Challengers Smut - Blog Posts

𝝑𝝔 Art Donaldson x fem!reader

cw: smut, cheating, tiny small very little mention of aftercare, rushed, minors dni!

an: have yet to watch challengers so bear w me until i do watch it..seeing it thursday..this is kind of bad since i don’t really have experience writing smut but mike faist is so back and also so fine. i had to!! also kind of rushed

Art consumed every inch of your mind. how could he not? he was perfect. everything about him was. the way every glance made you nervous, and every hit he made with his racket captivated you. consumed.

but it was wrong. so wrong. he was married to Tashi Duncan. you felt jealous whenever you saw them together at dinner parties or whenever he would call her after your practice sessions with him ended. yet you often felt guilty for the feelings you had for him.

but the moment he began taking off your top, guilt and jealousy faded, completely washing over you.

he was a rough kisser— which you didn’t mind. your kiss was nasty, rough, and oddly sweet. his tongue was in your mouth and you swear you can hear a moan coming from him.

he stopped to take his white polo off, and you helped.

he wasted no time getting the rest of your clothes off after that.

Art pulls his shorts off before turning around to face you,

“don’t have any condoms,”

“pill.” you respond. he nods, spitting into his hand and using it to stroke his dick.

“fuck.” he grunts out. you’re on the edge of the bed, on your knees and looking up at him.

“turn around,” he orders. you nod.

you’re grabbed by the hips and moved back towards him. he has his hands on your ass as he runs the tip of his dick over your slit a few times.

“Art, please.” you whisper. he begins fucking into you slowly. moans fill the room, and it’s not only you.

you turn around and he’s a mess—you can tell. he’s moaning curses out, and when you look back at him he can’t help himself. your tight cunt and pretty face is all he needs to cum, he thinks.

“‘m gonna cum,” he says almost frantically.

“Art, baby, hold it. F’me?” you say in between quick breaths.

he’s looking at you now, and he nods.

“Art,”

he nods again.

“Not gonna cum,” he whispers.

“No, no, no. Here,” you say pulling yourself off of him. a small breathless whimpers comes out from him.

grabbing his arm, you coax him to the bed. once he’s sitting you climb into his lap, sinking onto his cock.

“holy fuck, m’gonna cum. i can’t.” he says shaking his head, you haven’t even started.

his face is red, and he has his arms wrapped around you. he shakes his head again.

“fuck..fuck..fuck. can i cum? please, please..” he burrows his head into the crook of your neck.

your fingers intertwine with his hair, pulling it slightly. it’s all too much for the poor boy, and he’s jerks once before you feel him finish inside you.

he takes a few deep breathes.

you’re not done yet, you keep fucking him. teary eyed he throws his head back. you wrap your hands around his neck. he kisses you. he’s moaning the sluttiest moans in your mouth you’ve ever heard. the pace picks up and soon you’re coming all over his cock. you lift yourself off while the cum drips out of you, landing all over his thighs.

he rubs a hand in his hair and leans back onto the bed.

“shower?” you ask quietly.

Art sits up and nods.

“yeah, that’d be nice.” he smiles.

Hi! Would u mind doing NSFW J for art? Congratulationssss :)

of course i don’t mind!!! thank you so much for sending in a request lovely lovely anon (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

j is for jack off | art donaldson

warnings: explicit sexual content, masturbation (male), edging, pillow humping, praise kink (self-praise), voyeuristic habits, whimpering, slightly messy cleanup, soft post-nut feelings, lonely undertones, emotionally charged self-touch, ambiguous sexuality

tags: @destinedtobegigi, @pittsick, @bambiangels, @talsorchard, @angeldoll1e, @itachisank, @tennisprincess, @lexiiscorect, @esotericgirlwannabe, @lovefaist, @won-every-lottery, @zionna

Art’s dorm bed creaks like it’s remembering something every time he moves. Too narrow, too warm, too full of his own goddamn thoughts. He keeps the overhead light off even when the sun starts going down—lets the room stay honey-dim, just amber lamplight slanting in from the hallway under the door. It’s not about shame. Not really. He just needs quiet. Control. A kind of ritual.

His jeans are already halfway down his thighs when he shuffles under the covers, his skin still hot from the cheap dorm shower. Hair damp at the temples, T-shirt clinging to his back, everything about him soft and flushed from the heat. He moves slow. Always slow. This isn’t a race—never is. Art likes to feel it. Draw it out. Drag himself toward the edge and back again until he’s panting into his pillow, hips twitching, legs stiff and useless from holding tension too long.

Tonight, he’s hard before he even touches himself.

There’s a folded towel under the top pillow already—he keeps one ready like it’s part of the process. His cock slips between the two stacked pillows, one on top of the other, and he shudders the second his hips dip forward. His thighs tense. His hands grip the mattress tight on either side of his hips, knuckles pale. He rocks forward gently, just enough to feel friction. It’s hot. Just warm enough. The cotton cover a little scratchy against the head of his cock, but he likes it. Likes that it feels like something. Likes the resistance.

“Fffuck…” he breathes into the mattress, voice shaky. His lips are pressed to the sheets, parted, drooling a little. “Shit, that’s… fuck, that’s good—”

It starts slow, like it always does. A grind, a little rut, just testing. His cock drags along the inside seam of the pillowcase, catching on the soft patch of fabric near the tag. He breathes in through his nose, moans out through his mouth. Quiet at first. Then breathier. Higher. Little whines pushing up into the dark as his hips start to stutter.

“Hnnn, fuckfuckfuck, mmngh—”

He doesn’t even need porn, not always. But sometimes—when he really needs it—he drags out the old laptop, the one with the weird fan whirring in the corner. Balances it on the floor, tilted up just enough to see two men fucking slow, messy, close. Intimate. He watches with his cheek squished into the pillow, eyes heavy-lidded, mouth slack. His hips keep moving. Thrusting soft and rhythmic like he’s syncing up with the guys onscreen. When one of them moans, Art moans with him. Like he’s there.

But most nights, it’s just his voice he listens to.

“Good boy,” he whispers. A breathless mantra. “Good boy, good boy, good—fuck—good boy, yeah…”

His voice lifts when he says it, like he’s outside himself, trying to believe it. Trying to be it. High and hushed and wrecked, the kind of sound you only make when you’re alone. He says it more when his cock starts to twitch, when his thighs start to cramp and his breath catches at the top of his chest.

“You’re doing so good, Artie. So good, fff—fuck, such a good boy, keep going, don’t stop, don’t stop—”

Sometimes he teases himself. Stroking slow, stopping before the edge, pulling back to pant into the sheets until the tight coil in his gut eases again. Then he starts over. He’ll do it four, even five times before he lets himself tip over. He doesn’t care how long it takes. Time disappears when he’s like this. He can spend an hour grinding between pillows, thighs slick with sweat, pillowcase dark with precum. He gets wet when he’s worked up—soaked head, sticky shaft, every movement a slick glide that makes his toes curl.

