#challengers x reader

[222col]

bimbo!reader x art donaldson

summary: art gets a private fashion show from his favourite girl, but he can't keep his hands to himself

cw .ᐟ nsfw, public setting

"mm, what'd ya think of this one?" art's in heaven. his pretty little thing giving him his own personal fashion show. he's half tempted to call up his first coach and thank him for work he did, 'cause there's no way he'd have you in your pretty pink dresses parading around for him if he never made it. fuck the tennis, art couldn't care for the slams, his babygirl is the best thing that ever came from his fame.

legs spread as he sits in the leather chair outside the dressing room. "so pretty, baby." he hums, you're a fucking vision, art can barely form any sentences that aren't compliments when you're in front of him. especially when you're in and out of a dressing room showing him all the dresses he gets to spend his money on. his perfect little doll, playing dress up with his prize winnings. he's living the fucking dream.

waltzing back behind the curtain, changing into more clothing for art to add to his credit card bills. sliding into the baby pink lingerie set, little bows darted over the fabric, smirking to yourself before you pull back the curtain, knowing full well art's about to combust at the sight.

"jesus christ," art breathes out, his throat feeling tight as his hands clutch the arms of the chair. his whole body feels hot, and he's sure if he looked down there'd be a damp spot starting to show on his slacks. "you're gonna kill me one of these days, princess."

your sweet giggle has art nearly pulling you into his lap, his knuckles white, still clutching the chair, as forces himself to resist. the sounds of rustling in the other dressing rooms pulling him back down to reality. crossing one leg over the other, in some lame attempt to cover up the obvious bulge in his pants. he's desperate to reach out and touch you, but art knows he wouldn't be able to stop if he did.

faux innocent smile on your face as you turn back into the dressing room, being sure to bend over for your own clothes on the floor before closing the curtain. "oh fuck me." art mutters, head falling back before he's pushing himself into the dressing room with you and closing the curtain behind him.

"you are so evil, babygirl." he purrs into your ear, big hands pulling you by the waist against his body. eyes darting all over figure through the mirror behind you, before spinning you around to face yourself in the reflection. one hand gripping where your throat meets your jaw, forcing your eyes to his through the mirror.

"didn't even do anythin', artie." you murmur, batting those long lashes at him.

"liar," art whispers into your ear, gently biting down on the lobe before trailing his lips across the side of your neck. the hand resting on your hip starts to move over your stomach, teasing the hem of the lace panties you were trying on for him. "gonna be nice and quiet for me, pretty girl?"

lip between your teeth as you nod your head, eyes glued to his through the mirror before darting down to watch his hand slip under the fabric of your underwear. art's mouth peppers your throat with wet kisses as his fingers slide up through your folds, spreading your wetness over your heat, humming against your skin as he does.

biting down gently on your shoulder as art slips his middle finger inside, his thumb circling against your clit. "oh, hmm— artie, oh—" you breathe out, before his hand on your jaw moves to clamp down over your mouth. "be quiet, baby." he orders gently, adding his ring finger inside you to move in time with his previous. your knees growing weak as art fucks his fingers in and out of you.

brows furrowed in pleasure, hot breath against his hand while his thumb matches the pace of his fingers inside you against your bundle of nerves. the sounds of those around you still present in your ear, too busy to pay any mind to the whispers of suspect to what you and art were doing. art's hips start to move against your ass, providing him some much needed friction, his own groans muffled into the side of your neck.

"art!" not even his hand can muffle the moan of his name leaving your lips, chuckling into your skin as his fingers keep fucking you. "shush, babygirl." he purrs, nipping the skin of your earlobe once more, pouting behind his hand over your face. the squelch of his fingers filling the empty noise of the dressing room, your knees starting to threaten to buckle as the band in your stomach grows tighter.

"god, look how fuckin' pretty you look, baby," art coos into your ear, watching every subtle reaction of your body through the mirror. his cock leaking through the fabric of his pants as he continues grinding against you.

"gonna cum on my fingers, pretty? be my good little girl?" the whispered words have you buckling onto him, barely holding back the moans as you fall apart under his touch. art's fingers don't halt, prolonging your orgasm as much as he can. only slowing sliding out of you as your body starts to shake, bringing his fingers up to his mouth, sucking the taste of you from them as he drops his hand from your face.

smiling around his fingers as he savours every bit of your wetness, still meeting your eyes through the reflection as his he holds you up against him still. spinning you around to him afterwards, big hands resting on your hips as he presses a kiss to your forehead. "so good for me, princess."

"art?" you hum, tilting your head as you try to bite back a giggle.

"yeah, babygirl?" he murmurs softly, bringing his hands up to your jaw, angling your face up to his eyes. "did you, um, did you just cum in your pants?" you manage to ask through soft giggles, lip between your teeth as you watch the pink blush spread across his cheeks.

"you're too damn sexy, baby, can't help it."

© 222col. do not steal or repost my work without permission.

[strfall]

ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🦇་༘࿐ thinking about vampire!art (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

he's always nuzzling at your neck, inhaling your scent, mouthing over that pulse point and groaning when your heartbeat jumps a little, that skittish bunny in your brain reminding you that he's a predator. but he always fights against himself, never wanting to hurt you. he's sure that if he ever sank his teeth into you he'd never be able to pull them back out and he would drink you dry until you were just as pale and lifeless as him.

you can tell when he's hungry, when the animal blood he chooses to feed on just isn't satisfying him. the way he's constantly fidgeting, the way his hands hesitate even more than usual when you get close to him like the temptation is too much.

he is sitting on the edge of the bed when you wake up, leg bouncing and hands fidgeting in his lap as he stares off into some empty corner of the room.

"art?" you call out groggily and his head whips to the side to find you awake. but he doesn't speak, his hands just falling to fist tightly at the sheets. you knew what was happening, how the temptation to rip into you is eating him up inside.

you slide out from under the blankets, walking around the bed to stand in front of him, slotting yourself between his knees as you gently cup his cool face, making him look at you. his eyes meet yours for only a second before they're focused right on your neck, like he can see the blood pumping through your arteries. maybe he can, you've never asked.

"are you hungry?" you ask gently, and it takes a moment for him to respond with a distant hum. you nod slowly, watching the way his adams apple bobs when he swallows drily.

you push him back gently, giving yourself enough room to climb into his lap. your sudden presence on top of him, seems to break him out of his trance a bit and he finally looks up into your eyes like he can actually see you instead of just the red in your veins.

"you shouldn't--" he starts, wanting to push you off, afraid of what he'll do to you as his hands settle hesitantly on your hips.

"shh.." you hush him, running a soothing hand through his curls, soaked with clammy sweat. you didn't even know he did sweat, but clearly he was suffering from this sheer desire. "let me feed you," you offer and his eyes widen like saucers.

"i- i can't, angel, i'd never be able to stop--" he protests, panic seeming to fill him as his eyes flicker from yours to your throat, his hands gripping almost painfully at your hips as he tries to keep himself under control.

"it's okay," you try and soothe him with a gentle hand on his cheek. "i'll stop you. i know you would never hurt me," you whisper. it hurts you to see him like this, trembling and seemingly even paler than usual, his head in a fog of hunger.

"it's okay..." you murmur again, gently guiding his head to your neck with your hand in his hair. you hear the way his breath hitches as he gets so close to what he needs.

you feel his lips ghosting over your pulse point first, followed by a brush of his fangs that makes you shiver. you can tell he wants it more than anything, his hands still squeezing you desperately.

finally, you feel a sharp pinch, the feeling of his fangs sinking into the side of your neck. it makes you gasp softly at the pain, but it quickly gives way to pleasure as he starts eagerly lapping at your neck, gulping down your blood like a man starved.

your eyes flutter shut as he groans and whimpers against your skin. "ohmygod--" he whines, his hips involuntarily bucking up against yours in his lap. "you taste s'good, better than i ever could've imagined," his words are slurring, absolutely drunk on you.

you can only moan softly in response, your hands holding him tightly against you. it's like nothing you've ever felt before. there must be something in his saliva that makes this feel so pleasurable.

its like you can't get enough.

art is only whimpering and whining more as he suckles against your neck, his hips rutting up against yours getting more and more desperate. you feel limp in his hold, your body only being used by him, you were made for what he needs. all you can hear is the sound of him sucking and lapping at your life force and a chorus of quiet moans and grunts and whines, but you can't tell whose throat they're coming from, yours or his.

everything starts to go a little fuzzy, all those noises fading into the background as your vision starts to spot. if it wasn't for that little prey animal buried in your subconscious telling you to tug roughly on his blond curls, you'd let him drink you dry right here and now. he doesn't pull away at first, despite your undoubtedly painful grip on his scalp. he doesn't pull away until you somehow manage to rasp out his name, drawing his attention back to you.

when he pulls back from your neck with a gasp like he was drowning in you, the two of you just stare at each other for a moment, both entranced by the dark mirror of blown pupils. he has your blood coating his chin and dripping down his neck, and it's still oozing from the puncture wounds on the side of your neck, too, getting all over the collar of your shirt.

something suddenly snaps and he collapses against you, going boneless against your chest with a dry sob. "i could've killed you!" he cries into your shirt, but you're still so dazed as the feeling of his teeth in your neck fades and a dull throbbing settles in its place.

