#mike faist x reader fluff

[cupidsanne]

Mike Faist Fluff Alphabet ✢ Headcanons

Mike Faist x Female! Insert Reader

SYNOPSIS! ✦ headcanons based on the ask of these prompts!!

WARNINGS! ✦ None, sfw.

NOTES! ✦ link to template for these are here! no proof reads, lmk if something’s wrong! <3

Mike Faist Masterlist . About Me + Rules .

A — Admiration . . . What Do They Absolutely Adore About You?

One of the things he adores about you is your leniency with everything. Your ability to forgive and be tolerant of certain things is really nice to him, since no one’s perfect and even Mike makes mistakes sometimes. Mike always assumed the worst whenever he messes up something small and thinks you’ll hold it against him, which is so far from the truth. He has to constantly remind himself that you’re not there to belittle him for everything, and it’s okay to tell you things.

B — Body . . . What Is Their Favorite Part Of Your Body?

His favorite part is your smile. You’re a silly person naturally, so a grin is always spread onto your face. He makes you laugh a lot, and you do the same for him. He’s definitely attracted to your happiness. Don’t even be insecure if you’re teeth may be crooked, if your lips look a certain way, ect. he does not care!! Smile all the time!

C — Cuddling . . . How Do They Like To Cuddle?

He prefers to cuddle with you sat up and seated, cause whenever you two do cuddle laying down, he falls asleep. He can’t help it! You’re comforting to be around.

D — Dates . . . What Does Their Ideal Date With You Look Like?

He’s content with anything as long as it’s private. On dates, Mike likes to give his sole attention to you and doesn’t want outside distractions or interruptions. He’s also not too particular with dates, but he does prefer calm ones. Although he doesn’t mind those crazier dates like rock climbing, clubbing, ski-ing ect. he likes ones where he doesn’t have to do much as well. Mike loves having fun, but he’s a homebody too. His ideal dates are picnics at the park, beach, or having a quiet dinner in a cozy restaurant. If your dates mostly consisted of eating inside either (or your shared) homes, he’d be fine with that too.

E — Emotions . . . How Do They Express Emotion Around You?

He’s a honest partner, but he’s not always comfortable with being verbally vulnerable. He doesn’t want to burden you with his issues or thoughts initially, so a lot of the times of when he’s upset, you have to look for any physical cues on him. Similar reasoning from letter A.

F — Family . . . Do They Want One? If They Do, When?

He does, but he isn’t sure when is the right time. With his career and constantly being on the move, he doesn’t know how he’ll want to balance work life and family life. He doesn’t work a office job where he can go in during the day and come back in the evening, he’s an actor! Actors schedules constantly shift and he may be expected to travel. You knew what you were signing up for when you got together with him, so he really wants to leave the decision of a family to you.

He has a great relationship with kids. Because of his energy and kind smile, kids naturally are drawn to him and want to play/hang out with him. He’s polite and super fun, and he’s also good at a lot of things. He’d be a great father, but he underestimates himself.

G — Gifts . . . How Do They Feel About Gift Giving? What Are Their Habits When It Comes To This?

He doesn’t mind giving gifts but it’s not his main love language. He’s the type of person where he likes to save gifts for special occasions so they can feel extra special. Occasionally, he might gift you something small and silly to make you laugh but the meaningful gifts are for certain occasions. He also entirely chooses your gifts for your benefit and wants, not his.

H — Holding Hands . . . When/How Do They Like To Hold Hands?

Mike is not a huge fan of PDA, but he’s not completely against it either. This doesn’t mean he’s not physically affectionate with you at all, cause that’s false!! He’s just not the type of guy to make out with you in public or grab your butt in front of friends… (I find those things corny.) Subtle affection like hand holding is great with him! He doesn’t mind holding your hand as you guys walk, sit down, or talk. He’s a private person, but he’s not gonna keep your relationship a secret.

He likes to interlock fingers! It’s comforting to him and if your walking through somewhere crowded, you won’t feel like you’re slipping away. He doesn’t like those hand holds where it’s him holding your hand and you’re not, or you’re holding is hand and he’s not, he likes to keep it mutual. One parter just holding onto the other feels territorial.

I — Injury . . . How Would They Act If You Got Hurt?

If you slip on the floor and fall, he’s gonna rush over and check on you with a smile cracked on his lips. He’s not doing it to make you embarrassed, he just finds it cute, in a way! If it’s funny, he’ll try to hold it in and make sure you’re recomposed. He doesn’t like to see you hurt at all.

Now, he’s not a monster! If you seriously get injured, he’s gonna be devastated! He’s a responsible person and when put in a panicked situation, he knows how to calm you and/or the area down. Not saying he won’t be stressed or alarmed, but he’s gonna take you to the hospital or doctor to make sure you’re alright.

J — Jokes . . . Do They Like To Joke Around With Or Prank You? How?

He definitely does, no question about it. You two joke around and share many laughs with each other. He doesn’t necessarily prank you crazily, but he does in a small way.

If you’re new here, Mike is a actor. A incredible one, and with being a actor it’s easy for him to tell little lies. Sometimes when he says things, you’re prone to believe it based off his face and tone. For example, he’d do those pranks where it’s “My gosh, [insert a celebrity you like] has just died!” and you’d definitely become hysterical trying to find out if it’s true, the whole time he’s sitting there smiling internally as you’re freaking out. He doesn’t keep it up forever though and always comes clean, you’d complain but you’re not actually hurt. If anything, you reciprocate and pull mini pranks like that on him all the time. Yet, he’s skeptic whenever you try since you’re not as good at pranking him then he is with you.

K — Kisses . . . How Do The Like To Kiss You?

Now, a controversial opinion… He just loves those short kisses! Those kisses where he leans down to kiss you on the lips deeply but fast are his favorite. He likes to see your facial expression afterwards, nine times out of ten you’re grinning from ear to ear. He doesn’t mean pecks where it’s so quick the other partner can’t catch it, but the short regular ones. Despite this, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love those long kisses either.

L — Love . . . How Do They Show They Love You?

Quality time is his favorite way! It sucks because sometimes he has to be away from you for periods of time because of his job, but it’s his favorite way of showing how he loves you. Mike can be anti-social sometimes and does cherish his away time, but quality time together is his love language cause it means he’s sharing his space and extra time for you. When you two are together, it doesn’t feel like a chore or obligation to be around each other. He genuinely enjoys your company, he wouldn’t be with you if he didn’t.

M — Memory . . . Favorite Memory Together?

Meeting your family was one of his favorite memories. You come from a big family and they were all so excited to meet him. Some of them couldn’t believe he was this star who could sing and dance as he was so bashful around everyone! He was super polite and warm to everyone. Your parents are obsessed with him and whenever you try to come around, the first thing they ask is “Where’s Mike? How’s Mike doing?”

When he was first invited to a family get together, he was set on making a good impression, and he sure did! He met and greeted everyone, he played with the kids for a little bit, he help set the table when your mother asked, he even sat down with your dad, uncles, and some other guy relatives and they had a drink and chatted. He came to have a genuine good time with them all, and was glad to hear that they like him so much, cause he was planning on being with you for the long run.

N — Nightmare . . . What Is Their Worst Fear?

Disappointing or not living up to certain expectations. Mike can be very tough on himself and underestimates his abilities. If you listen to any peer, actor, or even directors he has worked with, they all have such uplifting things to say about him. How Mike always goes above and beyond in whatever he does. He doesn’t just do this to please others, but he does it to please himself.

Before his career, it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows for him, so working hard is always the mindset that he lives in. It’s a sense of security for him.

O — Oddity . . . What Is One Quirk They Have?

Most of the time, you can read what he’s thinking or feeling through his eyes. It’s not odd, it’s pretty regular but it’s much more intriguing from him. Mike has heterochromia which means his eyes are two different colors! It’s not something you see often but it’s not uncommon. Not only are they different but he’s naturally handsome as well and as luscious eyelashes to go with his eyes. You’ve learned that whenever he’s listening to something, he might not do the talking but his eyes will.

For example, if you say something totally unexpected, his eyes might widened and he’s gonna blink repeatedly. If you say something funny, he’s gonna chuckle and his eyes will squint. He doesn’t always realize you look in his eyes to read him.

P — Pet Names . . . What Do They Like To Call You?

He likes to keep it simple, he doesn’t do those extra cheesy pet names like “sweetie pie” and “boo boo bear” he can’t stand those!! A good go-to nickname for you is a short “Babe”. If you’re not really into pet names but you do have a nickname that’s known from close friends or loved ones, he can call you that too!

Q — Quality Time . . . How Do They Like To Spend Time With You?

He likes to spend it privately and not too much outside distractions. He wants all his focus on you to let you know that he’s listening and paying attention to you.

R — Rhythm . . . What Song Reminds You Of Them?

“There! I’ve Said it Again” sung by Bobby Vinton!!