When he gets close, his body tenses like a wire drawn taut. Breath quick and high and fluttering. His hips lose rhythm. He ruts up once, twice, three times hard into the pillows, groaning like he’s splitting apart. The last stroke always knocks something loose—his voice goes thin and pitchy, whispering a broken, “G’nna come, gonna—gonna fuckin’—fuuuck—” just as he spills.

His orgasm hits with a full-body jerk, thighs clamping tight, heels digging into the mattress. He whines, loud, into the pillow. Something between a gasp and a sob. All air and relief. The kind of sound no one’s ever supposed to hear.

He goes still after. Just for a minute. Face mashed into the towel, arms loose, cock still twitching between his thighs. His breath puffs out slow and uneven. He doesn’t move, not yet. Lets it all cool around him. He sleeps best after coming like that. Real sleep. Deep and quiet. Sometimes he doesn’t even bother getting up—just slides the pillows away, rolls onto his side, and sighs. A soft, dreamy sound. His face pressed to the mattress, fingers curled loosely under his chin like a kid.

When he does clean up, it’s gentle. Quiet. He pads to the sink with the towel bundled against his bare stomach, rinses it out under warm water, never cold. Folds it again like he’s making a hospital corner. He wipes himself down with a wet washcloth, tip still sensitive, hips twitching if he’s too quick. He doesn’t rush. Even now. Still a little dazed, cheeks pink, lips wet from mouthing into the sheets.

He never talks after. Doesn’t need to. Just hums under his breath as he sinks back into the bed. Bare chest, boxer briefs pulled back on. Sheets cool now. Arms tucked around a pillow. He sleeps like he’s been held—soft and small and vulnerable. Face buried, breath even, lashes dark against his cheek.

No dreams. Just calm.

Art Donaldson doesn’t fuck himself to forget. He does it to feel good. To feel loved, even if it’s just his voice saying it.

Even if no one hears him whisper, “good boy” into the dark.

referring to your alphabet challenge, can you please write nsfw o for patrick zweig? thank u angel

i like the way u think anon 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ of course i can

PATRICK ZWEIG | NSFW ALPHABET | O = ORAL (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

pairing: patrick zweig x fem!reader / vulva-bodied!reader

warnings: explicit sexual content, morning sex, cunnilingus, excessive oral fixation (receiving), beard soaked in slick, hair pulling, sleep/groggy sex (fully consensual), post-orgasm intimacy, sensory detail overload, language

tags: @destinedtobegigi, @pittsick, @bambiangels, @idyllicdaydreams, @angeldoll1e, @itachisank, @tennisprincess, @lexiiscorect, @esotericgirlwannabe, @lovefaist

Mornings with Patrick Zweig aren’t quiet, but they’re soft. Golden. His version of peace doesn’t come in silence—it comes in warmth. In his arm draped heavy around your waist. In the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back, his breath a slow rhythm warming the back of your neck. He sleeps shirtless, always has, skin sun-warmed and smooth except for the scatter of hair across his chest. And when he wakes, it’s never all at once.

He stirs like he’s reluctant to leave the dream. Groggy. Gravel-voiced. His thigh slides between yours, and his palm finds your stomach, pulling you in closer with a low, sleepy groan like gravity’s trying to keep you pressed together. He doesn’t speak for a while. Just breathes you in, his nose buried behind your ear, lips brushing the curve of your shoulder.

And then—eventually—there’s that question, mumbled like a secret between lovers. “Can I do somethin’, baby? Please?”

He doesn’t wait for full sentences—he doesn’t need them. The nod of your head, the soft arch of your back, the slow parting of your thighs in sleepy consent is all the answer he needs. And Patrick moves like he’s done this a hundred times before. Because he has. And still? It never loses its magic for him.

He turns you onto your back like you’re precious cargo. Reverent. His eyes are still heavy with sleep, lashes thick, that mussed mess of dark curls sticking in every direction. His beard’s grown in more lately—he doesn’t always shave on off-days—and it’s scratchy-soft against your inner thighs by the time he gets there, mouth trailing slow, open kisses down your body like every inch of you’s worth his full attention.

And you are. To him, you always are.

Your fingers find his hair like it’s second nature, threading through the sleep-warmed curls, and when you tug—just a little, testing, grounding yourself—he groans low and deep, his mouth still pressed to the soft skin of your stomach.

Then he laughs. Quiet, warm, wrecked. “Christ.” It’s whispered more to himself than to you, a gravel-rich hum before he noses between your thighs. “This pussy’s made for me.”

It doesn’t sound like a line. It’s not smug. It’s reverent. Like he’s reminding himself. And then? No more words. Patrick doesn’t waste time talking once he’s down there—he’d rather use his mouth for something far more important.

He kisses the crease of your thigh first. Then the other. His hands are steady on your hips, palms big and grounding as he pushes your legs further apart. It’s instinct now—how he adjusts his body, spreads your thighs, settles in like this is his natural habitat. Like he was born for this. For you.

And then his tongue is on you. Hot. Wet. Precise.

He licks you like he’s been thinking about it since he fell asleep the night before, dragging his tongue through your folds with slow, lazy strokes—up, then down, then up again, finishing with a soft suck at your clit that makes your hips jerk. His beard’s already wet. Already slick with your taste, his spit mixing with your slick in a mess he doesn’t even try to control. He’s patient, but he’s ravenous. Every moan you make feeds him. And every time your thighs twitch around his head, his grip tightens.

He’s not performing. There’s no flourish in his technique. He’s just… eating. Committed. Focused. Every movement of his mouth is deliberate. Every circle of his tongue against your clit is measured with expert pressure. He licks into you slow, groaning when you clench, like he’s memorizing the way you taste, the way you feel, the way you come undone. He keeps his mouth open enough to breathe but sealed around you enough to hum low and filthy into your cunt, sending vibrations right through you.

And when you yank hard on his curls—fingers tangled, knuckles white—he groans loud. That sound rips through him and into you, and he doesn’t pull away. He laughs again, right into your pussy, breathless and feral, like he’s high off the way you taste.

Then it’s all tongue again. No teasing. Just commitment.

Patrick stays quiet except for the sounds—sloppy licks, wet groans, the occasional soft inhale when he pulls just far enough back to breathe, only to bury himself deeper again. His mouth never strays. He doesn’t look away. His hazel eyes are locked on you, glassy and adoring, blinking slow as he keeps going and going until you’re trembling around him, thighs over his shoulders, your slick dripping down his beard and onto the sheets beneath him.

He doesn’t let up when you cum. Not even close.

He drinks you in. Laps at your orgasm like he’s pulling it out of you with every pass of his tongue. He flattens his mouth and swirls his tongue around your clit, groaning with satisfaction when you gasp, your back arching off the bed. It’s so much. It’s everything. And he holds you through it—mouth locked to your core, hands tight on your hips as your body jerks, your thighs clamping around his head in frantic aftershocks.

He doesn’t come up until you physically tug him, breathless and overstimulated, your fingers tugging at his curls as a signal that you need to breathe.

