#challengers blurb

[t1ts-4-donaldson]

Accidentally walking in on Stanford Patrick jerking off on your bed, pillow shoved on top of his face smelling your shampoo while bucking his thick swollen cock into his hand to the point where it looks painful, your mouth watering wanting to help him out. You stand and stare for a bit knowing he hasn’t heard you walk in. Happily satisfied with a new visual for when you touch yourself with at night, hell you might even steal one of his used shirts sniffing and grinding against the fabric rubbing it against your pussy until you cum. Patrick is confused as when he finds his shirt in his hamper beyond confused with the stains left in that weren’t there before

[artsangell]

[saintzweig]

i think art is the type to become a stalker without even realizing. he sits behind you at some random match during the junior us open, he didn't even mean to eavesdrop on your conversation but he was just so in awe that he couldn't look away from you. he overhears you tell your friend what time your match is tomorrow, that you're wearing your favorite navy blue tennis dress, and how you've accepted your scholarship to stanford. and the next day, he's at your match. and months later, he's at stanford.

he shows up everywhere you go, not because he's a pervert with ill intentions but because he just likes staring at you. he stalks all your friends to find out what your interests are before striking up conversations with you and pretending he's seen the films you like to get on your good side.

he overhears you tell your friend during training how you find it attractive when guys wear their hats backwards and guess what? art wears his hats backwards during trainings now. during a party thrown by someone on the tennis team, you tell him that you think he looks good in navy blue (which he knows is your favorite color) and sudden his wardrobe has five new navy blue additions.

someone's talking shit about you? their asking for your forgiveness the day after he finds out. some guy broke your heart? you'll see them around with a broken nose.

but it's all in good intentions, he'd never deliberately do anything to make you uncomfortable. he just really likes you and would do anything for you.

[intomepang]

how’d i get so lucky?

boyfriend!patrick zweig x reader

note: just needed some cute bf patrick!!! first time posting something like this so i hope you enjoyy!! sorry if there are any errors, barely proofread this.

patrick’s been sitting on the edge of your bed for a while now, one leg stretched out, the other bent as he leans back on his elbows. he got to your dorm just a few hours ago, doing his usual visit before leaving for tour.

as you sit at your desk, working through your skincare routine, you can feel his eyes on you. it’s not unusual since he always watches you with this quiet focus, like you’re the only thing in the world worth his attention. when you glance up into the mirror, there he is, his expression softer than usual.

“what?” you ask, meeting his gaze in the reflection, your tone light but curious.

“nothing,” he says with a small shrug, but the smile doesn’t leave his face. “you just look... peaceful, i guess.”

you roll your eyes to mask the sudden fluttering in your chest and turn to face him fully, twisting the lid back onto your moisturizer. “want me to do it for you?”

patrick blinks, not expecting that offer. “what, like... your skincare routine?”

“yeah. don’t look at me like that,” you laugh, standing up and grabbing a few of your products.

he huffs out a soft chuckle, but when you walk over and nudge him with your knee, he doesn’t hesitate to sit up straight, giving you room to climb onto his lap.

“alright, alright,” he says, settling his hands instinctively on your waist to steady you.

your favorite playlist softly fills the background as you settle on his lap, a couple of skincare products around you. his eyes are closed, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips as you swipe a cotton pad across his face, your legs draped comfortably on either side of him.

“you’re way too good at this,” he mumbles, voice low and content. “are you sure this isn’t just an excuse to manhandle my face?”

you huff out a laugh, dipping your fingers into a jar of moisturizer. "do you want me to stop? you need this, especially since you’re out baking under the sun all day playing tennis." you tease.

he opens one eye lazily, the corner of his mouth twitching into a grin. “i love it when you’re bossy, you know that?”

“close your eyes,” you warn, tapping the tip of his nose with a teasing finger. he chuckles but complies, leaning further back against the headboard as his grip on your waist tightened slightly.

as you smooth the cream over his skin in small circles, you catch the way his jaw relaxes, the faint smile softening while his thumbs brush absentmindedly against your sides, making your heart flutter.

“i miss you a lot when i’m away,” he admits, his voice cutting through the quiet. “always thinking about you.”

your hands still on his cheeks as his words sink in. there’s a vulnerability in the way he says it, like it’s a thought he’s been holding onto for too long. his eyes open, meeting yours.

“i know. i miss you too.” you whisper, smoothing your thumbs along his cheekbones. “you can always call me when you can.”

“it’s not enough.” his hands press more firmly on your waist, grounding himself. “every tournament, every match—i think about what it would feel like to come home to you, instead of some cheap motel room.”

your heart squeezes at his honesty. you trace the curve of his jaw with your fingertips, trying to pour all the reassurance you can into your touch. the two of you can be away from each other for so long yet somehow, in moments like this, it feels as though the distance never mattered.

you’re about to respond, but he speaks again. “how’d i get so lucky to have someone that supports me and understands me the way you do?” he says it with smile.

your own lips curving upward to match his. “you make it easy, you know,” your head tilting slightly. “loving you, cheering you on— it’s never felt like a choice. it just comes naturally.”

patrick lets out a shaky breath, his hands slipping up to your back, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. he presses a kiss to your shoulder, lingering there and cherishing the moment.

