#small backyard pond

[melankoliadam]

Pond Landscape (Phoenix)

[zwijgverbod]

Fountain Santa Barbara Design ideas for a small mediterranean partial sun backyard water fountain landscape.

[kreasecock]

Landscape Fountain Photo of a small mediterranean partial sun backyard water fountain landscape.

[mothmiso]

Serbia (2) (3) by Đorđe Andrejević

Via Flickr:

(1) Tijanje (3) Titel BBQ     

[batz]

saw.my first wild froggy yesterday night and ii presented it to squeak she didnt give a shit she just walked AWAY

[fyeahimanengineer]

Mediterranean Landscape

[prettyvintagehouse]

[chaosfashion]

Traditional Exterior in Philadelphia Inspiration for a mid-sized, shingle-roofed, two-story exterior home remodel with timeless beige siding.

[sttoru]

·.⌇ 𝐒𝐘𝐏𝐍𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐒. love; you wonder if the king of curses is capable of feeling that emotion too. so, you take on a more direct approach to ask him.

word count. 1.7k

note. sukuna brainrot sorry. . .

tags. true form!sukuna x female reader. angst (+ comfort) / fluff. size difference mentions. eh sukuna’s a bit mean. established relationship, but you’re like v early into the relationship.

it was a calm sunday evening. both sukuna and you had fulfilled your duties for the day. all you needed after working hard was the presence of the person you admire most. thus, you had made your way over to sukuna’s chambers. to your surprise, you already found him sitting on the engawa which led to the connected backyard.

sukuna noticed your presence, but didn't utter a word. he simply shot you a glance before continuing to stare into the distance. he seemed to be in deep thought about something. you didn’t want to bother him when he was like this, but the voice in your head told you to stay.

you silently kneel next to him and gather your hands in your lap. your eyes automatically move to focus on sukuna again. two of his hands are supporting his weight as they rest flat on the wooden surface. the other set rests limply on his thigh.

your gaze falls on his bottom left hand. the one he uses to kill, but also the one he uses to hold and caress you. you could easily recall its feel without having to touch him; rough, callused and warm. you reach your hand out towards his without hesitation.

sukuna’s eyes dart over to your small stature next to him. he allows you to grab his hand, to pull it over to your lap and let it rest palm up on your thighs. it’s almost funny. how big his hand is in comparison to yours.

the comfortable silence continues. the rustles of the leaves and the water movements in the koi pond in the yard are soothing to the soul. your finger traces the lines on sukuna’s palm, following them until they end before switching to the other.

the king of curses watches you play around with his hand. still with that stoic expression on his face. however, feeling your delicate touch on his skin and seeing you smile to yourself for whatever reason makes the corners of his lips curl up. for a split second.

a faint, amused grin. you sure are an interesting creature in his eyes.

“sukuna, can i ask you something?” you break the silence with a question. there is an unknown feeling in your chest; one that makes you restless at night. your smile slowly drops into a small pout when you think about what you want to ask him.

not a single action goes unnoticed by the man next to you. he lifts an eyebrow, but other than that, there’s no reaction visible. he answers you with a hum of approval, “mmh.”

you lift your head and look up at him. sukuna was already staring right at you—his piercing eyes catch your soft ones. he squints. there is something wrong with the way you are looking at him. normally, the smile you give him would reach your eyes. now it doesn’t.

that same smile completely disappears over time.

“do you.. are you..” you stammer. you don't know how to articulate your question. it’s probably dumb. to both you and him. sukuna watches you struggle to ask him whatever is on your mind. he firmly grabs your wrist and squeezes it. not too hard. he doesn't want to inflict any unneccesary pain.

sukuna sighs. a heavy sigh. one thing he dislikes is when you leave him in the dark. it isn’t the first time you did so during the past week. asking him if you could ask him a question and when he grants you the permission to, you back down or change topics.

it’s getting tiresome.

“spit it out.” sukuna grumbles. he pulls your body closer to his by your wrist, your arm stretched upwards with your hand hovering near the side of his face. his breath hits your wrist, causing goosebumps to form on your skin.

crimson orbs stare right into your soul. you gulp and feel your body warm up. when you try to avert your gaze, one of sukuna's free hands grabs you by the jaw and steers your head to face him. his thumb presses down on your chin. he’s not letting it go today. he needs answers.

before sukuna could add to his words, you breathe in sharply. like you’re ready to ask him what had been weighing on your mind ever since a couple days back. oh, stupid it sure is. you know. you’re probably making it too big of a deal. when it isn’t. not in the slightest.

your eyes water. you blink the tears away. you don’t want to embarrass yourself any further by sobbing. your bottom lip trembles as you finally muster up the courage;

“do you love me?”

there it goes. you try to squirm away from sukuna’s grasp after that. you feel flustered. embarrassed. you just want to crawl into a hole and rot.

sukuna does not tighten his grip on you. instead, he loosens them. your wrist slips from his hand. your chin no longer restricted by his fingers. he lets you go.

a painful sting in your heart. you secretly hoped that he’d resist. pull you closer maybe. you don’t know why you expected that. you learnt not to get your hopes up around him and yet you always wish for him to do something.

a silence falls between the two of you again. you act like you didn’t ask him anything. you try to ignore the way sukuna clenched his jaw. how he subtly clicked his tongue. how he let you shuffle away from him.

you clear your throat. with hesistance this time, you gently grab one of sukuna’s hands again. that he allows you. you appreciate that. at least it means he isn’t completely upset. you know sukuna does not allow just anyone to touch him so without permission.

you hold tightly onto his hand like it’s your last hope. his fingers don’t close around yours, though. you don’t mind.

