#older!art donaldson

[dulcescorderitas]

begging on my hands and knees for you to write something for art 😓 (preferably dilf!art)

notes: MY SHAYLA! jay your wish is my command! 🧞‍♀️ i was supposed to post it tomorrow but i’m so happy with it, i had to do it tonight!

the sun hangs low in the sky, bleeding gold and amber across the backyard, where the remnants of the barbecue linger. smoke curls up lazily from the grill, the scent of charred meat and beer-soaked laughter still heavy in the air. your dad’s old friends are still around, scattered across patio chairs, the low hum of their conversation blending with the crickets just starting to sing.

but your eyes aren’t on them.

they're on art.

he’s standing near the grill, beer in hand, the condensation dripping down his fingers, rolling over the ridges of his knuckles. his sleeves are pushed up to his elbows, exposing forearms that have no right looking that good—tanned, dusted with hair, corded with muscle that flexes every time he brings the bottle to his lips. his dark eyes flicker toward you for a moment, catching you staring, and you swear there’s a ghost of a smirk at the corner of his mouth before he turns back to whatever your dad is saying.

heat curls in your belly, twisting into something dangerous.

it’s been like this all afternoon, stolen glances, the way he watches you when he thinks you’re not looking. and you know you shouldn’t be looking at him like that—your dad’s friend, too old, too familiar. but you can’t help it.

later, when the night settles and the party winds down, you slip into the kitchen for a glass of water. the house is quieter now, the distant murmur of voices fading into the background. you reach for a glass in the cabinet when a presence looms behind you, close enough that you feel the warmth of him before you hear his voice.

“you really shouldn’t be lookin’ at me like that, sweetheart.”

his voice is low, rough, scraping along your spine like a match against flint. your breath catches in your throat as you turn, finding him closer than he should be, closer than he needs to be.

“been watchin’ you, y’know.”

his eyes are darker now, heavy-lidded, the kind of look that sends a shiver rolling through you. you wet your lips, heart stuttering, hands tightening around the cool glass in your grip.

“you’re playin’ with fire, angel’.”

but he doesn’t move away. and neither do you.

his gaze drops, flickering over your face, your mouth, before dragging back up to meet your eyes. something in his expression shifts, hardens. it makes your pulse quicken, makes the air between you thick, electric.

“art—”

he exhales sharply, his jaw ticking, like he’s warring with something inside himself. but then his hand is at your waist, fingers pressing just firm enough to make you shiver, to make you lean in.

“this ain’t smart,” he murmurs, but his grip doesn’t loosen, his thumb stroking absently against the fabric of your dress. “your dad…”

he trails off, something unspoken hanging between you. you know what he’s thinking—what he’s trying to resist. but you don’t care.

not when you’ve spent all day watching him. not when he’s here now, so close you can smell the smoke and cedar clinging to his skin.

“he doesn’t have to know.”

your voice is softer than you intend, almost a whisper, but he hears it. you know he does.

his eyes darken, something slipping in them, something breaking. then, without another word, he’s leading you down the hall, into the quiet hush of your bedroom, the door clicking shut behind him.

there’s hesitation in his hands when he touches you, fingers ghosting over your arms, your hips, like he’s memorizing the feel of you before he lets himself have it. like he’s savoring the moment before he ruins you.

“tell me to stop,” he rasps, voice tight, strained.

but you don’t.

instead, you pull him closer, tilting your chin up to meet his mouth, soft at first, tentative. but the second he groans against your lips, something in him snaps. his hands tighten at your waist, pulling you flush against him as he deepens the kiss, slow and hot, stealing the breath from your lungs.

his hands wander, slipping under the hem of your dress, dragging it up, up, until it pools at your waist. his palms are warm, calloused, rough where they slide along your skin. he swears under his breath when he finds you bare beneath it, his grip tightening as he presses his forehead to yours.

“fuck, sweetheart.”

his voice is wrecked, thick with something heavy, something desperate. his breath is hot against your skin as he moves lower, sucking and biting at the sensitive flesh of your neck, leaving his mark, claiming you. his hands spread your thighs wide, fingers teasing over your swollen, dripping folds before he drags his tongue through the slick heat of you, groaning at the taste.