When he finally surfaces, he looks ruined. Hair wild. Beard soaked. Lips swollen. Eyes glassy with pure fucking devotion. He drags his mouth up your stomach, kissing a path back to your lips, and when he kisses you—sloppy, hot, deep—you taste yourself all over his mouth. His tongue slides against yours and he hums like he’s giving you a gift.

“You taste so fucking good,” he murmurs against your lips, kissing you again, more tender this time. “Could do that every day. Every goddamn day.”

And you notice it then—his boxers are soaked through. There’s a dark patch right over his cock, and he hasn’t touched himself once. He came just from eating you out. Just from your pleasure. From being buried between your thighs, surrounded by your sounds, your heat, your slick.

He doesn’t mention it. Just grins against your neck and then, without a word, he gets up.

Patrick’s already halfway to the kitchen before you sit up, dazed, watching him tug on a pair of sweatpants, not bothering with a shirt. His back’s broad, muscles shifting as he grinds the coffee beans, slices fruit, cracks eggs into a pan. You can still feel the aftershocks of your orgasm in your legs while he sets your coffee down on the nightstand with his usual crooked smile.

“You need somethin’ sweet after that,” he says, brushing a kiss to your hair, the scent of you still lingering on his lips. “Didn’t wanna interrupt your morning. Just figured I’d help you start it right.”

You’re still too wrecked to answer. And he loves that.

Because for Patrick, oral isn’t just foreplay. It’s a ritual. A privilege. And you? You’re the only person he wants to worship like that, every goddamn day.

congrats on 100 elowyn!!!!! you so deserve it, gonna request M from nsfw alphabet and would I be possible do this artrick? if not just patrick is fine🙂‍↕️

tysm mel 🥹💝 i’ll whip up some artrick for ya

ARTRICK | NSFW ALPHABET | M = MOTIVATION (what turns them on, gets them going)

tags: @destinedtobegigi, @pittsick, @bambiangels, @idyllicdaydreams, @angeldoll1e, @itachisank, @tennisprincess, @lexiiscorect, @esotericgirlwannabe, @sohighitscool

ART DONALDSON

Art makes sex feel like the warm weight of a promise.

He doesn’t come at you like he’s trying to conquer anything—he approaches like he’s been handed a gift, and he’s terrified of holding it wrong. He’s soft, but not because he’s unsure; it’s because he cares that much.

What turns him on isn’t power, isn’t control, isn’t anything you’d expect—it’s praise. Honest, needy praise. The moment you gasp out a, “Fuck, feels so good, Art,” his whole demeanor shifts, and suddenly he’s hungry in a way that makes your knees weak. He needs to know he’s doing it right, doing it better, making you feel so good that you can’t even remember how to speak. Tell him he’s perfect and he’ll suck a bruise into your thigh, low and trembling and worshipful, like he’s trying to prove he deserves it.

He gives head like it’s his religion, face buried between your legs, licking and moaning like he’s starved, every sound you make pulling him deeper into the rhythm of it, and when you tangle your fingers in his hair and sob his name, he groans, hips grinding against the mattress because getting you off does more for him than anything else possibly could.

He can be rough when you want it—can pin your hands and fuck you slow and deep with his teeth gritted and his praises pouring out—but even then, it’s all in service of you. You tell him he’s the best you’ve ever had and he’ll fall apart in your hands. You tell him you need him and he’ll shake.

And after, he’ll be nothing but warmth—gentle, whisper-quiet, kissing your forehead and wrapping you in his arms, asking if you’re okay even though he’s already gotten you a towel and a bottle of water and is halfway through tucking you in. “You sure I didn’t overdo it?” he’ll ask with that little furrow between his brows, even though your legs are still trembling and your voice is wrecked from screaming his name. All he needs is to hear you say it again. That he did good. That he’s enough. That he’s yours.

⸻

PATRICK ZWEIG

Patrick’s turn-ons are chaos dressed in charm. He flirts with tension the way most people flirt with eye contact, fingers always testing the limits, grin just crooked enough to get away with it. He gets off on being too much—too fast, too close, too smug, too hot, too fucking good at making you react. Bratty as hell, all lip and swagger, Patrick will push you until you snap because what really makes him throb is watching you lose your patience and take what’s yours.

His body is made to be fucked. He knows it, he flaunts it, he dares you to admit it. Slap his ass, spit on his mouth, call him a whore—he’ll moan into it with a bite to his grin, pupils blown wide, head tilted like he’s about to laugh and cry all at once. “You gonna call me names, baby?” he’ll pant, sucking your fingers into his mouth like candy, drooling around your knuckles with that filthy, reverent look in his eyes.

He loves being used, degraded, pinned down and told he’s nothing but a hole to fuck, but he wants it from someone who sees him. Who gets him. That’s where the angel glows through—he’s the devil who blushes when you call him beautiful mid-thrust, the brat who melts when you pull him in and tell him he’s yours.

He switches when it hits right, when the mood turns—one second he’s mouthing off, the next he’s flipping you over, fucking you deep with slow, brutal thrusts and hissing in your ear, “You gonna be good for me now?”—and whether he’s topping or bottoming, he wants it dirty. Wants it wet, messy, obscene. His mouth stays busy—on you, around you, in you—and when he finally comes, it’s loud, full-body, shameless.

Aftercare’s minimal but honest. He won’t do the whole ritual but he’ll hold you, curled against your chest, biting back a sleepy smile while pretending he’s not touched. “You’re obsessed with me,” he’ll mumble, already half-asleep with your fingers in his hair, and when you kiss his forehead he doesn’t flinch—just sighs like he’s never been safer in his life.

FUCK AROUND & FIND OUT

it’s one of those sultry afternoons where everything feels gross and itchy, and you end up tangled with tashi, your bestfriend since childhood, all teeth, sweat, and filthy fucking tension. nothing sweet about it—just spit, slick, and the kind of grind that makes you see stars.

pairing: tashi duncan x fem!reader | tashi duncan x vulva-bodied!reader

content warnings: tribadism (f/f grinding), clothed & partially-clothed dry humping, mutual degradation kink, frantic sex, messy/wet/cumplay undertones, hair pulling, nipple play, rough kissing. MDNI

It was one of those heat-choked afternoons that felt like time had given up and just started melting — thick air, sweat-sticky skin, and every single second dragging its balls through molasses. The fan did jack shit but push warm air around like a lazy drunk blowing breath in your face. Everything felt gross and slow and itchy. The TV was on in the corner, spitting out those trashy early-2000s music videos like background radiation — half-naked pop stars grinding on sand or leather couches, and every now and then, one of you would hum along without even realizing it, like the heat had cooked your brains just enough to make you forget you had control over your own fucking mouth.

Tashi was sprawled out like a bored brat in a porno scene, half on her stomach, flipping through some beat-up Cosmo that probably still smelled like her older sister’s weed stash and old perfume. Her legs kicked aimlessly in the air, watermelon gum popping every couple of minutes like a goddamn metronome of irritation. That sound was enough to make you twitch — snap, snap, snap — loud in the stifling quiet. You were slouched somewhere in the disaster zone of pillows and tangled sheets that had once been a bed, sweat plastering your tank top to your back, your sleep shorts clinging to your ass like a second skin. Hair stuck to your neck. Every breath felt like licking the inside of a fucking sauna.

