't pass it if you don't help me," he flashed his most charming smile. The one he fakes in seconds. The one he uses for interviews with the Stanford magazine and in photoshoots for the tennis team posters. "Study with Dylan," I suggested, raising an eyebrow, referring to the imaginary friend he chose to sit with instead of me. "You want me to beg?" he asked, poking my shoulder with his finger, causing me to shift slightly but still not letting go of my hand. "Maybe," I teased. "I can. My ego will survive if you study with me for statistics tomorrow." He said it quicker than I expected.

"I have a philosophy exam at eight. Can you do twelve?" I asked. "I can when you can. Where’s the exam? I’ll wait for you," he said. "Meet me at the economics library. There’s a room where you’re allowed to talk if you’re working in groups," I explained my choice. "That’s ridiculous. Let’s study at your place or mine—" "We’ll study at the library, take it or leave it," I stated firmly, even though the temptation to go to his dorm was strong since he never invited me. We always went to mine. "Library it is," he agreed. "What’s your philosophy exam about?" he asked, finally letting go of my hand, which had been holding the book I was studying from. "Aristotle and eudaimonia. What he thinks about happiness," I muttered, opening my notes again. "What does he think about happiness?" Art asked, leaning on the counter. "You wouldn’t get it," I smiled at him, and saw him nod with a somewhat thoughtful look, as if his combative spirit and desire to argue had evaporated the moment I agreed to study statistics with him. "Tomorrow at twelve, Peaches. Don’t break my heart and ditch me," he threw into the air, leaving the booth with the same dramatic flair he had when he entered. . . . I walked into the economics library, which was packed with people. Art was already sitting there, messing with his phone more than with the notes in front of him on the table. He hadn’t noticed I’d entered, giving me the chance to observe him. His blonde curls fell over his eyes in a way that likely bothered him. He was wearing his red tennis outfit (the one I liked the most, I should mention) and looked carefree. He always seemed too relaxed, maybe that’s how it is when everything comes to you with an ease that’s almost disgusting.

"You need a haircut," I muttered the first thing that came to mind as I approached, seeing him look up immediately. "Hey," he said, smiling from ear to ear, "I saved a spot because I knew it’d be crowded," he added. "How long have you been sitting here?" I asked as I took the seat next to him. "Since about ten," he chuckled, probably at himself, "How was the exam?" he asked. "Long. Have you gone over any of the material?" Yesterday, I decided I’d be practical. I’d promised to help him, and honestly, I always understood the material better myself when I explained it to him. And if Art Donaldson could take advantage of my knowledge in statistics, then I could take advantage of the situation too. Not just him. "A little, I pretty much lost track in the middle of the course." Art had taken this course as an elective. I always found it funny because who takes statistics as an extra class when it’s not even required for their degree?

"What, Kevin didn’t let you copy his notes?" I looked at him with a raised eyebrow, and he lightly tapped my shoulder. "You’re mean. Since when are you so mean?" he responded with a humor I couldn’t fully read, unsure if he was joking or if part of him actually thought there was some cruelty in me. Maybe it was the philosophy exam I couldn’t shake off. Obsessive thoughts about happiness and potential. "I’m going to get myself some coffee, want me to bring you something?" I asked, changing the subject. "Sit down, get settled, I’ll get it for you," he nodded toward me and stood up, not giving me a chance to refuse before he disappeared from my sight, leaving me alone.

Art Donaldson will be the end of me. I’m certain of it. "My brain is fried, Donaldson. I can’t look at any more averages," I summed up after two hours of studying. "Yeah? Already gave up?" he asked, amused. "I remind you that I had an exam today! I don’t think I’ve eaten anything other than my own brain," I tried to remember what I’d actually eaten today. "So let’s go eat something," he smiled. His eyes practically sparkled. "Art," I sighed, resting my head on my hand. "What? We can’t go have lunch?" he asked with mock innocence. Speaking to me again like I was a child. Like I didn’t understand what he’d already figured out long ago. "No, of course not," I wanted to smack him on the head as if he were the dumbest person I knew. "I can’t let you stay hungry, Peaches, my grandmother would be mad at me," he quickly replied. Where was your grandmother every time you humiliated me to the core? Every time you made me feel empty and stupid? So stupid. "Your grandmother will survive," I rolled my eyes. "She’s a very sick woman, you don’t know that. I’ll tell her I let you starve and she’ll have a stroke. You won’t be able to live with that on your conscience. You’ll drag us into lives full of guilt—" "Okay, you’re giving me a headache, God," I mumbled, standing up. Art Donaldson’s smug smile returned to his face in an instant.