“so fuckin’ sweet,” he murmurs, voice thick with hunger. his fingers slide inside, curling just right, making you gasp and clutch at his hair, pulling him closer. he eats you like a man starved, tongue flicking, sucking, his name falling from your lips in broken moans.

when you’re trembling, on the verge of unraveling, he pulls away, eyes dark with need. he fists his cock, dragging the tip through your slick, watching the way your body shudders, your legs spreading further for him.

“tell me you want it,” he demands, voice hoarse.

“i need you,” you whisper, breathless, desperate.

"you do, honey?" he thrusts in, inch by inch, stretching you, filling you, growling low in his throat. “fuck, you’re tight.”

his pace is slow, teasing, making you beg before he finally gives in, fucking you deep, hard, relentless. the sound of skin slapping, the wet, filthy noises between you fill the room. he grips your thighs, spreads you wider, watching himself disappear inside you over and over.

“look at you,” he groans. “taking me so fuckin’ good.”

your body arches, pleasure building, your nails raking down his back as he pounds into you. he presses his thumb to your clit, rubbing tight circles, pushing you over the edge. you come with a cry, muscles clenching, spasming around him.

he follows with a rough curse, thrusts turning erratic as he spills inside you, filling you with his heat. he collapses against you, breathless, his lips trailing lazy kisses along your skin.

when it’s over, when he’s still hovering over you, spent and satisfied, he presses his lips to your temple, lingering.

but the guilt creeps in, slipping through the cracks, and when he pulls away, there’s something distant in his eyes.

“this can’t happen again,” he murmurs, but there’s no conviction behind it.

you don’t believe him.

and neither does he.

special tags: @faiszt @bluemerakis

[angelplummie]

art humping your thigh while you're too busy analyzing his recent matches <33

mhm. u sit with your laptop in bed while art kisses your neck. he’s supposed to be watching too but he’s sleepy, he doesn’t wanna watch anymore, he wants to feel. he presses his lips to the base of your neck, just above your collar bone. you tilt your jaw up to allow his way with you, but you keep your eyes trained on the screen.

“you kept missing on thursday because you centre yourself to the left just a bit. he always hit it to the right and you had to scramble.”

“mm.”

his voice reverberated in your throat as his lips stayed against you.

“i don’t know if you’re playing this guy again, but it’s something to keep in mind.”

“ok.”

he moves over you, shifting his weight till both of his legs are either side of one of yours. he holds your shoulder like a child holds a teddy bear.

his head nestles into your neck, his hair tickles your chin, and you sigh.

“art im trying to help you. they’re fucking you. i don’t want to watch my husband get fucked on the court.”

“can you help me somewhere else?”

you readjust so you can see the laptop better, and kiss his scalp.

“help yourself.”

on the video, art lunges forward, his lean body extending as he grunts like a man and pounds the ball away. sweat pours from every pore on his forehead, chest, arms, and he shines in the sun. it cuts to his competitor, who grazes the ball with his racket to no avail.

in your bed, art presses down onto you, dragging himself backwards. he mewls, hoping to get more of your attention. instead of acknowledging him you pet his hair with a lazy wrist, eyes never leaving the screen. he was playing better now. he won the match after all, but it was still important to review his performance. if he got too comfortable he would start slipping. you needed him on a tight leash if he was going to keep crushing.

he rotates his hips, each time crushing your thigh with a force that must be painful to him. each layer of clothes that separated his flesh from yours slid against the other, the phantom of your touch driving him to desperation.

“you did well for this last set.”

“yeah?”

he pushed himself forward, and drew himself back raking his throbbing groin against your lower thigh. his breath shuddered on your chest. he was working up a rhythm, a dragging, quivering, breathless rhythm.

“yeah. no notes, donaldson.”

“hmm. thank you.”

“are you hard?”

“obviously.”

“i’m not helping you.”

“obviously.”

you laugh. you swirl your fingers in his cropped blonde hair.

“you can do it. i believe in you.”

he doesn’t reply, just groans. his knee was bent, and he held himself up ever so slightly so as to drive himself against you with the most force he could. in his shorts was a sticky, leaking cock, rubbed sensitive. in your panties was a wet, aching pussy. but one of you needed to think of his career.

on the video he sat down, a rest period, with his shirt off, leaning back with his legs spread.