Tashi groaned like a dying animal, flinging the magazine away like it had tried to assault her. “Fuck me, I’m gonna drop dead from boredom.”

You didn’t even look up from your phone. “You say that every ten minutes.”

“Because it’s true every ten minutes, dumbass.” Another snap of gum, and then a pillow flying straight into your lap. “Seriously, what the fuck are we even doing?”

You barely shrugged. “Existing.”

She made this dramatic gagging noise like you’d just told her to meditate. “Jesus. You’re so fucking boring sometimes, babe, I swear to God.”

“Eat shit,” you muttered, glancing up just in time to see that feral glint in her eye — the one that always meant trouble was two seconds away and smiling like the devil.

Her toes jabbed you. Sharp. Annoying. On purpose.

You flinched, swatting at her leg. “The fuck? Cut it out.”

She grinned like a little demon and did it again — harder.

“Tashi, I’m not playing.”

“Oh, yeah?” she chirped, all fake-innocent sass. “What’re you gonna do, cry about it?”

You grabbed a pillow and launched it straight into her smug face, grinning like a jackal. The sound it made was perfect — a soft thwump followed by her surprised bark of laughter. She caught it, lunged, and suddenly you were both in it — flailing and grabbing and cackling like feral children on a sugar high, the sheets twisting around your legs as you wrestled like you were six again, except you weren’t. Not even close.

Your hand got in her hair. Her elbow jammed into your ribs. She shrieked with laughter as she pinched your side and you squealed like she’d stabbed you. It wasn’t cute. It was messy, breathless, chaotic. Your tank tops had ridden up, shorts twisting tight between your thighs. Every movement left you more tangled, more flushed, more wound up with that tense, vibrating heat that had fuck-all to do with the weather.

Then suddenly she had your wrist, twisted and pinned, her body hovering above yours with this wicked glint in her eye. Her thighs locked around your waist, warm, damp, and snug, her skin slick with sweat where it pressed against yours. She was breathing hard, but grinning — eyes alight with something mean and teasing and way too fucking aware.

“Say it,” she panted, cocking her head, smirk wide and full of teeth. “Say ‘uncle’.”

“In your fucking dreams,” you spat, writhing beneath her.

She leaned down, her face inches from yours, breath hot and sweet with gum. “You’re so full of shit.”

And then she rocked her hips — just a little. Just enough to make your breath catch. Enough to feel it.

The shift was instant — one slow grind of her cunt against your stomach and the mood flipped like a switchblade. That smug little roll of her hips wasn’t playful anymore. It was calculated. Slow. Wet. Her pussy already leaking through those paper-thin shorts, leaving a warm smear across your skin that made your whole body twitch. She felt it too — the way your stomach clenched, the way your breath hitched like someone had yanked the air out of your lungs. Her mouth curled like a knife.

“Hey,” she breathed, all low and dirty, like a secret she’d been waiting to unwrap. “You fucking like that.”

You should’ve told her to fuck off. You should’ve shoved her away. But you didn’t. Couldn’t. Not when her cunt was grinding down like that — slow and heavy, soaked enough to make your stomach shine where she dragged over you. The shorts didn’t hide shit. Just spread the mess.

You bucked up without meaning to, chasing it, and her laugh was this hot, breathless little sound that hit straight in your gut.

“Oh, baby,” she cooed, teeth flashing. “You’re practically begging already.”

“Bite me,” you hissed, but your voice was shaking. Soft. Pathetic.

She leaned in, her lips brushing yours — not kissing, just hovering, teasing. “Yeah? Want me to? Want me to fucking mark you up like a little bitch in heat?”

You didn’t get a chance to answer. Her mouth crashed into yours, all spit and teeth and desperation. No build-up. No hesitation. She kissed like she wanted to break something — her lips hot and wet, her tongue shoving past your teeth like she owned the place. The gum was still in her mouth, mashed between you, sweet and sticky and obscene. You tasted it. Felt it smear across your lips.

“Nnghhh…” you groaned into her mouth, and she swallowed the sound like it was dessert.

Her hips never stopped. That sloppy, filthy grind got rougher, wetter, her clit grinding hard against your abdomen. Every move dragged more slick from her cunt, the wet spot on her shorts blooming bigger by the second, smearing a mess across your stomach. Your own hips started moving, rutting up, instinctive and shameless, trying to match the rhythm, to chase that sweet, aching drag of friction.

Tashi broke the kiss with a laugh, gasping against your lips. “Look at you. Fucking humping me like a dog. You that needy, huh?”

You grabbed her ass and yanked her down harder. “Aaahhh!—” she gasped — this high, surprised little sound that made your head spin.

“You’ve got some fucking nerve,” you spat, fingers digging into the curve of her ass hard enough to bruise. “You’re dripping all over me and I’m needy?”

She laughed again, mean and breathless, her hips slamming down harder. “Fuck, yeah, you are. You feel that? Feel how wet I am for you? Could drown you in it.”

You bit her. Right on the shoulder. Not hard enough to break skin, but enough to make her flinch and groan — “Nnghhh—” loud and hot, her whole body jerking.

“Jesus fuck,” she gasped, clenching her thighs tighter around your waist. “Do that again and I’ll cum on your stomach right now.”

“Oh, yeah?” you growled, flipping her off-balance, grabbing her hips and grinding her against you even harder. “You’d fucking like that, wouldn’t you? Getting off like a desperate slut while I’m stuck here covered in your mess.”

“Ahh—fuck—” she moaned, no words — just a sound, raw and ruined, as she ground down like her life depended on it.

“Take your top off,” you snapped, already tugging at the hem of hers, dragging it up past her tits. She didn’t argue — just peeled it off, tits bouncing free, her bra shoved down useless under them. You reached up, grabbed a handful, thumbing over her nipple until it hardened like a bullet.

“Fuck, that’s it,” she whimpered, her head falling back, hips grinding faster, more frantic now. “Touch me — fuck — I’m so close already — this is so fucking good—”

You pinched her nipple hard.

She choked on a moan, her whole body trembling.

“You’re such a fucking wreck,” you muttered, licking up the sweat between her tits, your teeth scraping the swell of one. “Little cunt-hungry bitch just needed something to grind on, huh?”

She nodded, wild-eyed, hair stuck to her face, her whole body flushed and dripping. “Yeah,” she panted. “Yeah — fuck, I needed it so bad — I’m so fucking close — please — just a little more—”

You grabbed her shorts, yanked them halfway down her thighs, not even bothering to take them off. Her pussy was soaked — the crotch dark, slick, practically painted in cum. You pushed your own down just enough, then grabbed her by the hips and slammed her cunt down on yours.

The sound it made was obscene — wet, smacking, like slapping raw meat. Both of you moaned at the contact — “Ahhh—” “Nnghhh—” — bare, slick heat against bare, slick heat, the friction perfect and raw and fucking criminal.