"you didn't," you remind him with a hushed voice, smoothing your hand over the back of his hair. "i'm okay," you assure him, gently rocking him back and forth.

you gently shush him as he comes down from the hysteria, gently pulling him back from you to examine his red stained face after he calms down significantly. he already looks fuller, more alive, or as much as he can, really. "do you feel better?" you ask in a soft voice. "all full?"

he nods with a little sniffle, his eyes trained on the wound at the side of your neck with a strange look in his eye. you can't deduct if it's guilt or desire or maybe a mix of both.

"tell me when you're suffering like that, okay?" you gently squeeze his shoulders to get his attention. "you always have me. i'll be your warm little blood bag," you tease gently, cupping his cheek.

his eyes get wide at your words, his lips parting at the sound of that promise. "well now that i've had a taste, i don't think i can go for the rest of eternity without it," he breathes before leaning forward to press a crushing, grateful kiss to your lips.

[jiimeniita]

[t1ts-4-donaldson]

a continuation of dilf! patrick! you mentioned how it was a one night stand but like what if they r really good coparents and real feelings come to fruition 🤭

ooo I'm feeling you

Dad Patrick would be distant at first. He never thought he’d see you again, he was petrified of being a father never thought he’d be one in the first place. His parents forced him to step up to not be an ass and at least support you financially if he didn’t want anything to do with your child. Art ripped him a new one, no way was he going to cum and dump you.

His heart melted the first time he saw you exhausted on the hospital bed nursing your little baby his beautiful daughter, she was tiny had his dark hair and eyes a carbon copy of him there’s no way he can leave now.

You’d expected him to flake too, he emphasized that this was just sex nothing more ever. The 2 lines on the tests you took a month later brought you excitement and pain, you called him crying telling him he was going to be a dad he immediately went silent “no, hell no” he hung up on you. It cemented your hatred towards him, yes his rejection towards you stung but what hurt worse was him rejecting his baby.

To stay you were stunned when he opened the hospital room door was an understatement. “Patrick”

“Hey..” he meekly crosses the room fidgeting anxiously "what's her name?" He lifts a finger caressing her cheek smiling as she twitched in your arms tiny dimples giving way identical to his, you wanted to swat his hand away, of course he had the audacity to visit.

“Why are you here?” You hold her close “I wanted to see her.. I didn’t know it was going to be a girl-“ he replies wincing, you were right to be pissed at him.

“I didn’t tell you.. you didn’t want anything to do with me, with us” you scowl bringing her closer to your chest “I-“ he blinks keeping tears at bay “I’m sorry.. I was scared this wasn’t the plan” he explained “Can I hold her please?”

You reluctantly hand her over “cradle her head she’s fragile” you mutter anxiously, he was careless only a select few could be scathed by his callousness but you saw something that wasn't there before, completeness, a longing filled with joy you saw it in his eyes he was glowing.

So you accepted his presence with hesitation, he stayed by your side every day. Changing her diapers, bottle feeding her and listened to nurses instructions without complaining

You restricted visitations strictly on weekends which turned into every other day to keeping her at school with him. She adapted surprisingly well, she knew Patrick's schedule by the time she was 3, happily spending time with uncle Art and aunt Tashi, her little on campus family.

"you're a good dad you know that?"

"it's nothing" he bounces her on his lap "it's not nothing Patrick only a few guys would step up and parent their kid, especially a fling"

"don't call yourself a fling.. I mean you were, we were just-" he pauses.

This wasn't his normal it felt odd being in love, or what he thought was love the lack of familiarity threw him off. His dad loathed him thought he was a nuisance shut him up with money, his mom was absent physically there but mentally dejected, drinking her way through her marriage and her son.

"I was scared.. fucking terrified, I'm not used to.. being cared for Art's there he's great it's different with you." He says "you're good for me the both of you are, I think I finally got my shit together." he grins blowing raspberries against her cheek

"Patrick.." tears cloud your vision "thank you.. I couldn't do this without you. I'm grateful you came around" you reply heart thudding quickly, he really meant what he said 'maybe he was in love with you'

[roryheartz]

pro tennis player!art x popstar!reader

(idk if this has been done already but technically my first smau! super corny and unfunny but idgaf)

[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.

[peariote]

★〃─── A DRAGON'S CLAIM

Beware the beast from Andres Peaks, For maiden stolen and havoc wreaked. No gift as great as the girl returned, Then, only then, will the crown be earned. A King's Message

Legend told of a high dragon, with scales that glimmer golden and a roar that could cull an army. Her fire burns blue, licks at the edges of everything it touches and could raze towns in seconds.

They spoke of a wingspan wide as the sky, shadowing even the largest cities. Of a whipping tail and claws sharps as diamonds.

What you knew was much, much different.

They claimed you were stolen away, clutched in those dangerous claws. Your mother cried and your father raged, knights and mercenaries dissipating throughout the lands to find you.

What they didn't know was that it wasn't vicious claws that snatched you but gentle hands that guided. That you'd stumbled, blinded by snow and freezing, into a blacksmith's and caught the dragon off-guard.

Catching a dragon off of their guard. They always did say you were remarkable. Though, in all honesty, the dragon was less shocked by your arrival—later confessing she could smell you, even through the frost—but by your half-frozen state, shivering with snow coating your every inch. 

You don’t remember that first night, not much anyways. She says it was nothing remarkable, but you’ve learned she has a penchant for understating, at least by your standards. All you can piece together is the frantic press of warm skin and the summer-sunbeam feeling of dragon’s fire. It’s a fond memory, one you keep recreating with her. 

You awoke that next morning, disoriented—brain still stuck in the oppressive snow, despite your toasty state. Out the window shows a blanket of undisturbed white, coating every tree and covering the ground for as far as you can see. You realize, with a jolt, that you have no clue where you are. Going to sit up is unsuccessful, though, the failing maneuver drawing your eyes down to whatever’s restricting your movement.

A thin arm drapes over your waist, unexpectedly heavy and warm like molten metal, joined in its restraining of you by a thick, scaled tail around one leg. There’s a fireplace across from you, crackling happily despite the early hour. With the way the woman curled around you sleeps, you doubt she was getting up to stoke it—but still, it burned through the night. The sheets over you are thick and full, a large animal skin completing the pile. Even back in your father’s castle, which was constantly maintained and heated by an army of servants, doesn’t compare to the toasty, simple, wood-and-stone cabin you currently reside in. 

You settle back, resigned to your fate—trapped on the soft mattress until your companion wakes. Turning on your side, you’re granted a better view of her. Her face is half-pressed into a pillow, but soft, tawny skin framed by long, loose curls are still visible. Perhaps the sleep-haze is compelling you, but you don’t hesitate to reach forward and brush a curl from the bridge of her nose, threading it back behind her ear. 

She puffs a breath, and for a moment you freeze. Then, she nuzzles back into her pillow—eyebrows furrowed endearingly at your disruption. A touch of disappointment settles in your gut, unexpectedly so. One would think you’d already be easing her off, somehow, changing—or perhaps not, considering the tatters your dress was reduced to—and leaving. 

Your own thoughts halt you, once again. With the woman’s deep slumber, you have time to think. You’re unable to wiggle out, or even sit up. There’s no indication you’d have proper cover for the frigid temperatures, even with the weak sun. And lastly… where would you go? 

Fleeing from your home was problematic enough, but to do it as a princess? It’s unwise to even stay in the same kingdom, much less fleeing to the port town you believe is nearby—information travels, fast as the ships do. Knights would be on you in minutes, if not seconds. 

So you stay. You stare at the woman, and she sleeps.

And sleeps.

And sleeps.

Goodness. You’ll never get out from under her if she doesn’t wake, so you reach over and shake her shoulder. She huffs again, and her grip tightens on you, but she slowly starts to stir. Her eyelashes flutter first, followed soon after by a gentle smacking of her lips. Finally her eyes open, and she squints at you groggily. At the raise of your eyebrow she pulls back, too drowsy to be startled as she rubs at her eyes. 

“...sorry.” Unexpectedly, her voice is gruff, rough with sleep and low with exhaustion. She blinks at you, as if you are not some unnamed woman lying comfortably in her bed. Your lips purse. Would it be rude to interrogate her so early?

