matchpointfaist

[matchpointfaist]

“i see her online” is one of the best ive read i fear i am going to eat you through my screen

omg thank you sweetie pie!!!!!! i love this picture also it kills me every time HAHAH

[matchpointfaist]

hi guys did you forget about me bc i haven’t posted in a million years

[matchpointfaist]

i see her online... all the time!

stanford art donaldson x camgirl! reader

tw smut, reader is a camgirl and knows art irl, sneaky art

art was a good person. he told himself that every night when he collapsed into the single bed of his dorm, already opening his laptop, already searching your screen name on a website that could surely get him banned from the campus wifi. he told himself that as you appeared on his screen, the quality doing no justice to your shining skin. he was raised to know better than this, yes, but he was lonely, and you were always there. when tashi started dating patrick, when they effectively both abandoned him, you were there. when he had a shitty match and needed some way to vent his frustrations, you were there, always. well, except for weekends, coincidentally when he had most of his matches, but no one could be available 100% of the time, surely.

the first time he stumbled across your stream, he'd nearly slammed his laptop closed from the intimacy of it all. you looked so normal, so unlike the exaggerated, surgically altered women he was used to seeing. you were just a girl alone in her room, dressed in tiny shorts and a tinier tank top, your face concealed but your voice soft and sweet enough to distract him from caring. you looked like an angel, from the limited view he had. you spoke with a lilting, faux innocence, like you knew something he didn't. you told him, told all of your viewers, exactly what you'd do if you were there with them instead of all alone on the other side of the screen. he hadn’t meant to, that very first time, hadn’t intended on sneaking his hand beneath his shorts, on spilling over the keys of his laptop with a curse. you’d pulled something out of him, something he’d buried with the thoughts of his want for tashi and patrick. he felt new, refreshed, free. so it continued, naturally.

every time he could, he’d stumble into his room, already picturing your body, already hearing your voice in his ears as he typed in his password haphazardly. a few moments of loading, and there you were, a vision just for him. well, he could pretend that you were only his. he ignored the comments, the constant stream of tips and notes displayed along the bottom of the screen. it didn’t matter, not really. he knew if you only knew him, really knew him, you’d forget all those other guys. they were probably old and washed up, and art was a good guy, really! you’d love him, maybe. he’d at least be good to you. that was what got him the most - the idea of being good. some nights, when you were leaning more on the dominant side of things for your viewers, you’d murmur it in a low tone. “bet you’re doing so good for me, pumping your cock so good,” his eyes would roll back at the very word being spilled from your lips, “go on, cum for me like a good boy,” and every time, without fail, he did. he was devoted, a total goner for you, and you had no idea.

most nights you were softer, more pliable. you’d lean into the submissive role in a way art typically didn’t care for. with you, though? he let his head fill with visions of taking care of you, in whichever way you desired, whichever way you needed. he’d think of you underneath him, crying from pleasure, your moans filling his ears as he watched you finger yourself for the camera. he’d praise you, alone in his room, mouth watering with need. “so pretty,” he’d pant, cheeks flushed and pupils dilated as he trained his eyes on the screen, “oh, baby, just like that,” he came best that way, praising a girl who wasn’t even there. he could pretend, of course. he’d always had a good imagination, always a very vivid dreamer. it took no effort at all to imagine you riding him as he fucked his fist, came easy as breathing to picture you writhing beneath him as he ground against his pillow.

no one knew, of course. he’d be totally humiliated if anyone found out- tennis star and stanford prodigy can’t get a girlfriend so he pretends? no, no one could know. there were girls he was interested in, of course. you, for example! you were gorgeous, warm smiles and bright eyes, smooth skin and toned muscles from keeping up with him. but you’d never give him the time of day, he was sure. you were beautiful, and all the boys on the team could see it. and you were so sweet, always making conversation with anyone, even when he could tell you didn’t care. he’d picture you on nights he was particularly desperate, allow himself the secret pleasure of imagining your face as the camgirl fucked herself on his laptop screen. he always came the hardest when he imagined you were there to lap it up, your name falling from his lips from a place of utmost shame. he’d apologize after, in his head, sincere apologies for being such a fucking creep. shame would claw at him the next day when he saw you, when you smiled up at him and passed him a gatorade. his neck would flush red, his cheeks following soon after, and he’d have to force his eyes away from you to stop the images playing on a loop behind his eyes.

he’d been feeling particularly bold one night, working up the nerve to send a chat. ‘could you maybe show off a little? ur so pretty, just wanna see u.’ you’d laughed, a soft giggle, and acknowledged his request immediately. you stood, pulling your tank top over your head and tossing it off screen, palming your breasts as you danced before the camera, slow and alluring. you spun, revealing a small tattoo on your back, just above the line of your shorts. he hid the image in his head, memorized the plane of your spine, the flush of your skin. “hope that was good,” you murmured, laying across your bed, “you like seeing me like that?” ‘god, yes. so fuckin pretty.’ he replied, one hand typing as the other slid beneath his pants. you took the camera lower, removed your shorts, and he was a lost cause, finishing before he could even get his sweatpants off. “fuck,” he exhaled, watching for a moment before closing the laptop, his hands shaking slightly from the intensity of his orgasm, “god, i gotta get it together,”

the next day at practice, you’d said something in passing, something as simple as hello or how are you, but he’d gotten hung up on the words. a rush of familiarity hit him, a shiver moving down his spine as he tried to place it. he shook it off, focusing on practice, on anything but you. but then he’d hit the ball just a bit too hard, sending you laughing and running after it, and when you leaned down to retrieve it, his eyes landed on it. a small black star, just above your tennis skirt, stark against the white of your uniform. his brows furrowed in confusion, but not before a jolt of warmth went through him, an uncomfortable tightness in his shorts. “fuck,” he mumbled under his breath, running a hand over his face. he thought of it all, laid the facts out. your voice was familiar, but a lot of girls sounded like that, right? and sure, your hair was the same color, but it was common! the tattoo, though? that left him questioning everything, his eyes watching your every movement, his mind reeling as he listening to every word you said. it had to be you, surely. but at the same time, it felt impossible, like the most unlikely thing in the world. you were so sweet, so friendly! you didn’t even date any guys at school. surely not. but then you asked him to grab you a water, and when he passed it to you, you’d smiled and said “good boy,” teasingly, and it clicked. it was you.

he went home that night, opened your stream, kept his hands out of his pants and his mind out of the gutter. he was all focus, curiosity eating him alive. he sent you a text, the real you, his hands shaking slightly as he typed. ‘hey! do you remember what time the match is saturday?’ it was simple, friendly. he watched as the phone lying beside your laptop lit up, and you snatched it up before the notification could be seen from the camera, tossing it behind you like nothing had happened. confirmation left him oddly more confused, and then you were back to acting like you’d never been disturbed, sweet talking and running your hands down your body. “get a grip,” he scolded himself as he grew harder, slamming the computer closed. it felt tainted now, the sanctity all gone, replaced with something wrong, something that rendered him guilty. he shook it off, tried to ignore the warmth between his thighs, and went to sleep. he’d deal with it tomorrow.

the next day came sooner than he would have liked, which meant seeing you again. you were all smiles at practice, as usual, too friendly. it felt wrong now, unauthentic, sullied by his darkest thoughts of you. by the end of the day, he couldn’t fight it anymore. he had to tell you he knew, had to what, exactly? apologize? no, that wasn’t right. he just had to- before he could figure it out, you were standing before him, frowning slightly. “did i do something?” you asked, slight pout on your lips. god, your fucking lips. “no!” he shook his head, too quick, “no, of course not!” “you’ve been weird all day,” you said, clearly not believing him, “is it because i didn’t reply last night? sorry, i was just busy-“ “i know you were,” it came out all wrong, “shit, sorry, i-“ “you know i was?” you eyed him curiously, brows knit. “i just assumed,” he lied, biting the inside of his cheek, “actually, i- can i talk to you? alone?”

you agreed, all too easily, and followed him to the locker room, long abandoned by your teammates. “look, i- i don’t know how to say this, so i’m just gonna go,” he said hesitantly, “i was accidentally watching your stream and i swear i didn’t know it was you, but then i put it together last night and i’m so sorry, i swear it won’t ever happen again, i feel-“ you grinned, confusing him further, “yeah, art, i know,” “what?” his eyes widened, “how do you know that?” “your screen name wasn’t really secretive. artemis? that’s what i called you the first time we met,” “oh, fuck,” he ran a hand over his face, palms sweating suddenly, “are you mad? i really am so sorry,” “mad?” you repeated, shaking your head, “no, art, i’m not mad. honestly? it was pretty hot, knowing you’d been watching me, then seeing you try to pretend you didn’t know. did you watch a lot?” “what?” he was still reeling, still trying to process. he’d expected anger, embarrassment, maybe. anything but this smug look on your face. “i guess i- i watched a lot,” he admitted, “especially lately,” “oh, i know,” you murmured, that tone all too familiar now, “you could have any girl you wanted, art. why’re you watching me all alone at night, hm?”

“i didn’t- i don’t really have a lot of luck with girls,” he was embarrassed now, warm all over, “i’ve liked you for a long time, but i didn’t know how to tell you, and i figured you had a boyfriend maybe,” “does this change anything?” you asked, voice softer, “are you not interested now?” “god, no,” he said quickly, “of course i’m still interested. maybe more now, i don’t know,” “more?” you giggled, your grin returned, “you liked watching me that much?” he could feel the blood rushing, and he halfway willed it to stop, “of course i did. you’re beautiful,” “you’re so sweet,” you said softly, “you wanna touch me like that, hm? wanna see what it’s like?”