“Holy fuck,” she gasped, fingers digging into your shoulders. “Oh my god, oh my fucking god—”

“You like that?” you hissed, rocking up hard into her, the wet drag of clit on clit making your head spin. “Fucking take it. Rub that dirty cunt on mine. Want you to make a mess on me.”

She lost it. Grinding hard, fast, desperate now. Hips slamming down in messy, sloppy circles. Her moans were loud and high and completely unhinged. You were both soaked — thighs slick, the whole bed probably stained with the mess of it.

“God — fuck — I’m cumming — I’m gonna fucking—” she shrieked, her body locking up.

You grabbed her ass and slammed her down one last time — and that was it. She came with a strangled, breathless cry, legs shaking, her cunt grinding hard against yours like she couldn’t stop even if she wanted to. Her whole body twitching, riding it out, milking every fucking second of it.

You weren’t far behind. The second her clit dragged over yours just right, you were gone — hips jerking, mouth open in a silent moan — “Aaahhh—” — the orgasm ripping through you hard and fast and fucking mean. Your thighs clenched, your back arched, and you came with a strangled, gasping growl, grinding your cunt up into hers like you could melt together.

The room spun. You weren’t even sure if you were breathing.

When it finally eased, you collapsed into the sweat-soaked sheets, limbs tangled, your cunt still twitching, still leaking, still pressed up against hers in a hot, messy smear.

Tashi was giggling — this breathless, fucked-out laugh that shook her whole body.

“Holy shit,” she panted, resting her forehead on your chest. “We’re fucking disgusting.”

You grinned, chest heaving, sweat dripping from your brow. “Yeah. And you love it.”

She didn’t deny it. Didn’t need to.

Everyone talks about homeless Patrick Zweig this. Hobosexual Patrick that. We get it. We all love seeing him messy. He sleeps in his car, and fucks girls to crash in their hotels. But what about you?

What if you’re the one without a place to sleep? What if you’re the one sleeping in your car?

Yeah. You.

What if you’re the one with a toothbrush in your old and nasty bag and a phone charger that only works if you bend it sideways? You’re the one in the parking lot of a 24-hour gym, while your phone is balancing on your thigh, your legs curled tight under you. The car smells like fast food and laundry. You’ve opened your socials especially, you have been refreshing Tinder all night… for no particular reason, no plan. Just bored. Just wet. Just trying to find a bed.

Then it buzzes.

“You’ve got a Match. Start chatting now!”

Then…

Match.

Patrick, 32.

Bio: Tennis & tits. Not always in that order. (My serve isn’t the only thing that’s hard to return.) Above average serve. Above average dick. Forehands, backhands, and you on your hands.

You blink. Then your eyebrow raised. Then laugh out loud.

His pics are… something else. Shirtless. Holding a racket, flexing his arm. That one mirror selfie with a towel slung so low it should be illegal. Looks like a typical fuck boy who looks for hookups often.

You type:

Is your bio real or just bait?

He replies fast.

Come find out. 9 pm.

And he sent his pin location to the conversation as if he’s not even scared or has any survival instinct in his body if you’re a killer or not. But you’re already changing your top in the front seat like it’s instinct.

Because honestly?

You’d use the last drop of your gas for air-conditioning, a mattress, and maybe…maybe… a cock if it comes free with room service.

Why not? You want somewhere to lie down where your legs don’t touch the steering wheel. And is Patrick Zweig going to rail you just to get it?

Fine.

He totally can. While you fall asleep face-down in his hotel pillows.

By 8:55, you’re walking through the doors of the hotel like you can afford the rooms. Patrick’s in the corner of the bar, sprawled on the stool like it’s own his place. He’s got a drink in hand, half a smirk, and legs spread just wide enough to make your thighs twitch.

“Didn’t think you’d show,” he says as you slide into the seat beside him.

“Didn’t think you’d be hot and real,” you tease him, chuckling.

He orders for you. Something expensive. Not that you care because he looks like he’s someone who will pay just to fuck someone. He doesn’t ask what you like, just says, “She’ll take whatever will get her tongue loose and sloppy.”

Your pussy clenches like it’s trained when he said that.

You just smirked at him before you sipped slowly at the drink that slid in front of you. He watches the whole time… mouth, throat, legs. He doesn’t even pretend that he’s not looking. He just leans in and murmurs, “You keep looking at my mouth like you want it somewhere.”

You shrug, tipsy already because he ordered something strong for you. “Maybe I’m just bored.”

Patrick laughs like that’s the right answer like it’s his favorite thing you’ve said all night. He knocks back the rest of his drink, throws a few bills on the bar without even looking at the total, and then lowers his face close to your ear.

“Come upstairs,” he says, low like he only wants you to hear it. It doesn’t feel pushy. Not needy and not begging for it. It’s just a simple, filthy suggestion, like you’ve already said yes with your body (the way you already squirming and shivering by just his hot breath touching your skin) and he’s letting your mouth part.

You don’t answer. Just stand, grab your things (basically just a small purse with 10 dollars in it, your phone, and lipstick), and follow him through the lobby like you’re supposed to.

The elevator ride is quiet, and loaded. You feel his eyes on your legs, your ass, your reflection in the walls of the elevator. He doesn’t touch you. Doesn’t even move. Just watches you from the corner of the mirrored wall with too charming smirk that translates to something he knows exactly how this going to end. He looks like the kind of guy who jerks off to cheap porn. But you kind of respect it. Because you’re… well… you’re here to fuck him just to feel a soft mattress again, right?

Room 804.

He swipes the key card, nudges the door open with one foot, and steps back to let you in first. What a gentleman.

You walk into a king bed, with blackout curtains, and floor-to-ceiling windows and it’s clean in an expensive way. Air-conditioned hums, all white linen, and slick carpet, too perfect to fuck in. Which means he’s going to.

Patrick drops the key card on the desk, then turns and looks at you like he’s deciding where to start. Or maybe trying to break the ice.

“You want another drink?” he asks. His voice is deep now, raspier than it was at the bar. You don’t know if it’s the whiskey or you.

You nod. He pours. You take it. Neither of you sit.

He watches you drink. Doesn’t blink, doesn’t move, not really he just leans back against the dresser with one hip, one brow lifted like he’s sizing you up, or deciding what position he’s going to do to you.

“You always come back to hotel rooms with strangers?” he asks, voice low, dragging with that lazy accent. Dry. But feels like a tease, not an insult.

You swallow. “Only the hot ones.”

That gets a smirk out of him. Oh, that cocky smile. He tips his glass back, watching you over the rim. You’re close now. Too close. One step between his knees and your back would hit the wall.

“I’m not gonna lie,” he murmurs, setting the glass down with a quiet clink. “I don’t actually care what your answer was.”

Then he reaches for your waist.

It’s not gentle. He drags you in like you just did something bad and he's angry about it and he spins you fast, presses your front body against the edge of the dresser before you can make a sound. Your glass nearly topples, your palms slap the wood, and you exhale so hard it’s almost a gasp.

“You don’t seem like the type to waste time,” he says, breath skating your ear.