“i love you.” he whispers, his lips brushing against your skin.

you pull away and smile, cupping his face again to tilt it toward yours. “i love you, patrick.” you whisper, your hands sliding into his hair as you kiss him.

[tinytennisskirt]

art giving you a tummy bulge or whatever it’s called

PUT IT IN MY LIVER

um yes ofc mwah mwah mwah 😉

18+ MDNI under the cut!

warnings: mentions of marijuana use and drinking, sex!!! and subby art <333

one minute you’re just getting high to balance out the small buzz from the vodka and the next, you’re kissing him as the weed hits. you feel a little extra aware of your body as you kiss him, feeling his hands slide down your waist as yours crawl up around his neck. you both leaned in and just ended up kissing and you were here now, in a kiss that wasn’t urgent, but wasn’t too slow either. feeling the high over the alcohol as you crawl onto his lap where he sits against his pillow, his hands sliding down over your hips, your ass.

“oh fuck,” he whispers against your lips as you press against him more intentionally. you can feel him get hard through his sweats and your yoga pants. his face flushes pink and you can feel it from the heat between kisses. “i’m sorry-“ he mumbles. you just smile, continuing to kiss him. the radio on low across the room the only sound aside from the sound of fabric hitting the floor as you take your shirt off. you’re just possessed by the weed. every one of his kisses feel so good, they feel like music, they’re soft and they tickle a bit as he kisses down your chest.

you wouldn’t have even thought he was into you. you thought he just enjoyed your company. maybe it was the weed or the alcohol but it felt right in the moment. no need to dwell on something that would ruin it. you sit up a little more so that he can continue to kiss down your chest, but he looks up at you and you can’t help but kiss him properly. his jaw is tipped up so that he can kiss you where you are, but his hands pull at your hips, asking you to sit on him again.

you slowly sink back down, grinding gently on him when you land. he makes a noise you didn’t think he’d be one to make and it ignites a fire in you that even the lighter on the bedside couldn’t spark up. you begin to grind on him a little more, looking for that gorgeous noise again as you kiss rather lazily, slow but not in a boring way, in a way where there kiss is so concentrated that there’s no other way to go about it. hands on each other’s bodies, slowly, sensually roaming. feeling the weed being you up into the clouds, making you hyper aware of everything you’re doing but it all feels so fucking right.

when you grind it feels like your bodies are melting together. you can’t stop smiling through every kiss and his hands are pushing you into him more for more friction and he’s kind of pathetic that way but it’s adorable. you move from where you’re positioned and you swear he almost whines, but you’ve only moved off his lap and next to him. you’re sitting on your knees now, turning his face and kissing him again, just a little harder than before. just as slow. just as smooth.

one moment you’re smoking, the next you’re kissing and then the next you’re sliding your hand down his pants to grab his dick. and he hums when you grip him, trying not to make another noise but it’s everything and your hands feel so good. he’s sure there’s nothing better than how he’s feeling. he kisses you harder to silence himself as you begin to stroke his cock, pumping gently and slowly up and down. the space is limited so he pulls his clothing away from him so you have full range of motion.

and soon you’re picking up pace, kissing him, letting him grab at you the way he needs. he’s desperate to grab and feel everything as you jerk him off. “that feel good?” you ask him.

you like how he struggles to answer. it’s cute. “really good.” he answers breathlessly. “so good- mmm”.

“faster? slower?”

“faster-“ he says, “please.”

and you do as he wishes, moving your hand faster. he’s pressing his hips upward into your hand for extra leverage. you’re high and you can hear the radio and the white noise and his moaning and it’s perfect. the fire between your legs burns and you just… need him. your free hand cups his jaw, tilts his head up to kiss you when you raise up on your knees.

“i’m gonna-“ he says, breaths growing sharp. “can i?” you’re taken aback a little by the question, you’ve never been asked it before. if you were wet before, you were wetter now.

“uh huh.” you nod. and it’s only a few more strokes before he comes undone. it’s warm and it leaks down over your fingers and knuckles and he’s breathing hard and you don’t give a fuck, you need to fuck him now. the weed and alcohol says so. you’re dizzy but you need him. and he’s all sensitive but it’s so pretty the way he sounds-after helping you take your pants and underwear off- when you slowly sink down onto his cock. smoking, kissing, jerking him off, to fucking.

he makes these adorable little half-groan, half-moan sounds and they’re somewhere between high and low pitch. all you know is that they fuel you as you rock back and forth on his lap, your own moans mixing with his. he’s still coated in his own cum so even if you weren’t the waterfall you were at that moment, he’s still be slipping in and out of you so easily. it was a good thing you were on the pill.

“fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” he mumbled over your lower lip before you bit it gently, pulling just the slightest.

“you like this?”