“maybe we shouldn’t-“ he looked around the empty locker room, eyes wide, pulse thrumming. “there’s nobody here,” you said simply, “do you wanna kiss me, art?” “yes,” he nodded before he could even think, “yes, so badly,” “take what you want, then,” he was on you without a second thought, kissing you desperately, too far gone to take his time. he looped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer, whining against your lips when you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulled at his hair gently. you pulled away to trail your lips down his jaw, then to his neck, leaving him panting like a virgin as you licked up the column of his throat. one of your hands crept lower, brushing over his cock as it strained against his shorts. “fuck,” he groaned, grabbing at your wrist, “if you keep going, i won’t be able to stop,” “who i said i wanted you to stop?” you whispered, biting at his earlobe.

he lost it then, throwing all of his self doubt as far away as he could manage and leaning down to scoop you up, his hands on the backs of your thighs and his tongue tracing your bottom lip as he walked you to the showers. your clothes were off in what felt like seconds, and he nearly came as you stood before him, naked and glistening in the water. “you’re so beautiful,” he almost choked on the words, his heart racing. he shed his own clothes, kissing you again, the water sticking his hair to his face as he backed you against the wall. you snuck a hand between your bodies, wrapping it around him painfully slow, pumping him and drawing whines from his swollen lips. “need to make you feel good,” he managed between half drowned moans, “is that okay?” “whatever you want, art,” you said softly, your voice full of that familiar fake innocence. “oh, fuck me,” he dropped to his knees, pulling one of your thighs up to rest on his shoulder, diving in and lapping at your pussy like he was starving without it. “oh,” you gasped, sharp and surprised, and buried your hand in his hair, back arched off the cold shower wall. “so good,” he moaned into your skin, his chin slick and eyes heavy with lust as he peered up at you. you rolled your hips against him, moaning so pretty he nearly came untouched. “wanna fuck you,” you finally whined, pulling at his hair, “plenty of time for that later,”

he let you guide him, all too eager, his muscles taut with want as he kissed you again. “taste like me,” you mumbled against his mouth, licking at the skin beneath his lips, “didn’t know you were so dirty, art,” “only for you,” he replied, biting at your bottom lip, his hands grabbing at your ass as he pulled you up, your legs around his waist, “can i?” “told you to take what you want,” you grabbed his chin just hard enough to get his attention, “go on,” he moaned, quiet and low in his throat, as he sank you down onto his cock. “oh my god,” your nails scraped against his shoulders, “oh, art,” “so tight,” he buried his face in your neck, half focused on sucking marks into your skin, “god, you feel so fuckin good,” he pressed you against the wall, using it for support as he pounded into you, moaning incessantly as he got lost in pleasure. “yeah, right there,” you mewled as he repositioned, hitting deeper inside you, “m close,” “come on,” he groaned quietly, “need to feel you cum for me, baby, make a mess like you do on your little stream,” “fuck!” you clawed at his back as you came, clenching around him, sucking him in deeper as you rode out your high. “atta girl,” he let out an embarrassingly breathy moan, “god, you’re perfect,”

he let you down to reposition, but you dropped to your knees instead, looking up at him with blown pupils and smeared mascara as you took him into your mouth. he gasped, his hand tangling in your hair, watching, entranced, as you took him down your throat. “oh, baby,” he moaned, biting his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, “not gonna last if you keep looking at me like that,” you reached up, your hand resting beneath his balls, rolling them gently as you choked on his cock, and he was so close. “gonna- baby, fuck, gonna cum-“ he whined, voice high and hoarse as his cock twitched. you pulled him from your lips just as he came, your tongue out as you pumped him through his orgasm, his cum landing on your cheeks and open mouth. “oh my god,” his eyes rolled back, hips jerking as he caught his breath, “you’re so pretty,” he sucked in a breath as your tongue returned, licking him clean, swallowing the evidence. “like that?” you pressed a kiss to his thigh, your cheeks still gleaming, “am i your little pornstar?” “god, yes,” he ran a hand through his soaked hair, chest heaving, “all mine,”

you giggled as you stood, legs slightly shaky, and rinsed your face and hair in the now chilly shower water. “was that as good as you hoped?” “better,” he murmured, snaking an arm around your waist from behind, his chin leaned on your shoulder as he let the water flow over him, “you’re fucking incredible,” “you could come on the stream,” you turned in his arms, kissing his cheek, “would you like that, hm? wanna fuck me in front of everyone?” blood rushed down once again, a low groan dying in his throat, “do you want that?” “i want whatever you want,” you hummed, pressing another quick kiss to his lips before ducking out of the water, grabbing for a towel, “think about it, yeah?” “could i take you to dinner first?” he called after you, stumbling out of the stall, pulling a towel around his waist. “mm, we’ll see!” you didn’t wait for him to dry off, just toweled the beads of water away and pulled on a fresh change of clothes, pausing by the door, “night, artemis!”

a week later, he took you to dinner off campus, something casual but nice enough to warrant seeing you in a dress. afterwards, he pounded you into your mattress, your face pressed into the comforter. he tried his best to stay off camera, but afterwards, when you were half asleep and scrolling, you showed him one comment. ‘wait, is that fucking art donaldson?’ the comment was left by none other than a screen name pattycake, a nickname given by a much younger art. god.

[matchpointfaist]

you should come back to our place, baby, don't be afraid of our love

ex dodge mason x reader

tw;; angst, smut, mutual pining and yearning, panic mention

you hadn’t been back to carp since you left with half a million dollars and a broken heart. the wedding invitation had come in a pale pink envelope with glitter still stuck to the inside, something so recognizably natalie. you almost didn’t open it, but something about the neat scrawl of her handwriting made your chest tighten in that old familiar way. home. you weren’t sure it even existed for you anymore. still, here you were, back under the big sky, the air thick with humidity and memory.

the reception was in a refurbished barn. string lights flickered overhead, soft music pulsing as couples swayed. you were sipping your second glass of champagne when you saw him. dodge mason. standing near the bar, hands in his pockets, the same quiet intensity in his eyes like no time had passed at all. his hair was a little longer now, falling into his eyes, and the stubble on his jaw gave him an edge he didn’t have when you last saw him, the time he let you go. he looked up, and your stomach dropped. his eyes locked on yours, and for a moment, neither of you moved. then he started walking toward you. "didn’t think i’d see you here," he said, voice low, steady, familiar. you forced a breath. "it’s natalie’s wedding. she would’ve hunted me down if i didn’t show,"

he gave a small nod. "yeah, she’s good at that," there was a pause. "so," you said, trying to keep your tone light, "still in carp?" he shrugged, eyes scanning your face, "yeah," "you could’ve come with me," his jaw tightened, "i know," you hated how much that still hurt. you had begged him, after the game, after the final challenge when he’d dropped out just to protect you. you were the last one standing. you won, but it never felt like victory, not without him. you’d offered him a plane ticket. a clean slate. a life where panic didn’t touch your every breath. but he said no. said he had roots, a family, something to prove. and maybe you were just another risk he couldn’t take.

"you look good," he said quietly. you blinked, surprised, "thanks," he hesitated. "i check social media sometimes, just to see where you are. chicago, then portland?" you raised an eyebrow, "you kept track?" "i never stopped," your throat tightened. he stepped closer, so close you could smell that cedar scent that used to cling to his t-shirts. "i thought i was doing the right thing, letting you go. figured you'd be better off without me weighing you down," you shook your head slowly. "i never wanted to win that game without you. i would’ve dropped out too if i’d known you were going to," his voice cracked slightly, "i couldn’t let them hurt you," "and i couldn’t stand losing you,"

you both stood there, two ghosts haunting each other's pasts. then he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled something out. a plane ticket, faded. folded with care. your chest caught. "you left it on my porch," he murmured, "day you left town," "i didn’t think you kept it, i- i left it there just in case you changed your mind," he looked at you then, really looked. “i kept everything,” the music shifted. a slow song, something aching and nostalgic. "can i have this dance?" he asked. you didn’t answer right away, just stepped into his arms. he held you like something precious, something he lost and maybe, just maybe, was allowed to find again. outside, carp spun on as if no time had passed. but in that moment, it was just you and him. no Panic, no regrets. just two kids who once risked everything, and maybe, finally, were ready to stop running.

the night wound down slower than you expected. a blur of laughter, clinking glasses, and bittersweet looks from old friends who didn’t quite know what to say to the girl who left and never came back. you tried to be present, tried to smile for natalie, even as your thoughts kept looping back to dodge- his hand on your waist, the ghost of a dance you used to know by heart. it was close to midnight when the last song ended. you slipped your shoes off and stepped outside the barn, heels in one hand, the cool texas air brushing against your bare shoulders. “need a ride?” came that familiar voice behind you. you turned. dodge leaned against the driver’s side of his old truck, the same beat-up chevy he had during the games, though the dent in the front bumper was finally fixed. you hesitated. "i was gonna call an uber,” he smiled faintly, “not many of those around here after ten,” you looked at him for a beat, then nodded, “alright. just to the hotel,” he opened the door for you, “just to the hotel,”

the drive was quiet at first. you sat with your legs tucked to the side, watching the sleepy roads roll past. streetlights flickered like fireflies in the distance. carp was still so small it felt like time hadn’t touched it. or maybe it had, and you were the one who changed too much. “i didn’t know if you’d still have the truck,” you murmured, finally breaking the silence. he glanced at you, “hard to let go of things that still run,” you bit your lip, unsure if he meant the truck, or something else. “i should’ve stayed,” you said after a moment, “or you should’ve come with me.” he exhaled, fingers tightening on the steering wheel. “i wanted to,”

you turned your head toward him, “then why didn’t you?” “i was scared,” he said simply, “scared that if I followed you, and it didn’t work out, i’d have nothing left. not this town, not my family, not you,” your heart twisted. “i would’ve been enough,” you whispered. he pulled into the hotel parking lot but didn’t turn off the engine. “i know that now,” he said, voice low, “but back then? i was too used to losing,” the silence stretched between you, taut and aching. “do you regret it?” you asked, staring out the windshield, “letting me go?” his voice broke the dark like a confession, “every single day,”

you turned to him, blinking back the sting behind your eyes. “so why did you bring me home tonight? why now?” he looked at you like he was seeing you for the first time again, “because this time, i didn’t want to let the moment pass,” your hand hovered over the door handle, heart thudding. you could walk away, say goodnight, head into that sterile hotel room, cry into a pillow that smelled like nothing. that would be easier. or- “do you want to come in?” you asked, not daring to look at him. he didn’t answer right away. then, softly, “only if you want me to,” you looked at him, really looked, his jaw clenched, his eyes full of things he hadn’t said yet. and you remembered every night spent in that tiny room above your parent's garage, curled beside him, whispering about futures you weren’t sure you’d live to see. “i do,” you said softly. and he killed the engine.

the hotel room door clicked shut behind you, but neither of you moved at first. you stood there near the foot of the bed, shoes still in one hand, dress brushing mid-thigh, pulse steady but loud in your ears. dodge stepped in slowly, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to breathe too loud. the room was dim, just one lamp casting warm amber light. outside, the town was quiet, asleep. and inside, the past lingered like smoke between you. he shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, then looked at you. “you kept your key on a lanyard,” he said softly, like he was remembering aloud, “always looped it around your wrist like you’d lose it otherwise,” you laughed under your breath, “i still do,” a beat passed. then you added, “i used to wake up every night for weeks, reaching for you. just forgetting that you weren’t there anymore,” he flinched, barely, but you saw it. “i never slept well through a night,” he said, “not once,” the silence between you thickened, but it wasn’t hollow. it was heavy with everything unsaid.

