#art donaldson image

[leclercstars]

perfectly matched.

college!art donaldson x reader

Summary: You and Art swore to never speak of that drunken night again. But you found yourselves together at your college bar, tipsy, and almost unable to resist each other. Warnings: SMUT! 18! alcohol usage, drunk sex, cursing, biting, protected sex

It was one night.

One night, three months ago. Swept up in too many celebratory glasses of champagne. His messy blonde curls looked like a halo with your blurred vision. The traces of liquor on his upper lip seemed to be beckoning you in, begging you to find out if it was vodka or tequila. You left at the same time, he had offered to walk you home. Always a gentleman, always seemed to care about you. You both were stumbling, the drinks hitting the two of you all at once. You ended up outside your house, and then inside your house, up your stairs, in your bedroom. You’d seen his strong hands gripping the racket before but god they looked even better gripping your ass. Clothes thrown all over the room, not able to undress each other fast enough. His chiseled collarbones the perfect culprit for you to leave bite marks along. You woke up the next morning, head pounding, still naked. You felt him next to you, his tight abs pressed against your bare back, curls tickling the side of your neck. Fuck, how could you let that happen. He left in a haste, each of you promising to not discuss the events of the night prior ever again.

And now here you were. A few too many double vodka lemonades deep inside your shitty college bar. The whole team had decided to go out to celebrate the end of a stellar season and unfortunately, Art looked just as good as ever. His backwards Stanford cap and his loose Budweiser t-shirt made him look like some sort of shitty frat guy, which certainly wasn't unappealing to you since that tended to be your type. You tried to play it cool when he walked over to you. “Having fun?” he smirked, sidling up on the barstool next to yours. He leaned back against the bar, looking so perfectly relaxed. How do people end up this sexy?

“Could be having more fun,” you said casually, sipping your drink. Wait. What the fuck. Why did you just say that. You knew you had drank quite a bit but jesus christ isn’t it supposed to be liquid courage not liquid “ruin this friendship?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” said Art, looking genuinely confused. God sometimes his innocence was almost a little annoying, made you want him even more half the time.

“Sorry, geez I should not have said that,” you were slurring, the alcohol and your emotions making it hard to think straight.

He leaned in closer to you. You could smell the tequila on his breath, knowing that was his liquor of choice from the last time this happened. “I think I can make this night a whole lot more fun,” Art growled. 

You had never heard his voice sound like that before. Low and lusting, you knew you were not going to be able to resist. You locked eyes with him, and you could just feel how needy you probably looked. The two of you got up and left without saying goodbye.

Art was gentle. He was caring, a shoulder to cry on. Someone you could turn to if you were having a bad day and needed a hug. That side of him was not so apparent behind your bedroom door. He pinned you against the wall, muscles rippling in your face as he sucked on your neck. Your moans were soft, hands pulling on his curls, earning equally soft groans from him. You were obsessed, this didn’t happen often and you knew you had to take in every moment. Every inch of him that you could feel, taste, touch, it was completely overtaking you. His boxers were sitting low on his hips, exposing his v-line. Your lacy bralette had been tossed aside, leaving your nipples free to be caressed by his rough hands. His mouth roamed from your neck down to your tits, taking one in his mouth as he gazed up at you. Fuck, your head rolled back against the wall. His eyes were shut, tongue flicking so expertly across your nipple. You never wanted this image of him, looking so intoxicated with your body, to leave your mind.

He stood back up, leaving no room between your now naked bodies. Suddenly his features softened, a nervousness painting itself across his face. He scratched the back of his head, a tell-tale sign that something was on his mind. “Do you want to like-” he was basically whispering, cheeks flushed. It was astonishing how all his confidence had suddenly evaporated. “Fuck?” you filled in the blank, leaning closer to his lips, teasing him with the thought. That hadn’t happened last time you were together. He was too drunk, and well,  he just couldn’t quite get it up. “Yeah, fuck yes please.” he groaned. You laid down on your bed as he walked to his wallet, pulling out that little gold wrapper. He climbed up on top of you, using his thumb to gently brush the hair away from your face. He looked ecstatic, the drunken-ness painting a stupid grin across his face and making you just feel insanely horny. He slid the condom on over his already throbbing cock, positioning it just outside your entrance.

He slid just the tip in first, making you wince. You needed to get used to how big he was, learn how to take him. His hips rocked gently as he gave you more each time, slowly starting to fill you up.

“God I needed this,” you moaned breathlessly. “Yeah baby?” he cooed, giving you more of him as he pressed his lips against your tits, leaving marks along your cleavage. “Making sure you don’t forget this in the morning,” he smirked, his confidence returning. “Then fuck me like I won’t forget it,” you clapped back, basically saying you wanted all of him.

“Oh yeah?” He thrusted inside you, making you cry out in ecstasy. No dick had ever felt this good before, and maybe it was because you were drunk, but you could just tell he was hitting it like he fucking meant it. Your hands clawed into his back, legs wrapped around him, pulling him deeper inside. He was pounding into you now, the sound of your bodies echoing throughout the room. You watched as he slid in and out. “You like watching huh baby? Like seeing how good you are at taking me?” 

You grabbed his hair in response, pulling his head into your neck and making him groan and fuck you harder. His tip found your g-spot, and the feeling was unlike any other. Watching his muscles ripple with each thrust, so far inside you he was nearly in your stomach. You squirted all around his cock, leaving his abs glistening. He bit his lip and looked at you, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “God that is so hot.” he wasted no time getting back to the rhythm of things.

This sex was truly unlike anything else. Watching the man you saw as a teammate, so vulnerable above you. Completely naked, so far inside you. And you were taking him so well, the sexual chemistry between the two of you just completely undeniable. You made great hitting partners on the court, and that relationship suddenly didn’t feel so different from this one. The way you both knew exactly what the other wanted. The perfect balance of teasing and support. “Fuck, fuck.” Art’s moans were primal, and you could feel how close he was getting, watching his arms tense up. “I’m gonna cum too,” you said breathlessly.

“Look at me,” he grabbed your jaw, making you lock eyes.

It was like an explosion, overtaking every inch of skin on your body. You cried out, feeling his cock throb inside your pussy as you came simultaneously. You fit perfectly together, feeling each other up as you rode out your orgasms. His hand was wrapped around your arm, yours clawed into his back. He collapsed onto your chest, looking up at you in awe.

“You are unbelievable.”

dividers by : @.cafekitsune

[michaelwheelers]

I know who you are. You're Fire and Ice, right? In the flesh.

[murdrdocs]

been having a niche thought of marrying patrick sort of for the benefits and access that comes with it.

no one knows if you and patrick married for the right reasons. there were suspicions at the engagement party, jokes made by the people who knew you best. "i never thought these two would settle down, much less with each other". laughter followed, but everyone knew there was truth in the statement. why in the hell would you decide to marry patrick zweig?

love, is what you tell everyone. according to both of you, you're soulmates. and yeah, in most regards both are true. you and patrick share a love for each other. but that love is shared with others, too. you know each other better than most. but there are two others who know you both just as well. sitting at the end of the table during the engagement party. sitting just close enough to you and patrick during the wedding reception.

the donaldsons are maybe the real reason why you and patrick married. it started as a joke, really. a deluded, elaborate bit created by a drunk art (finally allowed to indulge now that he's retired) and a barely-tipsy patrick (put on a strict regimen by his new coach).

"if you two married, no one would suspect anything between us," was art's reasoning. it barely made sense to you at the time, but not much could make sense when you were struggling to stay awake, being lulled to sleep by the rumble of patrick's chest beside your ear where you lay, and the sweet waft of tashi's perfume carrying in the evening wind.