I really don’t have any reasoning for it, but this is my selection! Because Mike was into the older movies with Gene Kelly and more, I’d think he’d appreciate that older genre of music too. This is a slow yet lovely song.

S — Secrets . . . How Open Are They With You?

Like stated before, he’s honest with you but it may take some coaxing for him to speak up. He’s good at acting and ignoring something, but after so long he can’t always keep it up, so you’re always bound to find out. As time goes on, he gets better at being more open.

T — Time . . . How Long Does It Take You To Get Together?

Surprisingly, he’s persistent. As much as he’s an over-thinker, he’s not gonna make any decisions he’s gonna regret if he knows he has a chance.

I definitely see you two starting off as friends and slowly falling for each other. It all really depends on the circumstances of how you two crossed paths for how long it takes for you to get together.

U — Upset . . . How Do They Act When You’re Upset?

His first priority is to comfort or calm you down. When upset, you’re not gonna always think rationally and he doesn’t want you to wear yourself out or do anything you’d regret. If there’s a issue, he won’t ultimately take over and help you, but he will assure and offer solutions if you need it. Sometimes, that’s all a person really wants when they’re upset and he realizes that over time.

V — Vaunt . . . What Are They Proud Of? Do They Like To Show You Off?

Despite his humble demeanor, he’s very proud and grateful for how far he’s come into his career. There was a point in his life where he felt like he wasn’t going to get as far as he wanted, yet he’s proven himself wrong.

He doesn’t mind showing you off at all! He loves you and everything you do. The reason he doesn’t have you out there to the public like crazy isn’t because he’s ashamed to be with you, but it’s because he values your privacy and his. Despite this, the instances where you two are put out in the spotlight, he’s making it known that you’re his and he’s yours!

W — Warrior . . . How Do They Feel About You Fighting? Would They Fight For You? Beside You? Ect.

Verbal or Physical, he doesn’t want you fighting at all! Mike likes to keep the peace in situations and feels that fighting isn’t the way to go. Although, he doesn’t want you to get walked over on and allow yourself to be backed into a corner. If we’re speaking about verbal fighting, he wholeheartedly supports you defending yourself and knows you’re an adult and you should be able to handle yourself. He won’t say anything but he will be alongside you to comfort you. Now, if it calls for it, he will defend you with no hesitation. If someone tries to insult/put you down while you’re not there to defend yourself, you bet he’s going to shut that down. So don’t even worry!

X — X-Ray . . . How Well Are They Able To Read You?

In the beginning of your relationship, it was so hard for him. At times he’d read too much and think the worst instead of coming up and communicating with you. Eventually, he’d get the hang of it all and now he can read you like an open book. He’s memorized your quirks and behaviors whenever you’re happy, sad, angry ect. and so have you for him.

Y — Yes . . . How Would They Propose To You?

Now, what some people may not know is that Mike has a pilot’s license! He wanted to make the proposal memorable for you and him, and he was wondering if he should do something totally different then you’d expect! With some coaxing from friends and his half brothers, they encouraged him to propose to you while flying! With some convincing, he pushed for you to join him on flying out. He assured you’d be safe and staged that his half brother couldn’t be his co-pilot and needed to go out because “he didn’t want his skills to get rusty.” You believed him obviously and followed through and as you two drove out in the air, he popped the question on you privately, handing you a ring box as he drove. You cried tears of joy and accepted his proposal.

( ^ should I turn this into a imagine or blurb? 🫣)

Z — Zen . . . What Makes Them Feel Calm?

Knowing that you’re understanding and listening to him always. There’s a different between hearing and listening to someone. Sometimes, he feels invalidated on his wants and expressions therefore he doesn’t always outright admits to when he has a problem with something. You know he doesn’t like to ask for assistance or help, and will do it himself before anything. That’s why, whenever you feel or get a hunch that there’s something off, you immediately ask him if he’s alright or if there’s anything he’d want you to do. He appreciates it so much, and even if he declines your help and controls your worries, it means so much that you’re wondering how he’s feeling. To you, this is the bare minimum but to him, it means a lot.

[cherrygirlfriend]

─── SMOOTHIES ♡

♡ pairing: dilf!art x reader

♡ summary: art has… some trouble in the bedroom, and to help him out, you slip something in his morning smoothie.

♡ warnings / tags: smut, MDNI! piv, slipping viagra in his smoothie.

♡ author's note: i love the concept of ed art so <3 also yes i made a viagra divider just for this… 😭

ART DONALDSON MASTERLIST ♡ 5K MASTERLIST

sometimes, art had... trouble when it came to the bedroom. but you never blamed him, all too aware of how stressful the life of an athlete could be. during the times he couldn't perform, his head would end up between your thighs until your whole body was trembling.

but it had been four weeks since he'd last gotten hard, and all you wanted was to have him inside of you. sure, you had one of those homemade dildos in the shape of art's cock, and he'd use it on you, but you missed having him inside of you. not a silicone toy. art.

and you could tell that art was feeling self-conscious; he'd never gone that long without managing to get an erection. you'd heard him through the door while he was in the bathroom the other night, quietly talking to himself, beating himself up over it

no woman would want their man to feel bad about themselves, right?

that was what you told yourself as you poured the blue powder you'd just crushed up into the green smoothie you made art every morning. you could see the look of disappointment that fell on his face every time he failed to get hard, each 'i'm sorry…' he said practically making you cry… and it's not like you could ask him to take them, some men were fragile about these things.

you just wanted to help art regain his confidence. there was nothing wrong with that. right? it's not your fault that you didn't remember he had an important meeting that day…

he ended up having to cancel. because by the time you're on your fourth orgasm, art still has you pinned to the bed, still as hard as a rod, your poor pussy already starting to get sore while he continues to fuck into you.

"i... have... no idea... what's going... on..." art groans between each thrust, your bedroom filled with the lewd squelching noise of art's cock thrusting in and out of you, hitting that that sweet spot inside of you each time, "'m so sorry..." he mumbles, your hands twisted up in his blonde hair, tugging on the strands, your brain too fuzzy with pleasure, with stimulation to be able to even comfort him; to offer him those honey-sweet words that came so easy whenver he had difficulty getting hard.

all you could butter out was "so... good..." even as art kept fucking into you with no mercy, basically sliding into you from all the arousal leaking out of you.

but two, grueling, filled up hours later, art was finally soft, collapsing right next to you on the bed, covered in sweat and other fluids; and although you were sure your pussy was going to be sore for a week... you couldn't help but think of the next time you could slip something into his smoothie.

"you know…" art mumbled breathlessly, "my smoothie tasted a bit different this morning…"

you bit down on your lower lip, turning to look at him, both of you covered in sweat, "i might've added in a secret ingredient." you shrugged, making art laugh, bringing his hand to your cheek, tucking a sweaty strand of hair behind your ear.

"it didn't taste half bad."

taglist: @inbred-eater @h8aaz, @purpleplumpudding, @cinnamoncunt, @nonietosay, @ariieeesworld, @in-my-feels-probably, @harringtonsbowgirl, @lacelottie

click here to join the taglist! 💙

[jiimeniita]

[musingsofheaven]

THAT QUIET THING.

dilf!art donaldson x afab!reader

nsfw. age gap. vibrator use. voyeurism-adjacent. ♡

He doesn’t mean to fall asleep right after he finishes. Of course not. Not every time. He’s not that kind of asshole. But he still does it.

But it’s not because he’s not interested, because he is very much so, it’s also not because he doesn’t care about your pleasure! He’s just… just because he’s exhausted. Between flights, matches, press, rehab, sponsors, events, and other things come with being a player, and the fact that his body doesn’t bounce back as it used to. So he gives you what he can. And most nights, that’s a few minutes of messy make-out, one hand between your thighs, a low groan against your neck, and the quiet relief of coming deep inside you before his body gives out.

He tells you it’s good, because it is. You feel good. You do. He enjoys it. So much. He says that you’re perfect. That he needs you.

And maybe he thinks that’s enough.

But you’re younger than him. You don’t say it, but you are. You are young enough to keep your hands busy when he feels still from tennis and everything he did for the day. Young enough that your body keeps hot long after his breathing evens out beside you. Young enough to start hiding a vibrator in your pouch when you realize this is just how it’s going to be… a quick, quiet, and over before you get close.

It’s not bitterness. Not at first. You are not mad at him. You understand it. You are aware of his career and his age. It just needs. Quiet and embarrassing and yours alone. So when he gets comfortable in wonderland each night, breathing deep and heavy with sleep, you slip out of bed, cross the hotel carpet barefoot and tiptoeing so you won’t wake him, and lock yourself in the bathroom with your face pressed to your forearm and your hips grinding into the tile.

The toy is small. Quiet. Sleek. Something you can bite your lip around. Something that doesn’t need electricity or heavy batteries. Something that is not heavy. Something that won’t get confiscated at airports. Something he doesn’t need to know about.

