#challengers blurb

[faiszt]

⠀⠀ ⊹ ⠀ little sweet blurb of ⠀─── ⠀art donaldson! ୨୧⠀⠀ don’t say his full name⠀⠀꒰⠀!headcanon⠀꒱ ⠀·⠀ ୭

“arthur, don’t put all the flour in at once,” letting art help you make a brownie recipe was, definitely, like letting a kid—trapped in the body of a supposedly functional adult—help you. “you have to add it little by little and stir so it doesn’t clump, got it?”

you tried to explain with all your good will, but he just stopped and sighed. he looked at you out of the corner of his eyes and then, at the brownie batter in front of him again. “what did you just say?” he questioned, pretending not to have heard correctly and before you could repeat your sentence, he spoke again. “before talking about how much flour i put in the batter.”

“arthur?” oh, that’s when you realized your fatal mistake. no way, you called him by his full name, that was like a punch in the gut, a knife in his back—he was almost pouting now.

“yeah. what happened to my love, darling or sweetie? i’m truly hurt right now.” art shook his head in discontent as he went back to stirring the batter. sure, he was just messing with you, but it seemed so real that if you knew him a little less, you’d believe it. “and here i was, thinkin’ that you loved me so much that you even let me help you.”

“oh, drama queen...” you rolled your eyes, crossing your arms—just to see if your behavior would piss him off just a little bit, it wouldn’t though, he couldn’t get mad at you.

“drama queen?” he raised his eyebrows as if you had deeply offended him. “calling me arthur hurt less.” then, he simply ran his finger through the flour that had fallen on the whole counter and put it on your cheek. “i think i deserve an reward after being so hurted by your words.”

before he could give his reward suggestion—which you already knew what it’d be—you walked away without him being able to try and make an effort to convince you. “i won’t play tennis with you again, you’re too competitive.”

he knew you’d try to run away, so he ran after you as if he needed you to listen to him. “i’m not competitive, i just like to win.” art grumbled, trying to use his puppy dog face to make you give him what he wanted. “pretty please? you can call me arthur as much as you want... and i can let you win one match.”

“just one?” bargaining with him wasn’t exactly easy, but you just had to push him a little to the edge and he’d accept. “four and i can think about it.”

“four? why four? you don’t even last four matches.”

“’cause it’s my lucky number. is it this or nothing, arthur?”

he rolled his eyes, realizing that his puppy dog face wouldn’t work this time and nodded. “fine. four wins for you, ma’am. but, don’t call me that.”

a smirl appeared on your lips as your hands went to his shoulders, you felt quite victorious with something that should’ve been his reward. “you said i could call you that as much as i wanted, arthur, you forgotten so quickly?”

and the brownie batter on your counter? yeah, apparently tennis were way more important than brownies—not that that was news. you’re dating a tennis player, not a pastry chef (and that’s obvious).

REQUESTS ARE OPEN.⠀⠀feel free to send me asks and suggestions in my inbox, you'll be welcome. ꒰ ˶> ˕ <˶ ꒱ ♡

©⠀𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐙𝐓, 2025.⠀don't use my work without my consent.

[artsangell]

Party on you (part of you knew)

Doomed yaoi edit for the people

[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.

[goodluckchamp]

SWIM, SWITCH, SWING (18+)

PAIRING: Patrick x Artashi x Reader WORD COUNT: 1118 CONTENT TAGS: Brief smut, Husband!Patrick, Married Artashi, open relationship, hotel, mutual fantasy, riding, dom/sub undertones, swinging SUMMARY: You and your husband Patrick are on vacation at a luxury resort but then you see the hottest couple ever mmm delicious must fuck 10/10

Thinking about going on vacation with your husband Patrick. The two of you are freshly married, not in an incredibly-in-love kind of way, but in a way that made sense by the time you said “I do.” You fit. You like each other enough. The sex is good. And none of you are getting any younger. So why not? 

And now, thanks to a lucky booking, credit card points, and off-season rates, it’s your first real vacation together at some ridiculously expensive resort. Everything is sleek, luxurious— normally, you’d feel out of place.

But Patrick makes it exciting. 

Morning sex in sheets so soft, you’re not sure where your skin ends and where the fabric begins. Having lazy breakfast in bed, before checking out the exclusive amenities. Day-drinking by the pool, stretched out under the sun, tipsy and tangled in each other. Fucking again, this time in the bathroom because you can and you should— it’d be a crime to waste that spacious tub. The two of you make the most of everything. 