“i hated you,” you whispered. he looked up, startled. “for staying behind, for making me go. for making it so hard to leave,” his throat worked, eyes shining, “i hated myself for the same reason,” you stepped closer, “then maybe we can stop doing that,” you didn’t wait for him to move. you reached up, fingers gently curling around the front of his shirt. he breathed in, sharp and uneven, and you kissed him. soft at first, then like muscle memory. his hands found your waist, pulled you closer, tentative until you pressed yourself against him fully and he stopped pretending he could keep this gentle. your back hit the door. his mouth traced the path to your jaw, your neck, reverent. hands skimming your sides like he had to relearn every inch. you tugged his jacket off, he let it fall. when you pulled back to breathe, your foreheads rested against each other, panting, smiling like it hurt. “you still smell the same,” you murmured. “you still taste like home,” he said. clothes were shed like secrets- slow at first, then quicker, more desperate. every kiss, every touch, was a reclamation. not just of bodies, but of trust, of years, of the love you’d both buried under silence and stubbornness. he laid you down gently. no rush, no games, just you and him, hearts out in the open, nothing left to lose. and when he whispered your name like a prayer, you knew this wasn’t about what had been taken. it was about what could still be given.

he worked your body like he never skipped a night, his fingers ghosting over your clit as you kissed him desperately, your hands tangled in the grown out lengths of his hair. you reached for him, taking him in the palm of your hand, stroking just slow enough to pull a tantalizing moan from his lips. “need you,” he mumbled into your lips, bucking into your hand, “can i please fuck you, baby?” “please,” you nodded eagerly, legs spread wider with anticipation, “god, missed you so much,” he slid inside of you like coming home, his forehead rested against yours, a soft gasp tearing itself from your lips. “you feel so good,” he exhaled, “god, i missed you,” one hand cradled the back of your head, his eyes on yours between kisses, and the other wrapped around you, rested on the small of your back as you arched into his touch. “you’re so beautiful,” he murmured, “most beautiful thing i’ve ever seen,” “so good,” you mewled, “dodge, god, right there,”

“come on, baby, come for me,” he pleaded, brows drawn together as he held back his own orgasm, “lemme feel you,” your nails scratched at his shoulder blades, thighs trembling as you came, his name falling from your lips between messy kisses. “that’s it,” he panted, his thrusts growing rougher, shakier, “oh, fuck, that’s it,” he came with a breathless moan, holding you tight like you might slip away, his thrusts slowing as he came down. “missed this,” he murmured into your sweat shining skin, pressing a kiss to your collarbone as he laid beside you, “missed you more than anything,” “missed you too, dodge,” you yawned softly, tucking yourself into his chest, beneath his arm, “you have no idea,”

later, tangled in sheets that smelled like detergent and skin, you lay with your head on his chest. his fingers brushed idle patterns across your arm. “i don’t want this to be one night,” he said quietly, almost afraid to speak it into the world. you looked up at him. “then don’t let it be,” he kissed your temple, “i think i’m ready to come with you now. if you’ll still have me,” you smiled, “i never stopped waiting,” outside, carp slept. inside, you finally woke up to the life you almost missed.

[matchpointfaist]

hi besties!!!!!! i posted on my side blog if i have any marvel moots <3

bucky barnes thunderbolts!era fwb in the watchtower hiding it from everyone :P

help me hold on to you ⏾⋆.˚

fwb thunderbolts! bucky x thunderbolts! reader

tw for smut! slight angsty bucky, mentions of torture/hydra kinda

the first time you had bucky barnes in your bed, his dog tags had dangled against your face, cool and metallic against your flushed skin, branding you as something akin to his. it wasn't soft, wasn't tender. it was all tongues and teeth, his hand resting gently around your throat, never gripping enough to remind him of the times he'd been there before. he used your pulse thrumming beneath his thumb as a reminder; you were alive, real, safe. before, before he was ever the winter soldier, before the thunderbolts, before mission after mission splintering his mind, back when he was just bucky, it had been different. he had this way about him, a cunning grin that you'd shamefully fawned over in photographs, and women had wanted to impress him. now, though, with his metal arm and the cold demeanor he couldn't seem to shake, women tended to avoid him. they saw him as a threat, or a challenge, never just bucky. that was, of course, until you came along.

you'd fallen into each other accidentally at first, brought together by something like inevitability. you never cowered from him; that was the first thing he noticed about you. next came the softness of your gaze, despite the hard exterior you'd been forced to keep up. then, the gentle brushes of your hands against his skin as you bandaged him up after missions. tension built, nights spent with lingering glances, secret touches surrounded by your team. he'd finally snapped when you returned from a mission 2 days later than planned, unharmed but shaken, refusing to talk to anyone but him about what you'd seen.

"it was awful," you told him, voice shaky, drink in your hand like a crutch, "i knew hydra was awful, of course i knew, but- bucky, i'm so sorry they did that to you," his brows furrowed, pinched together, "what do you mean? what did you see?" it all came spilling out then. graphic descriptions of the facility you and yelena had been sent to raid, empty but full of information that you needed, leftover from the avenger's efforts. the terrible things you'd seen, the ancient screens playing looped footage of bucky. him, bound to what appeared to be a surgical chair, screaming like his life depended on it. him, forced to kill over and over, until he was just a hollow shell of a man. him, begging for steve, for his mother, for anyone to come and save him. your heart had broken, over and over, more and more for this poor man, so accustomed to the torture. he'd taken it all with grace as if he was hearing about someone else and not a past version of himself.

he let you finish, let you get it all out, comforted you as if it wasn't his burden to bear. "i was built to withstand it," he said when you were finished, like it was so simple, "it doesn't make what they did alright, i understand that. but i'm okay, i mean that. i've come a long way, and there's no sense in you worrying, alright?" you wanted to argue, but he had that look in his eye you knew all too well, the one that told you his resolve wouldn't be slipping anytime soon. "yeah, okay," you nodded, finishing your drink with a sigh. "let me walk you up to your room," he stood, holding his arm out for you to take, "and you're sure you weren't hurt, right?" "i'm sure, bucky," you nodded, looping your arm through his, "thank you for checking on me,"

he walked you up as promised, his hand now settled against your back, light enough to prevent coming across as pushy, but firm enough to let you know he had you. you thought, as you walked, that bucky always had you. every mission, he laid his life down for any one of the team, but especially you. he went to such great lengths, every minute, to keep you safe. the idea of this man, this great man, who had been through so much, now devoting his life to protecting other people, was enough to have your eyes stinging with unshed tears by the time you reached your bedroom. "what is it?" he asked, the moment he detected the shining of your eyes, "are you hurt?" "no," you shook your head, a teary laugh escaping your lips, "i'm okay, buck. just- i'm just grateful. you've been through so much, i'm so grateful you're still here, that you're still so good," "oh, красивый," the word caused your brows to furrow, glancing at him curiously. "nothing," he shook his head like he was shaking off a ghost, "you're just very sweet,"

he lingered in your doorway, leaned against the wood, watching as you sat at the edge of your bed. "suits you," he gestured to the plush green bedspread, "i figured that was your favorite, ever since you made a fuss about picking that green flower when we were at the edge of the city," you looked up at him, brows knit, "you remember that?" "i remember everything," he said it as if it was obvious, as simple as breathing, because to him, it had been. you weren't sure how it happened after that. he'd closed the door behind him, stood between your legs, towering over you as he stroked the side of your face with his thumb, an expression that only told you he was holding himself back. "it's me," you murmured, voice uncharacteristically soft, "you can let go, bucky,"

that was all it had taken, the final chip in the iceberg. he kissed you with a fervor, like he was building a new home in your mouth, like he was going to consume you. you knew, distantly, he would. he was stern but gentle, holding you tight but never bruising. his name was on your lips like a prayer, like an absolution, the culmination of your deepest, untapped desire. you reveled in the cool steel of his dog tags, in the bite of his metal arm brushing against your thigh, holding your legs apart to make more room for his broad frame. he kept his eyes on you the entire time, giving you the privilege of watching him unfold, the black of his pupils eating up the blue of his eyes. his lips were bitten until they were red and swollen, his face relaxed for the first time since you'd met him.

"красивый," it fell from his lips again, quiet like he hadn't meant to say it, unable to hold it back when he watched you come undone beneath him. afterwards, you laid your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart, your fingers trailing the planes of muscle. "what does it mean? красивый," you cringed at your awkward pronunciation, awaiting his explanation. he didn't give you one at first, just rolled over, pulled his clothes back on with a stifled yawn. he leaned down, pressed a kiss to your head. "don't think we should let the team know about this yet. i'm not trying to run out on you, but you know how they linger," you nodded, smiled hazily up at him, "yeah, it's alright," he paused in the doorway, looked back at you, "it means beautiful,"

everything after that was a blur. stolen kisses behind constantly revolving doors, hands held beneath tables, the brush of thighs when the team got together in the debriefing room. his scent started to linger on your pillow, never having time to fade out completely before he was laid back against it again, the smell of sandalwood and cinnamon, warm like the chai lattes you both liked to sip in the mornings, a rare luxury he allowed himself. the only other luxury he allowed was you, the nights spent curled alongside you in your bed, learning the slopes and planes of your body until he could feel them in the dark. he could recognize the bait of your breath, the soft repeating of his name, committed it to memory until you took up enough space to drown out the nightmares. he'd dreamed of war for so long it was all he knew, the screams, the pleas for him to stop. you were slowly pushing them out, replacing them with your pleas for more, for him to stay. he dreamed of you meeting steve, the three of you being the best of friends back in brooklyn. he dreamed most often of you just the way you were, fighting and uncrushable spirit, bright eyes and sure footed, unshakable determination to do the right thing.

he knew you'd been through things, knew your strengths had not always been an asset, but a curse. he recognized the familiar flinches on missions, the comfort you sought out in the strangest of places, the way you always felt safer when you were cold. he knew you, in some ways, better than he knew himself. he'd almost slipped up, many times, almost called you his girlfriend, his partner, something more than just a friend. he wasn't sure what you were, really, just that you were more himself than he was. he'd finally found something to come home to, another way to heal after all the pain, all the work he'd done. "steve would have loved you," he told you once, watching you draw the curtains closed in his bedroom, your presence filling his space with a light he hadn't felt in years, "would've told me you're too good for me, probably," he smiled when he said it, but the thought pained him, the concept of anyone wanting to take you away from him. "well, he would've been dead wrong," you grinned, dropping into bed beside him, curling up in his lap, "i would've hated to have to fight your friend,"

you were sure yelena knew. she hinted at it more and more, but never pressed, only joked that it was about time. you ignored her, but couldn't ignore the warmth in your chest at the thought of being known, the idea of getting to love bucky publicly. it terrified you, at first, the idea of loving him. but then it came as easy as breathing. he'd placed his dog tags around your neck one night, in a moment of desperate tenderness, entranced by watching them rest against your chest, your skin warming the metal. "they look better on you," he told you, pressing a kiss to your collarbone, "моя звезда," "bucky," you half laughed, half scolded, "no fair. you have to translate," "my star. my beautiful star, моя прекрасная звезда," you kissed him to keep from crying, muffling your moans with his lips when he pulled you into his lap, buried himself inside of you with a newly familiar ease. you kept the tags tucked beneath your shirt and gear, your fingers finding them each time you got overwhelmed or afraid. he was always there, a ghost around your neck, keeping you company no matter how far you went.

he called you to his room one night, months after that very first time, needing you in more ways than he could describe. the second you opened the door, he was on you, pushing it shut and pressing you against it, his lips on yours, hungry and warm. he had you on the bed in seconds, stripped of your clothes soon after, touching you like he'd die if he stopped. "beautiful," he mumbled, cradling the back of your head as he kissed you, sucking in a breath as he slid inside you. he had you beneath him, holding your face in one hand, his metal arm holding your leg up gently. "god, bucky," your eyes rolled back as he worked you the way only he knew how, having learned your body like nothing else, "oh, right there," he let his head fall forward, resting his forehead against yours, hovering just over your lips. "я тебя люблю," he whispered, breathless, "te iubesc, eu te amo, Ich liebe dich,Je vous aime," he had you coming undone before you could question it, his metal fingers cold against your clit, working circles onto it. "oh, god, yes," you gasped, clutching him tightly, trembling in his arms. he groaned as he came, your name on his lips in perfect repetition.