"think about it," art had continued. "people won't be suspicious over two married couples being close friends. they already probably think i'm cheating with," art slurred your name and you distantly acknowledged how nice the sound was like that. it reminded you of when he was fucked out and he called for you. "and they think tashi's cheating with you, patrick. but if you two were married..."

and art didn't have to say much else. because on a fresh mind the next morning, standing in art and tashi's kitchen, wearing patrick's shirt and waiting for freshly cooked eggs while looking at the sunspots covering art's back and shoulders, you began to understand the logic in art's argument.

married couples were friends. close friends. spend the night at the others house and hosts birthday parties for each other type of friends.

maybe that's why after that day, you and patrick started seeing just each other more. maybe that's why the two of you started dating. maybe that's why patrick took you to a nice place, had art help him set everything up, and popped the question with a ring that tashi assured him you would like. maybe it's why you went through with the wedding, why you bought a house together, why you became mrs. zweig in every sense of the title.

and truthfully, it's a nice life.

it's nice seeing patrick walk downstairs shirtless, his body on display for you to ogle. it's always been like that between you two, yes, but something's different. he has hickies on his shoulders, two from art and then one from you right beside it. there's scratches on his back from you and tashi. he's always wearing his wedding band, and the gold glints nicely against his tan skin. sometimes, you pull the ring up his lithe finger and admire the way he has a tan line now. a permanent reminder of you, even if your presence in a shared space is the same.

he looks cleaner, too, from work of you and tashi. his body a healthy mix between lean and toned. his skin glowing from the inside out. his beard shaped up nicely, a light brown that works well with the burnt orange sprinkle in his eyes. curly hair kept short, more and more greys growing day by day.

it's nice sitting in tashi and art's backyard on patio furniture the four of you had a say in, sharing drinks and old anecdotes before you all went upstairs to entangle your bodies upon the king-sized bed.

even without the legalities, you and patrick would've remained intertwined in tashi and art's lives. but it feels right like this. it feels more secure. like you're committed to each other in the same ways that you're both committed to the dolandsons.

plus, patrick seems to be more bearable as a husband than he was as a friend (the term used loosely of course).

[chucktaylorupset]

how could you ever hate tashi donaldson. she is literally wearing a charm bracelet

[ineedtoseeimages]

[ch4mpagnedrought]

friendly game

[full series]

mdni ! art, tashi, patrick

summary: pinning two of the greatest tennis players of our future will not work with you and tashi, in fact, you’ve learnt to share your prizes.

deep breaths. you take deep breaths when taking your racket out of its bag, all five fingers wrapping around the grip tightly, that is so intensely watched by two pairs of curious eyes from above in the stands, inaudibly gawking at the way your black tennis dress, sporting a small nike logo above your left breast, flourishes from around your thighs to expose the surfaces of your skin that don’t see the sun very often.

maybe the single most important game at the 2006 US open, between two upcoming tennis prodigies that also happen to be best friends. an oxymoron on the court really, tashi’s in white, you in black, her in adidas, you in nike, her hair in a tight braid, yours slicked into a low bun. eyes are torn completely apart as the both of you travel across the court, rebutting every single one of each others moves like a choreographed dance, the jaws of your audience slacked open. everybody remains paralysed, leaving the squeaks of your shoes and the heavy grunts of your labour to echo across the stands—until hands grip onto neighbouring knees and the final shot is swung.

“yes!” you shriek, throwing your racket to the ground in ecstasy, letting it bounce back behind you and the strings to shrivel from the force. from across the court, tashi heaves with squinted eyes, watching your celebration with parted lips and stepping closer to the net where you meet her—your arms wrapping around each others glistening shoulders and chests pressing firmly against one another, “good game” she tilts her head to whisper her appraisals and you hum a sweet note, flashing her a smile while the two men blink down at you. their minds completely empty apart from a state of euphoria, seeing two of the most beautiful women they had ever laid their eyes on embrace after a game that was essentially life or death. already replaying the erotic extensions of your legs at every side step, hips swivelling and slender arms extending to shape an image from within the deepest depths of their minds.

the same way that they stood completely still and fixated onto the images of you at the celebratory party hosted for you and tashi. the blonde haired boy taking sips of his drink between all the thoughts that expel from the image of you, mid underhand serve, and run through his mind. while the other faces an image of tashi, mid overhead, and tries not to make it obvious that his gaze slips into imagining anything other than what is underneath those clothes she endorses.

even when you notice their toying eyes, approaching you sat knee-to-knee with tashi at a table having just spent the last twenty minutes dancing with one another that hadn’t gone unnoticed by them either, “art donaldson and patrick zweig, right?” their eyes are momentary frozen wide before art exhales an exasperated breath, choking up on nothing. “in the flesh” patrick mumbles, fidgeting with the rim of his coke bottle. your eyes dart from one boy to another, left to right, both of their shoulders tensing as they watch tashi’s lips uncurl from the pink straw of her orange drink, guiding the bottle towards your own lips, pressing the straw into your mouth nonchalantly to share a sip of the beverage, and the sweetness of her lip gloss.

“that, that game…it was seriously breathtaking” art chokes out to the both of you, looking down admirably at you and noticing the small freckles the sun has peppered on your nose that hadn’t been visible from the top of the stands. tashi thanks him, putting the straw back into her own mouth and projecting a mental image of you and her swapping more than saliva into patrick’s mind.

his feet shuffle on the spot, shaking away the thought, “you dealt with the loss much better than i would’ve.” lightheartedly he jokes, gesturing towards tashi and sending her a small smile, “how do you two stay friends?”

“we’ve been friends since childhood,” tashi takes a glance at you, but you’re already looking back, “there’s no bad blood, we learn from eachother.” the palm of her hand flattens on your thigh momentarily, leaning back further into the couch. patrick and art huff, elbowing one another, “just like us.”

they flatter the two of you, showering you with compliments, all while trying to make it seem as if they hadn’t been discussing what exactly they would say to you for the past couple hours, until you and tashi were standing in front of their hotel room door, silently leaning closer to hear whatever was going on inside. “they don’t have time to come here” a muffled voice speaks from behind the door, and another groans loudly.

you and tashi share a small smirk, holding back laughter when she knocks on the door to hear a sudden ruckus.

“hi” “hey” they sing simultaneously, mouths agape like two little dogs, panting at the sight of a treat, or drooling at the ring of a bell. neither you nor tashi even have the time to greet them, patrick opening the door a little wider and beckoning you inside, coming together on the floor of the questionably coloured carpet with a single can of beer in the middle.

patrick leans back onto his hands. “so, when did you two become friends?” tashi points a finger between the two, wrapping her arms around her knees and tilting her head in curiosity. “we’ve been bunkmates since we were twelve” he answers, and art glances down at his crossed legs with a nervous smile. you nod your head, whispering a small “cute” under your breath and brushing patrick’s wrist with your fingers when taking the beer he offers, making the hairs on his arms stand upright. the beer is warm and bitter, and you pass the can to tashi after leaving a wet imprint of your lips that art would try to discreetly swipe his tongue over only moments later.

“you share girls often?” you ask and patrick’s brows quirk up, corner of his mouth tilting upwards. “this is our first time.” art says, pinkish blush spreading across his nose and the apples of his cheeks that implies his mind is drifting somewhere else. “why? are we not your type?” tashi laughs, leaning over towards art and tucking her hair behind her ears, his eyes following her closely, “aren’t you two everybody’s type?”

the boys shift in their positions, patrick lifting his hips up into the air briefly to get a little more comfortable and art pressing his hands into his knees, sharing a glance between them. all of the breath you exhale meshes into a palpable energy, and your gaze switches between art and patrick in a way they’ve already grown to love, their faces twitching with an eager awkwardness, “are you each other’s type?”

art chuckles out, “no…no.” he denies with a head shake, patrick peering over his shoulder at him silently, “no, we’ve never done anything like that.”

your’s and tashi’s eyes meet briefly, lips turning up into a smile.

