#tashi Duncan fanfic

[yameoto]

COACH KNOWS BEST. ART, TASHI, PATRICK.

synopsis; you fucked up an important match. your punishment? a one-on-one match against patrick zweig. in your tiny tennis skirt. without your underwear. don't worry, baby. it's a private court.

✗ warnings ; coach!artashi, protégé!reader, dom!art/tashi/patrick, dubcon, foursome, double penetration, unhealthy power dynamics, large age-gap, slutshaming, exhibition, humiliation, sex on tennis courts, anal (you only have so many holes). this is NOT a classy party.

"DO i really have to wear this?" you hiss, indignant. fruitlessly attempting to tug your skirt down—if you could even call it that. a flimsy scrap of fabric, more like. (god, you think maybe it was tashi's when she was what—eleven?).

the hem just barely skims over your upper thighs. you can feel a goddamn breeze between your legs. you're eternally grateful for art and tashi, really, but this is fucking insane��

no— it's fine. it's fine. they’re your coaches, they know best.

"maybe if you hadn't fucked up that last volley." tashi scolds, harsh — her tough love familiar. though, there's a delighted glint to her eyes as you subconsciously squeeze your thighs together, trying your best to ignore the fact your ass is peeking out from under the bottom. your cheeks flare red.

“it’s a private tennis court.” art reassures, the warmth of his palm on your shoulder being far less comforting than normal. you scowl at the ground, knuckles clenching tight around your racket.

"oh, don't be so skittish. he's not that good." tashi coos, as if facing patrick zweig is the reason you're shifting your weight from foot to foot, hand squeezed determinedly at your crotch. tashi smiles. cradles your jaw, fingers swiping along your bottom lip—bitten raw and glossy. "just play your best." an hour later, and you’re not playing your best. you can’t play your fucking best—because with every movement, every hop, skip, and fucking jump; your skirt is fluttering upward and flashing your bare cunt to patrick motherfucking zweig.

this is hell. hell.

you're stiff as you move about the court, hyper-aware of the feeling of wind rushing between your legs. you’re sluggish in your pace—far too pre-occupied with yanking your skirt down every few seconds rather than actually focusing on the match.

how can you? especially when patrick's staring at you like he's trying to rip your thighs apart with his eyes. art and tashi are no better. you jump to return a ball, and your skirt flies up; displaying your ass spectacularly. you almost get whiplash with how fast you go rigid. “open up your form.” tashi chimes in. you shoot her a desperate, pleading look. she just arches a brow, expression impassive—though you don't miss the subtle quirk to her lips. she’s enjoying this. suppressing a whine, you broaden your stance obediently—legs sliding apart on the court. patrick's pupils dilate, and he not-so-subtly presses the hilt of his racket into his groin.

you swallow, hard. his eyes seem to follow that, too.

you're about to serve, before art’s voice cuts in from the sidelines—soft, low and yet—effortlessly authoritative.

"lower."

heat floods up to your ears. you bend down, feeling the fabric of your skirt hike even higher up your exposed asscheeks. you direct him a desperate glance, eyes wide—a bid for approval.

art smiles. "lower." a low whimper slips from your lips, but you obey because they're your coaches, of course you'll do what they say. patrick grunts in barely concealed disappointment as the front of your skirt drapes further over your cunt. your blush is violent. fuck, you look like the intro to a porno; back arched, ass perked so high the goddamn sun is warming your cheeks. you want to crawl into a hole and die.

though, when you finally risk a glance back; the feeling turns into a strangely pleasant heat, unfurling in your gut. tashi's eyes are lidded, sunglasses slid halfway down her nose. art's pupils are so dark his eyes have lost their blue. his thighs are quivering.

"good girl." tashi purrs. you shiver, and you almost drop your racket. "

"oh, fuck this." patrick growls, and then all of a sudden his racket has clattered to the ground and he's lunging for you—two hands clumsily seizing your hips and shoving you to the ground. he doesn't even have to hike up your skirt. his knee is shoved up between your legs, meaning he has full access to everything. he stares, greedy—and you stare back; specifically at the way the swollen tip of his cock hangs out from the side of his shorts. his slit drools, and a fat glob of pre-cum splats on your thigh.

he shrugs at the way your jaw drops—wry grin splitting his lips. "what? didn't want you to feel left out."

"patrick." art stands, voice low with rare warning. possessiveness. patrick only shoots back a broad smirk—lifting his hand up to give him the finger—before sticking up his index and wagging it in a stupidly lewd motion. if possible, it makes your cheeks glow even hotter than they already are—it's type of thing boys your age would do, not a grown-ass man.

"what, man? you can't tell me this isn't exactly what you wanted."

art scowls, though he doesn't say anything—the massive hard-on he's sporting speaks for itself. tashi's expression is unreadable from behind her shades; but nothing ever happens without tashi's say so.

"dude, she's so wet." patrick grins, and to your rising horror—you are. he spits on his palm before roughly thumbing the slick down your thighs, smearing, before popping it in his mouth. he swirls his tongue over the nub of his thumb, waggling his brows.

"of course she is." tashi hums, and a whine tears from your throat. shaking your head adamantly because for some reason tashi’s instantaneous, patronising nod of assent makes you feel more like a whore than patrick’s fingers sliding up your skirt. no, no. i don't. it's sweat. i swear, swear to god—

before the slew of protests can find its way out of your throat; three fingers are shoving themselves up your cunt and you gasp—back thrashing against hot concrete.

“oh, you didn't want this?” tashi’s voice drawls, low and slow and deliberate in your ear, hips rolling into yours. you whine, drawing a white-hot blank as her fingers slide deeper into your cunt, “because i don't see any tennis players on the court. just a couple of sluts.”

you barely even register patrick's aggrieved "hey!" from offside, the unfairness of it all bubbling up in your stomach and dizzying your head because what the fuck— that's not— you made me— but you can't force the words out; not when you can feel two hands wrest behind you by the shoulders. the feeling of callouses against your skin familiar—disarming. you whimper, a plea for salvation. "art—"

''shush." art hisses, roughly seizing the band of your tennis skirt and jerking it entirely up your mid-riff, so you're completely exposed waist-down. your eyes blow wide at the humid air that rushes against your crotch—back arching when his hand snakes under your top and pinches at your nipples.

"i'm surprised you even bothered with these." he remarks as he shoves your bra aside, not unkindly—but hardly considerate either, with the way his fingers squeeze and pinch and twist meanly. your knees almost buckle from under you.

not that they can, not with patrick holding you up by the backs of your thighs, shorts slid midway down his thighs. his cock throbs, swollen and needy as he pushes his groin up against yours. "m'shocked you even let me through the gates," patrick hums, and you don't have to look to know he's breathing down art's neck. "to break your little rookie in, no less." he's so cocky, spit flecking your pussy—talking like you aren't even there.

you squirm, but art is groping your tits and patrick is wrenching your legs apart and tashi has thrust a fourth finger up your pussy and fuuuuck—your limbs are reduced to jelly. thrust and tied up on a ridiculously hot torture wrack; tugged and pulled and twisted in three directions at once.

"not so fucking fast—the deal was if you won. you didn't fucking win." that's tashi. her fingers curl harshly, knuckles pressing against your walls. you take in a shuddering breath, eyes rolling back into your head.

"what the fuck? that's so unfair." patrick's voice is an indignant whine as tashi yanks him back by the hair. "i was winning! how the hell was i supposed to control myself—" you can feel his hands clamping over your ass, rough and domineering. his dick insistently wedges into the corner between your thigh and folds, as if trying to force entry.

"maybe if you had a little self-discipline, for once—"

"oh, that's fuckin' rich of you to say, making her come out here and—"

"shut up." art pants, low and hot in your ear, and you almost forgot he was there. you don't know how, with the way he's grinding his length furiously against your bare ass—damp in the way you know he's already creamed his pants already. his fingers wrest the nub of your nipple at the same time that patrick brute-forces his way inside your cunt. your body contorts between the three of them—a choked, rattled cry ripping from your throat and sending your vision dancing into spots. for a terrifying, blissful moment, your brain empties completely.

"god—" patrick grunts, shoving himself deeper, nails digging into the flesh of your ass as he pounds, with great effort. tashi's eyes flash with annoyance, though she doesn't physically wrench him off. not one to be one-upped; the next time art bucks his hips, you realise he's ditched the pants entirely—head of his cock dragging against the crease of your ass. it's a slick, slow friction—tender—dripping a glistening trail down your crack. and then, his hips snap back, and then he's plunging into your hole—the wet, slapping sound of his balls against your ass almost as loud as patrick's moans as he stuffs your pussy full. the two ram into you with vicious ferocity—like they're seeing who can come inside you first.

it hurts it hurts it hurts. as if the insides of your body have been set alight, limbs writhing uselessly—a bubbling, curdling heat deep in your belly. but it also feels good, somehow. when your head lolls forward, boneless and fuzzy; you can see the way your stomach distends with each of patrick and art’s brutal thrusts. the outlines of their cocks, cramming into you—fierce, desperate. tashi can see too, clearly. her free hand delicately runs over your abdomen—nails scraping. you can’t even gasp at the cool sensation. not when you’ve felt fuller than you ever have in your life.

it’s just like tennis. just like tennis. no pain, no gain—right?

art comes first, because of course he does. letting out a soft, keening hiss of his own as he slams his hips into you, palm squeezing your tits so hard you think you're about to burst. he shoots his load into you with a choked whine. he doesn't pull out—doesn't want to abandon the tight warmth of your hole, hugging his cock like the world’s prettiest little fleshlight. he simply fucks back into you with a blissful groan. slowly, painfully, knees quivering as his seed squirts out with every thrust.

patrick is louder when he does it; grunting with a guttural "mmf— fuck!" hips stuttering jerkily as a torrent of sticky warmth floods into you, oozing out from between his cock and tashi's fingers. it dribbles down your legs and spatters wet splotches against the tennis court. you can't even speak anymore, lips parting in wordless gulps of air.

that's when tashi yanks her fingers out from you—strings of cum trawling, stretching out of your pussy as she does so. you don't even have time to mourn the loss before art's stuffing you full of his dick again and tashi is cramming her warm, wet fingers in your mouth.

art is simply jerking in slow, torturous movements, and tashi is sliding her hand so far down your throat you almost choke. she smiles. "suck." it’s an order—not that she has to. you're already wrapping your tongue around her digits, mindless and drooling. patrick slumps between your knees, tongue greedily lapping at the spurts of his cum lazily dribbling from your pussy, in time with art's thrusts.

the concrete sizzles against your back, sun warming your limbs—dried cum smeared on your cheek. you feel dizzy, you feel good. warm. this is everything you've ever wanted—everything you‘ve ever needed.

(your coaches really do know best.)

[sceletaflores]

Advantage, Duncan.

pairing: stanford!tashi duncan x fem!reader

summary: tashi duncan doesn’t get on her knees for anyone, but she did for you. after that night she knew there wasn’t a chance in hell she’d let you slip away from her.

—or: tashi needs you to understand that she doesn't give a fuck about patrick.

word count: 2.7k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, girl kissing, oral (fem!receiving), fingering (only barely but fem!receiving), somewhat public sex (in a locker room lmao), cheating but not really, love confessions kind of, lowkey manipulative!tashi but barely, patrick getting shit on like always, porn with a dash of plot, no use of y/n.

author’s note: back on my wlw cheater bullshit! so glad to be here! i centered this whole fic around a locker room sex scene. it just sort of spiraled into this cause you know i love being messy. once again no one requested this i'm being selfish lmao but i need more tashi fics on my masterlist! hope you love it! okay bye mwah xoxo.

Tashi’s sneakers squeak quietly as she makes her way back to the locker room. Sweat drying on her brow and adrenaline still buzzing in her veins despite the match being over. It was an easy win, Northridge had been slipping down the ranks the longer the season went on and the girl had a shit backhand.

The first thing Tashi did after shaking hands and posing for pictures was text you. She left the locker room door cracked open for you. The thought of you sitting there alone waiting patiently for her behind that door made her almost giddy enough to skip the rest of the way down the hall.

This was something like a tradition for you guys now, meeting in the locker room after her matches. Something that started a little after the two of you met a couple months ago. It was the last tournament she had before the fall semester started. The court was owned by some snobby Northern California country club that your dad happened to be president of. He stuck you in the ball crew for the summer so he could watch you keep you busy and make sure you stayed out of trouble, joke's on him. 

You were the first thing she noticed the second she stepped on the court, but how could she not? You in your cute flowy linen shorts and matching white top. A light blue visor strapped to your head. Tashi immediately got why guys have that primal, desperate urge to impress pretty girls they just met. She showed off more in that match than she had in a long time, running the girl on the other end of the court ragged.

Tashi wanted you to notice her, to see how dominating she was, to be impressed by her. Every time she hit a perfect shot, her eyes would dart to you, checking if you were watching, and you were. 

You were practically gawking at her, eyes all wide and admiring as your head snapped back and forth with every smack of the ball. 

It was perfect, you were gravitating towards her more with every new set exactly like she wanted you to. By the time she won you were watching her with stars in your eyes, gaze trailing after her every move like you were a sunflower and she was the sun. And even though lots of people have looked at her that way, you were the only one she looked back at. It made Tashi’s skin buzz with something she’d never felt outside of tennis. 

