blastzachilles

[blastzachilles]

art donaldson is nothing if not a cuck

hi do you guys ever think about. ever uhhh think about coming back home to art after a girls’ trip… ever think about that?????

him waiting at home all miserable and nervous that someone will steal you away from him, clambering to the door the second he hears the key turning in the front door’s lock. he’s quick to grab your bags and throw them somewhere, all too eager to get his hands on you. tan lines? he wants to kiss them. boardwalk henna? he’s always wanted to see you with ‘tattoos’. all he wants is to have you to himself after being forced to practically give you away for a week.

more importantly, he needs to release all those pent up hormones — jerking off to the bikini pics you’d send did not do the trick.

you’re up on the kitchen counter before you can even take your shoes off, his eager tongue down your throat. the whining is almost annoying, but he can’t help it. you taste different, you feel warmer, more tense. is it all in his mind, or was he replaced? the thought makes him nauseous, all his weight dropping to his knees, his shaky fingers working to unbutton your shorts. “you missed me… you missed me, yeah? c’mon say it.” he whines, his big, pretty eyes boring up into yours. he doesn’t wait for an answer before his mouth is buried in your cunt, nose nudging your clit as he laps at you desperately. it’s like he’s trying to mark his territory, stake his claim as if he lost what he knows is all his.

anyways! i think he likes the feeling of not knowing if you cheated or not. #cuck

[blastzachilles]

Every-time you stumble upon a blog which says MDNI or 18+ it as much for the sanity of the person posting, as it is for protecting users younger than that. Which well-adjusted adult wouldn’t feel disgusted talking about sex to a child? Do you think those feelings of disgust and guilt disappears because we are online?

I’m not going to preach about why it’s dangerous for minors to be in these spaces. Kids shouldn’t be engaging with adults who explicitly talk about sex because it will change how they view the act. And in all fairness, if you’re a minor who remains in mdni places, I know nothing I could say would change your mind.

Now that being said, being MDNI is my boundary. You may think it’s okay to stay here because you feel like you have the maturity to do so, but I do not feel comfortable with it. It feels as much of an intrusion to me as taking my diary and reading it through, because I post here with the trust and assumption that everyone is an adult. Any blog who is MDNI is posting with that trust, which you’re then taking and abusing. The autonomy of posting is taken away without us ever realizing, and in these few moments where the truth comes through, it leaves us feeling awful. We are the ones stuck with that guilt and hurt.

At the end of the day, I don’t care if you think you’re mature enough to be here. I’m sorry, I really don’t, but I care to know I am able to express my terms safely and on my terms. The presence of minors ruin that alone.

[blastzachilles]

there’s nothing wrong with wanting a traditional relationship and traditional gender roles and i haven’t criticized that! however there is definitely a lot wrong with romanticizing misogyny 🤍 you are not a feminist if you romanticize a man causing a woman to have an ed and talk about how women only exist to serve men 🤍

choice feminism is what gets women killed.

big difference between “cleaning the kitchen” and encouraging sexism, a man forcing an ED upon you, existing for the male gaze, being used by a man, thinking women’s only purpose in life is to serve their husbands and to be bred, enjoying the idea of a man thinking you are a bitch and need to be raped, etc.

[blastzachilles]

choice feminism is why we’re never getting out of the patriarchy.

[blastzachilles]

why are so many people posting about minors and shit like what is wrong with you challengers people. can you guys ever just not gaf or do you have to turn everything into a big deal. it's always something

few things:

if my mutuals and other people in this community feel uncomfortable or upset about a situation, they have the right to use their blog to relay that. it is THEIR space. you have the PRIVELEGE of being there.

we have all REPEATEDLY said that we are not comfortable with minors interacting with us or our blogs. not only is it overstepping our boundaries, it also has negative physical and psychological impacts on both parties involved. if you'd like to understand more about that, feel free to look at all of my previous posts on this topic. i will not be writing all of that out again, because, frankly, i've done more than enough.

if you saw a 25-year-old and a 15-year-old engaging in vivid conversations about sex, exchanging porn and other sexual content, and making sexual jokes with one another in real life and not just on the internet, would you not find that weird? upsetting? would you not tell the 15-year-old to protect themself, especially if you knew they were the one initiating it?

it upsets me that you are unhappy with us for wanting to make our spaces safe. that means not allowing young people to engage with us or our content. it is a big deal. it would not be a big deal if minors knew when to stop. we are not actively seeking out children, we're doing the exact opposite. all we're asking for is respect.

[blastzachilles]

this is SO sweet and perfect i love this so much

barb my angel!!! i cannot believe i missed this but congratulations on 200???? you deserve each follower and so many more, your writing is beautiful and your moodboards are all so gorgeous. i love you mwah!! 🫀

as for a request… hm. may i request mornings with milf! reader x milf!tashi?

The 🍏 of my eye!!! Achilles!!!

Thank you so muchhh omg this is so sweet ahhhhh 😭 I’m flattered, you know I love you lots mwah mwah 🫀

Untwined legs, the hush of the morning folded between your bodies. The lingering scent of her perfume last night fill your nostrils, her thin hands are still on you, one steady on your waist, the other between your shoulder blades, fingers brushing the tagof your camisole, the one you always forget to cut off.