"what were you saying?" you asked, curled in his arms moments later, your chest still rising and falling rapidly, "what language was that?" "russian, romanian, porteguese, german, french," he muttered, running his fingers through your hair, "i know some japanese as well, some others. if you're interested," "just want to know what you said," you rolled your eyes with no real malice, "in english, please," "maybe you should learn russian, smart girl," he teased, tickling your side lightly, "i'll even say it slow for you," "i'll just google it," you huffed, rolling over to reach for your phone. he moved to stop you, a shining look of fear in his eyes, "wait-" you'd already typed in a butchered version of the romanian version, your eyes darting from the phone screen to bucky's conflicted expression. "bucky, this- it says i love you, so i'm sure i spelled it wrong-" "i love you," it fell from his lips like an admission of guilt, "in all of the languages i know, i love you. but this is the only one you can understand, so it's the only one that matters. i love you,"

"oh my god," you dropped your phone onto the bed, your eyes welling with tears, "you-" "it's been a long time since i was sure of anything. i learned to second guess everyone, everything, but you? you're- god, you're this shining beacon, this impossible way to move on, this hope. you're you, you're beautiful and strong and it's such a privilege to know you at all. and i don't deserve you, but i'll die trying to become the sort of man who does," "bucky," you laughed, breathless, "bucky, you idiot, of course you deserve me," you fell into his arms, buried your face in his neck, "i love you, i- i don't know those languages, te amo is all i know, but this is my favorite," you pulled back to kiss him, quick but meaningful, "i love you," he looked like he might sob, pulling you tight to his chest, holding you with both arms enveloping your body. "i love you," he repeated into your hair, voice trembling. "i love you," you murmured, "it feels so good to finally say that,"

later, when he'd fucked you speechless once again, he played with your fingers, humming contently. "we should probably tell everyone," you yawned, pressing a kiss to his shoulder, "not that they don't already know," "i'll tell everyone in the world," he laughed, "we'll tell them in the morning, alright? can't believe you're my girl," he kissed you, short and sweet, "we can tell them we're going steady," "it's not the 40s anymore, old man," you teased, but a part of you ached for that brooklyn boy and all the dates he'd never get to go on, "but yeah, sure. we're going steady. hey, maybe you can take me down to the sockhop-" "shut up," he groaned, burying his face in your neck, but you could feel his smile against your skin. "i mean it," you said softly, "i want to do all the things with you that we never got to do," "there's no one i'd rather do it with," he brushed his lips against your cheek, "моя звезда,"

[matchpointfaist]

pretty woman au with rich retired art

i see you eyein’ me down but you’ll never know much past my name 🪩

dilf! art donaldson x anora! reader

tw for smut, reader is a stripper. this is so anora coded. lowkey subby art if you squint (a first for me!) reader is described having nipple piercings

the lights were low, but not forgiving. red and violet bled across the main stage, bathing the crowd in the kind of glow that made people feel braver than they were. cigarette smoke hung like old perfume, and money floated down in lazy arcs when a good song hit. you’d long stopped hearing the music. it was all muscle memory now—hips, eyes, smile, touch. repeat. you weren’t a headliner tonight, just working the floor in heels that could kill a man if you kicked right. tips were mediocre, the crowd restless. nba off-season types, trust fund boys, and hedge fund men pretending they had more power than they did, until he walked in.

you spotted him before he saw you, standing near the bar, hair messy in a way that could only be intentional, wearing a navy button-down rolled up to his forearms. he didn’t belong here, not in the way most men didn’t belong but came anyway. no bachelor party smile, no wide-eyed lust. he looked lost. or worse, lonely. you didn't realize who he was until you were halfway to him. the kind of fame that crept up on you—not hollywood obvious, but familiar. your ex watched tennis. you’d seen this guy win a tournament in rome with a clenched jaw and bleeding hand. art donaldson. the good one, the quiet one. married to that fierce coach who yelled from the sidelines like she owned the court.

he was sipping something dark, neat. his eyes swept across the room like he was trying not to look interested. you approached like you would any other mark—but something in your gut was twisting. "looking for someone?" you asked, voice low, smooth. he blinked, focused. and then you saw it, the flicker of recognition. "no," he said, “but i think i just found her," you grinned, “that’s a line," “it is, yeah. a bad one," “very bad,” you agreed, leaning just enough to keep his attention, "but i’ve heard worse," he looked up at you like he was reading your stats. calm, analytical, curious. “i’m art,” he said, offering his hand like he was at a charity gala and not surrounded by bare skin and $20 bills.

you took it, noting his soft palm, the calluses on the fingers. "roxy,” you replied, “i charge extra if we pretend to be on a real name basis,” that got a half-smile out of him. not quite flirty, just tired. “what does it cost for a conversation?" you tilted your head, curious, “no touching?” “no touching,” “no lap dance?” “nope,” you folded your arms across your chest, teasing but cautious. “you know this is a strip club, right? you’re, like, aggressively wholesome for this place," that almost made him laugh. “wholesome’s a stretch. i just didn’t know where else to go tonight,” that stopped you. not the words, but the way he said them—like he hadn’t meant to say them at all.

you gestured toward a semi-private booth, away from the stage. “that one’s $300 an hour for talking,” he didn’t even blink, just pulled out a black card and handed it over. “then let’s talk,” the booth felt quieter than it should. art sat across from you, long legs splayed slightly, one hand loose on his drink, the other resting flat on the table—nervous energy in the fingertips, like he wanted to pace or serve a ball. you stirred your soda with a straw, not drinking it. “so, you came in here for what exactly? clarity? a story to tell your therapist?” “i needed to be somewhere no one expected me to be,” he looked at you, “you ever feel like that?” you snorted, “i work in 7-inch heels under fake names. what do you think?” that made him smile. tired, but real. “tell me what this is,” you said, “because if you’re about to ask for a half-price fantasy, i’d rather you do it fast,” he looked directly at you—too directly. “i want you to come back to my hotel,” he said, “just for the weekend,” you didn’t flinch. you’d heard worse, sleazier versions of the same sentence. “for what?” you asked, slow, cautious. “i have this thing,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “a sponsor gala tomorrow. press, fake laughs. everyone’s expecting my wife to be there, but she’s not coming,” you blinked. “so you want me to be your... what? arm candy?”

“not just that. someone to talk to, to look good next to me. be on my arm, pretend we like each other," you leaned in, eyebrow raised, “pretend?” that grin again—slight, crooked, instinctive, “depends how good you are,” you let out a soft exhale and leaned back against the leather. “girlfriend experience, then,” he nodded. “i’m not cheap,” you said. “i know,” “and i don’t do submissive. if i’m going to play the part, i call some shots,” “good,” he said, “i don’t want obedient. i want real,” that caught you off guard more than anything. real wasn’t usually part of the deal. “okay,” you said after a pause, “one weekend, your hotel. i get a bed to myself, meals on your tab, wardrobe budget, and you don’t touch me unless I say it’s okay,” he met your eyes. “deal,” you grabbed the black card he left on the table and tucked it into your bra. “better pick your favorite designer, donaldson. i’m gonna need to look expensive,” he gave a soft chuckle, almost shy. “you already do,”

his hotel was almost obnoxiously nice, big light fixtures and boys waiting around to carry your luggage. the elevator hummed softly as it carried you up to his suite, a sleek glass box perched high above the city skyline. you leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching the neon glow bleed through the floor to ceiling windows. the city was alive beneath you, but inside, the space felt almost sterile; expensive, empty, waiting.

he stood by the kitchenette, pouring two glasses of whiskey, his movements precise and deliberate. he looked less like a tennis champion and more like a man trying to hold himself together. you caught the flicker of vulnerability behind his calm facade and wondered what he was really running from. “you know,” you said, breaking the silence, “most guys come here looking for a distraction. you, though? you seem like you’re trying to solve something,” he turned, raising an eyebrow in that quiet, analytical way of his. “maybe i am. or maybe i’m just tired of pretending i’m okay,” you studied him for a moment, then stepped closer. “you’re good at pretending, art, i can tell. but everyone’s got cracks. it’s just a matter of whether you want to show them,” he hesitated, then set the glasses down. “i don’t want to pretend anymore tonight. not with you,”

your lips twitched into a small, knowing smile. “well, then. let’s start by being honest. what do you really want?” he looked at you, eyes searching, as if weighing whether to trust this stranger more than his own thoughts. finally, he sighed, the tension leaving his shoulders. “i just want to feel something real for once. even if it’s just for a little while,” you nodded, understanding more than he knew. “sometimes, that’s all we need,” you moved toward the bed, the plush sheets beckoning. art hesitated, then followed, shedding his jacket and tie, revealing the lean, muscular frame beneath. he sat on the edge of the bed, running a hand through his hair, looking lost again. “tell me what you need,” you said softly, voice gentle but firm, “no masks, mkay? no expectations,”

he looked up at you, vulnerability flickering again. “i need to forget the world out there. just for tonight, just for a little while,” you eased closer, standing between his knees. “then let’s do that. no pretending, just whatever happens next,” his hand reached out, tentative, then settled on your waist. the moment hung between you, thick and electric. you closed the distance, your lips brushing his in a slow, deliberate kiss, an unspoken promise that tonight, at least, you’d both be real. outside, the city pulsed on, indifferent to the secrets being shared inside. for a fleeting moment, nothing else mattered but the truth you both dared to find in each other’s arms. "tell me what you like," you mumbled against his lips, fingers threading through his cropped blonde hair, "wanna know exactly how to make you feel good," that seemed to unlock something in him, a quiet groan leaving his plush lips. “don’t care, just need to feel you,” he pulled you down into his lap, your thighs spread on either side of his hips, his lips against yours drowning out your thoughts.

