#art donaldson drabble

[blueberrycig]

when a summer job turns into you becoming art donaldson's toy 18+ !!!!! sugar daddy art !!!!! steamy !!!!! hot !!!!!! initially wrote this for a dif character but i deleted bc it HAD to be dilf art omfg. also alludes to black reader but works for anyone. no use of y/n <3 wc: 1354

lay me down tonight in my diamonds and pearls tell me something nice about your favourite girl

the soft glow of candlelight flickers through the bedroom and illuminates your steps as you emerge from the walk-in closet, light on your toes. drapes of georgette dance against your curves as you approach him, his eyes scanning up from your meticulously done pedicure to the unabashedly scarlet emerald that rests on your decolletage. 

out of all the trophies sitting in his house, you’re his favourite. 

your voice, dripping in honey, brings his gaze to meet yours, “what do you think mr. donaldson?” 

you’re playful, light-hearted, and enjoy toying with him. 

he's lost a lot of his humour over the years, almost killing himself for the sake of rattling a ball over a net and his complex marriage to tashi duncan. the only form of control he has in his marriage is the gift of you, lily’s sweet little tennis coach. it’s a summer job that you stumbled upon through your father’s connections, that now led to you becoming art donaldson’s gorgeous toy, showering in gifts and money. 

you take the job to save for the next semester of college, but you don’t have to worry about that anymore. as long as art gets the pleasure of sinking his dick into your warm sweetness, college is paid off and any extra money you make from your time with lily is for pleasure.

you figure you were merely a personality hire, slightly embarrassed that the tashi duncan had chosen you to coach their daughter. you aren’t the best, nor the worst and you certainly don’t see tennis as anything other than fun.

but god, you’re so fucking sexy. your soft, deep, supple skin, that smells of coconut and summer. your tight young body that adorns the sluttiest tennis outfits that both tashi and art have the pleasure of seeing. 

he would initially stare at you from the kitchen window coaching lily. he would take slow sips on his morning coffee, with a shameless hard-on as you bent over to collect stray tennis balls. he would fantasise about fucking you into the grounds of the tennis court and stuffing the little panties you had on right into your mouth.

not expecting his wife to be in his vicinity, art almost spits out his coffee as tashi grabs his cock roughly.

“when are you going to have the balls to unwrap your gift already?” tashi asks monotonously, to art’s surprise. “happy father’s day.” 

eventually, two lessons a week become four, which is now you moving in as an au-pair for their daughter. meaning you’re getting fucked on every surface, piece of furniture, bedroom or body of water at the donaldson’s estate.  

“turn.” art orders, too stubborn to break his hardened exterior. your eyes twinkle with glee, simple direction from him making you feel hot to the core and even the hairs on the nape of your neck stand to attention. the air is thick with lust as one of the best tennis players in the world, leaning back on the plush chaise of his matrimonial bedroom, takes time out of his busy evening to watch his new dirty thing try on expensive lingerie. 

you twirl at his command, the pleats of your babydoll dress picking up air and flowing with your movement. you stop abruptly when turned away from him, feeling a harsh cold breeze resting on the dampness of your matching thong. you smile mischievously and try to have fun with art, taking crimson-painted nails and shimmying the sheer hem up your backside.

the fabric dances up, revealing your hot, rounded ass, and you sway your hips playfully for him. each of your actions crafted to provoke him into drilling you into your first orgasm of the evening.

he hisses inwardly, his trousers tightening at the sound of your giggle as you drop the dress back down. art lifts his naked back off the chair and leans elbows on spread knees, reaching a hand out to paw at your ass cheek. the heat of his touch sizzles against your skin, and you instinctively roll your neck back, wanting to melt into his touch, fuse skin into skin, bury into his soul. 

smack.

“you like it, baby?” he asks, trailing his fingers teasingly across your now-searing bottom, his pointer finger looping once until conveniently finding the heat of your core. you gasp as he switches to his thumb, which lightly swirls exactly where it needs to.

“only if you do.” 

he can’t help but find amusement in your submissive charm. so eager to please him. it made him feel big, in control, important. he’s ready to blow his life savings on you, “we’ll get it made in red too.”  

smack. 

art’s favourite girl, adorned in his wealth and success, laced with diamonds, pearls and fed the most beautiful delicacies in life. little does he know you’ve changed him. the primal instincts of excitement activating his motivation to get back into tennis and dominate games once again. he doesn’t care much for wealth, or obnoxious displays of money, but seeing you dripping in his riches awakens something violent in him. 

he didn’t know this would happen, but tashi certainly did.

“let me see your face.” 

you spin as soon as he asks. you had missed the sight of him already. you learn not to get greedy with his time, moping around the house and draping yourself over the furniture awaiting his return from training. touching yourself to the thought of him stressfully running his fingers through his golden hair while making some decisions about his career with tashi. cumming as soon as you think about him watching you through the cctv app that protected the house. looking into the camera and moaning his name so he knows exactly how pathetically obsessed you are with him.

you take your chance to climb and straddle either side of him, settling on his hardening lap. you nuzzle your face into his neck and feel his beautiful almost-visible curls brush against your forehead.