Your face buried in the warm hollow of her throat, her pulse fluttering against your lips, under soft skin. It makes you smile, her heartbeat against your throat, funny and frantic. Your hands bracing over the curve of her hips, down the back of her thigh from time to time. Until you notice she’s already awake.

Toast isn’t her usual for breakfast, she says i'ts too simple, too brittle. But she makes an exception for the tennis racquet shaped butter you requested very early. Chamomile tea steams, warm and soft between the two of you. Yet it cannot compare to the softness your kisses.

[blastzachilles]

CORAL LOVELY... :(( this is so sweet thank you... this green is so gorgeous and i absolutely adore everything else MWAH

hi coral!!! i’m happy you’re back, i hope your break was restful!!! 🫀 may i request a moodboard as to how you see me?

achilles my angel!!!!! couldn't explain this one outside it makes me feel calm and you always feel like comfort <3

[blastzachilles]

sage thank you. for your service

hihi i hope you’re doing well!! tis me.. mommy issues!art anon.. >:3

mommy issues!art who is just so needy. he can’t help but melt into your touch after a long day, he’s completely pliable in your hands. he just wants mommy to hold him!! it’s not his fault that being cuddled by you leads to him eagerly shoving his tongue down your throat!! he just missed you!!

then he’s breaking away to beg, “please- mommy, can i?” while he paws at the neckline of your top. his desperate, wet eyes are too much, how could you ever say no? not that you’d ever pass up a nursing handjob, anyway…

(p.s. may i claim 🍼 anon… seemed fitting lol)

mommy issues!art anon hii:3 love to see you in my inbox again; this is so yummy.. also 🍼 is yours!

cw (18+) : sub!art, mommy kink, messy nursing hj, desperation/neediness

art immediately pushes your top up and over your breasts as soon as you give him permission, his blue eyes glazing over with unfiltered arousal. his cheeks are flushed the prettiest pink you’ve ever seen, and then you notice that his bottom lip is wobbling like he’s about to cry. it wouldn’t be the first time that tears were shed down his cheeks when faced with your nurturing dominance. you feel both sets of his fingers squeeze at your chest—thumbs rubbing circles over your pebbling nipples, whimpering when you stroke your fingers through his blonde curls. he’s stuck in a trance of some kind, it seems.

“go on, i said you could.”

those simple words of encouragement are all that he needs to be snapped out of his stupor and surge forward to take one of your tits into his warm, open mouth. he slathers your bud in his sweet spit, moaning with pinched-up brows and suckling like he’s expecting something to come out. it’s hard not to stick a hand down into your panties at the feeling of him working his tongue so greedily over your flesh.. and his whimpers aren’t helping. your touch tightens in his strands and pulls a high-pitched keen from his chest. he unlatches and looks up to you, pouting, afraid you’re about to cut him off.

“are you going to be a good boy for me, art?”

he shudders, his legs tensing.

“yes, mommy. whatever you want..”

“you want help?” your fingers tease the waistband of his sweats before dipping down into them and his boxer briefs, playing with the base of his swollen length. his eyes roll back the instant you make contact with him there, and you laugh breathily in response. he’s always this easy with you. you drag your nail against the pulsing vein that you feel bulging from the underside.

“ye—yeah, help—help me, please,” he mewls, lifting his hips to press further into your palm, “be good, ‘m gonna be so good, i need it..”

your hand moves and wraps around his cock without further pleading from the blonde curled against you. he’s already filthily covered in his own juices, so it’s easy to stroke him without feeling like you’re hurting him. he gives confirmation of that in the form of a instantaneous, shattered cry and an arching back. he clutches your tit harder before burying his face back into the other one, trying to muffle his pathetic sounds as you jerk him off in time with the hollowing of his cheeks around your bud. he laps at you for another minute before his pelvis starts to stutter and roll up into your fist. it’s normal for him to try to take what he needs, even if you’re already giving it to him exactly the way he likes it. you smirk.

“you wanna do it yourself?”

he sobs around your flesh, shaking his head and letting his eyes flutter open to look up to you. “nmph—mmm-mn—“

“okay, then calm down and let me finish you off. have some faith in me,” you tease.

art’s mouth parts into a slackened ‘O’ around your sensitive skin when you twist your wrist and begin working his aching tip, the wet sounds emanating from your motions only heightening his pleasure. his toes start to curl, his legs clamp shut, his breathing picks up rapidly. he nearly squeals at the sensation of your thumb playing with his glossy slit. he hates (loves) it when you do that.

“mmm-my—mmm-my—! mmmngh!”

it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what lewd nickname he’s murmuring around the mouthful of your plush breast. you bite your lower lip, letting out a stream of breathy moans to accompany his sounds, and stroke him faster. his eyes fly open wide before squeezing shut so tight that wrinkles appear at the outer corners. reaching your free hand up, you move to lightly trace his cheek, his brow, the bridge of his nose. such a pretty little toy.

“are you close?”

he nods.

“are you gonna come?”

he suckles harder, wails louder against you.