“what a foolish question.” sukuna scoffs and looks the other way. his voice was hoarse. probably from not speaking for quite what time. you silently nod. an expected answer, at last.

you stay silent after that. it hurts. more than you want it to have hurt. maybe it was too early into your relationship to ask such a question. you got into it, knowing fully well how harsh the man next to you could be sometimes.

what you can’t deny is that soft spot sukuna has for you. you see it. uraume sees it. the maids see it. sukuna probably.. knows of it, but doesn’t speak on it. he does not speak up about his feelings much anyway.

but it’s visible in his actions. the king of curses allows you to say and do whatever you want around him. he makes sure his subordinates treat you well. he looks at you with a hint of softness hidden in those red eyes. when he touches you, it’s firm but gentle. like he desperately craves to touch you, though knows not to make that yearning accidentally hurt you in any way.

the latter is what you love most about his soft spot for you. sukuna handles you with utmost care. even uraume had told you that it surprises them greatly whenever they witness the way their master treats you in general.

especially at night. you can’t count the amount of times you quite literally melted into his arms. those four, beefy arms that know just how to make you feel protected. you never sleep in unease. you know that nothing could hurt you when you’re laying against his chest.

sukuna’s actions speak volumes. despite all of that, you wish he’d at least tell you with his words. how much you mean to him.

“my apologies.” you give up. for today, you’ll let him be. the slight irritation in his voice earlier nearly made you cry. he needs more time and you’ll give him that. you slowly detach your small hand from his big, warm one, “i won’t ask you that again.”

sukuna frowns and grumbles something under his breath. you think it’s still because of your previous question, yet his gaze tells a different story. he narrows his eyes as he glares down at his now empty hand. you connect the dots once you see the man take a glimpse at your hand on your lap.

your touch. the sudden abscence of your touch.

“i didn’t say you could do that.” sukuna murmurs. his tone low and maybe even upset to a certain degree. you blink a few times and freeze on spot. the king of curses starts to get grumpy the longer you fail to take the hint.

he kisses his teeth out of impatience. sukuna tightly gets ahold of your hand again and softly yanks it towards him. you squeal as your body stumbles closer to his.

sukuna holds eye contact with you as he brings your hand to his mouth. his tongue wets a spot on your palm—specifically the area that connects your thumb with your wrist. your lips part, your tummy doing flips from the sudden touch.

“don’t let go again,” he bares his teeth before slightly sinking them into the soft flesh. it isn’t a hard bite. more a nibble that leaves a faint mark. what you didn’t expect was for sukuna to kiss that same place after marking it. his thumb runs over that exact spot as well, “got that?”

you nod. you’re unable to refuse him. those feelings of disappointment from earlier long forgotten. you intertwine your fingers with sukuna’s and unlike the previous instant, his fingers do curl back around yours. your skin is still tingling from the feeling of sukuna’s kiss.

the king of curses keeps your entwined hands on his lap this time. he stares off into the distance for a couple seconds before returning his gaze to you. he scans your face and finds what he had been missing;

that tender smile of yours. it was back, tugging at your lips. one of your fingers resumes its soothing motion on his rough skin again. sukuna’s face relaxes. his jaw unclenches.

“good.” sukuna nods at the sight. he turns to watch the night sky again—secretly (yet not so secretly) enjoying this moment of peace.

you’re content with how that ended. and, you’re sure that you don’t mind if it takes days, weeks or even months for your relationship to fully blossom. when you’re with sukuna, one thing is clear: actions do speak louder than words.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Easy Access

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: explicit sexual content, canon-typical swearing, oral sex (female & male receiving), F/M/M/M/M, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), multiple creampie, multiple orgasms, group sex, praise, restraints/restraining

Word Count: 3.7k

A short dress is your idea of an invitation for a bit of fun.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // spring 2024 masterlist

Under the shade of a tree, you inhale deeply, savoring the fresh spring air.

This is a party. A gathering. A break. A reward for a job well done.

But it’s not like you’re the one in the line of fire. That isn’t your job. Your one and only endeavor at work is making sure Kate Laswell has everything she needs while at the office. Field work is not your specialty, and you’re thankful for that.

You make phone calls. You bring Laswell her coffee. You keep her appointments and meetings. It’s office work. Clerical. But it keeps you safe, fed, and paid.

Amongst the crowd are familiar and unfamiliar faces. There has to be at least sixty people here in total, and yet the space doesn’t feel cramped. You were given an address, and this has to be someone’s backyard, but you couldn’t say who. And if anyone knows, they aren’t saying.

To your left is a large wood patio. It expands across almost the entirety of the back of the house. Most of it is covered by two connecting pergolas. Underneath the pergolas is a massive buffet and open bar. People loiter there, talking and laughing. The patio opens up to a large green space with a small pond and garden near the back fence. The majority of the space is open but there are a few tables and chairs set up. Music comes from speakers you can’t see, and lights line the fence.

It’s all very pleasant, but crowds are not your thing.

You scan the crowd but no one is looking in your direction. Bringing your plastic cup up to your lips, you scan the crowd one more time. Your gaze falls on Captain John Price. He’s having a conversation with someone you don’t recognize, and out of uniform, he’s even more handsome.

There is no silly, floppy hat or beanie. No windbreaker or boots. Price wears a button up shirt, the top two undone and slightly open with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He appears so casual and calm, a cool sexiness that instantly sparks heat low in your belly.

Your cup is almost to your lips, pausing as you gaze at him. In this moment—this fleeting second—Price’s gaze finds you. He winks. Smirks. Returns to the conversation.

Your heart drops into your stomach, and you nearly drench the front of your linen dress with red punch.

Glancing away, you only find the rest of Price’s team. Kyle Garrick, John MacTavish, and Simon Riley loiter near the deck. Kyle and Johnny talk, their faces animated and engaged. Simon stands with his arms crossed, but he’s not listening.

He’s staring at you, those dark eyes of his piercing you down to your marrow.

It’s silly, really, how all four of them make your stomach flip. How they each in turn seem to awaken something dark and primal in your blood.

While it doesn’t shame you in the least, you have flirted with all of them. It’s hard not to. Price is the one you see the most, and always makes an effort to stop by to see you if he has business with Laswell. Kyle, Johnny, and Simon all have to go out of their way to see you, but they do it. Often.

