#challengers drabble | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yeahtimesten · 10 months ago

Text

disaster date w/ tashi duncan

you and tashi started off the year as total strangers, sitting next to each other during lecture by coincidence, because neither of you knew other people taking this class. but her taking a chance and grabbing the seat next to you proved worth it. every group discussion was the perfect blend of intellectual and humorous, the both of you making each other laugh about what you two were studying. the dynamic was so good, you were eager to take it outside the classroom.

and that’s why you found yourself sitting across from tashi at a swanky little sushi spot in the city off campus.

no, you weren’t sure if this was a date. yes, you asked her out. you felt maybe it was implied when you asked her to join you at dinner with a movie afterword. but the word ‘date’ actually never left your mouth. and you totally skirted around that word on purpose, unsure if she even liked women like that. and you were equally unsure if she had picked up on the fact that you did.

earlier in the night, you had picked her up at her dorm, and you were totally in shock at how she looked. clearly, she was beautiful, naturally and effortlessly. but the effort she put in for you tonight was enough to make your heart wrench and ache. her hair was slicked back into a long low ponytail, with her curls and waves on display. she wore a black off the shoulder long sleeve that showcased her sexy shoulders and collarbones. and navy blue jeans that hugged her ass in such an excruciating way. yeah, you were smitten.

you let her be on aux on the way into the city, and her choice in music had you both singing along. check on it by beyoncé, from her brand new album, played. you had listened to the song plenty of times since its release, but still managed to fuck up the lyrics of the fast part.

“girl, maybe we should just leave it to beyoncé,” she had said, and your cheeks were rosy in embarrassment. she felt bad and grabbed your shoulder. “i’m just kidding.” a beat of silence hung over you two, and at first she was actually nervous she hurt your feelings. until you burst out singing again, making her laugh as she joined along.

you arrived just in time for your reservation, but they stuck you at this tiny side table, and were too busy to accommodate for anything with a tiny bit more surface space. so your table was overloaded with cups, long sashimi and sushi roll plates, condiments, and sides of rice. you loved that she ordered food at restaurants just like you did. she told you to pick a dish and she’d pick a dish and you could both split and share, which is something you had proposed on other dates before and was refused.

with chopsticks, she reached over the island of dishes and plucked a piece of sliced yellowtail on top of a bed of rice, but upon pulling her arm back, her elbow knocked over her glass of water, promptly spilling it all over the table and herself. shocked, she just sat there as it spilled over, wincing, before her face released into a look of annoyance. you were stifling back laughter, and you could tell she was too. you reached over to pick up her glass, and she began to wipe up her spill with a napkin. you made the same mistake that she did however, as you lowered your arms back down to your own body, your elbow hit the handle of a spoon perfectly, catapulting rice across the aisle, leaving a trail of food that reached all the way to the next table over. tashi couldn’t hold back her laughter no matter how hard she tried, sending you into a fit that elicited snorts, which only caused her to laugh even harder.

“holy fuck, we’ve made a mess,” you state the obvious.

“they are gonna kick our asses out if we don’t get it together,” tashi jokes with you. and in this moment, her smile is dazzling. you could be so embarrassed right now, and maybe you were a little bit, but tashi made you feel so comfortable and at ease with just the way her eyes met yours.

you finished your meals and apologized profusely for the mess. you payed for the bill and you both shelled out a fat tip for the poor server who’d be cleaning up after you. as you walked down the busy downtown street of the city, your both bumping hips with each other, possibly due to feeling the cocktails you both had at dinner a bit. tashi spotted those electric scooters resting on a street corner, and her eyes lit up as she walked towards them.

“have you ever ridden one of these,” she asks you. she looks about tempted to get on one.

“yes i have,” you admit. “and i do not suggest we do tonight, especially in your heels.” and she knows your right.

“we should come back some time and try them out,” she suggests, as she walks back to your side.

“maybe, but i’m sort of traumatized from the first time i did,” you laughed, and she gave you a puzzled look. you pulled out your phone and scrolled through your gallery, and handed her the device once you found it.

she grabbed your phone and immediately cringed at the image before her. she was looking at a photo of your thigh, all scraped up and bleeding. she studies it for a long time, and your cheeks start to flush because you realize a good chunk of your ass (in some cute panties at least) is showcased in the photo. she’s still looking at the photo mortified while you tell her about your drunken night out on the town when you and your friends decided to scooter around. you had mishandled a sharp turn and tumbled off, leading to a gnarly injury of road rash over a decent amount of your body.

“i have this crazy scar still there too, even though this happened like six months ago,” you told her.

“you’re going to have to show me that sometime, that’s crazy,” she says, glancing down at your legs. and as you step in front of her to navigate the busy walkway, you can feel her eyes still staring at your lower half, definitely checking out your ass to see if it compared to what was photographed.

the question of whether this was a date or not still remained as you two reached the theater. she insisted on not only paying for your tickets, but also for the popcorn, soda, and candy you both ordered too. was she just trying to be a good friend and pay you back, or did she want to treat you too?

the movie was proving to be a horrible choice. that was apparent maybe 20 minutes into the film. it was a late showing and despite it being the weekend, the theater wasn’t packed to the brim, just couples and small groups of people scattered evenly amongst the seats. except for the couple who decided to sit right in front of you two, despite having ample seating choices anywhere else. you wanted to feel bad for them, as you and tashi had been chatting and giggling and making fun of the acting in the movie the whole time, but they brought it upon themselves when they chose to sit directly in front of you two.

in the lull of silence between you two (that the people in front of you had been praying for), you decided rest your head on her shoulder. it was… a move, yes. that you overthought the whole time leading up to actually making it. you were terrified of creeping her out and making her uncomfortable by making a sudden move, but also extremely nervous that maybe she didn’t see this as a date at all, and just a hangout between two good friends, and that you making this physical connection with her was just you being an affectionate friend. but, she leaned her head on top of yours, and you melted a bit in your seat.

you sat like this for a while, until she went to readjust. as she pulled her head away, your hair locked into her hoop earring, pulling you along with her. you yelped and panicked, as she whispered apologies to you, and you to her. as you both desperately try to untangle your hair from her jewelry, you’re both laughing, a bit louder than the giggles from earlier in the showing. the couple in front of you finally turn your way, giving these terribly annoyed expressions, displaying some faux-intimidation hoping you two would quiet down. but that only sent you two spitting, attempting to hold back more laughter, unable to take them seriously.

as you both left the theater, you spotted the couple in the lobby talking to guest services, with stern looks on their faces as they demanded refunds on their tickets due to the excessive disturbance caused by you too. you’re both making fun of them, imitating their crazy faces as you exit the building. as you’re both laughing, tashi’s heel gets caught in the crease of the sidewalk, causing her to trip, but luckily you too were walking so cuddled up together you were able to catch her before she fell flat on her face.