“well…” patrick begins and art immediately jerks his head towards him, hoping that he wasn’t about to say the one thing he didn’t want to share, “i mean…”

“patrick, no.”

“don’t be shy, you have to tell us now” you tempt, a playful glint in the glance you give art.

patrick clears his throat, “you know, i just, taught art how to jerk off” he explains casually art’s right of passage while he holds his head in shame, painting an image of him being covered in his own ejaculation, over his stomach and legs like he had just “spilled milk” all over himself.

“that was a really adorable story” tashi hums, placing a hand on your shoulder to hoist herself up from the floor, and reaching out to help you up too. two pairs of eyes follow you around intently, admiring the tips of your fingers that swipe over various objects in their hotel room and feeling a little embarrassed about how obvious it is that they cleaned it only around 10 minutes ago. random pairs of boxers making an appearance from underneath the two single beds that they had pushed together, and an alarming amount of cigarette ash on the surface of the drawers.

tashi’s hand finds your wrist and guides you onto their bed where you take a seat patiently, criss-crossed, waiting for one of the boys to catch on and join you, while they are utterly immersed in the idea that the two of you are real and really in their bed.

silently, you usher them towards you with a tilt of the head, both of them jumping to their feet, basically leaping onto the bed so all four of you make a square, knees very slightly brushing against one another. theres a silent anticipation, tension weaving around all of you and luring your bodies closer. you take a quick look at each of their faces, their dilated pupils and irregular breaths, and move your lips closer to art’s, watching him inhale deeply like he wants to take all the air from your lungs for himself. then patrick, that selfishly attempts to lean his face closer before you can pull away.

you look towards tashi, who inches her face closer to yours, lips parted slightly and meeting in the middle for a kiss. in your peripheral vision, it’s hard not the notice the way that art and patrick are restraining themselves from punching a fist into the air out of joy, loud and shallow breaths caressing your cheeks. your mouth opens wider, leaning in deeper to consume every part of tashi’s lips in a hungry craze while her hand reaches into your hair to pull you closer. the two other men that keenly wait had slipped out of mind, still staring with a captivated stillness when you pull away from one another.

all you have to do is lean back onto your hands for art to pounce onto the side of your neck that becomes exposed, while patrick leans in to plant a kiss onto tashi’s jaw. on the surface their lips travel across the curve of your necks, heads fallen back, suctioning until they can taste the flavour of your perfume that lingers on your skin, while your hands exchange messily beneath; art’s touch feathering on your arm and reaching for tashi’s shoulder, and patricks arms intertwining with art’s to extend and touch your’s and tashi’s thighs.

patrick nuzzles his lips into divot the beneath tashi’s ear, journeying across her shoulder and onto your own in one smooth line, nearly head-butting with art when he shuffles to grace tashi with the same tender attention.

your hands scrunch into patrick’s dark hair, body involuntarily aching until you draw him closer to your face by the chin to connect with his lips. he balances himself in front of you, planting his hands at your sides to allow him to move even closer to you all while tashi hums into art’s gently mingling lips.

pulling back from patrick, you move onto art’s swollen mouth that glistens with lip gloss, tasting the remnants of tashi and yourself on them. all four of your faces coming together in the middle, so close that there is a dangerous lack of oxygen.

tongues pressing flat on top of another, swiping over bottom lips to feel every ridge and an accumulation of hot air. you become lightheaded at the different hands that grope over your figure, being pulled in by the back of your neck. there’s a contrast in the way each one of them kisses; tashi’s lips are familiar and firm, patrick’s are similar in their starved manner, and art’s yearn to take every molecule you are made of and ingest it.

tashi catches on immediately to the way that your left hand squeezes hers and pulls back to leave only art and patrick breathlessly grasping onto the others torso, noses pressing against each other at every tilt of the head and tongues slipping astray. the moment is only short, you and tashi glancing at one another, unbothered at whether they have noticed that you’re gone or secretly fulfilling a guilty hankering.

“okay.” tashi says, slapping her palms across her legs and sending a smile at the two boys. bottom lips slicked with one another’s saliva they remain frozen, only inches apart.

“goodnight, we have an early morning tomorrow.” you buzz, patrick and art separating only to let you slide past them on the bed, tashi following close behind and you wrapping your arms around her bicep absentmindedly.

neither one of them are able to make a sound, mouthing a “goodnight” that isn’t audible, admiring the way both of your curly brown hair sways behind you, walking out in the matching shorts they wonder if you ever swap.

they look at one another, then at the imprints in the floral blanket that your bodies left, scrunches where exactly you sat that they are both ready to smush their faces into. all while you and tashi stand outside of their hotel room once again, tuning in to the muffled dialogue about art’s grandmother before scurrying down the hotel hallway—hand in hand.

[elliotsblunt]

Girl in New York | 4

pairings - art donaldson/reader | challengers au! |

“_ _ “ = Y/N

masterslist | next chapter | last chapter

sypnosis - after an unforgettable night with Art, the endless passion comes to a brutal end.

warnings - choking, finger banging phew phew, dirty talk, slut shaming, car sex, handjobs, manipulation, voyeurism, no protection (be smart) , pure filth, cheating

authors note — theres only two more parts. finished this series in literally less than five days omg. the power of white men

word count - 2k

© elliotsblunt 2024. do not repost, modify, or translate.

You were quivering in the backseat. From both the cold and anticipation. Art’s hand raggedly ran over your cheek, your back arching off the seat as he towered on top of you. Your lips hungrily moved against one another, his fingers finding the waistband of your black leather skirt. You wanted nothing more than to feel something inside you, whether it was his cock or his fingers.

Lifting your hips, Art pulled off your now dripping wet panties and tossed them somewhere behind him. Your bare pussy glistened in the moonlight, his thumb hastily reaching down and rubbing at your tender bud. His eyes were glued into your face, making sure it felt good. Your eyes fluttered shut as you let out a solid gasp of pleasure.

“It’s so wet and warm,” he purred, a peculiar smile curving onto his lips. His other fingers began to prod at your hole, causing your hips to jerk. You cried out as he chuckled, “C’mon, pretty girl. Take my finger for me.”

And that’s when Art slid it in. Just from one finger alone, he had you trembling beneath his touch. Every mewl and sob you released egged him on. He had his white button up rolled up to his elbows, showing off his flexing bicep that pulsed with every thrust. Your fingers gripped his wrist as he quickened his pace, “Art—more. Please.”

“More?” He cooed, the burn in your pussy deepening. Your eyes crossed when you realized he added a second finger. Nails digging into his flesh, your hips lifted upwards, demanding for more friction.

Art laughed darkly, sucking on your tit. The sight itself made your eyes roll into the back of your head. “What a slut you are. Letting a man who has a girlfriend finger fuck you in the backseat of his car,” he growled out, feeling your insides tighten as his fingers wiggle around within your core. The tip of them reach your g-spot, making your entire body tense. “Oh—right there? Is that your spot?”

“Art…”

His fingers were like magic. Rubbing and pumping in such a ludicrous away. You were like puddy under his touch. It was what you had been needing for weeks now, and your this upcoming wave of blistering heat pleasure was slightly scared you. It was like you were drowning, but images of water, it was passion. Exciting steaming hot passion. Your eyes tore open, looking up at the man whose eyes were completely black from desire.

“Cum for me,” his voice was animalistic, pecking your chin. His eyes seemed so innocent whilst asking for something so crude.

“Wanna feel it squirt on me.”

His thumb delivered a few more rough circles to your clit—and you were done for. Your ears rang as if a grenade went off, your throat feeling scratched and torn from how loud you cried out into the air. Ecstasy racked throughout your spent figure as Art guided you through it, sucking and nipping at the flesh on your neck. There must’ve been a few hickeys by now.

He looked like an angel. Timeless. Blonde hair sticking out in every direction, cheeks and nose pink. His attention was on you.