She was swept away for pictures and press before she could talk to you, but there was a party later that night thrown in honor of the players at the club's banquet hall. Tashi was standing at the bar when you slid up next to her, introducing yourself with adoration swirling in your eyes and a shy smile on your glossy lips. Tashi let herself smile right back as she shook your hand for a little longer than normal.

Two hours later and she had you in one of the hall’s many bathrooms with your Dior dress hiked up around your hips and her tongue on your pussy. She can still remember every detail of that moment. The fruity notes of your perfume, the way you tasted, how sweetly you moaned her name with your voice so breathy and desperate.

Tashi Duncan doesn’t get on her knees for anyone, but she did for you. After that night she knew there wasn’t a chance in hell she’d let you slip away from her.

Now, as she pushed open the locker room door and saw you sitting on the long bench in the center of the room, just like always, she felt a surge of possessiveness and longing. The sight of you waiting for her, so patient and devoted, made something dangerously close to love burn hot in her chest.

“Took you long enough,” you tease, standing up to greet her. You’re wearing one of her shirts, DUNCANATOR stretched across your chest in blocky red letters.

She dropped her bag at her feet, quickly crossing the room until she was close enough to pull you into a tight hug, burying her face in your neck. She was still sweaty but you didn’t care, arms coming up to wrap around her shoulders.

“I missed you,” she murmured, her voice a little too intense, her grip a little too tight. 

You laugh, your hands giving her shoulders a tiny squeeze. “It’s only been like an hour, Tash.” 

An hour felt like a whole year to her at this point. Tashi hated being away from you, hated not knowing what you were doing, who you were with, what you were thinking. She wanted to be the center of your world, just like you were so quickly becoming the center of hers. Steadily elbowing tennis inch by inch just to try and make enough room in her heart for something else. 

Tashi pulled away from you, taking a second to scan her eyes over your face. You were so beautiful, so perfect and sweet for her. She raised her hand to cup the side of your face, thumb swiping across the skin of your cheekbone a few times. You were flushed from sitting out in the sun, skin warm and soft to the touch.

She leans in without thinking, pressing her lips against yours. You taste like coconut lip balm and Pepsi. Tashi’s hand tightens its hold on your waist, pulling you in impossibly closer. She felt you sigh contently against her lips, lazily kissing back as easy as anything. Tashi felt like if she focused hard enough, that she could feel your heartbeat pounding where your chest met hers.

She swipes her tongue across your bottom lip, her hands making their way down to the small of your back to slip her fingertips under the waistband of your shorts. Your lips parted the slightest bit before you were pulling away with a small whine, pushing off her shoulders to create distance between the two of you. Tashi let her hands fall from your body as you take a small step backwards, immediately missing the warmth you took with you.

She was confused by the sudden shift in your mood until she saw the look on your face. The absolute picture of guilt, your brows furrowed enough to make a tiny crease in the middle of your forehead with your lip drawn between your teeth. Your eyes are droopy and sad as you wearily gaze at her from a few feet away. Tashi suppresses the overwhelming urge to sigh, brow raised as she stares back at you, waiting.

“I…” you trail off, wrapping your arms around yourself slowly. “I actually needed to talk to you, Tashi.”

‘Here we go.’ She thinks dryly, internally rolling her eyes. She can already tell she’s going to have to talk you down, again. She really should have expected this, you bringing up Patrick, you’ve done it enough times to be a trend. It’s been so long since the last time you said anything she was hoping you finally dropped it, apparently not.

Tashi doesn’t respond right away, just tilting her head slightly as she watches you. You shuffle uncomfortably in place, your eyes looking anywhere but her. She can see you take a steadying breath, trying to hype yourself up before you speak again.

“This is wrong,” Your voice is unconvincing, meek and soft. Tashi would laugh if she didn’t want to hurt your feelings. “What we’re doing, it’s wrong. It’s not fair to poor Patrick.”

It’s almost funny, how genuine you're being, how bad you truly feel for Patrick.

Poor, poor Patrick. Yeah fucking right. 

‘Poor Patrick’ is on tour right now probably sticking his dick in anyone that’ll let him. He’s nothing. A momentary lapse in judgment when you and Tashi went a few weeks without talking. She was hurt and vulnerable, two things she’s not used to feeling. She needed to feel in control of something again to stop her from going crazy, Patrick was easy enough.

When the two of you started talking again, she shut that shit down immediately. She was reminded of what a monumental waste of time Patrick is and pushed him to the furthest, most unimportant corner of her brain. She didn’t need him anymore, not when she had you again.

Tashi finally lets out a small sigh, more out of impatience than exasperation. She steps closer, her gaze hardening. "You really think he cares?" Her voice is low, controlled, but there's an edge to it. "Patrick doesn't need your pity. He's fine. He always is."

Your eyes widen at her words, the guilt on your face deepening. "But—"

“No.” Tashi cuts you off sharply, jaw set stubbornly. “Listen to me, Patrick is nothing. He’s just dick. He’ll never be more than just dick.” She takes another step towards you, closing the gap you made. “He doesn’t care about us, about this.” She motions between the two of you, her voice raising slightly as she speaks.

You swallow hard, arms tightening around yourself defensively as you stare at her with watery eyes. 

Tashi's whole demeanor softens, the anger draining from her body at the hurt look on your face. She would never speak to you like that, it’s just Patrick that really pisses her off. He’s not even here and he’s still managing to fuck with her. She steps even closer, her hand reaching out to gently lift your chin, forcing you to look at her. 

Your name falls from her lips, warm and wrapped in velvet, her thumb traces along your bottom lip slowly. "We have something real," she whispers fiercely, grip tightening on your chin just a fraction. "Something he could never understand. Don't let him ruin that. Don't let him ruin us."

You nod slowly, eyes big and shiny with unshed tears. It’s not good enough, Tashi can tell that you’re still apprehensive. You’re still worried, still guilty even with her reassurance. She can’t have that. If she doesn’t get you to drop this, you’ll let it consume you enough to try something stupid, like leaving her. Tashi refuses to let that even be an option.

If she can’t convince you with words, she can convince you through her actions. 

Tashi needs to drive home the point that sparing Patrick’s feelings isn’t something you need to be worried about, clearly tough love isn’t going to work on you. If she has to get on her knees to help make you understand, then she will.

She leans in slowly, pressing a small kiss to the corner of your mouth. Your breath catches slightly, held for only a second before you finally relax. Not completely, just enough for her to feel it. She keeps going, dragging kisses from your cheek up to your ear.

“Patrick is nothing compared to you.” she whispers directly into your ear, dropping your chin to start sliding her hand slowly down your front. “You’re so much better than him,” her hand stops at the hem of your shorts, tugging the button open with one sharp yank. You gasp sharply, hand flying up to grip her bicep tightly. Your eyes flick to the door, open and unlocked, but you’re not pushing her away, not trying to stop her. 

Tashi leans down, trailing kissing across the soft skin of your throat. “You’re everything.” She slips her hand into your shorts and down the front of your soft panties, her fingertips barely graze the slick skin of your pussy before you’re moaning.

“Fuck.” your hand squeezes her arm tighter, nails digging little crescent moons into her skin as she slides her index finger through the wetness gathering at your entrance. 

You’re so wet, completely drenching her hand in seconds. She teases you, barely pushing her finger past your tight hole as she licks a dirty stripe up the center of your throat. You whine, a desperate, too loud noise that bounces off the walls. Slowly, she breaches your entrance, sinking her finger up to the knuckle in the tight warmth of your pussy.

She watches you, takes in the needy look on your pretty face. So worked up for a single finger, so desperate for it that your hips cant down to get her deeper inside you. The wet squelch of her finger thrusting in and out of you sounds even dirtier, amplified by the room's echo. 

“You’re so beautiful.” Her tone is soft but final, like she’s stating a fact. She stares at you as she fucks her finger faster in and out of your fluttering pussy, gaze intense and unwavering. You stare back like a deer in headlights, silent except for the sharp pants falling from your slick, parted lips. That’s okay, you don’t need to do any of the talking anyway.

Tashi nips at the sensitive skin of your collarbone once before she’s dropping to her knees on the cold concrete. Her greedy hands gripping the waistband of your shorts and yanking them down your legs roughly, your lilac panties quickly follow. You gasp sharply, the cool air of the room hitting your bare pussy. “Tash-” 

Tashi cuts you off, leaning forward to slip your clit between her lips. You throw your head back, your loud moan echoing through the room. She swirls her tongue over the sensitive skin of your clit, exactly how you like it. You’re already so worked up, she knows this won’t take long.

Her mouth works you over expertly, licking and sucking and mouthing hungrily at your dripping pussy. She teases the tip of her tongue along your clenching hole, so desperate to be filled by the strap sitting in a old box on the highest shelf of her closet. Her thighs clench at the thought, you bouncing on her dick, wrecked and spent on the sheets of her bed. She pushes the idea to the back of her mind, you always have later for that. Right now, she’s focused on making you come on her tongue. 

Tashi can tell you’re getting close. Your breathing changes, gets heavier, even more little moans and whines falling from your lips each time her nose presses against your clit just right. Your fingers slide into her hair as you start to roll your hips, chasing her mouth. 

“God, Tashi–!” Your thighs shake on either side of her head, hands twisting her hair in your grip roughly. “Shit, yes–fuck! I’m gonna come–” Your hips start to grind against her tongue even faster as you got closer to the edge.

Tashi lets you use her face to get off, her hands sliding up and down the side of your thighs soothingly as you come. She works you through your orgasm, her tongue sliding along your sensitive skin until you’re physically pulling her away.

Tashi presses one last kiss to your hip before she stands, pulling your shorts and panties back up your legs as she does. You’re still trying to catch your breath, leaning up against the lockers as she buttons your zipper for you. Your face is flushed and sweaty, your eyes are glossed over and hazy. She smiles, giving you a soft kiss with your release still coating her lips and tongue. You kiss back regardless, slow and sweet like molasses. 

Tashi pulls away first, giving your cheek a quick tap before stepping away to pick up her bag up off the floor. “Come on,” she offers you her hand, nodding her head towards the door. “Let’s go get frozen yogurt.” 

You smile, making your way across the room to slide your hand into hers. Tashi goes to push the door open, but you stay in place, tugging her hand back. When she turns to face you, there’s a look on your face she hasn’t seen before. “You’re everything too.” 

Your tone is so sincere, so genuine that she feels her heart grow three sizes. Your eyes sparkle as you stare at her like she’s a God. It’s exactly what she wanted. She smiles, giving your hand a hard squeeze and finally dragging you out of the locker room.

Duncan: Game, Set, Match.

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

[heartz4shauna]

being tashi’s controversially young lover >_<

warning: sexual implications

𝜗𝜚 is actually obsessed with you. she NEEDS to have your location at all times, other wise she’ll text you “where the fuck are you? i told you a million times before, you need to have your location on.”

𝜗𝜚 takes you to THE fanciest restaurants. you feel like you don’t fit in there but she always reassures you

𝜗𝜚 tells you not to post you both together on your socials, “you’ll get me in trouble.” she’ll explain. only makes you wanna post more though…

𝜗𝜚 you absolutely love watching her practice. she makes sure she grunts extra loud when she sees you 🫠🫠

𝜗𝜚 if either art or patrick were to say something about you to her, she’d be ready to fight. “what did you just say? keep her fucking name out of your mouth.”

𝜗𝜚 constantly buying you new fragrances. just so she can come up behind you and practically swallow you whole, “you smell so good, huh?” it gets you so flustered every time and she fucking loves it

𝜗𝜚 thinks it’s actually so hot when you wear her clothes. the I Told Ya shirt?? yeah it’s yours now

𝜗𝜚 she has a separate private insta for posting pictures of just you. you on dates, you at home, you in your most vulnerable moments.. the account only has a few followers. who are they? you, art and patrick of course

𝜗𝜚 hates the idea of sharing you. your hers and hers only apparently!

𝜗𝜚 basically your sugar mommy. she doesn’t mind spending her paycheck on you

𝜗𝜚 always has a stern look on her face when she looks at you but she’s actually just admiring your beauty

𝜗𝜚 prefers holding your waist over your hand

𝜗𝜚 keeps your relationship super lowkey of course. you two are very rarely seen in public together, the press thinks your just friends :P

[seduzist]

thinking abt being the controversial young trophy wife of tashi duncan.

cw: manipulation, toxic relationship, dubcon, age gap, smut (just a bit).

you were her fan before you guys got together and thats just one of the reasons why was so easy for her to manipulate you into being her cute housewife! you had your dreams abt a career in professional tennis but that didn’t really matter when you met tashi, because why try to be something else if she liked you the way you are, even if you were so young, even if you were naive and stupid? she convinced you that you didn’t needed anything but her and she would provide everything you needed, in exchange you just had to love her and keep her satisfied, tashi is all you need.

she’s so jealous of her wife, she hates the thought of you with someone else so you always have her by your side wherever you go, that’s way she keeps you close and prefers if you just see her and stay away from your family and friends, she’s all you need.

she’ll never force you to have sex! but tashi taught you to know better than denying her after everything she made for you, she married you, gave you a rich lifestyle, she provides everything you need and is so loyal and loving with you, you wouldn’t want her to change it just because you had a tiring day, right?