a soft gasp tore from your throat as he slid a finger beneath the line of your underwear, his skin warm against the growing wetness. “wait,” you mumbled, pulling his hand away gently, “tonight’s all about you, baby. let me treat you,” you got the sense that he wasn’t a man used to being treated in that way, judging from the way his pupils dilated as you sunk to your knees before him, the hesitance in his posture like he couldn’t believe you’d submit. “take these off f’me,” you instructed, dark fingernails tracing the buckle of his sleek belt, grinning up at him as he did as you said. he had an obedient air about him, soft in all the right places, but a quiet, simmering dominance. not demanding, just sure. you watched with sparkling eyes as he let his dress pants fall to the floor, his underwear following, his breath tight as you traced him with your eyes. “so pretty,” the tone of your voice surprised even you, the truth of it, “bet you taste so good, art,” you leaned up just enough to trace his tip with your tongue, the salty taste of precum filling your senses, “so eager,” he groaned when you took him into your mouth, relaxing your throat, letting him feel it all. “oh, fuck,” he practically gasped, hand flying to your hair, “oh, that’s good, fuck-“ you reached up to rest a hand beneath his cock, thumb tracing the veins on his skin, nearly grinning when you felt them contract beneath your touch.

his hips rutted as he started to relax into it, the ridges and tension melting away with each lap of your tongue. “not gonna last,” he panted, fucking up into your mouth with desperation you could practically taste, “wait- wait, please, wanna fuck you,” you pulled away, frowning mockingly up at him, “no fun,” you hummed, leaning your head lower, your hand idle on his cock as you lapped at his balls. he gasped, thighs tensing up immediately, “oh, god,” he groaned, rutting into your hand, “oh, that’s so- this is too much,” you let your tongue trail lower, just slightly, and a wild moan left him, his cock spasming in your hand. “please, pl- i’m not ready to cum,” he sounded close to tears, and when you glanced up at him through your lashes, he looked as desperate as he sounded. his eyes were screwed shut, cheeks glowing, lips bitten raw in an attempt to silence the sounds that flew from him. “you wanna fuck me that bad, hm?” you murmured, crawling back up into his lap, “show me then,”

he wasted no time, all restraint broken away. he flipped you over, tearing your clothes away, eyes tracing over every inch of newly exposed skin. “oh, god,” he licked his lips, eyes focused on your chest, the small silver piercings on each nipple, “fuck me,” he dove in, taking your breath away as he latched onto one, rolling the other between his thumb and forefinger. “art,” you exhaled, voice shaky, trailing your fingers through his hair. he hummed against your chest, his free hand trailing down between your thighs, fingertip tracing your soaked clit. your thighs shook slightly, back arching further into his touch. “gotta fuck you,” he murmured, a trail of spit from your chest to his shining lips as he leaned up to kiss you, settling between your legs. you watched through lidded eyes as he positioned himself, sucking in a breath when he tapped the tip of his cock against your clit, rubbing it through your wetness. “you’re soaked,” he sounded half in awe, half lust struck, “all for me?” “mm, all for you,” you nodded, reaching between your bodies to take him into your hand, pumping slowly, “don’t make me wait any longer, baby,” he obeyed, once again, your hand slipping away as he slid inside of you easily, a broken moan leaving his lips. “fuck,” he held your thighs open, pressing your legs closer to your chest, eyes all over you in the new position, “you feel so good,”

you were helpless to do anything but moan beneath him, your composure slipping as he stretched you open. “you’re so big,” you mewled, a soft feeling in your chest as he slid his fingers between yours, still holding your legs up, “oh, art,” “is that good?” he panted, eyebrows tight together in focus as he sped up his thrusts, barely holding back, “am i doing good?” “you’re so good,” you nodded eagerly, clenching around him, “look so pretty fucking me,” “oh, fuck,” he whined, forehead falling into your chest as he collapsed into you, “not gonna last,” “it’s okay,” you murmured, pulling him into a kiss. the second your lips met his, your tongue slipping into his mouth, he stilled inside you. his hips jerked, and then you felt him, hot and full as he spilled inside of you. “oh, fuck, fuck,” he whimpered, hips jerking with aftershocks, “oh, god, you’re so beautiful, thank you,” “that was so good,” you praised softly, scratching at his scalp, “don’t need to thank me,” “you didn’t finish,” he frowned slightly, sitting back to look down at you, “did you?“ “it’s okay,” you waved a dismissive hand, but he shook his head, pulling out of you with a quiet shaky breath. “no, want you to finish,”

he was between your thighs before you could stop him, lapping at you like he was starving, greedy, satisfied moans leaving him, muffled by your cunt. “oh, god,” your eyes rolled back, your hands resting in his hair as he worked two fingers inside of you, unbothered by his own cum spilling onto his skin. his tongue worked expertly while his fingers curled inside of you, your thighs shaking and back arching, vision spotty, “art, baby, i’m-“ “come in my mouth,” he panted against your soaked skin, “please,” the sheer desperation in his voice sent you over the edge, and you moaned his name as you came undone on his fingers and mouth, bucking your hips and scratching as his scalp. “god, you taste good,” he groaned, pressing a kiss to your thigh as you caught your breath, “you’re perfect,”

he crawled back up beside you, chest heaving and lips slick, “god, roxy,” he mumbled, head resting on your bare shoulder. it jarred you, brought you back to the reality of this moment. “don’t- call me my real name, please,” you surprised yourself as you told him, the sensation foreign, forbidden. “that’s beautiful,” he murmured, smiling slightly, “thank you for telling me,” “feels fair. i know yours, why keep mine a secret?” you smiled softly, trailing his nails over his biceps, the scars littering his milky skin, “so we have our first appearance tomorrow?” “mhm,” he nodded, eyes already closed. “i hope i don’t mess it up,” you hated the insecurity you felt, like you didn’t deserve a seat at their table. “you’re gonna do perfect. gonna be the prettiest girl there,” he smiled, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, “get some sleep, angel,” “yeah, alright,” you hummed, “only because you look so comfy,” “mhm,” he rolled over, pulling you to his chest, “goodnight,” “gnight, art,” you let yourself get lost in the feeling of his strong arms around you, this foreign weight. you let yourself dream of nights like this, of comfort and his presence, not just for the weekend.

[matchpointfaist]

plssss do more dilf!art x cart girl reader 😫 its my absolute fav

here you go lovely!! it is v short i'm working on other stuff rn but it's all super long and time consuming and i wanted to give my friends smth to think about while u wait! <3 tw for smut, breeding kinda? age gap obvi

when art finally got you alone that first time, it was desperate, depraved. he was gentle with you, careful not to push it too far, but when you finally showed him just how eager you really were, it was like something snapped. he had you pinned to the wall, snuck into the pool house of the country club, his hand up your tennis skirt. "such a fucking slut," he practically growled between kisses, his fingers sliding beneath your soaked underwear, "all this for me, hm? dirty girl," "all for you," you nodded, eager and needy, "been thinking about this since the first time i saw you, mr. donaldson," "god, drives me fuckin crazy when you call me that,"

he wanted to savor it, to take his sweet time with you, but he was all too aware of the possibility that anyone could walk in, could see you spread open for him, whining on his fingers. he held your legs up, steady and sure, as he fucked into you, his mouth muffling your desperate moans. "best pussy i ever had," he mumbled against your bubblegum flavored lips, his fingers digging into the sensitive skin of your thigh, "god, gonna keep you forever," "yes, please," you practically whined, clenching around him, "god, art, please,"

"yeah? you gonna soak my cock, angel? gonna make a big mess?" he groaned, eyes screwed shut as he tried to hold back his own orgasm just a moment longer, "cmon, show me, baby," "oh, art," you dug your fingernails into his shoulderblades as you came, shuddering and twitching in his arms, babbling needily against his lips until you buried your face in his neck, soft sounds of overstimulation leaving you. "almost there, doll," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your head, "come on baby, gimme a kiss while i fuck you full, hm?" you piped up at that, humming contently as your lips met his.

his thrusts grew rougher, quicker, as he approached his high, his kisses growing more and more aggressive until he was biting at your bottom lip, anything to muffle the sounds of pleasure as he came. you gasped softly into the kiss when you felt him spill inside you, tightening around him at the sensation, at the thought of being full of him. "good girl," he panted, carefully helping you back onto your own two feet, "god, you're so good," "mm," you giggled, kissing his cheek, "you're the best, mr. donaldson,"

later, he watched as you steered around your cart, grinning and entertaining all the sleazy guys flirting with you. he didn't mind, though. not when his cum was dripping into the fabric of your underwear, a constant reminder of what you two shared. he knew you weren't going anywhere.

[matchpointfaist]

hii could you do an art donaldson rockstar au? not necessarily in a band with tashi or patrick like ive seen other fanfics but one where he's just in a band if that makes sense :')

ive been thinking about him as the underrated guitarist or drummer for a bit now shfhshd. maybe reader is a huge fan of the band and goes to a lot of shows idk

hope you find the time for this request and i love your fanfics xx

i'm just a teenage dirtbag baby, like you! 💿

rockstar! art x groupie! reader

tw for smut, drinking, drug mentions (indie sleaze art i love you)

the first time you'd seen art's band live, you'd been half drunk and unable to tear your eyes away from the bright blonde daydream of a guitarist. he was captivating in a way no one around you seemed to notice, pulling you into a trance with each movement of his fingers on the chords. the show was at a shitty dive bar littered with posters peeling from the walls and discarded cups decorating the floor, but he played like he was somewhere else, somewhere bigger. ever since that night, you found yourself seeking them out, snagging fliers from bars and asking around within your friend group. nearly every friday night, you found yourself at the edge of the stage, screaming along to the lyrics like you'd been a longtime fan. and each time, your eyes lingered on art, on his bright eyes and smug grin, like he knew he was the highlight of the evening. your friends kept pushing you to make a move, to make him see you among all the other girls in the crowd. eventually, you worked up enough liquid courage to try.