That’s how I found myself sitting across from him at the fancy cafeteria for athletes, eating nuggets after the woman working there flirted with him and gave me a threatening look. "Don’t hate Rosie, she always gives me extra pie," he said after I pointed out that she looked at me like I was the reason the Beatles broke up. "Because she wants to sleep with you," I rolled my eyes. "So she has a reason to look at you like that. Makes sense," he replied with a chuckle. "Okay, what is this?" I dropped the nugget I was holding and pointed between us as I leaned back in my chair. "What?" he continued eating as if nothing unusual was happening. "What are you doing, Art?" I asked, feeling my leg start to shake out of frustration.

"I’m eating and making sure you’re eating," he replied, taking another bite of his food, as if we were having a completely normal conversation. "We’re not going to fuck again just because you invited me to eat nuggets at the cafeteria, you know that, right?" I blinked at him, trying to signal that he was delusional. "Of course not," he said, leaning back in his chair as well. "I have principles, Donaldson," I continued. "I know," he smiled. "I’m not some girl you found on the street that you can treat however you want, disappear for two months, invite her for nuggets, and she’ll take off her bra just so you can vanish again until the next time you’re horny," my voice rose a bit, despite my effort to keep it calm. I saw his jaw tighten, his expression shifting from amused to cold. "Is that what you think this is?" he asked, and all I could do was shrug.

"It’s not like you’ve given me any reason to think otherwise, Art," I looked at him and felt that if I stayed there much longer, I’d start crying. "I told you that I lo—" he began, but I stood up. "Thanks for lunch, it’s definitely nicer than the regular cafeteria," I forced a smile, and he closed his eyes. "You didn’t eat anything," he replied. If I focused, maybe I could have seen his frustration growing. But I was trying to focus on not crying. Art Donaldson’s ego didn’t deserve to see me cry over him again. "I’m really tired, I need to sleep a bit before my shift," I mumbled. "Will you come to my match tomorrow?" he asked quietly. "Art—" "You don’t have to, but I’m saving you a seat, okay?" he cut off my answer, not wanting to hear a refusal, maybe not believing there was a bone in my body capable of saying no to him. . . . And it’s a little pathetic how I ended up walking onto the tennis court the next day, giving up the last shred of my self-respect. I was surprised to see how many people showed up to these things, especially at the end of exam season and right before the break. The place was packed.

‘You came’ -A- I got his message and tried to look around, searching for where he might be. ‘Down on the court’ -A- I could practically see his smirk in the words. I glanced toward him and shrugged. ‘Front row, saved you a seat next to Patrick’ -A- he added.

‘What the fuck is Patrick?’ -(Y/N)- I replied, not moving toward where he told me to go.

‘A friend. Please sit there.’ -A- He answered shortly. ‘Want to lift my head and know where you are’ -A- And when he says things like that, I almost forget how cruel he can be. So I find myself rolling my eyes and walking toward the seat he saved for me.

"Are you Patrick?" I mumbled, feeling my cheeks flush from the awkward interaction with the guy sitting next to the empty seat. "Depends who’s asking," the curly-haired guy responded, flashing a mischievous half-smile. I can see why they’re friends. Fucking twelve-year-olds in the bodies of twenty-year-olds, how is that even possible?! "Don’t be a dick," we heard from down below, and I turned to see Art approaching us. "Who’s this?" the guy I didn’t know asked, as if I wasn’t standing right there—seriously, rude as hell, but whatever. "Patrick, behave," Art wasn’t joking, not even smiling, scolding him like you’d scold a misbehaving pet. "You came," Art looked me over, grinning from ear to ear. "Don’t let it go to your head, I had some free time," I muttered, sitting down. Art nodded. "Will you stay after the game?" he asked. I think it was the first time Art had to look up to talk to me. "I don’t know, I need to keep studying for statistics," I answered. "Me too," he replied. "We’ll study together," he shrugged, not giving me a chance to respond before he walked off, taking his position. Getting ready to serve.