And it’s not just the flirting or sultry glances. You’ve allowed them each a touch or two. Of the four, you gave Johnny permission to kiss you. It was chaste. Quick. Nothing that curls the toes. But it turned his face beet-red.

But being with any of them is just a fantasy. It’s unprofessional. And you don’t need to know what Laswell might think of you for taking any further action with them.

Sighing, you turn away from Simon’s penetrating stare. You knock back the red punch, the alcohol in it hardly registering on your tongue. Removing yourself is the best solution. Perhaps you could hide in the bathroom for a bit. Splash some cold water on your face.

Depositing the empty plastic cup in the nearest trashcan, you head for the patio, passing the buffet and open bar, striding inside through the open kitchen doors. You nod in acknowledgement to a few people there, and they match it, but they immediately return to their conversations, not all that interested in your presence.

The nearest bathroom is just off the kitchen, but you want to hide. You aim for the hallway with the intent of entering the bathroom at the very end. No one is really using it, and it’s the perfect place to catch your breath.

As you reach out for the golden bathroom handle, a large hand shoots out, encasing your wrist, haling all movement. You turn sharply, ready to bite back at the man who decided it’s okay to touch you without your permission, only to freeze.

Your eyes widen as you realize who the hand belongs to.

“John,” you whisper. You didn’t even hear him approach. He completely snuck up on you.

“Where you off to?” he asks softly. He looks a little concerned, but there is something else under all of that.

While you want to answer his question, to give in a bit, you don’t enjoy being grabbed.

“Is that your business?” you reply, arching one eyebrow, chest heaving slightly as your heartrate quickens.

John’s head tilts slightly, his gaze assessing for a moment. The two of you are locked in, and you’re not sure if you’ve completely fumbled the exchange. John releases you from his stare but he doesn’t release your wrist.

Instead, he glances over his shoulder, and you follow the movement. Right there, in the hall, are three familiar people.

Kyle and Johnny casually lean against the wall while Ghost stands in the middle, watching the opening of the hallway.

You’re not frightened. Not afraid. If anything, you’re becoming slick between the thighs. There is a reason they’re here, and you want to explore what it is.

Price’s gaze returns to you and his gaze is soft. “Do you want it to be my business?”

You press in a bit, and Price’s mouth forms into a self-satisfied grin. “Does it include all four of you?” you counter.

“It can.”

His grip tightens slightly. The hold is almost desperately possessive.

What the hell. You should just do it. Have some fucking fun for once. If anything, this will be the one and only time. Get this ridiculous need out of your system all at once and be done with them.

“Then make it your business,” you murmur.

Price’s grip remains firm as he pulls you away from the bathroom door. He spins you around, his free hand reaching out to open the door that’s across the hall from the bathroom. You hear the creak of the hinges as it swings inward, and then you’re walking backward into the room, Price herding you along.

Behind him follows Kyle. And behind Kyle, Johnny. Then, finally, Simon. He’s the last to enter the room and the one that shuts the door, locking it without even glancing at it. He leans against it, crossing his arms over his chest.

Once the door is shut, you expect Price to release you. But he doesn’t. He keeps hold of your wrist, drawing you against him, pinning your arm to your chest. With his other hand, Price clasps your chin between thumb and forefinger, keeping your face pointed in his direction.

“You want to back out?” he asks. “Just say the word. We’ll stop.”

Do you want to stop? No. Your blood is buzzing, nearly burning beneath your skin. You want to see where this goes, and how much you can take before you’re unable to understand reality.

“Nervous, Captain?”

He laughs, throaty and low before his lips come dangerously close to yours. “No, love. I like that you’re willing to share.”

Someone shifts behind Price’s shoulder. Your gaze starts to drift but he jerks you back to attention.

“You’ve been teasing us with that dress,” murmurs Price.

Releasing your wrist, Price drops his hand to lightly tug on the skirt of the linen dress you wear.

It’s incredibly comfortable. The color an off-white. It stops at about mid-lower thigh, a bit above the knee. The top of the dress is solid fabric back and front except for the straps which are crisscrossed, leaving your shoulders and arms mostly bare.

“Didn’t do it on purpose,” you reply just as softly.

Price makes a sound in his throat that goes straight to your pussy. “Somehow I believe that,” he chuckles, fisting your dress even tighter. It only pulls you closer, and even like this, you feel his hardness.

You’re so focused on Price that when another pair of hands join his, you almost jump. Price eases his hold on you a bit, and your body twists in the direction of these new hands. It’s Johnny. He has one hand on the back of your neck while the other plays with the hem of your dress. It’s just a gentle toying, one you don’t entirely notice until his fingers are slipping under it, brushing against your bare thigh.

“You want this? All of us?” Johnny sounds skeptical.

Your lips part at his question, the very image of them taking you one after the other only making you slicker.

You nod, chest heaving. “Yes.”

Price’s thumb brushes over your bottom lip, drawing your attention back to him. There is a pause—a second of breathing—and then he releases you. He walks backward toward the door as Simon moves away from it and Kyle closes in.

Johnny sidesteps, placing himself directly behind you. His hands slide over you, finding new homes. He wraps one around your waist, hand splaying wide over your pelvis. His other reaches down to dip beneath the hem of your dress just shy of your left leg.

You believe that Johnny is going to slide his hand between your clenched thighs. But he doesn’t. His arm hooks under your thigh, pressing up, lifting your foot from the floor. You’re forced to balance on your right foot. You instinctually reach up, grasping the back of Johnny’s neck.

But with Johnny’s support, you don’t topple over. His strength keeps you grounded.

With his hand on your pelvis, Johnny begins to bunch the fabric in his fist, lifting it away from your body. It is slow, almost agonizing in how all of their gazes are fixed on that one point.

You don’t need to see to know when you’re bare. You feel the air against you.

You are open for their inspection, and they do not appear disappointed. If anything, they’re fucking hungry.

“She’s wearing fucking nothing under there,” growls Simon, almost like he’s upset but doesn’t want to be.

“Teasing us on purpose,” says Price not to anyone in particular but to reiterate what he said early, that the dress is a tease, and this is just one more thing to add to it.