You don’t use it every night. Just the ones where it’s worse. Not worse worse. Maybe when you're really there, something is missing. Clue: your orgasm. Where you can still feel the ache of being full without the part where you fall apart. Where your panties stick wet to your thighs after he’s already asleep.

Tonight, it’s like that.

He came fast. Kissed your neck. Fell asleep face down with one arm slung over your waist and his breath slow against your shoulder. You lay there long enough to count it. Long enough to feel the minutes tick by while your body stayed bothered, and feel the itch that needs to be scratched. Long enough to know he wasn’t waking up anytime soon. Where you can be comfortable and get up from the bed.

So you left. Just like you always do.

Face down on the bathroom floor. Phone screen dim. Porn on low volume. Toy between your thighs, buzzing soft against your clit. One hand is placed on your mouth to shut you up. One hand wrapped around the end of the toy. Breathing hard into your arm like that might make it quieter. And then-

You hear the floorboard creak. Then the knock. It’s not even a knock- it’s just the click of the handle turning. The door opening.

The bathroom light spills into the hall as he opens the door. You look up too slowly. You feel your cheeks burning up. You can’t even hide it.

Art stands there, in nothing but his boxers, hair mussed, brow furrowed. His hand was still wrapped around the neck of a water bottle he didn’t even get to drink.

His eyes drop to the floor. The phone is still playing. To the tiny pink vibe glistening between your legs. To you. To your body. How ridiculous it looked how you are positioned. Frozen. Red-faced. Dripping.

His mouth doesn’t move. Not at first. He’s just quiet, calculated. He’s always like that. You couldn’t even figure him out sometimes. He just exhales slowly through his nose and leans against the doorframe like his body’s figuring out how to hold back every single thing he’s thinking.

Then, without looking away: “That for me, or for someone else?”

Your breath catches. You don’t answer. You can’t. The toy’s still on, though. It’s still buzzing between your clit. You’re still shaking.

And he doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t ask again. Just watches you for another beat- eyes trailing from your bitten wrist to the slick mess under you- and then says, “You do this every time I fall asleep?”

You shake your head, fast. Too nervous. “No- I mean, not- Art, I didn’t- ”

“You finish like this?” he cuts in. Calm. Flat. Too calm. Curious. Not mad. Just want to hear from you. “Face down on the floor while I’m sleeping ten feet away?” It’s worse because his words have a bite, but it’s not even mean.

You shut your eyes. You want to disappear. You want him to touch you. You want him to leave. But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t shout. Doesn’t even blink.

He steps forward slowly and kneels beside you. His hand reaches down, curls around your wrist, and presses the toy deeper- not fast, not cruel, just firm. He moves it up and down slowly and precisely, just to earn your reaction.

“Show me,” he says, voice low. “How do you do it?”

You blink up at him, stunned. He’s hard. You can see it now, through the thin fabric of his boxers, the way he breathes like he’s not proud of it, like it hurts him to be turned on by this.

But he doesn’t stop. “Continue until you come for me,” he says, voice rough. “Or for the fucking screen. I don’t care which. I just want to see.”

Your stomach flips. You nod once. And you grind down again- slow, shaky, face hot, mouth open as you start to unravel. You do it like the way you always do it. The difference this time is you are wetter because he’s here.

He holds the toy there, tight, watching every twitch, every sound, every breath you tried to bury for weeks.

And he's still staring when you finally fall apart- shaking, soaked, tears caught in your lashes. Still hard. Still mad. Still calm.

“Next time,” he says, letting go, “you don’t sneak around to get off.”

You nod again. “You wake me up and tell me about it.”

And then, after a long pause, one more: “You’re mine. That means I finish you, too.”

𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓© 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍

𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝

[matchpointfaist]

take it like a taker, cause baby i’m a giver! 🌾

cowboy! art donaldson x reader

tw for smut and kindaaaa cheating?? reader has a kinda bf but not rly!

every year, the rodeo brought dozens of boys into town, all southern drawls and catcalls across the bar you worked at, drinkin’ cheap beer faster than they could ask for it. there was a big event this year, drawing in all kinds of attention from sports media and more competitors than usual. the headliner, the main event, was art donaldson. he was unrivaled in the circuit, strong and quick enough to stay on until the very end, the best wranglin’ skills on his side of the mississippi. and god, he was gorgeous. you could tell he knew it, too, the way he walked around with a toothpick between his teeth and a lazy grin on his lips. that kinda man didn’t have to catcall, no. they came to him.

you tried your best to ignore him the way you ignored all the others, but there was just something about him, the sparkle in his blue eyes or the depth of his accent, his voice deep and words curled. whatever it was, you knew you were screwed as soon he leaned against your bar, the sleeves of his pearl buttoned shirt rolled up his elbows. “hey there, miss,” he smiled, the toothpick tight between his teeth, “how are ya this evenin’?” “i’m doin’ just fine,” you smiled in return, “what’ll it be?” “whatever you recommended, darlin,” it was cocky of him, but you couldn’t ignore the way your cheeks flushed at the pet name, “and what if i have bad taste?” you teased. “aw, cmon now. pretty thing like you couldn’t have bad taste if you tried,”

you busied yourself behind the bar, poured him a tall glass of shiner and slid it over to him with a smile, “there ya go,” “see? knew i could trust you,” he grinned around the rim of the glass, “what’s your name, sugar?” you told him, something you never did, “and yours?” “art. art donaldson,” he nodded, “in town for the rodeo,” “oh, i’m sure,” you nodded in return, “i’ve seen you on the flyers. famous, ain’t ya?” “aw, i don’t know about that,” he laughed, hearty and warm, “just won a few, that’s all. enough about me, though. what’s a pretty girl like you doin’ workin at this place?” ���my brother owns this place, thank you very much,” you replied, sipping your water, trying to look away from his lips around the glass, “work here on weekends when we have these events, know how yall like to drink ‘nd all,”

“that’s sweet of you,” he smiled, tongue swiping along his bottom lip, collecting the droplets of beer, “how old are you, hm? look awful young to be hangin’ around all these old men,” “i’m 21,” you rolled your eyes, still grinning, “and you?” “26,” he told you, eyes trialing down to the v of your shirt just slightly, “that ain’t too bad,” “too bad for what, exactly?” you asked, resting a hand on your hip. “not too much older than you, that’s all,” he shrugged, a coy smile on his lips, “unless you like older men, then maybe i got a disadvantage,” “i’ll have you know i’ve got a boyfriend,” you couldn’t help but revel in the irritation that flashed across his face, “so it doesn’t matter much anyway,”

“yeah? where’s your boyfriend then, pretty? he let you stay out this late workin’ while he’s at home?” he asked, resting his chin on his hand, smug smile on his lips. “he’s in the kitchen,” you gestured to the window leading to the kitchen that only really produced questionable greasy food, “not that it’s any of your business, cowboy,” “oh, come on,” he groaned, “don’t tell me you went and fell for some kinda line cook, darlin. you need a real man, somebody that’s gonna take care of you,” “yeah? somebody like you?” you cocked an eyebrow, grinning. he didn’t miss a beat, “yeah, somebody just like me. how serious is it, you and that guy?” “mm, not very,” you shrugged, glancing away. “yeah, i’m sure,” he laughed, quiet and intimate, like it was just for you, “what is it, honey? you just mess around with him when there’s no one else around, huh? yall meet here and you settled?” he was dead on- he wasn’t your boyfriend, not really. you didn’t even fuck him, just made out with him after work when you had a few too many shift drinks, let him feel you up until you had enough, then you let him drive you home with false promises of ‘maybe next time’. but art didn’t need to know that.