“damn, i said you shouldn’t ride the scooter while wearing those shoes, i didn’t know they’d inhibit your walking as well,” you tease. she playfully slaps your shoulder and you two make the trek back to your car.

the city streets were quiet now, with only a few drunk college students hanging around outside the clubs they just got kicked out of, the only other sound on the streets were coming from the muffled music and cars whizzing by. the walk back was the most silent you too had been all night, but it was comfortable. you looked over at her and she was staring up at the stars, she admired how they sparkled as you admired her.

ok, even if this was a date, it was a disaster date. you had some quite horrible nights out with people, but nothing quite like what you experienced tonight. you could have been mortified by every mistake and accident. but tashi, despite being the epitome of grace and elegance in your book, made everything feel so comfortable and natural. if you weren’t crushing on her at the beginning of the night, you definitely were now. scratch that, this wasn’t a crush, you liked her. and you only hoped you’d get the chance to have a terrible night like this again with her.

once you reached your vehicle, you opened the door for her and motioned for her to get in, but she bumped it closed with her butt, leaning on your car. she grabbed you by the shoulders and pulled you closer to her. your hands comfortably landed on her hips, as she stared into your eyes. your heart was racing now, unable to believe the physical contact being made.

“i had such a fun time with you tonight,” she said, voice sultry and alluring. she pulled you into her and planted the softest, most supple and sweet kiss upon your lips. “this was the best date i’ve ever had.”

#serious and standoffish tashi is so sexy and all #but like i need some goofy tashi in my life #i know she is so fun to hang around when she isn’t being cold and brooding #tashi duncan is the light of my life!!!#would you believe me if i told you this is somewhat based on an actual date i had in high school #i wrote this at 4 am my apologies if it’s robotic and is littered with grammar mistakes and spelling errors #challengers fic #challengers fanfiction #challengers drabble #challengers imagine #tashi duncan headcannon #tashi duncan drabble #can you tell i love tashi duncan #tashi duncan #tashi duncan fanfiction #tashi duncan imagine #tashi duncan x reader #tashi duncan fic

32 notes · View notes

marvelstoriesepic · 2 months ago

Text

I Would Let the World Burn

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Non-superhero!Girlfriend!Reader

Summary: You attend a public Avengers event as Bucky’s girlfriend for the first time, but things spiral from nerves to chaos in a matter of seconds. And when you’re caught in the crossfire, Bucky unleashes.

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: violence; injury; PTSD elements; emotional distress; explosions; mass panic; allusions to death; protective!Bucky; nobody hurts his girl; seriously, he’s a little feral here

Author’s Note: I need protective Bucky all day and all night omg. Thank you so much, my love, for this absolutely amazing request!! I hope you'll enjoy ♡

2k Drabble Challenge Masterlist | Masterlist

The lights are everywhere.

Glinting off skyscraper windows and camera lenses, bouncing off metallic armor and too-white smiles.

The voices are everywhere. They swarm like bees - the press, the fans, the murmuring of people watching people.

The flash of the cameras is a strobe light stinging the back of your eyes. Reporters shout questions like bullets, flinging them past your ears and into your chest.

You feel your lungs shrinking in your ribcage as if they’ve decided you’ve seen enough. Felt enough. Been too much.

You’re not supposed to be here.

Not in this crowd, not in this dress, not in front of a hundred reporters and their glittering cameras. Not in the spotlight. Not on the arm of the Bucky Barnes.

You tug at the hem of your dress, fingers nervous, breath catching on a sigh you don’t release. Everyone here looks like they belong - as if they were born to walk red carpets and sip sparkling drinks under light that only blinds you. You feel like an ink smudge on a page of golden script.

It’s the first time you’re out in the public with him. The first time the press will capture who’s been speculated to be the former Winter Soldier’s girlfriend.

Bucky spent the night whispering reassurances into your skin, but it seems you should have listened to his words rather than the feeling of his plump lips all over your body.

Your hand is in his, and his thumb traces slow circles against you, metal fingers warm from your skin. His other hand rests lightly on your back. He hasn’t let go of you once.

You look up at him.

And he’s already looking at you.

He looks perfect, tailored, controlled, dangerous in a way that makes people stare too long and then look away even faster.

His hair is swept back tonight, save for one defiant strand that keeps falling across his brow. You keep watching that strand as if it’s a lifeline. Like if you can count how many times it falls, maybe your nerves will shut the hell up.

You know he feels how tense you are.

He frowns, and it’s so soft it nearly breaks your heart. That Bucky Barnes can frown like that. As if you just told him you were fading into dust.

“Hey,” Bucky coos, voice soft, voice low, the world dissolving for a second into nothing but him and you. “You okay, sweetheart?”

You try to nod. But you can’t lie to him. Words jam in your throat, caught somewhere between the beat of your heart and the reality of who he is and who you are not.

“I just-” you manage, but it’s a little shaky, you look around. “I feel out of place.”

Bucky tilts his head, brow still furrowed tightly. “Why?”

You open your mouth, then close it again. Try to explain how it feels to be ordinary in a sea of extraordinary. How it feels to be his, but not one of them. How terrifying it is to not have armor, or training, or anything more than love for a man who could kill with his pinky finger and kindness in his eyes just for you.

Bucky steps in close, crowding the noise out with the breadth of his body, his warmth, the familiarity of his scent - cedar and cold and something quietly him. His nose brushes yours, and it’s stupid how it grounds you.

“I’d rather be anywhere else,” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours. “I’d rather be nowhere. Just me and you. On a rooftop. Under the sheets. In the woods. I don’t care. Just not here. No noise. No cameras. No Stark in a tuxedo with a martini making bad decisions.”

You laugh, and it trembles out of you.

His smile is all softness and secret promises. His eyes are glinting. “But if I have to be here - then I'm glad it’s with you.”

The way he says it - quiet, low, as if it’s something he only ever told the wind - freezes everything inside you and sets it on fire all at once.

You blink, and the fear stutters. Collapses a little. Because it’s not you and the Avengers. It’s you and Bucky.

His lips graze your ear, then your temple, taking his time. He’s not bothered at all by the cameras flashing around you, capturing this moment, capturing the Winter Soldier going soft on his girlfriend.

You want to fall into him. You want to crawl into his chest and live there.

You let out a breath. It’s just beginning to feel okay. The world quiets just for a second.

Then it explodes.

There’s a metallic whine, a rumble like thunder swallowed by stone. The ground jerks beneath your feet as though it’s trying to shake you off. Screams tear through the air. A plume of smoke mushrooms in the sky as fire roars from the far end of the pavilion. People scatter. Glass shatters. Concrete buckles.

You don’t even have time to be shocked when Bucky already reacts.

He pushes you behind him so fast your teeth snap together. He doesn’t look back. His body shields yours, metal arm braced outward, flesh hand pressing you into his back, eyes scanning for threats.

Another explosion cracks through the sky, rips through the atmosphere like an angry god. And right after, the next explosion follows, punched through the sky like a fist made of fire.

You cough, eyes watering. There’s debris. Someone’s car door skitters across the ground like a dead insect. Tony’s suit whirs to life across the square. Natasha’s already sprinting. Sam is in the air.

Bucky is moving, dragging you behind a line of armored cars, his body is coiled with tension, his expression is deadly serious.

“Stay here!” he orders. It’s his soldier voice. Cold steel and no argument. He’s never used this voice on you before.