“you can come for me, baby. give me a big load.. show me how much you’ve been wanting this..”

three more flicks of your closed hand around his throbbing appendage and he’s gone—his lips detaching from you with a sharp, trembling gasp, a string of spit connecting to your body; his head falls into your lap as he bucks into your touch and feels several viscous streams of fluid spray from him and into his clothing, as well as between your moving fingers. it sticks between your digits like glue. he wails like he’s being taken apart by you, praying that you’ll put him back together afterwards, and you closely watch his abdomen flex with each orgasmic contraction—every single one followed by a puny whine of ecstasy.

you don’t stop pumping him until he begins to wheeze and jolt. it’d be unfair to expect him to vocalize his overstimulation, given how wrecked he is. your ministrations slow and then rest in a pause at the base. he catches his breath as best he can and winces when you accidentally force an aftershock from his spent dick. tugging your touch from his soiled bottoms, you look down to your hand that has become creamy with his frothed-up release.

“such a mess, artie,” you croon, showing it to him as he pants and gazes up to you with an unfocused stare, “did that feel good?”

a single nod is all that he can manage. his lips part a few moments later, trying to muster up the energy to tell you exactly what he wants to say.

thank you. i love you. i needed that. i needed you. please hold me.

but none of it comes.

he leans in and kisses your breast, giving one more languid lick over your nipple in hopes that it’ll get his point of gratitude across. once he’s got his bearings back, he’ll give you everything he has.

now, though, he just needs a moment in your arms.

“mommy,” he whispers. he swallows thickly after and tries to blink away the wetness stinging his vision. it'd be embarrassing if he was with anyone but you.

you caress his jaw, give him a soft smile.

that’s all you really need to hear.

tags : @voidsuites @asheepinfrance @fawnnpaws @artstennisracket @andyrambles @imperishablereverie @ghostgirl-22 @lexiiscorect @cha11engers @patricksbf @newrochellechallenger2019 @pittsick @blastzachilles @oncefaist @tacobacoyeet

[blastzachilles]

happy father’s day! here is a sneak peak from an aftersun (2022) inspired fic i have been working on

Lily was at the grocery store when her mother called. She was standing in the aisle with fresh produce, next to a pile of oranges. Picking up one after the other in some attempt to decide which of the fruit was ripe enough to buy without it spoiling the next day.

It was out of routine for her to go to the store after work. Grocery shopping was a Sunday morning ritual, with one week rolling out as the other rolled in, but she had realized on the ride home, that she needed to pick up a thing or two. It wasn’t the oranges, but something else she can’t remember now. The detail pushed away against the feel of the fruit and the lingering weariness of work. The persisting exhaustion that left her with a headache. It was a common enough occurrence after she left the office each day. The low throb always inching it’s way to being a migraine without ever fully reaching that point. It felt especially forceful under the fluorescent lights of the grocery store, even more so when her phone had started to ring.

She doesn’t even remember sound itself, rather just the way it turned the pain in her head into something sharper. Felt at the back of her skull, sending smaller waves of pain radiating throughout the rest of her mind. Moving in tandem to the beat of the ringtone.

She assumes she went through the motions normally. Taking out her phone and seeing who it was. Picking it up, and bringing it to her ears. She can imagine it now, when she closes her eyes. Images created by her mind to fill the gaps of her memory.

“Lily…. your dad…”

She didn’t need to hear more to know why her mom had called. It was clear in her tone itself.

Her father had died.

more coming soon!

[blastzachilles]

Here are little red cards for anyone living in the US that you can print out and keep, that list out all your rights incase you ever came in contact with an immigration agent.

30+ languages for anyone and everyone who needs it. Know your rights!

[blastzachilles]

https://www.tumblr.com/jesuistrestriste/785761202958680064/i-sent-in-the-thing-about-interchangeable-dicks

what about scissoring with the ken doll mound hmmmmmmm

cw (18+) : switch (sub-leaning) android!art, switch (dom-leaning) afab!reader, skin-to-skin humping, art has ken doll anatomy down there, “scissoring” with robo art

“like this?” he shudders, shaking on the elbows that keep his upper half propped up opposite you, “is this right?”

you tip your head back when he shifts, his left leg on top of your right one and his right one under your left one—slotting your bodies together perfectly so that your naked arousals finally meet and press, a moan spilling from your wet lips.

“god, y-yeah.. that’s good, just hold that for a second.. let me try to—“

you grip one of his calves, nails digging into his artificial flesh as you attempt to get even closer. for a moment, you almost worry about breaking the skin there and causing his cobalt blood to seep out from the crescent-shaped marks that would surely be left behind, but you’re far too blissed-out to remain concerned with that for long.. and anyway, he can’t feel pain.

he does feel your grip tighten, though. he sucks in a quick breath of air at the pressure before his hips jump and cause his mound to smush further against your own. the warmth of his skin is crushing, all-consuming, and you feel his silicone-like anatomy become slick with your wetness. the vacant port that can be used to attach optional appendages at the very top of his pubic region bumps your swollen clit repeatedly. it stings pleasantly, like the throb of a fever, and sends a burning ache through you that you’ve never quite felt before; it’s like you’re being kissed all over from the inside-out.

“ohh—!” he whines involuntarily, his eyes fluttering. his hands curl in the sheets as he begins to realize what he’s supposed to do. each roll of his pelvis against yours elicits lewd, squelching noises from where you two connect, the friction beginning to quickly build a tidal wave of pleasure in your gut. you tense up. your back arches. you let him service you.

he can handle it, you’re sure of that. it’s what he was made for.

