#mike faist

[stanart4clearskin]

knight!art donaldson x princess!reader

art had essentially grown up in the castle. his mother was the queen's lady-in-waiting and his father was the king's most loyal knight. in return for their valuable service, the king and queen let art take lessons with their daughter—you. the two of you studied english, art, music, and fencing together. although the start of your guys' relationship had been rocky, the two of you eventually became good friends. the two of you confided in each other when life was hard or simply when you wanted a companion. 

all throughout childhood art had a crush on you but he was smart enough to know not to act upon it. he knew that you were destined for far greater things than being in love with a common citizen such as himself. although he knew he could never be with you, that never stopped him from acting upon his feelings. he complimented you whenever he could, brought you flowers he saw when he helped his dad patrol the grounds, and would sneak into the kitchen to grab you a sweet treat late at night. you were art's first love and he liked to think that he was yours. as you got older, the two of you never talked about any feelings either of you could possibly have because you were to be engaged to a prince of a distant kingdom. art didn't want to get in the way of that. 

on the eve of your 19th birthday and wedding, you had confided in art late at night about your apprehensions for your future. your head was in his lap as art's fingers combed through your locks. you both knew it was improper for a man and woman to be alone so late at night, let alone in your chambers but neither of you really cared. 

"i'm terrified to be married." you admitted, your eyes tracing the lines of the cobblestone ceilings. "i have heard that prince zweig is loud and brash. he doesn't have much respect for women, let alone me."

art's heart clenched at your words. he hated the thought that you were to be married to someone who wasn't him and he hated the fact that your future husband wasn't even that good of a man. "i'm sure those are just rumors." he said but the words seemed unconvincing to both of you. 

"i have heard that his parents have tried multiple times to find him a wife. every time something has gone wrong." you were apprehensive about what the next day might bring. prince zweig previously had his past bride-to-be kidnapped so that they couldn't go through with the wedding. 

art could tell that you were nervous. his nails scratched against your scalp, causing you to release a hum of pleasure. "i'll be with you all day. i'll make sure nothing will happen to you."

the day of the wedding had come and the hours leading up to it had been rather uneventful. no one had attempted to kidnap you nor had anyone attempted to sabotage the officiant. your ladies-in-waiting helped you with your dress, hair, and makeup and soon enough you were walking down the aisle. you weren't sure what the feeling in the pit of your stomach was when you noticed that prince zweig wasn't at the alter. perhaps it was relief or maybe even joy at the possibility of not having to be married. 

king and queen zweig insisted that everyone wait for the prince to show up but night turned into day and there was no sign of him. as you undressed from your stuffy white gown, you couldn't help but feel giddy. a large smile graced your features when art came to escort you back to the castle. the two of you were as giggly as hyenas during the carriage ride back home. that night the two of you snuck out of the castle and took a carriage ride to the nearest town. you spent most of the night at a local bar, drinking and singing your hearts out. when you both returned to the castle at sunrise, you shared a drunken kiss that neither of you would acknowledge for years. 

as time passed, art was sent off to a knight training camp while you and your mother traveled the country looking for possible prospects. many men were interested in you–naturally–but you had very little to no interest in any of them. you would never admit it aloud but your heart was already occupied by art. you couldn’t bear to marry someone other than him but you knew you could not marry him so secretly you vowed to never marry. every suitor failed to meet the mark for you and so after nearly a year of looking, your mother gave up and the two of you returned home. throughout your traveling around the country, you hadn’t been able to keep in touch with art. you had tried but life was too busy to constantly send him letters about your day and he was too busy training each day to respond. the two of you had grown distant but you were determined to reunite with him once he returned from camp. 

the moment you saw the gates opening and a carriage pulling in, you wasted no time rushing outside to go see art. he had hardly even stepped a foot onto the ground before you launched yourself at him. immediately you noticed the changes training had done to his body. he had once been awkward and lanky but now he had grown into his height and had muscle to accompany it. he held you with ease, as if you weighed as much as a feather. 

art beamed when he saw you. he would never tell you but every night while at camp he dreamt of you. his dreams ranged from merely having conversations with you to him completely ravishing you late at night. “hello princess.” he greeted and you noticed that his voice had changed as well. it was deeper and smoother, almost like dark chocolate. 