as their set ended, and you watched him unplug his guitar, the thought of approaching him pushed to the forefront of your mind. "hey!" you surprised even yourself by waving at him, feeling embarrassingly giddy when he turned to eye you curiously. "me?" he asked with one brow raised, resting his guitar against the amp. you just nodded, smiling in a way you hoped was sultry. "what's a pretty thing like you doin' talking to me?" his tone was light, teasing, as he jumped down off the stage, standing just inches from you. "i just wanted to say you guys are cool," you tried to ignore the heat in your stomach at the height difference between the two of you, "i've been coming to the last few shows," "i know," he grinned, "i've been wondering when you'd say something. what's your name, pretty?" you told him, unable to stop the flush from spreading across your face. "i like that," he hummed, "i'm art. art donaldson,"

you got swept up in the conversation, asking him a million questions about the band just to hear him speak, to watch his lips curl around the words. "little loud," he glanced up at the band that had taken the stage, "wanna get out of here?" you hesitated, but nodded anyway, following him as he grabbed two beers from the bar and led you to a side door, pushing it open with one arm as he held your drinks in the other. “you smoke?” he asked, handing you your drink as he fished a pack of cigarettes from his jean pocket. “yeah,” you nodded, watching as he placed one between his lips. he lit it with ease, taking a drag before passing it over to you, the smoke casting a fog over his features. “so how’d you like the show?” he asked, tipping his head back and letting it rest against the wall, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “oh, it was good,” you smiled, “i liked that cover you did, teenage dirtbag is a classic,” “yeah? you like that?” he grinned, watching you through lidded eyes, “hey, why don’t i show you our van? give you a little sneak peek into where the magic happens,” you knew it was bullshit, a plot to get you alone, but you went anyway, giggling as he pulled you along.

he made it through approximately two minutes of showing you around the equipment filling the back of the dingy black van before his lips were on yours, his hands fumbling with the door as he closed it behind you, laying you down on the floor of the vehicle. “god, you looked so pretty out there in the crowd,” he mumbled against your throat, littering it with kisses, “like watchin’ me, baby? hm?” “yeah,” you exhaled, your hands in his air, “yeah, i like it,” “my little groupie,” you could practically hear the smirk in his voice, “you gonna let me fuck you in my bands van, hm?” you responded by pulling him back into a kiss, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him closer as you pulled at his shirt. it grew more heated, needy sounds leaving the both of you as it got messier, more desperate, gnashing teeth and tongues laving at each others. he pulled away slowly, sitting up on his knees to look down at you, his pupils dilated as he traced the shape of your hips. “pretty thing,” he murmured, his voice thick and raspy. “want you,” you practically whined, reaching for him. he grinned, not even hesitating before pulling at the sheer tights you wore under your jean skirt. you gasped as you heard the material rip, swatting his hand, but relaxed as soon as his fingers slid beneath your underwear. “soaked for me,” he hummed, one hand on your clit and the other fumbling with his belt, undoing it clumsily and pushing down his jeans.

he pulled a condom from somewhere you didn’t even see, putting on with practiced ease before leaning down to kiss you sweet and slow, like he wasn’t about to fuck you in the back parking lot of a dive bar. “oh, art,” you gasped softly as he slipped inside of you, tentative and gentle at first, letting you adjust. “you feel so good, baby,” he mumbled in your ear, one hand resting lightly around your throat, the other busy between your thighs. as soon as you relaxed around him, he sped up, his thrusts getting rougher as you gasped and moaned beneath him. “there you go. fuckin take it,” he panted, his hand around your neck tightening just enough to have you clenching around him, “look so good, pretty,” you let out a mewl as he hit a particularly deep spot, your eyes rolling back. “god, art, right there,” you scratched at his back, nails snagging on the cotton of his beat up old t shirt, “m so close,” “let go f’me, i got you,” he panted, nearing the edge himself, “come on baby, show me,”

you came with a gasp of his name, your nails digging into his back hard enough to have him groaning as he filled the condom, his hips bucking. “oh, fuck,” he groaned, his head falling to your chest as he caught his breath, his hips stilling, “god, if i woulda known you felt that good i woulda called you out at the first show,” you smiled to yourself, humming, “well now we’ll just have to make this a regular thing,” he sat up, pulling out of you slowly and tying off the condom, tossing it, “yeah, maybe. i don’t really do the whole commitment thing, but i definitely wanna see you again,” you ignored the sting of rejection, sitting up and adjusting your skirt that he’d shoved up around your waist, “yeah, we can keep it casual. sounds good,” “you gonna come to my show next week?” he asked, passing you the clip that had fallen from your hair with a grin. “mhm,” you nodded, kissing his cheek, “wouldn’t miss it,” “just like i said, my little groupie,” he grinned, pulling you into a quick kiss, “here, i’ll even give you my number,” he made it sound like a favor, humming to himself as he typed it into your phone before passing it back, “get home safe, pretty girl,” “yeah, mkay,” you let him help you out of the van, straightening out your clothes. he reached around his neck, pulling at one of the necklaces before unfastening it. you furrowed your brows when he brushed the hair from your neck, putting it on you carefully. it was a short black chain, with a guitar pick dangling from it. “there ya go. somethin to remember me by till next week, hm? it’ll keep those other guys from messin with you,” “oh, thank you,” you smiled up at him, your fingers tracing the shape of it, “goodnight, art,” “night, baby,” he pressed a chaste kiss to the side of your head, patting your ass with a grin as he waved you off.

the next week, you were front and center, a fresh pair of tights for him to rip and his necklace dangling on your chest, right above the neck of your low cut top. his eyes fell to the shirt, his pupils dilating when he saw his band name etched across of it, homemade merch just for him. yeah, he’d have to be sure not to tear that off of you later.

[matchpointfaist]

hiii besties!!! i made a new side blog! <3

amelia. she/her, twenty two. ⋆｡°✩

spotify. letterboxd.. c.ai. this is a mostly marvel side blog for @matchpointfaist!

who i'm taking requests/will write for:

mcu ⋆｡°✩

steve rogers, bucky barnes, peter parker, johhny storm

others/various ⋆｡°✩

sam winchester (spn), ransom drysdale (knives out), finnick odair (thg)

all of my mike faist's cinematic universe posts can be found on my main blog, as well as some others! <3

[matchpointfaist]

send art requests besties 🧚‍♀️

[matchpointfaist]

just posted my first marvel fic… be nice everyone!

ps i’m not moving on from mike faist i promise!!! just exploring <3

[matchpointfaist]

all these people think love’s for show, but i would die for you in secret

steve rogers x reader

tw for smut, angst

// au note. steve is still captain america, reader was with natasha in the red room and fights w the avengers! they knew each other years before (think of nat saying at least you could rmr me to bucky vibes), they're not supposed to be together but! a lot of things probably aren't canon realistic but i like to have fun so no one be mean to me. reader is lowkey yelena

you weren't a human being. that was the first thing you remember ever being taught. you were not a person who was allowed to feel, but a machine to be used up until you couldn't function any longer. natasha was not your sister, not your home, even if she was the only semblance of safety you ever felt. even if she had soft eyes and softer hands, even if she rocked you to sleep when you were exhausted from training and the endless tears that seemed to only come at night. even if she was the only one that protected you- she was just another number, another widow.

when you escaped, everything changed. the world you'd known, confined to the academy and tortured endlessly, was gone. now in its place was freedom that seeped into your skin, made your bones ache with the overbearing intensity. you could go anywhere, be anyone, if only you could escape yourself. the training was who you were, the only home you'd known. you spent days you should have been relaxing just working yourself up again. the nightmares didn't stop when you woke up, if you ever slept at all. it ran over into every aspect of your life, into the small moments of independence you shared with nat, to the brief, fleeting seconds of peace you felt. you couldn't escape it.

natasha had met with shield, arranged everything, promised your cooperation. she'd always been better at things like that, always more composed. you were finally fighting for something good, she'd told you, finally doing the right thing. you let yourself fall into the fantasy, dreamed of it at night until it replaced most of the night terrors you'd grown used to. the avengers, an elite team, the best of the best. good people, who were focused on a good cause. you could start over, could run and run until you were one of them, until all memories of the torment were replaced by those of helping people.

you met them all at once, a flurry of conversation that overwhelmed you in the most pleasant way you could imagine. a warmth swept through you, a sense of belonging that you'd only ever felt when you were alone with nat. you could make a home here, in this busy, chaotic tower, with all of these brilliant people. steve was the best of them, always. from the moment you walked into the room, you'd been at ease with him, comforted by the soft blue of his eyes and the small smile on his lips. you'd heard all about him, the soldier too weak to fight, turned into a weapon. you saw shadows of the man he used to be, and it drew you in closer, desperate for confirmation that someone was like you. you were both children once, both happy, both full of promise. and you'd both had it taken.

that first night in the tower, you'd woken up drenched in sweat, gasping for a breath that was just out of reach. you'd wandered the halls, searching for something to soothe you, or at the very least to distract you. you settled into a window seat, far above the city, high enough that you couldn't make out the faces of the people wandering home from the bars or dates or any aspect of their lives that you'd never had. you imagined them, though, pictured the smiles and laughs, the blushed cheeks and twinkling eyes. you allowed yourself a brief moment to mourn; for yourself, for the life you'd never get. for natasha, and the weakness she could never show. for steve, and the photographs of his past life they displayed in a museum, the ghost of his best friend arm in arm with a younger, happier man. you reacted on impulse when someone brushed your shoulder, your heart racing as you jerked their arm forward, pressed the knife you kept even tucked into your pajamas to their throat.

steve just smiled down at you, slightly breathless. "careful there. that'd be a nasty stain on tony's shiny floors," "i'm so sorry," you tucked your knife away, cheeks hot, "i shouldn't have been out here, i didn't think anyone would be up," "it's alright," he waved a dismissive hand with the ease of someone who hadn't just had a knife to their skin, "you have as much of a right to be out here as i do," you knew in the back of your mind that this wasn't entirely true. steve had worked so hard to carve a place for himself, had been through so much. a much smaller part of you knew that you had, too, but you weren't comparable to him. you never could be. "i should get to bed," you said quietly, running a hand over your face as if you could wipe away his impression on your mind. "wait," his hand settled on your wrist, warm and insistent, "i just- i wanted to say i'm sorry. the shit that you and nat had to go through, it was inhumane. i think you're incredible for surviving that,"

"i'm not incredible," tears stung at the back of your eyes, "i only did what i had to do," "you could have stayed," his voice was painfully soft, "it took a lot of strength to break out of their control. i know from experience," "i'm not like you," you shook your head, face hot, "you're a hero, i'm just- i'm nothing," "that's not true at all," he brushed a lock of hair from your eyes, his touch tentative and slow, "besides, you're one of us now. you're part of something," his fingers left your hair to trace the cotton of the shirt tony had given you, when you and nat had arrived with only the clothes on your backs. "this was mine, yknow?" there was a small smile on his lips, "i offered up some of my old shirts when tony said you'd need them. figured they'd be a bit too big, but there's no other girls around, so,"

you thought back to the small SR you'd seen stitched into the tag, the pieces falling together in your mind. "well thank you," your cheeks warmed at the thought of something so personal as wearing another's clothes. you'd never known something so intimate. "i went to your museum," you weren't sure why you even said it, and the regret was immediate when the smile slipped from his face. "yeah? and what did you find there?" there was a new edge to his voice, something like anxiety. "just- it was just old photos of you. i'm sure you know," you cleared your throat, desperate to avoid the conversation or fix it somehow. "yeah. i'm familiar," he nodded, scratching the back of his neck, "why? i mean, why did you go there?"