As you calmed down from your high, Art didn’t waste any time. He pulled you on top of him. Without you noticing, he had already unzipped his jeans and pulled them down to his ankles. You straddled his legs as his nose touched yours.

“Jump on my cock. Please—let me feel it,” he whispered, not giving you a choice, and shoving his fat head into your sensitive pussy. His eyes watched as yours crossed, choking on a moan as he held your face. “Shit. You feel—fuck—so good.”

“Oh god,” your voice was hoarse, his cock fully sliding into your cunt. With a mind of its own, your hips began to jump up and down on his dick. Art grabbed your hips and began to brutally buck his own, the sound of skin slapping along with your cries filling the car.

“Look at me,” he demanded, pulling your hips down harder. Fire pooled in your abdomen, hands holding onto his shoulders for dear life as he ruts back up into you. Your eyes met his hooded ones. “Touch your pussy.”

You gulped, every thrust distracting you. Your fingers found their way to your pussy, rubbing your bud that peeked from its hood. It made your hips work against his harder, shockwaves rippling through your muscles. It was almost blinding how intoxicated you were on one another.

That familiar pit in your tummy returned. Without thinking, you pulled your fingers away, and onto his face. His eyes shut as he smelled your scent on your palm. “Fucking put those fingers in my mouth,” he barked, using his own to rub your cunt. You did what he said, and he sucked on your digits, groaning at your taste. “Delicious. Like candy.”

Your other hand slammed against his window, whilst he still sucked on the fingers of your other one. His eyes blinked up into yours. You got lost in them, feeling sparks of something in your heart. This was such a mess. He knew it too, but that didn’t stop the both of you. “Wish I could cum inside this pretty pink pussy of yours. It’s already creamy f’me.”

“I’m gonna—cum—“

“Me too, sweetheart.”

The nickname did it for you. You captured his lips into yours, as both of his hands grabbed your hips—forcing you down onto him through your high. His abs flexed beneath you as a searing sensation bursted in your core. His tongue licked and sucked at yours as he fucked you through your orgasm—resulting in his own. He pulled out and came all over himself and you, the warm liquid sticking to the flesh of your stomach and thighs. “Fuck, _ _.”

The both of you remained silent, heavily breathing as his forehead rested on your shoulder. yours resting against the cool glass of his window for a moment. It felt delicious against your sweaty skin. Taking a deep breath, you didn’t notice Art had wiped himself off the both of you already. Stealing his shirt up, his brow rose as you finished closing the last button with a cheeky smile.

“You ripped up my shirt—then used it as a jizz rag. I’m keeping this,” you teased, resulting in the corners of his lips turning upwards. You really did like that shirt, but he was cute enough to let it slide. It was growing a bit too small on you anyways.

You shoved your hand below you on the ground of the car, feeling for your cigarettes. Once you found the box, you faced Art who had been buckling up his jeans. “Want one?”

His eyes flickered over to the box, then to you. “Uh, no thanks.”

Plucking the tobacco stuffed stick between your bruised lips, you sent him a knowing look. He swallowed thickly before knitting his brows together, “What?”

“A light—please.”

“Oh—“

The car shook as he practically jumped off the seat, fishing into the back of his jeans. And then he lit the tip for you. A surge of energy rushed through your brain, leaving an icy sheet over the surface. Art got out, still shirtless, and went to grab something from the trunk. You assumed it was another shirt for him. The rain had came to a halt a while ago, perhaps when the two of you were pre-occupied.

You felt satisfied. It didn’t seem awkward or weird. At least—not to you. Although there was an odd feeling knawing at your chest—you decided to shrug it off.

Taking another puff, Art swings open the car and leaves it open this time. His elbow leaned against door, glacial colored eyes clouded with confusion. “You’re acting so….normal.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because….I….”

“….have a girlfriend? Ugh, don’t ruin my mood.” You groaned. Art chuckled, much to your surprise, grabbing the box of cigarettes from beside you and starting one up as well. As the smoke left his pink, swollen lips—something stirred inside your core. “Now that we’re talking about it—do you even love her?”

He scoffs, looking to the side. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“I mean if you did,” you mused, stepping out the car as well. His eyes swept up and down your figure, long legs captivating his attention. You had just remembered you were wearing nothing but his shirt.

“You wouldn’t have fucked me that good.”

“_ _.”

“Art.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched, crossing his arms. It was obvious he was feeling guilty about what had just occurred. To be frank, you didn’t know why you care. Usually you would have dipped right now, but beneath the moonlight, Art came off like a fallen angel. Blonde hairs falling over his eyes, disheleved from your hands running through them.

He was different than the other guys you’ve been with. And when you say, you meant chased, received, and then left. They were usually douches anyways, choosing their girlfriend in the end and wanting to have you as a bootycall. Only calling you at night, endless mediocre sex in hot cars.

But Art was a good guy. His emotions are in tune with what he does.

It made you absolutely ache in your core, making the thirst for his taste stronger. “You’re not a bad guy, Art. Don’t be hard on yourself.”

“Right,” he laughed in disbelief, hitting the stick in his hand. “And I wasn’t just balls deep in someone who wasn’t my girlfrie—“

You held your hand up, face twisting. “First of all, please don’t say balls deep. I just cringed,” you laughed. Art shut his eyes, letting out a few chuckles himself. It was nice to see that handsome smile return. “—and second of all, she doesn’t have to find out. I won’t tell her. This doesn’t have to happen again.”

He remained silent. His stare was focused on the ground.

“No one’s judging you. We’re the same,” you continued, tossing the burnt out cig onto the ground. Slowly, like a predator, you walked over to him. He inhaled sharply when your hand softly rested over the bulge growing in jeans. His perfectly sculpted abs tensed, “You like to feel good, just like I do. No complicated shit.”

It was like he couldn’t push you off. His fingers turned white, gripping the edge of the car door. Poking out your tongue, you licked his bottom lip, but not kissing him. “Let me make you feel good, Art.”

When he didn’t protest, fluttering his eyes closed, your fingers flew to his zipper. Slowly unzipping his jeans, you pulled his hard cock out, stroking it while whispering in his ear. “You’re so big in my hand.”

Collecting pre-cum at the tip, your thumb spread it to the rest of his dick before jerking it sensually. His head fell into the crook of your neck, completely giving himself over to you. It made you almost smile, but you bit it back, hastening your strokes.

He was yours.

“You’re such a bitch,” he muttered, his teeth sinking into the sweet spot on your neck. You were surprised he found it first try. Body twitching at the sensational strike of pain, you leaned into his touch. His words seemed to turn you on even more, your own teeth nipping at his bottom lip hungrily.

His muscles flexed beneath your arm, “This bitch is going to make you cum, Art.”

The large hand that was once gripping the car, flew to your hair, whipping your neck back. A moan tore from your throat as he lost control, fucking against your hand. Teeth clashing and lips sucking on your neck, one strong arm wrapped around you—the other holding the back of your head. His cock twitched at the sound you made, his cologne scented shampoo filling your senses as he dug himself deeper into the crook of your neck.

You were sure he had left two hickeys already.

“Art—“

“Fucking mine,” he growled out, your other hand gripping onto his chest. His hips stuttered as you began to twist your wrist towards tip of his cock, “Better not fuck some other dude after this, _ _.”

You laughed breathlessly, “After tonight—I need a week recovery max.”

Art lifted himself from your throat, looking down at you with a half-smile. But it dropped, his eyes fluttering shut.

And then he exploded with the call of your name.

“_ _.”

