#Palmes tennis

[visionade]

[aess-0x]

[wildbeautifuldamned]

Casablanca Tennis Club Classic Long Sleeve Button Silk Shirt Size L ebay KingdomDiscounts

[davetada]

Jesrill

West Hollywood, CA

[ososperezosos]

March 13, 2024.

[larimar]

graymalin

[sorrysomethingwentwrong]

Underwater Tennis Complex, Persian Gulf, 

Planned to be build between the Burj al Arab and the Palm Jumeirah islands

Krysztof Kotala Architect

[my-thoughts-and-junk]

i think babies should be smaller and people should lay eggs

[disarmluna]

[jesuistrestriste]

♡ Nice Guys Finish Last; Art Donaldson x Reader ♡

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

wc: 4.2 k

*does not include challengers spoilers!*

prev. art donaldson fic : <3 here <3

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that was it.

Five minutes later he was in your hotel room.

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shake your head, “why not?”

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

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

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

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

He smiles wider, “Why?”

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

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

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

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

"Nah, not really."

"Why's that?"

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

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

"What?" you laugh.

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

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

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

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

"What 'connotations'?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Really?" you chuckle, still teasing him.

He nods, "Really, really."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Suck," he whispers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He slides in another inch.

And another.

And then two more.

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

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

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

And he wants to.

"Fuck me harder," you moan softly.

"Yeah?" he smirks, breathing heavily.

"Yeah."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm gonna cummm-!"

"You wanna cum on my cock?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So.. can I get your number?"

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

"Deal."

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

divider credit: @benkeibear <3

[angelplummie]

getting baby trapped by 30s art……… i m unwell. after a messy divorce with tashi he found you, his kinder, softer, altogether more human younger girlfriend, and he can’t get enough. part of him craves tashis authority, but the other part of him relishes in being more than someone, older and stronger and wiser. he loves the way you make him feel, loves the way you dote on him and listen to him and take him in his entirety. loves the way you don’t play fucking tennis, you talk about other things, care about other things, fuck about other things. loves the way you lay down on your back for him and do as he says, even when he commands you in his soft, kind way. loves the way your eyes bead with tears as he pounds your tight young cunt and stares into your blistering face. he loves to stretch you open on his long cock and use you, use you for his pleasure until you cream and whimper, eat his seed from your sore, spasming cunt. he could fuck you however he wanted, and you adored him for it. in all his years he had never had so much sexual freedom, never been as totally and utterly fufilled. he loves how you thank him, for everything. with the newest dior hanging from your arm, you thank him. with his cum still on your tongue and bleary eyes, you thank him. he loves so much about you he’s starting to think he loves you. he loves you. you’re everything he needs after all that transpired with tashi, he needs someone loving and open. he wants you forever. but you’re so young. you could change, it could all go away so quickly. he needs a way to keep you, to make sure you always look at him with stars in your eyes, make sure you need him as much as he needs you. so slowly, he begins hiding your birth control. not very well, if you really wanted to find it you would have. but you didn’t. and you won’t.

“art,” you sigh as your wonderful boyfriend kisses your neck. you lay on his white sofa together, legs interlocked, pressing into every part of each other.

“art,” you sigh again, his hands palming your breast over your thin cami,”art, i forgot to take my pill. i couldn’t find my pill.”

“hmm,” he moans into your neck, grinding his hips into your thigh.

“art we can’t.”

“i want you.”

you giggle, and let him push away your top, and take your soft nipple into his mouth until it hardened, and deep in your core you felt a furling, peeling pleasure.

“i’m ovulating,” you breathe,”im gonna get pregnant.”

he groans, rock hard dick straining against his shorts, against your supple thigh. his hands roam over your torso and with kitten licks he flicks your nipple. you expel a soft breath, fingers carding through the blonde, tousled hair you suggested he grew out. you were making him young again.

“i want you. i’ll get a condom in a second.”

he’s lying. hes a liar and a bad bad man and he knows it. but he can’t care. you mewl once more about ovulating, but your fingers comb through his hair, and your chest heaves and your eyes flutter shut as he sucks and licks and paws at your tits, humping your thigh with his achingly hard cock.

“i’m… art… pregnant…” you whine half heartedly, but it only makes him sigh deeper, and he imagines the day that you’ll tell him that in complete sentences. would you be teary eyed? would you need convincing? or would you give yourself to him like he felt you would? only time would tell.

“shhhh.”

you twitched, spine arching and pushing yourself further into his mouth.

“i’m gonna grab a condom any second,” he murmured, “i want you now.”

“you have me now.”

he moves up your body and presses his lips to yours, large hand ghosting your jaw. you close your lips against each others, and open again to touch lip to tongue and tongue to tooth, to taste and to breathe each other. he tastes like sweet nothing, like air and cleanliness and summer. you taste like honey to him. your fingers tuck his hair behind his peach fuzzed ear delicately, and you breathe against each others upper lip. his nose mushes against yours and he flicks his tongue at your gums and lips. it deepens, and he toes the line between lavishing you in affection and trying to eat you lips first. it’s hungry and wet, and you forget where his mouth begins and yours ends, all becoming blurred in the spit and the heat of it.

he pulls away, with a spit string connecting your two puffy lips. his eyes twinkle in the dim light that can reach them in your tight embrace.