“so… much… fuck,” his sounds were so fulfilling. “you feel so fucking good.”

his hands wanted to touch every single inch of you they could, they slid up and down your back but mostly rested in a grip on your waist, your hips, pulling you down on him. lazy, easy, sloppy sex that felt like the greatest thing in the world when you were crossfaded. neither of you cared about how you presented or how you sounded. not even about how loud you were as art fucked up into you while you rode him.

his hand was strategic, fingers reaching down, finding your clit and rubbing small, quick circles. you felt ripples of pleasure throughout your body and you knew maybe he’d been with a few girls based on that move alone. but that wasn’t the concern. you rolled your hips and he groaned so loudly. you’d never fucked anyone so vocal and you loved it, every move you made had a purpose- to elicit a noise from him. he made such pretty noises.

and it wasn’t long before his hand and his dick were both feeling just right. your own moans bounced off every wall in the dorm room and you rode him harder, feeling him deeper and deeper inside of you. he was big, he was really big, bigger than you thought. you knew it was genetics and probably because he was so thin, but it went so deep it hurt. and you had lost your virginity ages ago…

you could feel it in your lower stomach and as art trailed his other hand down your stomach, it trailed over the small spot where you could feel he was hitting. he was so deep there was the slightest little bump where he reached the top. you looked down as you bounced, “oh fuck- i’m going to“ and without warning you finished… HARD. harder than any orgasm you’d ever had alone. the mixture of sensations pushed you to the absolute limits of pleasure. art finished right after you, filling you with more of his cum, so much that it leaked before he even pulled out.

you slumped a little bit into him, dizzy. the room felt like it was spinning and you kissed him gently before resting your head for just a moment more before cleaning up. this was unexpected, sex on a whim, but it was definitely fucking good. and you would do it again. and you did do it again. twice more just to see the little bulge in your stomach again.

[bleedinwidow]

hiii guys.. long time no see..

!!! : NSFW/SMUT, art donaldson x reader, fem!reader, fingering, car shit i think idk, 2019/new rochelle art

wc; aprx. 950

an; i’ve never actually posted proper smut before and i’m kinda shameful LOL. is that normal for the first time posting? perhaps i’ll post enough to get used to it. hope this isn’t too crappy. also this isn’t necessarily proofread so my bad

You can’t help it.

Driving home with Art post-date night had your mind running wild. Sat in the passengers seat in your little tight dress, thighs pressed close together and your hands in your lap, fingers intertwined with a grip so harsh your knuckles turned white.

Your eyes were only on one thing — Art’s hands holding that fucking steering wheel. Years of tennis practise, holding the racket with a tight grip, working each and every muscle in his long fingers; it really, really paid off. He must’ve noticed about halfway through the ride, because that’s when he started drumming them against the wheel every now and then or flexing them, but not even a glance your way.

Your bottom lip juts out, your head lolling against the car window, lifting with each small bump. Art glances towards you, then into the road and back to you again. He reaches out a hand and places it on your thigh; you flinch, and he pretends not to notice. “You all good?” He asks, his voice soft.

You want to scoff. You almost do. But you bite your tongue and nod, staring his hand down with both irritation and utmost desire. It’s just not fair. You’re seconds away from behaving like a petulant child, stomping and kicking and crying until Art shoves his fingers in your mouth to shut you up.

Anyway.

The car ride back to yours and Art’s apartment drags on. The low hum of the radio does a little bit of good to distract you from your thoughts, but they linger in the back of your mind nonetheless. What a burden. You plot as you wait to arrive at your destination. Lily’s with Tashi this week — hence your date night — so there’s no need to worry about that, and you’re sure you can somehow convince (cough, seduce) Art into giving you what you want.

Pulling into the apartment lobby’s parking, Art stops the car and turns his attention towards you with a gentle smile. “We’re here,” he states, rather obviously, but it’s something sweet about him you find charming. You don’t smile back though, no; you pout, and his instantly fades into a look of concern. You hate that you can’t tell whether it’s feigned or not.

“What’s wrong? Is something bothering you?” He questions, undoing his seatbelt to face his body more towards you, reaching a hand out to cup the side of your face. His thumb strokes against your cheek in a delicate manner. You half-grumble, half-whine, and a fond smile curls up at the corners of his lips.

You take his hand, the one holding your face, and guide it to your mouth. You kiss the centre of his palm, your own pressed against the back of his hand as you intertwine your fingers with his. You shuffle, climbing over into the backseat and Art watches, until he’s ultimately tugged there with you and seated beside you.

“Baby? What’s—,” before he can finish, he’s interrupted by the surprise that consumes him as his hand’s guided beneath your dress and against the heat between your legs, the fabric of your underwear a lot damper than he had imagined. His lips part slightly, his tongue running over them to hydrate them, watching his hand disappear beneath your clothing.

“Please? You’ve been teasing me,” you beg softly, and your thighs close around his hand, trapping it there. His eyes flicker between yours and his hand, contemplating, and before either of you know it, the pads of his fingers are rubbing firm strokes against you from over your clothing. You squirm, your unoccupied arm wrapping around his, bringing it to your chest as his hand works against you.