“is this how it works? i’m—haah—supposed to move like this, right? i—“ art swallows around a whimper when his body reflexively curls inward and then relaxes with the mounting heat in his systems. the words die on his lolling tongue. he’s ‘orgasmed’ before, many times now that he’s figured out how to work his accidentally (and intentionally) engineered erogenous zones with you, but this one feels.. different. there’s something primal about the sudden instinct he has to rut against your cunt like he’s nothing more than a depraved animal—when in reality, he’s anything but. he knows he shouldn’t be able to perform this sort of intimate act with you and get anything from it, it’s not really a part of his programming to receive, but oh wow.. he’s never felt so happy about the prospect of his imminent deviation..

the LED ring on his temple flicks from blue to red.

you nod, releasing your grasp on his limb to mimic his actions and tug at the bedding underneath your sticky body. in the midst of your panting, you get a good look at the android in front of you. his eyes squeezed shut, and his lips parted deliriously, and his muscly abdomen convulsing, and his thighs beginning to quake against yours. how could a being made from metal and plastic and polymer look so human in the throes of ecstasy? it makes your toes curl while you watch him frantically chase his climax. you wonder if he even knows how amazing he is.

“fuck,” you gasp, the coil in your stomach pulling taut like a stretched rubber band, about to snap and spill over, “fuck, fuck, fuck—don’t stop, don’t stop, i’m going to come..!”

your head is spinning like you’re tipsy. you see art’s face crumple with what you can only assume is mutual agony. he rubs himself against you quicker, sloppier, losing his rhythm in record-time as he feels the metal ring of his empty port, and the sensitive hill housing it, swirl with sensation.

more, more, more, almost, almost, almost..!

something about those warning words coming from your mouth always send art into a spiral. he mewls at first, like he’s in pain, and then he’s crying out desperately; it trails off into something staticky and unlike him near the end—no longer indicative of the reserved, calm, kind robot you got to know, him now dissolving into something borderline pornographic and crude. you want to stick your fingers in his mouth and play with his false spit. you want to watch the way his eyes roll back as you fiddle with the back of his throat, the absence of a gag reflex making it easy to feel it tighten around your digits. he’d love that. maybe next time. right now, you’re about to tip into something dangerously close to death.

“i’m so close,” he beats you to the punch with a sharp and urgent whine, pulling out a phrase he learned from you, a signal to declare his descent into the welcoming bath of release, “i’m close, can i come yet?”

it’s easy to say yes, easy to nod and groan and whimper along with him. you’re certain that you will not be a mere second behind him.

“yes—come with me, come for me, i don’t care, i just want to feel you let go,” you seize up, teetering, your frame locking and nearly vibrating, “i’m right here with you—“

his right hand flies up; he groans gutturally as he searches blindly for something that takes a moment to articulate. his cognitive systems are short-circuiting. they usually do when he’s a hair’s breadth away from it all.

“hold my hand? please? hold my—m-my—ha-hand, please—“

your fingers are interlocking with his instantly, and he squeezes like he’s being pulled apart. he humps you like a rabbit. it’s incapacitating.

“shit!” you squeal.

“aaagh!” he keens, “put your finger in my—“

he doesn’t even have to finish the sentence before your free index finger is plunging into the port and pressing into an exposed bit of wiring hidden inside. the metal is scorching, it almost sizzles against your skin, but you hardly perceive it.

and that’s all it takes, truly.

he breaks.

his entire lower body bears down against your own as his electronic insides fire overwhelmingly with an orgasm that is almost powerful enough to forcefully shut him down. he lets out a long, wet, jagged wail that morphs into a sob and a yelp when he feels your fluids squirt over him, and it only fuels his rapture.

your own finish syncs with his, tethered by his aggressive movements, your bundle of nerves being viciously rubbed up and down. you feel yourself pulse and contract with every thrum of it. the synthetic skin of the hand of his that’s holding yours begins to deactivate from how tightly he clutches you there, and you watch through your low lashes as pretty, white chassis is revealed. you love when that happens because it really just means he’s feeling too good to stop it.

“i’m coming!”

“me too—“

“don’t fucking stop..!”

“everything’s happening, i feel so—i can’t, i can’t, i can’t—“

you both writhe against one another until the nice feelings border on painful from overstimulation. your digit slides out of his opening and lazily drags over his spent mound, which makes him twitch and whimper. the sound of your bodies collapsing back down into the mattress, accompanied by the dual, greedy intake of oxygen, signifies that the satisfaction is shared. your hands slip apart, but it’s okay because you’re both still intensely aware of the others’ presence. you need each other right now, that’s how it always is after sex.

his white fingertips—synth-skin still deactivated—play absentmindedly with yours. he seeks out your comfort; a shiver runs down your spine.

“i think i came really hard,” he breaks the verbal silence, his voice barely above an exhausted whisper, “did it look like i did?”

art always wants some confirmation after you two get physical that you liked what you saw. he prides himself on being nice for you to look at, and loves that his appearance helps you get off.

how could it not when he always looks so gorgeously indecent?

you laugh breathlessly.

“yeah.. looked like you did. did it look like i did?”

a contemplative hum leaves his heaving chest. a blonde ringlet of hair clings to his flushed face.