“why don’t you take off your panties?”

and he leant away, the warmth of his body leaving you burning in its absence. he sat, perched, watching you from above. he looked down his nose at you with a smile, so genuine and yet so condescending. so soft and nurturing, like you needed to be guided and taken care of. that him seeing you naked and feeling your insides and making you stupid and small was what you needed, was how he had to take care of you. it was times like this that you thought about the age difference, when he made you so aware that he could make you want to do anything, anything if it was just to please him. a special ability only he had over you, and if he has his way you would feel it forever. you scramble to be more upright, to rest on your elbows and lift your hips far enough that your reaching fingers could pull down your cotton panties. you writhed beneath him to reveal yourself, nipples peaking from your cami as he watched you fully clothed, in his white shirt and loose pyjama shorts. his hair was ruffled, this way and that, and he looked more collected than he ever had.

shed of your tiny covering, the orange glow of the living room light reflecting off the wetness that was smeared to your inner thigh. from under your lashes u stare up at him, the way his shirt clings involuntarily to the tightness of his core and to his broad shoulders, the way his blonde eyelashes flutter at the sight of your thighs, your hips, your tits, all the parts of you that spill over with softness. your lips part slightly, and in silence you forget what he wants you to forget and beg him to have his way with you.

he was pulled to you once more like a magnet, and you instinctively bent your knees up and spread your legs to receive his torso and hips. he took the bends of your knees in each hand and folded you up so that your ankles hung by his shoulders, bouncing in the air as the sofa gave way for his weight. he knelt above you for just a moment, just a tortuous moment before bending down, sliding his body back so his face could remain above your hot pussy.

with an untroubled drop of the wrist, your legs fell to his shoulders, sprawled on his back. the innermost part of your thighs pressed lightly to his ear, and your heels rested lightly on his back.

with his head situated mere inches from your hot throbbing hole, he took the opportunity to take his time. while he had you in the palm of his hand he made you suffer for it, kissing the tender flesh that shined with the mess he had made for you.

every touch was torture, and he knew what he was doing. his eyes never left your face, the ghost of a smile across his lips whenever they were not eclipsed by the fat of your thighs. your eyes never left his face either, and you watched him breathlessly. he licks a stripe of skin against the grain of your leg hair, and you make a sound like you’re crying.

“oh,” you whisper, “please.”

he hums, laughing. the air from his nose hits your folds and you twitch.

“ok,” he’s soft, controlled, serene.

lips parted, he leans forward into your core, not for one second breaking eye contact with you as he takes your clit into his wet mouth. his pink tongue lathes it, up and down and up and down.

his fingers make sharp indents in your thigh to stop your wriggling, and he forces your ass into his chest. he cranes his neck to eat you deeper, and you cry out, tears beading in your eyes. sucking brutally, he moans into your hole.

“fuck,” you fist the cushion beside you, gathering the fabric and ungathering it,”fuck.”

he eats your pussy like it’s your mouth, makes out with it, makes love to it. he seems to take you in your entirety into his mouth, making you all wet with him, covered and soaked. he reaches up slowly, taking your hand in his, and squeezes it softly. your fingers are tight, paralysed in his hold. the pressure his hand provides gets rid of your compulsive need to squeeze, pacifies you, makes you dumb and limp. you lie back, no longer watching his eyes trained on you, your mouth hanging open and your eyes fluttering closed. you moan involuntarily, unaware at all that you’re alive, that you haven’t died and gone to heaven.

his thumb rubs soft circles on the back of your hand in time with his mouthing, the swirl of his tongue and the rhythmic closing of his mouth. you taste like honey here too, like nectar and sugar and love. your ankles lock together and unlock on his back, and the mere feeling of that sends chills down his whole body.

suddenly he stops. he lays a final fat kiss on your clit, watching as you mewl and your tight, ready hole gushes. he pulls away with your puppy fat legs still hugging side burns and jaw. gently he rises and slips out of your leggy grasp, fingers still interlocked with yours. he wants to kiss you. you are so pathetic when he has his way with you, so passive and pliable. he wants to hurt you because you would let him, but infinitely more and for the exact same reason he wants only to look after you. to make you happy and full and rewarded for your eternal beauty, inside and out.

he wanted to kiss you, and so he did. he leaned over, still completely dressed, and draped his slender, finely chiselled body over yours. it even made him light headed to think about being close to you, to your body, not hardened by the dedication that destroyed him, left soft and unscarred, left without taint. his underbelly of tenderness was your everywhere. you were the rounding to his shoulders, the layer of fat that kept him in warm in winter.

you collided without friction, his wet lips gliding over yours in a dance of want. your legs were still under his control, and as such you were spread beneath him. your knees dangled by his sides, leaving your pussy wide open to leave sloppy kisses on his shorts. you kissed back with the same ferocity. despite your implicit submission, you wanted to consume him as much as he wanted to consume you, if not more. you gave him what he wanted because you wanted to give it to him. wanted to give him everything he would receive.

you gave him your tongue, which he accepted with a grin.

you gave him coiling fingers that grasped the fabric on his back desperately, which he took for momentum. he rolled forward on top of you, deepening the hold his mouth had on yours.

you gave him moans, whimpers from a wavering throat which he took for courage.

“im so hard for you,” you felt the reverberation of his voice in your very core, and you died a sweet death,”i’m gonna put it in.”