You do it regardless.

“How did I get here? I was in the woods last I remember… then warmth. And now I’m here.” You murmur, suddenly feeling apprehensive under her intense, lethargic gaze. If you look close enough, and her eyes catch in the light, you can glimpse her dark irises flashing amber and the thin, dilated line of her pupils. You blink subtly, hiding confusion. Perhaps she’s not human. They’re rare where you grew up, but it’s not as if you’re unaware. Meetings brought merpeople to the docks, their colorful scales gleaming in the bright sun; thin, willowy elves that towered over everyone, even the tallest knights, graced your expansive dining hall; and all other manner of nonhumans, sharp teeth and bark-like skin and unfamiliar features you glimpsed from your childish hiding spots in the years before you were permitted to joined them. But you’d never seen eyes quite like those. 

You’re so engrossed in your own deliberations you almost miss her answer. Despite how you’ve sunk into thought, her voice cuts through the stream of consciousness to caress your ears—less raspy, now that she’s awoken a bit more. You find yourself mourning the loss. 

“You stumbled in half-frozen and soaked late last night. Almost gave me a heart attack—you were ashen.” Ashen. So you were dying. It was foolish, really, to leave during the wintertime, but you’d thought there would be a few more weeks of mild chill before the truly heavy snow started. It seems you were wrong. “The warmth was probably what I did. It was standard. Change of clothes, fire, body heat.” 

“You do this a lot?”

“No.”

You both go silent. She stares at you, as if expecting a response to her abrupt answer. She’s clinical with her speech—nothing flowery like yours, or what you’ve been pushed to learn. There’s been no training that prepares you for such frankness, so you stare down at the bedsheets and idly pet one thick fur. 

“...do you know how far you are from the capital?” Do you know how far I am from… home?

“About two days by foot, I believe. But that’s on the roads; any other way and it could take longer.”

At that something relaxes. Your chest isn’t quite as tight, knowing the distance is more than just a few meager hours. Every day away greatly increased the area they had to search, for they did not know the direction you chose to go. “Are you going to make me leave?”

“Well, why would I do that?”

So you fall into winter with your new companion. Natasha, but she implores you to call her Tashi. She doesn’t say much to you, preferring to slink away to her workshop and forge orders placed during fall’s milder months. But still, every night, she curls around you and glares past your shoulder, her narrowed gaze directed at the frosted-over window as if someone might sneak through and pry you from her hold. 

One night you’d asked her why she did such a thing, curiosity stifled too long. I mean, she hardly spent time with you. There was no indication she desired your company… but still, here she is, cradling you to her chest and into the warm hollow that’s formed. 

She gave no response. Only the flushing of her ears.

The changing seasons were swifter than you expected. All you noticed was the frequent snow petering off, the frigid air slowly heightening to just chilly, and by then it was too late. You saw the first dandelion when you ventured out one morning, wrapped in a fur and holding a steaming mug. It had pushed through one of the piles of heavy snow, curling, weak and pale-yellow, towards the sun. But still, it grew. Soon it was joined by more, the weakening snow allowing for more to break through, and your world was alight with green again, the nearby fields flush with wildflowers. It had been so long.

As the days warm, and the nights follow suit, Tashi starts to withdraw. Every time you pack your cross-body, one you’d made from the scraps she’d brought, spare from the makings of the hilts, she’d stiffen and her eyes would tighten. She seemed to linger near the door until you came back, and only worked on days that you stayed inside. You chided her—you knew, at this point, the wealth of orders she acquires from all corners of the continent. She needed to work, to create the weapons and tools necessary for continued society. The look in her eyes was still stubborn. Despite her dedication, she seemed ready to take her hammer to the brick forge if it meant you stayed in the house. 

“Tashi! I’m not leaving. I’m going out to the wood’s edge. Just please, do your work.” You huff, packing for your short walk despite her hovering. Now, she leans herself against the doorframe, watching as you press thickly-crusted bread and a small glass container of jam into the wide basket. You shouldn’t be gone long, but still she coils in the corner, looking quite displeased. A sigh escapes you.

“...just come with, you stubborn thing.”

So, you find yourself with a rather disgruntled Tashi, curled and gleaming in the spring sun, her tawny, tanned skin honeyed from its rays and dewy as the grass around you. The view reminds you, suddenly, of the cat you left, content and full-cheeked in your window’s adjoining seat—though you would never tell her that thought. 

When she catches you staring—because oddly, she always does—you redirect back towards the blackberry bush you’re currently ransacking. At least, that’s what she called it. But you’re leaving two berries for every one you take, and the interior of the bush is full of ripe ones you’re too lazy to reach for, so she’s full of shit. 

For every two you put in your basket, you plop one on your tongue. Teeth don’t come into play this time; no, the berries are soft enough to crush. So you slowly pressure the berry between the roof of your mouth and your tongue, the thin flesh yielding enough to let the thick juice spill. It settles, tart-sweet, coating your palate. 

“What are you doing?” Tashi implores, elbow supporting her weight as she props it under herself. After minutes of watching you poach berries and your odd jaw movements, her eyes have narrowed. It’s a way that used to unnerve you, but the effect is ruined by your memories and the way her irises gleam golden. 

“Eating the berries.” As if it was obvious. Her glare thickens, knowing your generalizing is a tease. She can already see the twitch of your lips. Liar.

“You’re weird, you know that?”

“Do you always ask so many questions?”

She opens her mouth, and then closes it with a click. Irritated, she purses her lips, and finds she has nothing else to say. You’re terrible, she thinks, and then echos it aloud. You just laugh and press a berry past her lips. Sputtering, she resists, but later you find her jaw working in the same way yours did. Your chest warms, until you notice she’s putting a sizable chunk in your first basket.

“Hey! Stay away from those, you thief!”

Customers start coming for their weapons and tools by early autumn. You hid from those familiar to you but flourished around the people you hadn’t met. Dwarves come to pick up pickaxes that stayed to chat about techniques (though, you’re curious why they bought from her; their tools are the best you’ve ever heard of). Centaurs wait outside for their new arrow tips, bending their head so you can ask them questions. Knights from other kingdoms come, ones you’d never met, eager to share their culture in exchange for a meal. 

Really, you should’ve expected the knights to be the ones to create an issue. The dwarves and the centaurs were old enough to remember manners, but the new year brought new youngsters into the service, confident and overzealous and much too eager to show off. 

“Hello, hello, Natash—” the tall, dark-haired boy strolls into your house (when did it become your house?), face open with a smile and a pretty blond shadowing him. He pauses when he sees you, smile going crooked with a practiced charm. “Well. He-llo pretty lady.” 

“Step off, Pat.” Like an angel, or something just as beautiful, Tashi comes from the storeroom nestled alongside your kitchen. She’s wiping her hands on her apron, eyes averted absentmindedly towards the fabric, but there’s an intensity burning there you’re not sure you want to see today.

“Tashi.” Your voice is rife with subtle warning. Patrick’s eyebrows raise, genuine shock shooting over his features. Distractingly, though, Tashi curls around your back; she presses her forever-warm self to your back and eases her chin against your nape. You can feel her breath puff over the apple of your cheek. 

“She lets you call her… Tashi?” The blonde chimes, his confidence more mellow than the brunet. He’s not dressed in the gleaming armor Patrick is, but the smooth leather of squire’s robes. 

“I’m not allowed to call her anything else.” 

They’ve locked you, now, in a three-way stare. When one glances away the other will occupy your gaze, keeping your eyes flickering back and forth—attempting to decode their pointed looks. 

“Okay, just tell me what the fuck this is about.” You sigh, already tired of their antics. 

“Don’t you dare.” Tashi bites against your neck, glaring at the two boys. They suddenly look very small, like mice, under her intensity. 

In sync, they both raise their hands in surrender. It’d be charming or thought-provoking otherwise—you don’t see many knights that close to their squires, in both attitude and age—but you’re distracted. It feels like Tashi’s withholding information, and these two boys are too scared of the blacksmith to even say anything. 

“We’re talking about this later.” You warn, turning your own glare to the woman wrapped around you. The boys tense, and then relax as Tashi eases off of you. She grumbles, but moves to grab their new swords from the storeroom. 

(If you weren’t so annoyed, maybe you could admit that her double-wielding the swords with a sort of casual ease leaves you tense in the shoulders and with a lip that’s almost bitten through.)

Later comes, as it always does. Tashi is self-aware enough to realize that there’s no stopping this conversation, as much as she tries to ignore it. She sits herself on the edge of your bed, bare and damp, and flinches when your fingers drag down the sparse red scales on her spine. Her tail, usually kept tucked away, whips, heavy and leathery, against the soft sheets—yet never hits you.