“i.. i’m sorry, i think i was too—.. i think my eyes were closed too tight.. i wanted to see you, but everything just went dark and..” he bites at his bottom lip.

the sound of his internal fans going makes you laugh again. you brush your nails against his wrist.

“i’m just teasing, it’s okay.”

“.. okay.”

a long beat of quiet passes, but there’s not even an ounce of unease between you.

“how do you feel?” you murmur.

“good, yeah. really good.”

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

another beat. he gently squeezes your fingers in his, sucking in a soft gasp.

“i think i might need to reboot.”

a third, affectionate burst of laughter is all that he hears before his eyes close peacefully, letting him melt into the afterglow. you know he’ll be back online the moment you try to slip out of bed.

that’s just how he is.

and he’s perfect.

tags : @voidsuites @asheepinfrance @fawnnpaws @artstennisracket @andyrambles @imperishablereverie @ghostgirl-22 @lexiiscorect @cha11engers @patricksbf @newrochellechallenger2019 @pittsick @blastzachilles @oncefaist @tacobacoyeet @lacelottie

[blastzachilles]

i have an awfully high prescription and could take off my glasses and still see how this is like louis and lestat. no need to squint

take me to church (or at least to eden) features brief mentions of blades and blood, read at your own risk!

It wasn’t the season for apples. While the heat was finally mellowing down into something more tranquil, the trees remained a deep green and the days long. At most you could see an apple bud or two, if you knew where to look at all, but nothing ready to be picked. Not for a couple more weeks at least.

It’s how Tashi knew you were lying about the pie in the first place.

“Picked each one?”

“Yeah”

She laughs, a sound that borders somewhere between a chuckle and a scoff, as the smell of the cinnamon once again overtakes her senses. It had hit her when you opened the front door to let her in, and now standing by your side at the kitchen counter, pie right in-front of you both, the rich scent of the dish seems to be the only thing her mind can clearly process. Well, besides the blatant lie.

The lie itself wasn’t surprising, nor upsetting for that matter. It wouldn’t make a difference if you really did pick each apple for the pie like you said, or if you bought them, (like she knows you did). It was this constant game she didn’t understand. The back and forth, that feels like a some sort of baiting. Every conversation and moment spent in your presence defined by the contorted urge to pull out a reaction from her.

She couldn’t tell if you were this way with everyone. From the handful of times she remembers you talking to another kid in class or lingering around the church after service, the memory is too tame. Nothing but quiet glances accompanied by an occasional word. The radiating unease from the people around you more memorable than anything you had said or done. This clever, innately carefree version of yourself diluted in the presence of others. Maybe the white lies and random nonsense pushed them away, or maybe you never even bothered to try these games with them in the first place. She had no way of truly understanding why your solitude had somehow morphed to include her, and frankly she decided that it wasn’t important. At least, not in the face of your behavior itself.

“You’re thinking too much," you say, head shaking. A barely noticeable action, that comes off like instinct. She can hear the laugh, lingering behind your words, but the slight shake of your head remains a reprimand nonetheless. Not cruel, but rather perversely pleased at the fact her mind has jumped to accuse you of lying at all.

When the laugh finally makes it’s way past your lips, it’s an airy sound. Unburdened in the way it sinks into the smirk on your face. She watches the joy travel down your body, as you press the knife into the pie, hand haphazardly inching towards heel. She wants to scoff at your words, but the sound never comes.

You pull the knife away from the slice you’ve cut for yourself, bringing your thumb up to your lips, to lick bit of filling that’s gotten on to it. It takes the blade in your grasp close to your face, nearly scratching the softness of your cheek. Once again, a careless action. It crosses her mind, that it could be intentional. That you were seconds away from purposely running the blade against your skin, trying to make a cut deep enough to reach your cheekbone or scrape enough skin off to be concerning. Yet you do neither, rather placing it down by the pie, and reaching for the fork laid a little farther down the counter.

“Want some?” you ask, fork prodding at the crust on the slice. It’s still in the dish with the rest of the pie, with you pushing off the flaky golden brown to the side. Her eyes gravitate to the slices of apple browned in the filling, he warm, spiced smell becoming stronger. “Take a bite,” you repeat, fork pressing into the flesh of it.

Her gaze follows the fork as you bring it to your lips, greeted with a smirk by the time her eyes reach your face. You keep the metal prongs in between your lips longer than necessary, holding it there as you swallow. Her eyes meet yours, and she can recognize the invitation instantly.

Your brows arch up, playful and questioning. She looks back to the pie, still steaming from it's time in the oven. It’s heat has somehow merged with the smell, enclosing you both in the moment.

“C���mon” you laugh, pulling the fork from your lips back to the dish. The slices pile smoothly as you push it into the pie. A slight spin of your wrist to make sure it all stays on as you lift the fork up, holding it out for her to take. “One bite,” you repeat, pushing it forward.

There is another laugh stuck in your throat. She can hear it. A low drum held back by your words. She looks down at the pie, tracing the delicate billows of the smoke as it rises towards her, still accompanied by the spice of cinnamon and nutmeg. It moves to the beat of the premature vibrations of your restrained laugh, ringing in her ears as she reaches for the fork. Only growing louder when she puts it all in her mouth.