“uh huh.”

success. you had forgotten. he laughed, mischievously, and a smile settled into the curves of his face.

all you heard was the snap of elastic, the rustle of fabric and the dulled slap of arts heavy cock against his t-shirt.

all you saw was his pupils grow until his eyes appeared black, like an animal’s, looking at you so directly you felt he saw you deeper than skin, deeper than meat or bone. you felt utterly seen, and utterly loved. you met his gaze pleadingly, eyebrows quirking up in the centre and lips pouting. please, it told him, please my love.

“you want it?” he breathed. pre cum smeared the fat tip, his balls hung low out of his shorts that gathered at his middle thigh. it was so big. long and fat and filling. so big and so pretty, so big and pretty it was all you could do not to cry.

“i want it art,” you replied, voice clipped and cheeks burning,”i want you.”

“yeah?”

he touched your face, from your jaw to the temple. he didn’t even try to kiss you. he just held your face. he was gentle, gentle, gentle as ever. his every action was kind. you love him. you’re in love with him.

“i want you art. i love you.”

and that was that. he was getting you pregnant tonight. someone would have to pry him off of you, because so help him god he would drain himself dry in your hot wet cunt if it was the last thing he ever did.

you squealed as he pushed the entirety of his cock in, bulbous head stretching your cunt wider than any cock had stretched it before. but it slipped in so easily with the outpour of your sticky love. it made a thick squelch, and he groaned so loud, squeezed his eyes shut so hard, you might’ve thought he was being tortured.

“fuck!”

the force of his thrust had caused the thick juices of you arousal to spread around his thick cock where he stretched you out, the pain minimal, familiar and intoxicating.

you throbbed in unison, blood coursing through where you connected. you were so tight and hot, so fucking wet. art struggled, arms bracing either side of your shoulders, to force the rest of himself into you. he also struggled to think, to be a human and not a ploughing, panting, thoughtless dog.

a moan rose through your throat, broke from you involuntarily, came out like the sound of murder. your taut pussy suckled his fat dick with every pulse and quiver. you felt him so deep inside you, and he fought to push deeper. fingers still locked, his crushed your knuckles and your palm.

“oh my fucking god.”

it could’ve been either one of you, because you both meant to say it. this moment of stillness and feeling waited one more second, before art became beast, and drew back his hips so that only his pink tip stayed gripped inside. you felt so soul crushingly empty, until he drove himself back in, and you were brought back to life.

“god,” he pounded any thoughts away, any and all of them, until all you could do was breath and blaspheme, “fucking- christ.”

the buttery, fevered roll of his hips was one he was in no control of. he felt as though he was being moved by some godly force to cram your tight cunt full of him. his jaw hung open, and the hand that didn’t hold yours instead held your shoulder, dwarfing in it in his wide palm. holding onto you for sanity, his eyes opened to take in what he had done to you.

“you’re so tight. perfect. perfect. perfect.”

“i love you.”

“i love you. i love you. please god.”

what was he asking for? was he asking you or god? you would do it for him, regardless. you would do it.

your hand reached into his hair, and tugged hard. a whorish moan left his lips, the rolling of his lower half stuttering as his neck arched up. his knees were spread wide, digging deeply into his sofa. his pelvis moved on its own, smoothly, as if he had reverted to his baser instincts and let years of evolution take its course, nature guiding him to your inevitable impregnation.

you were as he liked you, completely dumb. he was too gone to enjoy it, but on another planet of pleasure entirely. he couldn’t relish in the feeling of control, but he could in the feeling of you, of having you, being loved by and loving you. the suckling heat of you was more than a man could take, and the picture beneath him was no more comprehensible.

your angel lips spread to a glistening tongue, your eyes glassy and dilated, your brow creased, hair mussed. he had to have that too, and so he kissed you once more. the hand on his hair tightened, and he moaned into your mouth.

he pumped your pussy so deep, pre cum was dashed from his oozing tip inside you, heavy balls slapping at your skin. you were so wet you didn’t notice, only felt the heat and the mind numbing ecstasy. the feeling of being pounded like a piece of meat till your tight girl pussy remembered every vein his grown man dick, but kissed like a lover and held like a princess pushed you that much closer, sent you that little bit more over the edge. you needed it. you needed him to cum. to please your daddy.

“i’m gonna cum, i’m gonna cum inside you.”

“fucking do it.”

“yeah?”

“yeah. get me fucking pregnant art.”

that was all he needed. he breathed into your lips and cried out, long steady body shuddering like a leaf. he held you close, pressing his weight on top of your till he could feel the fat of your breasts move around his chest. cum, thick and milky white, shot deep into your cunt, which even now gripped him tighter than ever. so much of it too. his meaty balls tweaked as their contents leaked into where they were always supposed to go.

your orgasm hit you like a ton of bricks, parting your lips in a silent scream.

his cock had not moved an inch from where it rested fully buried in your pussy. it was wet. it would spill out once he removed himself. it needed to stay inside.

he pressed his forehead to yours, your eyes fluttering closed from exhaustion and contentedness. you didn’t even think about what art had just done. you didn’t even realise he had done anything. he was just doing what you needed him to do.

you needed him. forever.

[too-deviant]

strategic manoeuvre.

— WITH…ART DONALDSON!

contains...babysitter!reader, age gap, 18+ MDNI, art cheats w reader but it is lowkey implied that tashi planned the whole thing, car sex, semi-public sex, head (f receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, inspired by this post from @traumatrios

You had never been interested in tennis before Art. 