“Want to tell me what that was about?” Your voice curls against her shoulder, the breathy drowsiness cooling her flushed skin. She shivers, her shoulders flexing. Warm touch trails up, and you press into one long, gnarled scar, mirrored perfectly on the other side. 

“...they could tell I’m in love with you.” There’s something in her voice that tells you she doesn’t like that very much. “I could tell you’re in love with me. But I’m in love with you, too, so it doesn’t really matter, does it?” Your pillowy lips press to her scar, and like compelled she shivers again. The drag of your tongue, subtle and hot, makes her moan in the back of her throat. 

“...I should’ve guessed that.”

“You should’ve.”

Silence comes, settles over the room. She lets you wrap around her, enjoys your ivy-strong cling and smiles when you plant your mouth to her neck. Still, there’s a charge of another truth just waiting to spark. “...are you going to tell me what you are? Because I’ve got no idea.” You admit. The truth wouldn’t truly affect anything. Love is there, no matter what she is—because whatever her species, you know she’s your Tashi. Hardworking, quiet, loving. All wrapped up in almost six feet of warm skin. There’s not more to want. She gives you the safety and the quiet you desired when you left. You’d found so much more than your dreams held, even if you landed in one place and never left.

She takes a breath. It swells against your chest, her spine curving. “I’m a dragon.”

“Oh.” And because really, you should’ve guessed this sooner, you’re less than phased and instead pushed to humor. “Where’s your hoard? I haven’t seen your pool of gold yet.”

She squints and scrunches her face, and then rubs away the tension. The tips of her ears go hot with embarrassment, her only tell. You have the desire to mouth at them. Perhaps you shouldn’t. It is important that she can speak.  

“...you are. That’s why Patrick was teasing me. He’s terrible.” 

She groans as she feels your smile spread over her back. When you tug her closer and your teasing smile is revealed, she only glares. While her spine may melt into your chest, and her curls mold under your caress, her eyes remain tight. “Really?”

“Don’t tease. It’s rude.”

You follow her instructions, just this once. Mouth dropping, you suck at the tip of her ear like you’d so desired to. It makes her gasp, and you move to swallow the sound. You’d heard tales of a dragon’s thundering roar, but their moans are much prettier. 

© peariote, 2025

[gladiatorcunt]

oooh art would be lowkey freaky. i feel like he’s also a super munch. he’ll let you sit on his face for hours!!

cw: 18+ mdni, cunnilingus, ambiguous era, afab reader, slight brat!reader, teasing, like two spanks (+ one instance of ass play + very slight anal fingering)

Art devours you like no one else ever could, burying his tongue into your pussy for hours on end. If he could, he’d do it 24/7. He does it enough as it is away. As a wake up call, a way to say goodnight, in the shower, on your period, from behind while you’re cooking, in a pool chair, you get the gist. If you asked what he favorite sexual act to do with you was, there’s not a single doubt in your mind that it would be slurping up your pussy.

You’ve never sat on his face before though, too scared to break his neck after reading a story on your phone about that happening to someone else. It’d be a real mood killer to come down from you high to see your boyfriend dead to the world, literally. You didn’t talk about it again after the initial awkward discussion that ended with you dismissing it. But he just looks so hot in the early morning sun, a rare sleepy day in where you actually get to marvel at what Art looks like when he’s relaxed.

You bite your lip and shake him gently, trying not to shy away and curl up into a ball when he eventually groans and rubs his eyes open.

“Morning, baby.” He grunts in his husky morning voice.

He immediately puckers his lips for a kiss that you provide with less casual confidence than usual. His brow furrows, and he caresses the inside of your wrist with his thumb.

“What’s up? Are you hungry?” He asks you, thinking that you’re needing him to run and get you coffee or something.

You say no and play with your hands, the ache you’ve been feeling between your thighs only grows the more you look into his eyes.

“I just…. I need you.” You whisper.

Art squints his eyes, not sure what you mean. Then he recalls how he usually wakes you up in the morning, “Oh. You need me, huh?”

You nod and spread your legs, giving a view of your bare pussy. You took your underwear off earlier when the feeling got to be too much.

“Can you say it for me, angel? Tell me what you need and i’ll give it you.” He grins, teasing you. “If you woke me up, you must need whatever it is really bad.”

You roll your eyes and straddle him, sighing in bliss when he latches onto your hips. You’d put up more of a fight if you weren’t so horny, but you’ll let Art have his fun this time.

“I need you to eat me out.” You hold back the ‘obviously’ that you want to tack onto the end of your sentence.

Art’s grin widens and he makes you rock back and forth on his clothed bulge. He waist until you’re juices are wetting the fabric of his underwear before he pats your thigh, telling you to get off. You don’t budge and allow him to get into the typical position. Instead you lift your hips and shuffle up the bed until you’re hovering over his face.

“I want you to eat me out like this.”

Art’s grin falters as his eyes widen in shock for a second, you must really be pent up if you’re being this bold. He’s not complaining, he’d been waiting patiently for you to get comfortable enough to use him like a chair. You’re enough of a brat to change your mind if he acts too smug about getting what he wants even if you want it too though, so he tones it down.

“Get to it then, angel.” He smirks, his words trailing off into a satisfied sigh. “Give me a taste of this pretty pussy, don’t hold back.”

He flattens his tongue expectantly and leans his head back against the pillows.

Before you can even hesitate, Art snakes his arms under your legs and yanks your body down, making you drop your weight on him. You yelp but he doesn’t let you squirm away from his mouth. The sensation of his tongue lying still beneath you feels strange for a second, but a slap to your ass snaps you out of it enough to start moving your hips.

You shout and grab onto the headboard, getting yourself off on your boyfriend’s face. You play with one of your tits as you start to bounce on him, craving more of his tongue.

You reach down and tug on his hair, suddenly feeling too shy to make eye contact. He hasn’t looked away from you this entire time, and your cheeks warm in embarrassment at the thought of how messy you already look.

He winks at you, not moving at all and letting you take your fill. Well that’s not what you want anymore, so you tug his hair harder and beg.

“Please, baby, just tongue fuck me already. Don’t you want to? ‘m getting tired…” You whine, pouting down at him.

You stop your hips when you don’t get an answer. Art’s eyes crinkle in delight at your predicament, but he gives in to you. He always does, you just don’t like when he puts you on the spot and makes you wait like this. Secretly you kinda enjoy how he acts in bed, but you like putting up a fight way more.

Art curls his tongue around your clit and you throw your head back. He gives the throbbing bud a few customary sucks and then he jabs his tongue into your wet hole. You moan and grab onto his hair, bouncing on him in time with his tongue’s short thrusts. You roll your hips down against the slick appendage and cry out when it hits the right spot, grasping onto the headboard for dear life.

“Oh my god, feels so good! Wanted you in my pussy, need you there, sucking me dry-what the fuck, yes!” You squeal, firmly keeping his face nuzzled into your pussy and your thighs around his head.

His hands are playing with your ass while he eats you out. You’re mid bounce when you feel one of his thumbs prod at your ass hole, and the barest hint of having two of your wholes filled gets you moving faster on him. He spread your cheeks wider and kneads the flesh, jiggling them in his hands.

Art responds in kind and slides his tongue around whatever parts of your juicy pussy he can, scooping up your juices and guzzling them down as he stabs his tongue through your sopping folds.

You’d normally pull him back by his hair when you got close, not wanting to get him too dirty with your cum. But now you’re tightening your thighs over his ears and and stuffing his nose into your trimmed pubic hair, bouncing like your life depends on it.

Art spanks you again when your walls spasm around his tongue thirty seconds later. He gulps your orgasm down with love in his eyes and a heartbeat in his dick. He coos at your soft sniffles and massages your trembling thighs when you get up and collapse beside him.

“Thanks for breakfast, angel, I’d rate it 5 stars”. He laughs, half jokingly and half seriously.

“Whatever, perv.” You weakly smack him on the chest and groan, trying to keep your soul in your body. “Go get coffee… please.”