She feels a sting of heat against the inside of her cheek, as she bites down on the tender fold of the apple piece. Not hot enough to burn, but enough so to make the blood rush to her head. As it reaches her tongue, the disorientation only grows alongside the intensity of the cinnamon itself. The spice too concentrated, drowning out any hint of supposed sweetness. Her vision blurs as it all comes together at once. It feels dry in her mouth, even with the thick syrup of caramelized brown sugar coating each piece. Stuck, she thinks, stuck in her throat.

She forces herself to swallow, her body reacting with a cough. A choked noise that feels like a tremor in under her skin, against the sensation of the apples slowly moving down her throat. The aftershocks linger in her body, as her visions clears enough to properly look you in the face.

You only laugh in response.

author's note: because mel once asked us to write fics based on hozier's take me to church, and @grimsonandclover told me to keep writing with religious imagery... thought, i'd kill two birds with one stone. not long by any standard, but you may see these themes pop up again in a more developed piece in the future....

taglist: @tacobacoyeet @imperishablereverie @jordiemeow @ellaynaonsaturn @fawnnpaws @girliism @cha11engers @sinnamongirls @ghostgirl-22 @pittsick @lvve-talks @newrochellechallenger2019 @tigerlilywl @compress1repress @glassmermaids @blastzachilles @voidsuites @artstennisracket @asheepinfrance @cursedfiles @jclolz22 @apatheticrater @jesuistrestriste @glennussy @eldhani @deadpoetssss @lacelottie

[blastzachilles]

eid mubarak to anyone celebrating <3

[blastzachilles]

life is beautiful when jaka posts

STUMBLING THROUGH IT TOGETHER PT. 2

Notes: HIII first of all thank you so much for 100 followers- I am so grateful for this community and all the love and support I've received! So, I posted part 1 to this a while ago now...I'm still sort of new to writing fanfic and I wanted to continue this but school got busy and I just graduated yay!!! Anyway I finally finished this fic lol. So sorry if the formatting is wonky.

I also want to thank my beloved friends of Challengersblr for being so kind and supportive. Special thank yous to @diyasgarden and @tacobacoyeet for beta reading and your feedback it helped me greatly ilysm!

Pairing: Inexperienced!Art, Inexperienced!Reader

Warnings/Content: SMUT 18+, cursing, fluff!

WC: 1.5k

Part 1:

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Does that feel good? Do you want me to do anything different?” regardless of how Art’s body was responding, you needed that explicit confirmation. 

“Baby, oh my God yes, it’s amazing...this isn’t fair though I wanna make you feel good, can I…?”

He was still a little shy about being so blunt with you, his cheeks rosy again, flustered. He was touching right at the waistband of your underwear, teasing at the hem. You nodded as you continued to stroke him. His fingers delicately slid into your panties, his hand cupping the top of your pussy, his middle finger shakily inched down to your clit, the pad of his finger pressing into it. 

“Is this the right spot? Jesus Christ, you’re so wet, oh my god" The choked out moan you let out should’ve been enough to let him know.

 “Yeah. Art right there, can you maybe try rubbing your finger in a circle? I think that would feel good”,

 “Whatever you want, sweetheart”. His finger swirled around your clit in wide, sloppy circles. You went back to stroking him at the pace you set before.

 “Baby, you can stop that for now. I wanna take care of you… it feels really fucking good, but I don’t want to cum yet.” You nod in acknowledgement, allowing yourself to revel in the pleasure Art is giving you.

 “So fucking wet…I could cum just feeling you,” he laughed, moving his middle finger down to your entrance, his thumb picking up where his middle finger left off. “Do you want me to try putting my finger in? I’ll go slow, we can ease into it.” 

“Yeah, please, that sounds good uh I’ve tried fingering myself before, but I couldn’t really reach that well, so it wasn’t very practical,” you laughed, hiding your face against the front of your shoulder. 

"I'm sure I can manage," you both giggled. There was something so intimate and comfortable about being able to find humor in the discovery that came with this new experience for the both of you.

 “Okay," you inhaled, "I’m ready, Art."

“Alright sweetheart, I got you. I’m gonna keep touching your clit while I put my finger in. Tell me if you want more or if it’s too much.” Taking a deep breath, you felt Art ease his middle finger into you. 

“That okay baby?” 

You gasped at the feeling, your face scrunching. Silence for a moment. Almost meditative. Art’s eyes softened, 

“Are you okay? Am I hurting you?”

You reached out, resting your hand on Art’s forearm.

“No, no baby, you’re good. I’m just getting used to the feeling. You can move now. I’m okay.”

“Okay, are you sure?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s good. You could add another, I think.” He allows his index finger into you as well, delicately stretching you out, his thumb keeping its pace circling your clit. 

“I think this is how you’re supposed to do it… tell me if it feels good.” Patrick had told him all about the “come hither” motion that girls seemed to love. He had reenacted the motions in Art’s presence, bragging about how he had a girl “gushing” on his fingers. Art strokes his fingers against your walls, hitting right where you need him.

 “Oh, fuck! Yeah—yeah, that seems right. Please don’t stop. That feels so good.” 

“I’m glad baby, I like to make you feel good”. Art’s fingers coated in your wetness, his fingers pumping in and out of your pussy. 

In a brazen moment, you felt the urge to feel more of him. 