“Interesting,” the guy next to me said. “What exactly?” I asked, rolling my eyes and still not looking at him. “You, of course,” I could hear him smiling. “What’s so interesting about me?” I kept staring into the air, unsure if I should focus on Art, who still hadn’t started playing, or the phenomenon sitting next to me. Arrogant, just like the blond guy who’s been emotionally torturing me for months. “Well, first of all, I’ve never heard of you. You’re a surprise,” he said as if it was obvious. And it stung a little, even though I knew the chances of Art talking about me were slim to none. “Maybe you’re the problem, Pete,” I muttered, snapping my fingers like I was trying to recall his name. “Patrick,” he corrected, laughing, making me look at him. He had a loud laugh, unapologetic. I knew his name was Patrick, and he knew I knew, but he still found it amusing.

“Maybe you’re the surprise,” I told him. “He doesn’t talk about you either.” I tried to sound unaffected, like everything was fine. The game started, and Art looked distracted. Maybe he always looks like that when he plays tennis- I’ve never watched his games before, he’s never invited me. “You’re supposed to watch the other side too,” Patrick whispered in my ear, causing me to roll my eyes. “Hey, Stats Girl,” I heard the familiar voice of Tashi Duncan just before she sat next to Patrick, cursing the day I decided to trust Art Donaldson and show up at his game. “The one and only,” I muttered with the best smile I could muster, feeling myself blush at the ridiculous nickname she gave me. “How’s he doing?” she asked Patrick. I wondered what their connection was. “He’s good, you know, as usual. Ice.” he replied, and they started talking quietly about the game, about Art, and about the opponent.

All I could think about was how good Art looked. He looked as if everything came to him effortlessly, as if he didn’t need to try for anything—everything just happened. And I knew that wasn’t true, I knew he worked hard, trained, ate properly, invested in his studies, and that he was probably a good grandson and a good friend. He was good to everyone except me. “Are you enjoying the game?” Tashi asked, pulling my gaze away from Art for a moment. “Huh?” I asked, not understanding what she wanted. “The game, are you enjoying it? He’s playing well,” she clarified. “Yeah, he’s really good,” I mumbled. I didn’t know what else to add to make it sound convincing. “Leave her, Tash. She doesn’t know anything about tennis, she’s his cheerleader,” Patrick answered her, snickering. I shot him a murderous look. “Patrick, don’t be rude,” Tashi said, “I’m sorry about him, he doesn’t know how to behave around people,” she turned to me, as if he wasn’t there. “It’s fine,” I replied, feeling my leg start to shake from the frustration. They went back to talking about the game, and I suddenly felt how pathetic it was, showing up to watch him play. To come and see him in his element, when he wasn’t part of my life anymore. When his friend sat next to me, mocking me to my face. “I’ll be right back…” I mumbled, walking toward the exit. I had no intention of coming back. . . . Two hours later, there were chaotic knocks on my door. “You left,” Art walked in without waiting for an invitation the second I opened the door. He looked angry. “I told you I didn’t know if I’d stay, I have an exam tom-” “Bullshit. What’s your deal? Why did you come?” He practically shouted as I closed the door. “You asked me to come,” I mumbled. “I also asked you to stay, but you left in the middle, so what was the point of you coming?” He crossed his arms. I don’t think I’d ever seen him this angry. He’s always calculated and calm. “Did he say something?” he added, asking a question. “What?” I returned, not understanding what he was talking about. “Patrick, did he say something to you? Why did you leave?” He asked again, speaking to me like I was a child. “He didn’t say anything to me. I left because I didn’t understand what I was even watching. I don’t know anything about tennis, Art, and I have an exam to study for,” I tried to justify. “Enough with that exam. I heard you studying for it yesterday, you know the material, we both know you know it.” He sighed. “I didn’t ask you to come to give tennis commentary. I asked you to come because I wanted you in the crowd. I wanted to see you in the crowd,” he continued. I could hear the effort in his voice to keep it together, to not lose control.