[sceletaflores]

no lube, no protection, all night, all day, from the kitchen floor, to the toilet seat, from the dining room table, to the bedroom, from the bathroom sink, to the shower, from the front porch, to the balcony, vertically horizontally, quadratic, exponent, algorithmetic, while I gasp for air, scream and see the light, missionary, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, doggy, backwards, forward, sideways, upside down, on the floor, in the bed, on the couch, on a chair, being carried against the wall, outside, in a train, on a plane, in a car, on a motorcycle, the bed of a truck, on a trampoline, in a bounce house, in the pool, bent over in the basement, against the window, have the most toe curling, back aching, leg shaking, dick throbbing, fist clenching, ear ringing, mouth drooling, ass clenching, nose sniffling, eye watering, eye rolling, hip thrusting, earthquaking, sheet gripping, knuckles cracking, jaw-dropping, hair pulling teeth jitterbug, mind boggling, soul snatching, over stimulating, vile, sloppy, moan-inducing, heart-wrenching, spine tingling, back breaking, atrocious, gushy, creamy, beastly, lip biting, nail biting, sweaty, feet kicking, mind blowing, body shivering, orgasmic, bone breaking, world ending, blackhole creating, universe destroying, devious, scrumptious, amazing, delightful, delectable, unbelievable, body numbing, bark-worthy, can't walk, head nodding, soul evaporating, volcanic erupting, sweat rolling, voice cracking, trembling, sheets soaked, hair drenched, flabbergasting, hip locking, skin peeling, eyelash removing, eye widening, pussy popping, nail snatching, spectacular, hair ripping, show stopping, magnificent, unique, extraordinary, splendid, phenomenal, malforming, heavenly, devil's tango. please.

[kolsmikaelson]

AND THEN THERE WERE THREE…

NOTES — just saw challengers today and absolutely needed to write smth for these two! only used a gif of art because theres none of the two of them and almost none for patrick </3, i’m a little rusty with smut so bare with me

WARNINGS — 18+ content mdni, slight challengers 2024 spoilers, fem!reader, kinda dom!art, pure smut/little plot, art/patrick interactions, talk of previous art/patrick sexual encounters, spit play, oral (m receiving), tit sucking, dirty talk, mentions of anal, little bit of aftercare, not proofread, lmk if i forgot anything!

REQUEST — Pls write a smut fic with reader and Art fucking in the hotel room (with Patrick watching) and reader asking if Patrick can join them and ofc Art can’t say no because he finds the idea of this super hot. Maybe reader makes Art and Patrick make out like in the movie 👀

WORD COUNT — 1.6k

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None of you were too sure how exactly this had started. You, Art, and Patrick had stumbled back into their hotel room after leaving the beach, each of you finding your own place to sit after Patrick opened up a beer, took a swig, and passed the can to you. You’d taken a seat closer to Art, having naturally gravitated towards him more so than Patrick. And quickly, you and Art were making out, leaving Patrick to watch. 

You blamed the beer. And the fact that you found both Art and Patrick incredibly hot. One minute you’re at a party, dedicated to your best friend, Tashi Duncan, and the next you’re sitting on the beach being invited back to the guys’ hotel room, and the next after that, Art is stripping you of your clothes while Patrick takes a seat leaned up against the wall opposite the foot of the bed. 

“Can I-” He begins, fingers fiddling with the hem of your shirt, desperation clear in his eyes. At your nod, Art quickly yanks your shirt over your head and immediately pulls your body flush against his. He’s planting soft, wet kisses up and down your neck as his fingers work the back of your bra. His eyes widen the moment it drops to the ground. 

Giving you a moment's glance he quickly sucks one nipple into his mouth, licking and sucking and biting. Feeling as though he’s neglected the other one, he pinches and tugs on the opposite nipple, smiling around the one in his mouth at the moans you let out. 

“Yeah, baby? You like this? Me with your tits in my mouth and my best friend jerking off while watching us?”

For a moment, you’d forgotten about Patrick. Your eyes shoot open, landing on him instantly. The sight of him, slouched against the wall, his hand already wrapped around his cock, with his eyes fixated on both you and Art. He looked so hot, you weren’t sure how you’d forgotten that he was even there. 

“Mhm, ‘s hot.” you admitted, turning Arts face back to you, tugging his bottom lip back into your mouth. The blond pushes you back onto the beds that were pushed together - Patrick’s idea if anyone were to ask - and begins kissing up your stomach only stopping long enough to kiss each of your nipples. He grabs your face, pushing his fingers into your cheeks, making you open your mouth, before letting a large glob of spit fall from his mouth into yours. 

“Swallow.” He smiles when you do so without complaint, even going as far as to look as if you wanted him to do it again. 

Patrick moans at that, louder than before. Sure he and Art had messed around before, when they were both single and bored and needed a good fuck, that wasn’t new, but hearing that commanding tone in the blonds voice sent a shiver down his spine. 

“God, that was hot.” Patrick sighs, laughing when Art gives him the finger. 

“Fuck off, Patrick.” Both of them know he doesn’t mean it, if he wasn’t wanted there, you or Art would’ve said something, but you didn’t. whether Art knew it or not, both you and he wanted him to stay, and keep watching.

At some point during that interaction, you weren’t sure when exactly, Art had shed his pants and underwear. He was dragging the tip up and down your slit, up and down, stopping every few seconds to slap your clit with it. When your eyes finally landed on his length, it made your jaw drop. He was big, bigger than you’d seen before, he was long and girthy with veins running along the bottom of it. 

He slowly slides into you, admiring the look of pure bliss on your face. He’d never seen anyone look so angelic. The closest comparison he could make was how Patrick looked when he’d first given him a blow job. He wouldn’t call the look on Patrick's face angelic perse, but it was hot, really hot. The reminder of that, and the way you’ve begun clenching around him, spurs him into you. His hips snapping into yours, his heavy balls hitting your ass with each thrust. It was unlike anything either of you had felt before. 

I want him to join.

You weren’t sure that the words had actually left your mouth until the blond on top of you stopped his thrusts, looking into your eyes for a moment. 

“That what you want, baby?” He murmurs, kissing sloppily up and down your neck, shivers running through your entire body at his touch. His fingers falling to your clit, flicking at it. The pleasure was almost enough to make you forget that he’d even asked a question. 

Almost. 

“Please,” Even in your fucked out state, you couldn’t help but want more. 

“Come on, Zweig. You heard her.” Patrick grins, hopping to his feet, although slightly hesitant. He wasn’t sure where to go, or what to do. But his nerves dissolved the moment Art turned around, and gave him that look, one that he knew meant that everything would be okay. It meant that he just needed to get over himself and have a good time, everything would work out. After that he’s on the move towards you, giving Art a harsh slap to the ass as he goes past him, laughing when Art swats back at him. 

Patrick all but flies onto the bed, having kicked his underwear off the moment he stood up, and his shirt is long gone, a mix of yours, his, and Arts clothes are scattered around the hotel room, sure to have lost at least one thing. But none of you had it in you to care, too overwhelmed with pleasure. Your mouth opens before he’s even fully on the bed, but he gets the message, quickly positioning his tip in front of your mouth, thrusting a few times before losing control and fucking your throat. 

The three of you move in tandem for minutes, or maybe it was hours, Art would thrust into you, rubbing your clit with his fingers, while Patrick would be pulling himself out of your mouth at the same time. It felt as though this was a regular occurrence, as though it were normal. And god did you hope it would become a normal thing. The three of you, together, making each other feel good. 

Tapping Patricks thigh lightly, you hum happily when he pulls out of your mouth, giggling at how quickly he begins to check and make sure you’re okay. 

“What? What’s wrong? Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” The words come out of his mouth at lightning speed and it’s difficult for you to understand, but Art had and his thrusts slowed to a stop, hands leaving your body, giving you a questioning look as if repeating everything his friend had just said. 

“I’m fine baby,” And then you say something neither of them could quite hear. 

“Gotta speak up for us, sweetheart. Can’t do what you want us to do otherwise.” That comes from Patrick, Art nodding along with him. 

“Want you two to kiss.” The words fly out of your lips and you’re suddenly shy, pressing your face into Patricks thigh, nipping at it softly. 

Both men smirk at you before making eye contact with each other, giving a subtle nod. 

“Well c’mon man, you know how I like it.”

The combination of Arts words, his sudden thrusts and Patrick taking it upon himself to flick at your clit, push you over the edge. The power of your orgasm makes your legs shake, your mind empty of anything this isn’t you, Patrick, or Art. 

They’re still kissing, it’s all teeth and tongue and spit. It’s messy, and it only stops long enough for Arts mouth to fall open, moans spilling out as he comes inside of you, hot spurts of his come flooding your insides, leaving a white ring around the base of his cock as he fucks you through both of your orgasms. 

At this point, Patrick has taken a step back, and is watching again. He’s stroking himself with one hand, squeezing just right and out of nowhere, Art reaches out, cupping the dark haired man's balls, tugging and rubbing on them just the way Patrick likes. The added pleasure sends him crashing over the edge, he barely has the time to move and aim his cum to where you and Art are connected, spilling himself all over your cunt and Arts cock. 

Art pulls out and the three of you fall into a pile of heavy breathing, sweat, spit, and cum on the beds pushed into the middle of the room. Once you all catch your breath, Patrick is the first to speak. 

“Wow.” It was simple, but it made you all burst out laughing. 

“Wow, indeed.” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his pec, turning to do the same to Art. 

“That was fucking hot.” Arts words make you all giggle yet again. 