“i’ve missed you, art.” you gush, letting your feet return back to the ground. your eyes take in the sight of his face–from his crooked smile to his bright blue eyes and the hint of brown they have. 

“that’s knight art to you.” he says and in return you lightly shove him. all throughout childhood art had teased that you would eventually have to call him by his position but it felt surreal now that it had come true. 

“in that case you may no longer call me princess as i am a queen now.” 

for a moment art’s expression faltered and the color faded from his face. “queen? your father passed?”

you nearly snorted at the look of distraughtness on the knight. “no silly! my father abdicated, making me queen.”

pure relief flooded art’s face. he’s sure that he’d be equally as devastated, if not more devastated than you if your father were to pass. 

as the weeks passed the two of you fell into the routine that was new but also similar to the one you had growing up. early in the morning art would sneak into your room and wake you up, claiming that it’s his duty as your knight. during the day he’ll linger outside your office and peek his head in sometimes to watch you do your diplomatic duties. typically knights eat with the other workers but you forced him to eat in the dining hall with you and your parents. at night a knight will post guard outside your room while art lays with you until you fall asleep. he claims that it’s because someone needs to stay close with you at all times but he can’t resist stealing a kiss or two. 

even though the two of you would never marry, it didn’t stop either you or art from loving each other.

[coolgrl111]

wait… my brain… thinkint… dilf art and pat x reader….

hiiii did you guys miss me!?🤭🤭

[faistizer]

me & you together song

i've been in love with her for ages and I can't seem to get it right i fell in love with her in stages my whole life - me & you together song, the 1975

pairing: stanford!art x friend!reader, slight patrick x tashi

in which: art’s been in love with you for ages, and he can’t seem to muster the courage to tell you.

warnings: patrick and tashi are dating in this, art being an absolute loser and dork, severe pining

note: i just really like writing friends to lovers okay???

“seriously man?”

patrick snap his fingers in front of art’s face. “i come back from tour, just to visit you and you can’t even look at me because you’re busy— what, busy starin’ at a chick?”

“she’s not just some chick—“ art snaps his attention back to his best friend.

“no, she’s the girl of your dreams—“ the other boy mocks in a dreamy tone. “you’ve been doing this since the tennis academy days. since you saw her on the fuckin’ court when we were twelve.”

“shutup- shutup-“

“no! i will not shut up, donaldson.” patrick rolls his eyes. “you’ve been doing this for forever, and we’re in college now. ask her out, it’s not hard to—“

“shut up— PATRICK.” art says loudly. he clears his throat and he turns his head to you approaching. his cheeks flushing up from the sight of you. “hey.”

“hey.” patrick snorts casually.

“hi.” you smile politely. “um, art. do you know when practice starts today? i lost my schedule.”

“um. yeah- it’s- uh— it’s at- at- two.”

“oh okay, thanks, art.” you smile and wave before turning away and joining your friends at their table.

“it’s— uh— uh— uh— at— at— t-t-two,“ patrick teases with a smirk. art slaps his chest with a scoff.

“whatever man.”

“let me be your wingman!”

“no.” art says stiffly.

“oh come on, why not?” patrick groans as if he’s in physical pain.

“the last time you offered to be my wingman, you told her—“ he looks around and lowers his voice, “—that i have an intense boner.” art hisses, his pale skin turning red at the memory.

“what? was i wrong? no!” patrick cackles then slowly stops as he catches his friend’s glare, “besides, she laughed! she thought it was a joke. girls love a funny guy-“

“she didn’t laugh because it was funny, patrick. she laughed because she was mortified.” art says stiffly.