Art slides the fabric to the side, and he’s instantly met with the slick of your pussy. You bury your face into his inner elbow with what could be considered a silent whimper, hips bucking faintly. He watches your face closely as his finger glides through your folds, watching for any change of expression, whether it be the scrunching of your nose or the screwing up of your face.

He decides to delay the teasing; you’ve waited enough. His middle finger feels for your clit, pressing down against it once he finds it. He watches as your hips buck, then begins to draw circles against it. Each puff of breath and small sound that escapes from your lips eggs him on further, and he can’t help but rush.

His finger moves quicker as you squirm more and your noises grow louder, legs writhing and grip around his arm tighter. He can’t help but shuffle closer to you to get a better angle, rubbing against the bundle of nerves eagerly, watching your reactions with fascination.

Each twitch of your legs signifies just how worked up you are, and you’re almost embarrassed how quick you’re about to come — you would be, if you weren’t so consumed by pleasure right now.

“Sh—it, Art—,” are the babbles that pass through your lips as you peak, back arching and body writhing. He slows his movements to guide you to come down, keeping his hand idle but still between your legs. He leans in to kiss your cheek, then the underside of your jaw.

“Feel better?”

[amymbona]

What if you met Patrick Zweig on that crisp summer evening of 2011, crawling through the streets of Atlanta like a dead body, his stupid gray shirt wrinkled, curls messy and a pout on his adorable face. He has just fucked Tashi like his life is supposed to end tomorrow, like it's his last action on this Earth, and he's fucking miserable.

And you, a gorgeous, neat woman, very successful - a lawyer or a business woman - just about to leave the local bar after a night of celebration with you colleagues when he staggers in. It happens pretty quickly, and you're not even sure how exactly, but the younger guy's lips are soon on yours and he's desperately grasping onto your clothes as if you're gonna evaporate.

The way he fucks you that night is completely different to the way he fucked Tashi - tired, sloppy, almost childish - and you think he's crying too. You let him snuggle into the warmth of your chest, deciding to allow him to spend the night at your place. In the morning, he's surprised by waking up to the smell of bacon and eggs.

While munching onto the warm, proper breakfast and watching the outline of your body move smoothly under your silk robe, he tells you his name is Patrick, that he's 24 and a tennis player. A miserable one - you can see. He's sitting in your kitchen like a dirty mutt, almost begging to be taken care of. With his mouth full - he has no manners, you see - he calls you hot and sexy, failing to deliver a compliment that a woman like you would actually appreciate.

Later on, he lets you know that he really has nowhere to be, that if you want to, he can stay and make you feel even better than he did yesterday. And when you allow him to, quite aloof, you end up being the one making him feel good. It's comical, and Patrick feels like he's a goddamn toddler when you run him a bath and lend him some clothes after your ex-husband. Patrick stays at your place for a whole week.

The two of you exchange phone numbers, an action you assume is only symbolic, as Patrick has to travel to the other side of the States for a match, while you continue your meetings with clients and shine in the court room every so often. So it's obviously a surprise when your phone suddenly buzzes, a little Patrick - Aug 8th glowing on the screen. Apparently, he's currently in Nashville, offering to hop on an airplane and be at your place tomorrow morning. You don't refuse.

After his arrival, Patrick is still the same, giving you his signature and yet totally see-through smug attitude. He's dressed in that same fucking shirt, the slogan punching you like a laugh in your face. I TOLD YA.

The two of you fuck and fuck and fuck, Patrick spends the whole evening buried between your legs, his pink tongue gently swirling around your clit while you respond to some emails. Shortly after midnight, he falls asleep, nose buried between your slick folds. You wake him up with a handjob when the sun rises, listening to his sleepy whimpers and gentle curses, telling him that it's okay and he doesn't have to do anything, just enjoy it.

After that, and everything else, Patrick doesn't feel like leaving at all. The tender treatment he has been receiving from you is something unknown, something not even Art or Tashi could ever give him. He tells you about the two and cries a bit, and that exactly makes your heart swell.

So you propose an offer - a life-changing one - that he stays with you, that you will take care of him, treat him like he deserves to be treated and give him all the love he needs. All of that under one condition. He continues pursuing tennis.

Patrick agrees, obviously, he'd be a fool to walk away from you. And so within the next few weeks, he's completely moved to your place, has his own spot in your bed and on the sofa, has his toothbrush in the bathroom and gets to eat how much food he desires. The relationship between the two of you blossoms almost naturally, with you being a natural caregiver, and Patrick offering the satisfying element in response. It's a perfect coordination of two parties where nobody feel forced into something or neglected.

Glued to your side, Patrick eventually finds his spark again. Slowly but surely, Tashi and Art begin slipping into the very back of his mind - he never forgets, you don't force him to. You know the three of you can co-exist freely in his brain - and he's finally happy. Finally that Patrick Zweig that needed to be found again, and you are the person who helped him achieve all that.

[sluttyenthusiast]

All Patrick needs is somebody to be mean to him, for somebody to match his energy, his freak.

Patrick needs someone who's mean to him and bullies him, giving him a taste of his own medicine.