Simon moves, striding toward you like a predator. Slowly, his hand clasps the front of your neck, and you instinctually arch into Johnny. Kyle sinks to his knees before you.

“Gaz is gonna eat that pretty pussy,” murmurs Johnny in your ear. His breath is a whisper, sending a shiver down your spine. “And then we’re all going to fuck you. One after the other. Fill you with our cum. You want that, love?”

You crave them like a nourishing meal. Accepting won’t hurt. It’ll only fill the gap, satiating the thirst that boils in your blood.

“Yes,” you affirm, putting all the control in their hands now.

“Good girl,” growls Simon, gently squeezing, those dark eyes of his locking in on your parted lips.

Kyle’s hands are on your thighs. They rotate. Squeeze. Slide toward your hip bone.

“Look at that,” he says, absently. Kyle’s fingers lightly brush over your sex. Then, he is parting you with two fingers, and in that glide, you can hear just how wet you are.

“Hardly touched you,” croons Kyle, his mouth dangerously close to what’s aching for him.

He leans in, and goes in for a taste. It’s tentative. Testing. Just a little touch of his tongue against flesh. But it’s enough for your pussy to clench, for you to whimper as if he’s completely pressed his mouth to you.

“Fucking hell,” mutters Johnny. He nuzzles your neck, gaze downward.

You’re watching too. Everyone is. There is no point in hiding anything. You are spread open.

Kyle’s tongue dips again, this time tracing a line between his two fingers. He starts at your entrance, teasing it before moving upward to circle your clit slowly. He is languid about it. Taking his time like there isn���t a party happening just outside the door.

“Oh, you’re sweet, love,” he murmurs before going in fully.

There is no tracing of his tongue. It is only steady strokes and gentle flicks against your clit. Kyle knows what he’s doing. He knows to stick to a specific pace. To not change course. He feasts until your legs shake and it is only Johnny’s strength keeping you aloft.

The clench comes, shuddering outward. Your breathing intensifies, becoming desperate gasps as Kyle continues to work your clit. Simon still holds onto the front of your throat, and he does not let go.

“Look at me,” croons Simon, tilting your head in his direction. “At me. My eyes.”

Johnny murmurs sweet nothings against your throat as he watches Kyle lick and then suck your clit into his mouth.

Your hips buck against Kyle’s mouth as your orgasm consumes, absorbing all your strength, turning your muscles into sticky goo.

There are lips pressing against your inner thigh, and then Kyle’s voice drifts up from between your legs. “She’s ready.”

“But we aren’t,” replies Simon.

Johnny guides your leg down until your foot is flat again. From there, he presses on your shoulders, and you automatically sink to your knees.

“Be good and suck Gaz’s cock,” commands Simon as his hand slides from the front to the back of your neck.

Johnny steps back, his presence evaporating as Kyle undoes the front of his jeans. You are hungry. Feral. Desperate. The moment Kyle’s cock his free from his jeans, you’re reaching for him, sucking him down.

Kyle groans loudly, head tilting back as you throat him to the root.

“Fucking beautiful,” comes Johnny’s voice somewhere behind and to the right of you.

Simon grunts in agreement, his hand still firmly planted on your neck. His fingers dig into your hair, and even though you have some control, Simon has the rest.

He keeps you on your knees and your head still as Kyle thrusts shallowly into your mouth. You are wet between your thighs, the skin there rubbing against itself. Your hands rise to grab the front of Kyle’s jeans, but Johnny tuts, grasping both arms and holding them behind you.

“Breathe through your nose. Good girl. Like that.” These praises are all Simon, and you desperately want to please him.

You’re nearly still as Kyle claims your throat. But he’s careful. Thoughtful. He’s fucking your mouth yet he knows your limit. When your throat contracts, wanting to gag, he retreats until you’ve caught your breath, only to return to his pace from before.

“Fuck,” he mutters, abruptly pulling out of your mouth. You cough, saliva and cum coating your lips and chin. “Bend her over the edge of the bed.”

Johnny releases your arms and Simon is the one that helps you to your feet.

“Look at me,” says Simon, drawing you attention to his face. “You good?”

This can all end if you want it to, but you don’t. You’re not full. Not whimpering. You want them inside.

“I’m good,” and your answer is a bit raspy.

Simon nods and then he’s turning you around, his hands pressing on your back until you’re completely bent.

The bed is a bit high, and you have to go up on your toes. Your hands dig into the comforter, but you don’t feel stable. Not really.

There are hands on your thighs. They drive upward, flipping your dress up to expose your ass to the room. One of those hands comes down on the right cheek. It isn’t hard, just enough to bounce it.

“Open for us,” says Simon. You wiggle your hips, sliding your feet outward slightly. “More, love. Yes. Perfect.”

Simon shifts partially into view, and then he’s grabbing your forearms, holding you down to the bed itself. You have no idea who is behind you, but you feel the head of their cock at your entrance.

There is no condom, and you do not give a fuck. You want to feel each of them in turn, to feel them fill you up, to fuck each other’s cum deeper into you.

The head presses in. Enters. And then you’re being filled, being fed more and more until you’re stuffed. You moan loudly.

“Taking me so well,” groans Johnny as you clamp around him. “Bloody hell you’re tight.”

Johnny squeezes your ass, guiding your hips up slightly as he starts to drive in. The angle is deep, and your feet slide against the floor. He isn’t soft, but he’s not rough either. Johnny is steady, rolling his hips deep enough to hit that sweet spot.

You are soft. Pliant. Smiling against the comforter as Johnny fucks you. His soft grunts become gentle groans. Then his hips stutter, thrust forward, creating a seal. You feel his release flood your pussy, and you purposefully tighten those muscles, encouraging him to stay inside.

And Johnny does, for a moment.

He lightly pats your ass before withdrawing. The loss of him is immediate, and yet there is another ready to take his place. Simon does not move from his spot. You turn your head and find Price still leaning against the door. There is an apparent bulge in the front of his pants.