“that’s right.” she says, kissing your neck and passing her hand through your flat belly. “that’s my good girl, you know better than deny me, right?”

that’s just before she fucks you with her long fingers, chocking you and whispering how you could never leave her, how you had to stay just with her, how she loved you and your body, how lucky she was to have you as her little wife, how she loved your pretty stupid self “you would let me do whatever i fucking wanted with you, yeah? i bet you would, you’re just a stupid little whore for me, i love that so much baby, i love you.”

tashi couldn’t be more happy when you asked her to have kids, that’s the ultimate reason you would never leave her, even when she’s rude and mean after losing, even when she’s aggressive and treats you like an object, even when she says that’s better for you to stay away from your family and friends and be just with her, because she knows what’s good for you, tashi knows best, she knows exactly what a pretty young girl like you needs and she gives that to you, always.

[amymbona]

I need to be Tashi's long forgotten girlfriend that's not so forgotten. A girl that she used to date in Stanford after she broke up with Patrick and hurt her knee, before she married Art. A girl that had nothing to do with tennis, studied arts and always kept a notebook and a pen in her pocket.

A little lady who was such a sweet, soft thing for Tashi, never once raising her voice at her, docile and gentle, but also very indifferent to the world around her. Locked in her own tiny reality that she only allowed Tashi to be a part of. Tashi had found a completely new world with her, full of nothing but love and tenderness, no fake feelings or overexaggerated pity. Just a little bubble of two girls that make bracelets together and hold each other while falling asleep.

She hasn't seen you after Stanford, actually unsure why. You must have changed your phone number and moved states, perhaps you moved to the very other side of the world, for all she knows. But even now, years later, she can't help herself and think about you when Art is eating her pussy like a good lap dog. She taught you how to do that as well, and you used to be the most shy and tender little thing, afraid to suck too hard or stick your tongue too far, too afraid you would cause her any pain. That's why she's constantly pushing Art further, literally begging him to be violent with her. To bite and claw and suck and pull just so she could remember the warm softness of your plush lips.

You were such an ethereal being, perhaps too unreal. Perhaps you were just a fragment of her imagination, something she made up to help overcome the grief surrounding her injury and the loss of her boyfriend. The gentleness that she had received from you was such a gift. Nobody has treated her the way you did until you disappeared. Perhaps people were right. Perhaps Tashi is an awful human who doesn't deserve a single good thing in her life.

Years later, she meets Patrick in New Rochelle, bumping into him in the hotel lobby. The two bicker for a while, unable to act like two adults, until she notices a gold shining thing on the finger of his left hand. With a smirk so sharp that could slice her throat, he admits to have married a wonderful fairy, sweet little thing. That night, after her husband admits to wanting to retire, she irrationally threatens to leave him if he loses against Patrick in the next day's match. But feeling too guilty, unable to possibly divorce her lover, she goes to sleep with Patrick in exchange for his next day's loss.

Her whole world crumbles into smithereens when she sees Patrick stroll towards the court, hand in hand with a familiar, beautiful face. She's raging, absolutely livid, unable to believe that such an ugly ass man has married the most precious, delicate human to ever walk on this Earth. You haven't changed a bit, at least not overall. Your hair is a bit longer than she rememebers it and your lips are painted an unusual shade of red, too dark for your complexion. But the hearts in your eyes, now directed at Patrick, they still shine the same way that they used to when you glanced at her.

She basically runs towards the locker rooms, hoping not to bump into you, and there she quite literally gets on her knees and begs Patrick to win. Promises that she will buy him whatever he asks for, promises to let Art be his because she knows that Patrick has always loved Art and Tashi has always loved you. She cries too, allowing Patrick to laugh at her and make her look like a fool. At that point, she's absolutely pathetic, completely desperate for her sweet love, and she'd even let Patrick publically humiliate her if it meant you'd be the one wiping her tears away in the end.

It's always easier to win than to lose, so it's no surprise when Patrick completely demolishes Art. He leaves the blonde boy literally sobbing and the craddles him in his arms, promising that everything is going to be okay, that he'll take care of him after he retires. But is Tashi happy? She's unsure. You left her, after all, made a ghost of her presence. So for the first time in her life, she feels like a complete failure, hurriedly shuffling towards your and Patrick's hotel room, knowing your husband is too busy with her own.

You open the door with a soft smile, looking like an absolute goddess and greeting her like an old friend. As if nothing this absurd has happened ever before, you let her in and kiss her forehead. Tashi basically falls into your arms and holds onto you as if you're a dream that's going to disappear. She breathes in the gentle smell of your body and floats in the warmth of your skin. You're real, her sweet girl. You're real, holding her and calling her yours.

[fruitjoos]

sweet revenge

stanford!art x stanford!tashi x reader

summary: you and art broke up months ago, yet you still can’t get over him. he moved on a lot faster than you thought he would. if you were going to be miserable, so was she.

warnings angst, slight bullying, maybe? i guess

You stood by the court, arms crossed, the early evening sun casting long shadows over the freshly mown grass. The tennis balls bounced in time with your heartbeat as you watched them, Art and Tashi on the other side of the fence, in their own little world. He leaned in close, whispering something that made her laugh, her hand lightly swatting his chest in that playful, teasing way that used to be yours. They exchanged love taps, barely noticeable to anyone else, but to you, they were searing hot brands pressed into your skin.

You swallowed hard, your throat tight. You were supposed to be over this. Over him. It’s been months, months since the final, hollow “goodbye.” The final, “we’re not right for each other anymore.” Months since you swore you wouldn’t let him get to you again. But here you were, rooted in place, your chest tight with anger and pain, humiliation, longing. Why her? Why not you? Why did it seem so easy for him to move on, to laugh like that, to be happy?

Your hands balled into fists, nails digging into your palms as you turned away, unable to watch anymore. You hated the way he could still twist you up inside, the way seeing him happy with her made something bitter bloom in your chest. He was supposed to be yours, or at least the memory of him was. But watching him with Tashi only solidified one thing: it’s over. Really over. And it would never happen again. No second chances. No rewinds. You told yourself that over and over, but the mantra didn’t stick. Instead, it made your blood boil.

That’s when you started making Tashi’s life difficult. You couldn’t stop Art from moving on, but you could make sure she didn’t enjoy it. In the locker room after practice, you waited until she wasn’t looking, then scraped her expensive deodorants into the trash. You moved one of her tennis shoes to the opposite side of the locker room, making her late for warmups. You cut in front of her in line at lunch, bumping into her just enough to make her spill a drink. When she complained—oh, how you reveled in her complaints. You just ignored her, pretending you didn’t hear, didn’t care. You wanted her to feel what you felt: powerless, insignificant, alone.

But one day, Tashi went to Art. You didn’t see her that afternoon, but you heard from someone else that she’d been crying. And that, apparently, was enough to spark Art’s rage.

You didn’t expect to see him standing outside your lecture hall that day, not after all this time. His tall frame blocked the doorway, his expression dark as he waited for you to pack up. He didn’t say a word as you slung your bag over your shoulder, but when you walked toward the door, his hand shot out and grabbed your wrist. Hard. Hard enough to make you stop, hard enough to make your pulse skip in a way you hated to admit. The force of his grip sent a shiver up your arm, part fear, part something that still simmered just below the surface.

“Leave Tashi alone,” Art said, his voice low and sharp. His words were clipped, his anger barely restrained, and for a moment, you were stunned. Not by what he said, but by the way his touch still made your heart flutter. You hated that he still had this kind of hold over you, even after everything.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, batting your eyelashes and feigning innocence. You tried to pull your hand free, but he only tightened his grip. There was a flash of something in his eyes, something that told you he wasn’t buying it.

“Don’t play dumb with me,” he snapped, his voice rising slightly. “Tashi told me everything. The stupid deodorant thing, the shoes, bumping into her—” He listed off every petty, vindictive thing you’d done in the last few weeks, and you felt a slight satisfaction that he noticed. That he cared enough to confront you about it.

But your face remained blank, a mask of boredom. You stared at him, expressionless, as though every word he said was just background noise. The little games you played with Tashi were nothing compared to the way he had gutted you, left you behind like you were just some phase in his life he was done with. You blinked slowly, taking in the storm in his eyes, feeling something close to triumph in the fact that he was this worked up.

Then, just as quickly, he delivered the final blow. “Hating her won’t make me love you again.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut, winding you. For a split second, your carefully constructed walls cracked. He didn’t even realize the impact his words had, didn’t stay to watch the devastation in your eyes. Art let go of your wrist and shoved your hand away like it was nothing, like you were nothing, before turning his back on you and walking off into the distance without so much as a second glance.

You stood there, frozen, as his words echoed in your mind. Hating her won’t make me love you again. He had walked away before, but this felt different. Final. The sting of rejection, of abandonment, was overwhelming, and you realized with a sickening clarity that he had moved on. He was never coming back.

Your throat tightened as you watched him disappear down the hall, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. All of the venom you’d been spewing, all the petty revenge, suddenly felt hollow. Useless. The truth was, you didn’t hate Tashi. You hated what she represented. She was everything you weren’t, everything you used to be, when Art still looked at you the way he now looked at her. She had the life you used to have, and no amount of sabotage or cruelty was going to change that.

And now, you were left with nothing. Not even the hope of him coming back.

[undertheorangetree]

After Party

Summary- Art and Tashi don’t like to share their toys

Warnings- MDNI 18+ NSFW. Female reader. Threesome. Voyeurism. Cunnilingus. Fingering. P in V sex. Scissoring. Getting pinned down? Kinda degradation? Praise kink. Patrick haters one and all (sorry king).

Author’s Note- Everyone’s probably moved on but not me baby. There’s something about threesome fics that pull a demon out of me idk what it is. This is filthy/dirty/insane/etc plz enjoy and find the full fic on ao3 link below

This is something she doesn’t think she will ever get used to.

The galas. The fundraising dinners. Being so entirely immersed in the world of celebrity. It had been what she signed up for when she applied as the Donaldson’s personal assistant, but she hadn’t been anticipating quite this much of a culture shock. It’s gotten easier over the past few months, when her assistant position had changed into something more. When her feelings for both Art and Tashi had developed into something more romantic and they had reciprocated. Or rather, been the first to act. Now, galas for their foundation seemed much easier, when Tashi asks to steal her away for a few minutes to kiss in the bathroom or Art lets his hand dip a little too low on her waist when asking her a question.

Perhaps they should be more discrete, but discretion is often far from her mind whenever she is with them. Especially when she is with them.

Though she tries to keep her head about her now as she stands by Tashi’s side, only half listening while Tashi smiles and charms a handful of investors into doubling their donations. Tashi laughs at one of the men’s poor excuse for a joke, only enough to seem polite, before turning back to her.

“Would you get me another gin and tonic?” Tashi asks, voice likely sweeter than it should be.

She smiles, already collecting Tashi’s empty glass to bring back to the bar. “Of course. Excuse me.”

Tashi’s fingers graze her own for a moment as she relinquishes the glass, half a caress, before she is turning back to the investors. Faintly, she can hear her as she explains the benefits of the foundation- how their donations would help them to reach even more disadvantaged children and wouldn’t they like to be responsible for bettering a life?- but her voice grows faint the closer she gets to the bar.

It’s busier than she had expected it to be, easily over a hundred people dressed in their finery jammed together into this hotel ballroom, and at least a dozen of them are all crowded around the bar. She waits patiently, depositing Tashi’s glass as she leans forward, balancing some weight onto her elbows in the hope of relieving her poor feet. She can feel a blister forming on her pinky toe, where the strap of her new shoe rubs incessantly, and wiggles her toes in the vain hope of shifting it. She would never complain, not when Tashi had spent a small fortune on them for her, and especially not when she knows that should she tough it out now and voice her complaints back in the hotel room, Art will surely make it up to her.

The bartender finally manages to make her way to her, a friendly yet frazzled smile on her face as she asks for the order, She gives it quickly and though the bartender turns to prepare it, an unfamiliar voice manages to stop her.

“I’ll have what she’s having.”

She looks over her shoulder to find a man standing behind her, smiling in a way she is sure he believes to be charming. She ignores it in favour of sending the bartender an apologetic smile of her own, trying to convey that she is not the cause of this sudden increase in workload, but the bartender only nods before heading off, giving the man the opportunity to join her at the bar.

He doesn’t exactly look as though he belongs here. Though he is dressed well enough, he’s unshaven, his dark hair tousled in a way that just looks messy. He smells like cigarettes and too much cologne, as if he’s trying to hide the smell like a middle schooler. It’s almost as if he had seen the party from the street and decided to join in, though the way he holds himself assures her that he is in no way insecure about that. He radiates a confidence that she could only dream of, one that seems to border on arrogance as he watches her, as if she is a promise rather than a conquest.

Though she keeps her eyes forward, staring at the rows upon rows of alcohol bottles, all glittering in the dim lighting, he does not mimic her for long. Soon, his eyes find her again, watching her with a half smile until the bartender returns with their drinks. She thanks her before making to leave, but the man seizes the opportunity before she can.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing drinking alone?”

She stops, turning back and teetering on her heels as she smiles politely. “I’m not, it’s for my boss.”

“You mean I didn’t even manage to learn your drink order?” He pretends to be wounded, placing a hand over his heart. “I was hoping you and I could get to know each other.”