“oh, fuck,” he said, teeth clenched.

you could feel the long thick imprint of his cock, and through all the fabric you could still feel it twitch. you sighed and closed the laptop as his humping quickened and his knee raised further between your legs. as he drove himself down upon you, he knocked his knee to the throbbing of your clit. you breathed deeply.

“you did a good job on thursday. i’m proud of you.”

“thank you. thank you.”

your hand moved to his back, tight from digging his fingers into your shoulder for purchase. he slammed his hips down, making a fwop fabric sounds. you grunted airily.

“that’s enough,” you breathed.

his hips stilled on top of you, pressed to you. he lifted his head, lips parted and cheekbones pink.

“you have a match tommorow. use it.”

[mattpearson]

#curly haired art my beloved

ART DONALDSON IN CHALLENGERS (2024)

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</3

[artashipatrick]

On the surface of it, this movie includes many instances of people being selfish or petty or cruel to each other, or playing games with each other.

But I think it’s important that anytime they’re doing that, they’re also being kind, they’re also trying to take care of each other in their own fucked up way.

There really is a deep care these people have for each other because they all recognize that they’re in this deep relationship with each other, that they can’t get away from each other. — justin kuritzkes on challengers

[jesuistrestriste]

Sage hear me out...

Divorced dilf art who calls his younger gf mommy

art stays cooped up in the house all day—everyday—when you’re out at your hot new job.

he thinks about all the guys your age who probably ogle you and try to make passes at you, not knowing that you’ve got a man pushing 40 waiting at home for you with dinner and a pair of warm, strong open arms.

sigh.

when you do get home, he’s there to greet you (as always). he walks over and holds you close; kissing your cheek, and then your lips and your neck. each one soft and sweet and attempting to wipe your mind of any flirtation from younger men that you may or may not have endured throughout the afternoon.

“hi,” he whispers, and you slide your fingertips down his lower back, making him tremble like a wet kitten.

“hey, baby,” you hum in return. you’re shorter than him, and so when he leans his weight into you his forehead naturally falls into your shoulder. he smells like warmth and outdated cologne and need.

he mouths at your neck in the next moment, his hands sliding to lovingly cup your waist, “i missed you so much.. can i have you now?” he breathes out, his voice shaking and pleading. you feel something thick and warm press into your hip from inside his sweatpants.

and you chuckle and shake your head. he bites his bottom lip to stifle a petulant whimper.

“i missed you too,” you nip at his ear, “but i need you to use your manners if you want something from me.”

he stiffens for a moment before he stumbles forward a bit, taking you with him and gently pushing your back up against the door. “i’m sorry.”

the apology spills from his lips with an earnest desire to make his obedience known. he’d never want to disappoint you. you’re all he has these days.

“can i… can i please have you now?”

a breath. a shake of your head. a rock of his hips against your body followed by a sorrowful, begging moan.

“no?” he shifts against you, his body aching for yours.

“you’re forgetting something, Art.”

it only takes a moment for him to process your words before he’s mumbling a slurry of “i’m so sorry”s into your neck. but apologies only go so far, don’t they? he needs to correct his behavior. he needs to show you that he knows what you want from him.

“please…” he whispers, “please, mommy..”

the honorific rolls off his tongue like honey, heavy and sweet. it hangs in the air between you two and then you let out a low chuckle, “much better.”

“mommy,” he breathes out again, his erection involuntarily pulsing against your body through his clothes, “mommy, mommy, mommy—ngh“

his tone grows more desperate with each mumbling of the word; higher in pitch and more urgent. your hands move up to stroke his short blonde hair, and then you whisper into his ear.

“what do you want?”

god, what doesn’t he want? he wants your hand down his pants, your perfect cunt wrapped around his unworthy cock, your mouth, your lips, your tits. everything.

but he knows you. he knows that this is a trick question. you’re phrasing it like you’re going to give him something, a treat—a reward, but it’s a bit of a trap.

there’s a right and a wrong answer here. pick the wrong one, and he’s in for a night of painful orgasm denial (coupled with a ruined one to end the evening).

but luckily, art is smart. he knows what you want to hear.