[queensunshinee]

Time Of Our Lives || Part 6

Part 6:

"I brought that disgusting snack with the jam you like," Art sat down in the seat next to Liana on the plane and glanced at her for a second. She had fallen asleep. He didn’t know when or how she managed it, but he knew that if the recent period had been hard for him, Liana had completely collapsed into herself. She managed to fight with him twice, apologize three times (he wouldn’t lie, he enjoyed every "sorry for being a bitch" he received, because up until a few months ago, she wouldn’t apologize at all) and she cried a lot. He knew she cried because every time he saw her in the library (the only place he managed to find her in the past month), her cheeks were puffier than usual, and her eyes were red. Now that they were traveling home for the holidays, he hoped she could rest and, if he were to be really greedy, Art hoped she would have time for him again.

Without him knowing how it happened, her head found its place on his shoulder, causing him to remember that time he was sick and woke up next to her. The first thought that crossed his mind that morning was that the only position that could bring him closer to Liana was to be physically inside Liana. His dick felt the same way when he woke up that day, quietly went to the bathroom, and then went for a run. Since then, he had occasional flashes of the image of his legs tangled with hers and his hands holding her as if she were his only grip on reality. Like now, with her head on his shoulder and her breathing heavy. He found himself sighing and closing his eyes as well.

"You're coming for Christmas, right?" Art asked as they walked toward her parents' car, carrying his bag in one hand and her suitcase in the other (despite Liana's insistence that she could carry it herself). "You know we're Jewish and we celebrate Hanukkah, right, Art?" she said, amused. Now that she had a little break, she planned to sleep so much that her face would take on the shape of her pillow. "Really, Liana Levy?" he asked, rolling his eyes. "Do you usually come to my parents thing?" "Now that you'll be there too, I'll ask my parents to stay home and watch TV." When Art was in boarding school, he didn't come home for the holidays; it was a training period, and he didn’t want to waste it. "You know that just means I'll come to you, right?" he replied, not even looking at her. Art didn’t have many friends from home. Neither did Liana. She planned to meet up with Rebecca, and Jake had sent her a message asking if she was coming for the holidays. She hadn’t replied yet. "Usually your parents put up a small menorah on the window. It's cute," she shrugged and from a distance saw her dad leaning on the car. "Look, Art." She pointed in his direction and quickened her pace, seeing Art do the same. "Three months and you're already her soldier," her dad said as he hugged her, referring to her suitcase that Art had carried. "What can I do? She has that kind of influence," Art winked playfully and hugged Liana's dad as well. They really liked each other. They always talked about sports and Stanford, sharing stories that Liana couldn’t relate to. "So, I'll see you in two days?" Art asked as her dad parked in front of his house. "Don't count on it, Donaldson," she replied, and he rolled his eyes as he walked away. "You two seem closer," her dad observed. "We're fine," she summed up, not wanting to agree but knowing he was right.

The next day, Liana called Art in the afternoon. "I knew you'd miss me," he sounded amused. "Where are you, why are you out of breath?" she asked, confused. "I went to play tennis with my dad. I'm trying not to embarrass him, and now we're resting for the third time because he's old," Art replied. "Why did you call?" he asked. "Do you want to come to a party tonight?" she asked in return. "You don't have to, but Rebecca invited me to Sean's party, and I think he's a douchebag, but Rebecca probably wants to hook up with him, and she'll probably ditch me during the evening, and I think Jake will be there, and to be honest, I'd rather stay home, but Rebecca really asked. Will you come with us?" she asked after a stream of murmurs. There was something pleading in her voice, and Art couldn't help but feel a slight tingle all over his body. It was something he couldn't pinpoint the source of, but hearing Liana beg was a sound he didn't know his ears needed.

"What's in it for me?" he tried to make the most of a situation where he had nothing to lose. "Art." Her tone was warning. "I'm serious," he retorted, even though he wasn't. "So am I. We'll pick you up at nine, dress like a normal person, please. Button-down shirt and jeans, don't come in a Stanford shirt." He could hear the sarcasm. "You know if you want something, you're not supposed to insult me, right?" he replied. "That's my love language." She said, and he didn't stop responding that he knew before she hung up.

"We're going to get drunk, right?" Liana asked him as she put a hand on a bottle of gin. "Will I have to babysit you today, Li?" he asked, amused by the situation. "No. Because you'll get drunk with me. I told you Rebecca would leave," she told him, pouring them both a tequila shot. "You're on vacation, Art. You can afford one night of alcohol. I promise to be responsible for the rest of the break. We'll only drink champagne on New Year's Eve. I promise to be good," she smiled her most convincing smile. Liana hoped it would have an effect, although Art didn't easily give in to manipulations, especially not when they were so transparent. "You'll be good?" he asked, raising the shot glass like her. "I'll be the best," she replied, and they both drank. This was going to be a long night.

Four shots in and a cup of cheap keg beer later, Art and Liana found themselves sitting outside on the synthetic grass at Sean's house. The December cold didn't affect either of them due to the amount of alcohol. "Lia, I didn't know you were here," they turned together a second after they sat down, seeing Jake. "James," Art smiled a smile Liana knew exactly what it meant; Jake didn't stand a chance. He was on the sharp tongue radar of Art Donaldson, who, under the guise of niceness, could be the most ruthless person in the world. "It's Jake," the other replied. "Can we talk?" he turned to her. "We're busy, try later, but I wouldn't count on it," the smile didn't leave Art's face while he spoke. "Liana." Jake's voice was piercing. "I have nothing to talk to you about right now, Jake, sorry. Don't ruin my night," she tried to be gentle, but they both knew he didn't deserve it. He nodded and walked away in defeat. "That was fun. Do you have any other exes to bully?" Art asked, taking another sip from the bottle they had taken with them. "Arthur!" she feigned an angry voice and lightly slapped his hand, but he quickly grabbed her hand in his. "You're supposed to be good, not violent," he said, tracing small circles on the hand he refused to let go of. "I can be both at the same time." She shrugged, snatching the bottle from him with her free hand.

"Lindsey has been eyeing you all night; you could totally go for it," she said, examining him. He glanced over at Lindsey, a blonde girl he remembered from when they were younger. Her body was well-sculpted, and the dress she wore suited her. "No, tonight it's just you and me, Li. You won't get rid of me and go to James," he said, half-humor, half-serious. He didn't want her to go to her ex. "Okay." She shrugged and laid her head on his knees without asking, looking at him with an amused look he returned. "Are you drunk?" he asked. "No, you're drunk," she stated. "Why did you break up with James?" "His name is Jake." "Why do you always evade when I ask you?" He couldn't stop looking at her. She was…his tonight. Close to him. Looking only at him. Needy as fuck. As if she only saw him from the moment they entered this house. "Because it's embarrassing…" she took another sip and choked a little. "Jesus, Li, don't drink while lying down." Art scolded and snatched the bottle from her, taking another swig. "Tell me." His finger lingered in her hair and gently brushed her cheek; he saw how she instinctively closed her eyes from the cold touch. "Tell me," he repeated, continuing to caress her face gently and moving slightly to her neck, testing the boundaries of this evening. "You'll laugh at me." She opened her eyes and looked at him. "Tell me," he said with the same firmness that made her swallow. An intonation she had never heard from him before. A voice she didn't know how to refuse. "I didn't want to sleep with him." She mumbled and tried to turn her face the other way, forgetting for a moment that Art's hand was there, and just as it had stroked before, it now made sure to stabilize her head exactly where he wanted it. With eyes on him. Eyes that pierced directly into her soul if that was possible. If it wasn't the alcohol that made her succumb to the blue eyes that stared at her. "Why would I laugh at you?" he asked. "Because it's embarrassing not to want to sleep with your boyfriend when you're 19." She really didn't want to keep looking at him when she said it, but he didn't let her escape the feeling of surrender she was experiencing right now. "I would never judge you for that, Li. More than that, I'm quite glad you didn't sleep with that loser," his hand went back to making light movements on her cheek, but the atmosphere in the air changed. "Why?" she asked quietly. "Why what?" he replied. "Why are you glad?" she slowly sat up, and Art helped her with a hand he placed on her lower back, not removing it when she sat closer than she had before. "Li…" his nose touched hers for a few seconds, and he closed his eyes. "Are you going to do that thing where you whisper sweet nothings and pretend to be nice so I'll go home with you?" she asked, feeling bold, and he smiled, his eyes still closed. "That's pointless; we both know I don't have a single nice bone in my body," he managed to find words, opening his eyes for a second to see her like he hadn't seen her before. Her cheeks were flushed like his from the alcohol and the cold, her lips half-parted, and her green eyes fixed on him. "And I'll still go home with you?" her voice was quiet and needy, if someone asked Art, he would say almost musical. "Yes, you'll still go home with me, Li." He declared. And so, with both of them half-drunk, Art and Liana's lips met. It was a kiss that knocked the air out of their lungs, built on the sexual tension they had carried for years without realizing it. Liana's hands tried to touch every part of him while Art's hands were experienced and steady on her waist. His lips moved to her neck, and she let out a sound that Art could swear was pornographic, one he didn't want anyone else to hear from her ever.