“Okay,” Patrick leans you into Art and pushes himself off of the bed, “‘m gonna get you two cleaned up, be right back.” He reassures you, hearing you whine at losing his presence. He comes back with a warm washcloth in hand, and a small cup of water in his other. He hands the water to Art motioning for him to take a drink and then give you some as well, while he bends at the waist, resting his knees on the floor and taking the cloth to your core, cleaning you as gently as he could before moving onto Art. Tossing the cloth to the corner of the room he pulls both you and Art into his embrace, enjoying the quiet for a moment before you break the silence. 

“Round two? Whoever makes me cum harder gets to fuck me here first.” You smile slyly, placing your hand on your ass, giggling when Patrick snatches you from Arts hold, muttering something about how he ‘got you first last time and that it’s his turn now.’

[artdcnaldson]

NEED art and patrick to find out I'm a virgin and offer to teach me how to kiss and how to fuck and use eachother as examples and guide me and tell me I'm doing a good job and reward me for being such a good student and come back later and quiz me to see if I remember everything they taught me ugh obsessed with them individually and as a unit

This has lived rent free in my mind for literally forever. I can’t stop thinking about it, it haunts my every waking moment.

Rating: E (18+)

Warnings: Making out, Handjob lessons, guys being pervs, not a love triangle they just all want to fuck each other

A/N: unedited bc I wrote this while on the clock okay whatever. Enjoyyyy and if u want me to continue this lmk >:)

“I think it’s sweet,” Patrick said, and you could hear the amusement in his voice, practically dripping from every syllable. “The last American virgin. You belong in a museum.”

You rolled your eyes and tossed your empty Taco Bell cup at him— the ice rattled and it leaked a puddle of condensation onto the ground. “You could try not to be a dick about it.”

Art’s dorm room was hot and sticky thanks to a faulty AC, which meant the three of you lounging on the floor by his open window, sucking down soda watered down by melted ice cubes. You were down to a T-shirt and shorts, they were down to their boxers. It wasn’t lost on you that it was an intimate situation to be in— barely dressed, crammed into the shoebox of a dorm. And of course Patrick had dug his fingers in until you admitted your secret— you had made it all the way to college totally unfucked.

Patrick leaned forward, smiling the smarmy smile that tended to wear at your last nerve. “So you’re a virgin, but like,” he leaned in, so close you could feel body heat radiating from him. He dropped his voice, just above a whisper. “How much of a virgin, really? You’ve at least gone to third, right?” You glared, but shook your head.

“Second?” Art supplied, suddenly jumping in with an eager sort of curiosity.

“What? No, I don’t even know what that means,” you admitted. You sighed before you spoke up. “I’ve only ever kissed one guy and one girl, and it was during a game of spin the bottle, like, junior year.”

“How?” Patrick asked.

Your brows furrowed. “How? I spun the bottle, it landed on the person, I leaned in, put my lips against theirs, and that was it.”

Patrick sighed. “Just fucking show me how.” He looked at you expectantly, inching even closer.

With an annoyed sigh, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his— mouth closed, lips firm. When you sat back, Patrick and Art were both grinning.

“What?” You asked with a frown.

“That’s how you kiss on the playground in elementary school,” Art said, unable to contain his laughter. “C’mere.”

You crawled forward, stopping in front of the blond. His hand settled on your jaw, coaxing you forward.

His lips met yours softly, sweetly. It was easy to lose yourself in the feeling of Art’s mouth, in the gentle brushes of his lips against yours and the way he held your face so tenderly.

The feeling of his tongue pressing against the seam of your lips was strange, but you welcomed it, letting him lick into your mouth.

Each pass of his tongue against yours drew you deeper and deeper into it, into him. You moved into his lap without realizing it, kissing him with sweet, timid laps of your tongue.

Art pulled back first, his cheeks soft and pink and so pretty. “See? That’s how you’re supposed to kiss someone. That was really good.”

You laughed softly, and moved off of his lap sheepishly. Patrick leaned forward, brushing your hair back, holding your face in his hand.

“Okay, show me what Art showed you,” he instructed, then leaned in.

Kissing Patrick was different than kissing Art. He was hungrier, more insistent. His tongue pressed into your mouth like he wanted to chart every inch. You did your best to match what he offered, to kiss the way Art had just shown you, sweetly, like you really meant it.

And you did mean it. Patrick’s hands moved along your side, up until they cupped your tits through your shirt. You moaned softly into his mouth— the sound was muffled, met with a moan of his own. He gave an experimental squeeze of your tits and you whined softly. So he did it again, amused by the pretty, sweet noises you mewled out.

Patrick was getting hard, pressing against your thigh. It was a new sensation that you were hyper aware of as you unconsciously ground yourself against him.

You pulled back first, cheeks burning hot after you remembered Art was right beside you. You tucked unkempt hair behind your ear, smiled bashfully. “How was I?”

“Good,” Patrick said.

At the same time Art supplied, “So good.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Okay. Cool.”

Art was squirming, fidgeting, holding a pillow over his lap. Patrick was less covert— opting to openly adjust himself, drawing more attention to the fact that he was hard. You rolled your eyes and stole the nearest cup you could find, sipping at watered down Mountain Dew.

“Do you want me to leave?” You teased, raising an eyebrow. Your teeth dug into the plastic straw as you looked between the two of them.

Art stammered, mortified, but Patrick just smiled dizzyingly over at you. “I can teach you something else. You got to first base, so why don’t you steal second?”

You rolled your eyes, but heat flared behind your cheeks. Jesus Christ, he was such a smug asshole. “I still don’t know what that means,” you said, feeling a little embarrassed.

He grinned and mimed jerking off. Your eyes widened, and you laughed softly. “That would be weird,” you said, half-believing it. “Like, if I did jerk one of you off, that leaves one of you just watching.”

You glanced at Art, who looked just as interested as Patrick did, and your heart stammered nervously. “What if I show you how you do it on Art? Look at him— he’s the perfect little practice dummy.” Patrick reached over, pinching at Art’s cheek until the blond kicked his shin.

“Show me?” You echoed. “Like… you’re going to do it to him, and I do it to you?”

Patrick nodded, leaning into Art’s side, his smarmy smile dissolved into something needier. Art swallowed hard, lips parted slightly as he looked over at Patrick.

Patrick’s lips met his slowly, hungrily. You watched wide eyed as Patrick deepened the kiss, as Art eagerly accepted the other boy’s tongue into his mouth.

Patrick threw the pillow out of Art’s lap and sent it careening into the desk on the opposite side of the room. Your eyes widened at the sight of Art, hard and tenting his boxers. Patrick palmed him in his large hands making the blonde whimper into his mouth and buck up, seeking friction.

You swallowed hard, biting down on the straw as you watched Patrick tug at the elastic of Art’s boxers. Art lifted his hips to allow Patrick to tug them down his thighs, just enough to expose his cock to both of you.

“See,” Patrick gasped, leaning back from their kiss. Art chased his lips fruitlessly, mouth ajar, waiting for more. “He’s so fucking easy. Come feel.”

You moved closer, looking at Art for permission. When he nodded, you reached out, letting your fingertips graze the soft skin of his shaft. He exhaled a shuddery breath, eyes fluttering shut. Patrick’s hand covered yours, guiding you to squeeze around his length.

He was warm under your touch, silky soft, pulsing in your grip. Your heart hammered just at that— at the feel of him in your hand. “Feels nice, huh? Knowing how much he wants you.” You nodded, then slid your fist up, testing the waters. Art moaned softly, throbbed in your grip, aching for more. Patrick smiled like the cat who got the cream. “Hands off, just watch me.”

Patrick spat into his hand and replaced your hand with his own. The second Patrick curled his fingers around Art and started stroking him slowly, the blond was mewling for more. “Fuck,” he moaned, his forehead knocking against Patrick’s, mouth open, panting. “That’s good, feels good.”

You watched Patrick rub his thumb over Art’s tip, eyes widening as Art really whimpered for it, hips thrusting up into Patrick’s fist, chasing more of the pleasure the brunet offered.

“You get it now?” Patrick asked. You nodded quickly, and he tugged down his own boxers. “Fuck, okay— fucking show me.”

Your heart hammered with nerves, but you nodded. You held your hand out and spit into it, mimicking what Patrick had done before you wrapped your hand around his cock.

He felt bigger in your hands, but you didn’t say that. One, you worried it might piss Art off, and two, he didn’t need the ego boost. And he was slick, beading precum at his tip so each pass of your hands felt slicker and slicker.

And you couldn’t help but want to be an asshole. “You’re wet like a girl,” you said with a smirk, gliding your thumb over his tip.

And he was shameless, nodding with a sly grin. “That means I like you.” He panted, moaning softly. “Besides, I bet your fucking panties aren’t dry right now.”