He loves when you're mean, it turns him on, and he's not embarrassed to admit it.

One day he'll be telling you about this nice watch he saw that he wants and without hesitation you're quipping back at him, telling him that if he started winning matches he could buy it, and you say it so nonchalantly.

He especially loves when you're mean to him in bed.

You'd be riding him, not paying him any mind as you talk about the lunch you had with your friends, and he would groan, and that would have you rolling your eyes as you cover his mouth with your hand, telling him he can't cum until you're done with you're story.

All Patrick needs in his life is just someone who's mean to him, who lowkey humbles him.

[sequoiathinker]

Ice Skater!Art finding out why you haven't been around as much

All the binding you and Art did went right out the window when you turned eighteen, went to college, and got a boyfriend.

You and Art had decided that it was best that you guys went to the same college so you could still skate together, but little did you know that was the worst decision Art could have made.

First things, we're doing great for the two of you. You guys would walk with eachother to classes and even meet up for lunch every day. But slowly, you started to drift away, more like not asking art to meet you for lunch. Still, Art just thought it was because you were so overwhelmed with classes that you were busy studying, and then you had some of your classes switched without telling Art beforehand, and he had to find out after you when he didn't show up to your usual meeting spot.

He gave you the benefit of the doubt and chopped it up to you being late and not ditching him, but he was wrong, and when he found out, it broke his heart.

One day, after you flaked on Art yet again, he decided to walk a different way to lunch for a change of scenery, but then he saw you sitting on the grass with food in your hand and with a guy who was facing away from Art so he couldn't see his face and the both of you were laughing.

At first, Art thought his mind was playing tricks on him, like he was confusing you with another girl who looked like you, but it wasn't.

Was this what you've been doing when you tell art you are busy and can't hang? Did you ditch him, your best friend, for a guy?

Just when Art thought it couldn't be any worse, it did. The guy had turned around for a second to grab something from his bag, giving Art a good view of his face.

It was Patrick, the boy who has had a thing for you since you were young teens. Had you been talking to him behind Arts's back this whole time? Why didn't you tell him? This was now personal to Art, and he had to know why you would do this.

Sorry for the lack of post but my request are still open for my ice skater au’s as always

[heartz4shauna]

spending new year’s eve at patrick’s parents’ estate… it’s only minutes until midnight and patrick & art are have a stupid squabble in the corner of the living room about who gets to kiss you when the ball drops. after a few long seconds of going nowhere in their negotiations “it’s my party, i should get it” “that’s why i should get it, pat, seriously” they come over to you. you’re sitting on the most ridiculous couch you’ve ever seen, a couple drinks in. it’s art who speaks first, “so, it’s almost midnight..” and by the grin on patrick’s face, you can tell this was the latters idea. he clears his throat, “we both wanna have your kiss.” you scoff, a somewhat pensive expression on your face like you’re actually giving some thought to it. you give a loose shrug, leaning back, “huh. well, i’ll have to consider it, y’know.” art lets out a quiet sigh, like he knows you’ll pick patrick. while patrick looks like the cat who got the cream - he always was too cocky for his own good. but, of course, since you’re oh so nice, you decide to give your kiss to the both of them.

[t1ts-4-donaldson]

Was thinking about CamBoy!Art and Shy!Reader.

He invites her to his streams once they've established their relationship and she slowly starts warming up to the idea of being on his streams after watching him for so long (on her computer and in real life once she finds out). He coaxes her sit on his lap spreading her legs open and jacking off right between her pussy his tip gliding between her folds bumping up her clit as she holds back whimpers. Poor thing writhes against him gripping his thighs trying to stabilize herself grinding against his cock and hand until he paints her tummy with his cum. She pouts and is left hanging but he glides his hand up gathering his release and spreading it over her open cunt smearing the glossy white sheen between her legs rubbing her clit until she finishes too.

[artsangell]

Stanford art wanting nothing else but to eat you out after a long day.

Immediately coming to your dorm after practice just needing to see you, As soon as you open the door he instantly clings to you. pressing kisses all over your face and down your neck. You carefully card your fingers through his hair, his face buried in the crook of your shoulder.

"Can I taste you? Please?"

The blond's words send vibrations against your neck, who would say no to that?

"Of course you can baby."

Art wastes no time in removing your clothes and setting you on the edge of the bed, it's practically Pavlovian the way the sight of you instantly had him rock hard. He sets soft kisses on your thighs before he licks a stripe up your slit, not having the strength to tease, he starts devouring you like it's the last time he'll ever get the chance to. All he wants is to make you feel good, make someone proud of him. Though you say that you are routinely. He likes earning it.

He treats you so gently, practically making out with your pussy and reveling in the taste. The sensation always gets you there far closer than anything else, you can't help but tug on his pretty blond hair, softly pressing him deeper into you. "Use me please", he groans into you, those words aided with him sloppily fucking you with his tongue making you cum all over his face.

Art lifts up his head, the sight of him between your thighs could practically make you cum untouched.