“mmm,” you breathe. strong soap, fresh linens and peppermint. “i want to eat you.” 

it’s rare to get a sincere laugh out of art, and when he does, your stomach fills with butterflies and heart quenches with relief. you pull back and stare into his icy eyes, racked with the urge to inhale his entire being, consume him completely until you become one.

his wife scared you, yes, somehow dictated every moment of your life without you knowing, and knew your obedience to him could be led by a single strand of hair, but you were his. knowing no one else in the world would be privileged enough to be this close to him was enough to drench your panties. 

his silly girl, so entranced by his every move and begging for attention. his silly girl. 

art’s strong hand weaves through the back of your hair, and he forces you against him, smashing your lips together and pressing deeply. it’s as if he could tell how much you wanted to breathe him in and fuse lips permanently. his soft, soft, plump heart-shaped lips. too soft for the torment and tough love that he received prior to your arrival.

you can’t help it, your wetness is raising your internal temperature and you almost lose your breath feeling his hardness through the thin material rubbing straight against your clit, so you find an ever-so-slight rhythm as you beg him to smother you with kisses. your moaning is building, the friction driving you into a slight frenzy. 

training stole him from you all day, so your body had been aching for his touch from the moment he drove to the gym. you trail your tongue along his broad, naked shoulder, all the way to the back of his ear, right where he likes it. 

“easy,” he pulls you back with a strong grasp of your hair and your breath hitches, aching at the loss of his touch. “you still have more things to try on for me.” 

you yelp as he puts you back on the floor and urges you back into the wardrobe with another slap to the ass. part two??

[nottsangel]

imagine being in tashi’s position and your two boys wanting to prove to you that they’re better for you and getting to reap the rewards (patrick fucks and art makes love I’m convinced)

patrick wants to prove to you that he’s better by fucking you, and not in a gentle way. he begins by marking your entire body in hickeys, not leaving an inch uncovered as he roughly kneads your tits before his thick fingers find their way inside of you, digits moving in and out at a fast pace. and when he finally fucks you, he slams into you with forceful thrusts that got you curling your toes and dragging your sharp nails down his bare back. he whispers filthy words in your ear as he pushes one of your legs up, allowing him to go even deeper, causing you to arch your back as you feel him hitting all the right spots inside of you.

art, on the other hand, is sweet and affectionate while trying to win you over. he really takes his time, admiring your entire body and planting gentle kisses wherever he can while he constantly praises you, telling you how beautiful you are. he sucks on your tits with his tongue gently teasing your nipples, causing you to tug at his hair. and when he’s inside of you, it’s deep, slow strokes with intense eye contact. he’ll hold your hands beside your head, your fingers intertwining with his while you wrap your legs tightly around his muscular torso. the slow pace allows him to massage your inner walls so perfectly, as you close your eyes and savour every second of it.

ੈ♡˳

[ervotica]

i feel like art would have a babbling problem. like, he can’t stfu the closer he gets to cumming, so you have fun finding different ways to occupy his mouth while you suck him off or ride him. first instinct is sitting on his face or shoving your fingers in his mouth

// MDNI; art donaldson x reader

warnings; smut, oral (m receiving), praise, fluffy af ending, light dom/sub undertones, sub!art, art definitely has a praise kink i don’t make the rules 🫡

Art has always been loud— loud on the court, grunting and groaning as he plays, loud when he’s kissing you, breathy whines and gasps that you swallow greedily with your own mouth.

But most importantly, he’s loud in bed.

You always know when he’s about to cum; those corded thighs tighten around your head, back arching from the bed. His lips- rubied and swollen from your greedy mouth against his own- part around a moan, a drawn out whine, and an outright shout when your tongue laves across the tip of his weeping cock, drooling and flushed from your attention.

“Baby, baby, please,” he babbles. “Need it so bad. Gonna fuckin’ cum, please, baby.”

One of your manicured hands drags its way up his glistening chest, slick with sweat and littered with dark marks from your hungry teeth. He moans again, and you part his lips with a gentle thumb, pressing two digits flat against his tongue; he takes them greedily, suckling against the curve of your knuckles as you work him over with your other hand. You resist the urge to roll your eyes— always so obedient.

“Good boy,” you giggle. “Pretty baby.” He whines. You soothe him with a kiss to the tip of his cock.

His hips sporadically jerk as you seal your lips over him, sinking downward until the heavy length of him is settled snugly in your mouth. His chest stutters, a bare leg twining under your arm and round your waist until his heel presses into the base of your spine.

You know he’s cumming before he does.

His breath seizes, missing a beat. The muscles in his thighs tighten as he grinds further upwards into your warm mouth, and then he’s spilling into you with a sob.

His mouth is a wet throbbing around your knuckles, tips of your fingers still pressed to the dip of his tongue. You coast your thumb over the underside of his chin, pressing to the hollow of his throat— he preens under the attention.

“Shh, shh,” you coax. He bends at the waist, hooking a lithe hand under each of your armpits, and you’re dragged up and over his front until you’re nose to nose.

“Baby,” he sighs, nuzzling his cheek against your own. “Love you.”

“Love you too, pretty baby,” you coo. He’s almost limp underneath your weight, eyes half lidded and crinkling at the corners. “Can I have a kiss?”

He melts.

“You can have anything you want. C’mere.”

[castiwls]

please - a.d

Pairing; art x reader

Warnings; None

Notes; working on reqs rn :)

masterlist

"I know you told me three times already,” Art shifted slightly, his chin resting on your abdomen. “but can you say it one more time please?" His eyes were soft as he gazed up at you, a small frown pulling on the edges of his lips.

His words pulled your attention from the book in your hands and you hummed softly. He stared up at you expectantly as you watched him for a moment, you honestly thought he’d fallen asleep soon after you’d opened your book but apparently not. 

Art watched you for a moment, his face hardening ever so slightly before he reached over to take the book from you. He placed it on the bed before gently grasping your hand which now lay limp at your side and pressing a kiss to the inside of your wrist.

His lips lingered for a moment, the smell of your perfume invading his senses. “Please.” He murmured dropping your hand. Your other hand found its way into his hair as your fingers gently ran through it. A tired smile grew on his lips as he continued to stare up at you, his eyes full of adoration. 