“well if you ever want a real man,” he slid a napkin you hadn’t even realized he’d written on across the bar, “room 201, i’ll be here all week. i’m competing tomorrow, if you wanna come watch,” “you’re cocky, aren’t ya?” you rolled your eyes but took the napkin anyway, folding it up and tucking it into the pocket of your denim skirt, “maybe i’ll see you tomorrow, then,” “i hope so, darlin. you can be my good luck charm. if i win, you gotta let me take you out,” he winked, placed a $50 next to the empty glass, and left you feeling slightly dumbfounded as you watched him walk away. yeah, you were screwed.

you went down to the rodeo grounds the next day, all dressed up in your favorite gingham dress and boots, sipping a lemonade as you watched the boys compete. when art’s name was announced, the stands wend wild, stomping and clapping and cheering his name. you’d seen this place loud, of course, half the people were usually day drinking just enough to let go of their inhibitions and scream like no tomorrow. but this was a whole new level, like he was some kind of rodeo god, like he was gracing everyone with his mere presence. you could’ve scoffed- tried to, really, but then you saw him.

he was entirely in his element, perched atop a horse like he belonged there, his thighs strong and taut in his jeans as he led his horse into the ring. his hands gripped the reins, catching your attention even from the stands, lighting a fire inside of you. he rode with precision and grace, even as the horse bucked, even when anyone else would have fallen. it looked like a second nature to him, easy as breathing, the sort of relaxation that can’t come from practice. he somehow managed to keep his hat on the entire time, as well as a cocky, barely there little smile. it had you shifting in your seat, thighs squeezed together with each movement of his hands or toned arms. when it was all said and done, they announced the winners, and he was first in all categories. he accepted the awards with practiced graciousness, but you could see right through it. he knew he deserved them, knew he’d win. the ‘oh, you shouldn’t have’ act was all a facade, but it just made you fall even deeper.

that night, when everyone was out drinking and celebrating and making complete fools of themselves, you couldn’t keep your mind off of him. your fingers found the napkin you’d kept in your purse, art’s handwriting etched onto it, and before you knew it you were knocking on the door of room 201, your mind racing. your heart stalled when the door creaked open- art stood before you with just a towel wrapped low on his waist, beads of water dripping from his hair. “well ain’t this a nice surprise,” he grinned, eyes raking over your frame, “sure wasn’t expectin’ you tonight, darlin,” you tried to force your eyes away from him- from the planes of his chest, still shining from his shower, from the toned muscles of his biceps and the veins laying just under the skin. “you told me to come by,” the words came out slightly shaky, “but if now’s a bad time, i can-“

“now’s not a bad time,” his hand circled around your wrist, gently, but just firm enough to pull you inside. you huffed, cheeks hot, “what’re you doing?” “no sense in lettin’ a pretty girl wait around outside, is there?” he grinned, “come on, let me make you a drink,” before you could protest, he’d led you to the creaky hotel bed, turning away to retrieve something from the small kitchenette. he returned with two beers, sweaty with condensation, passing one to you, “so did you watch earlier?” you nodded, taking a small sip, anything to soothe your growing nerves, “yeah, i did. you were pretty good,”

“pretty good?” he arched a brow, “that’s all? you wound me, honey,” he placed a hand on his chest, feigning injury. “you don’t need me to tell you how good you are,” you rolled your eyes but smiled anyway, “everybody else already did that,” “well maybe i wanna hear it from you,” “cocky, aren’t ya?” your eyes fell to the towel still tight around his hips, “why’d you ask me to come here, art?” “come on, sugar. you’re smarter than that,” his hand rested on your thigh, warm and broad against your skin, “you know exactly why i wanted you here,” your breath hitched, goosebumps fanning out along your skin, “you just assumed i’d sleep with you, then?”

“saw how you were lookin’ at me,” his hand crept higher, slow but insistent, “tell me i’m wrong and we’ll just go back to talkin’, but i know what it looks like when a girl wants me, darlin’,” you couldn’t even deny him, you were helpless to it all. “you’re so full of yourself,” you mumbled, but you let him slide his hand under your skirt, let him kiss you like it meant something more than just a hookup. his mouth was hot and greedy, his self assurance apparent in the way he slid his tongue into your mouth, the way his free hand came to tilt your head back. you gasped when he slid his fingers underneath the cotton of your panties, pressing just lightly over your clit. “knew it,” he mumbled against you, “soaked for me, sugar,” he pulled you up into his lap, twisted you so your back was against his chest, your legs spread open as his fingers worked at your core, his kisses falling to your shoulder.

“look at you, darlin’, just fallin’ apart on my fingers. you still think i’m full of myself, hm?” he murmured into your skin, slowly sipping a finger inside of you, “god, you’re so wet,” “art,” it came out in a broken whine, your back arching against him, the lewd sounds of his fingers against you filling the hotel room. “i know it,” he cooed, “you gonna come for me, pretty thing?” your eyes rolled back as you bucked your hips against his hand, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you got closer, “god, yes,” he worked you through it, drew it from you like it was his one true calling, murmuring praises into your neck as you came down.

you caught your breath, shifting in his arms to face him, your hands coming to untie the towel around his waist. as you kneeled on the carpeted floor in front of the bed, his breath hitched, his hand resting on your jaw, “don’t have to do that, darlin’,” he sounded almost pained, his voice thick, “god, just let me fuck you, please,” he pulled you up into his arms again before you could protest, the towel discarded on the floor, his cock hard against your thighs as you settled in his lap. “you gonna ride me, baby, hm? play cowgirl f’me?” before you could answer, he pulled you down onto his cock, the breath leaving your lungs as he stretched you out, your eyes rolling back at the feeling, “there you go, darlin’, see how long you can take it,”

he didn’t let you do much of the work, of course. he was a man of his word, seeing how long you could stay on, fucking up into you hard enough to have you trembling and gasping, a moaning mess above him. “god, you feel so fuckin’ good,” he panted, his hands surely leaving fingerprints on your ass as he held you tight, “you like that, sugar? hm?” “yes, art, god yes,” you nodded eagerly, jaw slack, “feels so fucking good,” “prettiest thing i ever saw,” his jaw was clenched with the effort of not filling you up right there and then, his hips bucking desperately, “ridin’ me so good,” his hands left your skin just long enough to grab his hat from the bedside table, resting it on your head, your brows furrowing when you felt it. “oh, god,” he exhaled, “look so fuckin’ pretty wearin’ my hat, angel. yknow what that means, don’t ya?” his thrusts had gotten even rougher, his legs shaking, “means you’re mine,”

“oh, art,” you let out a high pitched moan as he slapped your ass, your skin stinging with the impact, “god, so close,” “yeah, there ya go,” he encouraged, his breathing ragged, “atta girl,” you clenched around him as you came, your nails raking down his chest, grabbing at anything you could to stable yourself as he fucked you incoherent. “god, sweetest fuckin’ pussy,” he groaned, grabbing your hips and fucking you on his cock, your breath coming out in short squeaks, “gonna fill you up, y’want that? hm?” you nodded, too far gone to speak, squeezing him tighter at the thought. “yeah, knew you would,” you could practically hear the smirk on his lips, but it was quickly replaced by a broken, desperate moan. his thrusts grew sloppy and erratic, and soon he was coming undone, filling you up, hot and wet and making you even more needy. “oh, fuck,” he panted, catching his breath as he slowly settled you in his lap, his hands soothing over the skin he’d slapped, “so good, darlin’, good lord,”

he held you that way for a few minutes, still inside you, until he slowly slid you off of him, hissing softly at the loss of contact as he pulled you onto his chest, his arms circling around your back. “should clean up,” you mumbled into his chest, sticky with sweat. “yeah, in a minute,” he murmured into your hair, “just wanna hold you like this,” when you finally cleaned up, he was soft and attentive, the two of you grinning and blushing under the hotel shower head like you hadn’t just done something much more intimate. you spent the night, even though you told yourself you wouldn’t, let him tell you all his old rodeo stories until you fell asleep against his chest. you could get used to it, you told yourself. maybe too easily.

[starlinggirll]

https://www.tumblr.com/bonniesbluee/782217737033367552/okay-so-for-part-2-of-art-x-stripper-reader-you

not to be dramatic but i will die if i don’t see more of this au... YOURE MY FAVORITE WRITER NOW PLEASE BEAUTIFUL QUEEN I NEED MORE OF THIS I BEG

you havent been to work for 2 weeks now.

being art's...fuck buddy? girlfriend? whatever you were? it was time consuming. from spending days in bed doing absolutely nothing but talking, or fucking, or cuddling, from him taking you to shopping sprees.

like right now, laying on his chest after a long session of sex is something you have become used to. oddly enough, its rather comforting. the way his hands travel from your ass to your scalp, massaging you while also giving you the outmost amount of GENTLE affection. gentle. gentle affection is something you havent experienced, so this is definitely new.

but you like it, love it even. you subconsciously have started to search for his attention. you tuck your head under his chin, and he rubs your temple. and he noticed it; how you are more open with him...how the relationship has turned into something of convenience to something more...real? raw. "you did so good today, like always," he whispers while rubbing your side, smiling as he sees how sleepy you look.

"such a good girl." he grabs your thigh, hiking it up around his waist so the embrace turns more intimate, passionate. you tuck your face into his neck, forehead pressing against his shoulder.

and when you wake up? he's still there. snoring against your hair, his arms wrapped tightly around you. you go back to sleep, because the position is that comfortable. he has somehow managed to make you feel safe.

but you try to not think about that. after all, this is just sex for him, right? you dont notice the way he looks at you when you're looking away. obviously you're attractive, you're a stripper. but he sees past those lustful features and notices the little details; like how your eyebrows furrow whenever you think too hard, or how you need to constantly adjust your body whenever you're sitting down for too long.

his hands go to your neck, softly stroking it before he tilts your head and kisses you. "good morning," he breathes out, not giving you a chance to answer before he's kissing you again. and a few kisses turn into a sloppy, lazy makeout session.

and inevitably it turns into morning sex. but you like sex with him. he turns every sexual act into a more deeper, intimate one.

which in turn makes you crave for another day in his arms.