It is Kyle that settles behind you, and like Johnny, he finds the same rhythm. While Johnny felt girthy, Kyle is absolute perfection. The stretch is good but not too tight, and even though every stroke is pointedly deep, there is nothing but pleasure.

Kyle’s hand slips between the bed and your body. He finds your clit. Toys with it. Plays. You’re still a bit sensitive from your last orgasm, and the next one comes up suddenly. You cry out, squeezing on him as he finishes.

In that blissful state, you don’t notice Simon removing his hands from your forearms. It isn’t until he’s driving inside that you realize it, and you nearly come off the bed. Simon is absurdly large, and your back arches, fingers digging into the comforter as your groan into it.

Simon is not as gentle as them. He fucks their cum into you like he’s made to do so.

And Price is still off to the side. Still watching. Almost indifferent except for that outline in his pants.

Simon’s only tell is a low grunt before he too is finishing inside you.

You are overly stuffed. Full. Simon removes his cock from your pussy as their mixed cum begins to drip out onto your thighs.

You think Price will come. That he will take Simon’s place. Instead, you’re being moved, flipped onto your back. Your legs are brought up, and then Johnny is back, sliding home again. Simon stands to the right of him. He reaches out, runs his hand over your stomach before delving down to find your clit.

Simon circles it as Johnny’s cock pistons in and out of you, his hips smacking against yours sharply with each thrust. It isn’t long before the muscles in your body seize and then relax. Johnny doesn’t find his end until Simon has you clenching a second time.

Johnny steps back, a pleased grin on his face as he stuffs himself back into his pants. Your legs are weak noodles and you’re thankful for the bed beneath you.

Price pushes off from the door. He walks casually, his hands slowly undoing and then removing his belt. You push up onto your elbows, adjusting. Price observes you. His gaze is on your face and then it drops to your pussy.

Reaching out, Price runs his fingers through the mess between your legs.

“Mind if I add to that?” he asks, gaze returning to your face.

You smile and spread your legs wider.

“Good fucking girl,” he croons.

Price grasps your thighs and drags you to the edge of the bed. Shoving his pants down enough to free his cock, he rubs the head over the mess, coating himself in it.

He lines himself up, and then buries himself to the hilt. Your fingers dig into the bed and then reach for him. Price adjusts his grip on your thighs, pressing them up a bit and toward your chest.

You are at his mercy as he drives into you. The only sounds in the room are your breathy moans and the obscene wetness that is your pussy.

All those flirty invitations and teasing smiles has led to this. And you don’t entirely mind if this is all it is. That the five of you are just working it all out of your systems. You’re completely satisfied.

As Price’s thrusts becoming erratic, he lets go of your thigh only to grasp your throat. He leans forward as he brings you up off the bed. You are scrunched, and when his lips meet yours, you come undone just as he does.

You hang. Suspended. And then you’re melting into the soft comforter.

Someone is cleaning you up, wiping away the excess mess. And then you’re brought to your feet. Everything is unsteady as you focus on who it is holding you.

“Good? Or you need a minute?” Price’s palm runs over your hair, smoothing it.

“I need a minute,” you murmur, because it’s true.

Kyle, Johnny, and Simon all start to file out. With the balaclava you can’t discern Simon’s expression. But Kyle is smug. Content. Johnny is almost sheepish, his cheeks slightly flushed as they leave.

It is over. Done.

Price runs his thumb over your bottom lip. “If you ever want this again, you know where to find me.”

He leans forward as if to kiss you but instead brushes his lips against the curve of your cheek. He gives your hand a squeeze. A silent goodbye.

Then he too is gone. The door shut.

You place your hand over your chest and laugh as a trail of cum slips down the inside of your thigh.

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DC Metro Natural Stone Pavers Landscape

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Landscape - Pond

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Mediterranean Landscape

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Mediterranean Landscape - Pond

[amorisxx]

Snickerdoodle pt. ii

pairing: Art Donaldson x reader summary: Tashi invites you and your son to lunch with her family. You meet Patrick. And you can't stop sharing your cookies with Art. warnings: smut 18+, cheating, mentions of car sex, oral sex (fem receiving because Art is a munch), adults still acting like horny teenagers, hastily proofread word count: 4.2K prev part | next part

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃

Tashi does call you. She invites you to have lunch. On them.

You say no.

There’s no way you can go have lunch with the man you just fucked in a parking lot and his wife. You make up some sort of excuse, continuing to dodge her calls for a week.

Unfortunately, your karma is fast acting because you run into Tashi while picking up Kaleb from school one day. Lily and Kaleb have grown closer this school year. In any other instance, you’d be proud of your little dude for making friends, but you can’t help but side eye him when he asks to have a playdate with Lily right in front of Tashi.

Before you can properly respond, Lily is tugging on her mom’s sleeve saying “please, please, please” and Tashi is giving you an apologetic smile. You relent because to do otherwise would make you a terrible mom. Denying your son time with his friend just because you’re avoiding the consequences of your own actions would be a new low. So, you agree to bring Kaleb over that weekend. Much to your dismay, Tashi takes the opportunity to sneak in the offer of lunch again.

ᯓ

On Saturday, you find yourself on the Donaldson’s patio while Kaleb and Lily play in their picturesque backyard. Sunlight pours over the yard, engulfing everything in a warm, soft glow. Lush greenery billows out from the ground creating pillowy grass for the kids to run around through barefoot. A steady trickle of water flows over rocks into a large pond nearby. There’s a light breeze in the air, just enough to feel refreshing.

Tashi is sure to order lunch for everyone. And despite your reluctance to show, you still bring a shiny, red tin of snickerdoodle cookies for dessert. Art took to reminding the kids to finish their food before playing and to be careful near the pond. When they insist on feeding their leftover bread to the fish, he’s quick to make sure they don’t go too far. The afternoon sun settles over him as he kneels between the two, carefully pinching off pieces of breadcrumbs to gently toss into the shimmering water. You just barely hold back a small smile at the seraphic appearance of him, and when you glance back around, Tashi’s eyes meet yours with a slight smile of her own.