“Bucky-”

“Y/n, stay down,” he barks sharply, and you nearly flinch. But his tone is not filled with anger. It’s filled with fear. “Do not move until I come back for you.”

Your heart is pounding so hard you think it might break your ribs. Your head is shaking from side to side so fast, you can’t do anything. “No- Bucky-”

He cups your face, his hands stiff, his hold almost rough. He leans in. “Stay. Here,” he growls. “I can’t do this if I’m worried about you.”

His eyes tell you he already is. He will be. But he doesn’t tell you.

He waits for you to nod, although he doesn’t have the time. An almost aggressive kiss is pressed to your mouth, then to your forehead, and he is gone. Thrown into chaos, lost in the smoke and fury and shouts.

You barely register the space he leaves behind. The smoke moves like a creature through the crowd, making people disappear wholly. Somewhere nearby, there’s another explosion. The screams rise again, louder.

You crouch lower, press yourself against the cold steel of the car, try to breathe through the hammer in your chest. You want to do what he said. You try to do what he said.

But the panic moves toward you.

You don’t see where it starts. Just feel it. A shove. A push. Someone collides with your hiding place, someone is behind you and suddenly you’re on the ground. White-hot pain at your side. You fall hard enough to see stars. A sharp ache slices down your shoulder where debris must have caught you. Blood runs hot and slick beneath your dress.

Disoriented, you try to push up on trembling arms but they shake too much, and everything is spinning.

You don’t see the soldier until you turn your head and there’s a flash of metal in his hand. A knife.

“Y/n!”

It’s your name. It’s Bucky’s voice. It’s not a shout. It’s a roar. As if it was ripped out of his chest. As if he’s afraid of what he’ll find when he gets to you.

From fifty yards away, across smoke and bodies and fire, he sees the blood blooming on your sleeve. Sees your fingers twitch as you try to sit up. Sees the man with the knife coming too close.

And he is barreling through the smoke like something unholy, eyes wild, teeth clenched, hands balled to fists. The light behind his eyes just snaps.

He moves as though he’s been set free. No hesitation. No fear. No softness left in him. His face is stone, is fury, is death, is Winter Soldier. His arm gleams under the flames, a ghost of his past resurrected in defense of his present.

Bucky hits the guy with bone-crushing force, enough to send teeth skittering across pavement. A scream echoes once before it’s cut off. Another blow. Another. Fist to face. Elbow to jaw. A crunch that sounds like death and rage all rolled into one. His vibranium hand wraps around the man’s throat, and you swear you see something flash in his eyes - something ancient and broken - before Bucky picks him up and slams him against a crumbling wall. Again. And again.

It’s not strategy. It’s not mercy. It’s pure rage.

Somewhere, Steve yells his name like a warning.

Bucky doesn’t stop.

“Bucky-” you croak, blood warm down your arm. You try to sit up.

In an instant, he turns back to you, easing up on his brutal hold and the soldier crumples to the ground. Bucky’s whole body is tight with adrenaline, his breath sawing in and out as though he ran through a warzone - which he kind of did. For you. His eyes find yours and shatter.

He’s at your side in half a breath.

“Baby,” he whispers, hands on your face, on your shoulder, trembling now. “No, no, no. You weren’t supposed to be- I told you to stay-”

“I tried,” you defend weakly, dizzy. “I didn’t- I’m okay. I think. Just- grazed me, maybe-”

But he’s not hearing you. Not through the panic tearing holes in his composure. His hands flutter, unsure where to land without hurting you more. His voice drops, gravelly and hushed. “I shouldn’t have brought you here. Shit, I should’ve known-”

“Hey.” You grab his wrists. “Bucky.”

He stills, but he won’t meet your eyes. Your thumb brushes the inside of his wrist. “I’m okay.”

But he’s too far in his head.

He wraps you in his arms in seconds, cradles you as if you’re made of moonlight and scripture, as if you’re hallowed and half-broken and held together by threads only he can see.

His metal hand supports your back, curved protectively around your spine. His other hand is pressing your legs into his chest.

The darkening sky is still full of smoke and sirens.

Colors smear across the sky like blood in water. Reds and blues. Shouting and static. Flashing lights and fractured ground. Somewhere nearby, someone is screaming. Somewhere farther, something explodes.

But not for him anymore. He doesn’t seem to hear anything. Doesn’t seem to listen to anything other than your breathing, your pulse.

He walks fast, but carefully. Erratic feet cut through rubble, his jaw is locked so hard, his body so rigid, he surely is in pain from holding all that tension. His eyes are storm-dark and unblinking. No one stops him. Not Steve. Not Tony. Not even the medics who see the look on his face and take a cautious step back as though maybe the devil borrowed his bones tonight.

He never trusted any random medic to look you over. It has to be someone he knows.

You whisper his name.

Soft. Breathless. Almost an apology.

And he almost drops to his knees.

“I’ve got you,” he rasps, hoarse and urgent. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

You know you are. But he doesn’t.

Your fingers curl in the collar of his suit jacket. His real name - James - lives on your tongue but never quite makes it out because he’s holding you too close, and perhaps saying his name might crush him completely.

He smells like smoke and ash and steel and blood. Your temple is tucked against the curve of his neck, where his pulse thunders beneath the surface. He’s warm and shaking.

He bursts into the quinjet that brought you here like a man on fire, like a man trying to outpace grief, and he yells something sharp. He lays you down - reluctantly, tenderly, surrendering - onto a stretcher, but his hands don’t stop touching you.

He’s a storm with a purpose, and that purpose is you.

You, safe.

You, whole.

You, alive.

“Bucky,” you try to ease, blinking up at him, face pale under flickering emergency lights. “I told you, baby. It’s not that bad.” Your voice is soft. Slow.

��You were on the ground.” His voice cracks.

“I was on the ground for like two seconds-”

“You’re bleeding.”

“It stopped, baby. Okay? There’s no fresh blood.” You are close to whispering.

Bucky doesn’t seem eased, though. He sits beside you. Big body bent in half, elbows on knees, one trembling hand reaching to gently - so, so gently - brush your hair from your forehead.

And then he says it.

“I would’ve burned the whole goddamn city to get to you.” Quiet. Like a vow. Like a confession. Like faith. Like a truth, he doesn’t know how to carry anymore. “I would’ve torn down buildings with my bare hands if I didn’t see your breathing. I don’t care who saw. I don’t care what they think-” his voice breaks, his breaths spill all over his words. “I can’t be okay without you.”

You stare up at him. Your throat is tight, eyes are stinging. Because he doesn’t say things like that. Not often. Not out loud. You see it in his eyes every day, in the way he looks at you, in the way he treats you. But it’s something else entirely to hear him form those words and let his tongue roll them out.

He presses his forehead to yours. His breath ghosts over your lips. His eyes are closed. His hand cups the back of your head.

He’s holding you so close to him, as if he’s never intending to let go ever again.