“I wish we could but this is just a work event for me, I’m afraid.” Another smile, this one more genuine as she switches the glass from one hand to the other, the condensation freezing her fingers. “I don’t get to have any fun until it’s over.”

That seems to pique his interest, elbow resting on the bar as he leans toward her, eyes raking over her before lazily meeting her eye again. “Oh? What kind of fun?”

Read the rest here

[stop4death]

now i'm covered in you

note: i need her. badly. also i love patrick and i do not condone cheating its just for the plot and also bc i wanted to reference ivy sorry!

pairing: stanford!tashi duncan x fem!stanford!reader

summary: when you and your best friend, tashi, decide to have a movie night in her dorm room, you can’t seem to pay attention. your boredom turns into unexpected fun when she suggests a game of truth or dare.

warnings: nsfw 18+ (MDNI!), smut, fluff, cheating (again, i love patrick and i do not condone cheating), oral (r receiving), fingering (r receiving), please lmk if i forgot anything

word count: 1.6k

posted: may 28th 2024

what would he do if he found us out?

Everything about your best friend is perfect to you. Her eyes. Her hair. Her lips. The way her face lights up whenever she sees you. The way her head falls back when you make her laugh just a little too hard at one of your stupid jokes. The only thing you don’t find perfect is the fact that she has a boyfriend. Tashi and Patrick have been going out since they met last summer, now you and Tashi are in the middle of the spring quarter of your first year at Stanford. You like Patrick (and his friend, Art, who coincidentally also goes to Stanford). He’s a good looking guy, and Tashi is happy with him. You just can’t help the soul crushing jealousy that consumes you every time he comes to visit her and you have to watch them be all lovey-dovey at your lunch table. 

“Hello? Are you even watching?” Tashi giggles and you snap back to reality, where you’re sitting on the floor of your best friend's dorm room drinking cheap beer and watching a rom com on your laptop.

“Sorry.” you laugh softly, “I just can’t pay attention to a movie right now.”

It’s a Friday night, and the two of you decided you didn’t feel like going out. You settled on a movie night in Tashi’s dorm, but your mind keeps wandering off. The two of you are already a bit tipsy at this point. Tashi shuts your laptop and looks at you, pursing her lips. 

“Let’s play a game or something.”

“Like what?” you ask, smiling at her.

“I don’t know… truth or dare?”

You laugh at the suggestion, thinking she’s joking.

“What are we in middle school again?”

“C’mon, it’ll be fun. I want you to stop zoning out.” she pokes your side playfully and grins.

“Okay, fine. Truth or dare?” you start off.

“Dare.” 

“Okay… um… I dare you to…” you pause and look around, trying to think of something, “text Patrick right now and tell him you’re pregnant.” You laugh at how stupid it is, but it was the first thing that came to your mind. Tashi rolls her eyes at you and reaches for her cellphone on her nightstand. She types out a message to Patrick and sends it, and turns her phone around to you to prove that she actually did it. You laugh with your hand over your mouth, in disbelief that she actually did it, but Tashi has never been one to chicken out on a dare. She puts her phone down on the floor next to her, then she pushes your shoulder playfully and you pretend to fall backwards.

“I hate you.” she says, but she smiles as she says it. “Truth or dare?” she says it with a hint of vengeance in her voice, so you decide to go with truth for now. 

“Truth.”

“Okay… um… well our first year of college is almost over and you haven’t gone on a date or shown interest in or even hooked up with anyone. Is there anyone you… have a crush on? In one of your classes or something?” she asks with a slight smirk on her face.

“Um… yeah.” you say as your cheeks go red and you look down at your hands. She gives you a knowing smirk, but she doesn’t press any further, knowing it’s her turn now.

“Truth.” she says, not waiting for you to ask her.

“Hmm… have you ever lied to me?” you ask nervously.

“Yes.” she says plainly. You furrow your eyebrows, but you don’t ask any follow ups, thinking you’ll ask her what about the next time she chooses truth. “Truth or dare?”

“Mm.. dare.” you hesitate, but you don’t want her asking who you have a crush on if you were to choose truth.

“I dare you to kiss me.” she says it so casually, and you’re sure you must’ve misheard her. Your mind must be playing tricks on you.

“What?”

“I dare you to kiss me.” she repeats, and your mouth falls open a little bit in shock.

“W-what about Patrick?” you ask hesitantly.

“It’s just a dare, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. He doesn’t have to know.”

She’s so nonchalant about it all, meanwhile you feel like your heart is going to explode out of your chest at any second. You hesitate for a moment, but then you lean closer to her almost instinctively, as if you’ve been possessed. You’ve waited years for this opportunity, and you weren’t going to let the thought of upsetting some boy get in the way of it. You place a hand on her cheek gently, and lean in further, pressing your lips against hers. They’re just as soft and sweet as you’d always imagined they’d be. You expect it to be over within seconds, but Tashi leans in further, placing a hand on the back of your neck and deepening the kiss. You can’t help but think about how wrong this is, but you really don’t care. You push the thoughts away and focus on the fact that you’re kissing your best friend right now. Tashi pushes you back on her floor, your head hitting one of the pillows the two of you had laid out for your movie night, and gets on top of you. You slide your hands down her sides and rest them on her hips as she continues to kiss you. She slides one hand under your t-shirt and squeezes one of your breasts, and you let out a soft moan into her lips. 

“Is this okay?” she asks softly, and you nod. 

“Yes. Yes.” you say through soft gasps. She kisses you again, sucking and biting on your bottom lip. She removes her hand from your shirt and slides it down to the waistband of your shorts. She rubs your hip gently before she slides her hand into your shorts. You moan softly at the feeling of her hand on your clothed heat.

“So wet.” she says quietly between kisses as she traces gentle circles around your clit through your underwear. She moves her hand out of your shorts and your hips buck upwards at the sudden lack of her touch. She smiles as she stops kissing you, and moves down. She pushes your legs apart and looks up at you, her head between your legs. She gently tugs at the waistband of your shorts, and pulls them down along with your underwear. You spread your legs apart further and she smirks at you.

“Look at you… dripping wet for me already. So desperate for my touch. You’ve wanted this for a long time, huh?”

Your breath hitches as you look down at her between your legs. She kisses your inner thigh and your entire body feels like it’s on fire. She continues to place kisses along your inner thigh, moving closer and closer to your heat. You moan as her tongue delves into your folds, lapping at your wetness. 

“Fu- Fuck! Tashi!” you barely manage to choke out through moans as she sucks on your clit. You grip onto the blanket underneath you and arch your back. She moves one of her hands up and teases your entrance with her middle and ring fingers before slipping them inside you and thrusting them in and out. The combined sensation of her fingers inside you and her mouth on your clit drives you insane, pushing you closer to the edge. You can’t contain the loud moans that escape your lips, probably heard by her entire dorm floor. 

“Tashi, fuck! I’m so close.” you gasp out, gripping the blanket even harder, your knuckles turning white. You look down at her between your legs again, and just the sight of her is enough to send you over the edge. Your best friend has never looked more perfect to you than in this moment, with her face buried in your folds. You moan her name loudly as you reach your climax, your back arching again as you see stars. Tashi lifts her head and slips her fingers out of you and your back relaxes. You just lay there on her floor, trying to catch your breath, and Tashi moves up to lay down next to you. She places a hand on your cheek and turns your head to face her, placing another kiss on your lips, allowing you to taste yourself on her mouth. She rests her head on her arm, just looking at you.

“You’re so perfect.” you say softly, and she smiles at you. You just stare at her, admiring her, thinking you must be in a dream you’re going to wake up from at any moment. Your peace is interrupted by the sound of Tashi’s phone ringing. She sits up and picks it up off the floor next to her and you can see the caller ID on the tiny screen reads “Patrick Zweig”. She declines the call, silences her phone, and tosses it up onto her bed, before laying back down next to you. You look at her with a bit of confusion on your face, knowing he must be calling about the text you dared her to send earlier. 

“I’ll call him back later.” she says plainly, wrapping her arm around you and pulling you close. The thoughts of how wrong what the two of you just did was start flooding into your head, thinking about what Patrick would do if he found out what you just did with his girlfriend. These thoughts are immediately pushed away when Tashi kisses your cheek and pulls you even closer. As you lay there in your best friend's arms, the only thoughts that flood your brain now are how lucky you are to have her.

[needypisces]

me and the boys in the hotel lobby

It had been surprisingly easy for Tashi to maneuver Art and Patrick into position. Not that she doubted herself, but she was starting to doubt their claim that mutual masturbation was the extent of their shared sexual history.

Their legs were slung over each other, a tangle of muscled thighs and calves that Tashi sat alongside. It was a beautiful view, Patrick’s hairy legs and Art’s smooth intertwined to the point that their pelvises slotted together. They were both so hard and so willing, and it was so easy for her to do as she intended, to gather their cocks together. She had to use both hands, would’ve had to for just Patrick anyway.

"Oh," Art breathed as Tashi pressed them together in her palms. Patrick hummed in agreement, but his breath came out short when she leaned her head over their crotches, close enough for her hot breath to hit their sensitive skin. They both watched, awestruck, waiting, hoping, for her to stick out her tongue and taste.

Their disappointment didn't last long when she simply spit into her palms, gathering the makeshift lube with the precum already flowing from both boys and twisting her wrist in a single upward stroke. Tashi wasted no time in building a rhythm that had both boys keening.

"Fuck," Patrick muttered. He'd gotten hand jobs before, obviously, but never from a girl like this, and never, even in his dreams, with his best friend's dick flush against his own. He stole a glance at Art, and couldn't hold back a whimper when he saw his friend's face. Art was watching Tashi's hand in disbelief, swollen lips parted, a sheen of sweat highlighting his cheekbones. Patrick couldn't be sure if it was this view or Tashi's sudden thumb on his frenulum that made his stomach clench. But it was definitely Art feeling his gaze and meeting his eyes that made Patrick tip his head back and moan obscenely.

"Doubles partners." Tashi said and Art would have laughed if he wasn't already so close to coming. "You do everything together, huh? Only makes sense you'd want to come together, too." She rubbed a flat palm over both of their tips as she shifted to lie on her stomach, resting her chin on Art's thigh, close enough to smell them.

"Yeah," Patrick panted. "We've been missing out on this." He met Art's eyes again, watched the red creep across his face.

"Good thing you found me." Tashi murmured.

The back and forth was almost as erotic to Art as their touch was. He was so content to just be in the middle of it all, sandwiched between their bodies and their words. He'd never felt a sense of belonging quite like this, and the realization was a little too much for him. It was all starting to be too much, in the best way; Tashi's persistent grip on his cock and her breath near his balls.

"I'm gonna come," He panted, once he realized he couldn't hold it back anymore.

"Already?" Patrick mocked. "Come on Donaldson, you can do better than that."

Art dipped his chin down, trying to control his breathing as his body shook. "Isn't it, like, a compliment? It feels so good," he said. After a moment, he added on, shyly, "you both feel so good."

Tashi grinned into his quad. "Go ahead, then." She said. "But I'm not stopping until Patrick comes, too."

The warning should've held him off - Art knew he would get overwhelmed even more quickly once he came, and that Patrick would last a while, but it was just so hot, and so filthy coming from her pretty face, that he couldn't help himself.

Art's cock twitched against Patrick's and they moaned in tandem as he came, spurting into her hand and down both of their lengths. "Good boy," Tashi murmured, biting Art's hip lightly, and in response he whimpered.

"Fuck," Patrick grunted, watching the way Tashi watched her own fist as it continued to pump their cocks. Art was already becoming overstimulated, letting out a litany of high-pitched ah, ah, ahs.

"Please," Art exhaled.

"No one's done until you're both done." Tashi reminded him, kissing Art's thigh in attempt to calm him. He bit his lip, hard, and Tashi sat back up to give him just a little space.

Patrick's grunts and Art's pleas formed a backdrop to the slick sound of Tashi's work. She could feel her panties sticking to her, she was so wet, but she was comfortable in her position for now. Tashi liked the way it felt to make the boys fall apart like this, to have them, quite literally, in the palm of her hand. She hadn't been sure of them earlier in the night, but she was intrigued by their friendship. She'd never had a best friend, not like this, but she wanted one, now. Wanted them.

"God, you look so good doing that." Patrick huffed, and Tashi bit her lip. "You like it, don't you?"

"Not as much as you do." She countered.

"Yeah." He said, reaching out a hand to squeeze her wrist. "That's probably true."

"Definitely true," Art piped in between ragged breaths. Patrick and Tashi were both strangely turned on to see tears welling in his eyes.

"You doing ok?" Patrick teased.

"Not really." Art admitted. A drop spilled free, rolled down his cheek. Tashi leaned forward to lick it off, and the simple touch of her tongue to his face broke the dam completely.

“I know, baby, it’s ok, I’m sorry,” Tashi cooed into Art’s ear, barely audible over his cries. “You just have to take it until Patrick comes, you can do it, I know you can.”

“I can’t.” He sobbed. His chest was flushed a burnt red and his thighs were quivering so intensely she thought he might pull a muscle. But she wouldn’t take pity on him. It wouldn’t be fair.

“You can.” Tashi said, a bit more sternly, but she immediately softened at Art’s wobbling lip.

“Please.” He whimpered.