"We're leaving. Now," he declared, giving her a look that left no room for doubt. This night was just beginning.

This one is a bit longer, so I hope it's OK... No Patrick in this one, but we needed some development with Art after that last part. Hope you like it. Thanks for engaging and sending me your thoughts. Please continue to do that. And if you want me to tag you for future parts, say the word ❤️

taglist: @swetearss ganana yoitsme-04

[artrickbisexuality]

head full of being tashi’s estranged childhood best friend who shared a bit of a homosexual codependency relationship. the one who has been in love with her ever since you were 15. the one who couldn’t bear her dating patrick zweig and marrying art donaldson out all of people. you knew each other so well but y’all both slipped away – she was never cold to you, never wanted you to be more than you already are, what exactly went wrong? suddenly she couldn’t keep up with your silly demeanor and yapping self. perhaps she wanted someone who could have a detached view of tashi duncan and worship her like a god, so they would never get as close to her as you are, so they could adore her like a sacred image and not in the flesh as you do. you knew a part of her that was maybe hidden from the world and that scarred her away. you may or may not have kissed her tenderly once and she made you squirm under her touch. that was too intimate so you’ve never once talked about this until you were both feeling each other’s body warmth. but it was left in the past, you lost touch(quite literally) after that, it was impossible to keep an amicable relationship. and then a couple of years passed, she got with patrick and then split up, her injury happened and you try to reach out but she changed her number, and on your last attempt to keep her close, you find out she’s been in a serious relationship with art. they’re moving in together and getting engaged! so by that time, you gave up although you could swear she felt something for you still. and that’s when someone knocks your door, and it’s tashi without her wedding band.

[pugh-bug]

No.42 Chapter 4

Art Donaldson x reader slow burn friends to lovers

Let me know if you wanna be added to the tag list 💕 thank you so much for the love on this series so far I’m really grateful !

Part 3

——————————————————————

‘You should see him after a few games, it’s a lot.’

With a mouth full of burrito, you still managed to laugh at the image Liam and Art were conjuring of Patrick’s sunburn turning him beetroot. The three of you were sat at a cute little place you’d somehow never seen before, probably because you didn’t know the area that well. Art’s choice.

‘So how’s living with this one?’ Liam asked, spitting hummus everywhere as he spoke. Neither you or Art had known who his question was for so you both yelped

‘Good!’

A little too enthusiastically for Liam.

Art’s hair had dried perfectly in the piercing sun rays and the smell of his mint shampoo kept wafting in your direction whenever the breeze turned. Shit. You were supposed to be listening to Liam. What was he saying?’

‘Fridays good.’ Art nodded at his friend, not looking at you for conformation. Clearly someone had been listening. You waited until Liam was texting his girlfriend to hiss at Art what he’d just agreed to - the answer ? - a party at Liam’s.

‘Are you sure it’s okay … if I come?’ Neither boy missed the slight sadness in your question. Your search for validation and fear of the wrong outcome. As Liam beamed at you, reassuring your brain that you were indeed very much wanted at his party and that ‘it won’t be the same without you’ Art’s eyes were locked on your face. You failed to notice.

‘So don’t worry about it okay? It’s not a tennis people thing, just a Liam friends thing.’ He smiled, very genuinely, and you smiled back. When Liam went to the bathroom he noticed Art was picking aggressively at the table, something he’d never seen him do before.

Without looking up from his task of picking through wood one mm at a time, Art asked coldly. ‘When did Patrick say he’d be back?’ Oh fuck it was Sunday! Better check your phone.

2 missed messages.

12:03pm - Text from Patrick

It’s not going well at all. She keeps starting shit with me for no reason she’s a lot to deal with if I’m being honest. Hope your day is better than mine so far

1:26pm - Text from Patrick

You’ve gotta pick me up Y/N I can’t stay here with these people until 9 I’ll catch arsehole disease

Just as you thought of a reply that was both supportive and concerned your phone lit up. Patrick was calling.

‘Pat hey! I didn’t expect to hear fro-‘

‘Pick me up.’

‘Jesus okay-‘

‘Pretty please Y/N I’ll send you my location right now just get here.’

He had a tendency to overreact to uncomfortable situations but you could hear the genuine panic and defeat in his voice. You had to help him.

‘Okay okay but … what’s wrong with Uber?’

‘I can’t afford it.’

You took a deep breath, gesturing to Art to stop mouthing ‘what’s happening?’ so you could concentrate.

‘Okay let me just tell Art-‘

‘Art’s there? Get him to come, he knows the way.’

‘Okay.’

Whilst you explained to Liam the rough situation, Art ran to your flat to fetch his car. With how little time it took him to return you wondered why he hadn’t become a runner instead? He must have done track, at-least.

——————————————————————

It was an hour drive to Patrick’s girls place. 45 minutes on Sundays. You waited until Art had gotten to the motorway before you asked the million dollar question.

‘So… Patrick said you knew the way. How? This is nowhere near anyone’s house that we know.’

Art chuckled, his delicate hand barely touching the wheel when he casually changed lanes at 70mph. His car smelt like him, you tried not to breathe heavier to encase yourself in his scent more intensely. It was growing difficult.

‘Well, I actually … dated Hannah before he did.’

He adjusted his mirror to watch the arsehole behind drive up his ass, for a moment you noticed him looking at the window. If Art ‘his mother could have knitted him’ Donaldson was about to roll the window down to flip someone off you were in for a treat.

‘How long for? Did Patrick even ask bef-‘

‘Does Patrick ever ask you for permission to do something?’

No. Not once.

‘It doesn’t bother me. We weren’t serious and it was a few years before he asked her out.’

You both envied and pitied this Hannah girl who Art seemed to care so little for.

‘Is it not a bit weird though? I wouldn’t want my exes fucking my friends.’

Art glanced over to you, he was driving at 60 again so you weren’t as inclined to grasp the door handle. He looked a little puzzled at your remarks or maybe it was amusement. ‘You thought we’d have different types?’

‘Yes, one hundred percent.’

‘We usually do. Hannah is probably more Patrick’s type.’

Your pity for Hannah grew once again.

‘But clearly, not more compatible.’

When you looked at Art he was frowning. He might have been looking at the road but you knew he was remembering something, something bitter.

You reread Patrick’s text: ‘She’s a lot to deal with.’ but that could mean anything from she takes too long getting ready to she needs to be kept away from others. Once Art said you were close you felt a little uneasy, like you needed to mentally prepare to deal with this girl. If she’d frightened Patrick she had to have something very wrong with her.

‘Art?’

He looked out of it.