#2k drabble challenge request #2k drabble challenge #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fic #avengers bucky #bucky x reader angst #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky imagine #mcu bucky barnes #bucky x reader fanfiction #bucky x reader #bucky barnes imagine

4K notes · View notes

graceful-ashes · 1 month ago

Text

Hen and Chimney casually mentioned that Eddie doesn't get flustered. Buck who's sat nearby on his phone doesn't even look up when he offhandedly says 'Yeah, he does.' Hen and Chim look at him dubiously.

'When?' Chim asks.

Buck looks up, now. 'Like all the time.'

'Name one time' Chim challenges.

'I'm with Chim on this one. I've never really seen Eddie flustered.'

Now Buck is the one looking dubious. 'Um, like when...uh...' His mind suddenly goes blank.

'See. You can't even give an example.' Chim gloats.

'Hey, no that's not fair. You put me on the spot.' Buck argues. 'He...like yesterday! He made me a coffee and said he'd already put sugar in it, yeah? And I said that's so sweet of you. And he blushed!'

'Are you sure he was blushing.' Hen asks clearly not buying it.

'Yeah, maybe he was just warm.' Chim counters.

'I'm telling you, he blushed!' Buck exclaims.

Hen and Chimney continue to look at him sceptically.

'Prove it.' Chimney challenges

'What?'

'Prove. It.' Chimney grins.

Buck just stares in disbelief for a moment before he caves. 'Alright, fine. I'll prove it. I'll get him flustered and you can see for yourself.'

This is how Buck ends up making a fool of himself later in the day when they're just finishing up on a call and Eddie is just frowning at him, confused, not at all effected by Bucks lame attempt to get him flustered.

Buck walks back towards Hen and Chimney in defeat. 'We're out on a call, he probably just has his guard up.' Buck defends.

'Uh huh.' is Hen's response to that. Chimney just snaps his gum, grinning.

Buck attempts a cheesy one liner when they're back at the firehouse. This earns him a part way baffled and part way amused chuckle from Eddie when he responds with 'Alright.' looking to Chim and Hen with an ~Are you seeing this?~ expression. Hen and Chim just hide their amusement behind their mugs.

Buck tries a few more times before giving up.

'Fine. You guys were right. Eddie is unflappable. I clearly don't know what I was talking about.'

'Hey, at least it was fun to watch you try.' Chimney teases. Hen smiles in amusement.

And that was that until much later on when Buck is cooking dinner and Eddie is helping. Buck comes up behind Eddie to reach for something over his shoulder and without thinking says 'Man, you smell good!' He turns his head just shy of pressing his nose to Eddie's neck. 'What is that?'

The spatula in Eddie's hand clatters to the floor and in his panic to attempt to catch it he elbows over the salt shaker. A deep red creeps up his neck and settles in his cheeks as he rights the salt shaker. He clears his throat. 'Uh, it's, uh ,the cologne you...um got me for my birthday last year.' Eddie attempts to compose himself and bends down to pick up the spatula.

'Really?' Buck asks surprised and oblivious to Eddie's flustered state leans in for another whiff. There's a THWACK sound and Eddie winces as pain blooms in his knee from where he knocked it against the counter.

Hen and Chimney are staring slack jawed from the couch.

'You were right.' Chimney admits, shell shocked.

'Huh?' Buck lifts his head to look at Chimney and Hen. Eddie also snapping his attention in their direction.

'He does get flustered. So very flustered.' Chim says in a daze. 'Not unflappable. Not unflappable at all...'

Eddie frowns in complete bafflement, his face still beet red. 'What?'

#I saw a post today about Eddie and Buck flirting in challenge and this suddenly came to me #It's not well written I had originally planned to write it as a much more vague Headcanon but it turned in to a fic so there's that 😂😅#Buddie #911 #Fic #Ficlet #Drabble #9-1-1 #buck x eddie #buck/eddie

1K notes · View notes

castiwls · 1 year ago

Text

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.”

2K notes · View notes

ervotica · 1 year ago

Note

i’m at work and this is so fucking nasty, but who fucking cares—

thinking about patrick being obsessed with you creaming on his cock. he gets so excited when you’re ovulating, he just spends an insane amount of time watching his fat cock glide in and out of your hole. you could be whining, shaking, begging him to fuck you harder but he ignores you because he’s so in awe of just how. fucking. pretty.! your pussy looks covered in cream, walls gripping onto his thick girth for dear life.

when i tell you i need this man. i fucking need him. NEOW.

warnings; smut, 18+, p in v sex, unprotected sex, sorta edging (pat is a tease)

you tell him you’re ovulating and just watch his expression light up with unbridled glee. he’s got you on your back in no time, ankles slung over his hips as he rocks into you, agonisingly slow, eyes trained on the way your hungry cunt sucks him back in the moment he pulls back.

you’re whining, grappling for purchase against his sweat slick chest and pushing your hips forward in hopes he’ll drive into you with more force, but all he does is suck his teeth and pin you back by means of a hand pressed to your lower stomach

“i know, i know,” he whispers, and god, he can’t even look at your face, so enamored with the creamy ring your cunt has made on the base of his cock, thick and white and squelching with every rut of his hips.

he pulls the fat tip out and you squeak, hole spasming as it mourns the loss of his thick length breaking your pussy open. it’s shining with slick, dribbling precum in fucking buckets, and a visceral red that has your insides churning with need.

“pat, please,” you cry, big crocodile tears gathering at your waterline.

“okay, baby,” he placates. “you need it? you need my cock that bad?”

you’re pretty sure you’d say anything at this point as long as it makes him put it back in - and he knows it, knows when you get fussy like this he can get you to agree to pretty much anything. so you nod, twining your fingers in the dark curls at his nape and tugging as he feeds his cock back into you, inch after torturous inch.

“attagirl,” he murmurs. “you ready to cream round me? hm?”

your mouth hangs agape when he ups his pace, finally.

it’s no time until you’re creaming round him, gushing and matting down the dark hair that dusts his thighs, shaking round him. until he starts from scratch, slowing the pace to watch your swollen little pussy split open for him all over again.

1K notes · View notes

slushfaerie · 6 months ago

Text

coming home to tashi, art, and patrick after a hard day.

note: fluff and feelings ft. tashi/art/patrick bc that’s what came from my brain on a random morning at 2am. a lil drabble for anyone who could use some gentleness

it's a bit like a game of human Tetris, all strategized around the foundation of you, seated on the couch and wrapped in a blanket.

a small smile appears on Tashi's face as she feels you release the sigh you've been holding in, her presence grounding as you rest your head on her shoulder.

Tashi revels in your trust in her — the trust that she knows exactly what you need and will give it to you. she's so soft despite the strength of the certainty she makes you feel; you practically cling to her. what you might not have realized yet was the comfort you offer her in return. how she settles right back into you.

Art sits on the plush rug at Tashi's feet, lounging with his back against the cushions of the couch. he practically melts as her manicured nails massage his scalp. Art's gentle fingers mindlessly caress the soft skin of her calves, their intimacy practiced, almost hypnotic. you can’t bring yourself to look away, admiration and even a little bit of doubt of your worthiness creeping into your mind as you-

“don't be shy, he likes it."

Tashi's voice rings out in the room, pulling you out of your trance.