Tashi tilted her head toward Patrick, who managed to wear a face of amusement despite his own gasps and moans. “Don’t beg me.” She said to Art. “Beg him. He’s the one you’re waiting for.”

Art was too desperate to resist, so he immediately redirected his pleas. “Patrick, please,” he whined. “Please, I want you to come, I need you to come, it’s too much.” Patrick couldn’t stop the grin from splitting his face; he’d never heard anything more beautiful than Art's broken voice begging for his come.

“Yeah?” Patrick asked, thrusting harder into Tashi's hand. “You want me to come all over your cock?”

“Yes,” Art gasped.

“Say it.”

Art couldn’t stand it, Patrick’s leaky tip pressed up almost painfully against his own. “I want you to come,” He said again. “All over my cock, yours, on Tashi, make a mess, I don’t care, please, just-" His voice gave out when Tashi's grasp tightened at the mention of her name.

“Come on, Patrick,” she said, heat spreading down her own body. “He’s asking so nicely, can’t you give Art what he wants?” Selfishly, she needed him to. The sooner they finished, the sooner they could attend to her dripping pussy.

"Keep talking like that and I will," Patrick promised.

"Please, please," Art babbled. "Patrick, I, fuck, please, I think I'm gonna come again. Is that possible? Can I do that?"

Patrick's laugh was breathy. Art was so cute. "Yeah," he said. "Why don't you come one more time, and that'll get me there, okay?" It wasn't just talk; if Patrick could watch Art spurt again while he cried into Tashi's shoulder, he might never stop coming.

"Just let it happen, baby." Tashi agreed, encouraging Art. "I'm not stopping yet."

It was downright pornographic: the sound Art let out was high and weepy, his cock leaking pathetically at his second orgasm. Still, Tashi held to her word. "Patrick." It was all Art could choke out, but it was enough.

"Fuck, I know, Art. Okay. Right there, Tashi, yes, yes, yes-" and Patrick came too, his own climax putting Art to shame, load after load spilling down Tashi's arm and Art's stomach.

"Jesus," Patrick said, and Art gasped in agreement when Tashi finally withdrew her sticky hand.

"Nope." She smirked. "Just me."

[k1sse-s]

TASHI DUNCAN

Destroy what destroys you.

› summary: she doesn’t know why she keeps coming back.

! warnings: fem!reader, smut, no use of y/n, cursing, cheating, toxic relationship, obsessive!tashi, fingering, bad parenting.

Please let me know if I forgot something!ˎˊ˗

› wc: 2.1k

This wasn’t like that innocent love you both had years ago. This wasn’t innocent, her arms didn’t feel so gentle, so safe anymore.

The guilt that stabbed you in your heart every time you saw her in your frame door wasn’t even the thing that bothered you. It wasn’t the reason why it felt so wrong.

It was the fact that she just let you bleed.

“You’re my entire goddamn world.” Her forehead resting against the crook of your neck. Even through the light fabric of your shirt, she could feel the heat of your skin. Her hands sliding up your abdomen, chest against your back, breaths warm and ragged against your neck.

Yet you still felt so distant, so untouchable and unreachable, like if she was holding onto a phantom.

Tashi wanted to just shove you up against the nearest wall, to push you back into your bedroom — hell, maybe she could finally get through to you if she just locked you in her miserable state.

“And you’re mine.”

Tennis wasn’t the only thing Tashi was phenomenal at. It was also making you feel like you’re genuinely loved by her.

But you can’t be good at everything, yeah? Her tennis skills faded away and she had no other choice than to be the greatest in making you feel like there’s still space for you in her life.

But your words were honest. She is, she always has been your entire world. But this isn’t enough for her, is it? She still thinks about how you’re fighting with yourself to not flinch away from her or the way you’re not giving her any signs that wouldn’t make her feel guilty when she keeps wrapping her arms around you like that, keeps touching you like that.

“That’s supposed to make me feel all better?”

“It should.”

Tashi let out soft, strangled noise from the back of her throat, as if your nonchalance had physically burned her. Something like disbelief flickered across her expression.

It should, it should.

The words, spoken so quietly with so much resignation, felt like a stab through Tashi’s heart. The stab that you feel every time you see her. This time you won’t stop the bleeding neither.

“It doesn’t.” She whispered against your neck, her hand slowly sliding across your stomach. her thumb gently pressed into your skin, tracking slow circles against it as if that would somehow clam down the burning inside her chest.

“That’s not my problem then.” You had to bite the inside of your cheek to prevent saying the apologies that you had to swallow. The metallic flavor hit your tongue. You didn’t mean that, and the quiet gasp of indignation that left her lips as you spoke broke your heart even more. Suddenly, her hands went still on your body — she froze. Her mind repeating the words again and again, as if she couldn’t quite believe you had actually said it. It didn’t feel like she was pissed, or hurt. It felt like she was just disappointed.

“It’s not?” Tashi repeated, voice harsh and bitter. She hated it. Hated how you could make her feel like every single fibre of her own body was screaming in pain while you just calmly stood there. Her grip on you tightened, as if by doing that she could somehow make you feel something.

Maybe she failed at making you feel loved too. Maybe she lost everything after she lost the passion she had for tennis.

“Then whose goddamn problem is it?”

Not yours, definitely. Your eyes closed at her sudden snap, you didn’t hear her raising her voice since college, it was enough time for you to forgot how it sounds.

“Tashi, go. Lily is waiting for you.” But you didn’t want her to go. You wanted her to stay here and even yell at you, but at least she’d be here — with you. You said it because it felt right. Go and see your daughter you have with a man you won’t ever be able to love.

And as much as you didn’t have any right to mention her daughter like that you didn’t have any right to take the most important thing away from her too. The only thing that didn’t make her life completely worthless, the only thing that gave her hope that she didn’t lose everything after her knee injury — you.

It was hard to bear that ugly jealousy in your body every time you remembered she has her own family. She has someone waiting for her to come home. And you didn’t have that. Sure, you have your own career, you have beautiful apartment. But it’s empty without her, your life is empty without her. That’s a problem you couldn’t fix, that’s the thing that killed you every time she had to go, because you stayed alone in your bed without a person that would warm your body up. You didn’t want her to go.

She swallowed. “I don’t want to.”

And they say there’s nothing more pure than mother’s love.

“Fuck. Tashi, go.”

And goddamn if that didn’t make her heart suddenly clench, hearing you say her name like that, in that tone. She didn’t want to say it. She wanted to stay, press you against her and listen to you say her name like that again — in every tone, every pitch, every whisper.

It was like some of that hot anger that flared up instantly faded away, replaced by something like lust.

“I don’t want to.” She repeated as her arms tightened around you even more. The thought that even after all this time you could still tell her to go. Just shut up and go when everything she wanted was to just connect with you again.

One of her hands moved on your lower abdomen, sliding downwards until her knuckles brushed against the waistband of your underwear. She didn’t care. She didn’t care if it was all wrong or if it was messed up, all that she could think about was how you used to let out those soft gasps in response to her touch.

Her mouth pressed against the sensitive skin of your jawline. Fingers continued their movement, gently pushing past the fabric of your underwear to trace across your inner thigh.

“Tashi, come on.” There it was, that faint sound of the hitch of your breath. It was hard to pretend her touch didn’t have any effect on you. Not when she was pressing you to the counter like that. And she wanted just that.

“Please don’t tell me to stop.” She murmured against your skin. It was almost experimental, like she was trying to find something that would make you react. Anything. Like she was trying to find evidence of you still being hers.

She could physically feel the tension slowly drain from her body as she nipped your jawline again, fingers tracing patterns across your inner thigh. Her free hand suddenly slid upwards, palm grazing across the underside of your breast. She was suddenly desperate to feel you react, to have you respond beyond those soft breaths and tiny flinches. She wanted more, she wanted to feel the shudder of muscle underneath her fingers, the feel of your body heating as she touched you.

“Feel something, feel me.”

And you couldn’t hold that whine in your mouth anymore when her hand moved upwards to fully palm your breast, a sharp pang of something like pain shot through her chest as she suddenly heard the way your voice became all soft and pleading. That whine that she had missed so much. The one that made it sound like you’d crumble underneath her touch. Like you’d break apart at her slightest touch.

Tashi’s fingers slowly reached higher, gently moving towards the damp warmth between your legs. Her breath was still hot against your skin, almost as if she was breathing against a fire. Fingers teasing your clothed cunt, if she wasn’t so turned on she’d make you beg for her to finally dip that fingers into you, but she wanted to be there, she wanted to be close and so desperately inside you.

She couldn’t take it anymore, the way your body shuddered and trembled from just the slightest touch. Her mouth slowly moved to your jaw, her kisses becoming more like nibbles with the way she nipped at your skin, as if trying to distract you from the way her fingers slowly slid under your panties.

But you couldn’t get distracted, focused so hardly on her fingers. Broken moan left your mouth when you felt her sliding in between your dripping folds, fingertips meeting your warm, slick and delicate flesh. You let your head fall back and rest on the hard bone of her shoulder, eyes meeting her sharp jawline. Her eyes lazily slid across your face. She studied every feature.

She studied the way your eyes were blown wide open, a deep and needy look in them that she hadn’t seen in god knows how long. She studied the way your lips were parted as you breathed against her, the way the breaths you took seemed a little more laboured now. She drank in the sight of you, her gaze roving over you as if she was scared she’d never get to see you like this again. The way your skin flushed in a pale pink, the way your eyes were pleading — almost as if begging for her to do something. And she wanted to avoid making you beg tonight.

She wanted to devour you right there.

She slowly tilted her head to the side, her eyes never leaving yours even as her hand moved up to gently pinch your nipple, forcing you to gasp at the feeling.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” she whispered.

With that, she left you no room for your response, thumb immediately went to your swollen clit, rubbing slow and tight circles as she watched your face carefully. Her lips moved to rest against the hollow of your neck, tongue darting out to softly flick against your skin as her own breathing grew more ragged. Tashi’s breath hitched when she heard your needy moan.

It was sharp noise, a small burst of air that sent a shiver through her body and straight down her core. Fingers going down to tease your tight hole, circling around it, adding light pressure just to make you moan again, just so she could hear those sweet sounds that she missed so fucking much. She forgot about Art already, it’s only you, only you and her fingers slowly dipping inside you.

“Tashi please.” You begged for more, not caring about how pathetic and desperate you look even when you were ready to throw her out of your apartment several minutes ago.

It was so familiar, the way you sounded when she had you like this. The way your voice came out as a broken whine as you fell apart under her touch. Tashi’s thumb rolled over the sensitive, hard bud above her fingers. Free hand squeezing your breast, feeling how hard your nipples are already. It made her whine herself.

“Always so pretty. So fucking pretty, my love.” She whispered, pushing past your tight muscles, forcing another moan out of you. She curled her fingers, knuckles rubbing against your walls as your body started to tremble against her. Giving you no time to adjust the stretch she just gave you. Her fingers started to move. In and out, in and out. Each time pushing all the way in into your pussy just to leave and fill you again.

Destroy what destroys you. And she was destroying you right now, in her arms, pressed against the kitchen counter. It was hard to tell if she was just defending herself, using you as an escape from her shitty life she has with Art or if she really means it. It’s not like you care though, the only thing you care about right now is how good her fingers feel inside your dripping, needy cunt.

“You like that? Being fucked like this?” She missed that. And that almost mocking you tone didn’t do good job with hiding that. You just felt so good, so wet on her fingers.

It didn’t take her long to make you cum — as always. Your body tensing up and arching against her own, hand immediately massaging your breast, as if she knew you desperately needed her now. Fingers slowing down their peace, guiding you through your orgasm.

You have no idea how stunning you looked, she almost regretted marrying Art instead of you.

Almost.

[kendyzzlewp]

AND ANOTHER THING

Once outside, the cool night air hit your face, a stark contrast to the stifling atmosphere inside. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. Art led you to the car, opening the door for you before climbing into the driver’s seat. He started the engine, the hum of the car a soothing background noise as he drove away from the gallery.

For a while, neither of you spoke, the weight of the evening hanging heavily between you. Finally, Art broke the silence, his voice gentle but firm. "We’re going to report this, you know that, right?"

You nodded, swallowing hard. "I know. I just… I didn’t think it would come to this."

"It’s not your fault," Art said, glancing over at you. "None of this is your fault."

You reached out, taking his hand in yours. "Thank you," you whispered. "For being there."

He squeezed your hand reassuringly. "I’ll always be there for you."

The rest of the drive passed in a comforting silence, the city lights flashing by as you headed home. Once you arrived, Art helped you inside, his concern never wavering. He led you to the couch, wrapping a blanket around your shoulders before sitting beside you

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked softly.

You shook your head, leaning into him. "Not right now. Just… hold me."

He pulled you close, his arms enveloping you in a protective embrace. As you nestled into Art's comforting embrace, the calm was abruptly shattered by the ringtone of his phone. He reached over to the coffee table, checking the caller ID.

"Pat," Art answered, his voice tense.

"Art, what the fuck happened?" Patrick's voice was loud enough for you to hear. "There's a video on Twitter of you punching some guy, and it's blowing up. TMZ's already picked it up. It's all over the news."