[appleaali]

now introducing… spiderman .ᐟ art ┆ ✶

✸ ݃ the stupidest genius nyc has ever seen. a total and complete dweeb. always saying dumb jokes cause he knows they make you laugh. absolutely OBSESSED with you. lives with his grandma since his parents passed. comic book fanatic. checks up on you constantly. takes you swinging around brooklyn (cause you made him). dates up on the roofs of random buildings. kisses through the mask. practically always breaking in through your fire escape . . .

⋆˚ ࿔ originally only told pat about him being spidey but eventually you accidentally caught him in the suit while trying to surprise him :(. you help him clean up any scratches he may have gotten while fighting crime. he’s the type to say science related pick up lines even if he knows you might not fully get it. loves helping you with your school work. finds it cute when your so convinced you wanna help him defeat a villain. he’ll definitely keep you away from clock towers though (ifykyk). . . . ❘

[faistizer]

me & you together song

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

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

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

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

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

“seriously man?”

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

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

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

“shutup- shutup-“

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

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

“hey.” patrick snorts casually.

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

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

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

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

“whatever man.”

“let me be your wingman!”

“no.” art says stiffly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he looks up and his cheeks redden again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

art mouths back— ‘how?’

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

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

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

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

you blink, “drinks?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i mean— technically, yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

patrick grins, “like that’s possible.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“art.”

he snaps out of it instantly.

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

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

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

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

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

art chokes.

“what?” he coughs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"ye— i mean— pff, no."

fuck.

fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

art donaldson is a fucking loser.

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

but he can't.

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

he fucked it up.

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

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

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

"i really like you."

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

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

"art." you laugh, grabbing his shoulder.

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

"art."

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

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

art stops talking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“cute?” he squeaks.

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

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

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

ART DONALDSON: you will not believe what just happened

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

PATRICK ZWEIG: ?

PATRICK ZWEIG: dude

PATRICK ZWEIG: dude???

PATRICK ZWEIG: art??

PATRICK ZWEIG: hello?????

art laughs to himself still in disbelief.

ART DONALDSON: i dont even know what to say

ART DONALDSON: but it’s all happening

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

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

-

tags: @hyuneskkami for the divider

[stanart4clearskin]

a/n: heavily manifesting this type of boyfriend

NERD!ART DONALDSON is the type of guy who isn't good at responding at any of your calls and texts because he's either studying or reading. he'll make an effort and turn his ringer on so that he hears a ping every time you text him but it ends up getting to annoying so he shuts it off. in turn he continues to miss all of your texts.

NERD!ART DONALDSON is the type of guy to bring you a book whenever he comes over to your dorm. he loves being able to talk to you about his favorite books so he buys you a copy so that you can have your own and the two of you can talk about it.

NERD!ART DONALDSON is the type of guy who never makes you feel stupid when you can't understand something. he explains it to you in a way that you can grasp but doesn't infantilize you.

NERD!ART DONALDSON is the type of guy who has posters of his favorite comics or movies up on his dorm walls. his desk is covered in stacks of books and there are papers constantly scattered over the floor. even though he's incredibly smart, he can never manage to keep his space tidy.

NERD!ART DONALDSON is the type of guy to carry around a small notebook wherever he goes. he loves to write poetry so he keeps the notebook around so he can write when inspiration strikes. most of his poems are about you.

NERD!ART DONALDSON is the type of guy to write traditional love letters. whenever your gone for a trip or he's gone for tennis, he'll spend time writing you a love letter that he embellishes with small sketches of you and him.

NERD!ART DONALDSON is the type of guy who has a typewriter. after getting a typewriter, he spent hours using it and typing up even more poems for you. whenever you come over to his dorm, he lets you use his typewriter because he knows you find them fascinating but don't want one of your own.

NERD!ART DONALDSON is the type of guy who can't talk to girls. the first time you talked to him, asking if he had a pencil you could borrow, he went red in the face and nervously searched through his pencil case for an extra. he spent so long trying to find the perfect one for you that you had said it was fine and asked someone else to borrow a pencil. art had felt awful afterwards and vowed to talk to you again. it took him a month to finally talk to you again--all he did was ask to borrow your eraser (and he stuttered through that).

NERD!ART DONALDSON is the type of guy who is a giver. he loves to eat you out like it's his life mission. most of the time he thinks going down on you is more enjoyable than sex because he knows all of his hard work is to make you feel good.

NERD!ART DONALDSON is the type of guy who will just spend hours with you in bed, studying your body. it's not even all that sexual as his hands travel over every inch of your skin. he studies your body like it's the most beautiful thing he has ever seen and it is.

NERD!ART DONALDSON is the type of guy who is always scared that you're going to break up with him. he's worried that you'll realize he isn't good enough for you and that you'll leave him for one of stanford's football jocks. he's scared that his quietness is something you secretly detest him for (even though it's something you absolutely adore about him).

NERD!ART DONALDSON is the type of guy who can't cook for shit. even though he's an intelligent man, in the kitchen he is a hopeless case. he lives off of cereal and microwaveable foods. part of the reason he was always so excited for break where he could return home was so that he could eat proper food that his grandma made for him.

NERD!ART DONALDSON is the type of guy who has to know how something works. he sees a cool invention in a movie? he's busting out his laptop and doing hours of research on it. sometimes you have to take his laptop away from him when you two have movie night because you can never just enjoy a movie with him.

NERD!ART DONALDSON is the type of guy who makes little trinkets out of random pieces of trash he has. he takes cardboard boxes and paperclips and makes you cute little animals that he'll leave on your desk when he has to head to tennis practice before you're awake.

NERD!ART DONALDSON is the type of guy who loves kissing. he could spend forever kissing you and never get sick of it. sometimes when you two are cuddling, art will just kiss every inch of your skin that he can reach. there's something so therapeutic about his lips on you that he can't resist.

NERD!ART DONALDSON is the type of guy to use apple music. he doesn't understand why you like spotify so much and even made you a presentation of why apple music is the superior streaming platform.

NERD!ART DONALDSON is the type of guy who surprisingly loves PDA. even though he can be quite shy, he loves showing his affection for you in public because it shows people just how much he loves you. he knows that he doesn't need other people's approval on how much he loves you but he secretly likes telling other guys to back off of you by pulling you into a kiss.

NERD!ART DONALDSON is the type of guy who absolutely hates alcohol. he's gotten drunk a few times but the hangovers the next morning where enough for him to never want to drink again. whenever the two of you go to parties, he's more than happy to stay sober so that he can watch over you and make sure no ones tries anything.

NERD!ART DONALDSON is the type of guy who asked his grandma for her ring before the two of you started dating. he knew it seemed crazy to already want to marry a girl he wasn't dating but there was something about you that art just knew he had to marry you in the future. soon after the two of you graduate from stanford art proposes.

[cupidsanne]

Request for some Mike Faist content is open!! I can’t promise I’ll act on your requests and it will be out fast but I will do my best! Reminder that I don’t do NSFW so don’t ask me please! 😇

Mike Faist Masterlist Here

About Me + Requesting Rules Here

[cherrygirlfriend]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ movie night

pairing: stepdad!art x shy!reader synopsis: reader has a movie night with her stepdad. warnings/tags: smut, fluff MDNI! wc: 1.5k a/n; no thoughts head stepdad!art

shy masterlist ♡ art masterlist

two things had been filling your entire brain capacity for the past two weeks; your stepdad, and the locket you wore every day. you'd looked for the family heirloom for ages, but it was like it had vanished into thin air. as for your stepdad...

you'd been doing your best to avoid art to the best of your ability because whenever you saw him, your mind was filled with filthy thoughts of him; you'd always had fantasies about him but seeing your stepdad showering had made it all so much worse.

every time you even got a glimpse of his hands, all you could think about were the way his hands had been wrapped around his cock, or when he threw his head back to laugh, all you could think about was the way his head had been thrown back in utter bliss, and when you heard his voice... all your mind could conjure up the moan he let out when he came.

so, you'd come to the conclusion that the best course of action was to steer clear from him, unless you wanted your panties to get wet at the breakfast table; and your plan worked well. until your mother decided to go away for a spa weekend with her best friend, leaving you alone with art. because the moment your feet touched the first floor, your stepdad's head turned to look at you.

art was sitting on the couch, some old tv-show paused on tv, a small smile playing on his face, "you wanna watch a movie with me or something? i can make some popcorn?"

every part of you wanted to say no. every part of you knew you should say know to his mostly-blue eyes. every fiber of you knew you should say to the inviting smile that played on his lips. but your heart, your pussy, they were the ones in charge.

"alright." you said, taking a deep breath, tiptoing to the couch. while art got up, walking towards the kitchen.