“I love you.” Your voice was barely a whisper yet his smile only seemed to grow as a hand squeezed at your waist. A warm feeling ran through his body as your words played over in his head. You loved him.

Content, Art hummed before leaning over to press a gentle kiss to your hip.

Maybe his wife didn’t love him in the way he wanted, but you did.

[leclercstarrs]

college art and patrick sharing you ; mdni

there’s only one rule in your little arrangement, no telling each other about what you do behind closed doors.

that rule never stopped the two boys from claiming you in their own ways.

one night, you’re at patrick’s dorm, letting him roughly fuck you from behind, pulling at your hair and making you suck on his fingers.

“fuck, you take me so well.” he grunts, thrusting into you. “does art fuck you this good? hm?”

you open your mouth to say something, but the only thing that follows is drool pooling around the man’s fingers.

“answer, baby.” he removes his fingers from your mouth and tightens his grip around your hair, yanking your head back to look at him.

“patrick.” you start, your sentence getting cut off with a loud moan as he hits the sweet spot of your cunt. “fuck! i thought you and art had a deal, the two of you don’t talk about me and i don’t talk about the other one when i’m with one of you.” you pant.

“fuck the rules.” he huffs, picking up the pace of his movements, fucking into you at a faster rate.

a few days later and art is at your dorm, his head between your legs as he licks your clit, coaxing out pornographic moans from your mouth. you toss your head back and your legs start to shake, “art, i’m so close!”

your words only motivate him to flick his tongue faster, your pussy clenching with a knot building in your stomach.

“oh, fuck, i’m cumming.” your eyes flutter shut and you cum all over his tongue, words of praise escaping your lips as art helps you through your orgasm.

“you did so good.” art pulls away from your core and instead starts kissing the soft skin of your thighs, making sure he leaves behind marks for the next time you’re with patrick.

from then on, each night you spend with the two boys turns into a silent competition between the two, of who can fuck you better.

[kendyzzlewp]

Hard Work, Pays Off || ART DONALDSON

art donaldson x fem!reader

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

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

____________________________________________

Art Donaldson was exhausted.

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

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

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

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

“Art!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You sighed contentedly. “Tired.”

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

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

—-

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

This day, however, you woke up feeling off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

———-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is it. All the signs were there.

Throwing up? Check.

Sore nipples? Check.

Late period? Check.

Horny 24/7? Check.

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

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

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

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

Now, the fun part.

——

Art was crushing the tournament.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This was your moment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hard work does pay off.

[coryosbaby]

I Wanna Be Your Dog

Teammate! Patrick Zweig x fem! Reader (minor mention: Patrick Zweig x reader x art Donaldson)

18+, MDNI !!

Content warning . Pervy dom Patrick, major scent kink, wedgies, use of the word mutt once or twice, spanking, anal. A hint— a HINT— of a foot kink (I swear it’s not what it looks like). weird bullying tactics/ dynamics & teammate rivalry. Patrick is gross and unhinged in this

TEAMMATE! PATRICK ZWEIG loves to get filthy. If you ever come to him for a release, expect it to get sloppy and downright fucking disgusting. He loves to shove your nose right up against his pubic hair, all curly and dark, while he ruts against your face like an animal. He loves that you do anything he asks of you (outside of tennis, at least). So when he slides his cock up against your face for the first time— “cmon, baby, breathe that shit in… thaaaats it. You love that, don’t you? You dirty little girl-”— you exhale sharply and mewl. The idea of TEAMMATE! PATRICK ZWEIG shoving his cock down your throat shouldn’t be as appealing as it is.

TEAMMATE! PATRICK ZWEIG who lets you use his thigh to get off when he’s fixing one of his tennis rackets. The actual fixing doesn’t last long, obviously, because you get mad and you get bratty and you make fun of him for losing to you the day before. Patrick’s muscled thigh soon acts as a chair for your pussy as he guides your hips with one hand, the other wrapped around your throat and squeezing — “Can’t run that mouth now, huh? Yeah, that’s what I thought, brat”— as he feels the sticky trail of arousal you leave on his hairy leg. TEAMMATE! PATRICK ZWEIG also makes you clean up your mess afterward, ass perky and up against his face as he forces your tongue against his thigh and begins to peel your underwear to the side. Spreading apart your cheeks and tonguing your cute little asshole as you bury your face into his crotch for a more comfortable position.

And that’s when you feel the wet patch on the front of his briefs against your lip. His big fat cock is just aching for a nice, creamy cunt to come and choke it. He tells you that, too, and presses your legs down onto his hips, your hands against the floor holding you up so he can slide right in.

TEAMMATE! PATRICK ZWEIG who drags you into the sauna after a game. Just sits you down right across from him, rubs it in your face that you lost, and then stands right in front of you and drops his towel. All sweaty and musky and warm ughhh. And you can’t help but shove your face against his dick and let him hump against it, your tongue laving over his balls and making him cum all over your chin and neck. Doesn’t even give you anything to wipe it off with, just slaps your cheek lightly and says, “good job, kid” as he walks off (because TEAMMATE! PATRICK ZWEIG KNOWS you despise that nickname and the way he dumbs you down).

TEAMMATE! PATRICK ZWEIG loves to do this mean thing where he comes up behind you, sweaty and gross, and sticks his hand down the front of his pants. He shoves his fingers in your mouth— “taste that shit? Fuckin’ beat you again at practice, you little fuckin’ loser-“— swirls it around on your tongue then pokes the back of your throat until you gag. You push him off of you and swear up and down at him, but your panties are already soaked and you know you’ll be at his house later that night.