Art shudders as you comply and tangle curious fingers of your own in the soft blond strands, tethering you both back to Earth - to each other in this moment.

as Art's left cheek turns to rest on Tashi's thigh, you feel your breath catch as you observe impossibly long lashes framing a gaze full of what could only be described as gentle adoration for her. for all of you.

Patrick's head lies on your stomach, his pillow of choice, long legs lazily draping over the left arm of the couch. you feel glimmers of peace as your arm wraps around him, palm coming to rest over the steady beat of his heart. your own heart races as he covers your hand with his. it’s so much bigger than yours.

things are easy with Patrick. always have been. a look down reveals the dimpling of his cheeks as he opens his mouth to say whatever crosses his mind first. familiar smile lines grace you with their presence as Patrick makes you all laugh, and it kind of feels like coming home.

they hide your phone (Patrick says you'll never find it. it's tucked into the waistband of his pants) and put on the sappy movie you've been begging them to watch, just to take your mind off of everything.

"just be here with us, baby."

they had a point. currently, the only thought in your head was how you needed them as close as possible. would it fix everything? probably not.

but maybe it could help.

#challengers #patrick zweig x reader #tashi duncan x reader #art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig #art donaldson #tashi duncan #challengers drabble #challengers writing #slush writes ౨ৎ⋆˚#work has me sad today so sharing this <3 mwah

134 notes · View notes

jesuistrestriste · 7 months ago

Text

nsfw (18+) cw : switch(sub leaning)!art donaldson, switch!fem!reader, art is a sensitive softie, dry humping, cumming in pants, mutual orgasms, fluff, porn with some plot

wc : 3.3 k

"Did you have fun?"

Art's words sound out softly against the background hum of his car's engine. You rub your hands together between your thighs, trying (and failing) to properly warm them up after being in an ice rink for over an hour. You look to him from the passenger seat and smile at his slightly eager-to-please tone, your cheeks burning from the cold. You should have worn a scarf.

"Yeah," you hum, "I did.. I haven't been ice skating in forever, it's been years.."

He laughs softly and nods, almost sheepishly, "yeah, same.."

It's the end of November, nearing the start of December, and tennis season is well over. Art still goes to the indoor courts pretty consistently, but he's decided to shift all of his focus to you now that he has the free time to spare.

The two of you met about a month and a half ago; he'd been rushing to meet Patrick at some restaurant near campus, and he had slammed right into you when he'd been looking down at his phone to text Pat back. Wide blue eyes met yours and his tender hands had come up instantly to steady you on your feet as he stuttered out at least five 'im so sorry's. Somewhere in between those apologies, he'd gotten ridiculously lost in your features. The way your lashes batted up at him, the soft smile on your lips, the way you chuckled at his idiotic carelessness.

And you had forgiven him pretty quickly, so that helped.

The whole thing was incredibly cliche; the both of you could see that now.

He'd gotten your number that day only because he had practically begged to get you a coffee sometime to make up for the whole ordeal. His wind-swept blonde curls and furrowed brow made him look just like a dumb little puppy, pleading with you to keep him and collar him, so it wasn't hard for you to rationalize giving him your digits then and there. He seemed genuinely sweet, unlike so many other guys at Stanford. You'd give it a shot.

Seven dates later, and you two were officially toeing the line between "what are we?" and "let's move in together". Art, in particular, was completely infatuated. He would always look at you like you were the only reason he was breathing and moving. It was a little bit insane how hard and fast he fell for you.

And so he resisted the urges.

The ones that would coil in his lower stomach when he held your hand, and the ones that would throb in his veins when he pressed his lips to yours. All of them. He'd move at your pace. He wasn't one to push.

You nod and smile, before you pull your clasped hands from your lap and attempt to blow hot air in between them. Art's car was taking longer to warm up than normal.

He watches you for a moment before he shakes his head and tugs his hands out of his coat pockets.

"I told you to bring gloves," he jokes lightly, reaching over to envelop your hands in his warm palms, his calloused fingers curling over yours.

Your face heats slightly, and you chuckle as you look down to his grasp on you. After a long beat, your eyes raise to look up to his again, and he swallows thickly before his left thumb strokes over one of your knuckles. The little touch, the gesture, is so him. Always wanting to provide and comfort, but never wanting to risk shaking the foundation.

He’s never made the first move, it was always you.

"Thanks," you breathe out, your gaze darting just momentarily down to his pink lips.

It's hard for you to ignore the way he quickly wets them while the tense silence hangs in the air.

Art's feeling a steady thrum of tightness in his chest. How is it that he still gets nervous around you? He's kissed you lots of times before now.

And yet, here he was: still shy, still tense, still nervous.

"No problem," he whispers, hearing his heartbeat pound in his ears, "is.. is this better..?"

A gentle nod from you is all he perceives before he feels the warmth of your lips press against his own, and the tension that’s been brewing all evening finally reaches its boiling point.

He melts into it instantly, into you; leaning in to breathe into your open mouth when you pull back for just a moment to tilt your head the other way. His hands leave their position around yours, and move to clutch your waist as he pivots in the driver's seat to face you more. He's never felt so on-edge in his entire life, the sensation of a familiar sort of hunger starting to ignite in his belly.

Your touch moves to the back of his head, pulling off his thick beanie and tossing it to the back of the vehicle as you kiss him with rapidly increasing passion. You feel his tongue slip out to lick over your bottom lip, and you slack your jaw to let him taste you better. He laves his soft tongue over yours, moaning into your mouth. You swallow that noise down, and the next one that comes right after; just like you always do.

He tastes faintly like sweet peppermint gum, which he had been anxiously chewing earlier on this particular date in order to self-soothe. You had just looked so pretty with the cold first nipping at your skin when he came to pick you up; it scrambled his brain on the spot.

"Ahh," he whines shakily as he feels you tug his head back, your left hand tenderly fisting his curls, "hngh.."

You hum and smirk before you lean in to lick over his neck. He has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop any more needy sounds from spilling out, and his hands pull at the sides of your coat. Shit, he can feel himself swelling in his jeans. For a second he thinks the zipper might pop.

Once your tongue finds his weak-spot, right below his ear, he's jerking forward in his seat and letting out a choked moan. His hips rise desperately, trying to seek out some sort of friction, but all he can feel is his cock rubbing against the inside of his briefs — not nearly enough to put out the fire in his gut.

"You okay?" you breathe out lowly between kisses to his pulse, "this okay?

He nods feverishly. A reflexive buck of his pelvis follows suit.

"Can we... I dont know-" you whisper against his skin, and Art thinks he might die. He's so keyed up right now, he'd do anything to get to feel you under all of the layers.

"Please."

And there it is. He couldn't even stop himself before the word was already out and drifting into the minimal space left in between your bodies. You pause your lips and pull back to look to his eyes.

A hand moves from his hair to his cool cheek. "I- I'm ready to do more... If you are too, I mean.."

He's nodding before you even finish; and his pupils dilate into big, black, iris-eclipsing saucers as his brows pinch up and he whispers back to you.

"I want to touch you," he trembles, "I really, really, really wanna touch you..."