Your heart sank as you pulled away from Art, fumbling for your own phone. Your hands trembled as you opened Twitter, seeing notifications flooding in. The top trending topic was #ArtDonaldson. Clicking on it, you saw the video of Art's punch playing on a loop, accompanied by sensational headlines.

"Art Donaldson Assaults Man at Art Gallery Event," one article blared.

"Violence at the Gallery: What Made Art Donaldson Snap?" read another.

You felt a wave of guilt wash over you, tears pricking at your eyes. "Oh my God," you whispered, your voice breaking. "This is all my fault."

Art, still on the phone with Patrick, glanced over at you, concern etched on his face. "Patrick, I'll call you back," he said quickly, hanging up and turning his full attention to you.

"Hey, look at me," he said gently, cupping your face in his hands. "This is not your fault. None of this is your fault."

"But it is," you choked out. "If I hadn't—if I had just—"

"No," Art interrupted firmly. "Howard is the one to blame here. He crossed the line, and he deserved what he got. You did nothing wrong.”

Tears streamed down your face as you clung to him. "But now everyone thinks you're some kind of violent monster because of me."

Art's expression softened, and he held you tightly. "Fuck what they think," he reassured you. "I’d rather be seen as a monster than letting anyone touch my wife. The fucking nerve.”

You nodded, but the guilt still gnawed at you. Art's phone buzzed again, and he glanced at the screen. "It's Tashi," he sighed. "I have to take this."

He stood up and walked a few steps away, answering the call and beginning to explain the situation. You watched him, feeling a mix of shame and guilt, wishing there was some way to undo the night's events.

As he spoke, you scrolled through the news articles and social media posts, each one feeling like a punch to the gut. The comments were a mix of support and condemnation, some praising Art for defending you, others condemning his actions as reckless and violent.

When Art finished his call, he came back to you, his face a mask of determination. "We're going to get through this," he said, sitting beside you again. "Tashi is already working on a statement. It’ll be fine.”

You leaned into him, seeking comfort in his presence. "I'm so sorry," you whispered again.

He kissed the top of your head. "No more apologies. We're in this together, and we're going to come out stronger. I promise."

i just can’t stop thinking about husband!art and how protective he is over you. jfc, he will kill anyone who even looks at your direction

just imagine

you’re getting ready for a stupid work event, adjusting your dress in front of the mirror. art sits on the edge of the bed, arms crossed, a frown plastered on his face as he watches.

‘i wish you didn’t have to go’ he said, giving you the usual puppy dog eyes.

with a sad sigh you turn, walking over to him and standing in between his legs. ‘I know, but howard will kill me if i miss this one.”

at the mention of your sleazy boss he tenses, his frown turning into a scowl as you ran a hand through his short blonde locks

‘fucking hate that creep,’ he mutters, his hand softly caressing your bare legs. ‘if he tries anything, promise me you’ll call.’

with a soft smile, you nod bending down to plant a kiss on his furrowed brow. ‘I will,’ you promise.

you get to the art gallery that’s hosting the event, leaving your car in the valet and entering the building. it was already filled with newly rich influencers much to your annoyance. still you plaster on a smile.

spotting your boss from across the room, you made it your mission to avoid him at all costs. not in the mood to stand his advancements that teetered on the edge of harassment.

the night went on, your face hurt from smiling too much, the champagne in your hand already warm as you moved around the space

‘Y/N!’

you couldn’t help but physically cringe as the older man made his way over to you. the smell of whiskey and sweat making your stomach churn

‘howard,” you greet him, short and polite, looking around for a chance to escape.

but it’s too late because he’s already all up in your personal space, saying how beautiful you are and how art is a lucky man and how your dress hugs your curves but he takes it too far, pushing the boundary between inappropriate to straight up assault

his hand finds its way to the small of your back, slowly traveling down until it landed on your ass. you froze, heart racing, legs trembling and eyes opening in absolute panic. no one around you seems to notice your predicament.

“donaldson really is a lucky bastard,” he whispered into your eat, making your skin crawl.

with the smallest ounce of courage left in your body, you push him away. angry and shameful tears cascading down your cheeks in big fat globs.

“fuck you,” you hissed, running toward the nearest bathroom.

locking the door behind you, you fetch your phone from your purse, dialing with a trembling hand,

‘hey, baby. you almost home?”

art’s voice seems to bring you back down to reality, the feeling of shame settling in the pit as your stomach as you bite back sob

‘art,’ you manage to choke out, your breath coming in short burst. ‘I can’t, he…tried to…”

‘hey, hey,” he said, his concerned tone driving you over the edge. ‘what happened?’

letting out a big breath, your hands grip your hair in utter frustration. ‘Howard…he tried to, god. he grabbed my ass and he wanted…”

You couldn’t even finish the sentence.

“where are you?” his tone was urgent now, you could hear rustling of movement and keys.

“in the bathroom,” you whispered, your breath hitching between sobs.

“I’m coming to get you,” he said, his voice firm and reassuring.

minutes felt like hours as you waited for your husband to arrive. surprised you didn’t create a hole in the marble floor with the amount of pacing you were doing.

a soft knock caught you by surprise, followed by a muffled. “its me.”

a wave of relief fell upon you like a soothing balm, rushing to the door, you unlocked it, opening it. art’s mouth fell into a frown, you must’ve looked like a mess but you didn’t care. he instantly pulled you against his chest as you fell apart, his presence a anchoring reality to what happened.

“let’s go home,” he whispered, pulling back slightly and cupping your face in his hands. “and you are not working again, do you understand me?”

you nod silently, grateful for his support and you let him lead you out of the bathroom. murmurs and whispers could be heard but it wasn’t anything new. you husband was art donaldson, tennis superstar and olympic gold medalist. he was used to the stares and the commentary.

“mr. donaldson,” the familiar voice sent your heart into a panicked frenzy. “what a nice surprise.”

ugh, that disgusting piece of shit.

art froze, his expression darkening as he looked over his shoulder. he spotted your boss, sporting a smug smile on his face as he lifted his glass. the bastard.

without a word, art dropped your hand and made his way over to him. it was all a blur, but you could recall his fist connecting with howard’s jaw, you remember barely hearing the gasps of the attendees over the sound of your beating heart.

howard effectively fell to the floor, his hand cradling his jaw in surprise. art stood over to him, his fit frame casting a shadow over the now small and cowardly man.

“if you ever come near my wife again, i will fucking kill you,” he growled. “you even breath near her and you are done.”

not waiting for a response, he turned and dragged you out of there.

[sceletaflores]

— CHALLENGERS M.LIST

all works are 18+ MDNI!

— SERIES

triple fun that way (a.d & p.z)

|| you always thought love triangles were supposed to be more romantic than this. at least that's what people have told you, but maybe they just didn't know what the fuck they were talking about.

TASHI DUNCAN

— ONE SHOTS

Ⅰ. Advantage, Duncan.

|| tashi needs you to understand that she doesn't give a fuck about patrick...

Ⅱ. you need a seat? i’ll volunteer!

|| you show tashi what she’s missing...

ART DONALDSON

— ONE SHOTS

Ⅰ. Baby, show me where it hurts…

|| art donaldson needs a therapist...

Ⅱ. isn’t it messed up how i’m just dying to be him?

|| art tries to get through to you about patrick...

Ⅲ. well three's the only number we know! feat. patrick zweig

|| things shift between art, patrick, and you...

— BLURBS

sub!atrick thoughts

dry humping w. needy art

virgin!art and his breeding kink

PATRICK ZWEIG

— ONE SHOTS

Ⅰ. “Dependence Is Weakness, Darling."

|| it's been a little over twelve years since you've seen patrick zweig...

Ⅱ. where there's sparks, there's fire!

|| patrick zweig is a slut, you can't stand him…

Ⅲ. slippery when wet!

|| patrick puts you in you place three months later…

Ⅳ. well three's the only number we know! feat. art donaldson

|| things shift between art, patrick, and you...

— DRABBLES

sub!artick thoughts

first son patrick au

phone sex w. first son!patrick

patrick stealing your underwear

patrick bending you over the bathroom sink at a house party

© sceletaflores 2024 - all rights reserved. please do not modify, repost, or translate any of my original work. none of my work is permitted to be reposted on any other platform.

[yameoto]

TASHI DUNCAN touching you in your sleep.

synopsis; tashi can't help herself, not when you look like that. fuck. did you really have to wear her skirt?

✗ warnings ; fem!reader, dubcon, somnophilia. free-use ment, dark!tashi, mommy kink, pwp, obsessive!tashi, young tash. wc ; 1.1k

SHE can’t help it.

you just look so fucking pretty. legs splayed out from under her tennis skirt, rivulets of sweat trickling down your waist. 'duncan' embellishes its trim in small, elegant print. evidence of herself tight against the band of your hips. her friendship. her ownership.

“hey, shower’s free.” tashi calls from the doorway, eyes raking over your form. she’s expecting your lack of response, feeling warmth tingle deep in her limbs as she stares down you. she sits at the end of the bed. the mattress sinks.

you yawn in your sleep, stretching out from on top of the covers. the hem of your shirt rides up—and tashi has to stop herself from drooling. the expanse of your toned, tanned torso rises in front of tashi’s eyes, butterflies swirling in her gut. she has front-row seats, for fucking once—evidence of your late night training session still glistening on your skin.

fuck, fuck. she wants to eat you alive.

she taps your cheek. you don't so much as stir. she stares, fingers twitching midway through reaching for your shoulder—considering whether to rouse you properly or not.

she should wake you. you told her to wake you if you crashed, because "duncan, i swear to god it's like, eight and if i fall asleep now i'll never get my shit together—" and whatever other meaningless words that were lost whenever she fixated on the plush press of your lips.

but, it's just— you look so much like a fucking angel. like you’ve just fallen from heaven and crashed onto her bed—knocked out, legs spread, glimpse of your panties flashing from under her skirt..

fuck it—she can’t take it anymore.

tashi seizes your hips, climbs over you. her hair falls, hovering over your face and fuck, when she starts slowly grinding against you it feels like heaven. your thigh against her clothed cunt, her fingers ghosting your cheek.

she grunts into your shoulder, eyelids flickering closed in utter fucking bliss. it’s not enough. she arcs her hips over you, just enough to peel off her underwear. she has the dizzying urge to force your fingers inside of her. to drag her thighs up and sit on your face, maybe.

hm. but you can't exactly use your tongue in these conditions, can you? 

tashi's not thinking—drunk on the feeling of you finally, finally against her. her fingers skim up your thighs, dragging aside your panties and teasing along the folds of your pussy.

your hips stutter, and to her delight, her fingers come away glistening. oh, you're getting wet in your sleep. she takes it as permission to go further, hand sliding up your top to grope along your tits.

a feeble, sleepy whine peters from your lips. tashi grins like a fucking shark.

your thigh is still nestled between her legs, and she presses her head against your collar—fingers dragging up experimentally, pulling your hood back and, ah—

“tashi—what—?” you choke out, eyes bleary and confused and so fucking adorable. she thumbs your clit, hard, and the whine it tears from your throat is so gorgeous she can’t believe she hasn’t done this yet—that she held out for this long.

“relax, baby.” tashi mutters in your ear. you squirm, brain still foggy, dragging yourself away—away? no, no. she can’t have that. she swings her leg over you, and you let out a pitiful whine.

“shh. just let mommy use you,” she mumbles, tenderly vicious as her hips roll against yours. the hot slick of her cunt ruts against your thigh, moans occasionally spilling from her lips and muffled into your shoulder. you’re so confused—the weight of tashi’s body pinning you to the mattress, wetness trickling down your thighs.

you grasp weakly at your pillow. tashi purrs, a low, pleasant rumble that you can feel with your whole body. 

“m’gonna have you whenever the fuck i want, okay?” she mutters, breath hot against the shell of your ear. you whine when her fingers glide back along your folds, spreading them wide, wide open.

your lashes flutter, chest tightening. the rush of the cool night's air against your gaping cunt suddenly makes this whole thing feel much more real, as if you're finally realising you're not having a particularly realistic wet dream and tashi duncan is actually on top of you, about to be inside of you—

“fuck—fuck, wait–”

tashi hums, and then her fingers sink into your cunt. you thrash, back snapping at the force of it—the ease of it. how long have you been wet for? how long has she been doing this? 

stupid questions. they’re lost in the thrum of three fingers curling inside your cunt. tashi laughs breathily at your gasp—eyes glimmering in the moonlight. she’s still humping against your thigh. rocking down to a slow, leisurely pace, like she has all the time in the world.

her nails dig into your hips as your release a strangled, keening noise the depths of your throat. she coos, forcing herself in deeper, deeper. her elbows are on either side of you, trapping you within the confines of her body.

“tashi, tash—“  you moan, dazed and sleepy and she’s never heard a prettier sound in her life. it’s enough to make her hips jerk, bucking into you, hands scrunching into the bedsheets.

"fucking hell—"  you groan. or tashi groans—you can't tell anymore, head muddled and thoughts overtaken by the fervent heat between your legs. it threatens to burn you up. tashi threatens to burn you up—

you hiss, walls clinging onto her fingers—clenching as she pulls them out, pushes back in again. tashi's movements have slowed to an excruciating crawl. you buck down, desperate and blind and wanting, and tashi's lips curve up into a smile. 