TEAMMATE! PATRICK ZWEIG loves to shove your head against his sweaty armpit after you beat him at practice. He gets so mad and acts like a five year old. It makes you giggle until he’s holding you there and calling you a dirty mutt for “cheating”.

TEAMMATE! PATRICK ZWEIG loves to shove his head between your thighs. No matter the day or time, he’s always got that tongue working wonders on you. Whether it be on your pussy, clit, ass. He doesn’t care! In fact, he prefers when you just finished tennis practice. If you have a hole, especially when it’s sweaty and warmed up, TEAMMATE! PATRICK ZWEIG is gonna stick his fucking tongue in it.

He’s good at it too. Uses his fingers and crooks them just right, absolutely devours that pussy like it’s his last meal. Clit swollen and throbbing as he takes it between his lips, chin and beard drenched in slick. His honey, as he calls it. The nectar of the Gods.

He loves putting his tongue on your little furled asshole, stretching out your rim and GODD is it the hottest fucking sight for him. TEAMMATE! PATRICK ZWEIG, ladies and gentlemen, is an ass man. A fuck-it-and-fill-it-with-cream-then-eat-it-out-of-you type of ass man. And I don’t mean with just yours, if you get what I’m saying. You’re his little whore and he’s gonna stick your mouth wherever he wants it to be (and you have zero complaints).

TEAMMATE! PATRICK ZWEIG is kind of a weird guy. Sometimes he bites the ends of your toes when he’s got your legs hiked up in the air and drilling into you. What can he say? He likes the pink nail polish you have on and the golden bracelet wrapped around your ankle.

TEAMMATE! PATRICK ZWEIG’s favorite position is doggy. Loves to watch your ass bounce as his balls slap against it ‘n the way your little asshole opens and closes like a pretty flower with each thrust. He also likes the way your back arches and how easy it is for him to wrap his biceps around your neck and choke you until you nearly pass out. TEAMMATE! PATRICK ZWEIG also loves when he’s got you in missionary and you shove your fingers into his mouth. He sucks on the digits while his eyes roll back and he grunts out a curse. He bites down on them when he finishes.

TEAMMATE! PATRICK ZWEIG loves when you beg for it. Spit slick lips sliding against his with a breathy whimper— “please, please, please, Pat, need it-“— as you take all eight inches deep in your tight little snatch, lips stretched obscenely around his length. Cunt drooling with your third—fourth?— orgasm of the night, eyes rolling back as your nails scrape down his broad shoulders. Abolishes that fucking pussy cus he’s so desperate to shoot his load.

TEAMMATE! PATRICK ZWEIG loves to cum all over your face and tits. Practically drenches you in his fucking cum, plays with it with his thumb and feeds it to you as it drips off his fingers. Messy creampies in your sore little pussy, spreading apart your hole so he can admire the sound it makes as it gushes out of you. Stuffing your ass full of creamy white cum and plugging it with a cute lil’ diamond anal plug. Ughh I need him

Lastly, TEAMMATE! PATRICK ZWEIG gives you wedgies. He bullies you so obscenely— sometimes he does it in front of your other teammate, Art. He’ll invite the man over, talking to him about the most random topics before girls are brought up. They’ll start talking about hookups, one night stands. You come back from a bathroom trip when they’re talking about pussy, and Patrick takes a swig of his beer and yanks you down on top of him. You grumble— no one is supposed to know ! But Art is Art, you guess, and he isn’t a completely terrible guy. He can keep a secret.

Patrick twists you and shapes you against his lap until you’re splayed across him, much to your annoyance. Your tummy presses into his thigh and your bare feet graze Art’s knee as Patrick directs the blonde’s attention to you. “yeah, but this one’s tight man. So wet, too—“

“Pat, if you don’t let me up, I swear to God—“

“You’ll what?”

He taunts you, flipping up your skirt and letting out a whistle. Art’s just as much as a sick perv, but he’s less open about it, so his cock tightens in his jeans and his eyes widen.

“She’s got such a cute little ass. She’d probably let you fuck it if you gave her a few wins on the court.”

You growl, but not before you’re whimpering when Patrick’s long fingers hook into the middle of your panties and pulls. Your underwear is pushed forcefully in between your cheeks, burning a little but also putting so much delicious pain/pleasure friction on your swollen clit. Patrick licks his lips when he sees the way your cunt lips practically swallow the fabric— he’s almost jealous of it as it becomes soaked with your slick. You press your head into your hands, embarrassed because of the company. Patrick ignores it, though, and his hand comes down on your backside as he holds you up by your panties. ‘N Art can’t help but let out a little chuckle when you begin to squirm, his fingers barely, just barely, leaving feather light touches on your outer thigh.

“Jesus fucking Christ! Quit it, guys, ‘s not funny!”

“Maybe,” Patrick chuckles, grabbing Art’s hand and pressing it against your skin so he can touch you properly. You can’t deny that Art’s hands feel good when they trail up to your ass and give your plump cheeks a nice squeeze. “But you’re adorable, sweet cheeks, and I think Art wants to watch us fuck.”

The three of you never speak about that night, but there are a lot more of them to come— literally.

:: @mysticpenguincreation @nightmare-niko @iheartinkonpaper @becauseseaotters @emmalandry @princesstiti14 @aerangi @kaithoughs @jamespotterismydaddy @wildgirllz

[jesuistrestriste]

*NSFW*

oooh i can’t stop thinking about forcing sub!art donaldson to ride ur thigh while he just squirms and looks down at you with a pout and watery blue eyes muahahaaaa

“can i come yet?”

“did you win your match today?”