Despite the serene atmosphere of their home, you can’t fully relax into your chair as you nibble on your lunch. Art peeks at the way you keep fidgeting with your dress and adjusting your watch on your wrist. He subtly tries to tap you to grab your attention, but you pretend to be reaching for another mimosa to avoid the contact. You find yourself glad to have another drink, actually, because you’re feeling more nervous by the second. You sip from your glass and graciously fall into a conversation with Tashi about your baking in an effort to ignore Art. You think that maybe you’ll feel less guilty about your attraction to her husband if you appear unaffected by him.

Halfway through lunch, you meet Patrick, a tall man with dark curls and glimmering eyes. He’d sauntered over to the table with an impish grin, taking the seat across from you. They introduce him as the player Tashi is coaching and Art’s best friend. You learn that Patrick lives in their guest house. But the way he moves about the space suggests that he’s quite familiar with their home.

Patrick talks to you about his career. Says you might’ve seen him play. You give a tight smile, tell him maybe you had.

In truth, you have no idea who Patrick is.

He openly flirts with you. Says he’s single. You don’t miss the glare Tashi shoots him. Art, however, is laser focused on your reaction to Patrick, searching your face each time he makes a suggestive comment.

You’re shaking your head in restrained amusement at Patrick when Kaleb runs to the table for a sip of lemonade. He spills it in his haste to get back to Lily, and you use a napkin to dab his chin before he pushes your hand away, grumbling mom under his breath. When he’s out of earshot, Patrick casually tells you that you look too good to have a kid Kaleb’s age.

You’re too stunned to speak. Art reaches across the table and slaps the cookie that he’s stolen out of Patrick’s hand, which makes him glare at Art, while Tashi groans in annoyance.

She massages her right temple and sighs, “I apologize for Patrick. He lacks basic home training.” He only grins at her comment.

When he pours himself a glass of sparkling champagne, she snatches it from him, muttering about not fucking up his meal plan. Patrick licks the droplets of champagne that landed on his fingers. She looks at him with disgust and continues, “He wasn’t even supposed to be here. But you know what they say. Never feed a stray cat.”

After you’ve made your way through two mimosas, you turn to Tashi to ask for the bathroom. You expect her to take you. Or simply give instructions and send you on your way, but Art stands up and says, “Come on, I’ll show you.”

You want to decline, but your bladder is screaming, so you follow him through the large French doors leading into their kitchen. You reluctantly watch the way his muscles move in tandem with his lazy stride. His gait is noticeably less stiff as he makes his way through his home. Here, he doesn’t have to be Art Donaldson ™, just Art. He doesn’t turn around until he stops at a door situated in the hallway you passed when you entered their house. He could’ve just told you that the bathroom was on that hall.

“Here it is.”

“Thanks,” you whisper and reach for the knob. Before he can say anything else, you shut the door behind you and lock it. When you think you can hear footsteps departing, you release a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

You quickly pee and wash your hands, lingering to stare at the water rinsing over your fingers. It’s not until the stream is hot enough to sting that you retract your hands, grab the hand towel and turn off the faucet.

It would be nice to just stay locked in here until Kaleb is tired out and ready to go home. But you know that would be weird at best and suspicious at worst.

“You can do this,” you whisper to yourself in the mirror. “It’s just one lunch. After this, you never have to talk to these people again.”

With a mindful inhale, you move to open the door and pray Kaleb can make some new friends.

You’re thinking about how bad of a mom you are when you almost bump into Art.

“Shit! You scared me!”

He frowns at you. “What? You surprised there was someone else in the house?” He says, voice laced with amusement.

You roll your eyes. “No, I just didn’t expect you to pop up. I thought you’d gone back outside.”

“I was waiting for you.”

“Oh…you didn’t have to do that. I could’ve found my way back.”

“Never said you couldn’t.” You think he’s standing closer to you now. “I just uh, I wanted to talk to you. You’ve been…” he moves his head from side to side, “a little tense.”

You let out an exaggerated gasp. “Really? You don’t say?”

He frowns. Like a kid who doesn’t understand why you’re taking away his cookies.

“Art, how did you think I was gonna act? After what…” you lower your voice, “after what we did,” you hiss.

His hand grasps your shoulder. “Hey.” He squeezes it. “I told you it was fine.”

You scoff. “So we just pretend it didn’t happen?”

“I didn’t say that. I told you, I wanted you.”

“And that makes it okay?” You crane your head back to stare at him.

He turns his head in the direction of the kitchen before letting out a sigh and bringing his eyes back to bore into yours. “Yeah. For me, it does.” You don’t think you’ve ever seen the intensity settled in his gaze the way it is now.

You look at him with disbelief. “Art. You’re married.”

He blinks at you.

“Your wife is literally sitting outside watching our children play.” You try to get him to see how wrong this is. “Doesn’t that mean anything to you?” You didn’t think Art could be so cold about this.

“It didn’t mean anything when she cheated on me.” His voice is steady, but there’s something undeniably hidden behind his hardened expression. You can’t place it, but whatever it is, it makes your brows soften.

“What?” You say lamely.

“You heard me.”

Your mouth opens. Then closes. That time when he’d told you he understood, he actually had. And you hadn’t believed him.

You want to inquire more, but he interrupts you. “Listen, I’m not really up to rehashing the fails of my marriage right now,” he says, reaching to grab your hand. You let him. “Just know that you don’t need to feel guilty. About anything.”

His fingers gently tilt your chin to look him in the eyes. “And know that everything we did that night was something I’ve wanted for awhile. Something I still want.”

Your eyes impulsively dart to his lips.

“Please tell me I can touch you,” he all but whimpers.

And at that moment, you know you really aren’t a good person. Because it only takes a matter of seconds for you to lean forward and catch Art’s lips as his head moves towards you. You bring your hands around the back of his neck as his arms snake around your waist. His warm hand presses against your hip before traveling up until he reaches your ribcage. You sigh into his mouth and thread your fingers through his hair. It didn’t take long for you to get lost in him, abandoning any form of restraint.