It’s your third day there when you’re floating in the pool with Patrick, playing like children in the shallow end. It’s a little dangerous with a cocktail glass in your hand but no one’s stopping you as you giggle at Patrick’s antics, splashing you occasionally with a lazy smile plastered on his face. 

Then, from the corner of your eye, a couple settles into the lounge chairs. The woman— tall, slender body with short hair framing her unbothered face— designer sunglasses perched on her nose, and a black one-piece swimsuit that shows off her legs. She sips her drink with the slow indifference that says nothing could ever distract her— not even the cute blond beside her. He’s softer, with a book in his hands, but his body is clearly fit, giving him some strength that contrasts with his gentle, expressive eyes. They sit together, side by side, calm and relaxed. Like luxury is their natural state. 

“Jesus,” Patrick mutters, dragging a hand over his wet curls. “That’s a couple.” 

“Mmhmm,” You hum around the rim of your glass.

You try not to be so obvious with your gawking but Patrick notices your eyes fixed the woman. He can’t blame you— she’s gorgeous, with an undeniably elegant presence. He grins. 

“You gonna make a move?” 

You let out a quiet laugh. “She looks like she’d have me thrown out of here.” 

He tucks your wet hair behind your ear. “Blond’s cute.” 

You smile. “Your type.” 

They’re both your types. You watch as the woman adjusts her sunglasses, crossing one long leg over the other. Her husband stretches his unbelievably toned arms to take her hand absentmindedly, keeping his gaze on his book. She runs her thumb over his knuckles, and their matching wedding bands gleam under the sunlight. 

Yeah. Definitely out of your leagues. 

“Shame,” Patrick sighs. “We’d have fun.” 

You swallow. ‘Fun’ is definitely a word. 

Patrick notices your silence and leans down, lowering his voice. 

“Wanna have sex and pretend we’re fucking them instead?” 

You drain the last of your drink and tug Patrick’s wrist, leading him to the elevator. Even before you make it to your room, Patrick makes some off-handed comment about blonds. You pretend to be annoyed, but you’re just as distracted, thinking about long legs and designer sunglasses and a voice you haven't even heard yet. 

The door barely clicks shut before you’re on Patrick, pulling his damp body towards you. Your fingers tug at his swimsuit, taking them down, and he laughs against your mouth, pleased at your enthusiasm. 

“They turned you on this much?” 

Without answering, you push him to the bed, and he falls backwards to the sheets, propped up on his elbows. His eyes darken as you peel off your swimsuit, giving him a little show. You climb on top of him, straddling his hips, and the moment your bare skin meets his, he lets out a sigh— you fit. 

He palms your thighs to ground himself, and you grind down, once, just to feel him shudder underneath you. 

“Tell me what you want her to do to you.”

The way your husband says it— so easy, like he already knows the answer— sends an aching feeling straight between your legs. 

“I want her to—” You swallow, feeling your face heat. “Want her to wreck me.” 

You roll your hips as Patrick’s fingers dig into you, taking in your shaky form. You’re too turned on to care about his smug expression— all you can think about is her. 

“Want her to hold me down, make me beg—”

Patrick bucks into you, meeting your speed, and you put your face against the crook of his neck, stifling your moans.

“God, she’d make a mess of you.” 

“Yeah?” You gasp. “And what about her husband?” 

Patrick groans. You press your lips to his ear. 

“I bet he cries when he comes.” 

Patrick chokes on a laugh, eyes fluttering shut at the thought. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Stop talking,” You order, arms surrounding his shoulders. “And fuck me like you’d fuck him.”

And he does. 

Just a few floors up, in a suite twice the size of yours with a balcony view, is Tashi, fingers deep inside Art’s mouth. She’s sitting on the modern bed, looking down at her husband lying on his stomach below her. He exhales hard through his nose, sucking her fingers when she tips his head back. 

“They couldn’t stop looking at us.” 

Tashi smirks, watching the way Art’s brows squeeze together with her words. 

“You think he’d ruin you?” She continues, watching him pathetically rub his hips against the bed. “Bet he’d have you open so easily, wouldn’t he?”

Art whines. 

“And his wife—” Tashi drags her nails, wet with his saliva, lightly down his throat, her tone cold but her gaze warm. “She was so pretty, wasn’t she? She’d ride you until you can’t think straight. Until you can’t think at all.” 

Art makes a sound—somewhere between a whimper and a mewl—and Tashi laughs, low and delighted, like she enjoys nothing more than watching him fall apart beneath her.