‘Is there anything I should know, anything I should maybe avoid saying or doing with this… Hannah? Patrick sounded - I don’t wanna say scared bu-‘

‘Oh he’ll be scared,’ you felt genuine dread for a moment until you saw Art looked solemn not worried. He hid it behind a forced chuckle, as if what he was about to say was a funny anecdote he whipped out at parties to break the ice. ‘She can be a lot.’ There goes that word again. ‘She’s probably the only person I’ve ever met who puts tennis above - well - breathing and she thinks if you’re not playing tennis twelve hours a day everyday you’re letting yourself and her down.’

‘Sounds obsessive.’

‘I did warn him.’

As you pulled up to Hannah’s house you felt a twinge, or an aggressive increase, of guilt for your comment the night before. You should have saved your judgement for Hannah, clearly tennis was her entire life and Art had disagreed with her. Patrick certainly would.

He was sat on her doorstep, like a lost puppy waiting for its owner, but he still gave a quick wave before walking over.

‘Thank you!’ Patrick exclaimed once he was in the car. ‘You two just saved me, I was about to let her coach me just so she’d stop fucking yelling.’ He was sweating and slightly out of breath, poor thing.

‘Art, don’t you wanna go say hi?’

‘Funny…’

Taglist: @gatorgirl007 @imblushingrn

[leclercstars]

game, sex, match.

tashi x art x patrick Summary: After Art and Patrick's match at the challenger, the three waste no time finishing what was started in the boys' hotel room all those years ago.

Warnings: SMUT! 18! threesome, oral sex (m. receiving), riding first challengers fic yuppp i am so excited

“Now that was some good fucking tennis,” Tashi said with a sigh as she slid into the driver’s seat of her and Art’s Range Rover. Art was still panting heavily, sweat glistening from the match he had just fought for. Tashi was already turned on just from watching her boys fight on the court, Art’s mussed up hair- that was starting to show the curls from his Stanford days- certainly wasn’t helping the throbbing sensation growing between her thighs. Art leaned over the console- planting an extremely passionate kiss, a bold move considering there were still in the parking lot at the fucking Phil’s Tire Town Challenger.

Tashi and Art’s phones buzzed at the same time.

“Hilton Inn. Room 204” read the text from Patrick.

“He made a fucking groupchat?” Tashi sighed, palming her face in horror.

“It’s been like, ten minutes for gods sake,” Art chuckled while glancing to see what Tashi’s reaction was. “Did you already put the address in on Google Maps?” Art was wide eyed- mouth agape laughing at Tashi trying to hide her eagerness

“I mean hey, we have some unfinished business from after the ADIDAS party!” Tashi and Art were laughing almost uncontrollably, garnering some strange glares from people passing by the car.

“Step on it,” Art joked as Tashi purposely pressed all the way down on the gas- jolting him forward.

“I can’t believe you’re so okay with this, Art.”

“I don’t mind sharing.”

The two arrived- wasting no time heading up in the elevator.

Patrick hastily answered the door- already wearing boxer briefs.

“Jesus Patrick, maybe a little too excited?” Art scoffed

“Okay Artie maybe it was hot in here? Ever consider that?”

As the two bickered, Tashi set herself down on the edge of the bed- slowly untying the ribbon that was holding her wrap dress together until she was sitting there in nothing but a white lace thong.

Patrick and Art- still embroiled in whatever bullshit they were discussing didn’t even notice until Tashi cleared her throat.

“Fuck.” Art groaned as the two’s eyes widened in awe. All these years later- the two still looked at her as if she was sculpted by Davinci himself.

They sidled up next to her- both with muscles bulging from the match that ended merely an hour ago. This was very different from the first time this happened- the teenage fear gone.

Patrick wasted no time grabbing Tashi’s face and thrusting his tongue into her throat- immediately asserting dominance. His hand trailed up Tashi’s body- fondling and pinching each nipple- drawing soft moans from her into his lips. Art’s head was resting on her shoulder- pleading eyes looking up at her- waiting for a drop of her attention- like sweet nectar to him.

She pulled away from Patrick- smirking at Art’s extremely visible erection through his checkered boxers. She pushed Art down on the bed- tearing his boxers off- exposing his weeping cock to earning a loud groan from Patrick- who was still fervently kissing her neck. She planted gentle kisses all the way down Art’s body- making sure to not miss a single scar or curve with her lips. Art was writhing- hand draped over his forehead with his eyes shut in pure ecstasy.

Tashi- soaking wet from Patrick’s rough hands on her nipples- slid herself easily on Art’s throbbing cock- making him whine and buck his hips.

“You’re gonna be good for me baby?” she cooed, feeling his pre-cum drip inside her just from that statement alone.

“Yes, yes Tashi fuck.” Art was turning into a complete fucking mess- and Tashi hadn’t even moved her hips yet. As she started to softly roll herself onto his abs, Patrick sidled up next to him.

Art reached for Patrick, badly wanting to feel the way he would react to his touch. His fingers grazed along his slit- the wetness coating his hands. He grabbed Patrick’s jaw- years of memories rushing through his mind as he stuck his two fingers into his own mouth- sucking and licking every single drop of Patrick’s cum off while Patrick watched, eyes glazed over with lust.

Tashi was running her hands all over Art’s torso- greedily. A jealousy beginning to burn inside her as she watched her husband drink his opponent’s pre-cum. The flame of jealousy stoked into a fire of ecstasy as Art began thumbing her throbbing clit- his attention now moved to her as he lazily stroked on Patrick.

Tashi’s head was thrown back- pleasure was completely overtaking her, moans turning into something that resembled screams. She came all around Art’s cock- seeping all over his abs as Patrick leaned over to lap it up. She gasped- shocked at how he wasted no time in wanting to taste what he hadn’t even created.

Art’s orgasm was soon to follow- as Tashi rode out hers, volts electricity shot through his tired body- as he cried out- feeling every drop of cum coat her walls.

The three laid down next to each other.

“What nothing for me?” Patrick laughed.

“Today just isn’t your day huh?” Art said, head on Patrick’s chest.

[suenosyfantasmas]

"Hay algo más importante que la lógica: es la imaginación"

Alfred Hitchcock.

Fotografía: Donaldson collection en Getty images.

Alfred Hitchcock. Foto tomada para el lanzamiento de la película "Los pájaros", (1963).

Sueños y fantasmas. El arte de soñar.

[murdrdocs]

drunk reader; drunk and sad girl trope; reader is taken advantage of (but consensually?); DARK(er) CONTENT AHEAD MDNI 18+ w/ ART DONALDSON & PATRICK ZWEIG

your date had gone poorly. it was obvious over the phone when you called art, begging him to come pick you up through sniffles and harsh dismissals of "i'm fine". you only managed to get art off of the phone by telling him that you were running out of minutes, but he was at the restaurant not long after, pulling up with patrick in the passenger seat.

and they wouldn't leave you alone. they wouldn't turn the radio up and drown out your sniffles and poorly masked sobs with music. patrick kept turning around to look at you and art kept sneaking glances in the rear view mirror. they were worried sick, so it was only natural that they began damage control when they got to your place.

patrick on alcohol duty. art on therapist duty.

patrick peddled drink after drink into your hand at your request with no concern for how much you were drinking. he only began to care when your words slurred, only then did he take the drinks out of your hand and put them out of reach, downing a few himself or passing them to art.

you weren't drunk, that's what he kept telling himself as he let his eyes roam over your body, eyesight dipping to get a glimpse of your cleavage when you would lean over to try to reach for another drink. when he let his hand fall to your thigh, it was to tether you back to here, keeping you from spiraling into your recollection of how bad the date went. that's all.

meanwhile, art was hearing you out. his features softened into an understanding pout while he listened to you detail every single thing about the date. the people sitting around you, the menu options, the horrible jokes your date made.

he sat there wondering how you could go out with a guy like that. wondering why you were even excited to see the guy in the first place because no matter how often you repeat yourself, claiming you didn't even want that guy that much anyway, art knows.