“Tashi was in the crowd; that should be enough for you,” I muttered, lifting my gaze to him, seeing that he was already staring at me. We had never talked like this about Tashi. She had always been this figure hovering above us. He talked about her constantly, unrelated to anything. He talked about her like she was a god. He talked about how she played tennis, about her training, how she helped him. He talked about parties he only went to because Tashi wanted to go. But I never responded in a way that would let him understand that I knew. That I wasn’t completely clueless. That I knew he was completely in love with her. That he loved her the way I loved him and that nothing would change that. “Oh, so that’s the problem. You could’ve started with that. It bothered you that Tashi was in the crowd?” He chuckled. He fucking chuckled. “Why did it bother you?” He moved closer to me, and I had no choice but to avert my gaze from his piercing blue eyes, which felt like bullets at that moment. “It didn’t bother m-” “Look at me.” He was close enough to grab my head and turn it back to face him. “I asked you a question,” he added, not letting me escape. And if there’s anyone I didn’t want to talk about, it’s Tashi Duncan.

“Why did you invite me? Why did you want me in the crowd?” “Because I wanted you to see me play,” he answered without blinking, as if it was obvious. As if there wasn’t a single question I could ask him that he wouldn’t have an answer for. “You love Tashi, Art. You lo-” His lips were on mine the second I said it. Again, there was nothing calm or calculated about this kiss. He was trying to prove that he didn’t, that I was wrong. While we both knew I was right. “You can’t say things like that, Peaches. You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he mumbled as he pulled away from me to catch a breath. “It’s okay that you love her. I’ve made peace with it. I just need you to let me move on, Art,” I sighed, trying to catch my breath again. “I don’t fucking love her.” He was angry; I could hear it in his voice. “What do I have to do to make you understand that you’re the only girl for me?” He kissed me again, and I could feel him getting hard from the way he pressed against me, causing me to moan into his mouth. “Yeah? Is this the only way I can get through to you? Is this the only way you believe me?” he asked, running his lips down my neck. "Art," it was half a moan, half a cry. My eyes closed, and as they did, I felt the weight of his hands on my shoulders, pulling me down until I was on my knees in front of him. I unbuttoned his jeans and quickly pulled down his boxers. I felt almost possessed as he sat on the edge of my bed, forcing me to crawl toward him. “There we go. Is this the only way I need to treat you for you to understand your place?” he muttered as I knelt before him again. I felt a light slap on my cheek from his cock, much more humiliating than painful. “I asked you a question,” he continued.

“N-no,” I mumbled. “Even your voice is annoying me right now,” he muttered, and without warning, I felt his cock in my mouth. He didn’t give me a moment to adjust, punishing me for leaving the match, maybe for bringing up Tashi, maybe for everything combined. You could never tell with him. I felt him hitting the back of my throat, and I tried to suppress my gag reflex with little success. Three months since he’d been in my mouth showed signs. “Shhh, you can do better than that,” he half-stroked my hair, half-held me in place by it. Then he pulled me back, leaving a trail of spit and precum. “You’re such a mess,” he chuckled, and again I felt a light slap of his cock against my cheek. I put my lips back where I knew he needed them the most, and this time, there was no gentle stroking of my hair. There was only a hand forcing me to stay in place as he used my mouth however he wanted. “Nothing to say now, huh?” he said, not very coherently, as I began to feel the warm, thick liquid spill into my throat. “Atta girl,” he patted my hair twice before letting me pull back.

I stood up slowly, trying to catch my breath. “Come here,” he mumbled, pointing to his thigh. I can’t refuse Art Donaldson, so I sat on his lap, placing my hands on his neck in an almost embrace, watching him smile. “Why is everything so hard with you?” he muttered, and his lips lazily found my neck. “I just don’t know what you want from me,” I responded, trying to focus on anything other than his lips currently on my collarbone. “I told you I love you,” he mumbled, his eyes locking onto mine. “You don’t mean that,” I shot back.

“Oh yeah?” His smirk spread across his face, and in seconds, he tossed me onto the bed as if I weighed nothing. He was above me. “For now, the one acting like a brat is you,” he said, his presence casting a shadow over me like a predator playing with its prey. “The one who left in the middle of my match is you.” His lips again left trails on my skin. I don’t even know when he took my shirt off. I felt a light bite on my nipple that made me moan. “Fuck, fa- Art,” I mumbled, unable to focus. “The one avoiding interaction with my friends is you.” His hand joined in, starting to torture my other nipple as his kisses moved further down. “I’m not,” I managed to respond, just as he easily removed my panties.