“whatever you say man.” patrick chuckles to himself, wearing that stupid, condescending grin. “i’m just saying— if you don’t ask her out, you’ll be pining after her until you’re forty-fucking-five.”

art’s mouth shifts in a thin line, because for once, what patrick’s saying is true.

at practice, art rallies the ball back to his hitting partner. his grip’s loose, his footwork’s sloppy, but he’s barely paying attention to that because you’re right there.

you laugh at something one of your friends said, the way your face shifts, perfecting that smile. the way your ponytail blows in the gentle wind, the way—

“donaldson! come on, this is the third time!” his hitting partner yells as the missed ball slams the fence behind him with a thwack.

“fuck— fuck- yeah, i’m sorry.” art says quickly, he snaps back to attention and turns around to pick up the ball. but when he bends over to reach it, another hand is already picking it up for him.

he looks up and his cheeks redden again.

“here.” you smile gently, like an angel— no— no- a goddess, and hands the ball to him.

for a moment, art stares, his mouth agape, speechless. his eyes never leaving your eyes, he freezes in place.

you furrow your eyebrows together in mild confusion and you laugh slightly to break the awkward silence. “art?”

“oh— yeah— yeah, sorry- zoned out.” art says frantically, standing up and taking the ball. as your fingers brush— just for a second—his heart stutters. “th— thanks.”

as he turns to toss the ball back to his partner, the coach yells— “ok, five minute water break! good work.” his partner groans and throws his hands up in the air.

art stares longingly at you from a distance as you tip your bottle back. he wishes he was the bottle. fuck— what is wrong with him?

from the bleachers, patrick catches the look in his friends eyes, and scoffs. he whistles. when art looks, gestures lazily in your direction. he then mimes drinking from an invisible cup. ‘ask her out for drinks,’ he mouths, just for good measure.

art mouths back— ‘how?’

but patrick’s already distracted— his hand finds tashi’s waist as he whispers something in her ear. she scoffs showing him off as he kisses her cheek. some wingman, art thinks to himself with an eye roll.

for once, art musters l the courage to talk to you. he takes a few heavy steps, scrambling for the right words. ‘hi, i’ve been in love with you for the past seven years.’ too strong. ‘how are you?’ too vague.

he decides on a ‘hey. are you free tonight? do you want to go get drinks? i know a good spot.’

yet, as he reaches where you are and has you staring at him expecting him to say something— he squeaks out a “drinks?”

you blink, “drinks?”

“you— do you— you want— do you want drinks?”

you tilt your head with a half smile, “n-no?”

“i mean— fuck, uh.” he clears his throat, twice. “do you— do you want, do you want to go out with drinks with me? tonight? if you’re free- if you- have time.”

“as friends?” you smile slightly as you brush a strand of hair behind your ear.

fuck. fuck. abort mission. his brain screams at him to run, but his feet won’t move. okay, so you want to go as friends? sure— he can do that.

“well, duhhhhh—“ he says, way too loud. “um— yeah— as— um— the bestest friends. yes. from mark rebellato’s tennis academy. friends.”

everyone on the stanford tennis team is staring at him at this point. even patrick lets out an exaggerated sigh from the bleachers.

“…oooookay then, is seven good?” you ask gently

“yup. amazing. so good.” he grins— way too wide with his teeth clenched— and bolts.

he drops down next to tashi and patrick, exhaling like he’s just run a 100 miles. “i did it.” he lets out a breathless laugh, almost in disbelief. “i asked her out.”

patrick snorts. “you call that asking someone out?”

“i mean— technically, yeah?”

“did you actually— or-?” tashi raises her eyebrow.

“our big man did it, tash.” patrick laughs. “he’s going out for drinks with her. as the ‘bestest friends from mark rebellato’s tennis academy,’ of course.”

“shut up,“ art groans, holding his head in his hands.

“no- because, you weren’t even ‘bestest friends’— you were barely friends with her at the academy.” patrick points out. “you barely spoke to her, all you did was pine after her and jerk o—“

art’s cheeks flush up and covers patrick’s mouth, looking around frantically. “OKAY— okay, patrick. we get it.”

tashi sighs, patting her boyfriend’s arm. “just don’t be weird and scare her off.”

patrick grins, “like that’s possible.”