“i.. i wanna eat mommy out.”

you pull back gently from him; and judging by the look that spreads over your face when he says that, he picked the right response.

you smile, and then your hands slide from his hair to his shoulders. in an instant, art finds himself being pushed down to the floor in front of you. he can’t help but scoot forward and shove his boner against your ankle, rutting himself into your soft skin as he dribbles precome in his briefs.

you lean back against the door, hiking up your skirt, before you’re looking down to him expectantly.

“don’t make me do all the work, baby,” you practically purr.

art’s hands scramble up your thighs to your panties, which he peels off of your sticky core with wide eyes, letting the thin fabric garment fall to pool at your heels. you giggle.

you kick them off to the side, feeling your boyfriend’s hands clutched around your legs. you sling a leg over his left shoulder, spreading your folds for him to see, and he wastes no time in parting his lips and engulfing your heat with his mouth.

you groan, letting your head loll back, and you move your fingers—letting them wander to the back of his hair once more to push his face further against you. you grind on his eager tongue, feeling him flick it over your clit as he whimpers and suckles. what a slut.

his baby blues look up to you with weighted lids, lapping at your cunt like it’s something he’s been starved of for years. his pupils dilate intensely as he stares up at you like you’re a god; something holy and unreal. and when you shake over his mouth’s ministrations, getting close, he lets out a long, drawn-out whine into your core.

he’s murmuring something that sends vibrations up your spine from the coil deep in your gut. it’s hard to make anything out when he’s drowning in you and loving it, but you can decipher bits and pieces.

“please, mommy”

“come in my mouth, mommy”

“give it all to me, mommy”

“i can take it, mommy”

you’re everything he’s ever dreamt about. you bend his perception of time and space and reason and logic. how could a sweet, beautiful, young thing like you ever want a washed-up, older athlete like him?

he prays that you don’t only like him for his money, and then he closes his eyes and mouths at your sensitive bud. he drools all over it like a sick dog, his brows pinching up as he moans out incoherent pleas for you to finish.

and holy fuck, you come hard.

a strangled cry jolts out of you as your back arches, mixing with a helpless sob from art, and then you absolutely soak his tongue with your juices. it gushes all over his face and he swallows as fast as he can; hell, he nearly chokes on it.

“ffffuck! art! oh my god, good boy, good boy, such a good boy!”

you rock over him until your orgasm recedes, and you pull his head back from you shakily by your tender hold on his hair. strings of your slick cling to the lower half of his face and the tip of his nose; a lewd squelch echoing out as he’s forcefully disconnected from your body. a dazed smile graces your lips and you peer down to watch as art’s hips shake against the hardwood floor and a dark stain appears at the front of his sweats. it’s a pathetic sight, really.

but you watch him moan softly and keep his gaze trained on you as he wipes his chin messily with the back of his hand.

“was i good?” he whispers, like he’ll cry if you say no.

he needs to hear you say it when he’s not lost in the throes of your climax.

your chest is still heaving while you try to slow your labored breaths, but you lean down anyways and meet his lips with yours. you taste yourself on his tongue. he shudders and winces.

you pull back, your bottom lip brushing his.

“so good, baby..”

art kisses the corner of your mouth softly, just once. he’s melting into you.

he loves you. but he swallows that down for now. he opts to murmur out something that’ll sum up everything he feels in a more palatable manner. something that makes him seem less desperate to keep you all to himself for as long as you can tolerate him.

something that he’s earnestly dying to say.

something that he knows you deserve to hear.

“thank you.”

[diaryofaprettyprincess]

dbf!patrickzweig who fucks you too hard that you forget to breathe—eyes crossed, pouty lips slick with drool as he pounds into you from behind—your back against his front as he dwarfs your body in size. He mouths and sucks at your neck, biting at the skin as his balls slap against your wet cunt as he moves in and out.

At first he doesn’t realize that you stopped whining and whimpering, but when he does, he soon realizes then that you aren’t breathing as much as you should be.

He knows you get overwhelmed like this sometimes. Body too tingly and brain too mushy to think about something that is an automatic thing like breathing. So he pulls some hair back behind your ear, kissing your cheek then your jaw as he shushes you; still rolling his hips into your cunt as his cock hits that little spongey area over and over and over again.