You feel a sticky heat cling to the inside of your panties.

Ugh, he's always good at making you feel this way, even if in the past it was relatively unintentional. Sometimes he's been too innocent for his own good.

"Can I?" he whispers, breaking apart your thoughts, like the very syllables have been beaten out of the depths of his desires.

You let out soft sigh through parted lips, taking in the look on his face before you're crawling over the center console and into his lap. Your body settles comfortably over his thighs, and then your head bumps up against the roof of the car. You make a slight noise of surprise, ducking down with a soft giggle, and Art's right hand instinctively raises to protectively cup the spot on your head that had hit the interior. He looks up at you, letting out a breath of a laugh before lifting his brows to wordlessly ask if you're alright.

You kiss him again instead.

He gasps and swallows as he feels you further straddle him, and his hands move to start unzipping your puffer as he kisses you back. It's easier said than done when his hands are shaking, but he manages and then helps you shrug off the coat before it gets tossed into the oblivion to meet his hat from earlier.

A string of spit connects your mouth to his as you pull back, and he drinks in the sight of you above him; your thermal long-sleeve clinging to your skin so tight that he can see the outline of your bra underneath.

You lean in once more and kiss his jaw twice before letting your hands wander down to help him take off his own jacket. Once it's off and on the car floor with the other pieces of discarded clothing, your palms move up under his shirt to caress his bare skin. You feel his abdomen shudder as your nails graze the pale flesh there.

"Where do you want me?" he asks breathlessly, his eyes already glazed over with arousal and a wish to please you.

"Anywhere.."

".. Here..?"

His hands reach up to palm your breasts over your top, and he relishes in the soft moan it elicits from you. The sound of it rings out in his head and then he can't help but whimper as he leans into your body, his cheek to your jaw. Art's hands slither hastily under your shirt and then to your back before he fumbles with the clasp of your bra. You smirk softly and fondly as you feel him struggle, and you decide to maneuver your touch up to the back of his neck. Your fingertips tease the back of his hair. Teasing turns to stroking, and suddenly you're petting him to ease his nerves. If he had a tail, it'd definitely be wagging; you can feel him buzzing with eager energy all over.

Once the bra is popped open, he gently pulls back to look up to your eyes and then he's huskily whispering up at you, "can I take this off of you?"

"Yeah, take it off-"

He doesn't waste a second once he sees you raising your arms, nearly tearing the top in the process of getting it up and over your head. The bra comes off quick right after; he doesn't even notice that it's red (his favorite color). With how much is going through his head, it's a miracle he can even manage to undress you without losing it...

The moment that you're bare in front of him from the belly-button up, he sags back in his seat and takes you in. His lips parted in a gentle 'O'. "Fuck, fuck, fuck..." he moans lowly, his palms pressing to your lower stomach before they slide up and cover your soft tits, "you're so beautiful, oh my god.."

You moan when you feel him start to knead your breasts under his tender touch, nipples pebbling in response, and you roll your head back with pleasure.

"You're.. s-so sweet," you groan.

He squeezes your chest again before he leans in and presses a kiss to the right side, and a kiss to the left (it's only fair). He looks up to you through heavy lids before he surges forward with a renewed sense of passion and attaches his lips to one of your nipples.

"Shit-!" you gasp, and your hands tighten in his blonde locks, "ugh, don't stop, Art.. that feels nice.."

He moans around your squishy flesh and then his eyes flutter shut as he flicks his tongue over your bud and suckles. His mouth is warm and wet and perfect. His teeth brisk your sensitive skin.

A sharp moan slips from your lips in response, and then your hips jerk over his quickly. Just once; just enough. It's denim on denim, thick fabric dulling the sensations, but god- the pleasure bites perfectly at the both of you.

Art can barely process how good it feels before he's drooling around you over his tongue and rolling his own body up, trying to meet yours again. Wordlessly begging you to keep going.

Please, please, please do it again.

You breathe heavily and then rock down over his lap again, chasing the stream of electricity that it sends up your spine from your cunt. There's a mess of slick seeping from you as you push your clothed clit against Art's bulge, humping him like some sort of depraved teenager, but it's going to get you there.

Hell, it's getting you there quicker than you thought.

"Ooh, fuck," he hiccups out against your skin, releasing your breast from his mouth as his eyes fly open and then promptly roll back into his head, "ohh god, oh g-god.."

You rock a bit faster over him, a little moan escaping with each needy motion, and you move your hands to hold his shoulders for leverage. You feel him wrap his toned arms around your middle.

"Sh-Should I move too?" he gasps.

You can feel his thighs quivering.

If you really focus, you can even feel his dick throbbing in the confines of his pants.

"Yeah, ohh, yeah.. yeah, move, move.”

In an instant, Art's hips are grinding up to meet yours while his hands move urgently to hold your waist. He buries his face into your neck and tries to bounce you on his lap in his grasp. Up, down, up, down, over and over and over. Like he’s fucking you; buried deep inside your oozing pussy.

"you feel so good," he breathes out, hardly taking enough air into his lungs to get the words out, "this feels... f-feels so good.. ohhh-"

A few stuttered whines slip from your mouth and then you're working harder to press yourself further down over his erection, trying your best to relieve the scorching heat building in your core. More, more, more, you just need more.

"fuck me..!"

It tumbles from you unexpectedly, and the young man under you chokes on a guttural groan that's already halfway out. His nose crinkles with pleasure, and he swivels his hips harder to rub his boner against your crotch. He tries to speak, he really does, but all of the words get swept away on broken, strung-out whimpers that clog his throat.

You two are fogging up all four windows in his car, and anyone who's looking on from the outside will know exactly what's going on just from the shaking alone.

"Shit, you're gonna make me—“

Art cries out as he digs his heels down into the mat below the pedals; his toes curling as he registers the rapid feeling of boiling tension brewing in his balls, seeping out and pulling his limbs taut against yours. He's so close.

"—you're gonna- 'm gonna come—“

He tries to warn you, shuddering when he hears you squeal in response, and he has to force his eyes open and crane his neck back so that he can savor the sight of you falling apart on top of him when he tips over. A small part of him wishes he was being hugged by your tight, gummy walls; but this was perfect for now. It was what you wanted, so it was what he wanted too.

"Fuck, Art! I'm almost—!"

The sound of his name coming out of you like that sends him spiraling, his cock pulsing in his boxers with want.

"Me too, me too, oh god, pleasepleaseplease-"

You two are rutting and thrashing against each other like a couple of animals, breathing heavy and moaning as you both try to maintain eye contact in those split few seconds before everything fades away.

"Can I come?" he trembles, and you can see wetness glistening over his lash line, threatening to spill. He can’t say it now, but he's barely holding it all in.

For you, he'd wait.

Even if it felt impossible.

You speed up your humping, the seam of your jeans slotting perfectly against your swollen clit as the warmth of his cock sends you hurtling towards the finish line. You nod down at him, moving your hands from his shoulders to his flushed face, "yes, god, please come with me!"