“Maybe she’d like to watch you get fucked by her husband.” Tashi takes him by the chin, pulling him up, close to her face. “You'd love that. You'd come from that.” 

His face burns, but he knows better than to argue. Tashi knows him, knows the things he won’t say out loud, the things he can barely admit even to himself. So he just nods, pupils dilated, mouth open— and lets Tashi kiss him, feeling the heat spread from his chest to his fingertips. 

And you’re right. 

He does cry when he comes.

NOTE: I wrote this on my hotel bed... Ik I promised like 3 other fics but I had a vision at the pool and it was like receiving a prophecy I had to share.... I promise I'm writing the other fics...

[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.

[t1ts-4-donaldson]

Sappy sex with Art Donaldson NSFW:

Art cums whenever you say I love you.

He used to be able to control his stamina last a long time. He prided himself on controlling every aspect of his body, what he consumed, how much he exercised to a point where it became concerning but once he met you so sweet to him, so caring always reminding him he deserves to treat himself and to relax just wanting the best for him he caved

whether you're both rutting against each other over your clothes or hammering his dick in you he orgasms the minute you say those 3 words his body trembling above you, eyes rolling back in ecstasy as your legs wrap around his hips locking him into place as he finishes with a few shallow pumps and low groans.

He's all drooly after, sniveling and whimpering when you murmur I love you just to overstimulate him cause you're cruel <3

He feels like he's falling short every time poor baby has to beg you not to be affectionate sometimes feeling so guilty after bullying your pussy

"you didn't.." he says through whispered apologies face nuzzled against you neck tear drops coating your collarbones.

it's worse after makeup sex he's subby on a different planet, thoughts all fuzzy as he's searching for your hands, god he just wants to some stability after acting so mean feeling undeserving of your affection

"it's all my fault-" he blubbers the entire time as you bounce on his abused leaky cock. You have to shift him around and bark orders in tears after he stuffs you full. "Sorry I'm such a baby-"

you shush and kiss every part of him card your fingers through his sweaty blonde curls "you're perfect art" you reply rocking him back and forth as he eagerly pulls your weight on him, his favorite weighted blanket.

[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?”

[lvrrgirlll]

When you woke up, you were still wrapped tightly in the soft sheets of your bed, but Patrick was nowhere to be found. You were almost always up before him, so finding the spot beside you cold and empty was a shock. As you sat up, stretching and rubbing your eyes, trying to cast away the urge to curl back in bed, you heard quiet humming coming from the bathroom. He must be in there.

You padded towards the bathroom on bare feet, Patrick’s big t-shirt (that smelled vaguely of cigarettes, sweat, and the cheap, lavender detergent he used) the only thing covering you. The door was cracked open anyways, so you nudged it a bit, propping yourself up on the doorframe. He hadn’t noticed you yet, focusing much too hard on his shaving, which he had to do often. You loved seeing him like this. The little moments when he was just completely Patrick, unaware and uncaring of any other eyes on him.

You’d miss the scruff, but you knew that stubble would be growing in within the next few days anyways. “Morning,” you announced yourself after he rinsed the remaining shaving cream off. The tile was cold, causing a shiver to run down your spin as you approached him.

“Morning, sweetheart,” he smiled down at you, wrapping his arms around your hips and pressing a kiss to your forehead. His curls were still a bit damp, a clear sign that he had showered too while you were asleep. “You must’ve been tired, sleeping beauty,” he chuckles, voice still a tad gravely since he hadn’t spoken yet since waking up.

“I guess so,” you sighed, giggling at the nickname. “I was surprised you were up before me.” You brought a hand up to his now smooth face, running the back of it against his skin. His face was cold, likely from the water, but his hands were warm as they trailed under the t-shirt to massage carelessly at the skin of your hips, your waist, and up to your back.

“Here,” your skin felt cool again as one of his hands departed, reaching to hand you your toothbrush. “I already put on a pot of coffee.” With that, he kissed your forehead again, running a hand through your messy hair and heading towards the kitchen, no doubt to return with a warm mug of coffee, just how you like it.

[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.