You weren’t interested in sports at all, really — you just wanted to buckle down and focus on your college work, earn some money with an easy part-time job. You didn’t have time to follow sports, or anything else. 

But then you got a call. You had been in the middle of a lecture when your phone buzzed against your notebook, a California number shining up at you and enticing you to pick up. Normally you would’ve let it go to voicemail, but you had recently gone around some of the fancier hotels in your city with flyers, asking for babysitting jobs and posting your number, so you excused yourself with a wave and took the call in the hallway. 

You didn’t know who Tashi Donaldson was when she introduced herself, but the hotel she’d asked you to come to later that night was fancy enough that you didn’t question it. You had done an extensive google search afterwards, of course, but simply raised an impressed brow at her repertoire. 

Then you met Art, her tennis player husband and the father of the lovely little girl you would be taking care of, and suddenly you were pretty interested in tennis. 

It started when Lily had a bad nightmare and you couldn’t get her down — well, it started when you met the guy, palm sweaty in his own as he introduced himself, but it didn’t really start until you had to put one of his old games on the TV for the girl to watch until she fell asleep at your side, tear tracks from her bad dream dry on her cheeks. 

You had been planning on carrying her back to her bed when she was down for the count, but you had been so fixated on Art’s movements; his determined look, his arms, his legs, that you ended up dropping out too. You woke up a few hours later with a blanket over your body and Art standing quietly at the kitchen island behind the sofa. 

“You looked peaceful. Didn't wanna wake you.” He’d said, sipping at his tea, and you knew you were done for. 

Now all of a sudden you had time to watch a tennis match in the morning, play one as background noise while you studied. You had started following his tennis journey right from the Junior Open in 2006 — you didn’t think you'd ever actually see him again, but you could fantasise about it whenever you remembered the smell of his cologne as he thanked you for taking care of Lily, promising a big tip would go straight into your account in the morning. 

(The money went in fifteen minutes after you’d left).

It came as a pleasant surprise when Tashi’s number popped up on your screen once more, a few months later. You had been in your kitchen, and took the call the moment you recognised the digits. 

“We’re a little ways out of town.” She’d said, “But Lily raved about you for days after last time, and we know you better than a stranger. If you can’t make it out here, don’t worry, but we still wanted to try our luck.”

We she’d said. As in her and Art. 

You cursed yourself for lusting after a married man in the uber to the hotel. 

From then on out, you became their primary babysitter. Since they travelled a lot, and Tashi’s mom was with them most of the time, you only really sat for them once every couple of months. The town you lived in was sunny and had a huge private sports centre for professional athletes — a fact you weren’t aware of until Art told you over a cup of tea — so they always came back. You were glad you could count on them coming back — it was like magic, the way your phone lit up with Tashi’s now saved contact whenever the late night bingeing of matches and interviews stopped fueling your infatuation. 

The guilt was almost enough to make you ignore it, say you were busy or just get a new number all together. But you never did. As much as you knew it was wrong, you always dropped what you were doing and drove to that cushy hotel where the receptionist knew your face and let you in with a smile. You travelled that same memorised route to the master suite, knocked on the door and made sure you were standing far enough away from the peep hole that you didn’t look weird and distorted when Art would look through before letting you in. 

It was always Art now. Tashi had greeted you a few times but lately it had always been him — a sick part of you thought she might’ve known about your crush on him, played with it for fun because she couldn’t play tennis anymore. But that was crazy, and you really needed to sort yourself out. 

You would greet him with a smile, push through the small talk, lean up against the kitchen island and watch his shirt stretch around the planes of his back as he made you coffee (On those unlucky days he would be wearing a shirt. Sometimes he would be just done with warm ups and physio and would answer the door half naked and covered in sweat. Those were the good days). Then Lily would come running at you from her room, hug you around your waist and pull you in to play; Art would laugh and grin at you, sliding the coffee cup in your direction and holding your eyes before heading to his room to get ready. 

You would be knee deep in headless barbies and chewed up polly pocket clothes when he and would return, dressed up and ready to go. He would lean down, kiss Lily on the forehead, and press his hand to your back in a silent goodbye. Then he would leave, and you would spend the whole day trying to pull yourself together. 

He was married. He was ten years older than you. He had a child, and was paying you to look after her. 

But he always made you coffee when you arrived — just how you liked it because he remembered. He always checked in on you, asked you how your life was while you nursed the mug that was warm from the beverage and his hands. He would tell Lily to behave for you because We like her, and we don’t want to scare her off. He would let his land linger on your back half a second longer every single time he left. 

But.

But Tashi was the one who would call you. She was the one who made you coffee the first time, told you it was the least they could do for you. She would walk out of her room with Art, smile at you and tell you how beautiful you look in that shirt. She would grin at you before leaving, waiting patiently by the door for her husband to take his hand off your back. 

You were evil. Truly. The guy was married. 

But as evil as you were, you always made sure there was an old game of his playing on the TV when they would return — because then Art would prompt you to stay and listen to him talk about it. And you would have an excuse to lean up against that island and watch him make tea while Tashi excused herself to bed. Hours would pass before he was checking his watch and hissing out an apology for keeping you so late, and then letting you leave. 