"i read about tony, when nat first told me about the avengers. and i couldn't find much about clint, really, and obviously bruce and thor are well known. but you- i don't know. i just wanted to see if it was all true," you hoped it was a good enough answer, satisfactory enough to wipe the irritation from his face. "did you find what you were looking for?" he asked, one eyebrow raised. "no," you shook your head with a sigh, "i just- i wanted to say i'm sorry. i'm sorry that you had to go through that, i'm sorry about bucky," the name seemed to jar him, his posture straightening, "they added something about him?" it came from his lips like it pained him, like he couldn't utter his actual name. "yeah, there was a whole instillation about your early life, and there were a lot of photos of him. they said he was your best friend," you got the impression that there was more to it than that, but didn't press. "he was- yeah, my best friend. thank you for saying that,"

"i'm sorry he's gone," you tried your best to tread lightly, "i can't imagine what you went through. if i lost nat, i don't- i don't know what i would do," "yeah, thank you," he nodded, running a hand over his face, "you should get some rest if you can. we'll probably start training tomorrow," "right," you forced your eyes away from his, "well goodnight, steve. thank you for talking to me," "goodnight," the soft smile had returned, gracing you one last time for the evening, "anytime, really,"

training with steve was like the antithesis of everything you'd learned about fighting. you fought like a soldier, like you had to, but he fought like an art, moved through the air with agility and poise that couldn't be taught. he was all fluidity where you were sharp movements, slower and stronger where you were quick and tactful. it was refreshing to train with someone besides nat or the other girls, someone who'd learned from somewhere else. he kept you on your toes, kept you questioning and curious, but never afraid. sometime during those first months of fighting in padded rooms, you started to feel something more for him than just respect or admiration. he made you feel alive, feel real, until anything other than that feeling was a distant memory. all the times you'd been told you weren't a human being, that you were incapable of love, felt horribly false when your eyes caught his. he didn't look at you like a machine, or a villain, or anything other than yourself, whoever that may be.

the days bled into each other after that—training sessions that left your muscles aching and your mind sharp, briefings where you tried to listen more than speak, and stolen moments with nat where you almost felt like the person she thought you were becoming. the nightmares were less frequent, or maybe you were just too exhausted to remember them. steve never treated you differently after that first night. if anything, he seemed to seek you out more. he’d offer to pair off during sparring, ask your opinion in debriefs, invite you on runs that left you breathless but strangely content. he didn’t say much during them—he rarely did—but his presence was steady and quiet in a way that made you feel tethered to something real.

you caught yourself watching him more often than you meant to; the way he held doors open without thinking, how he always stood a little to the side in crowded rooms so no one felt boxed in. he laughed easily but rarely loudly, like he was always holding some piece of himself back. you understood that instinct. one evening, you found yourself in the kitchen past midnight, the silence thick and familiar. the fluorescent lights hummed overhead as you stirred honey into a mug of tea, hoping the warmth would keep the cold at bay—the kind that didn’t come from the air but lived somewhere deeper, in your ribs or your spine or the back of your throat. “you ever sleep?” steve’s voice broke the silence, low and amused. you didn’t startle this time- that alone felt like progress. “sometimes,” you said, sipping the tea, letting the warmth sting your lips.

he joined you at the counter, his shoulder brushing yours as he reached for a glass. he didn’t pour anything yet, just held it, like it gave him something to do. “nightmares?” he asked after a beat. you nodded, "you?” “all the time," you glanced up at him, at the shadows under his eyes and the heavy way he held himself. “bucky?” you almost hesitated to ask. he flinched, barely, but nodded, “it’s always bucky," you didn’t say anything. you didn’t have to.

“i used to think if I just did enough good, it’d start to outweigh the bad,” he said, voice almost too soft to hear, “but some things- they don’t balance like that," “i know,” you whispered. you stood there for a long while, silence stretching between you like a thread. not uncomfortable, just there. real. “i don’t know how to be anything else,” you admitted finally, “i don’t know how to be normal," he just laughed softly, “what’s normal?” you managed a weak smile.

he looked down at you then, eyes so impossibly blue and kind it made your chest ache, “you don’t have to be anything else,” he said, “you’re allowed to just be," the tears came before you could stop them. not loud or dramatic—just a quiet leaking from the corners of your eyes, like your body had decided for you. he didn’t speak, just reached for your hand, held it in both of his like it was precious. like you were. and for the first time in your life, you didn’t pull away.

you didn’t remember falling asleep, but when you woke up, your head was resting on steve’s shoulder, your fingers still loosely wrapped around his. the faintest blush of dawn painted the sky outside the windows. for a moment, you didn’t move, didn’t even breathe. you just were—warm, safe, still. it was terrifying. you sat up carefully, disentangling your hand. he stirred, eyes fluttering open like he hadn’t meant to fall asleep either. “morning,” he mumbled, rubbing his neck with a wince. “sorry,” you said quickly, "i didn’t mean to—” “don’t,” he cut you off gently, with that soft half-smile, “you don’t need to apologize for sleeping. especially not with how little of it you get," you looked away, “still, you didn’t sign up to be my emotional support captain," that got a small laugh out of him, “i’m a super soldier, i think i can handle a little vulnerability,"

you shook your head, but there was a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. it was unfamiliar. not forced, not fake. “come with me,” he said suddenly. you blinked away the surprise, “where?” “for a ride. it’s early, roads will be clear. i want to show you something.” you hesitated. the tower was safe. the tower was known. but steve was looking at you with that same steady warmth that always chipped away at your defenses, and some part of you—some broken, brave part—nodded.

you didn’t expect the motorcycle. “you drive that?” you asked, eyeing the sleek, black machine like it might bite you. he grinned as he handed you a helmet, “trust me," you did. you didn’t understand it, didn’t have a reason to, but you did. the city was quiet at that hour, the streets still wearing the last remnants of night. you clung to steve as the wind whipped past you, the lights blurring like old memories. you didn’t speak. neither of you needed to. he brought you to the edge of the city, where a small overlook sat just above the river. the skyline stretched wide before you, the sun beginning to rise behind it in soft golds and pinks. he didn’t say anything, just sat on the edge of the stone wall and waited until you joined him.

for a while, you just stared out at it all. the waking city, the impossible beauty of it, the life. “i used to come here when i first woke up in this time,” he said eventually, “when everything felt too loud, too fast. this was the only place that felt still," you listened, heart slowing for the first time in days. “i didn’t know who i was anymore. everything i'd been was gone. the world moved on without me," you turned toward him, “what changed?” he looked down, twisting his hands in his lap. “i met people who made space for me. who let me be, even when i didn’t know what that meant yet," your throat tightened at the familiarity of it all. “you don’t have to figure it all out today,” he continued, “or tomorrow. you don’t owe anyone healing on their schedule. but you are healing, whether you see it or not," a long silence followed. then, softly, you asked, “do you think we ever get to be whole again?” "i think we become something new,"

you didn’t return to the tower until the sun was fully up. no one asked where you’d been. if nat noticed the calmer look in your eyes, or the quiet way your hand brushed steve’s as you passed him in the kitchen, she didn’t say anything. later that day, he handed you something small after training—a patch, simple, with the avengers “A” stitched into it. “you’re one of us now, just like i told you that first night,” he said, “if you want to be," you stared at it, throat tight, hands trembling slightly. if you want to be echoed in your mind. you’d never been given a choice before, not like this. so you took it.

later that night, you had your first nightmare in weeks. you’d been fighting, some unmemorable event, and steve had reached for you just as he died, right in front of your eyes. you’d been helpless, unable to stop, to help him, just like so many people before him. you woke up screaming, your lungs burning from sucking in air, your pajamas more shackles than comfort. your bedroom door opened, and before you could process it, steve was in front of you, alive and real. “are you okay?” he looked worried, more than you’d ever seen him, and it touched some faraway part of you, “i came as soon as i heard screaming,” “i’m fine,” your hands shook as you pushed the hair from your face, your heart still racing. “you don’t have to be fine,” your mattress dipped with his weight as he sat beside you, hesitating before taking you into his arms, encircling you in his warmth. you broke down for the second time, sobbing into his chest, choking on your own desperation for some peace. “i couldn’t stop it,” you cried, shoulders shaking, “i can never fucking stop it,”

“i’m right here,” he murmured into your hair, his hand on your back, “you’re okay, nothings gonna hurt you, alright? you’re safe,” “it’s not me,” you managed, voice breaking, “everyone around me gets hurt and i can’t- i never stop it, and you died right in front of me and i couldn’t-“ “ hey, hey,” he tilted your chin up to look at him, wiping your eyes with the pad of his thumb, “i’m not hurt, alright? i’m right here, right as rain, see? we’re fine,” you didn’t know how to describe it, the raw terror clawing at your chest. “i can’t get close to you,” you finally exhaled, your eyes falling closed to avoid the shadow of hurt that passed over his face, “i can’t- it’s too much, me and nat and i just can’t add to that, i can’t have anyone else to lose,” “you already have me,” he said quietly, his voice more vulnerable than you’d ever heard it, “me and anyone else in this tower. we’d die to keep you safe, alright? we’re a team, all of us. and i- come on, you know how i feel,”

you blinked up at him, pupils dilating as you looked over his face. “what do you mean how you feel?” “you know what i mean,” his brows furrowed, “you gotta see it, i mean- id do anything for you,” “because of the team,” you nodded, pulling your lip between your teeth, “right? i mean, you said anyone here-“ “no,” he cut you off, his voice shaky, “no, that’s not what i mean,” before you could ask him to elaborate, his lips were on yours, warm and just firm enough to keep your attention, tentative and gentle, safe and comforting like nothing you’d ever known. a soft, surprised sound left your throat, captured by his mouth as it moved with yours. “i would do anything,” he mumbled as he pulled away to catch his breath, his cheeks tinged red, “anything in the world for you. as soon as you came here, i knew i’d never be the same,” “i didn’t know,” you felt impossibly stupid, blind, reckless. “because i didn’t tell you,” he trailed his fingertips over the curve of your jaw, “i’ve never felt this way. there were women before, before all of this happened, but you- you’re something else entirely. you remind me of who i was,” “who you were?” your voice was quiet, softer than you’d have liked. “who i was before the serum, before any of this. you remind me of brooklyn. it’s stupid, but all i can think-“ he cut himself off with a weak laugh, “i think of calling you up on my rotary, inviting you out to dinner all proper. i think about taking you home to my shoebox apartment and writing you letters when i went to war and comin home to you, living a normal life. you’re such an impossibility to me,”

you weren’t sure who pressed it further, but eventually both of your clothes were shed into a pile on his floor, his hands trailing hot and heady over your skin. “gorgeous,” he mumbled into your neck, shuddering as you scratched lightly at his scalp. he shifted, pinning you under him just quick enough to take your breath away. he fit inside of you like pieces clicking into place, deep enough to have your breath hitched and eyes rolled back, moving slowly as to not hurt you, clearly holding back desperation. “oh, steve,” you mewled, your nails raking down his back. “feel so good, darlin,” he exhaled, shaky and breathless, “like you were made for me,” he took his time, treated your body like an altar, like he’d finally found some semblance of salvation right there between your thighs. you thought of how far you’d come, the life you’d traveled through to get here. the wars you’d fight if it meant you could see the particular shade of blue in his eyes as he gazed down at you, pupils dilated, or the way his lips grew slick with spit, the way he breathed your name like a prayer. “so close,” he groaned, head falling back slightly, exposing the small marks you’d left on his neck. “please,” you whimpered, feeling yourself nearing the edge as well. he slowed his thrusts, delaying his own pleasure to press against your clit, desperate to see you come undone for him. “oh my god,” you let out a high pitched moan as you came, trembling beneath him, eyes squeezed shut as your body shook with pleasure. he worked you through it, burying his face in your neck as he came seconds later, mumbling praise into your sweat dampened skin.