[faiszt]

𝟎𝟎𝟓.⠀ DEAR─GOD⠀⠀٭⠀ֹ⠀۪⠀ ❝ ⠀art donaldson.⠀ ꒰⠀single:⠀꒱ ⠀so ︎ close ︎ to ︎ what⠀❞⠀⠀bot drop⠀⠀♥︎⠀⠀PRE⠀ ̸ RELEASE

⠀⠀❝ֹ ֹ⠀ haven’t see you in two years, but⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ baby, we still breathe the same air ⠀ּ ּ❞

BOT⠀♡⠀ ꒰⠀all the no-good thoughts⠀꒱⠀ ─ SUMMARY ♡⠀ back then: art donaldson, retired former tennis player, a absolutely legend for his time, so acclaimed in his good guy image... if they only knew his little secret, the little secret he had with his daughter’s best friend.

WORD COUNT⠀♡⠀ 2.5k⠀ ─⠀⠀ CONTAINS⠀♡⠀dilf!art x young!reader. smut content. agegap ꒰ 25 · 45 ꒱ hard & strong language. cheating. slightly mentions of god. blowjob. dirty talk. slightly size kink.⠀+ 18, minors who interact with this will be blocked.⠀⠀⠀⸜ ꒰ ˃ ᵕ ˂ ꒱ ⸝ ೂ

two years ago. fourth semester of college, you had already lost count of how many times you had been stressed, cried, gotten angry and felt your family putting more and more weight on your shoulders. summer break at home were hell, the worst kind, as if your dad were the devil in the flesh.

’cause of this, like an angel, your roommate—and best friend—suggested that you shouldn’t go to your house, but to hers. lily felt lonely all summer, most of the time, not that her parents weren’t around, they just had a few (many) other things to do. you were always there for her, so she felt like she should do the same for you this summer.

bad idea, the worst idea that could’ve crossed her mind.

it wasn’t as if art and tashi’s marriage was still on good terms, quite the opposite, they only stayed together ’cause it seemed too late to waste their energy on a divorce. almost fifty years old now, what could they do?

that’s why they ran away from each other all the time, just like they were a couple in front of the cameras, they didn’t even sleep in the same room at home anymore. everything still seemed so normal to them, lily never even cared about it, almost as if she was trying to be completely oblivious.

this got worse when art learned that you liked tennis, that you had already watched many of his matches and in a way, you had an admiration that he had never really seen so closely. he was dazzled, pretending he didn’t mind—though he was paying attention to every step you took. twenty years younger than him, was he freaking out? yeah, he was.

you were already an adult enough, sure, but you were still too young for him... and, shit, you were also his daughter’s best friend, what the fuck was he thinking when he imagined you in his bed? art had dealt with everything he needed to deal with... now he had to deal with you too.

and he knew exactly how to deal with you.

“i saw you playin’ tennis with lily,” yeah, right, you had seen him watching you and his daughter play tennis on the court, nothing much, just having fun—you had noticed that he, somehow, saw it all as a competition. “you’re pretty good, why didn’t you pursue a career?”

1am, you were staring at him while sitting on the bed, not understanding exactly why he was starting a conversation right now, especially shirtless. “ahn, well... it’s just that i wasn’t that interested in tennis to the point of... you know, wantin’ a career.” you could see the surprise in his eyes as he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorframe.

“damn... i get why you and lily got along.” he gave a low, dry laugh, just remembering the thousands of times he and tashi had tried to make lily follow in their footsteps, which she had always refused—so they had just accepted it and forgotten about it. “anyway, do you need something? are you feelin’ comfortable here?”

“yeah, thank you...” you nodded in agreement, giving him a weak smile, trying to be polite even though you were still getting used to their whole family dynamic. “sorry if i’m being intrusive, but what are you doing up, mr. donaldson? i’m just curious.”

a white-toothed smile appeared on art’s face when he heard the way you called him, it made him feel old, definitely, but it also warmed something inside him. “nothing, i think i’m just havin’ trouble sleeping... everything’s fine, don’t worry.”

then, he sighed, looking around. the house was quiet, he knew how fast his wife and daughter slept, he also used to sleep fast a few months ago. but, now his mind was clouded by no-good thoughts, and god, he wanted to get rid of it, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to until he acted on the root of the problem.

“you don’t look sleepy at all either...” he grumbled. “wanna keep me company? i made coffee.” you could even refuse, but there was no way, he was looking at you like a sad, abandoned puppy, not like a forty-five year old man should.

you got up and followed him downstairs, the lights in the whole house were off, except for the one in the kitchen—making the whole place a little melancholic, kinda dark, way too quiet. art poured a cup of coffee for you, then one for himself, trying to hide how much he was watching every little expression you made.

he wanted to tell you that you looked beautiful in those pajamas, and that, maybe, you’d look better without them. but, he just swallowed hard, sipping his coffee in silence. “what are you lookin’ at?” his cup tapped lightly against the marble counter, he was smiling again, with a spark of something you couldn’t quite identify. “i like walkin’ around here shirtless, i hope you don’t mind... look all you want.”

your eyes narrowed a little, a confused laugh escaping you, was he really saying what you heard or was it just in your head? your best friend’s dad... so blatantly telling you that you could look at his bare chest all you wanted. “mr. donaldson, i...” he coughed before you could continue your sentence which he could almost imagine what it’d be.