"Can we go again please?" Art gives you a pleading look, like it would hurt him physically if he couldn't.

Who would say no to that?

[saintzweig]

i can't stop thinking about being in a private but not secret relationship with art, everyone knows you're dating someone but not the art donaldson. you usually crop out his face when posting photos or take those soft launch type pics, when people ask who you're dating you just say "his name's arthur, we've known each other since we were kids" for privacy, of course. it's peaceful like that. especially with the small fanbase your boyfriend has got on campus.

there's an event at stanford and you coincidentally end up on the seat behind art's. the speaker has been droning on and on about whatever and you're getting really sleepy, and now you're subconsciously and out of habit, playing with his hair. twirling his blonde curls around your fingers and scratching his scalp with your nails softly. he doesn't say anything, only leans his head closer to your touch. you're not even paying attention to the way your friends are both staring at you in confusion and trying to keep their laughter in. they just think that you're so tired, you don't even realize that you're playing with some random stranger's hair.

until one of them realizes its art donaldson, one of the best in the stanford tennis team so she leans closer to whisper-yell at you, "dude, stop playing with his hair, you're probably making him uncomfortable"

and you're too tired to even register the words coming out of your mouth, "don't worry, he likes when i do this" and art failed to keep himself from grinning. he turns his head back and tells your friend that it's alright, he doesn't mind his girlfriend touching him.

[ghostgirl-22]

these posts are making me think about patrick with his breeding kink but he's too terrified to ACTUALLY have a kid

he just wants to cum inside so so badly but never wants to deal with the repercussions lmao

patrick "you still have that IUD, right?" zweig who is also patrick "you want me to knock you up? huh? want me to fill you up, baby? yeah. yeah you do." zweig

You’re so real for this <3 He’s obsessed and neurotic at the same time. Like he’s reminding you of your bc refills, and/or making sure you never miss a pill. He knows your schedule better than you. Even did research and attended the appointment when they placed your iud. Just to be sure.

Same time he’s coming inside and rubbing your tummy whispering things like “Can’t wait to watch your belly swell up for me baby. I want it so everyone knows my seed is growing inside you.” “Gonna fucking give you twins. And as soon as you give birth I’m gonna fill you up and make you a mommy again for me baby.” “You’re such a good girl, all mine. Need to fucking cum inside again.”

Or something like that lol

[tinytennisskirt]

little blurb about Art n Pat NEEEEDING to fuck the cute southern girl that works at the motel they’re staying at 🤠

patrick and art driving themselves crazy over the southern girl who works at the motel in the countryside they’re staying at before heading to a tournament nearby. she’s got short shorts and she’s usually in some form of crop top and she’s got those braids. and her accent…

the second they meet her, perfect, short n sweet, she asks for their names and for a second they both forget they’re checking into this little motel. she looks at them through long flirtatious eyelashes with naturally pink cheeks that glow when she smiles and both boys are awestruck and are instantly insane about her.

the thing about her is that she’s real. she’s not california plastic, she’s real, with thick thighs and round hips and perfect tits and you usually can’t have all that without a little bit of a stomach unless you’re california-doctored. she does have it all, including the non-flat stomach art can’t stop thinking about. the little stretch of skin between her shirt and shorts? he fucks up into his hand at the thought of it later that night. he’s picturing her in this very motel bed, riding him like he knew you rode horses. the pictures behind you at the front desk said so… save a horse, maybe. something like that but he KNOWS he needs her on his dick.

patrick in the motel room bathroom in the shower trying to mask the fact he’s doing the same thing. he’s thinking about bending her over, fucking her hard, hearing her moan out his name with her slight twang. he’s got that farmers daughter fantasy in his head and he’s thinking about what sounds she’d make if he pulled her braids as he fucked her.

both boys finish at the same time, unbeknownst to them.

art wakes up the next morning a little eager to go down to the main hall where he knows there’s a small diner attached to the motel. he’s starved after last night’s activities. he and patrick head down in their casual shorts and t-shirts and there she is, a fucking waitress. she seems happy to see them as they stand there, mouthes a little open at the sight of her in her short skirt, skirt apron, and blouse with a few buttons open. same braids. patrick grabs the back of art’s arm as to brace himself and art over this look on her.

she strikes up a conversation with them just wondering what they’re in town for. they explain their tennis plans and you sit down with them to hear more about them. patrick and art are both so fucking hard under the table over the fact that when she leaned forward to rest her elbow on the table, there was a good, clear view of her tits in a red checkered bra. too fucking on brand. patrick and art try to be inconspicuous about the fact they have to adjust themselves so often.

she’s onto them. more than onto them she’s into them. cute boys, her age, maybe a little older if she guesses. from the city. she talks about herself and as she does she’s twirling her hair and she’s got gum in her mouth and she blows bubbles and patrick is just numbed by how much he wants to fuck her.

they have to go but they stay a little longer to talk to her. the problem is getting up to go when they’re both so painfully hard. thankfully she’s smart, catches on, says goodbye and walks into the back room of the diner so the boys can make their escape.