The first couple of times he’d simply make sure you got in your uber safely. Then he started calling cars himself, the same ones that would drive him and his family to and from matches, press events. The same sort of service celebrites used, not their babysitters. You didn’t mind — it was a thrill, listening to him ask the person behind the wheel to make sure you got back safely.

(The bar was under the court at this point, but at least you were aware of that).

But tonight was different. In more ways than one. 

In the beginning, all was the same. You were left sitting on the plush carpet of Lily’s room surrounded by lego pieces, a burning in your gut and guilt in your heart. You played doctor, you made dinner, ordered room service after her relentless begging, put on a movie, carried her sleeping form to bed, came back and watched Art play tennis until he returned. 

You had started to run out of games to watch, ones you hadn’t already seen, so settled for an old game from 2006. He was playing against his old partner, Patrick something, and you wondered where the lesser known second half of Fire and Ice had disappeared to after that night. 

Then Art came back, Tashi right behind him, and you smiled at them both over the back of the sofa. Tashi watched the game, something unfamiliar glinting in her irises, before blinking back at Art, “I’m going to bed.”

He responded a little slower, kissing her goodnight and looking back at you, “Tea? This game was one of my most memorable.”

“Even though you lost?” You teased, leaning against the marble. 

He paused, looking back at you. He blinked, “Yeah.”

You drank your tea. You pretended like you weren’t full of shame for standing that inch closer to him. You let him talk until he had nothing left to talk about, and watched him check his watch. You waited for him to pick up the phone and call the car — only he paused by the phone, hand floating just before it, and retracted his steps to the kitchen, “I’m gonna drive you back, if it’s not too much trouble. Saves waking up my driver.”

“Oh.” Your fingers twitched, and you told them to stop. “Sure, of course.” 

Art’s car wasn’t what you had expected. Thinking back on it, he didn’t seem like the sports car type, but his status and riches led you to assume you were about to get into one of the two seats in his Bugatti — you didn’t. The black jeep was expensive enough for someone like him, but close enough to home that you didn’t feel like an outsider climbing into the passenger seat.  

The drive wasn’t all that far — twenty minutes both ways, so Art would’ve been back before Tashi fell asleep if he hadn't pulled into a parking lot five minutes out. 

Your lips parted, eyes following his hands as they slid slowly off the wheel and into his thighs. His chest rose with a deep breath and his jaw constricted when he swallowed. Then he was looking at you, eyes piercing. 

“Lily likes you.”

You were unsure, feet shifting beneath you, the sound encasing the silence of the space and forcing you to stop and blink, “I’m glad. I like her.” 

“Tashi likes you.” 

You weren’t too positive that she would like you if she could feel how you were feeling now — that all too familiar heartbeat pulsing between your legs with every one of Art’s breaths. 

“I like you.” He finished, tilting his head until his temple rested softly on the headrest of his seat. His smile was almost taunting when he undid his seatbelt, “Which is your favourite?”

“What?”

“The games.” He clarified, knowing his question was too broad and that you would have to ask, “The ones you watch every time you’re over. The ones I assume you watch even when you aren’t sitting for us. My games. Which is your favourite?” 

“Oh. Um —“ Slightly distracted by the way he shed his jacket, dumping it in the backseat. He’d lent all the way forward to take it off and his eyes didn’t leave yours once. “I don’t know.” 

“The one you were watching tonight.” He asked then, “What’d you think of it? Honestly.” 

“Honestly?” You swallowed, mortified that you were even entertaining this, “You looked a little distracted.” 

He huffed a laugh, finally looking away and letting you breathe. It didn’t last long, because he was then getting out of the car and rounding the front of it. 

The breeze was cool when it hit you, Art blocking most of it from where he stood in the gap. His hand was still on the handle, but you were busy unbuckling your own seatbelt — the message had been received, you had crossed a line and he was kicking you out of his car. 

But when you turned, legs swinging carefully into the cold, his hand on your knee stopped you from really getting out. Your eyes snapped up to his, and you realised you had been caged — with one hand on the door and one hand on you, Art Donaldson had you right where you had been dreaming of him having you. It felt surreal. 

“My opponent. In the game from tonight.” He breathed, glancing around casually like you were having one of your simple conversations over tea. “He slept with my wife.”

Out of all the things… 

“What?” Your eyes darted between his, but the rest of your body otherwise remained still. Even when his hand on your knee travelled upwards. 

“He’d slept with her before. In college. We weren’t together then.” He was now watching his hand move, like he wasn’t the one moving it, “But then he slept with her again, in Atlanta. After I’d already married her.”

“Wow.” You breathed, mainly because it was the easiest word you could slide out of your mouth whilst holding your breath. His fingers reached your thigh, begged to dip between them. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He was quick to respond. Your legs parted on instinct, and at this point you had surrendered to being an awful person — although maybe you’d fallen asleep on the couch and this was all a dream. You didn’t think you’d be able to face Art if it was. You couldn’t even face him now. 

He took the newfound space for granted, stepping between your legs and holding them open with his body. His hand on the door followed him, taking its new place on your other leg. He rubbed up and down your thighs, but you couldn’t look away from his face. 

“I don’t want you watching him play.” He spoke lowly, tracing his fingertips around your waistband, “I’ve seen enough of his games.”

“Okay.” You didn’t hesitate to let out, swallowing the hungered saliva that had built up in your mouth. 