“no mr. donaldson me, i’m not that old... just call me art, please?” cursed was the time lily invited you to spend the summer break at her house—when you weren’t exactly aware of how tempting her dad could be when he wanted and needed something. “so, come on, pretty princess, let’s be honest... you’re not just lookin’ for the sake of it, are you?”

you sighed heavily, glancing at him from the corner of your eyes as he stopped beside you, taking the coffee cup from your hand. dear god, you thought, noticing the way he leaned against the counter, looking you up and down. “i’m listenin’ to whatever you wanna tell me.” art whispered, so close to your face you could almost feel the heat of his body.

“your wife’s sleeping upstairs, art.” you didn’t really know what to say, your brain was almost short-circuiting with the implication of his words. your heart was racing just thinking about the danger of simply kissing a married man with his wife and daughter sleeping upstairs.

his only reaction was to chuckle softly, now leaning more against you as one of his large hands gently caressed your shoulder. “and so was i when she cheated on me,” he clicked his tongue. “it’s not a revenge, actually, i don’t care about it. but if you do, we can just act like this never happened.”

a little weird, he was giving you the chance to walk away, though he already knew internally that you wouldn’t leave and he was fuckin’ right, you didn’t move a single muscle to be away from him. “i don’t know if i believe you.”

“so let me show you why you should believe me...” art’s hand on your shoulder pulled you closer to him, until your chest was pressed against his bare one, your eyes just in front of his lips like a silent invitation. “desire cannot be faked, sweetheart... i can’t pretend, and neither can you.”

his hand came up, grabbing the back of your neck before crashing his lips against yours in a kiss that was as messy as hot—it was the dirtiest mistake you could ever make, but it felt so right and so good that you almost wanted to pray as you kissed him. he was the worst of men, so maybe you were the worst of women.

art moaned against your lips, his tongue swiping across your bottom lip before his large hand ran down your back. “can you be quiet for me? we don’t wanna wake anyone up... yeah?” his breath was warm in your ear, his lips brushing against your neck before he gave you another one of his smiles that you now understood what they meant.

too late to regret anything, he had already placed you on the counter, pushing the coffee maker as if he couldn’t care less about that bad coffee he had made earlier. he was holding your chin, kissing your lips with fervor and messiness, like he could barely process where your lips actually were ’cause he just wanted to kiss you so badly.

it was too risky to do much, but art wasn’t thinking, neither were you—the rush was taking over, more than it should’ve, so you pushed him back. but, this wasn’t you giving up, no, not at all, you pulled him with you to the other side of the counter, pushing him against it, hands running down his bare chest, stopping at the hem of his pants, wanting to see if this was really real or just a bluff from that old man.

his breath caught in his throat as he leaned back a little, hands braced on the edge of the counter behind him as he enjoyed the sight of you getting down on your knees in front of him. as if he were a god waiting for your prayer, your god.

art felt like he could come just from this holy sight, but he held back, running his tongue over his slightly swollen lower lip, reddish after what you did to it.

you pulled down his sweatpants like he was just another one on your list and he was obsessed with every second of it, he had forgotten what it was like to want something as much as he wanted you. “you’re the one who’s gonna need to keep quiet...” you teased him, tracing the line of his bulge, making him feel his legs weaken.

your mouth was on him in minutes, knees on the carpet, art’s knuckles were turning white from the way he held himself against the counter—gasping every time your hand squeezed his balls and made him see stars. his cock was throbbing inside your mouth, desperately begging for release. he wouldn’t last long, not when his desire was screaming inside him.