Despite the tenderness seeping through your fingertips, the kiss is rushed. It’s filled with lust and the desperation of two people, frantically trying to get as much as they can from the other. You whimper when you feel Art’s teeth dig into your bottom lip. One hand drags up to cup your breast, and the other moves to grip your ass, squeezing it. With an arch of your back, you let your head loll backwards a bit as Art’s pink tongue swirls around yours. He grunts out a small fuck when his thumb brushes over your clothed nipple and you moan. The action brings up flashes of him pressing his mouth to your breasts that night in the parking lot. You recall the way he sucked on them and played with your clit through your damp panties. The memory goes straight to your core.

Suddenly, Art pauses to glance towards the kitchen, as if weighing his options. You can feel him pressed up against you hard. And a part of you clenches when he turns back to you, grins, and whispers “fuck it” before attacking your mouth again. You let out a sound of surprise when you feel him ushering you back to the bathroom.

The lock clicks behind you as he presses you up against the door. His hands are everywhere and his tongue is following in quick succession. You’re so overwhelmed by it all that you can barely figure out where to place your hands. You settle for his shoulders as he falls to his knees in front of you.

Art spreads your legs, pressing his face into the side of your inner thigh. His nose and parted mouth travel up your thigh, bunching up the fabric of your knitted dress the higher he gets. Your stomach clenches when his hands come to caress the back of your thighs and make their way over your behind. In one swift motion, Art shoves his fingers into the waistband of your panties and tugs them harshly down your thighs.

His name tumbles out of your mouth in a gasp. He lightly hums to himself as he rids you of the extra material, and you don’t notice him place them into his pocket because your eyes are shut tight at the feeling of his wet mouth trailing up your thigh again.

When you feel a puff of warm air hit your lips, your eyes fly open, and you instinctively grip your dress to get a better look. Art’s eyes are closed as he unabashedly inhales your scent. After a particularly deep breath, his tongue comes out to lick against your folds. He releases a shaky exhale that tickles your clit. His blue eyes open up to peer at you, silently pleading for permission. You could almost laugh at the ridiculousness of him needing your permission when he’s already fucked you once and just forced himself between your legs, literally yanking your underwear down.

Still, he waits with his mouth mere centimeters from your heat, glassy eyes wide, looking to you to grant him this.

It’s possibly the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen. You place your fingers in his hair firmly and lower yourself onto his waiting mouth. The groan Art releases into your pussy resonates through your entire core. Your head falls back against the door as he begins to eat your cunt like he’s been starving for it.

He hungrily laps at your soaking entrance, dragging his tongue up to your clit and back again. He’s a messy eater. Letting your juices coat his chin without a care in the world. Shoving his tongue so deep into you that his nose is flush with you. It makes your stomach flutter. The intensity and risk of being caught transports you to a time when you might’ve hid in a closet with your high school crush. Except the head was never this good.

You’re grinding your swollen clit into his nose as his tongue fucks into your hole when he grabs your thigh, placing it over his shoulder. The position lets him shove his face deeper into the apex of your thighs, moaning against you. At this rate, you’re not sure who’s enjoying this more. You start to feel dizzy, your senses overwhelmed with the feel of Art’s tongue and the sound of his groaning mixed with filthy slurping noises. It’s obscene the way he’s switching between licking into your hole and sucking at your clit.

“Ah-Art I’m gonna—,”

“Mmhm,” he nods into your cunt. He’s lost in it. He’s gripping your ass, kneading the flesh, when his tongue dips downward. He spreads your cheeks. You jolt when you feel something hot and wet swirl around your tight muscle. You’re surprised at how good it feels, your ex would never have done that to you.

Your mouth falls open. “Oh godddd,” you’re tugging his hair, pulling his ears, anything your hands can find purchase on.

Your thighs tremble as Art mercilessly sucks on your clit. The orgasm that washes over you has you lifting your back off the wooden door, vision gone black.

Art doesn’t let up. You have to push his head away from you to get him to release your overstimulated clit. He stumbles back on his heels, thighs spread, with a giant grin on his face. His chin is glistening and his lips are swollen and red. As you work to catch your breath, you notice that the front of his pants are soaked.

ᯓ

Art sends you out first. He has to change his jeans after he basically came from merely eating you out. The thought makes you giggle.

When you get to the table, only Patrick is there. You sit down, but you must look confused because he tells you Tashi had to take a call.

You nod.

“She left pretty soon after you went inside.” He takes a puff from his cigarette.

“Okay,” you say and smooth out your dress.

He blows out a cloud of smoke and tilts his head. He smiles at you like he knows exactly what you’ve been up to.

It makes you gulp.

“Where’s Art?” He asks, eyes twinkling.

“I uh…I don’t know,” you lie. “He disappeared after he showed me to the bathroom.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Oh.”

You can’t take the scrutiny. To keep from fidgeting with your hands, you reach for your neglected mimosa and take a sip.

Patrick puts out his cigarette. He looks over to the kids who are now taking turns throwing pebbles across the pond. It looks like Lily is beating Kaleb, but he’s determined to throw his further.

Patrick’s voice cuts through the air. “Hey.” He leans forward on his elbows and smirks, “was he good?”

You cough. “What?”

He laughs at your sputtering. “Oh my god. You let him fuck you, didn’t you??”

“Excuse me!” You look at him aghast.

“Oh come on,” he slightly sobers up. “I can keep a secret.” He mimics a zipper on his lips.

Thankfully, Art decides to finally rejoin you, saving you from having to respond to Patrick’s interrogation.

He sits down in the seat beside you, placing his hand on your thigh under the table. “He’s not bothering you, is he?” But he looks at Patrick as he asks the question.

Patrick scoffs. “No, we were just talking.”

Art looks at you as if to ask you to confirm. So, you nod. “Mmhm, everything’s fine.”

He looks you over then leans back in his seat, relenting. “So, where’s Tashi?”

As if on cue, you hear the door on the opposite side of the patio open as Tashi lets out a sigh. She plops down in her seat across from Art.