And you don’t answer, you don't need to because your brain’s already gone mushy.

His fingers are at your waistband a second later, moving fast now, impatient, like he’s had enough of the games and already knows you’ll take whatever he gives. Well, he's not wrong in that field. Not really. He drags your jeans down so roughly the button nearly pops, muttering something like fuck under his breath while he strips them past your thighs, past your knees, like he’s got a plane to catch and all he wants is to be inside you first.

“You wore this for me?” he scoffs, looking down at your underwear, that’s barely there, probably slightly damp already. “Or you always like this?”

It shouldn’t turn you on. It shouldn’t. But your whole body pulses with heat at the way he says it. Mocking. Mean. Like he knows something about you that you won’t admit out loud. Like he’s reading the part of you that gets off on being disposable. Or being just a hook-up. No feelings. Just casual things.

He grabs your chin in one hand, rough and possessive, tilting your face up until you’re looking at him. His pupils are blown, jaw flexing like he’s trying to hold something in. But he’s not gentle. You are not a glass. You are not special. Not when you just meet on Tinder and you don’t even have a proper conversation besides him telling you to find out if he has a big dick.

Never pretended to be nice just to get something.

“You’re lucky I’m letting you in my room,” he mutters, eyes scanning your face like he’s daring you to object. “You walk in here soaked through your jeans, looking like you’ll beg for it.”

You gasp. His hand is between your legs now. Just pressing, not even moving. Holding you there like he wants to feel the twitch of every heartbeat through your cunt. Just cupping it whole in his big hand.

“…and you think I’m gonna play nice?”

You can’t speak. You can even barely breathe.

And when he finally moves behind you, grabbing your hips, walking you, and pushing you more inside like he owns you already? Your legs go weak on instinct. All wobbly. Knees not working.

And that’s the moment it hits you: you’re not here because he’s hot. You’re here because he doesn’t care why you are here. He doesn’t even have to dine or wine you.

You raise an eyebrow but don’t move right away. Just stand there with your drink already in half and your lip curled like you’re weighing whether this man is worth using your gas for.

Then, slowly, you start walking… left the glass on a flat surface and walk past him, into the dim room, tossing your purse to the floor and crawling onto the mattress like you own it. You stretch out on your back instead of your knees, legs crossed at the ankle, one arm behind your head like you’re posing for a photo shoot he wasn’t invited to.

“Bit dramatic, don’t you think?” you murmur, glancing toward him with a smile. Taunting him. “You always bark orders before your dick’s even out?”

He hums. “You always talk this much before opening your legs?”

“I just like to check if the bait you put in the app is legit.” Your fingers drag slowly down your front, teasing the waistband of your panties. “Tennis pro and… ‘Above average dick’ was it?” You even use your hands to quote the above-average dick from his bio just to piss his shit off.

That makes him pause.

Then he starts walking.

“No pressure,” you add lightly, nails scraping the lace. “I’m sure it’s hard to live up to all that… size.”

He’s at the edge of the bed now, shirtless, belt undone, looking at you like you just took his trophy away from a tennis match. His cock is already thick behind the zipper, straining. He palms himself once. Not for pleasure… just to show you. Proving a point, maybe. But it ends up being shown to you when he pulls his pants down.

“Tell you what,” he stated, grabbing your ankles and yanking you flat to the bed, dragging your body toward him, your calves getting out of the bed frame. “Why don’t you keep talking shit… while I stuff you so deep you forget how words work.”

You laugh, head tipped back, knees falling apart as he shoves your panties down. “Wow,” you say breathlessly, “that’s… motivational”

And then he leans in, hand fisted around the base of his cock, and smacks it against your cunt. Once, twice, wet and heavy. And he’s lining it up.

Your hips twitch with every hit, cunt slick and practically clapping back at him. The squelch is obscene. You’re hot from the chest up, grinning like a girl with nothing to lose. Honestly? You don’t have anything to lose at this point. Gain, maybe. A bed, that’s it.

“You always find pussy this easy between matches?” you ask, eyes half-lidded, baiting him. “Or just desperate ones who’ll take you raw off an app?”

He snorts but doesn’t answer. Just tilts his head, lazily, like he’s deciding whether to answer or fuck you for that. You see the way his grip tightens around himself, cock jumping against your folds.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” you whisper, just enough to mock him.

He leans in suddenly, bracing one hand beside your head. The other fists your hair back until your neck arches sharp.

“You talk a lot for someone this wet,” he mutters, and slides in without warning, deep and thick, and you are thanking yourself because you got so wet easily and it doesn’t hurt much anymore. Your body… or cunt, rather, is not used to his size.

You choke. Actually choke. Hands scrabble against his stomach, nails dragging down as your back bows off the mattress. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t ease in. He just bottoms out like he owns the goddamn part he’s sliding between your legs.

“F-fuck,” you whimper.

He’s not even fully inside before he starts rocking slowly, maybe he’s nice enough to see that you want him to let you settle with his size first. It is just enough motion to feel every inch split you, drag you wide, make you clench and seize around him like a fist.

“Should’ve led with your pussy instead of your mouth,” he growls in your ear. “Would’ve skipped the drink.”

Then he flips you.

He grabs you by the hips and turns you over like you weigh nothing, like you’re just another girl (technically you are) in his bed who talked too much before taking cock. Your cheek hits the mattress, breath punched from your lungs as his palm splays across your back, holding you down. But he started caressing your back while his other hand remained on your hips as if he didn’t want you to move at all.

“Ass up,” he mutters. “Don’t make me say it again.”

So bossy. So annoying. But you’re already moving, legs shaky as you scramble to your knees, arching without thinking, without pride. On all fours. He drags the length of his cock through your slick again at a mocking, slow pace like he’s checking to see if you’re still wet after the way he talked to you. Spoiler? You are. Worse. Sloppier.

“Jesus,” he huffs. “You’re soaking. What, the drink made you this needy?”

You want to snap something back. You really do. But the second you open your mouth, he’s pushing in so deep it feels like it hits the back of your throat. Your fingers claw at the sheets, a choked gasp catching in your throat as he bottoms out.

And then he just stays there. Settling inside you.

Deep. Full. Letting you feel it. Letting your pussy flutter and grip around him while he doesn’t move, doesn’t say a word, just leans over, like he’s waiting for you to admit how desperate you already are.

He doesn’t thrust. Not yet. Just stays there, buried to the hilt, cock twitching like he’s enjoying the way your cunt tightens in waves around him. You’re breathing through your mouth, face crushed against the sheets, knees barely holding like your whole body’s trying to compute what the hell just happened.

His fingers drag up your spine, light and lazy before he fists your hair and pulls you back enough to whisper it.

“Say it.”

Say what? You think. Your jaw clenches. You won’t. You won’t. You are not that desperate, right?

But the weight of him has you trembling. He has your thighs quaking like you’re trying to hold back something dangerous. And when he finally rolls his hips, just once, slow, like he’s testing you, it knocks the wind out of your lungs.

“Say it,” he breathes again, mouth in your ear now. “Say you needed this.”