“mhnm... fuck... where did you learn that?” opening his mouth was enough for a low moan to escape him, his blue eyes watching intently the way he pumped into your mouth. “you’re being so good to me, pretty... princess...” he began to stroke your hair, letting you take him deeper and deeper.

art wasn’t a small man and he was quite proud of his size, not that many women had access to that, but he liked to see your cute little face struggling not to choke—though he was thrusting his hips forward just to make you feel him all the way to the roof of your mouth. “no, no... no choking... take me like a good little girl, yeah? you can do it.” he gasped, rolling his eyes, the hand in your hair going to your cheek.

he could see your effort to please him and, fuck, that was the most arousing thing he had seen in months.

you were the worst friend and guest in the whole world, but that didn’t matter now that your host felt so good fucking your mouth like you were his fleshlight—he’d be lying if he said that wasn’t the best blowjob he’d ever received, maybe it could also be his need speaking louder.

art was getting closer and closer to the edge, it wasn’t hard to notice that, he had been without the right incentive for a while, you were making him look like an idiot, but he couldn’t take it anymore when you were what he needed, you didn’t even need to touch him that much to make him go all the way.

“slow down... or i’ll come...” he said between sighs, as if you weren’t already so invested in this that you’d actually listen to him, he didn’t know you well enough yet to know how you could be. “shit... why... why are you going faster...?”

what was the fun in giving an older man a blowjob if you couldn’t make him whimper for you while you swallowed his whole cock?

“keep whimpering or i’ll stop.” you said, pulling your mouth away from his reddish length for just a measly second, just so he could see that string of saliva that connected you to him. art felt pathetic, just like he had twenty years ago and he wanted more of that guilty youth you made him feel.

he might not obey you, but he did the opposite, just nodding his head as he positioned his hips forward again, almost begging you to make him come down your throat. “don’t stop, please... make me come...” he grumbled, nibbling on his bottom lip, waiting for you.

he had to cover his mouth with his wrist when you went back to sucking him, so hard and good that he’d barely be able to stand if the counter wasn’t behind him. even so, you could hear his whimpers, begging for you, for your mouth, for your tongue. “your mouth... fuck, it’s so good... i need it everyday...”

you could see when his breathing started to get more labored, his eyes opening with difficulty, trying to stay calm even with the sensation completely dominating him. then, he was coming undone on your tongue, thick jets of hot seed hitting your throat as he used both hands to hold your head in place.

“swallow it all, every drop.” he said with a low growl, forcing you to take every drop of what he was offering you until it was empty and softened outside your mouth. “jesus christ, you made me a mess...” a chuckle escaped him as he felt lighter.

you got up from the floor when he offered you a hand after the heated moment between you, watching you with a loving gaze—he didn’t even understand why, but he was looking at you like that without noticing. “can i sleep now, mr. donaldson?” you called him that again just for the teasing, making him roll his eyes.

“stop it... and yeah, you can, but...” he grabbed your hips, pulling you into his bare chest after pulling his sweatpants up again. “only if you promise to do it again tomorrow.”

“a promise, huh? okay, that’s a promise then.” too bad for you, you didn’t know this would haunt you two years later.

REQUESTS ARE OPEN.⠀⠀feel free to send me asks and suggestions in my inbox, you'll be welcome. ꒰ ˶> ˕ <˶ ꒱ ♡

©⠀𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐙𝐓, 2025.⠀don't use my work without my consent.

[artsangell]

[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.

[sluttyenthusiast]

God I can just imagine College!Patrick drawing his frats letters on your asscheek (He would def a Pike) and would have you dripping in his cum.

He would take a pic of your cum covered ass with the letters "ΠΚΑ" and post it to his insta story with the caption "Go Greek"

(Before the social media chair made him delete it) (He wouldn't be sorry)

They can't be mad when their next pledge class is double to size...

[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

[t1ts-4-donaldson]

Pirate!Art Donaldson x Mermaid Reader Blurb

You leave gifts for him whenever you come up from the sea, little trinkets like shells, pearls and occasional gold coins at the ledge of his porthole window. Art would swoon for days the other men on board would be curious snooping in on him between shifts watching as he secretly toys with whatever you've given him. Art gets defensive whenever Patrick mentions it after hours below deck in his quarters.

"man.. who the hell is leaving all this.. junk for you." He snorts almost dropping the waterlogged artifact. Art snatches the miniature rusting statue of a seahorse out of his hands "fuck off Patrick.." he'd grumble keeping it close to his chest sure it was trash to everyone else but the objects were closest thing to love letters he'd ever get it made him feel wanted.

Art keeps them all safe in a chest under his bed, his favorite gift was a necklace you made a small shell pendant attached to an old leather string reinforced with fishing wire. The rest of the crew would snicker behind his back echo's of "it looks like something a little kid would make.. trash."

But Art wouldn’t listen to any of it, he'd wait above deck eyes staring off into the distance every night and early morning wondering when he could meet you again.