It only takes three more snaps of his pelvis against yours before the both of you are gasping and crying out simultaneously as the hot coils burst loose; Art's back arching up from the seat as you curl over his chest and yelp. He's moaning, voice cracks and all, as his legs shudder under your seat over them. His hands fly up to hold you close, almost like he's scared you'll somehow slip away.

"fuckyesfuckyesfuckyes, please, god, i'm coming so hard..!”

He whimpers helpessly, feeling sticky heat bloom against his kicking length as each wave of his orgasm floods his system. It's wholly all-consuming, his vision whiting out around the edges before he has to squeeze his eyes shut and give up the sight of your face as you climax. He thinks he might legitimately pass out.

You're left wheezing over his lap, groaning pitifully as you feel a wave of slick and wetness drench your underwear while the height of your own peak ebbs, and you finish yourself off fully against his thigh as you come down. One of your hands reaches down to rub yourself over the soaked fabric, and you twitch before falling forward into his frame.

You both jolt a bit while the aftershocks keep you feeling pleasantly numb, but it's blissful.

It's completely and utterly blissful; it just feels right.

Him being so close to you, you being so close to him. Sharing something so deeply intimate and yet feeling so comfortable and so safe— it was like something clicked into place.

One of Art's hands reaches to your upper back, rubbing it comfortingly as he tries to steady his breathing.

".. Woah," he whispers in awe, fingertips tracing soothing patterns on your skin, "that was.. really.. haah.."

A little shiver passes through him and he then decides to cut himself off before he lets slip something dumb and ruins everything.

You gain some semblance of consciousness back and lift your head upright slowly, gazing down to him. His hair’s a mess, his blue eyes shining with low lids, and his bottom lip looks freshly bitten.

"That was really good," you chuckle breathily, finishing his sentiment for him. You were good at that- helping him feel whole.

He just nods and you get to watch his cheeks turn a deeper shade of red.

"I... I was thinking.." he starts, only to shy away from your gaze by looking down.

"Yeah..?"

You stroke his hair, pushing it back from his sweaty forehead.

"Well, I just, we've been, like, 'seeing each other' or whatever," his eyes reluctantly raise again to look up into yours, "and, I just thought that.. we might..."

"We might...?" you smile as you urge him to speak up for himself.

He can only muster a soft, shy chuckle at first.

"I just thought that we might be.. together.."

Your breathing catches, only for a moment, as the word—and the weight of it—sits heavily in the dense air being kept trapped in by the car's doors. Art swallows thickly.

"You wanna be together?" you whisper, barely audible.

He seems hesitant to answer that.

But he does anyway.

"Yeah, I do."

A soft smile creeps onto your face, and then you lean in to brush your lips against his. He closes his eyes in preparation for a kiss, but it doesn't quite come. They flutter back open, and his fingers twitch idly on your lower back.

Please say something, he thinks. He's holding his breath.

You murmur against his mouth, delicate and earnest, with a shrug almost gracing your shoulders as you speak to him. You want to let him know that he doesn't have to be scared to tell you what he wants.

That it's okay.

That you want the same thing.

"Okay.. then let's be 'together'.."

#🩷 - thirsts #fic #this was meant to be a drabble #but its basically a full fic whoops #im trying to get back into writing full pieces instead of short ones #also i never know exactly how to end fics like this lol #reader and art are just cheesy !#let them be cringe #art donaldson smut #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x you #art donaldson x female reader #challengers smut #challengers x reader

1K notes · View notes

amiseuvx · 2 months ago

Text

artashi rewarding their girl

"You did so well." Tashi's words fell on deaf ears almost as her fingers worked a second high from your already strung-out body.

A grin curled at her lips as you cried out, your back arching pushing your hips into her touch while her fingers rubbed slow circles into your swollen clit.

"That's it. Breathe, baby." Her fingers pulled away, pressing to your lips where they were granted immediate entry. A small whine left your lips at the taste of your own arousal, but ever obedient, your tongue wrapped around her fingers.

They were completly obsessed - understably so. Ever since Tashi had snatched you from the juniors ciricut you'd had win after win after win.

if that was due to her harsh training or the benefits that came along side you were unsure but the rewards outweighed any training she could put you through.

In your haze, you'd almost forgotten about the third person in the room, only remembering when large hands gently pried your legs apart. Art's thumb rubbing circles into the junction of your thigh.

"One more." He murmured, pulling your hips towards him as Tashi slipped behind you, her fingers still knuckle deep inside your mouth.

You whimpered around her fingers when his head bumped against your aching core, your eyes screwing shut as your stomach clentched at the overstimulation.

You'd take it.

You'd take anything for them.

"Good girl..." Art breathed as he pushed deep in one motion, your fingers scrambling for purchase against Tashi's arm.

"So perfect." He breathed, one hand reaching up to brush away the hair plastered to your skin, his own eyes fluttering as you clenched around him.

Tashi's fingers pulled back, her lips pulling into a grin at the breathy "ah, ah, ah" that left your mouth before her lips covered yours, her tongue claiming your mouth.

A sharp reminder that you belonged to them.

83 notes · View notes

artydonsgf · 1 year ago

Note

If you're alright with NSFW prompts, can you think of any kinks the three might have?

hi anon! thank you sm for your request<3 honestly, this account has challenged me so much because i’ve never really written nsfw stuff before. it’s really fun actually! enjoy nsfw headcanons with art, tashi, and patrick

Art Donaldson

- completely submissive in bed

- he likes when you’re rough with him

- hair pulling, biting, nails digging into his back

- needy as fuck, any time you start to slow down, he’s kissing you n begging you to keep going

- loves praise, he’ll do anything to get it

- quick to try new things if you want to

- total begger

- likes being overstimulated

- the idea of being completely overwhelmed by you is so hot to him

- really likes it when you blindfold him

- your touch becomes a million times more exciting when he has no idea where it’s going to come from

- he also likes it when he’s slightly restricted

- not too much because grabbing your hips when you’re on top of him is his favorite thing

- always on the bottom, you have total control

- king of whimpering and moaning and begging (a/n: i need him)

- soft breathy whispers telling you that you’re so beautiful, you make him feel so good, etc

- begs to touch you, he lowkey can’t believe that you’re his

- asks for consent in the most slutty desperate voice ever (it’s very hot)

- desperate, needy, and pathetic is the best way to describe him in bed

- great at aftercare, it’s him showering you in kisses thanking you for rocking his world

- seriously, he’s so gentle and sweet and he always makes you food after

Tashi Duncan

- likes watching you on your knees

- any position where you’re under her does it for her

- likes it when you suck her fingers

- loves when you’re loud

- likes to have sex in non-traditional places

- the car, the shower, downstairs, kitchen, etc

- doesn’t want to share you with anyone but sometimes she wonders what it would be like watching you fuck someone else

- high sex drive

- i mean come on, you’re with the most competitive n passionate woman in the world, did you think that wasn’t gonna translate into bed?