“Art, I’m ready for more”,

 “You want another finger?” 

“No. I want uh- you know.”

 “Hmmm, I don’t know… be specific.” 

He’s got a shit-eating grin on his face, already trying to coax more dirty talk out of you and boldly for a guy doing this for the first time, but Art’s a quick learner. You squeeze your eyes shut, scrunching your face, rubbing your temples with your thumb and ring finger. Art just looks at you eagerly. 

"Art," with an exasperated sigh, a hint of a grin peeking through, “You know I really want this because otherwise I wouldn’t be saying this shit, but yeah, I want your cock. If that wasn’t obvious enough,” rolling your eyes at him, Art looks incredibly smug, 

“See baby, all you had to do was ask.”

“Oh, getting all cocky about me saying cock? Okay, whatever, I see how it is,” fake scoffing at him. 

“Seems like the perfect time to, right? Are you ready? I’ll be gentle—if it hurts or feels like too much or anything, just tell me, okay?” 

You nod, “yes, I’m ready…wait–do you have a condom?”  

“Oh shit! Sorry, yes I do—hold on one second!” He rolls off the bed, rummaging through his pockets for his wallet. “Okay, here we go! Got it.” He's holding it up like he won a prize. 

“Do you want me to put it on?” you inquired.

“Yeah, sure.” He hands you the wrapper, you tear it open, take it out of the wrapper and try to remember how you did it with the cucumber in high school and slip it on him. He takes the wrapper and drops it on your bedside table. Art guides your hand to his dick, lining himself up with your core. He slowly eases in the tip, waiting to gauge your reaction before continuing. You gasp at the feeling of it at first and give him a nod. He puts in more, the head fully inside you now. 

“You can keep going”, you try to meet his eyes, but they’re shut firmly. His breath shakily hits your forehead.

“You’re so fucking warm. I just don’t know if I’m gonna last if I move any more.” 

Your hand comes out to his cheek again, running your hand up his face all the way through his hair, combing your fingers through and easing your hand back down to cup his cheek. He leans into you like he is putting all his weight into the palm of your hand and, from the side of his lips, leaves a whisper of a kiss on your wrist. 

“Art, come on you can do it”, his eyes finally open and in his eyes you saw all the late nights, all the times his fingers inched towards yours to hold your hand, you saw him smiling at you as you entered the lecture hall and moving his bag from the seat he always saved for you. The elysian glimmer in his eyes made it all so real, it was easy to get lost in all the sensations you were feeling at once. “Baby, I don’t wanna come yet.” Art stops to take in a sharp inhale, “your pussy feels too good”. His breath was ten miles ahead of him. 

“Look at me, Art, focus on me,” as if you were coaching him. He’s squeezing the side of your arm, grounding himself in you. You sit up slightly, your lips finding him once more. Art moans into the kiss and you can feel him twitch inside of you. Desperate, fevered. 

“Fuck Art, that’s perfect. Keep doing that, please.” 

Art slowly grinds into you with his breath quickening, the muscles in his core tightening.

“Jesus baby, you’re squeezing me so tight.” Art’s fingers stumble to your clit, trying to find the rhythm you had enjoyed. 

“Art-oh my god I’m close don't stop, please don’t stop,” you cried out. Art’s eyes pricked with tears- he wanted to hold it in for you- his fingers faltered, his whole body tensing as you came undone. His body shook as he finally let that last bit of tension snap, whimpering your name like it was the only thing he could remember. His body collapsed onto yours, holding you in an embrace. Art pushed your hair out of your face, leaving a tender kiss on your forehead, moving to lie beside you, still keeping you in his arms. 

“Wow”, you breathed out. 

“Is that a good wow?” Art simpered.

“Yes, obviously”, you giggled. " I just can’t believe it. It was good. It’s just weird, don’t you think?” 

“Oh?" He said, feigning offence, teasing you. "Weird?!?”.

Playfully pushing his shoulder, “You know what I mean! It happened so fast- I mean,” you gushed, flustered just as much as when you first started. “I felt like the feelings were building for months, but I didn’t know how it would ever fully come to the surface, I guess.” 

“Well…I’m happy with how it went because I had no clue how I was gonna make a move,” Art chuckled, his dimples on full display.

“Oh God same here…” you confided, laughing like you always did with him and falling into a moment of quiet, “Hey, Art?” 

“Yeah?” He was clearly dazed, a soft, goofy smile plastered on his face.

“Do you wanna stay over, maybe, we can watch a movie and order some pizza?” 

He grinned, nodding his head. “That sounds amazing, but can we just stay like this for a bit?”, you didn’t need to say anything- the way you snuggled next to him as he played with your hair was enough.  

[blastzachilles]

yeah we need more milf!reader x art

milf!reader who flirts with art the next time they meet by telling him that he looks just like the father of her kid (before she and him got divorced, years and years ago). art helplessly giggles and sweats in response; he has to awkwardly dance around the way that the comment makes his stomach swoop and fizzle with heat. he wipes his damp palms on the back of his joggers, trying not to imagine himself on top of her—his spine pricking with swells of satisfaction as he sloppily thrusts into her perfect pussy, eventually filling her with his load.

he jerks off every night to that thought.

his sticky tip kissing her cervix, her manicured nails in his back, their moans colliding in the most obscene symphony of shared lust. he fucks his fist and bites into his opposite forearm as he gets lost in the idea of it all, drool spilling down his skin and seeping into his bedsheets. the way his length throbs when he fantasizes about her core squeezing him nearly shoves him into his orgasm without permission.