His breaths hovered over my pussy, short and hot, and if I didn’t know Art Donaldson so well, I would’ve thought he was looking up at me with almost a pleading expression. But he was in complete control. A small kiss on my lips, but not where I really needed him, made me shift my hips a little, and he chuckled- a laugh that was almost childlike. “Hey, ask nicely,” he managed to say, and I returned to the position I had before, legs around his head. “Please, Art,” I knew there was no point in arguing; he always got what he wanted in the end. “No problem, baby,” in seconds, his tongue was on my clit, starting slowly with circular motions and picking up speed with every moment. “There you go, you’re almost there,” he muttered, pulling back just before I could come. “What-” I tried to catch my breath again, craving the euphoria only he could give me at that moment. “I want to be inside you,” he answered without waiting for the full question, and in an instant, his cock filled me, making me moan. “Fuck,” I managed to mumble, feeling my eyes roll back. “Hold on a little longer, Peach,” he said, slipping his finger into my mouth like he liked to do, watching my lips close around it. “Now,” he muttered, pushing it deeper into my throat while he thrust into me, feeling me tighten around him like only an orgasm from him could make me do.

He fucked me stupid. There’s no other way to describe what I experienced, and as we both tried to catch our breath, I wondered how long it would take for him to leave this time and what his excuse would be. “Don��t you have practice tomorrow?” I quietly asked, trying to throw him off balance for a moment. “No, but I don’t know anything for the stats exam,” he admitted and chuckled. “Art! I taught you all the material yesterday,” I rolled my eyes. “I can’t concentrate when you’re teaching me.” “Then why did you ask for help?” It was my turn to laugh. “Because you’re the most beautiful when you’re in your element,” he shrugged like it was obvious. Like hearing me talk about statistics would make him fall in love with me. Like it wasn’t what I felt two and a half hours ago when he played tennis, until I almost choked on love.

“When are you going home?” he asked, probably knowing my last exam was in statistics. “I’m not,” I replied casually, and he quickly shifted positions. “Why the hell not?” he asked, and I saw a small wrinkle form between his eyebrows. “It’s no big deal, Donaldson,” I chuckled, “I picked up extra shifts, and I have a paper to work on. Speaking of shifts, I need to get ready for mine.” I added as I checked the time. He watched me as I walked around the room, trying to decide if I smelled too much like sex to push the shower until after work. “Are you coming to the study marathon tomorrow before the exam?” he asked, starting to get dressed too. “Of course,” I looked at him like he was crazy. “Don’t think about skipping it, Art. You need it,” I said, knowing exactly who I was dealing with. “Okay, Mom,” his voice was amused, and I rolled my eyes, looking at him for another moment. We don’t get too many moments like these. Almost domestic. Almost mine.

"Hey, we're good, right?" he suddenly asked, holding my hand and not letting me continue running around the room. "Yeah, Art, everything's fine," I smiled half-heartedly, feeling a bit embarrassed. "Because I don't want another two months like these," he muttered, and I knew it was hard for him to admit. It was hard for him to say that the past two months had been strange, to say the least. Difficult, to be honest. "Me neither." I nodded at him. "When are you flying home?" I asked as we were both already outside the door, after I had locked it. "Four hours after the exam, I’m supposed to be on a flight," he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Wow, two weeks at home, excited?" I asked. "Not that much, mostly glad I get to visit my grandma. She follows my matches with her entire retirement home, it’s a big deal for her." "Ooooh, you've got fans, Donaldson?" I joked. "You know I do," he replied. "Seriously though, why aren’t you going home?" he added. "It’s not that deep, just an opportunity to make some extra money. Plus, my mom and I aren’t in the best place right now," I shrugged, as if it wasn’t a big deal. "Don’t you miss home?" he asked. "Not like most people probably do," I smiled at him. "I hate it when you smile like that," he said and suddenly stopped. "How?" I asked, looking at him as if he were crazy. "Without teeth. That’s your fake smile," he replied without blinking, as if it were strange that I was even asking. "I didn’t think you noticed," I mumbled. And I really didn’t think there was a possibility that Art Donaldson paid attention to details that, until now, I thought only I noticed about him. "I’ll see you tomorrow at the marathon?" he asked when we reached the point where I was supposed to head to the cafeteria and he to his dorm. "Don’t be late," I ordered, giving his face a small push, watching him chuckle and walk away from me. . . .