“look at you.”

you whine, a pathetic, needy thing—but you’re not confused anymore. there is nothing confusing about the wetness oozing from between tashi's fingers, soaking into the bedspread. only shame. shock—maybe.

if you have anything to say, you don’t voice it out loud. is that for tashi's sake? god, that's cute. tashi smirks, tongue licking along her fingers—sucking them clean.

you blink dolefully up at her, struck dumb—fucked dumb, maybe. her lips curve upwards as she pats your cheek and rolls off of you. your chest is still heaving, head spinning. distantly, you feel the tashi's weight against your legs again. she cups your cheeks, drags you into a kiss.

your eyes flutter shut, and you sink into the touch.

[seduzist]

helloooo!!!! this is my first time sending a request sorry if its a bit awkward :< could you do artxtashixpatrickxfem!reader (if u write for challengers!) where reader's an idol (or any career, really) who's very successful and rich but lonely bcus people only date her for social climbing? and then the three decide to try and make her feeeeellll... better?

sorry if this is a bit unclear, like i said this is my first time sending a req! :3

(an: guys its so hard to write a foursome i had no idea like- 😭 and i wrote it really sleepy so im sorry ill fix any mistakes later.)

art x patrick x tashi x fem!reader

cw. smut, foursome, dirty, just very dirty.

even if u’re a famous singer, with many fans and required by many people, when tashi duncan herself invites you to watch her husband’s game after you tell on a interview that you liked to watch tennis, you couldn’t possibly refuse. it was a really exciting game, but sadly came to an end after patrick zweig loses for just a few points, but that didn’t really matter because what happened afterwards is even more exciting. tashi invited you to her dorm, you were all staying at same hotel after all, wasn’t weird of her to want to know you better and introduce you to her champion husband.

you entered shyly as tashi opened to you, saying it was a pleasure to know you in person, that she was happy you were there, what really surprised you was seeing patrick sitting at the couch drinking a beer and talking with art, like the game of a few hours ago didn’t happen.

you sit by their side and after being introduced you were all already on a involvent conversation, they convinced you to drink some beers with them and after a few ones you were drunk. they were funny, made you feel comfortable enough to rest your head on tashi’s lap while you talked abt your shitty ex who used you just for social climbing. that’s how comfortable they made you, or maybe that’s how lonely you felt. while you laughed at some stupid joke patrick made, tashi started caressing your face gently, and before you could even realize her thumb circled your lips, like she was asking you to suck her finger. it was a little awkward but art’s kept looking at you, curious if you would do it or not, and in a act of courage, you did, made him mumbles a “fuck” under his breath and bring one hand to his bonner. that’s when you fully realized what was happening, you all exchanged looks.

“if you wanna leave, it’s okay, but if you stay… we just want to make you feel good..” tashi whispered lowly, and you thought for a sec or two, but then you got up, kneeling on the couch and kissing her lips, she kissed you back in a heartbeat and grabbed your hair in her hand. you heard patrick gasp and art breath heavily and looked at them, seeing hunger in both of their eyes, tashi calls them and they both get closer, patrick involved your waist with his arm you all started to exchange messy kisses, to the point where you could differentiate them by the kiss.

after a few minutes they took you to bed, you couldn’t even tell how did all of you get naked, but you wasn’t complaining. tashi sits with you laying between her thighs, it was clear that her words kept you relaxed at this point, she massaged your breasts while patrick started positioning himself between your legs, but before he could part them, you heard the voice above your ear.

“who do you think that deserves to fuck you first, hm? the winner as a reward, or the loser as a consolation prize?”

“oh c’mon, tashi-“ patrick was cut off by her warning look, silently shutting him up.

art just found it funny, even though his dick was rock hard and you could see the precum leaking, he didn’t seen to be desperate like patrick, that’s when you made your decision.

“i’m no consolation prize, i’m the fucking reward.” the married couple enjoyed your answer but patrick gave a loud slap on your thigh playfully before leaving, giving room for art to come, he leaned over to kiss you as a thanks before got up again, thrusting his pretty cock on your dripping entrance, so slippery that didn’t take long for him to get rough.

you felt patrick by your side, offering his cock for you to suck, which you tried to, but your body were moving to much with art’s thrust and you couldn’t stop moan, poor boy only gets a few seconds with his cock inside your mouth before tashi started to jerk him off in front of your face.

didn’t take long for them to cum too, art spewing his load inside you while you came around his cock, and patrick leaking thick cum all over your pretty face and tits, you looked at him with doe eyes, almost apologizing to him silently, but he smiled at you when he finished, letting you know that it was fine.

you felt your pussy aching when art took his softened cock out, but smiled when you heard tashi above your ear “hope you’re not tired yet, it’s girls time now, doll.”

[fruitjoos]

always

You stand at the edge of the bathtub, the soft glow of candlelight flickering against the walls. The warm, fragrant water beckons you both, steam curling into the cool air. You turn to her, your heart swelling with affection. She smiles, eyes twinkling with the same tenderness you feel inside.

"Ready?" you ask softly.

"Always," she replies, her voice a gentle murmur.

As you both step into the tub, the water envelops you, a soothing embrace that washes away the day's stress. You sit behind her, and she leans back against your chest, her head resting just below your chin. You can feel her heartbeat, a steady rhythm that matches your own.

You take a washcloth, dip it in the warm water, and gently glide it over her shoulders, her back, her arms. Her skin is soft under your touch, and she sighs contentedly, tilting her head to give you better access.

"That feels amazing," she whispers.

You respond by pressing a kiss to her damp hair.

You wash her with care, each stroke of the cloth a silent declaration of love. Setting the cloth aside, you pour a bit of shampoo into your palm, lathering it between your hands before running your fingers through her hair. The scent of lavender fills the air as you massage her scalp, your fingers working through the strands, untangling knots with gentle patience.

"You're spoiling me," she says with a chuckle.

"Only because you deserve it," you respond, smiling.

She hums softly, the sound vibrating through you. You rinse the shampoo from her hair, the water cascading down in gentle waves. As she relaxes further, you take the opportunity to run your hands along her arms, her back, tracing patterns on her skin.

"Do you know," you start, "that your freckles look like constellations?"

"Really?" she asks, amusement in her voice.

"Mhm." You begin to connect the dots with your finger, tracing imaginary lines between her freckles. "This one looks like Orion's Belt."

She giggles, a sweet, melodious sound. "You're such a nerd."

"And you love it," you tease, kissing her shoulder.

You write love letters on her back with your finger, each stroke forming invisible words that only the two of you understand. She shivers slightly, the touch sending pleasant ripples through her body. You run your hands up and down her thighs, feeling the smoothness of her skin, the subtle strength beneath.

"I love you," she murmurs, her voice barely audible over the gentle splashing of water.

"I love you too," you reply, your heart full. You kiss her neck, her shoulders, every inch of skin you can reach. Each kiss is a promise, an affirmation of the bond you share.

She turns slightly, just enough to capture your lips with hers. The kiss is slow, tender, filled with the depth of your feelings. When you finally pull away, you rest your forehead against hers, both of you breathing in the same rhythm.

"Thank you," she says softly, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

"Always," you whisper back, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. "Always."

— based on this post

[jesuistrestriste]

♡ Nice Guys Finish Last; Art Donaldson x Reader ♡

nsfw! (18+) cw: soft dom!art donaldson, sub!reader, afab/fem reader, porn w/ a little plot, penetrative sex, unsafe sex/pullout method, slight edging (reader!receiving), equal desperation, praise, general filth, art is a softie until he's not

wc: 4.2 k

*does not include challengers spoilers!*

prev. art donaldson fic : <3 here <3

It was currently 11 PM in the state of New York, and Art Donaldson was in your hotel room.

-

Earlier today, you had competed in a long singles tennis tournament for a cash prize, and had beat every other girl in the bracket. You walked away from it with five-hundred more dollars in your pocket than you had walked in with, and a smug grin on your glossy lips.

Art Donaldson had competed in a similar tournament at the same venue, except it involved doubles teams playing against one another. He had played with his typical partner, Patrick Zweig, and they, too, had beat everyone in their bracket.

Tomorrow, they would be playing against one another to determine the ultimate winner.

You had watched them play, and they had watched you play too.

After the venue had shut down for the night, you had begun to wander back to your hotel a few blocks away and coincidentally bumped into the two boys heading back to the same building.

You three talked--or rather, they had buttered you up with compliments as you all went up the elevator, and suddenly you were in their hotel room drinking cheap beer from cold metal cans.

They both flirted relentlessly with you for about an hour or two, before Patrick had called it a night (and had given up on trying to woo you) and told you and Art that he was going to sleep.

Art had given you a look and nodded towards their room's door with a small smile, silently suggesting something. Thirty seconds later the both of you were standing alone in the hotel hallway. He chatted you up and praised your tennis-playing for about ten more minutes, his blue eyes staring into yours with an earnest desire to hold your attention. You had laughed and flushed with a nervous heat while he sang your praises, and then a bout of silence came over the two of you. He looked down to his shoes, letting out a soft chuckle, and then back up to your eyes.. and then down to your lips. The buzz of the fluorescent lights above made the silence seem more tense than it already was.

After tossing the reality of this interaction around in your head, you had realized that his kind, sensitive, charming persona was effectively rendering you weak in the knees..

"You're really pretty, by the way.. i don't know if i've said that yet, but you are," he had spoken in the hallway, leaning his shoulder against the wall as a lock of his strawberry-blonde curls hung in the center of his forehead.

And that was it.

Five minutes later he was in your hotel room.

-

The both of you kicked your shoes off in the doorway, and then moved to sit on the edge of your hotel room bed. Your chest and hands felt strangely hot as the young, talented tennis player sat there next to you. After a few moments of shared bashful glances, you started to notice things about him that you hadn't before.

Sometimes when he smiled, only one corner of his lips would lift up. When that happened, it looked more like he was smirking than he was smiling, which made him seem either disingenuous or disinterested -- even though it seemed that neither of those things were true.

He smelled like generic aftershave, faint sweat, and warm skin, which was a pleasant contrast to the smell of the hotel room. While the hotel was clean, it was also old, which made the permeating scent of the carpet akin to something like the stale basement of a childhood home.

He fidgeted subtly with his hands, staring into your eyes before averting them to look around at your luggage and tennis bag on the floor.

"So.. you said you're going to Stanford this fall, right?" you say, leaning back on your palms.

"Yeah, yeah," he nods, turning his head to look back to you again with a sheepish smile, “and you’re going to Harvard?”

“Mhm,” you hum, smiling back at him, “is Patrick going with you?”

He laughs a little, his brows furrowing, “Patrick? Hell no.”

You shake your head, “why not?”

“Patrick isn’t the college type. He wants to go pro immediately.”

“Ohh.. right, i forgot he mentioned that.”

“Yeah,” Art shrugs, still giving you a soft look as he shifts a little in his spot on the end of the mattress.

“I think you’re better off at Stanford without him,” you tease slightly, a playful smirk on your face.

He smiles wider, “Why?”

“I think he’d just get you into trouble,” you chuckle.

Art laughs again, a tiny bit harder than he did before, and you’re not sure if it’s because he genuinely likes your playfulness or if it’s because he’s a little nervous.

"You don't think I can cause trouble?" he asks with a small smile.

You shake your head after letting a soft giggle bubble up and out of your chest in response.

"Nah, not really."

"Why's that?"

"You're just so.. so nice."

He scoffs lightly and gently rolls his eyes, reaching up to tuck some of his messy hair behind one of his ears. He chews a little on the inside of his cheek.

"What?" you laugh.

"Everyone me and Patrick meet thinks he's this cool 'bad-boy' and I'm just this.. meek little 'nice guy'," he chuckles, matching your body language now by also leaning back on his palms.

Your smile falters slightly when he does this, but only because now the sleeve of his gray tee shirt was brushing against your bare shoulder, and your faces were a short distance apart. If you tried, you could probably just lean in and kiss him..

"It's not a bad thing to be a nice guy," you smirk, continuing your guys' little back-and-forth.

"Yeah, but there's, like, connotations behind that idea of a guy."

"What 'connotations'?"

He lets out a stiff chuckle, averting his eyes down to his legs before he returns your eye contact once again as he speaks, "I don't know.. that I'm 'shy', or that i 'cant be assertive'.."

You smile, feeling another wave of warmth creep over your stomach just from the way he was looking at you. His eyes were soft but steadily looking into yours, and each second felt like three years.

"So you're saying that those assumptions aren't true?" you tease gently, subtly moving to lean your shoulder against his. He noticed this immediately.

"God!" he laughs, slightly offended but still playing along, "do they seem true?"

"No," you say a bit softer with a smile, your eyes unintentionally drifting down to his pink lips. He noticed this too.

"Okay, good," he leans in a little more, your lips only a handful of inches apart now ".. 'cause they're definitely not."

"Really?" you chuckle, still teasing him.

He nods, "Really, really."

You could feel your heart beating rapidly in your ribcage, and then you started to wonder if he could hear it. Your lips part, little breaths being let out as you lean in an extra two inches. He smirks, and then you feel him move his right hand off of the bed and over your thigh. Its gentle and almost hesitant; giving you the opportunity to say 'no' if you wanted to.. but you didn't. you definitely didn't want to say no.

Your breathing hitches a little and your thighs shift slightly to capture his fingers between your limbs, and he looks steadily into your eyes as his digits squeeze your flesh softly.