the thought of her throws off both of their game. they’re only thinking about going back to the motel to see if she’s still working. good thing it’s only a practice day.

they do head back. they haven’t spoken to each other about her, but they know they share interest. the boys head inside the main part to ‘head to the vending machine’ and there she is, making fun of the city boys for their choice of sodas when she knows that nothing compares to her sweet tea. patrick wonders if it’s an innuendo.

she takes the time to sit and talk to them again, engaging in ways that excite them as she sits across from them, in her shorts and a baby tee, thighs on the arm of the chair, art wishing they rested on him. they’re flirting the way they usually do, helping each other out while taking playful jabs at each other. they are so down bad for this little farm girl who holds her head high.

but she has to head to bed to be up early for a shift at the diner and the boys respect that. she asks to be walked to her quarters and both boys scramble to stand and agree. she asks if they smoke and they nod. out in the parking lot she’s got a pack of cigarettes and she puts one between her lips and art is almost drooling. and the way she’s talking to them both, you’d think it was flirting. how close she can get with both of them as she speaks and shares her cigarette with the two boys…

patrick is staring at her ass in those shorts and it’s driving him insane and art is so fidgety just watching the way she sways in the evening breeze.

the second they’re alone in their room they’re talking about her. gushing not only praise for her body, but her accent, her braids, her clothes and its kat zimmerman all over again. the boys are more comfortable crossing that line after the tashi incident, where they kissed, so yeah the line is blurred.

patrick is more bold, hand on his cock, pulling it out, talking about your perfect lips. and art agrees, talking about how soft they look as he presses the palm of his hand against the bulge in his jeans. patrick groans about how they’d feel wrapped around his dick and art knows he can’t take it slow, he pulls his out as well.

“i’d fuck her backwards,” patrick says. “how much dick do you think she gets? she’ll be all tight and those girls get wet so easily…”

art groans, “so easily… fuck… you think she’d ride your face like she rides her horses?”

“good point-“ patrick says through a heavy breath. “she can ride me until i die for all i care. i bet she’s good at it, and those thighs-“

“her waist,” art remarks. “fuck, her waist. “thighs.. she can crush me, i’d die happy.”

and they stroke themselves until they come. patrick first, this time around. the cleanup is silent but both boys are satisfied with the shared fantasy. art, however, dreams about her. having her. kissing down her soft stomach, tongue between her legs…and he’s asleep but he’s grinding softly against the bed. patrick is asleep. he ends up grinding into the bed so much he finishes again in his shorts. he has to clean that one up alone.

they see her the next morning as she pours them coffee and they stare at her, grins on their faces, art still fidgeting in her presence. she’s got this light to her that makes the room feel warm. she flirts shamelessly today with both of them and adds on a little invite to a fire she’s having out behind the motel by her quarters. if they aren’t too tired from tennis, that is.

both boys play awfully that day in practice. there’s nothing they can think about other than her and her invite. her, alone. HER. it’s all her. no they’re not too tired from tennis, they’re at her door at 9pm like she asked and she answers it with her hair down. it’s wavy from the braids, it’s gorgeous and sultry and so are her eyelashes, her cheeks, those lips… and some shorts, not jean shorts, but short shorts that almost look like underwear. that and another baby tee…

greetings are exchanged with the anxious boys and art begins to ask where you’re going to have the fire when she pulls him into a kiss, a hard kiss, hot and lust-filled and both boys were not expecting that.

“oh, fuck,” patrick says as he realizes what’s about to happen when she leaves art to kiss him too, stumbling into her room and shutting the door.

the three of them exchange kisses, art and patrick included, both eager to feel it all. she straddles art and his hands fall on the waist of hers he so adores. patrick ends up behind her kissing her neck and jaw and art is making out with her, hands gently squeezing the absolutely fucking perfect love handles, made to be held the way they are as she takes her shirt off.

both boys pause to see exactly what she has and satisfied, go back to what they were doing, art’s hands travelling up to her chest to squeeze gently as she begins to roll her hips against him. he groans into her mouth and she takes it with a smile, moving downwards, unbuttoning his pants. art and patrick kiss again, sharing air, sharing tongue, and the air is warm.

clothes are stripped and the boys take turns with her in exactly they way they imagined. patrick’s hand on his dick watching her bounce on art’s. they’re right, she rides hard. art is a fucking mess of curls, he’s grabbing her waist with one hand and the bed with the other as she rides him. she’s got art trying desperately not to finish, she’s got patrick jerking himself off fast and hard. her pretty pink lip between her teeth and perfect tits bouncing.

art has his eyes shut telling himself not to come. if he opens them he’ll see her perfect thighs spread over him, he’ll see how she sinks down onto his cock, see her waist as she rolls her hips down onto him. “you like that?” she asks, twang apparent even through her heavy breathing. “feels good?”

“so good,” art manages.

“you can look at me, y’know.” she’s evil. patrick knows it, hand speeding up. “i don’t bite.”

“uh huh,” art replies. he’s weak, she’s wearing him down he could come any second if he wanted to. “fuck, you feel so good.”