The next morning, I woke up with the worst headache I’d ever had in my life. I felt my nose was blocked, and I knew for sure I had a fever, though I had no way to measure it. 'Where are you?' -A-

'Sick, I’ll come for the exam' -(Y/N)-

'What’s wrong with you?' -A- I didn’t respond to that message, preferring to sleep a bit more before waking up for the statistics exam.

I got in the shower, and when I got out, I looked at myself in the mirror, seeing my flushed cheeks as a contrast to my pale face. There was no mistaking it when you looked at me- I wasn’t at my best. The auditorium was partially full when I entered, people chatting among themselves, and I looked around, seeing Art already staring at me before he approached, getting ahead of Janet, who shot me a questioning glance. "Well, you look like shit," he stated, placing his hand on my forehead. "Fuck, Peaches, you’re burning up," he muttered, looking at me with an almost angry expression. "How did you manage to start dying in the minute and a half I left you alone?" he said. "I’m talented, Donaldson. Can you not yell? My head hurts," I mumbled, sitting in the empty seat I found.

The exam went smoothly and ended faster than it began. I physically couldn’t wait for Art to finish, so I texted him, hoping he’d enjoy his time at home, and I went to sleep. Half an hour later, there was a knock at my door, chaotic like the one from the day before. "Hey," he muttered. "You’ll miss your flight," I replied, running a tired hand over my eyes. "I’m not flying," he said quickly. "What?" I asked, not understanding what he was talking about, seeing him take off his shirt and pants, left only in his boxers. "Art, I physically can’t have sex," I chuckled, not understanding what was happening. "We’re going to sleep," he declared, pulling me toward him, leaving me no choice but to get into bed next to him. "Your bed’s worse than mine. Tomorrow we’ll sleep at my dorm," he stated.

"You're going to get sick too" I rolled my eyes, "Why aren’t you going home?" I asked quietly, while his hand traced shapes on my shoulder. "It felt weird going home when you’re sick and staying here," he replied, not ashamed for a second. "Your grandma must be disappointed," I mumbled. "I told her my girlfriend is sick," he said. I wanted so badly to see his face, but I had my back to him. "She must’ve been surprised you have a girlfriend," I said the first thing that came to mind, feeling my heart race. "Not at all, I talk to her about you all the time."

. . .

So here it is. The second part I didn't plan. Hope you like it even tho I wrote half of it while being super sick and didn't check my own grammar at all, so bear with me (a reminder: English is not my first language). Let me know what you think. It's always the best part. Also, I think I'm up for some requests. Let's see what we can come up with. Love you guys

#challengers fic #art donaldson #challengers #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson smut #his favorite toy

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ccieatchildren · 3 months ago

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I’m sure we’ve all seen by now Steve Blackman’s reasoning for Five/Lila stating:

“I felt that Five had to have a love story.”

And how it shows how this man somehow has such a deep fundamental misunderstanding about his own characters. How he helped create the first three seasons of this show and doesn’t realize that

This is Five’s love story.

Umbrella Academy the show wouldn’t exist without Five’s love. The whole plot and story is it.

He is the catalyst of all the plot lines while his family is the center of all the story beats. His love is the instigator for all the events of the show simply because he chooses to do everything possible in the hope that it will save his loves.

It’s not like this was even a subtle idea because Five literally states it himself multiple times over the series!

I just don’t understand how you can get it so wrong.

He creates the Commission in hopes of regulating the timeline so his family won’t get obliterated from existence, tattooing himself with the potential solution to rewriting the universe so they can all live happily one day.

He survives the apocalypse all on his own, when there was no real reason to, just because he believed he could get back to his family, spending 50+ years developing the math to one day do so.

He joins the Commission and murders and maims and manipulates in the desperate attempt that he might have a chance to go back and see/save his family.

He spends the first time he sees his family after over six decades not with them, but rather searching for a way to stop their deaths, sending them all through time when it doesn’t work.

He runs himself ragged stopping apocalypse after apocalypse just for them.