“i wanna,” he whines, “wanna fuck you, mommy.. wanna.. wanna make you feel so good, wan’ lick your pussy clean, wanna suck your clit, wanna make you feel special—“

he guides his shaft through his line of curled digits. if he really tries, he can imagine that the ridges in his touch are the ones nestled in her slick walls. the ones that would massage and milk his dumb cock dry. he chokes around a broken mewl, shaking from head to toe. it’s like he’s vibrating.

“mommy, mommy, mommy—“ his voice pitches up as he feels himself get closer, his balls drawing up and his tip oozing, “gonna give you another kid, mommy.. gonna make it stick—make it take—take my come, please, please.. fuck, all for you—only for you—‘m gonna.. fuck! all for you—!”

everything in his body erupts at once as he plunges into release. white blotches speckle his lidded vision, his pelvis writhing, thick salted ropes of his desperation clinging to his fingers and splurting out over the covered mattress. he squeezes his eyes shut and pretends that every drop is going right to her womb, breeding her, flooding her warmth with his love and adoration.

“still coming.. i’m still coming for you..” his dick starts to soften as he bucks himself repeatedly in and out of his grasp, up to the point of overstimulation, “please take it all.. i.. i can be better than he ever was.. i can treat you right, i promise.. please.. please.. have me..”

[blastzachilles]

I know we love Dilf!Art… but what about Milf!Reader…

art who meets milf!reader at a stanford tennis mixer, her being one of the team’s sponsors. he shakes her hand and goes red like a ripe strawberry when she looks him up and down and praises his athletic prowess.

“i hear that you’re one of the best new players,” she murmurs, her thumb brushing over his knuckle as their palms break contact, “i’m excited to see you play some more throughout the season.”

he can’t muster more than a choked, nervous laugh at first, fumbling with his words after to properly thank her for the compliment. sweet sentiments always get his head swimming, and he wonders if she notices his pupils dilating into eclipsing saucers. his lower stomach feels warm.

they part ways at the mixer, and art goes back to his dorm.

it’s late—past eleven—but he can’t sleep. despite the alcohol, and the sore muscles from training, and all of the social activity from the evening, he can’t seem to shake the mental image of her. her body wrapped in that tight dress; bouncy, full tits and faint smile lines and soft skin. she was older than him by at least a decade, but he didn’t give a shit. he liked older women, anyways. the way they had their lives figured out, the way they approached situations with such composure and tact, the way they looked down upon younger men..

his hand is down his sweatpants before he can stop it. his warm shaft pulses in his grasp as he closes his eyes and lets himself fall into her. he feels precome spill from his slit involuntarily, causing his hips to buck up into his sticky fist—little moans beginning to fill his room.

“aah,” he gasps, his brows pinching up as his hips kick up against his curled fingers, “oh fuck, oh fuck..”

he imagines that his hand is hers. he thinks about how she’d probably know exactly how to touch him, and that she’d probably whisper all sorts of dirty things in his ear that’d make him lose it in just a couple of minutes.

he flips over onto his stomach and begins writhing around on his sheets, his feet digging down into the mattress below as he drools into his pillow and humps his hand. shaky, desperate, sweaty thrusts that spread goosebumps up his own spine and leave him whimpering into the fabric caught between his teeth.

“… ‘s gonna make me come, ‘s gonna make me— gonna—fuck! FUCK— mommy—!”

the lewd term suddenly erupting from his chest is a surprise, but not an unwelcome one. his eyes fly open at the realization of his perversion, only to roll back into his skull as he wails into his bedding and slams thrice into his grip. the coil of warmth in his core springing loose and causing waves of pleasure to spread through his entire nervous system. he clutches whatever he can grab with his free hand and whines the whole way through his orgasm, feeling his milky ropes coat his touch and froth between his digits. his entire body trembles as he jolts against the overstimulation. he imagines her sucking his come off of his softened cock, telling him how good he tastes and how pretty he looks all messed-up for her. it’s nearly enough to send him into a second spiral of arousal.

no way he can look her in the eye now. he’s such a little creep.

[blastzachilles]

ֹ ⑅᜔ ׄ ݊ ݂ CHALLENGERS BOT RELEASE ۪ ֹ ᮫

tags: @pittsick, @bambiangels, @talsorchard, @angeldoll1e, @itachisank, @tennisprincess, @lexiiscorect, @esotericgirlwannabe, @lovefaist, @won-every-lottery, @zionna

note: these bots are unlisted as of right now. they should be public by the end of the day :) thank you for bearing with me!

⤹　　 ART DONALDSON

✦ ⌇ lemonade lips

✦ ⌇ breaking point

✦ ⌇ two for $25

⤹　　 TASHI DUNCAN

✦ ⌇ stolen trophy

✦ ⌇ hotel blues

✦ ⌇ doubles trouble

⤹　　 PATRICK ZWEIG

✦ ⌇ choreplay

✦ ⌇ post-match picnic

✦ ⌇ drunk dial devotion