"pick any movie you wanna watch!" your stepdad called out from the kitchen, a small laugh escaping your lips as your hand was on the remote, scrolling through netflix's horror movie selection.

"what if it scares you?" you call out in response.

you could hear his warm laughtering from the other room as art called back at out, "then you'll have to cover my eyes!"

in less than ten minutes, there was a warm bowl of popcorn resting on art's lap as the two of you were starting to watch 'the cabin in the woods', but when your hand reached for some of the popcorn, you felt art's hand wrap around your wrist. your eyes widened and your gaze moved up to his eyes, only for the man to let go of your hand with a sheepish smile, leaning over to place the bowl onto the coffee table and turning to look at you. "there's something i need to give you."

"what is it?"

"close your eyes and hold out your hands." art said in a low voice, causing you to shake your head and chuckle as you pressed your eyes closed and held out your hand. you felt something cold meet the warm palm of your hand, causing a shiver to go down your spine.

"can i open my eyes now?" you asked softly, and when you heard a soft 'mmhm', you did so, your eyes widening and a gasp escaping your lips as soon as you realized what was cradled in the palm of your hands, the confused expression turning into an elated one." "how did you find this?!"

"oh, it was in front of the master bathroom." art said with a small, casual smile, your entire body freezing and all breath knocking out of your body as you registered the words, "turn around."

you turned your back to art, not daring to breathe out as you pressed your eyes closed, nearly feeling moisture gather in your eyes the moment you felt a cold metal touch the warm skin of the back of your neck, causing shivers to run down your spine, the hairs at the nape of your neck rising.

you could feel a familiar tingling sensation gathering in your stomach as you felt the back of art's fingers brush against your skin, causing you to let out a shaky breath as you involuntarily arched your head back as if chasing his touch.

your eyes immediately snapped open and you pulled away, turning to face art again, your heart feeling like it was going to burst out of your chest, your cheeks feeling so warm you would've been sure it was a fever if it wasn't for the wetness you could feel gathering between the thighs that you pressed against one another for some kind of friction. art simply gave you a friendly smile, before reaching for the bowl of popcorn again, pulling it back into his lap and turning back to the tv.

you couldn't focus on anything happening on the tv, even if your eyes were glued to it. you couldn't even taste the popcorn that you kept occasionally picking up from the bowl and shoving into your mouth, too occupied thinking about what art's touch, and if his hand accidentally brushing against the back of your neck could make your heart nearly jump out of your chest, how would it feel to have his lips on your neck, trailing down to your collarbones, his hand moving to cup-

"can i ask you something?"

your thoughts were interrupted by art's sudden question as you held a handful of popcorn in your hand, shrugging with a small, "sure." as you brought the popcorn to your lips.

"were you watching me shower a few weeks ago?"

you nearly choked on the popcorn you'd just eaten, letting out a few coughs and reaching for your drink, your eyes a wide as saucers. if you were flustered before, now, the only thing that could describe your state of mind was straight-up mortified. "w-what? no!"

art leaned his head against the couch cushions, his brows raising slightly as he looked at you; why on earth did he have the kind of gaze that made him into a human lie detector when it came to you? you looked down at your lap in shame, fiddling with your hands, "i'm sorry, i shouldn't ha-"

before you could finish your sentence, art's fingers had gripped your chin, turning your head so you were facing him. there was a small smile playing on his lips, but before you could question him on it, your stepdad had crashed his lips on yours.

you were caught off-guard, but when you felt his hand slowly make its way towards the back of your head, you eased into the kiss, your lips molding against his.

art slowly pushed you to lay down on the couch, his lips leaving yours as he begun to pepper kisses down to your ear, sucking your earlobe into his mouth in a way that made your toes curl before he started slowly tracing your jawline with little kisses, interrupted only by small nips that he kept switching to, and each time his teeth touched your skin, you couldn't help the whimpers that escaped your lips.

art's hand slowly moved down to cup your chest, circling his thumb on your hardening nipple before continuing to move it down your body, and every inch that his hand got closer to your aching cunt caused you to arch into him more and more.

art's lips were on your neck, his hand sliding into the waistband of your shorts. you let out a small gasp when you felt him touch you over your panties, starting to chase the feeling.

he nipped your neck, and you let out a soft whimper that mixed in with a chuckle as you brought your hand to the back of his neck, tugging him closer to you as the wet patch in your panties grew bigger and bigger.

you let out a moan when one of his fingers started to approach the waistband of your panties, arching into his touch more and more.

but all of it came shattering down when art's phone began ringing on the coffee table; the man pulled away from your neck, pulling his finger away from your shorts and sitting up on the couch with wide eyes, looking at you as if he realized that what he was doing was something he'd regret; like you were a virus to avoid.

ignoring the throbbing between your legs, you sat up, trying to ignore the tears stinging in your eyes, "i'm just- i'll just go upstairs." you mumbled, running up the stairs.

art let out a sigh, ignoring the ringing of his phone and pressing the balls of his hands against his eyes, the man listening to your receding footsteps against the wooden stairs.

the moment your head was pressed against your pillow, there were only two things on your mind; how big of a mistake that was. and how much you wanted him to touch you like that again, even though it should never, ever happen again.

[jiimeniita]

[kendyzzlewp]

Hard Work, Pays Off || ART DONALDSON

art donaldson x fem!reader

summary: after months and months of trying, it finally happens

tags: married life, husband!art x wife!reader, mentions of sex, exhaustion, tw: throwing up, pregnancy, pregnancy announcement, fluff

____________________________________________

Art Donaldson was exhausted.

He had never been so sexed out in his life. Trying to have a baby was harder than people had realized. Don’t get him wrong, it was very enjoyable, but the lack of sleep was not it.

It seemed like you were craving it. All day, every day. Waking him up in the middle of the night, lips on his neck, hand on his dick. In the shower, in the kitchen, in the car, hell, you almost got kicked out of a restaurant because you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself.

Art did his best to please you, bending you over wherever possible—pounding into you until you were a trembling mess below him.

He let out a yawn, his hand rubbing his tired blue eyes. His publicist rambled on about the latest endorsement deal, and he was trying to pay attention. It’s just that his voice was soothing, and the room temperature was hitting just right. If he closed his eyes for just a second…

“Art!”

That jolted him awake, almost spilling his to-go cup of coffee all over the table. He blinked rapidly, trying to focus on the stern face of his publicist, Mark.

“Sorry,” Art mumbled, straightening in his seat.

Mark sighed, shaking his head. “You’ve got to keep it together, dude. This deal is important. Nike doesn’t just hand out endorsement deals like candy.”

“I know, I know,” Art said, taking a deep breath and forcing himself to concentrate. “Just send me the details. I have to go.”

He stood up, grabbing his keys. Mark looked like he wanted to argue, but he just nodded, exasperated. Art didn’t wait for a response and headed out the door, eager to get home.

When he opened the door to the house, the sight of you asleep on the couch greeted him. You looked so peaceful, sprawled out with a light blanket covering you. Art’s heart softened as he watched you for a moment, your chest rising and falling with each breath; despite his day's exhaustion and chaos, seeing you like this made everything worth it.

He crept, trying not to wake you, as he set his keys down and shrugged off his jacket. He tiptoed over to you, crouching down to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. You stirred slightly, your eyes fluttering open.

“Hey,” you murmured, a sleepy smile forming.

“Hey,” Art replied softly. “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s okay,” you said, stretching. “How was your meeting?”

“Long and boring,” he admitted, chuckling. “But it’s over now. How are you feeling?”

You sighed contentedly. “Tired.”

Art smiled, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Why don’t we both take a nap? We could use the rest.

You nodded, shifting to make space for him on the couch. Art lay beside you, wrapping his arms around you as you settled in. The warmth and comfort of having you close began to soothe his tired mind.

—-

Weeks passed, and you still wanted Art every second of every day. It wasn’t even the fact that you both wanted to get pregnant; it was that he looked so good all the damn time. Every glance, every touch, every whisper had you pouncing on him.

This day, however, you woke up feeling off.

The smell of pancakes wafted in from the kitchen, making your stomach uncomfortable. The feeling of nausea danced around in your throat the moment your bare feet touched the cold floor.

As the bile started to creep up, you muttered a curse under your breath. With a hand clasped over your mouth, you darted to your ensuite bathroom, barely reaching the toilet in time. Nausea washed over you in waves as you knelt on the cold tile floor, your stomach heaving uncontrollably.

Retching echoed in the small room, each heave sending a surge of discomfort through your body. Tears welled up in your eyes as you struggled to catch your breath, the taste of bile lingering on your tongue.

Through the haze of nausea, you heard the sound of hurried footsteps approaching and then Art's concerned voice calling your name.

"Babe, are you okay?" he asked, kneeling beside you and gently touching your back.

You shook your head weakly, unable to form words as another wave of nausea washed over you. Art's hand rubbed soothing circles on your back as you clung to the toilet, feeling utterly drained and miserable.