he remembers how giddily you called him earlier in the afternoon, ready to turn down his suggestions to hang out because you were busy. you had a date, and you said it like it was the best thing to ever happen to you. he can't help but feel a little glad that your date went wrong, especially when you bury your head in his neck and let him caress your back while you cry off even more of your makeup.

you're so soft. so warm. so pliant from the mix of alcohol, sadness, and comfortability in this moment.

earlier that afternoon, when the call to art became a three way call with patrick, there was a joke made. a sly, "if you come home drunk and sad we're gonna take advantage of you" from patrick's lips.

you rolled your eyes at the time, scoffing and exclaiming, "gross!" at your friend's obscenity. art had acted on your defense, chastising patrick while trying to clear the image out of his head.

and patrick was quick to apologize, assuring that he didn't mean it. "it's a joke!" said over and over again above the sound of your rejection and art's protection meddling together.

and it had been a joke at the time. they would never do that to you. but there's something here, some vibe that's unexplainable through the maze of hormones running throughout all of you. for some reason, when you lift your head from art's neck, wipe under your eyes, and look between art and patrick, they consider it.

they only take a moment to think about it when you tell them, "take advantage of me," the words spoken clearly. meticulously. soberly.

so they do.

they don’t have to kiss you stupid. you’re already dumbed down when art presses his lips to yours. it doesn’t take any coaxing at all for you to part your legs for patrick.

they’ve never seen you this compliant. after being used to your eye rolls and jokes at their expense, they started to figure that’s what you would be like in bed. patrick believed you would be bossy, telling him what to do. art didn’t mind the thought, not when patrick painted a picture for him. but art likes how he’s able to tell you what to do.

he likes that when he tells you to lift your hands above your head, you do. he likes that you lay back when he tells you to. he likes that you wrap your lips around his cock when he presents it in front of your face.

it’s nearly impossible to tell that you had even been saving yourself for another man when they have you like this. when you’re on your hands and knees, taking patrick from the back and art from the front, it’s absurd to even believe that you wanted to fuck a completely different man tonight.

they’re making you feel good. they’re making you feel better than your lousy date could’ve ever dreamed of. they’re fucking the thoughts out of your mind, replacing the horrors of your night with something pleasurable. something to make it all worth it.

because if you hadn’t gone out tonight, you never would’ve met the guy who made you cry. if you hadn’t dolled yourself up earlier, your efforts never would’ve looked prettier coming off of you than it did going on you.

it’s all a beautiful display of the butterfly effect. not that any of you are thinking about that while you’re drunkenly slobbering on arts dick with lazy eyes, attempting to fuck yourself back onto patrick all the while.

[pillowprincessvarric]

Covid lockdown week 4: the feeding of the sourdough starter has become a secretive affair, one Art participates in behind a locked door on the upper floors of the Donaldson household. Patrick jacks off to images of mermaids online and cries afterwards. Tashi kills an albatross in the front yard, a sure omen of doom for the family.

[anthrotographer]

Challengers (2024) | A review w/ spoilers*

Tumblr is not going to like my review, I already know. I acknowledge this movie wasn't made for me, but I feel I give credit where it's due.

Last night I had a staggering movie going experience. I felt like I was being sold a lie a minute sitting through the agonizing commercials, the movie previews, and till the end of Challengers. Back to back promos for military branches, painting them as organizations of peace and innovation (a rally during war time). I understand there’s nothing new about that experience. Consumerism and propaganda tactics have a long tradition at the cinema. We’ve been advertised a false reality for so long it’s hard to think about our world without using the images fed to us to line that canvas. Take how modern horror treats rural living. It’s very common to see (in fact I saw) a movie trailer where a young couple vacations in a secluded part of the country to get away from it all. The idea of ruralism as a peaceful alternative to stressful urban living is benign and actually has some merit to think about in a country as urbanized and unhappy as ours. Yet the common movie trope is that there are evil forces lurking in the dark outskirts, that living ‘out there’ turns people into kooks or murderous cultists. One movie by itself with this premise can be harmless, but within a whole genre that trends this way it feels insidious. Almost like we are supposed to all fear each other. Challengers is another example of a genre movie that warps human reality into a lifeless opportunity to sell things. 

When a movie feels more like a commercial or a music video then why even bother with the movie going experience. The distinguishers between television and film are fading away over time. In one particularly unabashed scene we cut between three different product placements for Coke, Adidas, and the U.S. Open. It was shameless, the way Josh O’Connor was most likely told to hold that CocaCola label perfectly centered in the frame. Those three brands are far from the only ones displayed. Tennis, and sports events in general, flash a ton of advertising so I understand that the film’s stuck in that universe. Still there are ways to artfully sidestep brazen product placement. 

I don’t want to spend much time trying to analyze the relationship between Tashi, Art and Patrick. The film doesn’t give you enough about why these three are fatefully attached to each other besides vapid attractions. Yes all three are enamored by one another but what’s the motivation to stay in this toxic ménage à trois dynamic for so long? Zendaya plays Tashi, a master manipulator trying to mold her husband Art Donaldson into the star tennis player she was supposed to be before her injury. And her “little white boys” Art and Patrick feel like pawns that are content to be pawns. Men who don’t have any freewill and are solely motivated by their lust for this supermodel of a woman. In a way I don’t blame them. My disconnect comes because there’s a lack of depth with the characters and their relationships. Each of them seems to have a singular focus; Tashi wants vicarious glory through Art, Art wants to be loved, and Patrick wants Art’s life. But there is no depth to the desires. Time is never spent on why Tashi loves tennis more than people or why Art and Pat let their, supposedly strong bond, get broken so easily by a “home wrecker” that forecasted her own home wrecking. And look, as a seductive art piece it succeeds, for the most part, but as a story about real people it reduces its characters to their base desires while pretending they are complex. Maybe I don’t understand Romance—as I’ve been told. I am content to treat it as just a romantic fantasy and give it credit for being hot, but it was also a long drawn out tease. 

There was no reason for this experience to be more than two hours long! Half of it was in never ending slow-mo where I felt like the same tennis ball was being served for half an hour. The dreaded slow motion, which can be good for a sporty movie to capture athletic movements and build suspense, but here it was overused to a point where it left us thinking “get on with it already”.  Thank goodness some of my theater neighbors were also moaning about this because I felt alone, trapped in a drugged fugue state. So much of the film was disorienting. For a period you are meant to feel like a tennis ball being battered around through the camera. Editing wise this movie had the same problem that so many modern movies have; death from a thousand cuts. And the slowly unraveling chopped timeline executed so many arbitrary flashbacks and flash forwards. Eight weeks before, two days forward, then a five year flashback, all when you could tell this story sequentially with similar suspense building and less confusion. 

Seeing this movie was a spur of the moment, going in blind experience. I know now that I was not the target audience. Today I mentioned it to a friend and he ended up watching the trailer. The text I got back: “looked like a bit of a teenager movie”. I don’t mean to spoil the enjoyment for anyone with this review. From a certain angle I did have fun with Challengers. Sometimes simply devouring some eye candy is what the mood demands. 

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[lovrre]

My Master list 💕

In honor in my 1 year anniversary on this account(I’m a little late it was in July) here’s is my first ever masters list 🎀

Pedro pascal

Finally found prt 2

Lost and found prt 1

Say Statue of Liberty(one shot)

Your camera roll dating Pedro prt 2 ( an imagine )

Your camera roll dating Pedro prt 1

Baby protect me(one shot)

Pedro as a dad image

Eddie Munson

The presentation(one shot)

My vampire boy part 1

My vampire boy prt 2-

Pink walkman(one shot)

Steve Harrington

House party

Chad Meeks

Boyfriend girlfriend things

Carmen berzatto

Princesses last berzatto dinner

Art Donaldson

The agreement prt 1