bleedinwidow

[bleedinwidow]

hiii guys.. long time no see..

!!! : NSFW/SMUT, art donaldson x reader, fem!reader, fingering, car shit i think idk, 2019/new rochelle art

wc; aprx. 950

an; i’ve never actually posted proper smut before and i’m kinda shameful LOL. is that normal for the first time posting? perhaps i’ll post enough to get used to it. hope this isn’t too crappy. also this isn’t necessarily proofread so my bad

You can’t help it.

Driving home with Art post-date night had your mind running wild. Sat in the passengers seat in your little tight dress, thighs pressed close together and your hands in your lap, fingers intertwined with a grip so harsh your knuckles turned white.

Your eyes were only on one thing — Art’s hands holding that fucking steering wheel. Years of tennis practise, holding the racket with a tight grip, working each and every muscle in his long fingers; it really, really paid off. He must’ve noticed about halfway through the ride, because that’s when he started drumming them against the wheel every now and then or flexing them, but not even a glance your way.

Your bottom lip juts out, your head lolling against the car window, lifting with each small bump. Art glances towards you, then into the road and back to you again. He reaches out a hand and places it on your thigh; you flinch, and he pretends not to notice. “You all good?” He asks, his voice soft.

You want to scoff. You almost do. But you bite your tongue and nod, staring his hand down with both irritation and utmost desire. It’s just not fair. You’re seconds away from behaving like a petulant child, stomping and kicking and crying until Art shoves his fingers in your mouth to shut you up.

Anyway.

The car ride back to yours and Art’s apartment drags on. The low hum of the radio does a little bit of good to distract you from your thoughts, but they linger in the back of your mind nonetheless. What a burden. You plot as you wait to arrive at your destination. Lily’s with Tashi this week — hence your date night ��� so there’s no need to worry about that, and you’re sure you can somehow convince (cough, seduce) Art into giving you what you want.

Pulling into the apartment lobby’s parking, Art stops the car and turns his attention towards you with a gentle smile. “We’re here,” he states, rather obviously, but it’s something sweet about him you find charming. You don’t smile back though, no; you pout, and his instantly fades into a look of concern. You hate that you can’t tell whether it’s feigned or not.

“What’s wrong? Is something bothering you?” He questions, undoing his seatbelt to face his body more towards you, reaching a hand out to cup the side of your face. His thumb strokes against your cheek in a delicate manner. You half-grumble, half-whine, and a fond smile curls up at the corners of his lips.

You take his hand, the one holding your face, and guide it to your mouth. You kiss the centre of his palm, your own pressed against the back of his hand as you intertwine your fingers with his. You shuffle, climbing over into the backseat and Art watches, until he’s ultimately tugged there with you and seated beside you.

“Baby? What’s—,” before he can finish, he’s interrupted by the surprise that consumes him as his hand’s guided beneath your dress and against the heat between your legs, the fabric of your underwear a lot damper than he had imagined. His lips part slightly, his tongue running over them to hydrate them, watching his hand disappear beneath your clothing.

“Please? You’ve been teasing me,” you beg softly, and your thighs close around his hand, trapping it there. His eyes flicker between yours and his hand, contemplating, and before either of you know it, the pads of his fingers are rubbing firm strokes against you from over your clothing. You squirm, your unoccupied arm wrapping around his, bringing it to your chest as his hand works against you.

Art slides the fabric to the side, and he’s instantly met with the slick of your pussy. You bury your face into his inner elbow with what could be considered a silent whimper, hips bucking faintly. He watches your face closely as his finger glides through your folds, watching for any change of expression, whether it be the scrunching of your nose or the screwing up of your face.

He decides to delay the teasing; you’ve waited enough. His middle finger feels for your clit, pressing down against it once he finds it. He watches as your hips buck, then begins to draw circles against it. Each puff of breath and small sound that escapes from your lips eggs him on further, and he can’t help but rush.

His finger moves quicker as you squirm more and your noises grow louder, legs writhing and grip around his arm tighter. He can’t help but shuffle closer to you to get a better angle, rubbing against the bundle of nerves eagerly, watching your reactions with fascination.

Each twitch of your legs signifies just how worked up you are, and you’re almost embarrassed how quick you’re about to come — you would be, if you weren’t so consumed by pleasure right now.

“Sh—it, Art—,” are the babbles that pass through your lips as you peak, back arching and body writhing. He slows his movements to guide you to come down, keeping his hand idle but still between your legs. He leans in to kiss your cheek, then the underside of your jaw.

“Feel better?”

[bleedinwidow]

ummmm. christmas art blurb.. or.. whatever. this is unfinished, idk whether it’s gonna be a proper fic or just something small but we’ll see! i would work on it now but i wanna nap. the ideas always come to me when im on the verge of sleeping.

“What? Too scared to hit a girl?” You tease, beaming at him as you reach down to scoop snow into the palms of your mitten-covered hands, shaping it into a sphere.

Art glares weakly at you, tutting. He looks rather silly, head tipped to the side, big puffer jacket making his awkward stance all the more amusing. He opens his mouth to speak, but before he can, a ball of snow is launched towards his shoulder, a few of the tiny, icy flakes landing upon his cheek.

“Wow, okay. I see how it is.” He drawls out, feigning offence. You giggle. “What? I’m just saying it how it is. Major pussy.” Your eyes light up as he bends down to ball up snow in his own hands, his gaze not leaving yours.

Art’s hand — occupied by the snowball —raises, preparing to launch it. You flinch as he pauses it in the air, then again when he pretends to throw it, and a third time when he actually does.