He unbuttoned your jeans, pulled the zipper down — painstakingly slow, but it allowed you time to brace your hands on the seat and the dashboard so you could raise your hips and let him slide them off you. 

You were stuck in your head, but Art didn’t seem to notice since he was too busy folding your jeans and hanging them over the open car door. You dared question it through a heavy breath but he just moved on to your panties, throwing them precariously on the dashboard and exposing your glittering cunt to his bright eyes. 

“We shouldn’t —“ It was a half-assed attempt at reconciling with your guilt, but the fact that you were half naked and spread eagle made it lose its meaning. 

Art shushed you, kneeling down so he was looking at your pussy, “We can, and we will.” Then he glanced back at you, brow arched, “Unless you don’t want to.”

Any sense of rationale had fucked off when he put his hand on your leg, so you swallowed and said, “I want to.”

He wasted no time, licking a thick stripe from your asshole to your clit. You knocked your head back with a gasped moan, bucking into him and hissing when the gear stick poked you in the back when you led back too far. 

You let out a shaky breath as he lapped you up, tongue dipping inside of you before travelling up to that sweet spot and sucking at it gently. You gasped and moaned, hands scrambling between holding yourself up and holding him down. His own were resting on your thighs — his calm and collected demeanour was a drastic contradiction from your own. 

His head nodded calmly between your legs, relaxed in its position — yours, shaky and tense all at once, neck bracing whenever you fell back. His hands tapped soft melodies on your skin whereas yours tightened around whatever was in their old, whether that be the leather of the seats or the blonde of Art’s hair. 

When he finally came up for air, his chin was coated in your slick, and he licked his lips clean before straightening up above you. You watched, paralysed, while he unbuckled his belt, threw it over the door with your jeans, and sent you a look under his lashes that you’d only seen him wear during his tennis matches. 

You had been keeping quiet earlier, but when he bottomed out inside you and started to piston, your mind went wild. Choruses of Oh my God and Fuck!, shouts of Art’s name and whimpers under your breath — it all came tumbling out and you couldn’t even try and stop it. 

Not that you wanted to; your vocality seemed to make him go faster, harder. It made him vocal, no longer calm and relaxed as he had been when eating you out, but loud and gruff. Grunts and moans you had dreamt about hearing outside of a television screen, now being huffed into the air you shared. 

You came with a whine and Art followed not long after, and you settled there for a moment — legs spread in his passenger seat with him standing between them — until you could muster up the strength to push yourself up. 

Five minutes later and you were both dressed, Art’s black jeep parked outside of your apartment building. You hadn’t exchanged any more words, but when you turned to slam the door once you had jumped out, you found his eyes on yours. 

“I have a game this weekend. Two hours out. Tashi wanted you to come. A gift, for all you’ve done for us.” 

(You went to the game. Art won. Tashi grinned like she’d made it happen and then offered to buy you a drink).

divider by @cafekitsune !!

[musicaroundthepalmtree]

🌴

[trumanbluee]

you're the one that i want - deadpool / wade wilson

minors dni !! this is 17+ nsfw material !!!

please reblog if you like it! ᡣ𐭩

based on this request! <3

content: three words, baby! the honda odyssey!

word count: 2.5k

warnings: established relationship, no mention of condom (wrap it b4 u tap it!), petnames galore, deadpool is a warning in of himself lol.

a/n: the deadpool brainrot has been so strong recently so thank u guys so much for all ur requests! my return to my deadpool era couldn't have come at a worse time with my exams happening rn but i will try and write as much as i can! love you!

You'd been sitting in the backseat of the "fuck-ass Honda Odyssey", as Wade had described it, arm resting on the centre console, your head propped up on your palm lamely as you turn it left to right, half-listening to Wade and Logan argue like you're at a tennis match.

You'd almost flown forward into the front of the car when it came to an abrupt stop, tyres screeching as you let out a soft yelp in surprise. Wade hears you, and wordlessly pushes you back softly. You'd heard something spat out from Logan, along the lines of "You'll never save the fucking world!", followed by Wade's voice saying, "I'm gonna fight you now." and then the sound of a sickening crunch as he punches Logan in the nose.

It's milliseconds before you see your boyfriend's arm reach back and open your door, gently ushering you out with a soft, "Why don't you go for a walk, pretty girl?"

You know better than to argue, especially with Logan seething in the front seat, so you hop out of the car, shutting the door behind you as you trudge off into the trees, half grateful for being kicked out of the car so you didn't have to listen to Logan's grumbles when you inevitably had to ask him to pull over so you could pee.

You could hear the yelling and grunting in the distance, shaking your head as you hear the faint shatter of glass, followed by a - less than masculine - squeal from your boyfriend. You laughed to yourself, not worried in the slightest as you hear the fighting between the two, Logan's growls echoing through the trees as he squelches his claws into your boyfriend's stomach.

You'd told Wade to give Logan a break, and that eventually he would find out about his 'educated wish', but he hadn't listened, instead continuing to push and push and push Logan until, expectedly, he reached his breaking point.

You wandered around amongst the trees for a while, before slumping against a tree not too far from the car, your eyes growing heavy as you listened to the soft rustle of the leaves above you.

You wake up groggily, looking around the room as you rub sleep from your eyes. You startle when a red suit appears in front of you, but it's not the Deadpool suit that you're all too familiar with.

"I'm Elektra, that's Gambit," the woman points to a man in a helmet, who's stood in the corner, playing with cards, "and that's Blade," she points over her shoulder with her thumb to the man in a long, leather trench-coat.