the two of you laid entangled after that, his fingertips tracing over your skin absentmindedly, a soft silence between you. “i meant what i said. you made everything different for me,” he said quietly, his tone serious but soft. “i know,” you murmured, “i don’t know how to say what i feel for you, but i’m trying to sort it out,” you didn’t tell him that you were terrified, that this could become a nightmare one day that you wouldn’t be able to wake from. you just let him hold you, firm and comforting. “i’ve never loved anyone but bucky,” he said, half asleep, his arm around your waist, “i’ve been so afraid to let my guard down. losing him- it was hell. i don’t know how to describe it. but i want to let myself believe we could have this, okay? we- we could start over. we earned this,” “yeah,” you nodded, a soft smile on your lips, “yeah, i think so. we did earn it, maybe. you’re a good person, steve, and if anyone deserves to be happy, it’s you,” “i’d like to be happy with you,” he said softly, kissing the side of your head, “we’ll just take it slow. but i wanted to be clear,” you let yourself fall asleep in his arms, the first time in your life you’d slept next to anyone but nat. in the morning, you woke to the sunlight streaming through his window, illuminating the small scars on his skin. he’d never looked more beautiful.

[matchpointfaist]

mike x reader costar vibe i’m thinking maybe costar is playing tashi? or are we thinking more she’s playing grazi in west side story???🫣🫣 all i know is i want us to be as talented!!! he can’t be the star of the show… we are 💅 OMGGG maybe sneaking around because apparently he does that a lot? and then secretly dating on press. ideas ideas ideas.

i was enchanted to meet you <3

mike faist x costar! reader

tw not much! no smut just insinuated (this is my first time writing for mike instead of a character and i couldn’t decide how far to go hehe)

the first time you met mike faist, it was after your chemistry read. you had just stepped out of the audition room, flushed and half drenched from the july humidity. he was sitting in the lobby, hunched over his phone like a teenager waiting for a ride home from school. you recognized him immediately. he looked up as you passed, your eyes catching for only a second too long. "hey," he said, standing, "you’re tashi?” “today i am,” you shrugged, grinning. that made him smile—just a flicker, but enough. later, you’d learn that’s how mike is. always giving you just enough to want more.

filming started in the fall. boston was pretending to be new york, and the city felt like it was holding its breath—gray skies, quiet tension, leaves like dying embers scattered across sidewalks. you trained together. ate together. waited through lighting setups lying side by side on the court like kids after gym class, arms barely brushing, pretending not to notice. it was subtle at first, the way he watched you. like a note just off-key, barely audible. you told yourself you imagined it, but you knew the difference between acting and something real.

mike looked at you like he was terrified and fascinated all at once. you shot a scene in the locker room one day—tense, intimate, filled with subtext. between takes, he stayed quiet, hands on his knees, staring at the floor. "you okay?" you asked, approaching carefully. he looked up, eyes dark and unreadable. "you're really good at pretending you don't know how magnetic you are," he said quietly. the air thickened, but still, you said nothing.

that night, after drinks with the cast, he found you outside your hotel room, hands buried in his coat pockets. you didn’t say a word. you just stepped back, let him in. he kissed you like he wasn’t sure he was allowed, like you might vanish if he was too greedy with you. his hands hovered until you took them and placed them on your hips. “i’ve been thinking about this since the read-through,” he whispered into your skin. “i know,” you said, voice soft, “me too,” it wasn’t wild, it wasn’t frenzied. it was slow, aching, careful—two people starved for something that scared them. after, he stayed, just to hold you, his breath against your neck, heartbeat calm.

neither of you spoke about it in the morning. from then on, everything was a negotiation. there were moments you almost reached for him in public—instincts trained from rehearsal and habit—but had to curl your hands into fists.

on set, you gave nothing away. your co-stars joked about how well you and mike "got each other," but it never went deeper. except with josh. he always saw more than he let on. "you’re different when you look at him,” he said one day during blocking, “like you’re seeing something no one else does," you didn’t reply, just stared at your mark on the floor until the moment passed. it wasn’t always easy.

there were nights he wouldn’t text. nights where you both disappeared into your separate rooms, pretending the space was normal. he had a habit of pulling away when things got too close. "i don’t want to hurt you," he told you one night, back pressed to the wall, eyes full of guilt. "you’re not hurting me," you replied, though your throat felt tight. "you don’t know that," you walked up to him, placed a hand over his heart. “this is already mine. so whatever happens—it’s too late to undo it,” he kissed you like an apology, like a thank you. like surrender.

when the press tour began, everything shifted. photoshoots. interviews. staged candids. every headline speculating who was hooking up with who. and you and mike? perfectly professional. behind closed doors, though, he was quieter. you’d find him curled on hotel couches reading scripts he wouldn’t let you see yet. he’d brush a strand of hair behind your ear and say your name like a prayer, like it wasn’t safe in the air for too long. you once asked him, half-joking, “do you think this ends when the film does?” he looked at you with something breaking in his expression. "i think if it ends, it’ll be because we were too scared to admit it meant something," you didn’t laugh that time.

the premiere was surreal. flashes of cameras, fans screaming. you in a dress that cost more than your apartment, mike in a suit that made your stomach flip. you stood apart on the carpet. close enough for chemistry, far enough for deniability. when the movie played, and the final scene faded out—your face, tashi’s face, on the big screen, triumphant and hollow—you looked over. he was already looking at you. his eyes were glassy. your own stung. you didn’t need to say a thing.

later, back in the hotel, you lay next to him, legs tangled, everything quiet. “i don’t know how to be with you when the world’s watching,” he said, voice barely audible. “then don’t be with me there,” you whispered, “just be with me here,” you placed his hand over your ribs. “can you feel that? that’s real. that’s all I care about,” he closed his eyes, and for a moment, the weight lifted. you never defined it. you didn’t have to.

it lived in glances, in fingertips brushing just once too long, in long voicemails after press days. in the fact that neither of you ever said goodbye, only "talk soon," like it was a promise you could keep if you just whispered it gently enough. maybe it would fade. maybe it wouldn’t. but it was yours, and no one could take that from you.

[matchpointfaist]

hii ily im back to say more connor PLEASE

hello my friend!!!!!! i wanted to reply to u bc im using a diff ask for the thing im writing but im working on a dealer! connor rn!!!!! and i am so in love w it!!!! <333 will tag you when i post

[matchpointfaist]

art donaldson x reader cheating au where you’re his coworker/tennis coach(?)/assistant SOMETHING ;) and you guys fuck on his office chair/desk crazy while his family pictures are on the desk lololololol

tw for smut obvi! cheating, age gap, breeding kink!

it had started with just a hand on his shoulder. art was tense, everyone could see it, and he was important to you. you’d secured your dream job- well, almost- as his assistant, more secretary than anything, at the donaldson foundation. he had it all; the glass office on the top floor, the expensive juices delivered daily, the alluring wife and 2 kids. it wasn’t enough, though. you could tell by the way his eyes lingering on you for a beat too long, the way he shuddered when you barely touched him. it was only a matter of time after that first touch. you’d laid the ground work without even knowing it. after that, he’d call you into his office, if for nothing other than to just look at you. he’d grown an odd sort of attachment, his day incomplete without you around. it was expected the first time he called you in after hours, looked at you with heavy eyes and patted his lap.

you were quick to fall into place, nestling into his lap, warm against his pressed slacks and kissing him with a hunger he’d never felt from his own wife. he knew he shouldn’t- you were young, bright, impressionable, and his family was staring back at him from a shiny silver frame as you writhed around on top of him. but you felt so good, and the soft sounds you were making drove him to the edge until he finally broke. he let himself fall apart with you, fucked up into you with selfish intentions, his face buried in your chest. “so good,” you whined, your head thrown back, the tight bun you usually wore long gone as your hair flowed down your back. “god, you’re so bad,” he panted, lips brushing your ear, “fucking soaking me, baby, you feel that? you like fucking your boss?”

“god, yes,” you nodded, digging your nails into his shoulder, “oh, right there, art please,” “that’s right,” he’d lost himself fully, gripping your ass tight enough to bruise as he rutted into you, “come on my cock, baby, there ya go,” he held you as you trembled, whining and gasping, squeezing him tight enough to have his eyes rolling back as his own high approached. “oh, fuck,” he groaned, biting at your shoulder, his eyes briefly falling to tashi’s plastic smile before he buried his face in your neck, “god, gonna pump you full,” “yes please,” you sounded desperate for it, practically mewling at the thought, “feels so good,” “yeah? you want it?” his voice was hoarse with want, “wanna be all full? want everybody to see you walking around here, knocked up with my kid, huh?” “yes,” you cried, clawing at his back hard enough to draw blood as a second orgasm washed over you. he held you through it, panting your name as he finally came undone, his hips twitching as he filled you. “oh, fuck,” he panted, pressing a chaste kiss to your shoulder as he caught his breath, “god, you’re perfect,”

“mm,” you hummed, a content smile on your lips, “that was perfect,” “same time next week?” he half teased, helping you up, watching with lidded eyes as you slipped back into your heels like nothing had happened. “sounds good,” you stood to press a kiss to his cheek, “by the way, i’m on the pill. wouldn’t want your wife to have evidence of you fucking me,” and then you were gone, leaving him dumbfounded and alone. you knew, then, and didn’t care? or was it that you saw it for what it was- he was too far gone, too lost in this manufactured life to be happy? maybe you’d be his safety, his home to bury all his problems in. maybe he’d carve something good from this after all.

[matchpointfaist]

random but i'm heavy back into my marvel phase and considering a steve rogers fic! is that crazy