Well, fuck. You tried to ignore the rush of heat in your belly that those words caused, to focus only on the glide of your hand on Patrick’s cock— up and down, copying his pace on Art, copying the ways he’d squeeze and twist his hand.

Art was moaning, rutting up into the tight sheath of Patrick’s fist, the muscles of his abdomen tensing and relaxing in unsteady jerks beneath his soft skin.

“Fuck— switch, switch,” Patrick said quickly. Art whined when Patrick stopped touching him, but it was ignored. “Want you to feel it when he comes.”

He guided your hand back onto Art’s cock and nodded for you to move. “Fuck, your hand’s so soft,” Art groaned. “Faster, faster, fuck—“ He was practically begging. You swallowed, increased the pace, squeezed him a little tighter.

Art was touching Patrick— jerking him off while you brought him closer and closer to finishing. Patrick leaned in, kissed you deeply, pulled Art in too until the three of you were a mess of tongues and lips and spit and hands.

Art came first— coating your hand in warm, slick cum, throbbing in your grip. He was panting into your and Patrick’s mouths, moaning softly as you continued to slowly work him through it. Patrick came next, once Art redoubled his effort, focused on making Patrick add to the mess covering your hands.

Patrick was loud, pornographic, messy. Art brought a cum covered hand between his lips, cleaning it up. Your eyes widened.

“Art, c’mon, you’re scandalizing her,” Patrick said, like you weren’t even there.

“Shut up,” you said, shoving him. He laughed and pulled his boxers back up. Art followed suit, and the three of you were left gross and sweating in the heat. You wiped your hand off on one of their discarded shirts and gave a sheepish smile.

They sat there, expectantly. Waiting for you to make the next call. There was a level of want in you, need, but the thought of asking for them to take care of it was mortifying. “Do you want to watch a movie or something now?”

[222col]

bimbo!reader x patrick zweig

summary: patrick finally gives into his impulses, and he doesn't think he'll ever get over it

cw .ᐟ nsfw, age gap, unprotected p in v, spanking

wide eyes and a lack of clothing has patrick nearly foaming at the mouth, hovering over you on your pink sheets. his temptation personified as his calloused hands roam over the bare skin of your ribs. he's biting back groans just from seeing you underneath him like this, but patrick can't stop his hands from cupping your clothed breasts. his own eyes nearly rolling back from the sound that escapes you as he does.

“it’s not right, kiddo,” the word should deter you, yet you find yourself even further turned on as the two syllables drip from patrick’s mouth. his hands stay massaging your chest, his eyes half-lidded as they cast over your barely covered body. your back arching, plus your parted lips, patrick knows he’s not stepping away from you. he just needed to know he put up some kinda fight before letting himself indulge completely.

“you’re too young, pretty girl, don’t wanna hurt you.” he murmurs, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. the bare skin of his chest pressed up against your skin.

shaking your head profusely, an almost pout on your lips as his hands slip underneath the lace of your bra. patrick was never going to deny you, how could he when you were looking up at him with those pretty eyes? his fingers gently pinch at your pebbled nipples and he's already grinding against the mattress, the fabric of his jeans doing little to give him any release.

"mm, you want it, baby, don't ya?" patrick hums, smirking down to you as your hands scramble with his belt buckle. he chuckles, taunting you at your eagerness. his hands leave your chest, sitting up on his knees as he slowly starts to unbuckle his belt, patrick's eyes not once leaving yours.

"tell me how bad you want it," he smirks, as he begins pulling his belt out of his jean loops at an agonisingly slow pace. when he hears nothing but mumbles from your lips, patrick suddenly flips your body onto your stomach. the leather belt wrapped around his fist as he positions himself over the back of your calves, resting his weight on your legs.

"you run that mouth all day, yet now you're quiet, huh?" you don't need to see his face to know he's got a shit-eating grin plastered across his lips. the sound of the leather slapping against the skin of your ass echos around the room, the squeal that escapes you only makes patrick chuckle lowly before thwacking the leather against you once more. "use your fuckin' words, kiddo, tell me how bad you want it."

the sting from his belt ripples through your body, hissing at the pain as the pout becomes present on your lips again. "need it bad, pat." you mumble, looking up to the brunette over your shoulder. "p-please, pat, need it real bad."

"was that so fuckin' hard, huh?" he taunts, ripping your lace panties down your legs before pushing his jeans down. patrick quickly discards them behind him as he flips you back over onto your stomach. he was downright desperate to watch your face contort as he finally felt inside of you.

spreading your legs as he positions himself between them, one hand planted into the mattress next to your head as the other slowly pumps his cock as he teases your entrance. slapping himself against your puffy clit, soaking up every sweet sound that hits his ears from your mouth.

an evil smirk on his face as he slowly slides himself fully into you. your face scrunched as patrick bottoms out, manicured nails pressing in sharply to his thighs. attempting to hold him still as he all but splits you open. “take it like a good girl,” he purrs. lip quivering as you barely adjust to his size, mumbles of ‘s’too big, pat’ leaving your mouth as your legs clench around his waist.

“c’mon, quit whinin’, you asked for it, kiddo.” patrick smirks, forehead resting on yours as his hips start to jackrabbit into you. his hips slap against your skin, sure to leave bruises with the force in which he's fucking himself into you.

nails scraping down his toned back, leaving red scratches in its wake. small drops of blood spreading across his skin as your nails cut him open. patrick fucking loves it. grasping hold of your thighs as he pushes your ankles up onto his shoulders, mouth sloppily pressing kisses to your ankles as he pushes even deeper inside of you. hitting the spongy spot that has you almost screaming out his name.

“squeezin’ me so fucking tight, baby,” he mumbles as your hands grasp hold of his face, pulling him down onto your lips as teeth and tongues clash together. sweat forming on his skin as his large hands grasp hold of your waist, pulling your body back onto him repeatedly as he keeps thrusting harshly into you. "pussy's fuckin' made for me."

his words only made you clench further around him, explicit groans falling from his mouth as you do. patrick's hand grasps hold of your jaw, forcing your eyes onto he pushes his thumb inside your mouth. slack-jawed as patrick's digit pulls your mouth open, and he swears he could have came at the sight. bubblegum lips wrapping around his thumb as patrick keeps rutting into you, moans vibrating against his thumb.

"fuckin' hell, kiddo," the pet name falling of his lips too easily, his pace growing sloppy as he pushes your legs closer to your body by your calves. pornographic moans filling up your pretty pink room, patrick's grip on your calves tight as he regains his pace, chasing his own orgasm.

"gonna fuckin' fill you up, princess." he groans, crushing your body as he leans further forward, pushing down on the bulge on your abdomen, feeling himself inside you. the pressure in your stomach growing tighter as he does, even more so as his hand moves to circle your bundle of nerves. "o-oh, fuck, shit— pat!"

his smirk grows as the string of profanities hit his ears, his thumb lazily rubbing against you as his mouth returns to your ankle, letting one of your legs drop down. sweat slicking your bodies together as they meet, furrowed brows as patrick's eyes don't leave your face. he can feel how close you are, with how tight you're squeezing him and how much louder you're getting. hands balled around the fabric of your sheets as patrick lets a glob of spit drop from his mouth down onto your cunt, circling your clit faster with the extra wetness.

head thrown back against the pillows, mouth flung open, patrick's name the only word you can manage to speak. "aw, pretty baby's so fuckin' dumb from my cock," he mocks, but you can't even fight him on his words, too cock-drunk to even think about a snarky reply. lips pouted, nodding your head, desperate for him.

"nnph— fuck, fuck, pat! m'cumming!" if patrick wasn't already done for, he was the second he felt you come over his cock. watching your legs jolt, feeling you clench around him as though you never wanted to let him leave your body.

body contorted in ways you'd never experienced as patrick pushes you further into the mattress, fucking you deeper than anyone had ever been. his load shooting up into you as groans of your name echo around the room. "f'ck me, princess, pussy's fuckin' perfect." patrick mumbles as his body collapses onto yours.

his curls slick to his forehead, bruises already starting to form on your waist and legs. patrick presses lazy open-mouthed kisses to any part of skin his mouth can reach as both of your breathing starts to calm. "we can't do that again, kiddo." he breathes out, naked bodies still attached to each other.

"mhm, sure, pat, whatever you say." you mumble, knowing full well he'll never be able to resist you again.

© 222col. do not steal or repost my work without permission.