“.. no..”

“then there’s your answer. don’t stop moving those pretty hips until i say you can..”

“yes, ma’am..”

and he just hangs on to every single syllable that comes out of your mouth as he staves off his orgasm because,, he wants to be a good boy and follow orders but he’s just so desperate for your permission. he won’t let himself come until you say he can, even if he’s so fucking close. and then when you finally say the words “you can come, art”, his hips stutter over the limb that’s slotted between his legs and he’s instantly spilling into his boxers..

[ovaryacted]

I'm drowsy off of allergy medicine so I wrote this and I'm not sorry about it. Anyways goodnight.

MDNI/18+. NSFW. | CW: blowjobs cause yeah

It was supposed to be a simple meet-up for scheduled tennis practice, a part of your daily routine with the Art Donaldson. He seemed rather laid back compared to how he plays, his signature spike and tick along with his cute grunts on the court did enough to make your imagination run wild.

You’ve seen him several times during practice, sitting out on the bleachers to spectate like others who would take space alongside you. He’s certainly getting better, his backhand was more forceful past the second set and his footing was quicker. Intrigued, you felt your curiosity grow as you walked up towards him after training, asking for his number and seeking more of his expertise.

“Oh me? You sure you want me training you?”

“Why wouldn’t I want you to train me? You’re good, you have the skill, plus you’re fun to watch”

That was what he initially told you then, soft eyes staring back into yours and that cheeky smile growing wider on his face at the compliment. It was a slow process, weaving yourself into his life all in the name of sportsmanship. He didn’t need to know your ulterior motive, you’re sure he wouldn’t complain if he knew what the end result was. It will work out for both of you in the long run, he gets the recognition he’s always wanted, and you finally get your hands on something worth your attention.

You knew your plan would work, though you didn’t expect it to come to fruition so quickly.

“Fuck”, the blonde groaned above you, the end of his red Stanford cap almost falling off the top of his head from how he craned his neck back. There you were, on your knees still in your white tennis skirt with your mouth working lavishly over his cock, his token of appreciation for being so good to you during your tennis lessons. Ideally, you would’ve wanted to enjoy him in the privacy of your dorm room, but the empty locker rooms worked just as well.

You hummed around his length happily, his hand coming to hold your jaw softly as he let you do the work. Art couldn’t help but stare down at you again, a grin plastered over his features to take in the view below him. Tongue lapping around his cock, your swollen and spit-covered lips were stuck in a consistent push-and-pull rhythm, working over him until your jaw grew sore. He tried to hide the whimper that was creeping up in his throat, but the moment your free hand went to caress his balls you forced it out of him anyway.

“Greedy huh?”, Art said, his cheeks were flushed down to his neck and sweat ran down his temple. You drew away from him to catch a breath, pumping him with your wrist.

“I don’t think that’s a bad thing. I came to get my prize for beating you last time”, the smirk you wore was enough to make Art’s body pulse, hissing when your thumb ran over his sensitive slit, dragging further down with an audible shlick.

“Don’t let me stop you then”, his heart was pounding in his chest, beating hard against his ribcage with every firm pump of your hand.

You gave the tip of his cock a teasing kiss before wrapping your mouth around him again, taking him as deep as he would go. He was hitting the back of your throat, gagging around him before tugging away to do it again and again. Stabilizing yourself with one hand on his shaking thigh, your neck strained with the pace you set yourself to make sure he reached the edge. By the looks of how his fingers were digging into your scalp and his hips were starting to bump into your face to chase your warmth, he wasn’t too far off.

This was your reward, and you weren’t leaving until you got what you wanted.

[lovingbradshawafterdark]

GASP waking up art with sloppy head and riding him for good luck on the morning of a big match :)

This isn’t my best but enjoy I’m still rusty

Art Donaldson x gn!reader (I think)

Warnings: slight Somnophilia at the beginning, unprotected sex, riding and oral sex (male receiving) mdni

At first, Art thought it was just a wet dream, he thought someone was sucking his dick good until you put all of him in your mouth, waking him with a start, gasping as he looks at you between his legs.

“Hi, Artie” you purr after your mouth comes off his dick with a pop. He’s still a bit frazzled, hard and frazzled. You smirked and sat on your knees “I wanted to surprise you before that big match” he got up to kiss you yet you pushed him back down and shushed him, it wasn’t until now that he realized you were just wearing an oversized shirt with nothing underneath. You straddled him and lined yourself up with his cock. He let out a moan as you went down on him.

“Fuck~” Art whimpered as you gave yourself a moment to adjust before slowly rocking your hips against his. Art whimpers loudly this time, his eyes lidded and heavy as you throw your head back, riding him until he cums deep inside you as you reach your high a bit later. Art doesn’t know what to do as he just pants as you collapse against his chest.

[artydonsgf]

hi everyone here is art, tashi, and patrick with random headcanons i have of them<3 i have first time saying i love you headcanons coming up!