“Relax baby, shhh,” his voice is soft as his left hand makes its way down to your puffy and abused cunt, rubbing slow and hard circles on your pudgy button. “Breathe for me, yeah? Jus’ relax..” when you squirt you finally take a hungry breath, and he coaxes you through it. “Thereee you go, ‘s okay baby, good girl.” His voice is pitched higher as if he were talking to a puppy as you squeal, creaming around his cock.

[newrochellechallenger2019]

snow day with lily and art!

[catharticconsolation]

Bot Dump:

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

Kerry Von Erich- accident- After Kerry loses his foot in an accident, it takes a while for him to get used to his new body. But he's tired of you acting as if he's all fragile and vulnerable, and he just wants the same affection that you gave him before.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

Kerry Von Erich- always the bridesmaid, never the bride - At Kevin and Pam's wedding, Kerry can't help but imagine that it's you up there in that big white dress. He's going to make you a bride.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

Kerry Von Erich- goodnight brother david- David's gone. David's dead. And no one knows what to do. What is there to do but grieve and hold one another?

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

Carmen Berzatto- waitress- Carmen isn't going to lie, but he can't remember hiring you. You've been working as a waitress at The Bear since it opened, but he hasn't ever spoken to you. But everyone sings your praises, and he has to make a move.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

Carmen Berzatto- stuck in the walk-in- Opening night couldn't go any worse. He's stuck in the walk-in with the restaurant's hostess, and he can't stop himself from freaking out. He just needs some comfort.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

Art Donaldson- my perfect family- Art Donaldson has never had a proper family. Sure, he's had his grandmother, who loves you by the way, but he never had siblings. But now, he has a partner, and a toddler, and a newborn, week old baby. Oh, how lucky he is.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

Art Donaldson- strip- Art's worse nightmare seems to come true: being sat in a strip club, surrounded by the Stanford tennis team, boys cheering him on as the most gorgeous stripper in the world comes to dance for him. But as he looks at you, he realises that he has to have you. And he just can't understand why, still, after months, you won't publicise your relationship. He's been trying his best to tell you: a job is just a job.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

Spencer Reid- lunch- God, you are driving Spencer wild. He doesn't know what to do without you, even the slightest second away makes him want to flip. And he knows that he's being a pain, but he can't not stop bothering you.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

Lip Gallagher- unadulterated loathing-Lip hates you, you hate him, but you have to tolerate one another for the sake of Ian, Lip's brother and your best friend. But Lip can't deny the fact that you're ridiculously hot, and it's only a matter of time before you act upon your enemies with benefits situation.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

note: all of the Von Erich bots are based off of the iron claw movie, and not the real life boys!!

[diyasgarden]

lowkey headcanon that Art had a very short lived emo phase while at the academy (he never dressed like it but I feel like he was really into Evanescence for like a week or two before Patrick made some snide comment about it) but post-Tashi’s injury Patrick starts listening to “My Immortal” like in his car or something and tears up because he’s missing Art 💀

(This was originally meant to be a request but then I just yapped, sorry!)

i love a good yap, especially when it has me nodding my head violently going yes!

Art would find out about Evanescence and some other emo bands through the myspace page of another classmate at the academy. Never out-right admitting he was into it, but buying a CD or two and playing them when he's alone in the dorm. It's the type of thing he knew Patrick would make fun of him for, so he'd always try to hide it. Not with much success though, considering he was able to sneak two weeks of listening before Patrick found the CD. And Patrick probably found it endearing, but in true Zweig fashion teased Art to the point he reserved listening to emo music for when he was back at his grandma's house.

As someone who also loves the idea of Art loving musicals, I posted this about Patrick listening to showtunes reminiscing of Art right before New Rochelle, so I 100% see him listening to "My Immortal" right Tashi's injury.

Patrick "listening to music and yearning" Zweig

[monsterhunting]

challengers | salt in the wound

[chlmtsdoll]

Hi I love your fics !!!! Do you have any older!art x younger reader recs ?