You whimper. Hips jolted back against him without permission. You hate him. You hate him.

You love how it feels.

He laughs under his breath like he already knows. Like you’ve already told him without a word. His other hand slides to your throat, not tight, just enough pressure to make your whole body hum. To feel something.

Then he pulls out halfway. What an asshole. He lets you feel the drag, the loss before slamming back in with one deep, punishing thrust that makes your mouth fall open in a helpless, broken moan.

“Jesus,” he groans, voice ragged now. “You’re fucking made for it, aren’t you?”

You’re not… you’re not. It just happens you are using your body to your benefit to get something you want. Bed. Soft pillows. Nice room. Nice sleep.

His hands grip your hips like he owns them. Like you’re not just some girl he picked up after two drinks and suggestive ‘come with me upstairs’ bullshit. He holds you there, steady like he’s making sure you feel every inch of him, the weight, the stretch, the pain of being filled without warning. No rocking, no thrusting, just the full, filled, unrelenting pressure of his cock deep inside you while your body tries to adjust around it.

You breathe hard against the mattress, hips twitching under his grip. He doesn’t let you move. Not really.

“You’re not saying anything,” he mutters, low and cocky, hovering over your back. Chest almost touching your back. “What, cat got your tongue? Thought you had a lot to say about my profile.”

You grit your teeth. “I’m just… getting used to being split in half, thanks.”

He laughs. Like there’s something funny. Fuck there isn’t. He probably thinks you’re pathetic. “Yeah?” Then he pulls out slowly, dragging against everything inside you, and slams back in with a snap that knocks the air from your lungs.

“Let me help you get used to it.”

Now he moves. Rough and fast, no rhythm at first, sloppy like a virgin, and the sound of skin and breath and the slick, filthy wet of it all. He rocks you forward on each thrust, forcing your knees wider, his hands digging in harder, using your hips like handlebars. Like a grip for leverage, not care. You swear he gets deeper every time or he hits the spot with each thrust.

Your fingers claw the sheets. Your thighs shake.

“Fucking made for it,” he growls again, more to himself this time, like he can’t believe how tight you are, how wet, how much you’re already falling apart for him.

You feel it in your teeth when he slams in again. Feel it in the base of your skull, where your forehead’s mashed to the sheets, in the pathetic little gasps you keep swallowing against the mattress. He’s panting harder now, muttering filth under his breath, swearing, low and ragged, things like “fuckin’ tight,” and “so wet for a stranger,” like it’s a compliment and a threat rolled into one.

He doesn’t stop moving. Don’t pause to let you catch your breath. Just tightens his grip around your hips, bruising, and pulls you back to meet every thrust like he wants to hollow you out.

“Should see yourself,” he grits. “Fucking dripping. Like your cunt knew I was coming.”

You let out a cracked little moan. The kind you can’t swallow. The kind that sounds like yes even if you don’t say it. One hand fists the sheets. The other’s somewhere under you, numb, forgotten. Your whole body’s gone slack, pliant, just flesh he can fuck into whatever shape he wants.

Then he slows.

Not soft. He stays deep, grinding it in like he wants you to feel every inch, every twitch, every fucking vein. You choke. Your thighs shake.

“Bet you say this to all the girls,” you manage to whisper, voice hoarse, cheek smeared with drool and heat. Just to get back to his words earlier. “Any city. Any hotel.”

He huffs a breath right over your ear, dragging his cock out just enough to make you clench down, desperate.

“Nah,” he murmurs, hips pulling back.

Then he drives it back in, all at once, deep, and just how you like it. “Just the ones who take cock like you do.”

You cry out, unfiltered. And he laughs, he’s even pleased, and breathless, still buried in the base like he’s never pulling out again.

You’re half-gone already, mouth slack, eyes wet, fingers curled into the sheets like you’re trying to claw your way out of your own body. He’s still there, deep, solid, anchored, driving into you like he knows your pussy better than you do like he’s trying to teach it something it won’t forget.

And it listens. It flutters. It chokes on him.

“Jesus,” he pants.

You want to talk back. You want to laugh, or moan, or say something smart and cruel, but your brain is slowing down or maybe you are just cockdrunk, all heat and pressure and stretch. The slap of skin fills the room, louder now, rougher, wetter. Clap, clap, clap. He’s close. You can feel it, his rhythm faltering, hips stuttering, breath catching like his body’s trying to warn you.

And then you hear it.

That groan.

That deep, helpless, fucked-out sound that says he’s about to come and there’s not a damn thing he can do about it.

Your forehead pressed to the mattress, thighs trembling like you’re about to snap in half.

“You gonna pull out?” you pant, blinking tears off your lashes as he rails into you.

He doesn’t answer.

Don’t slow down.

Just grunts under his breath and grabs your hips tighter, dragging you back into each thrust like your body belongs to him now, like the question was rhetorical. Like the answer’s already happening.

You know it. Feel it.

The stutter in his rhythm. The tense, desperate twitch of his cock inside you. The soft, breathless noise he makes when he presses all the way in and stays there.

Then…

Spilling. Flooding. His cum forces its way deeper as your body clenches around him.

You freeze. Your mouth opens. “Patrick,”

“F-fuck sorry,” he breathes, forehead resting against your spine, totally unbothered. Too calm. You can hear the smug in it. Hear the fucking smirk. You can tell he’s not really sorry.

“Patrick.”

He shifts his weight, presses deeper, somehow still half-hard, and exhales like he just did something inconvenient, like dropping a towel on the floor.

“Felt too good. Couldn’t help it.”

Bullshit. He didn’t even try.

You start to push back against him, thrusting your ass to him, but he pins you there and drags a palm down your spine like it’s no big deal. This is just what happens now.

“You’ll be fine,” he adds, quieter. Still inside you. Still leaking.

“Don’t act like you didn’t like it,” he adds, cock heavy and wet against your ass, half-hard and twitching like he could go again if you even looked at him the right way.

You hum, cheek pressed to his pillow, lashes sticky and stuck together. “It was… good,” you murmur, voice a little shy, a little too quiet. You fiddle with the comforter between your fingers, then, almost too fast to clock, you add, “You’ll, um. Cover Plan B, right?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just lets out a breath through his nose, like he’s smiling but trying not to give you the satisfaction.

He snorts, rolls onto his back, and throws one arm behind his head like he’s getting comfortable. Not leaving. Not tossing your clothes. Not panicking about what you’re gonna do next.

You roll over too, slower, adjusting your leg like it’s not leaking from the cum he just spilled inside of you, like gravity isn’t already doing its humiliating thing. “It’s late,” you murmur. Yawn a little, all fake innocence. “Didn’t even realize it was almost three.”

Patrick doesn’t say anything at first. Just stares up at the ceiling like he’s waiting for you to say what you actually mean. But you won’t. Not out loud. You just stretch, and mumble, “Kinda dangerous out. You know. Sketchy.”

Still, he doesn’t bite. Just blinks at the ceiling. So you sigh, dramatic and helpless, like the thought hadn’t occurred to you until now.