Art Donaldson

- incapable of fixing his face

- for example, if you guys are at a party n someone says something wild, he reacts SO viscerally

- literal whole body reaction

- extremely ticklish

- you found this out on accident, you were cuddling in bed and your foot poked him while you were adjusting yourself

- he reacted without meaning to and kicked you (not that hard)

- he felt so bad but you were dying from laughter, ofc he’s the ticklish type

- likes to bite you whenever you cuddle

- it started off as a joke but he genuinely loves to gently bite when you don’t expect it and hear your soft gasps in response

- it’s half because he thinks it’s cute n half because it kinda turns him on

- wants to impress you so bad that he’ll read up on something you like n then carefully drop it in the conversation

- he does it as nonchalantly as possible except it’s impossible for him to be truly nonchalant so he’s very obviously glancing at you with a small smile

- would unironically wear the i ❤️ my gf shirt

- little spoon champion

- likes when you’re little spoon but he LOVESSS when you’re big spoon

Tashi Duncan

- also totally incapable of fixing her face

- she can hide shock but she cannot hide dislike, if she doesn’t like something you will know

- hyperfixates on meals

- like she ate this breakfast wrap you randomly made for her for a month straight

- likes when you cook for her because she’ll stand behind you and hug you the whole time

- so dead serious about game night

- you are the love of her life but during game nights you are the enemy

- likes horror movies so she can cuddle up with you

- she’s not really that scared but it’s nice having you next to her when a jump scare pops up

- loves hand holding, she’ll seek out your hands n doesn’t even realize she’s doing it

- cute thing she does is she’ll craft backstories for random people you see walking down the street

- it’s hilarious because she gives very fleshed out background to people you see briefly

- “that guy? cheating on his wife with his secretary who’s also married and has a kid his age” she likes to make the stories messy

- will do anything to make you laugh, really truly obsessed with your face

Patrick Zweig

- he cannot whisper for the life of him

- sees a girl you had beef with in high school n he basically yells “oh my god is that the girl?? the one who had sex with your boyfriend??”

- it’s a mix of not caring n also just not being aware

- extreme tease but if you tease him back he’s heartbroken

- started doing this 👉🏽👈🏽 ironically just to fuck with you but he can’t stop doing it now

- “hey babe, can you please put my bag in the car?👉🏽👈🏽”

- it has consumed him

- extremely stubborn

- also very prideful, it absolutely kills him when he has to speak up n ask for something

- extreme staring problem

- if something crazy is happening in public, he’ll just stare even if it’s really obvious

- doesn’t let you carry your bag

- he can have 100 bags in his hands and he’ll still find a way to carry your little purse

just silly thoughts, enjoy!

[nottsangel]

art cums the second u slap him for the first time when ur on top

he moans and begs u to hit him harder and degrade him for being such a fucking loser ughhhhhhh

warnings: smut 18+, riding, creampie, face slapping, degradation

it’s only been a few minutes but art already has to bite his swollen lip in order not to cum at the sight of you rolling your hips on top of him, tits bouncing up and down. the sounds of moans fill the room— not yours though, but his, coupled with a string of curse words and your name repeatedly spilling from his mouth.

“baby, ‘m gonna— ‘m gonna cum s-“ art begins but his face abruptly meets the palm of your hand, slapping him on the cheek and leaving a red mark on his skin as a whimper leaves his lips. “you gonna cum already? fuck, you’re so useless art.” you hiss, not even near your own orgasm yet as your hips increase in pace, nails digging into his chest.

“harder, p-please.” art pleads, causing you to furrow your brows. “what?” “i— i want you to slap me again, please, baby.” you scoff at his desperation, feeling a surge of power as you gaze down at him— his blue eyes barely open, his plump lips parted, and his blonde hair clinging to his forehead, sweat trickling down his flushed face.

“so fuckin’ pathetic.” you sneer with a condescending tone before sticking your fingers into his mouth and forcing him to suck on them, “god, you’re such a fucking loser” you remove your spit-drenched digits from his mouth and drag his own saliva over his face, making a mess everywhere before your palm strikes his face with force once more, but even harder this time, the stinging sensation through his skin igniting a feeling of ecstasy throughout his entire body.

“oh my fucking god” art moans with his eyes closed before you suddenly feel a familiar pool of warmth deep inside of you, his hands tightly gripping your hips with all their might. “poor thing, couldn’t hold it any longer, huh?” he merely hums in response, unable to form any coherent sentences as he comes down from his high.

“‘m so sorry, baby. just… feels too fuckin’ good.” he murmurs, chest heaving up and down before you speed up again, bouncing up and down on his cock as his warm sperm drips down the insides of your thighs. hitched breaths escape his mouth as his brows knit together and his muscles tense from the intense overstimulation he’s experiencing. “so you’re sorry, huh? then shut the fuck up and help me cum.”

ੈ♡˳

[ervotica]

hot rod — a.donaldson & p.zweig

pairings; art donaldson x fem!reader, patrick zweig x fem!reader, art donaldson x patrick zweig

summary; patrick comes to visit you and art at college. he finds college life is a lot more adventurous than once anticipated

warnings; mdni, 18+ only, SMUT, threesome, overstim, oral (m receiving), sub leaning!reader and art, more dom leaning!patrick, established throuple, polyamory

a/n; i’m not so sure how i feel about this tbh. i love the dynamic though so i pushed through even when it got away from me a little🥲 there will be another drabble for older!art and his pretty girl soon!!

you and art fuck until you’re brain dead and passed out from exhaustion. always have. neither of you possess an off switch, and when patrick’s not there to rein the pair of you in, things get a little… messy.

his cum is dried in your hair, the sticky substance smeared across your cheek, his knuckles still wet with slick.

patrick walks in, full belly laughs and peels you from art’s sweat soaked form, gives your cheek a pinch when you stir and whine.

he doesn’t clean you up because he likes to leave you naked whenever he has the opportunity — which is more often than not. seriously, you two need close supervision.

he just carries you with him to that shitty little armchair in art’s dorm, the room still stinking of sex and the humid summer air clinging to your skin; art shines with perspiration where he’s face down on the bed.

pat makes do with the lack of room, hooking a bare leg over the backs of your thighs until you’re squeezed snugly against his torso, face smushed to his chest. you’re snoring, and it makes patrick smile, slumping down in his chair to rest his lips against your cheekbone.

you wake slowly, eyes sticky and crusted over with exhaustion. your face is almost nestled beneath patrick’s armpit where you’ve been writhing in slumber and you grumble at the scent of sweat, layered with cheap aftershave. his hard-on presses to the center of your stomach and you can feel everything— the curve it makes now it’s hard and weeping, the feel of the spongy head, the vein that runs through the middle.