Well yesss ! Mine ! 🤭

jk jk here’s some fics & blurbs I loveee of dilf Art <3

🎀 🏹 🩰 🤍 🧸

[angelplummie]

ur art baby trapping fic is all i can think abt btw

but but but. what if after the first time it becomes a regular occurrence, and after the first few times, when he buries himself as deep as his long cock can go inside you and cums so hard he loses vision, you think maybe it’s time to be safe again. you’ve taken a few pregnancy tests, and it’s seeming like you’re getting away with the risky sex, but the risk is not worth the reward.

you saunter into the kitchen one morning, were art reads the news on his laptop, sipping a black tea. what a serious man you were dating. your arms snake around his neck loosely, and you kiss this top of his blonde head.

“i’m gonna order some more birth control. what’s that gynos number again? i know i wrote it down somewhere but i can’t remember.”

art stilled. he placed the mug squarely on a coaster.

“you don’t need that.”

he reached up to hold your forearm gently, to ghost the pad of his thumb against your soft skin.

“well, i do a little bit. we’ve been lucky, but if we keep going raw we might be in trouble. then you’ll be stuck with me forever.”

he hummed, stomach flipping. you were so close to figuring him out.

“that wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.”

“what?”

he kissed the peach fuzz of your arm.

“i’d like being stuck with you.”

you didn’t let go, but you didn’t move either.

“are you saying you hope i get pregnant?”

“no,” he lied softly,”but if you did, that would also make me happy. wouldn’t it make you happy?”

you inhaled, shocked.

“i guess. i don’t- i don’t know how i would feel. i haven’t given it much thought. have you?”

he moved to get up, and you stepped back, unfurling yourself from him.

the chair scraped against the floor, and you watched arts feet as he moved around it to get back to you. he turned to face you, beautiful face set in a knowing, subtle smile. he took your face in his long hands, one on either side of your jaw.

“i’ve thought about a future with you and being with you forever, and about having a baby with you.”

your lips parted slightly, that rosy feeling cresting your cheeks and nose.

“i love you very much. i want you very much. is it that strange to think i might want to start a family with you?”

a cloudy feeling, humid and twinkly, filled your head. you drew in breath, but before you could make any kind of reply he kissed gently on your forehead, which nullified the part of your brain that might have any problem with what art was saying ever.

“why is that strange baby?”

“it’s not strange.”

“that’s right.”

and he pulls you into his chest. your arms remain tucked to you, and he wraps himself around you. tenderly his chin rests on your hair, and your breath in his smell. art was so clean, and so smart and kind. and he loved you. he wanted to be with you. you were so lucky.

“i love you.”

“i love you too.”

and that night, when he got you on top of him, cock buried deep in your tiny cunt, he made you feel even luckier. you were so wet it spilled down his shaft that split you open, down to his round full balls. his hands were clamped like shackles around your hips, preventing you from moving.

your hands splayed on his perky chest, you frowned in an effort to not fall apart, and he watched you with unbridled glee. you try to bounce, and your tits shake, but he holds you in place, all your leg muscles no match for the few at work in his arms. he watches as your titties settle still, his soft little angel.

“art please,” you dig your nails into his pillowy chest, but he doesn’t even flinch as you turn his pale skin pink.

“yes please,” you whisper. he smiles, thinly veiling his glee.

“you wanna ride me?”

your pussy clenches. even bellow you, he’s so far above. so much wiser and calmer.

“i’ll let you. on one condition.”

his fingers dug into your love handles, leaving white marks on your side. he readjusted himself, burying his cock inside your further, making you huff.

“tell me,” your cunt was so tight he had to pause as it squeezed him,” that you want me to get you pregnant. say the words.”

you blinked, trying to direct any of your attention away from the pseudo-pain of having him inside you still. his demanding tone alone makes your cunt throb, and wet his fat cock even more.

“what?”

“tell me you want me to cum inside you raw.”

your head tips back, and you swallow.

“i want you,” you say, thoughtless, desperate, so cock hungry it makes arts chest heave under your talons,” to cum inside me raw. get me pregnant please. please art, just fuck me.”

art grunted, and squeezed your hips even harder.

“yeah? you want that?”

and he drew you up on his dick, biting his lip hard enough to leave indents, to split skin.

he guided you up, so that only his pink tip stayed hooked inside your tight pussy hole.

yeah was the only word you could form, and you said it over and over like it was his name, like it was a prayer.