[strfall]

something something... art donaldson eating it over clothes

he's exhausted after a long day of practice or a difficult match and just desperately wants to be in your arms and unwind. curls up with you as you watch tv or something, head nuzzling into your lap. your hand cards through his hair idly, nails softly scraping across his scalp so casually. it could've lulled him to sleep if he wasn't so desperate for you. he presses soft kisses to your thighs, practically burying his face between them until you shift enough to give him room. his gentle kisses to the soft flesh of your thighs turn messier, more intent until he's straight up mouthing at your skin. his teeth nip at the soft skin there until your legs open up even more, the scent of you, the heat of you overwhelming him until his face is just buried right between your thighs, not even bothering with your shorts. his hands knead at your thighs, lazily mouthing at your shorts until they're all sopping wet and it's so much bc it's just not enough. but he's just so lost in it, eyes closed, humming and huffing each time your nails scratch his scalp or he draws another little moan from you. yeah.

[yameoto]

any more thoughts on puppy art.. please. only if u want to though haha !! (please?)

ohh u guys love your darling little lapdog huh?

LAPDOG ART DONALDSON! fem!reader

▸ a drooler. nosing his head between your legs n he's already salivating. he's so cute like that. face smushed between your thighs, panting as spit pools in his mouth, nose twitching like a cute little bunny at the scent of your arousal. taking the trim of your panties between his teeth, dragging it down inch by inch. quivering because he just wants to rip them off but the last time he did that he tore your nice lacy lingerie and u didnt touch him for a week. when he eats you out he laps at your cunt like an eager puppy. comes away absolutely glistening. dripping, even. your juices n his saliva smearing his cheeks, his nose, dribbling down his chin.

▸ bigggg on humping. obviously. when you're too busy to give him attention he'll just shuffle over onto your lap and just start rubbing up against you. he's ridden out the best orgasms that way; creaming in his already-sodden boxers as slick gets all over ur thigh. he likes to do it when you're working or when you're on a call (you always punish him best that way). oftentimes you'll wake up at night to slick sheets—finding him grindin up against you, moaning and whimpering. a sleepy, boneless mess on your knee. he'll already have gotten himself off thrice before he tries to wakes you, just to be safe (you might take it away from him, after all). ▸ teething.... grown ass man teething... gnawing on your shoulder to stop himself from crying out when you let him fuck you.. nibbling your bottom lip red n raw when you kiss.. slobbering all over your mouth. during sex if you tease him he'll start to chew anxiously at the end of ur bra strap, the hem of your shorts, your panties if you keep him waiting too long. sometimes randomly takes your hand by the wrist and takes a fake chomp out of it (affectionate).

▸ not beyond jus being your lil stress relief toy. coming back home and he's been so good for you. he won his match. he's cooked dinner. but you don't have time for any of that. "oh, baby, don't give me that look. cock out, now." and he makes a little mewling noise and immediately his shorts are a crumpled puddle on the floor—raging boner popping out, all swollen n red n leaking bc hes been waiting for you for hours. ▸ sighing, telling him to sit and so he does. legs spreading wide on the couch, blinking up at u in earnest neediness. and when you sink onto his cock he makes this insane, visceral whining noise—back arcing off the seat. ▸ cockwarmer? more like cuntwarmer. you tell him don't move and don't cum. an impossible ask. he's pawing at your back, whimpering when your only response is to lean back heavier, sinking your full weight down on his poor, poor cock. n it feels soso good but he only lasts two minutes on a good day! let alone when you're switching the tv on and settling back into him like he's part of the couch. occasionally your hips jump, walls pulsing tight, choking his sensitive dick. you're grinding down into his lap and he's twitching inside of u and hot tears are prickling his eyes—fingers digging into your thighs, trembling.

▸ time ticking on.. the coil of heat in his gut winding tighter n tighter.. art's cheeks are flushed and hes wetting the back of your shirt with his silent tears. he persists, though, because he's good. he's gonna be a good boy for you. and it works! for a time, when you seem like you've almost forgotten your pussy is strangling his cock and you're only rolling your hips occasionally, sending warm thrums of pleasure through him. lulling him into a false sense of security.

▸ until all of a sudden you decide to be mean and for whatever reason you lift your hips before slamming them back down again, and his sharp gasp and slurred mewls perfectly cue the geyser that erupts from his slit.

▸ not even letting him cum inside you.. sliding off his spurting cock thats blowing cum like a volcano. hot, sticky strings arcing in the air and splattering all over the carpet, the couch cushions. his eyes glazing over, all glassy n sparkly as he crumples back in the couch, blubbering tearful apologies as his cock leaks like a faucet, staining the poor, new pillows.

▸ adores aftercare. or just your comfort in general. please rest your hand against his cheek and let him sigh and melt and nuzzle into the palm of your hand like you're taking the weight of the world off his shoulders. tug gently on his hair. scratch his scalp. let him curl up on your lap and pat him and coo sweet nothings in his ear. simple things, like "sweet baby, did so good today." or "tired puppy. took mommy so well."

▸ "fuck— m'sorry. m'sorry, m'sorry—" "hey, shh, darling. aw, don't cry. mommy's got you. how bout you curl up on momma's lap, kay?" "..mkay."

[t1ts-4-donaldson]

Ngl Patrick kinda gives deadbeat dad

Don’t ruin my fantasy 😞 jk Stanford/teen Dad Patrick gets way lax when his kid ages it comes off as indifference and yes he slacks off with her whenever he has to focus on tennis or other debauchery (my personal head canon he’s in a rocky relationship with his bb momma before you both fall in love of course) he makes Art or Tashi babysit while he’s hooking up with randos

everyone’s kinda concerned when he lets a toddler run around campus, drink some his sprite and fries instead of milk and fruit he cut up for breakfast, chucking her over his shoulder sprinting to class whenever he's late

[ervotica]

Imagine this: youre in college, and after all those boring classes you come to your job at the donaldsons that includes riding him in the couch for as long as your legs allow you.

Tashi just coming home to thats sight and just making herself a afternoon drink unbotherd.

Dbsnhxhsb

omg shut up???🥲

warnings; all smut not much plot, older!art, so much potential for this series aghhh

a/n; art is an ear freak i literally feel it in my balls he loves it when u suck on them ears (he did it to tashi so he likes doing it to others too <3)

the front door clicks and you wander through, in this teensy little white tennis dress that art told - no, commanded - you to wear when you came to work. the dress that shows the strain of your hard nipples through the fabric, swollen into points like diamonds, the one that slips upward and reveals the perky swells of your ass, the barely covered seam of your pussy when you trounce up to him, chirruping nonsense and smiling at him like he’s the only man in the world.

he murmurs something indiscernible - a pleased noise that reverberates at the back of his throat - and you lean over the back of the couch, sliding your manicured fingers across the expanse of his chest, chin tucked to his neck.

“hi.”

“hi, baby,” he murmurs in that low, rasping way that turns your insides molten.

fast forward no more than ten minutes, and you’re both bare, art’s thick fingers curled round your waist as he uses you as a fleshlight, lifting you up and down like a ragdoll and watching, entranced, as your cunt flares and parts for his thick cock; you sob and babble, slumped forward against his chest, nails digging into porcelain skin, teeth scraping along art’s cheekbone.

“i know, baby. i know,” he grunts, and you’ve never heard a sound like it. your cunt clenches, a soft silk wrap around his cock, and he’s turning his head to suck at the corner of your mouth, all spit and drool and tongue, so much of it that it drips from your chin, globs of it pooling between your tits.

the front door clicks and you’re both too lost in each other to care as tashi comes through the living room and enters the kitchen; art hooks one of his huge hands under the crease of your knee, lifting your leg until it’s draped over his forearm, bracing his feet against the leather of the couch as he jackrabbits up into you. you make a sound somewhere between a moan and a scream, and then tashi’s figure is crossing by you once more, drink in hand, lithe fingers nudging at your jaw to examine your expression. she bends at the waist, pinches your pert little nipple and rolls the bud between her fingertips, and smirks - fucking smirks - as your pussy clamps down on him like a vice; art lets out a stuttered breath, pulls you down onto him, and cums on the spot.

neither of you quit writhing against each other; he has at least another load in him, cock already chubbing back up encased in your spasming walls, no doubt an angry red and drooling precum. tashi settles herself on the armchair opposite you, already disinterestedly flicking through tv channels.

“want my mouth on you,” you whisper, face pressed just below his jaw, breathing hot air onto his neck.

“in a minute, baby,” he supplicates, grunting as he sheathes himself further into your tight warmth, balls heavy and swollen and slapping against your ass with every filthy rock of his hips.

tashi crosses one leg over the other, the picture of boredom, and says, “bite his ear. he loves that shit.”

you do just that, teeth rolling over his lobe as you suck the sensitive skin into your mouth.

he almost cums again, hands sliding up and over your back to still your movements so he doesn’t blow his load right there.

oh, tashi’s going to have fun with you. mould you into a perfect little toy for her husband, take some of his intense, fervent pining off of her, let you be the center of his world so she can focus on improving his game.

she might even keep you if you’re lucky.