“you smell, pat,” you grumble, reaching up blindly to snatch the cigarette from between his teeth and take a long pull from the stick.

“yeah, well you’re not so hot yourself, babe. the whole room reeks.” he reaches down to tug on a loose strand of hair at the crown of your head. “there’s cum in your hair.”

“not my fault.” you stretch upward like a cat, curling into patrick’s chest. “where’s art gone?”

“still sleeping, baby.” he lights another cigarette, sacrificing the first one to you - still resting between your lips - and the clicking of the lighter draws your head upward to gaze through heavy lashes at him.

“come to bed,” you murmur, kissing his knuckles. your free hand coasts a long line across his jaw and you dig your thumb beneath his ear, giggling when he scrunches his features and relents, and pushes you to stand with a swat to your naked backside.

art curls into you instinctively when you roll onto the mattress, your hand threading through the curls atop his head. you scrub sweeping circles across his bare back and he hums a pleased sound, smearing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. patrick splays himself over the pair of you, all long limbs that sit askew to cover as much of your naked frames as possible.

art squints through the yellow light that illuminates the room, bright and artificial on his sensitive eyes. your movements against him don’t halt, a slow, rhythmic, loving sweep of your hands that he’s come to look forward to in moments like this. his jaw tilts upward as he mouths at your neck like a starved man, like you haven’t just gone five rounds and collapsed from overstimulation.

“you two need supervision,” patrick snorts. you quirk a bemused brow. “i’m serious, look at what you’ve done to each other! you look like you’ve been mauled.”

“jealous, much?” art mumbles sleepily, the sound muffled through your skin. you’re laughing and it splits your expression in two, eyes crinkled with amusement as the strawberry blonde boy snipes at patrick.

“should’a come to college with us, pretty boy,” you giggle. “could’a had this twenty four seven.” you dip your head until your brow presses to art’s. “poor pat, with no one to stick his dick in. how will he ever cope?”

“you could help me out, sweets,” he deadpans, the nickname saccharine and sour on his tongue all at once. art watches you through heavy lids. you huff, biting playfully at art’s lip before you tilt your head to face patrick,

“okay,” you chirrup. art’s quick to sit up, separating from your warmth in favour of nuzzling against patrick. patrick tips his chin down, slanting his lips against the blonde boy’s.

meanwhile, you’re working his cock through his shorts, palming the muscle until it chubs up beneath your hand, drooling a wet patch through the fabric. patrick groans, hips rolling up into your touch when you hook your fingers beneath his waistband and tug his cock free.

he moans into art’s mouth and your mouth goes dry at the sight. you’ve always loved to watch them like this, the way they get lost in each other, the way they start fervently pushing into one another’s space until patrick inevitably makes the first move and sticks his tongue down art’s throat.

patrick turns to putty beneath art’s roaming touch, huge paws that squeeze and grope and push at every inch of skin they come into contact with, not stopping even as you press your face to the seam of patrick’s balls, inhaling the sweat-soaked musk that creeps up your nostrils.

art’s hand snakes downward, flicking over pert nipples and ridges of muscle before he’s flicking a thumb over the weeping slit of his cock. patrick’s back bows into an arch as you lave your tongue over his sack, humming into the sensitive skin, full and heavy and begging for release. his hips rock upward into you as you seal your lips over him, eyes heavy with lust as art comes down to meet your mouth over his mushroom head.

it’s filthy and messy, downright pornographic as art licks over patrick’s cock, tongue pressing flat against the corner of your mouth and letting his spit pool there. you’re moaning - unable to help yourself - pressing your face forward to slant your lips over art’s fully. it’s all spit and drool as you lick into art’s mouth, the heady taste of the brunette boy still on your tongue, and then patrick’s bracing a hand against each of your heads and easing his cock through the seam where your spit slick mouths mesh.

you gasp and your damp lashes flutter, heavy with tears, and art’s tugging you frantically by your waist, pressing your bare chest to his own as patrick throws his head back and groans, shallow thrusts deepening. his breath stutters out in short, sharp bursts, chest heaving when your face slides down, down, down, all the way to the base of him until your pretty plump lips are wrapped around his sack.

you suck it into your mouth just as art takes patrick down his throat, the head of his cock bulging through the hollow of art’s throat as spit stretches and bows from the corners of his lips and lands in globs across your face.

you’re too drunk on the pleasure to care, the vibrations of your little sounds shooting right through patrick until you feel his balls tighten; he groans, long and loud, pushing closer to the pair of you as his cock pulses rhythmically and he releases down art’s throat.

you push your way through until your mouth is on art’s again, tongue licking into his mouth to taste patrick, wanting to be marked, claimed by both of them. his lips part, nose pressing to your cheek, and then he’s lifting you into his lap, his cock an angry red and pressed to the seam of your thigh.

patrick groans. there’s no fucking way he’s hard again.

“no more, you horndogs!”

[castiwls]

my world - a.d

Paring; dad!art x mum!reader

Requested; anon

Synopsis; domestic mornings were all he'd ever dreamed off

Warnings; none

Notes;he is the definition of a girl dad. Also kinda canon diverent I guess I never named the daughter so you can pretend its his daughter from the film if u want :) reqs and inbox are open !