“patrick,” tashi gives him a look. patrick rolls his eyes, then turns to art, squeezing his cheeks.

“fine, good luck. just remember, you can’t fuck up more than you already have,” he pauses, “probably.”

for the past half hour, art’s been gripping on his drink like his life depends on it.

you’ve been going on and on about tennis practice, this girl who borrowed your lip gloss and lost it, and that time you fell on your face during a junior league.

but he’s completely distracted because at the moment, he doesn’t know whether he’s looking at you too much— or not enough. if his outfit says ‘causal friend hangout’ or ‘please love me and run off with me to a cabin where we can live happily for the rest of our lives.’

so he just laughs when you laugh. nod at the right times. says “yeah” when it seems appropriate.

and he prays that you don’t notice how he’s completely freaking out about this.

“art.”

he snaps out of it instantly.

“…mm yeah?” he mumbles like complete, fucking idiot.

“are you even listening to me?” you smirk, laughing slightly.

“of course, i am.” he tries to put on a winning smile but it comes out strained.

you raise your eyebrow, taking a slow sip from your glass. art, desperate to seem composed, mirrors you and drinks from his.

as you set your drink down, you casually mention, “y’know, i used to have the biggest crush on you?”

art chokes.

“what?” he coughs.

“yeah. back at the academy. i really, really liked you,” you laugh.

his heart practically leaps out of his chest and he swears his cheeks are probably heating up and shifting to some shade of pink.

but he plays it cool— or at least, he tries to.

"you said you used to? so- so, not anymore?" he stammers.

"i mean, i could like you, if you like me back," you tease. "but we're here as friends? right?"

he screams internally. fuck him. fuck his idiocy and not being able to ask the girl he loves on a real date. "...right." he looks down at the beer swirling in his cup.

you pause slightly, scanning the expression on his face. "do you like me?"

art raises his head, looking you in the eyes. this is his chance, whoever's up above has given him an opportunity. he cannot fuck this up.

"ye— i mean— pff, no."

fuck.

fuck.

patrick's voice rings in his head, 'just remember, you can’t fuck up more than you already have,' and look what he's done.

why, why would he say that? what is wrong with him? so many questions swarm his head and he has the urge to slap himself.

your eyebrows furrow in mild confusion and you look almost... disappointed? but you shrug anyways, "oh, okay then."

for a moment there is silence, before you clear your throat, "should we get another round of drinks?"

"yeah— sure." art murmurs, nodding slightly.

art donaldson is a fucking loser.

he repeats this in his head as he walks you back to your dorm. he opens his mouth several times to scream out about how much he loves you. about how he needs you. about how he wants to be with you for the rest of his life, despite it being only the first technical date.

but he can't.

he turns his head to look at you, because you're so pretty. and amazing. and perfect. he sighs and looks straight ahead.

he fucked it up.

patrick's right, he'll be pining after you until he's forty-five. actually, no, he'll be pining after you until he dies.

art's convinced he might explode because both of you haven't said a single word. he wants to rip his skin off or get on his knees and cling to you like a toddler.

after another two minutes of silence, he stops walking and bursts.

"i really like you."

he scans your face for a reaction but you stare at him.

"like— i really, really like you. i'm in love with you, i mean— who wouldn't be? you're so amazing— you're good at tennis, you're smart, you're nice, you're gorgeous— fuck- i should really shut up." he rambles, "i've just- i've just liked you since we were fucking twelve because you let me borrow your tennis ball after i hit mine over the fence. i thought you were really thoughtful— i mean, you still are—"

"art." you laugh, grabbing his shoulder.

"no- no- i know what you're going to say- like- we're friends. we're not even friends actually, i don't- i don't talk to you- at all—"

"art."

"-and i don't care if you don't like me back- i just wanted to get this out-"

"art!" you finally yell. you roll your eyes. "i know."

art stops talking.

"i know," you say again with a shrug. you brush a blonde hair out of his face.

art suddenly notices how close you are. "y-you know?"

you smirk, "i'm not an idiot. i have eyes."

is it just him or have you gotten closer? his cheeks are probably red again. like they always are around you.