"I.. uhm.. Hi?" you say, taken aback by this sudden bombardment of strangers.

"We're helping you and your friends get out of the void." Elektra explains, offering her hand to help you stand up. You take it gratefully.

"...Oh, cool..." you say, still groggy from being asleep for so long. "..are.. are they around?"

Elektra nods, pointing outside with her head, "Yellow's by the fire, Red's... around here somewhere."

You nod, thanking her and smiling awkwardly at Blade and Gambit as you walk outside, the smoke from the fire consuming your nostrils as you step out. You spot Logan by the fire, but see that he's sitting with someone.

'She looks an awful lot like that X-23 girl we saw at the TVA.' you think, not ruling out the possibility that it is her with the level of weirdness that had already occurred during your short time in the void. You tread on, looking around before you spot the Honda Odyssey. You shake your head, rolling your eyes as you walk to the drivers door of the car, opening it to reveal your boyfriend in the back-seat, pulling his katana's out of the passenger's seat next to you as you plop into the driver's seat.

He looks up when he hears the car door open, and the white eyes of his mask visible soften as he sees you.

"Hey baby," he coos, scooching forward in the back-seat to press a soft kiss to your cheek through his mask as you sit in the driver's seat, peeking over the headrest to look back at him, "was wonderin' when you were gonna wake up, sleepy head."

You smile softly, before taking a moment to look around at the damage done to the car. Your eyes go wide and your hand flies to your mouth, the other reaching back to swat at Wade's shoulder.

"Wade! What the fuck did you two get up to in here? Jesus Christ!"

You hear a whisper of 'Baby Knife!' followed by a soft grunt as Wade pockets another one of his knives.

"Just some good ol' fashioned fightin', baby! I'm kinda sad you missed it, that shit got good!"

You tut, leaning around the driver's seat to look at him as he's hunched over, digging for another one of his knives beneath the seat.

You hear him mumble something along the lines of 'Hate this fuckin' car' before he shoots up, and you can sense his smile through the mask. He leans back in the seats that are in the very back of the car, right leg thrown over one seat, with his other leg spread, suit-clad knee pressing into the fabric of the other. His eyes sharpen as he looks at you, before groaning softly, throwing his head back in a circle, and sighing.

"Fuck, princess, that fightin's gotten me all worked up," he groans, chin pressed to the top of his chest as he looks at you, eyes narrowed.

You feel your thighs rub together at the way he looks at you, the manspreading the cherry on top of a very, very, delicious looking dessert. He chuckles, gesturing to your thighs with his head.

"Saw that, baby." He laughs to himself before he lifts his hand, beckoning you to him with two fingers, his other hand resting on the headrest of the seat in front of him, twiddling Baby Knife between his fingers.

You squirm in your seat before not so agilely climbing over the centre console, crawling over the seat and onto Wade’s lap. He pockets Baby Knife, bringing a hand up to pull the bottom of his mask up, the other settling on your ass as you straddle his waist. 

“Hey doll-face,” he murmurs, smiling and giving your ass a playful squeeze, pulling his mask fully off before placing his hand on the nape of your neck, pulling you into a kiss. 

You moan against his lips as you kiss back, his gloved hand giving your ass a firmer squeeze. Wade uses this opportunity to deepen the kiss, slipping his tongue past your lips as you gasp into his mouth. Your hips grind down subconsciously and he pulls away from the kiss, both of your chests rising quickly as you both try and regain your breath from the heated kiss. 

Wade smirks up at you, moving both of his hands to your hips, squeezing softly, pulling a giggle from your lips before he’s engulfing them in another breathless kiss. He moves your hips with his hands, grinding you down on his boner as it tents in his suit, causing him to buck up absentmindedly as he groans into your mouth. Your breathy whimpers vibrate against his lips, and he pulls away, leaning his head back against the headrest behind him. 

“…Fuck, doll-face,” he groans, looking up at you, “ look what you're fuckin’ do to me, baby.” 

He nods down to his dick, almost bursting out of his suit, and your mouth nearly drops open. Wade thinks to himself that if you were in an animé, you’d have heart emojis bulging from your eyes. 

He takes his hands off your hips, crossing his arms behind his head in faux-laziness as he watches you undo the buckle of his belt, slapping the sides of his legs softly, signalling for him to lift his hips. 

“Watch it, doll-face.” Wade warns, half-joking, “Ask me nicely, please.” 

You groan, giving him your ‘are-you-fucking-serious-right-now’ glare as you tug at his belt. He’d been on the receiving end of this look many times in the past, so he’s unfazed as he chuckles dryly, planting his hips down.

 “I can wait, Princess.” 

You roll your eyes, huffing. “Please, Wade,” you glare at him, “Will you please lift your hips up so I can get your dick out?” 

You add a pout and a flutter of your lashes at the end, and his resolve noticeably crumbles. He huffs, lifting his hips up off the car seat just enough for you to pull down his pants slightly. You dip your hand into his underwear, giving his dick a soft tug before freeing it from the tight pants of his Deadpool suit. 

You gather some spit in your mouth, looking at your boyfriend through your lashes before spitting onto the tip of his cock, using your hand to spread it along his length, squeezing softly around the base. Wade groans from below you, his hips bucking into your hand.