After what felt like an eternity, the nausea began to subside, leaving you feeling shaky and exhausted. You leaned against the wall, closing your eyes as you tried to steady your breathing.

Art stayed by your side, offering you a glass of water and a damp washcloth to wipe your face. His concern was evident in his eyes as he watched over you, and you felt a surge of gratitude for his presence.

"Thank you," you whispered hoarsely, taking a sip of water and leaning into his comforting embrace.

He kissed the top of your head, his voice soft and reassuring. "What happened? Was it something you ate?

You shrugged weakly, still feeling too queasy to speak. Art's hand rubbed your back soothingly as you tried to collect yourself.

"It's possible," you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'm not sure. I just woke up feeling off."

Art nodded, his brow furrowed with concern. "Do you think you need to see a doctor?"

You hesitated, not wanting to overreact. "I'll see how I feel after a little while. Maybe it's just a stomach bug."

Art nodded again, understanding. He helped you up from the bathroom floor and guided you back to bed, tucking you in gently. You knew deep down that this wasn't a damn stomach bug. Still, you didn't want to get your hopes up after months of trying and facing the same disappointment each time.

"Try to get some rest," he said softly, brushing a stray hair from your face. "I’ll make you some toast.”

The mention of food sent you running to the bathroom again. This was not a stomach bug.

———-

As Art finished packing his tennis bag, his mind ran in circles. You hadn't stopped throwing up in days, only finding respite when you were asleep. The mere mention of anything edible sent you into a spiral that seemed to last for hours.

He was worried. He had to leave town for a stupid challenger that Tashi had signed him up for. Looking at your state, he didn't want to go, but the US Open was approaching. He needed the tournament to qualify.

Art sighed, running a hand through his hair as he glanced back at you, curled up on the couch, looking pale and exhausted. He hated to leave you like this, but his career was on the line.

"Hey," he said softly, kneeling beside you and taking your hand. "Say the word, and I’ll stay.”

You looked up at him, your eyes filled with fatigue and uncertainty. "You have to go," you whispered hoarsely.

"I know," he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "I don't want to leave you like this."

"But you have to," you insisted, squeezing his hand weakly. "You’ve worked so hard this season, don’t mess it up because of me. I'll be fine. I promise."

Art searched your eyes momentarily, finding the determination and strength he loved about you. He stood up with a heavy heart, leaning down to kiss your forehead gently.

"I'll call you every chance I get," he promised. "And I'll be back before you know it. Take care of yourself, okay?"

You nodded, offering him a weak smile as he grabbed his bag and headed for the door. Watching him go, you felt a mix of sadness at being alone and pride in his dedication to his career.

As the door closed behind him, you waited a few minutes before jumping from the couch. You went into your shared bathroom, hands shaking in anticipation as you grabbed the pregnancy test from the bathroom cabinet.

This is it. All the signs were there.

Throwing up? Check.

Sore nipples? Check.

Late period? Check.

Horny 24/7? Check.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your shaking hands as you unwrapped the pregnancy test. Your mind raced with emotions—hope, fear, excitement, and uncertainty. You knew deep down that this could be the moment you had been waiting for.

After following the instructions, you waited anxiously for the results. The minutes felt like hours as you stared at the test, willing to show the desired answer.

Finally, the moment of truth arrived. You looked down at the test, your heart pounding in your chest. And there it was, clear as day—two pink lines.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you sank to the floor, overwhelmed with emotion. You were going to have a baby. All the nausea, exhaustion, and uncertainty suddenly made sense. It was all worth it.

Now, the fun part.

——

Art was crushing the tournament.

Barreling through to the finals easily, finishing every match with such an advantage that it was almost embarrassing for the other players.

As you watched Art prepare for the final match, a sense of pride swelled within you. He had worked hard to get to this point, and his performance throughout the tournament was impressive.

You couldn't help but smile as you thought about the news you would share with him. The thought of seeing his reaction filled you with excitement and joy. Quickly closing the door, you sat with the rest of the audience, eager to know the outcome.

As Art stepped onto the court for the final match, you took a deep breath, knowing that win or lose, this moment would be one to remember.

The match was intense, with both players giving it their all. Art's determination and skill were evident as he moved across the court, his focus unwavering.

In the end, Art emerged victorious, the crowd erupting into cheers as he raised his arms triumphantly.

As Art basked in the crowd's cheers, his eyes locked onto yours, a grin breaking through his focused demeanor. His expression softened with surprise and relief as he saw you in the finals despite how horrible you felt.

This was your moment.

With a steady hand, you reached into your purse, pulling out the newborn-sized onesie you had been carrying. "Way to go, Dad!" were scribbled in bold letters on the white material, a message of celebration and love.

As Art approached you, his victorious aura shining bright, you held out the onesie with a smile, your heart pounding excitedly.

"Congratulations, Dad," you said, your voice filled with pride and joy.

Art's eyes widened with surprise as he took the onesie from you, his expression shifting from disbelief to pure joy. A wide grin spread across his face as he looked down at the tiny garment in his hands, the realization sinking in.

"You're pregnant?" he exclaimed, his voice filled with emotion.

You nodded, tears of happiness welling up in your eyes. "Yes, we're having a baby."

Art pulled you into a tight embrace, his arms wrapping around you as he held you close.” I love you," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "I love you so much.”

As the crowd continued to cheer around you, you held onto Art tightly, feeling the warmth of his love and the promise of a new beginning. In that moment, surrounded by the echoes of victory and the anticipation of new life, you knew your future together was brighter than ever.

Hard work does pay off.

[matchpointfaist]

hii! could u write art comforting a reader whose afraid to voice their needs/wants? like when they want or need something, they're too scared to say what it is since they think they're annoying?

can be smut, fluff, or anything else u want! luv ur fics <3

stanford art x shy reader

i love this request i hope you enjoy!!! she is so me anxious girls rise

tw for mild smut, mentions of mental illness. short n simple!

you'd always known you were a bit, well, different. as a child, you'd hide behind your moms leg as she ordered for you at restaurants, blush so deeply your skin burned when people sang you happy birthday, bite your nails raw when you had to speak to more than just your family. it got better, in time, as you forced yourself out of your shell. by college, you had it down to a science. you could hold it together near constantly, only breaking under particularly stressful situations, but you never quite mastered speaking up for yourself. that's where you were mentally when you met art. relaxed enough to go to parties, but too shy to talk to anyone but your small circle of friends, too nervous to drink more than one beer, too antsy to go home with anyone.

everyone knew art donaldson. he was stanford's golden boy, tennis phenomenon, blue eye and blonde hair angel. he was outgoing, bordering on loud, always the center of attention, always smiling. so when he walked over to you that night, smiling and eyes sparkling, red solo cup in hand, you had to tamp down your confusion. “hey,” he grinned, “i’ve never seen you around, you new?” “no,” you tried not to stutter, a long formed habit, “i just don’t usually hang out much,” “i’m art,” he shook your hand, confident and breezy, as if you wouldn’t know who he was. that was the start of it all, cocky boy and blushing girl, hand in hand.

after that night, the two of you were inseparable. you sat courtside at all of his matches, smiling and clapping when he inevitably won, his bag at your feet. in return, he stayed up with you for your frequent study sessions, rubbing your shoulders as you thumbed through page after page. you had a good little system going, a perfect little bubble just big enough for you two.

when you went out, he’d order your drinks and bring them back to you, satisfied like he’d done something grand each time. he stayed glued to your side, hand in hand, his thumb running over your knuckles when he could sense you getting worked up. he was doting and constantly observing you, soothing your nerves, calming any thoughts you let get out of hand.

you had a bad habit of picking your lips raw, biting at them as you spoke, and art developed a little habit of his own; carrying around a tube of chapstick, running it over your lips and chasing it with a gentle kiss, wiping away any dots of blood you’d bring to the surface. he kept band aids in his tennis bag for when you’d get carried away picking at your nails and the skin around them, little pink ones just for you. his friend teased him at times, poking fun at the way he fussed over you, but he waved them off each time. you were his girl, light of his life, who cares if you were a little antsy? everyone had their things, their ticks. you just happened to have a few more than him, thats all.

you worried, often, about the female attention he got. practically every girl on campus wanted him, not even bothering to hide it, fawning over him at his matches and flocking to him at parties. your biggest concern was tashi, patrick’s girlfriend and art’s sort-of coach. after her injury, she spent most of her free time helping art’s game, and the countless hours they spent together wore you down, ate at your mind. he’d come back to his dorm one night to find you crying, the sleeves of his hoodie pulled over your hands, your face red and eyes bloodshot. “baby,” he dropped his bag at the door, rushing over to you, “hey, angel, what’s going on? what happened?” “it’s okay,” you sniffled, wiping your eyes, “i’m okay, sorry, i just didn’t feel good,” “hey,” he wiped your face gently, tilting your head up to look at him, “don’t do that, don’t shut me out. talk to me, please?”