“ok baby. whatever you want.”

and he drove himself into you, holding you above him like an oversized fleshlight. you sounded like a fleshlight too, wet and soft and malleable to him. a wet schlick permeated the room with every thrust as he held you, suspended in the air, and fucked you like you weighed nothing.

your grip dragged up to his forearm, leaving a pink trail in your wake, jaw tipping open.

“art, art, art.”

as he moves sharply in and out, pounding your pussy, you legs turn to jelly, and you feel the distinct urge to writhe. you resist, and instead jerk with his every movement, moaning pathetically.

“you’re so tight. god,” he spits through gritted teeth. it’s like he’s angry at you, and he bullies your little cunt like he hates you. but he doesn’t hate you, he loves you very much. he can’t believe your his, he can’t believe you want to be his forever. he will make you happy. he will. you just have to give him a child.

his v-line and his hips crash into the softness of your thighs and make loud slaps. he grunts as he feels the tip split you open time and time again. you feel it, a deep thud inside you every time he presses down, and you whine absently.

“art, hold me.”

“what?”

“hold me.”

immediately, he rises from his lying position and props himself up on his head board, yanking you to him again. and then you were face to face, with his tousled blonde hair and blue, honest eyes, and his beautiful face. just as you asked, he held you. two strong arms encircled you waist, pushing your tits up on his chest.

digging his heels into the bed, he began pumping, buried so deep that he could only work the last increments of his cock into you. your eyes are misty, are big and desperate. your open mouth

"you ok?"

"yeah. I love you."

"mm."

and he kissed you again, tongue pawing at the inside of your mouth, like a kitten at a ball of yarn. he moaned rhymically, with every beat of your little heart. every moment you lived as his was total pleasure. you inched your hips forwards and back, against the force of his thrusts and kissed the side of his mouth, his cheek, his neck.

“you’re so beautiful,” he huffs,”you’re so pretty. i’m gonna get you pregnant.”

“please.”

“yeah, i know you want that.”

“yeah, i want it.”

you fuck yourself on him, and he kisses you again, harder, messier, noses smushing and tongues moving against each other.

“oh,” he says, and you know he’s close. so you say him what he wants to hear. what you know he’s wanted to hear this whole time. your clit presses against his pelvis, and as you tip over the edge you give him what he needs, like a good girl. friend. a good girlfriend.

“daddy, daddy.”

and it’s over. his grip tightens, pressing you harder against him so you can’t move at all in his lap. his hips stutter, and he lets out a grunting, groaning whine into your cheek, into your ear.

his balls tighten and twitch, and a fat load spurts inside you, clinging to your cervix and dribbling out of your spasming hole.

“fuck, god.”

one arms stays around your back, the other reaches up to your neck, to caress the skin and reach up into your hair. to stroke your jaw with his thumb as you both pant, slack jawed and satisfied.

“fuck.”

“art?”

“yeah?”

“i bet that did it. i bet i’m pregnant.”

“i bet you are. are you scared?”

you looked at each other and smiled, wide and goofy, forehead to forehead.

“no. are you? i really mean it, you’re never getting rid of me now.”

“darn.”

[ervotica]

more older!art fics please!!

they’re on the way! i’ve just hit a rut creatively and not sure what to write next so if anyone wants to chat i’d love to talk about art and his pretty girl!

[luvmoonie]

am i gonna have to be the one to say it … i know the end is challengers coded

[sceletaflores]

‘where there’s sparks, there’s fire!’ Was seriously so bloody good!!! The tension was honestly chefs kiss 🤌🏽 I seriously love your fics and cannot wait for the next one, it couldn’t come soon enough!

stop or i'll kiss you...like right on the forehead...

i'm so glad you liked it!!! currently i'm trying to finish my older!patrick fic while simultaneously writing an art/tutor!reader and a tashi/ball girl!reader locker room situation kind of thing lmao

tashi is being neglected by me so that'll probably be the next thing i post :) but i'm not sure :) cause i really like the patrick fic :) and the art one too :) who knows :)

[thisisthegarage]

I think I speak for all of us when I say “I love slutty men.”