You instinctively hold your hands up in front of your face, palms towards him, shoulders tense as the snow finds place right at the top of your head, smack bang atop of your beanie. You shriek as some of the cold snow falls down onto your face. After a few seconds of waiting until it was safe, you open a squinted eye and peak at Art through your fingers, another giggle escaping you at the sight of him brushing off his mittens.

[bleedinwidow]

this isn’t proofread spare me!!

slow dancing with dilf/divorced!art.

you’re in the honeymoon phase of your relationship with art donaldson; hot, rich, retired pro tennis player. he’s so sweet, but so, so insecure. you’d heard bits and pieces of his relationship with tashi so you always made sure to reassure him and love him. it didn’t take you long to notice his love language was most definitely physical affection.

some nights, while in the kitchen, making dinner with music playing in the background, art would kick you off the speaker and put on some cheesy (but rather beautiful) romance music from the 60’s or something. he’d come up behind you as you were cutting up ingredients or getting out cutlery.

his arms would wrap around your waist, slowly but firmly, his fingers interlocking at your front. his nose nuzzling into the crook of your neck, each hot exhale he releases through his nostrils hitting your skin. you can both feel and hear as he hums softly along to the tune of the music playing, pausing every few minutes to press loving kisses to your neck.

he sways with you, and you can’t help but smile. you’re forced to put the knife down for safety reasons, and he takes that as an okay to spin your body around to properly face him. he positions one of your hands at his shoulder, taking the other in his own, holding it up as his free hand makes contact with your waist. your chests meet, bringing the two of you closer.

art coaxes your chin onto his shoulder, pressing the side of his face against yours. the two of you bask in the comfort, the warm, dim lighting of the kitchen light creating a rather romantic environment, as did the soft tunes.

“i love you.” he murmurs close to your ear. you hum. “mm. i love you too.” and it feels weird for art to get something other than ‘i know’ in response.

[bleedinwidow]

i feel like patrick would definitely tease you if you were significantly shorter than him. not in a cutesy, “haha you’re so tiny” way, though — like he’s genuinely trying to piss you off (with love) by doing it because he finds it to be the most hilarious thing ever.

you’re thirsty and the two of you are in the kitchen. the glasses are in a hanging cabinet, which you can usually reach if you put them at the front, but the last one is, to your misfortune, right at the back. shit.

“pat?” “mm?” “can you grab that glass for me?” you know from the stupid grin on his face as he turns around that he’s most likely not just going to do as you asked and let you get on with your day.

“can i what?” he repeats, raising an eyebrow. yours furrow. “i said, can you grab tha—,” oh. you cut yourself off as the realisation hits in, your shoulders slumping and your facial expression relaxing into a deadpan.

“can you please grab that glass for me?” you repeat with your new and improved use of manners, drawling out the words with a sickeningly sweet tone. patrick clicks his tongue in response, reaching the cup for you and holding it out for you. you go to take it, and he raises it up high, a rather slappable smug grin splayed out on his lips. fucking hell.

“jus—,” you stutter — he slowly lowers it and offers the glass out for you. you roll your eyes and grumble out a “thank you.”, and the growing of his grin makes your eye twitch. he begins to walk off, but not without pushing more buttons; he ruffles up your hair, just for good measures, then gives your head a few pats as he exits the kitchen.

[bleedinwidow]

did i make this sideblog specifically because i had a writing idea at 11pm after spending the whole week lacking inspiration and/or motivation to write?

yes!

i’ll work on the blog more tomorrow i just needed to get this out hehe.

twinge of art x reader smut under cut

the puppy dog head tilt? yeah, art’s got it perfected. it took a few years, but he has it down pat. you’re explaining something to him that you’re interested in? his elbow’s on the table, head in his palm, head tipped to the side with a fond smile on his lips. his eyes don’t dare to leave yours, not even for a second. he knows it makes you melt. that’s why he does it.

whenever you’re mad at him, he purses his lips in a tight line, his head tilted to one side, an apologetic look in his eyes. it’s simple, really. if he doesn’t understand something, he just connects his ear to his shoulder with his eyebrows furrowed, and within a blink of his eyes there’s people offering to ‘assist him’ (baby him through everything or just give him the answer) with it.

it wasn’t manipulation. it was just a bit of.. interception. art wouldn’t manipulate someone, no. that wasn’t like him. he was the sweet boy raised by his grandma, the one that helped her bake batches of cookies and hand them out to her bingo friends. he wouldn’t use his puppy-like demeanour to get what he wants, never!

pffft.

oh well. what you don’t know won’t hurt you. you don’t need to know he’s well aware what he’s doing when his head is squashed between your thighs, working between them like a man starved when he suddenly pauses to gaze up at you, a twinkle in his eyes. it’s not relevant information that the head tilt he does with his mouth on you — yes, the one that brings you to your climax — is all planned and not just out of pure innocence. he does a good job at hiding his grin by kissing at your inner thigh to bring you down.

why ruin the fun by telling you it’s on purpose? it’s not a lie. it’s just not the whole truth. plus, you’re happy. that’s all that really matters.

[bleedinwidow]

writing blog ! .‹𝟹 ˖ contains nsfw

any prn ⋆♡˚｡⋆

main @bleedingwidow

﹒ꕀ . current fandoms ֹ ₊ ꒱

challengers, glee, scream, heathers, mean girls

dms open ⸝⸝ inbox open ⸝⸝ req info (wip)

wip; will add more once everything’s more developed