- doesn’t let up even in bed, she makes you work for every ounce of pleasure you want

- you’re spoiled by her but that’s only once you work to get there

- obsessed with giving you hickies

- loves it when you dress up in pretty lingerie

- she slowly undresses you, kissing you everywhere as she goes

- loves buying you lingerie too

- aftercare is the best with her

- you guys shower together and softly whisper sweet words to one another

- you change the sheets together and settle into fresh sheets feeling nice and clean

Patrick Zweig

- total exhibitionist

- likes the thrill of almost being caught so you often find yourself with his hands down your pants in dark corners of parties

- likes being marked

- if he’s not walking away with a million hickies did yall really fuck?

- likes to go without a condom

- obviously with your consent and making sure you’re on birth control

- likes to come on your face when you give him blow jobs

- seeing you covered in his cum makes him hard all over again

- total brat, he does everything possible to rile you up

- he’s also a complete tease, he loves making you beg for him to keep touching you

- loudddd

- neighbors three doors down can hear his moaning

- he’s not even exaggerating either, bro just really can’t help himself when you’re fucking him

- likes it when you dress up in cute outfits

- he barely sees it because he’s so eager to rip it off but the brief moment he does look, he loves it

- aftercare is always sweet but pretty short because sex with you is like his version of melatonin

- besides staying awake for the general clean up, he’s normally out like a light afterwards

- even with quickies, he’s always falling asleep

- pussy so good you put his ass to bed🙏🏾

hiiii idk if this is that good, i spent so long reworking it cause i hated it. butttt i dont wanna keep anyone waiting so i hope you enjoyed<3

#challengers #challengers fic #challengers imagine #challengers headcanon #challengers drabble #art donaldson #tashi duncan #patrick zweig #art donaldson x reader #tashi duncan x reader #patrick zweig x reader #artydonsgf

267 notes · View notes

musingsofheaven · 12 days ago

Text

THAT QUIET THING.

dilf!art donaldson x afab!reader

nsfw. age gap. vibrator use. voyeurism-adjacent. ♡

He doesn’t mean to fall asleep right after he finishes. Of course not. Not every time. He’s not that kind of asshole. But he still does it.

But it’s not because he’s not interested, because he is very much so, it’s also not because he doesn’t care about your pleasure! He’s just… just because he’s exhausted. Between flights, matches, press, rehab, sponsors, events, and other things come with being a player, and the fact that his body doesn’t bounce back as it used to. So he gives you what he can. And most nights, that’s a few minutes of messy make-out, one hand between your thighs, a low groan against your neck, and the quiet relief of coming deep inside you before his body gives out.

He tells you it’s good, because it is. You feel good. You do. He enjoys it. So much. He says that you’re perfect. That he needs you.

And maybe he thinks that’s enough.

But you’re younger than him. You don’t say it, but you are. You are young enough to keep your hands busy when he feels still from tennis and everything he did for the day. Young enough that your body keeps hot long after his breathing evens out beside you. Young enough to start hiding a vibrator in your pouch when you realize this is just how it’s going to be… a quick, quiet, and over before you get close.

It’s not bitterness. Not at first. You are not mad at him. You understand it. You are aware of his career and his age. It just needs. Quiet and embarrassing and yours alone. So when he gets comfortable in wonderland each night, breathing deep and heavy with sleep, you slip out of bed, cross the hotel carpet barefoot and tiptoeing so you won’t wake him, and lock yourself in the bathroom with your face pressed to your forearm and your hips grinding into the tile.

The toy is small. Quiet. Sleek. Something you can bite your lip around. Something that doesn’t need electricity or heavy batteries. Something that is not heavy. Something that won’t get confiscated at airports. Something he doesn’t need to know about.

You don’t use it every night. Just the ones where it’s worse. Not worse worse. Maybe when you're really there, something is missing. Clue: your orgasm. Where you can still feel the ache of being full without the part where you fall apart. Where your panties stick wet to your thighs after he’s already asleep.

Tonight, it’s like that.

He came fast. Kissed your neck. Fell asleep face down with one arm slung over your waist and his breath slow against your shoulder. You lay there long enough to count it. Long enough to feel the minutes tick by while your body stayed bothered, and feel the itch that needs to be scratched. Long enough to know he wasn’t waking up anytime soon. Where you can be comfortable and get up from the bed.

So you left. Just like you always do.

Face down on the bathroom floor. Phone screen dim. Porn on low volume. Toy between your thighs, buzzing soft against your clit. One hand is placed on your mouth to shut you up. One hand wrapped around the end of the toy. Breathing hard into your arm like that might make it quieter. And then-

You hear the floorboard creak. Then the knock. It’s not even a knock- it’s just the click of the handle turning. The door opening.

The bathroom light spills into the hall as he opens the door. You look up too slowly. You feel your cheeks burning up. You can’t even hide it.

Art stands there, in nothing but his boxers, hair mussed, brow furrowed. His hand was still wrapped around the neck of a water bottle he didn’t even get to drink.

His eyes drop to the floor. The phone is still playing. To the tiny pink vibe glistening between your legs. To you. To your body. How ridiculous it looked how you are positioned. Frozen. Red-faced. Dripping.

His mouth doesn’t move. Not at first. He’s just quiet, calculated. He’s always like that. You couldn’t even figure him out sometimes. He just exhales slowly through his nose and leans against the doorframe like his body’s figuring out how to hold back every single thing he’s thinking.

Then, without looking away: “That for me, or for someone else?”

Your breath catches. You don’t answer. You can’t. The toy’s still on, though. It’s still buzzing between your clit. You’re still shaking.

And he doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t ask again. Just watches you for another beat- eyes trailing from your bitten wrist to the slick mess under you- and then says, “You do this every time I fall asleep?”

You shake your head, fast. Too nervous. “No- I mean, not- Art, I didn’t- ”

“You finish like this?” he cuts in. Calm. Flat. Too calm. Curious. Not mad. Just want to hear from you. “Face down on the floor while I’m sleeping ten feet away?” It’s worse because his words have a bite, but it’s not even mean.

You shut your eyes. You want to disappear. You want him to touch you. You want him to leave. But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t shout. Doesn’t even blink.

He steps forward slowly and kneels beside you. His hand reaches down, curls around your wrist, and presses the toy deeper- not fast, not cruel, just firm. He moves it up and down slowly and precisely, just to earn your reaction.

“Show me,” he says, voice low. “How do you do it?”

You blink up at him, stunned. He’s hard. You can see it now, through the thin fabric of his boxers, the way he breathes like he’s not proud of it, like it hurts him to be turned on by this.

But he doesn’t stop. “Continue until you come for me,” he says, voice rough. “Or for the fucking screen. I don’t care which. I just want to see.”

Your stomach flips. You nod once. And you grind down again- slow, shaky, face hot, mouth open as you start to unravel. You do it like the way you always do it. The difference this time is you are wetter because he’s here.

He holds the toy there, tight, watching every twitch, every sound, every breath you tried to bury for weeks.

And he's still staring when you finally fall apart- shaking, soaked, tears caught in your lashes. Still hard. Still mad. Still calm.

“Next time,” he says, letting go, “you don’t sneak around to get off.”

You nod again. “You wake me up and tell me about it.”

And then, after a long pause, one more: “You’re mine. That means I finish you, too.”

𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝

507 notes · View notes