Masterlist

The feeling of a weight landing on your chest woke you from your sleep. A small giggle broke through the silence of the room and you felt a smile grow on your lips as the sound reached your ears.

“What do you think you're doing?” Art grinned reaching over to hook an arm around the toddler's waist. Another giggle erupted from her as he pulled her over to his chest. “I’m hungry.” She nestled her face into her father's neck as he ran a hand gently up and down her back. 

“You're hungry?” He repeated watching as she raised her head with an enthusiastic nod. “Pancakes.” She grinned.

“You had pancakes yesterday missy.” You turned to face the two, pushing yourself up on your elbow. Your daughter smiled picking absently mindedly at Art’s top.

Your husband turned his head to look at you, a tired smile on his face. “But you can never have enough pancakes.” He joked using his free arm to pull you closer.

You hummed softly leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his lips before laying your head against his shoulder. Art settled further into the pillows, a content smile growing on his lips as he watched you go back and forth with your daughter for a moment. 

After a moment you turned your attention to him leaning in and using a hand to cover your mouth. “What do you think.” Your eyes darted to the little girl who grinned bouncing slightly on his chest. 

Art huffed slightly using the hand which had previously been rubbing her back to stop her from bouncing. “Does she get pancakes?” 

Art hummed pretending to think for a moment. “I don’t know.” He grinned pressing his lips to your cheek for a moment. “Only kids who clean up their toys get pancakes.”

A small gasp left the child on his chest before she scrambled off the bed running off to her own room. “Smart.” You grinned as he turned on his side, now fully facing you. 

You both knew her room would most likely be a mess of toys and blankets after she’d begged Art to build her a fort last night so she and her teddys could have a sleepover and part of you was dreading going anywhere near her room.

“Someone had to clean it.” Art pressed his lips to yours for a moment. “Plus now we have at least 10 more minutes.” He brushed his nose against yours before capturing your lips again. 

This was all he’d ever wanted in life. Sure he loved tennis but he loved this so much more. A small sigh left your lips as you felt him move to press kisses along your jawline. With a gentle push to your shoulder, you rolled onto your back and Art was quick to fill the space between your legs.

After a moment he pulled back before laying his head on your chest. Art stared up at you, his eyes softening with adoration as you gently racked a hand through his hair.

“I love you.” He whispered turning his head to press a kiss to your arm, he let his lips linger for a moment before pressing another kiss and laying his head back. 

“I love you more.” You smiled watching as he shook his head. “That’s impossible.”

[leclercstarrs]

thinking about being tashi and art’s sugar baby.

the two of them taking you to the mall, tashi practically having you on a leash with the way she makes you follow her into every luxury store, picking out different bags and accessories for you to try on, all while art simply watches and follows the two of you, holding all your bags.

once you’re ready to checkout, art also takes care of paying for everything with tashi, the two of them scanning their cards at each store, letting you basically purchase an entirely new wardrobe without spending a dime.

by the time you leave the mall, art is carrying about twenty shopping bags while tashi already starts planning your outfits for the week using everything you bought.

[kendyzzlewp]

We’ll Keep Trying

pairing: art donaldson x fem!reader

tags: husband!artdonaldson, angst, domestic, married life, failed pregnancy

____________________________________________

You sat there defeated.

The negative pregnancy test seemed to mock you and your dream of starting a family. With a heavy sigh you tossed the plastic wand into the bin.

You wanted this so bad, not only for yourself but for Art as well. He finally slowed down his career, retiring from playing competitively, focusing on coaching and commentating on a couple of sports channels. The time seemed right. You both discussed it and were ready.

You’ve waited so long for this moment. The time to finally get pregnant and have a baby with the love of your life. Especially after supporting his career. for the better part of a decade. Joining him on tour when you were able to, never missing a game, eating the same diet as him in solidarity, working out together…you did everything a good wife was supposed to do.

God, you’ve waited enough and now that the time is right, your body won’t cooperate.

It had been months of constant disappointments for the both of you. One negative test after the other, one cycle after the other. Sex wasn’t even fun anymore. It was a job that had to be done in a specific window.

You missed the spontaneity. Having Art bend you over the kitchen counter, or over the dining table, or a chair or even a balcony railing. He loved bending you over anywhere he could but now, most of the time, sex consists of laying on your back with your legs raised

It’s still good. Art has always been generous with your pleasure but you miss the fun. The hair pulling, the ass smacking, the choking, the public rendezvous.

“Negative,” you announced as you walked into the primary bedroom. “Again.”

He was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. His biceps bulged from the sleeves of his gray shirt. His brown eyes were filled with concern but you still saw the disappointment flash through them.

“We’ll keep trying,” he promised, his tone determined. “It’ll happen.”

You smile sadly, climbing into bed with a heavy heart. “I don’t think I can keep doing this,” you admitted.

Art crossed the room and sat beside you on the edge of the bed, his presence a reassuring anchor in your turmoil. He reached for your hand, squeezing it gently.

"I know it's hard, sweetheart," he said softly. "But we’re in this together. Remember that."

You nodded, tears welling in your eyes. "I just feel so...tired. Like I'm failing you."

He lifted your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. "You're not failing me. This isn't your fault. We have to believe it will happen when the time is right."

You took a deep breath, trying to draw strength from his words. "What if it never happens, Art? What then?"

"We'll cross that bridge if we come to it," he replied, brushing a tear from your cheek. "For now, we’ll keep trying naturally. Then we can explore every option. IVF, adoption—whatever it takes. We'll be parents someday."

His unwavering support warmed you, easing a bit of the heaviness in your chest. "Thank you," you whispered.

He leaned in, kissing your forehead tenderly. "We'll get through this. Together."