“yeah? why don’t you look at me, pretty boy?” she says and it takes all of his strength not to come there and then. patrick is watching, eyes half-lidded, watching as she fucks his best friend. “come on.” art doesn’t want to. he wants to last to impress her. but fuck, he looks at her and he’s done for, patrick knows it. “go ahead.” she knows it. and art finishes hard into the condom, grabbing hard at whatever he can.

all of it almost gets patrick too, but he stops. art is more than undone as her hips roll to a stop. she bends down, tilts his head up to kiss her while he’s still inside. he squirms just in the slightest as she grinds down on him just once more before moving off of him. he’s awestruck, but removes the condom and tosses it, laying on his back, still hard.

she crawls over to patrick and replaces his hand with her own. he’s got eyes clouded over with lust as she strokes him gently, slow pace after she just fucked art to completion. he groans a low groan and she just smiles.

art, fucked out, lifts himself up on his elbows to watch. he’s so fascinated by her, he’ll watch her do anything. eyes on her lips as they connect with patrick’s, watching his hand grab her bare chest, leaning her back. art passes him the condom and he slips it on before he plunges into her. it’s wet, she’s so wet, it’s easy to slip into her. she’s moaning already, having already been fucked with no end in sight. her hands on patrick’s back.

art watches with his mouth a little open as patrick fucks her hard in return for how hard she fucked art. she’s moaning out and her hand grabs art, pulling him close to kiss him while patrick fucks her. the kiss is desperate and halted by moans. art takes a liberty and kisses down her neck, down to her chest, taking her perfect nipple into her mouth and sucking gently. she’s moaning, hands in art’s curls again as patrick pounds into her.

“you like fucking two guys in one night, hm? don’t get much dick around here?”

“n-no,” her accent is so cute.

“you like being a whore?”

“if it gets me this,” she replies. “fuck… art.” patrick fucks her harder and it’s his name out of her perfect mouth.

“she’s so perfect, hm, art?”

art nods, “so perfect. so pretty.”

she moans. she thought she had control but the boys are teaming up. “fuck, i’m close,” patrick groans, thrusting harder, sloppier. followed by, “fuck, i’m coming.” and when he does, it’s hard and breath taking. she’s breathless when patrick and art share a look. she doesn’t get a break when art’s head sips between her thighs, beginning to lap at her juices. her thighs squeeze and she moans loud, hands pulling art’s hair hard. it only lasts second before art has an idea. patrick understands too easily.

moving onto his back, art pulls her onto his face a little bit shamelessly. his nose bumping her clit as she grabs the headboard. she’s moaning and she’s mumbling his name as she moves her hips, art’s arm half grabbing her ass, half supporting her as she begins to ride his tongue, his nose- like they’re the saddle of her horse.

he’s leaking, patrick notices before grabbing art’s dick firmly. art makes a sound that vibrations of send chills down the skin of their shared southern doll. patrick slowly, but firmly begins to stroke art’s cock, hand slightly twisting as it goes up and down. art moans out under her as she continues on his tongue making circles around her clit.

“fuck!” she cries out. “oh my god, oh my god.” her accent the cutest thing. “i’m gonna-“ she’s got both of the boy’s attention. “so close.” her noises are hotter than any they’ve ever heard. patrick’s hand speeds up and before he knows it, his hand is covered in art’s cum the same way art’s mouth is covered by her juices as she unravels on his face. no better way to go than that.

heaving, the three lay there for a moment before cleaning up. the boys have a game tomorrow…

she bids them goodnight after a bit of easy laughter and conversation and the boys talk about the sex the whole way back to their room where they both pass out as soon as they hit the pillow. sex with the country girl was a lot more work than they’d estimated.

[bleedinwidow]

ummmm. christmas art blurb.. or.. whatever. this is unfinished, idk whether it’s gonna be a proper fic or just something small but we’ll see! i would work on it now but i wanna nap. the ideas always come to me when im on the verge of sleeping.

“What? Too scared to hit a girl?” You tease, beaming at him as you reach down to scoop snow into the palms of your mitten-covered hands, shaping it into a sphere.

Art glares weakly at you, tutting. He looks rather silly, head tipped to the side, big puffer jacket making his awkward stance all the more amusing. He opens his mouth to speak, but before he can, a ball of snow is launched towards his shoulder, a few of the tiny, icy flakes landing upon his cheek.

“Wow, okay. I see how it is.” He drawls out, feigning offence. You giggle. “What? I’m just saying it how it is. Major pussy.” Your eyes light up as he bends down to ball up snow in his own hands, his gaze not leaving yours.

Art’s hand — occupied by the snowball —raises, preparing to launch it. You flinch as he pauses it in the air, then again when he pretends to throw it, and a third time when he actually does.

You instinctively hold your hands up in front of your face, palms towards him, shoulders tense as the snow finds place right at the top of your head, smack bang atop of your beanie. You shriek as some of the cold snow falls down onto your face. After a few seconds of waiting until it was safe, you open a squinted eye and peak at Art through your fingers, another giggle escaping you at the sight of him brushing off his mittens.