“I swear if I want shit done right I have to do it myself.”

She goes on to complain about how her team had fucked up Patrick’s upcoming campaign. If you’re being honest, the conversation is the last thing on your mind right now. Their voices fade out as you get stuck in your head.

You wonder just how much Patrick knew about you and Art. Had Art told him? Had he bragged about how easy you were to his best friend? Is that why Patrick’s been hitting on you all day?

It dawns on you that Art and Patrick might think you’re just a slut. The thought makes your stomach twist in humiliation. But some part of you feels excited by the idea. The thought that you could exist as a free sexual being. God is this what happens when you’re divorced and sexually dissatisfied for years?

The sound of someone clearing their throat steals you from your thoughts. You look up to see all three of them staring at you expectantly.

“I’m sorry?”

Art chuckles at your blatant inattention. It reminds him of the way you’d zone out when the PTA meetings ran over and Nancy couldn’t stop yapping.

“I promise, we do talk about more than just tennis.”

“Oh it’s fine,” you shrug.

Patrick laughs. “He’s lying. Neither of them can hold a conversation without bringing up tennis.”

Tashi rolls her eyes in his direction. “Patrick, you shouldn’t even be here right now. Shut up.”

You try to stifle your giggle at her dismissal of Patrick. Though her words drip with disdain, they lack any real malice. And if anything, Patrick’s smile grows wider the deeper she furrows her brows. You figure their bickering must also be characteristic of their tennis relationship.

“Also, I just know he was probably annoying the hell out of you while I was gone.” She tips her glass in Art’s direction. “Art here can barely keep him in check.”

“Okay, that’s not—“

Before Art can defend himself, Patrick cuts in. “Actually, I was just asking her out on a date,” he smirks at you. “Isn’t that right?”

His smile is daring you to disagree, and you realize he’s challenging you.

You clear your throat. “Yeah he did,” you say, peeking at Art. He looks like a disapproving father. Arms folded and mouth set in a hard line. “And I told him no,” you continue. “Because right now, I’m not interested in dating. I’d rather focus on me and my kid.”

Tashi smirks. “Yeah Patrick, no one needs your parasitic ass preying on them once they’ve already ditched deadweight.” She must realize her bluntness as her eyes lift to yours. “Sorry, I’m just saying.”

“It’s alright,” you laugh. Your ex was deadweight. You find yourself staring at your clasped hands. Your amusement at her comment had been genuine, but that’s the problem. For someone that just fucked this woman’s husband, you’re a little too comfortable in Tashi’s presence. Your lack of all encompassing guilt is concerning. Maybe it’s because you’ve had three mimosas.

Yeah. It’s definitely the mimosas.

You suppose that once reality sets in, it may all come crashing down on you. So, you enjoy the feeling for now. Besides, after lunch today, you intend to never sleep with Art Donaldson again.

ᯓ

Following that Saturday lunch, you proceed to fuck Art Donaldson after almost every PTA meeting. You two find yourselves in the back of your car screwing like rabbits with your clothes halfway on or in the front seat of his, you riding him while he tries not to slam you into the dashboard.

The night you have to throw Kaleb’s booster seat into the front as Art works to pull down your pants from behind is the night you decide this can no longer go on. Or more specifically, that fucking in a car is impractical.

Art convinces you to meet him at a hotel instead. You two get the same room each time, and even though you promise that you’re going to stop, you find yourself checking into that hotel room every weekend. If not there, Art comes to your place. It becomes your regular form of self care after a long week of work.

Kaleb has to start spending time with his father anyway, so you let him have Saturdays and Sundays. If nothing makes you feel better about your son hanging out with your ex and his new fiancée, it’s being able to forget it all with Art.

Unfortunately, the guilt begins to build a home for itself in your gut. Any time you aren’t being fucked by Art, you’re beating yourself up about it, swearing that you’ll never let it happen again. Never in your life have you experienced this much anguish over something. Yet, it’s a fascinating cycle of faux repression. The way you deny yourself out of some self-righteous need to be perceived as a good person, only to eventually give into your true desires when being a good person makes you feel utterly miserable.

It’s almost the same every time. Art will reach out to you. You tell him never to dial your number again. You feel bad, so you go to apologize. Then, you inevitably fuck him. But you hate yourself for fucking him, but you do it again because his cock is the only thing that makes you feel better.

It’s utterly ridiculous.

It’s also ridiculous that you can’t set firm boundaries with him. After the first hotel meeting, you nearly cried when you woke up cocooned within his arms. It was wrong. You’d already slept with him, cuddling was too far. It was too domestic.

You told yourself you wouldn’t let that happen anymore.

Yet, here you are again, trapped beneath his muscled arm. Except this time, he’s in your bed. And his face is buried in the crook of your neck, his mouth slightly parted for his warm breath to kiss your skin. The rise and fall of his chest against your back threatens to lull you back to sleep. You fight your heavy eyelids and shuffle to raise Art’s arm enough to slip out of.

You prop yourself against the headboard and stare out of the window. The leaves are starting to lose their green hue, and some have already fallen to the ground. Fall has always been your favorite time of year. Though the change in season isn’t as dramatic as the melting of icicles going into spring, the transition from summer heat to autumn has a way of slipping up on you.

One day, it’s unbearably hot, and you’re dreaming of when the air might catch a cool breeze, and the next, you’re reaching for a jacket because, though the days are still warm, the nights are getting cooler. And then one day, you’re peering out of your window to see that the leaves have changed color, and they’ve all fallen.

When you look back at Art, his blue eyes are already staring back at you. You wonder when he woke up. He has that small sleepy smile on his face, and his eyes are slightly swollen, and he’s reaching to wrap his arms around your waist and nuzzle his head into your lap. And you glance at the leaves from the trees and realize they aren’t the only ones that have fallen.

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃

a/n: let me know what you guys think of this part! I think I have about two more parts for pta!Art and reader because a bit of drama is about to unfold. *rubs hands together like an insect*

Part iii

[gentlemensmuse]

Uncovered (Providence)