you told him, hesitantly, about your worries about tashi, about the nagging thoughts you couldn’t push away, assuring him that he didn’t have to do anything differently, you were just scared. “baby,” he murmured, “need you to tell me what you want, alright?” “nothing,” you said quickly, “it’s okay, art, you didn’t mean to,” “hey,” he frowned, “come on, angel. remember what we’ve talked about? need you to tell me what you need, or else i can’t make it better,” it took convincing, but slowly you nodded, biting the inside of your cheek, “just, maybe could you not spend so much time with her? or maybe could you bring me too, sometimes? just get worried, and i know it’s just tennis, but still,”

“see, that’s all you had to do, honey,” he crawled into his single bed beside you, pulling you to his chest, “of course you can come. i just didn’t want to ask because i thought you’d be bored. but you can bring your books, yeah? sit n watch me play while you read?” “yes please,” you sniffled, “sorry i’m so much,” “you’re not, baby,” he hummed, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, “just perfect,”

when you calmed down, he pulled you into his lap, kissing you slow and steady for what felt like hours. you were always distracted like this, too caught up in the feeling of his lips to worry about anything else. he pulled away, grinning when you whined in protest, “tell me what you want, baby, like we talked about,” you buried your face in his shoulder, shaking your head, and he ran his fingers through your hair gently, “come on, angel, tell me,” finally, after all his coaxing, you worked up the nerve. “want you to fuck me,” you mumbled into his neck, “please?”

“see, there you go,” he hummed, “i’ll always give you what you want, long as you ask,” he took his time with you, knowing you were still on edge, fucking you slow n gentle, one hand holding yours and the other in your hair, rubbing at your scalp soothingly. when you were finished, he showered with you, running the warm water over your back and pressing kisses to your cheeks until you laughed. “can i stay over?” you asked, all wrapped up in a towel. “of course,” he smiled, kissing your forehead, “see? told you, you don’t have to be scared to ask. not with me, angel,”

[coolgrl111]

maybe smth with reader dating art but still being friends with patrick and she acts sometimes like pat isn’t there and babies art and patrick makes fun of him which embarrasses art until she stands up for him 🤞

it could also be freaky if u want idc gurl <33

OKAYYY let’s try hopefully u like!! also im sorry for edging u, i can not write smut ❤️

you’re curled up on art’s couch with your legs slung over his lap, still wearing his hoodie that swallows you whole. he’s got one hand on your shin and the other scrolling his phone lazily, and you’re ranting about your day to whoever will listen.

“anyway,” you say, leaning in to fix the way art’s curls are falling across his forehead. he doesn’t look up from his phone but leans into your touch like a puppy. “i told the girl at the register, i was like—‘he’s allergic to almonds, please just double check the label’—and she looked at me like i was insane.”

“because you are insane,” patrick says from the armchair, sipping his soda obnoxiously. “the dude’s not even that allergic.”

“he could die, patrick.”

“he sneezes.”

“he swells up! like a balloon!”

art sinks lower into the couch, pulling your throw blanket up like he’s trying to disappear. “can we not,” he mutters, cheeks flushed. “it’s not a big deal.” you pat his cheek gently, turning his face toward you. “it’s a huge deal, baby. i don’t want you to puff up.” patrick chokes. “baby? bro, she’s talking to you like you’re three.”

“shut up,” art mumbles, but he’s turning red from the tips of his ears down his neck. “you’re just mad no one calls you baby.” patrick grins, kicking his feet up. “nah, i’m good. but it is real cute the way she wipes your mouth like you’re helpless.”

“he had jam on his face!”

“you licked it off.”

you blink at patrick like he just said the sky is green. “it was organic strawberry preserve. you don’t waste that.”

“you’re sick,” he says, shaking his head, but he’s laughing. “you baby the hell out of him. one more cooing word and i’m calling an intervention.”

art groans, hiding his face in the crook of your arm. you can feel him grinning there, but he’s still dying of secondhand embarrassment.

“well maybe if someone loved you like that, you wouldn’t be so pressed,” you say sweetly, letting your nails scratch art’s scalp as he hums. “don’t be jealous. he’s just cuter than you.” patrick raises his brows. “you hear that, art? you’re the cute one.”

art gives him the finger without looking up.

“you gonna let her keep feeding you berries like some kind of forest nymph or—?”

you press a strawberry to art’s lips before he can reply. he opens his mouth obediently. you don’t even break eye contact with patrick.

“yeah,” you say. “i am.”

patrick looks scandalised. “jesus christ.” art chews slowly. swallows. sighs. “i hate you both,” he says, completely pink. you kiss his temple. patrick gags dramatically.

you smile. “next time, we’re bringing whipped cream.”

art makes a noise that sounds like a whimper. patrick’s already getting up. “i’m leaving.”

“bye pat,” you both say in unison. and then you’re alone again.

the door clicks shut behind patrick and art doesn’t move for a second. then he exhales slow and deep like he’s been holding it in for hours.

“you’re evil,” he mutters against your shoulder, but his hands are already sliding under the hoodie—his hoodie, the one you’ve been wearing all night with nothing under but tiny shorts.

“me?” you blink innocently, shifting in his lap so your thighs straddle his. “i was just defending your honor.”

“you fed me a berry like i was some medieval prince.”

“you are.”

his eyes roll back in his head and his hands grip your waist like he’s at war with himself. “jesus,” he mutters. “you know what you do to me?” you tilt your hips forward gently, slow enough to feel him through his sweats. “remind me.”

he groans, head dropping back against the couch. “you’re annoying.” you lean in, nosing against his jaw, then lower—tongue dragging slowly along the column of his neck until he twitches beneath you. his hands slip lower, cupping your ass through your shorts. “can’t believe you pulled that in front of pat.”

you grin against his throat. “you liked it.” he doesn’t answer, but the bulge growing under you speaks loudly. you rock your hips again, just to feel him gasp.

“fuck,” he breathes. “okay. okay. off.”

“what?”

“the hoodie,” he says, tugging at it now, voice low and a little desperate. “off. i wanna see you.”

you pull it off slowly, theatrically, letting it fall behind you on the couch. he stares. your nipples are hard from the cold, your skin warm from sitting against him, and he drags his hands up your stomach like he can’t decide where to touch first.

“jesus christ.”

you smirk, leaning down to kiss him slow. his mouth opens under yours, eager, hands already tugging your shorts down until you’re grinding on him bare, soaked through and smug.

“so wet already?” he whispers, stunned.

you shrug. “you looked cute eating that strawberry.”

[bruisedboys]

art donaldson x fem!reader

suggestive 16+ !!

art donaldson is literally a puppy of a man .. allow me to elaborate

he really likes to be petted .. and doesn’t do a very good job at hiding it. you’re out for drinks and he’s ended up with his head against your chest, getting heavier by the minute. you know he’s tired and probably just wants to go home but you’re stuck chatting with an old friend of yours who doesn’t seem to want to stop talking. so your hand finds it’s way to art’s hair as you talk. tucking a curl behind his ear, fingers smoothing his hair and dragging down his neck then back up again, over and over. art melts, like really melts, his entire body goes lax on top of yours and you actually have to slot your other hand under his chin and tilt his head up for him, because it gets so heavy you’re worried it’ll fall right off. & then you start scratching at his neck and the spot behind his ear very lightly with your nails and art decides that the both of you need to go home immediately or he’ll melt into a puddle in front of everyone. he drags you away with hurried goodbyes and takes you straight home where he plonks his head in your lap, guides your hands to his hair and asks you to “do that thing you do with your hands please baby.”

also. he licks you all the time for no reason … you’ll be cuddling on the couch watching a movie, your back to his chest, and he’ll just randomly dip down and lick your shoulder? and you’re like, “art, did you just lick me?” and he acts like he didn’t even though he literally just did. when he gives you hickeys (which he does a lot, and everywhere on your body) he’ll almost always lick them after he’s done .. like, he’ll leave a patch of them in the juncture between your neck and shoulder then swipe his tongue over them as if he’s sealing the deal. speaking of hickeys, his favourite to give you are chest hickeys!! (they’re your favourite to receive, too). he’ll pull your bra down to suck and nip at the fleshy, warm skin of your breasts until patches of purply red bloom up like flowers and you’re breathless underneath him. then of course he’ll finish ‘em off with a good lick. sometimes he’ll lick all the way from your sternum and up your neck and then plant a kiss on your mouth. he’s kinda gross but you love it.

also, art makes some verrry questionable noises when he’s extra needy or when something feels really good (like your hands in his hair and your nails scratching at his scalp, as we established he enjoys a lot). I’m talking purring, whimpering, borderline growling. literal dog noises and it’s a little bit pathetic but it only makes you want him more. <3

please reblog if u enjoyed! I’d really appreciate it x