And when he loses all hope, accepting the kugelblitz, he is content to know he is doing so with his family.

As much as this show is about the whole family, ultimately, imo, this is Five’s story about his grueling quest to save the family he loves.

Because otherwise this show wouldn’t exist without him and the rest of the characters would just be decorations in the rubble of a world long gone.

So to say bro needed a love story— he doesn't say romance, but love story— is so durna, like what??? I guess if you really wanted him to have a romance you could do that, but there were many better options than the wife of someone he deeply loves, something he would never do.

(Not to mention all the real world implications of the romance with the actors, production really was waiting for him to be legal ಠ_ಠ)

Also I don’t think it’s a coincidence that many fans view Five somewhere under the aro/ace umbrella (pun intended).

Now, because of this misconstruction the ending of the show also suffers.

Brushing over all the mind boggling things the real ending says about abuse, its victims, and growing from it (which is actually like how did no one look at that and think hmm maybe this isn’t right for the story we’ve been telling), it also misunderstands love. It tells the audience that love isn’t worth it, in a show… about love. Not just Five’s but Hazel/Agnes, Viktor/Sissy, Allison+Claire, and more. How all your pain and suffering and tribulations for those you love are stupid and useless and cringe.

But y’know what, Mr. Blackman, I think you’re cringe for that absolute bonkers bananas ending.

And that’s why having the solution to the series being that Five should have never jumped in the first place would have been the best ending.

Making it so that the only solution to save the whole universe be that Five stay with his family, with those he loved— what he had been trying to do for the whole show— would have been the perfect conclusion to the story. It would show that all he had to do was stay, because that’s all they ever needed, that’s all he ever needed.

AND IT WOULD MAKE LOGISTICAL SENSE.

Five and Viktor are well confirmed to have been the closest ever since they were young. And Five (doesn’t matter if he’s the now Five who lived through the shows events or the young one who ran off) would most certainly be a supportive figure in Viktor’s life. He’s smart, for one, and it wouldn’t be a stretch for him to figure out what was really going on (especially with his hatred of Reginald) and help Viktor that way. But even if he doesn’t, when they grow to adults and Viktor naturally doesn’t take his pills or his power starts showing, Five’s love and care for his (closest) brother would most certainly help prevent the apocalypse. Especially since if Five and Viktor are close, as they grow older, I feel like the others would grow closer as well, maybe not the same degree, but they would be more willing and supportive of Viktor in the end (I feel like Season 1 shows us how at the end of the day the siblings do care for Viktor, but they were just too late, so this time they wouldn’t be).

Through the subway we see the timeline where he jumps still exists, so that should mean there is a way for him not to do that. His jumping (and the siblings he brings along) is what creates the paradoxes and the "need" for the Commission. So by him not jumping, problem solved.

This might come at the cost of the current versions of the characters, but I think if they can make the developmental journeys they did once, I think they can do it again, and have a happy ending.

(Also the Jennifer incident wouldn’t happen either bcs of Five or just bcs that plot line was so fluffin stupid, so yay alive Ben)

(And Diego and Luther meet Lila and Sloane respectively cuz they are also part of the marigold brood so they still do exist at the same time, so yay happy couples)

It is somewhat simple, but I think that works as well, especially for a character like Five. He spends so much time looking at all the different equations, trying to find some complex solution to everything, trying permutation after permutation (as evidenced by our and the diner Five's), when it was right in front of him. Idk, I just think it would be nice if he just decided to stay with his siblings instead of running off.

Sure it may not be completely perfect, maybe Ben still does die, or Klaus can’t meet Dave again, or characters still find themselves prey to their arrogance but I don’t think it needs to be, because real life isn’t perfect. But the bonds we make and the love we share makes it so, a major theme the Umbrella Academy isn't unfamiliar with.

And it just makes me so deeply sad that this isn’t the ending we got. That this isn’t the ending the characters got.

They deserve so much better than Blackman gave them, and it’s a disgrace that he didn’t.

#my analysis #the umbrella academy #tua #tua season 4 #five hargreeves #number five #tua five #umbrella acedmy #tua spoilers #tua s4 spoilers #there's a lot more things i could rant about #but i just had to talk abt how blackman rlly did five and the gang dirty

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