“Fuck, hotstuff, ya’ killin’ me here.” 

Wade hisses as you squeeze a bit harder around his dick, the pretty ring he’d proposed to you with cold against his skin. 

He almost whines, stopping himself by biting his lip, “Oh, c’mon baby, what’d I do to deserve this teasin’, huh? I fought so valiantly against ol’ Wolvie, didn’t I, princess? Don’t I deserve to be treated nicely?” 

Something about the whiny-ness of his tone sends a pang to your heart, and pussy, and you grind down against his thigh absentmindedly before putting both your hands on his shoulders. 

“Help me out, would ya’, Wadey?” you ask sweetly, shimmying your hips slightly to gain his attention. 

His hands fly to your tights, tugging them down your thighs, lifting your legs softly, one by one, and peeling your pants off, leaving you hovering above him in your prettiest pair of panties. You’d been wearing them as a birthday surprise for him, but you’d both been snagged by the TVA before you could put them to good use… until now. 

Wade’s breath hitches from beneath you as his eyes land on your panties, his lower lip bitten between his teeth as his chest heaves. 

“Fuck, doll-face, what’re you all dressed up for?” he says, tracing a gloved hand over the lacy hem of your white panties, pressing a soft kiss to the little blue bow in the middle, before blowing a puff of cool air onto the damp spot beneath it. 

Your legs wobble softly and a shiver runs up your spine, leaving you grateful for your hands planted on your boyfriend's broad shoulders. 

You muster the breath to say, “They’re for you, baby… Well, they were for your birthday…”

He groans softly, pressing a soft kiss to your mound before pushing the thin fabric to the side, swiping a gloved finger through your slick. 

“Shit, baby.. Y’so wet f’me,” he says, voice breathless. “Fuck those stupid fucking day players, keeping my beautiful fiance, and her beautiful fucking panties from me on my birthday. What assholes, hey baby?” He says, pressing his thumb to your clit harshly as he blows another puff of air onto your slick pussy, causing your hips to buck into the air. 

You whine softly, bringing a hand to pump Wade’s cock once again, nodding mindlessly at his question that he knows you didn’t even hear. 

Wade chuckles, the sound rumbling from deep in his chest and shooting straight to your cunt, your thighs squeezing around his hand as he thumbs your clit lazily. 

You shuffle yourself forward on his lap, holding onto Wade’s strong shoulder with your hand, the other slowly pumping his cock as you lift yourself up, breathing hitching as you push yourself down onto the tip of Wade’s dick. 

His breath hitches beneath you, rubbing soothing circles on your hips through his gloves as you sink down onto him. His hands grip your hips tighter as he bottoms out, your eyes squeezed shut as you clamp down on his length. 

“Shit, baby, I could blow my load right now.” Wade gasps, head thrown back as his grip tightens on your hips, moving you up and down on his cock. You follow suit with his movements, digging your nails into the fabric of his suit as you leverage yourself on his shoulders, pushing yourself up and slamming yourself down on his cock, a moan slipping from your lips at every drag of his dick along your walls. 

Your hips stutter slightly, and Wade takes this as his cue, moving his hands from your hips to gain a strong grip on your ass, lifting you up and slamming his hips to meet yours. You whine softly, eyebrows knitting together and biting your lip as the soft squelch of your wetness reverberates around the car, your chest heaving with exertion, skin dewy with a thin sheen of sweat. 

You throw your head back, moaning wantonly, one hand coming off of Wade’s shoulder and pressing against the roof of the car. 

“...Shit…Wade!” you stammer as he moves one hand to your lower stomach, his thumb pressing harshly on your clit through his glove.

You slam your hips down to meet Wade's quicker, chasing your high as Wade slams his hips up to meet yours, his head thrown back against the head-rest behind him, eyes closed, as he groans softly.

"C'mon, doll-face," Wade grunts from beneath you, rubbing cruel circles on your clit as he bucks into you, "...y'gonna cum? Can feel you squeezing around me, princess."

You moan softly, babbling something like a 'uh-huh' as your eyebrows knit together, eyes shutting tight as you feel the coil building in your lower belly, threatening to snap any moment.

Wade feels you clamping around him, looking up and watching as you throw your head back, your grip on his shoulder tightening.

"That's it, baby," he groans from under you, pinching at your clit meanly causing you to whimper softly, your head coming forward, forehead resting against his as you grind down onto his cock.

"C'mon, hotstuff, give it to me..." he grunts, feeling his own orgasm coming as you clench down on him like a vice, a string of curse words sputtering from your lips as he feels you gush around him.

"...Shit, baby... Good girl," he coos, fucking you through your orgasm as he cums, soft grunts sounding in your ear as he bucks into you before stilling, stopping the movements of his thumb on your clit, as he lifts you up gently and pulls out. He pulls his hand away from your clit, but not before collecting a part of the mixture of yours and his cum on his gloved fingers, pushing it slowly back in to your drooling pussy. You whine, overstimulated, and he tuts, pushing your panties back into place and pulling your pants back up your legs, leaning back in the seat as you slump against his chest.

He smiles, giving your bum a soft pat and pressing a kiss to your hairline, leaning down to whisper in your ear, “I lied, doll-face, the Honda Odyssey fucks, hard.”

©trumanbluee - reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated! but i do not wish for my work to be republished, translated, or copied. thanks!

[ososperezosos]

March 13, 2024.