"I'm not that shy," he murmurs lowly.

And then his lips are on yours, hot and hungry and eager to please. Your brows furrow as you kiss him back with equal ferocity, and his other hand moves to gently cup your cheek.

His tongue lathes over your bottom lip, and you open your mouth wider so that he can slide it in and taste you better. He groans softly against your smooth, parted lips, his hand between your thighs sliding up to press his palm against your clothed heat. A shaky, barely audible moan escapes your lips as this happens, and he swallows it down as he kisses you harder.

Art's hands then move to slide under your athletic tank top, and he pulls away with lidded eyes to mumble lowly and warmly against your jaw, "can I take this off?"

You nod feverishly, breathing heavily, as you lift your arms above your head while he pulls your shirt up and over. He tosses it aside once it's off like it's trash to him, and then he's diving back in to kiss and suck and nip at your neck. You're sure that he'll leave marks, but you can't find the strength or willpower to deny how hot it would be to look in the mirror later and see all of the little red blotches that his pretty mouth left behind. A few soft "ahh"s and "oh"s slip from your parted lips as his tongue flicks over your pulse point like its a clit, and you can feel your cunt clench around nothing. Without further warning, both of his hands slide up to grope your breasts over your sports bra, and your back arches instantly.

"I want to see more of you," Art whispers against your neck, one of his hands moving back to gently grope your thigh right under the hem of your shorts, while his other starts to hook one of his fingers under the elastic band of your bra.

"Yeah, yes," you mumble and nod, your eyes fluttering shut as you feel his silky tongue lap gently over the sensitive spot on your lower neck again.

He pulls back, his lips shiny with his own saliva, and he lets out a small huff of air as he stands up from the bed and shifts to stand in front of where you're trembling on the edge of it.

Your eyes meet his, and you now fully realize that his whole "nice guy" thing was a facade.. maybe it was just a protective cloak he put on until he got comfortable..

Regardless, he looked different now as he stood in front of you, breathing heavily as his gaze drank in the sight of your body. He takes a step closer, his knees touching the end of the bed as his legs stood steadily between yours. He looks down, shifting his left knee to push your legs farther apart, and you have to bite down on your bottom lip to stifle a whine.

Not a moment later, he's reaching down to pull your tight sports bra over your head. It drops from his grasp onto the floor, his breathing hitches as he looks down at your exposed chest, and then his hands are moving to roughly knead and squeeze at your soft flesh underneath his palms. You shudder and bite your lip. He thumbs your nipples.

His eyes move back up to return your gaze, and he leans down and starts to crawl on top of you, his body gently coaxing yours to lay back flat over the patterned comforter. You don't need a verbal cue from him to know what he wants and what his goal is; his body did all the talking -- just like it did when he played tennis.

"Fuck," he breathes out, his erection straining against the inside of his boxers as it presses against your bare abdomen. A lift of your hips is all the indication he needs from you to tell him that you're as desperate for this as he is right now, and so he gingerly begins to slide one of his hands down the front of your shorts. His touch dips under the waistband, and then before you can process the sensation, you realize that he's moving down into your panties too. One thing that you are painfully aware of, though, is the fact that he never tries to break eye contact while he does all this..

"Ahh.." you moan, your brows pinching up as you feel his warm fingertips brush over your throbbing, sensitive nub. He was hardly touching you, but it was enough to get the fire roaring in your guts. It was more than enough. He knew all the right ways to touch you.. and all the right spots to squeeze and caress.. which seemed crazy considering you two had never spoken to one another until about three or so hours ago.

He smiles gently, his eyes now moving to gaze down at your lips. The pads of Art's fingers begin to play with your clit, rubbing soft and incessant circles over the ball of nerves as you start to squirm on the bed. His head leans back down to kiss your neck and your hands shakily grab onto his shoulders. A laugh escapes him, coating your flesh in a bath of warm air, while he feels your nails dig into him. Even over the fabric of his cotton tee shirt he can feel this, and he winces slightly before the sting of your grip dissolves into pleasure and he starts to moan along with you.

A few more minutes of this go on, and the band in your stomach is stretched more and more until it feels like it's about to snap, and then-

"I really want to fuck you right now," Art murmurs against your skin, his fingers coming to a pause as he pulls his face from the crook of your neck to look down into your dazed eyes.

You blink a few times, feeling the numbing pressure in your pussy start to fade as he unintentionally edges you.

"yes, please.. I want you to.." you softly whimper, your hands reaching up to needily tug at his shirt.

"I don't have a condom," he whispers breathlessly, shaking his head softly as his gaze falls onto your lips now.

"I.." you pause, taking a second to breathe as you attempt to think over the predicament you're now in, "uhm.. I- well, I don't really care.. as long as you pull out.."

It's almost as if just the idea of him being able to be inside of you-- skin to skin; raw--sets him off, because the moment the words leave your mouth, he's letting out soft breathy moans and grinding his clothed pelvis against your thigh. You can feel him throbbing through the fabric, and now you're certain you can't wait much longer. Neither can he.

Your hands pull on his shirt again, forcing his face back down close to yours, "I want you inside of me.."

A groan and a grunt later, he's scrambling to pull his shirt off, and then his shorts, and then his strong calloused hands are gently tugging yours down as well. Art doesn't want to waste time on the act of undressing. Sure, he liked being tender and going slow most times, but this occasion was different. The more that he felt himself leaking into his underwear, the more he needed to feel your silky cunt grip around his cock. Maybe if he got your number after all this, he could go slow next time, but not now. Not when he's like this and you're like that.

When your panties are pulled down with your shorts, Art lets out a groan as he sees the fabric connecting with your delicate flesh via a glistening string of arousal from your heat.

"Jesus Christ," he huffs, his tongue moving to dip out over his bottom lip involuntarily. He pushes your shorts and panties down the rest of the way, and you urgently kick them off onto the room's carpet.

After he moves back up, one of his hands reaches down once again to your cunt. His fingers gently brush over your slicked-up folds, causing your body to jolt and shudder as you struggle to remain quiet. In the next instant, you feel his touch leave your body and you watch in awe as he brings his digits up to his lips and sucks your juices off of them. He rolls your wetness around over his tongue and his eyes roll back a little. He can't help it -- you just taste so fuckin' good.

"Art," you whisper, your voice dissolving into a soft whine, "c'mon.. just- I want you to-"

You're cut off when the man hovering over your form moves his fingers from his mouth and down to yours, effectively shutting you up.

"Suck," he whispers.

You do as you're told instantly, parting your lips to engulf his middle and ring finger in wet heat; your drool pools over his fingertips as your tongue swirls around them and tastes the mix of his saliva and the remnants of your arousal.

He watches with bated breath as you do this, his eyes never leaving your face, and he cant stop himself from pushing his hard, clothed dick against your bare cunt. Your eyes flutter. A string of whimpers echo out into the room from your chest, and you can feel more of your wetness slide down from your entrance.

Art keeps his fingers in your mouth as he uses his other hand to pull his hard-on out of his black boxer briefs, groaning as he taps your clit with the tip of it a few times. Each time his leaking cockhead touches your sensitive parts, your hips buck up. He didn't think it was physically possible to get as turned on as he was right then.

He shifts his pelvis back so that he can slide his dick over your sticky body, not pushing in quite yet, but just teasing your greedy hole. The feeling of your heady moans around his fingers cause them to vibrate, and he leans down close to your face on instinct.

Your breath catches in your throat. Your eyes blink open and you whimper as he uses his digits to gently force your lips to part so that he can shove his tongue past them. Art licks at the inside of your mouth, groaning while he subtly removes his fingers and brings them down to your clit once more. He slots your bundle of nerves between his index and middle finger, sliding them up and down to effectively stroke over your most sensitive area as you feel his cock prodding at your hole.

While his tongue laps over yours, his mouth eagerly swallowing the obscenely loud moans you're letting out as your climax approaches once again, he begins to slide his tip into you. Your eyes instantly open wide before your face scrunches up in pleasure and your hands desperately paw at his shoulders.

He slides in another inch.

And another.

And then two more.

And then he bottoms out completely, filling you wholly with his twitching length as he pulls his face back from your lips to gasp softly.

You look up at him as his brows furrow, and you wriggle underneath him as he lets out a soft growl.

"You're so tight.. shit, you feel so good," he murmurs lowly, his eyes on yours as he starts to slide himself slowly back out before thrusting back in. You can feel him hit your cervix. You'd let him bruise it if he wanted to.

And he wants to.

"Fuck me harder," you moan softly.

"Yeah?" he smirks, breathing heavily.

"Yeah."

He leans up so that his back is straight, and he gazes down at you while he slides his hands under your form to gingerly cup your lower back.. and then he's pounding into you without further warning.

Your back arches up from his hold, and every thrust of his thick cock into your cunt is sending explosions of numbing heat throughout your lower half.

Each movement of his hips results in a lewd squelch as his pelvis slaps into the underside of your ass, and every movement sends you closer and closer to the edge. He's groaning and moaning above you, watching your every move as you squirm around and take him properly. You want to be good for him; he can tell.

Whimpers and needy whines are forced out of you as he fucks you with abandon into the mattress, and your mind is forced back into reality once you feel his hands move from your back to your sensitive tits.

"Are you gonna cum? You're squeezing down on me," he breathes out, a loud groan cutting his words off as he tips his head back. His thrusts grow sloppier, "oh god, oh fff-u-uck.."

"Ye-- Uhh- Ahh-!" you hoarsely and brokenly moan out, unable to fully give him an answer. Your hands fist the cool sheets under you as your legs start to involuntarily squeeze together with the onslaught of your impending orgasm.

Art brings his head back up to look down at you, and he shakes his head, sliding his hands down from your breasts to your legs to lift them up and spread them apart gently but forcefully.

"Keep them spread.. I know you're close," he says softly to you, "I promise I'll let you come.. just keep being good for me.. I'm almost there.."

Once his words fill your fuzzy head, you can't help but let out an obscenely loud---borderline-pornographic---moan as your thighs shake in his hold. His cock slams into you faster, but with less and less precision. He bites his lip before his jaw slacks and he lets out an equally loud moan to accompany your filthy noises.

"You're so fucking pretty... you're so-- you feel so damn good," he babbles gruffly, his touch digging into your legs as his hips rashly thrust his throbbing length in and out of your sopping pussy.

You nod, unsure of what to say or how to even respond in the state that your body is in. You're somehow limp and tense at the same time, your body shivering as your back arches up again.

"I-- I'm gonna--!" you gasp out in a shaky whimper.

He moans at your words, fucking you deeper and messier, before he leans down over you and you can feel his broad toned chest press against yours.

"Say it.." he breathes out against your ear in a soft groan.

You moan, shuddering under him as your cunt starts to rhythmically tighten around him.

"I'm gonna cum," you whine, nearly sobbing.

"Fuck," he groans, "yeah? Say it again for me."

"I'm gonna cummm-!"

"You wanna cum on my cock?"

You nod helplessly, your arms wrapped around his flushed upper back as his cock slides in and out of you; his tip constantly brushing up against that special spot in your velvety walls hidden just a couple inches inside.

"Yess-s-!" you moan, your body absolutely writhing on the bed under his heavy form.

"Okay.. alright," he breathes out hotly into your neck, "go on and cum for me."

Before you can process what's going on, your body is overwhelmed with an overpowering heat as the last thing you distinctly feel is one of Art's hands moving down your lower abdomen to then rub circles over your swollen bud with his thumb. And that's all it takes -- You’re thrown over the edge.

"Fuck! OH MY GOD, OH--!" you cry out, your nails digging into his back as he fucks you through your climax.

He groans harshly and loudly against your warm skin before his hips stutter with the feeling of your hole pulsing around him. He keeps his digit rubbing incessant, soft circles over your clit to prolong your orgasm as he forces himself to pull out with a gasp.

His balls draw up and he reaches down quickly with his other hand to stroke over his length just as he feels his release start to rise up.

As you moan tremblingly and bask in your afterglow, you try to catch your breath as you shakily push yourself up onto your elbows just in time to watch Art squirt out a thick load over your torso. Rope after rope of sticky white fluid drips and gushes from his cock and between his fingers as he jerks himself off; shuddering deeply over you and letting out little "fuck"s and "oh my god"s and "yes"s.

After a few more shaky moments tick by, his thumb comes to a halt over your clit as he watches the last drops of his cum fall onto your stomach.

He breathes heavily, biting his lip as he watches your body shake. He loves the way his cum looks on your beautiful body.. it's like liquid pearl splattered all over you. He takes several mental pictures of the scene in front of him before he collapses on top of you with a soft grin.

You chuckle breathily, wrapping your arms around him as your warm bodies stick together in the aftermath, and he presses two soft kisses to your neck. One of your hands slides up from between his shoulder blades to run some of your fingers through his messy curls. He shivers and sighs, sliding his hands under your body to hold you closer to him.

A small period of comfortable silence is held between you two as you both work to catch your breaths, before Art is the one to break the quiet with a soft murmur into your shoulder.

"So.. can I get your number?"

"After round two," you whisper with a smile.

"Deal."

note; this is for everyone who voted for soft dom!art donaldson in that poll + the anons in my inbox asking for this sort of dynamic w/ art <3 much much much love !

divider credit: @benkeibear <3