"huh." his teeth worry into his lip in thought, he tries hard not to stare at your lips but ends up glancing at them.

you giggle softly, catching his glance, “i think you’re cute.”

“cute?” he squeaks.

“yeah, cute,” you grab his face a gently press your lips against his.

a few minutes later, art is running back to his dorm. his steps light and fast, he smiles like an idiot. his heart flutters so fast, he thinks it must be pounding out of his chest. he’s dizzy. he thinks he might faint.

but he stops, pulling his blackberry out of his pocket to type a message with shaky hands.

ART DONALDSON: you will not believe what just happened

he stares at the message with a grin, finger hovering over the send button, then presses it.

PATRICK ZWEIG: ?

PATRICK ZWEIG: dude

PATRICK ZWEIG: dude???

PATRICK ZWEIG: art??

PATRICK ZWEIG: hello?????

art laughs to himself still in disbelief.

ART DONALDSON: i dont even know what to say

ART DONALDSON: but it’s all happening

he leans back against the wall, laughing out loud again. he lets out a breath, grin never fading—

he’s definitely still an idiot, but maybe now— he’s a lucky one.

-

tags: @hyuneskkami for the divider

[hysteuria]

this dog look like art donaldson

[strawberrypr1ncess]

blasphemy, but jesus christ spotted

mike in the center 🙂‍↕️

[t1ts-4-donaldson]

Call me a perv but your Alien!Art blurb about pegging him has been stuck on my mind😭 Just thinking about how desperate and needy he is after learning about sex and how sweet he is is just UGHHHHHH my sweet angel

he goons out way to easily

Alien Art is absolutely addicted to sex and affection with you, ANYTHING related to to it honestly. All hours of the day craving your attention and touch. Shuffling beneath your sheets and popping a tit in his mouth most mornings or just reaching into your shirt to hold them through out the day.

You're sitting down watching tv he's sliding you on his lap and (with your consent) worming his hand into your pants cupping your pussy.

SO INTO COCKWARMING! Starts off by asking for blowies trying to be discrete about it feeling little ashamed for wanting to fuck you so much, "suck it.. please" he whimpers little puppy eyes looking down at the tent in his pants it turns into sliding his cock inside of you whenever you share a bed, he falls asleep so easily involuntarily thrusting his hips until he cums inside you there's a huge puddle of his spunk on the bed your both of you sticky from his release (the shlick when he pulls out..)

you wonder why his libido jumped up out of nowhere decide to snoop through his internet history and feel a little guilty for how depraved his search history on porn sites is. You tainted your sweet alien baby </3

he can't help it you + intimacy= happy Alien Art

[matchpointfaist]

why do fools fall in love? 𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋

riff lorton x rich girl! reader

riff lorton hated a lot of things. he hated his birthday, holidays, cops, unsweet tea, the sharks, his parents. more than anything, he hated all the summer birds, the richer than god families that poured into manhattan every year, staying in their summer homes and driving their summer cars and flaunting all their summer money. he hated the way they flounced around the city, going to the drive-in in their convertibles, showing off at all the clubs with their pristine clothes, forever serving as a reminder of everything he could never be.

he knew they looked down on him, saw the way their noses scrunched as he walked past, the way they clutched their purses tighter and avoided eye contact. he hated that a small part of him yearned to have what they did; not necessarily the money, but the company. they were always together, all the perfect parents with their two perfect children and the way they all got along perfectly well. he knew he’d never have it, and he told himself he didn’t want it, but each time he saw their smiling faces, he knew it wasn’t true.

your family got to town in june of 1957, moving into your summer house just on the edge of the city, a massive white victorian with bright blue shutters and an equally bright car parked in the driveway. the first night, you begged your parents to let you go to the fair until they eventually gave in, sending you on your way.

it was there that riff first saw you, his eyes finding yours through the crowd as he hung back near the fence, smoking and people watching. he knew he shouldn’t even give you a second look- you were everything he resented, he could tell from your shiny white teeth and your starched skirt and your little kitten heels.

you were with a group of other kids he’d grown to hate, surrounded by people he’d never know, laughing at some undoubtedly stupid joke. the sound carried, and he tried to pretend it didn’t warm his chest to hear it, to pretend he didn’t want to become the cause of it.

the evening went on, and he tried not to watch you, busying himself with rolling cigarettes and talking to the guys. you went off with some guy after a couple hours, and he pretended it didn’t bother him. he was just about to leave when he heard it- your voice, sharper and louder than he’d previously heard it.

“get off of me!” you nearly yelled, and his brows furrowed, turning the corner to look for the source of the commotion. the guy, someone he didn’t recognize, was grinning like an idiot and grabbing at you and your cheeks were pink, your eyes teary as you pushed him off, breathing so rapidly riff could see from across the alley.

“hey! get off her!” he was on the guy before he could think, shoving him back roughly, “get lost,” he practically scrambled away, the intimidating demeanor he’d had with you melted away, leaving a scared little boy behind.

“are you alright?” riff hoped his tone had softened as he turned to you, where you sat, smoothing your skirt with trembling hands. “yes, thank you,” you nodded, wiping your eyes carefully, “he didn’t- he just tried,”

his chest ached as he watched you, and before he could remind himself he was supposed to hate you, he slid down to sit beside you, offering up the only clean handkerchief he had in his pocket. you took it with a small smile, wiping your cheeks before returning it to him, “thank you, really. you didn’t have to do that,”

“course i did,” he shrugged, his eyes trained on the small spot of lipstick you’d smeared onto the cloth, “he shouldn’t have touched you. i’m riff, by the way. you’re not from around here, are you?”

you shook your head with a little laugh, introducing yourself, “i’m just here for the summer. my family’s from boston,” you glanced down at the thin watch on your wrist, cursing under your breath as you saw the time, “i’m so sorry, i have to go, i’m late. i’ll see you around, riff!” you stood with a hurry, wiping your skirt and picking you purse up.

“wait!” he stood beside you, “i’ll walk you home, you shouldn’t be out this late alone,” to his surprise, you immediately accepted, smiling and thanking him and god; you looked so pretty with your hand wrapped around his arm, and you smelled so good and he knew this was wrong, that he should just let you go, that the two of you could never be together.

but he kept walking you, kept listening to you chatter about how happy you were to be summering here, how happy you were that you made a friend. him, your friend? he nearly laughed, but he just smiled and nodded. when you arrived at your driveway, he tried not to let his demeanor shift too much at the sight of the massive house, the pristine condition of it.

“i’ll see you around, right?” you asked, sounding slightly hopeful, and he decided to just go with it. sure, he hated everything your presence stood for. but he couldn’t hate you, with your shining smile and kind words and soft touch. so he nodded again, “i’ll see you. goodnight,”

he watched until you closed the door behind you, shaking his head at the way he felt like a lovesick fool, the way you’d broken down the walls he’d so carefully built in just one night.

[stanart4clearskin]

so like knight!art donaldson x princess!reader? im cooking a storm up in here!!

[tashism]

HE IS HUGE I WANT HIS BABIES! DO YOU ALL HEAR ME!?????!??? HE IS MASSIVE. AM I REACHING THE BACK IS MY VOICE TRAVELLING

[coolgrl111]

more connor texts per chance????

ofc!!!!

[swiftiesbuddie]

when i accidentally type 1899 instead of 1989:

[calicocrittercunt]

POV Patrick Zweig

[t1ts-4-donaldson]

Dad Art Donaldson taking a picture of toddler Lily in his suitcase before a tournament sat on his clothes teething on the end of his racket she's strewn everything across the floor, dress shirts and pants, underwear too but he doesn't mind. Takes a picture with his instax polaroid and places it in his wallet right next to a photo of pregnant tashi <3

[tswizzlespeaknow]

CLOCK THAT

am i the only one who absolutely HATES mike faists long hair😭😭 LIKE NOOO

[carpenfaist]

well yes!!