“Would it be so dumb to drive somewhere now, huh? Like… might as well just crash and go in the morning or whatever…”

Patrick turns his head. Raises a brow, he’s just holding himself not laughing. “Are you asking if you can stay?”

You blink back at him. Too shy to ask if you can crash. “What? No. I’m just saying it’s late.”

He huffs. Then throws the comforter over both of you and mutters, “Jesus. Just go to sleep.”

This isn’t what he does. He doesn’t do this. In normal times like this? It’s clothes back on before the sweat dries, some fake ass words like “You get home safe, okay?” while he’s already unlocking the front door, not looking back. Or he leaves, whatever’s easier. He doesn’t let them stay. Doesn’t let them sink into his sheets like they belong there.

But he hasn’t moved. And you’re still here. All warm skin and soft whining and sticky thighs and little sighs like you won something. Like you planned this.

He clears his throat. Stares at the ceiling. “And, no cuddling or whatever,” he says, like it’s an important reminder that he needs to say it before it happens.

You don’t answer. Just shift a little closer, calf brushing his under the comforter. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t pull away.

No cuddling. No promises. No ride home.

Guess the app works.

thinking about overstimulating art 🤑

ME ALWAYS...

i just know he gets overstimulated so quick :( it only takes a couple flicks of your wrist on his cock for him to start trying to wiggle away, he's a freak though, so he never really tries his hardest.. he starts drooling precum.. slowly bubbling out of his cherry red tip.. and if you focus hard enough you can see the twin veins on either side of his dick pulsing with need.. if you speed up your hand art will try to grab it and slow you down, but his body is twitching so much that he can't keep a good grip on you :( he has such pretty cries you almost stop.. but you push on, speeding up until art absolutely breaks.. cumming all over his own chest, some even reaching his face.. and art is happy to suck the rest off your fingers <3

ngh jerking off art between your legs.. his back leaning up against your chest.. forcing his legs to stay open with your own.. he's so insecure..aybe he lost a match, or he's just having a bad day, but he comes to you for comfort as always, and there's no better way to shut his brain off than wrapping your fingers around his cock.. whispering things like, "you're so good baby.. you're all good like this.." and "oh artie.. you're so smart 'n so talented.." and he creams so fast, shuddering and arching his back trying to get away and lean into the overwhelming feeling at the same time.. and he squirts out so much.. some of it even reaching his own shoulders, and he immediately falls into a peaceful sleep, happily skin to skin with you <3

i love the idea of sucking on arts nipples, like we’re ridding him and just lean down and start sucking as he’s whinny and bucking into us UGHHH

NGHHH you get it...

i feel like arts nipples are SOOO sensitive, but he didn't even know about it until he met you.. like a lot of things, you got him to explore what he liked and wasn't brave enough to try it on his own <3

his head is already in the clouds when you're riding him, the weight of you on his lap feeling both overstimulating and comforting at the same time.. at first you slowly lean down and lick at them softly, causing arts hips to buck up into you, and he almost screams when you scrape your teeth against his nipples, shivering and shaking which both pleasure and pain, a mix that quickly causes him to squirt his cum deep into you.. <3

you pull off of him gently with one last swipe at his nipples and art completely melts into the sheets below him <3

you showed up after work, im bathin' your body/touch you in places only i know

art wipes the sweat from his brow, satisfied with temperature currently in the sauna. he flexes his shoulders, muscles relaxing with the heat. art quickly feels himself getting a little too warm, wrapping his towel loosely around his waist and stepping out of the sauna with a sigh of relief. art runs his fingers through his hair, pulling the wet strands away from his face. he sits down on the bench next to his locker mustering his energy to go shower and rinse the sweat off of his body. he flinches slightly when a hand is placed on his shoulder, relaxing when he looks up and sees your face. "how'd you get in here?" art questions you, not mad that you're here. "just pretended i was going to the women's locker.. you told me you would be the only one here today so i thought id come surprise you.." you lean down, kissing the heated skin of his shoulder, admiring the freckles that are scattered over his back. art stands up, dropping his towel on the ground and holding out his hand to you, "come shower with me?"

you're wet and you're warm just like our bathwater/can we make love before you go?

you get up and follow him into the shower room, smiling up at him as he turns the faucet on, shivering at the first droplets of cold water before it turns warm. art rests his head on your shoulder, running his hands down your wet skin. "glad you're here.." he mumbles into your skin, slowly starting to rock his hips into the small of your back. "please can i.." art snakes his arm towards your stomach, moving it down to cup your cunt, nimble fingers trying to swirl around your clit. you moan, tipping your head back onto his shoulder behind you. nodding, you help art guide himself into you, whining at the stretch as art grips your hips so tight he may leave bruises in the shape of his hands. he shudders when he presses himself fully into you, balls smushed up against you in a way that makes you moan and back your hips into him. "you're so fuckin' warm.." he groans into you, obviously exhausted after a long day of practice but you can tell this is what he needs, moving his hips quickly and sharply into you. art moves your body for you, almost using you for his own pleasure, but you don't mind, happy to just have him holding you in the warm rinse of the shower.

the way you say my name makes me feel like im that -/but im still unemployed

"art.." you moan his name, almost feeling like it's being punched out of you with the strength of his thrusts, knowing that if someone even peeked into the locker room they would be able to hear what was going on. you try to hold onto him as best you can, with both of you sliding against each other with the water making your skin slick. art gathers himself enough that he's able to rub at your cit again, and the feeling of his fingers, his cock, his body lean and strong behind you and the water.. it's almost too much. it’s so much stimulation that you find yourself unable to stop your orgasm from crashing over the edge and art is right behind you, pumping ropes of his cum into you and fucking it back in even after he’s got nothing left to give. he doesn’t stop until there’s a creamy ring at the base of his cock and it’s leaking out all over the inside of your thighs, quickly getting washed into the drain. you look behind you and art is almost pouting, sad that evidence of all his hard work went, literally, down the drain. you lean up to kiss him softly, smiling against his lips. "cmon art, ill make it up to you" art matches your smile as you lower your knees to the tiled floor of the shower <3

NEED THAT LOVERBOY FIC NOWWWW‼️

it will be out sometime next week!! sadly im very very busy but it'll be super cute for y'all <3

cooking smth up for you guys..

This with art donaldson. Imagine his voice cracking when you do a particularly deep bounce GOD

ugh yessssssss

this but making him watch his filmed tournaments.. making him narrate his plays and moves while he's whining and moaning.. giving him a deep bounce when he scores.. but stopping when he allows his opponent to score.. it makes him stumble through his words cuz he's sooooo embarrassed and he cums so so quick <3

Imagine being secret fwb with Patrick UGH you wouldn’t be able to keep your hands off each otherrrrrrrrrrrr

omg i loveeeee this sm...

no one knows about the two of you.. surprisingly patrick is able to keep it a secret, even from art. it's definitely a situation of convenience for him.. you fuck like rabbits when he comes back from tour to visit art.. and he never texts you while he's away (except for an occasional picture of him in the shower after a game).

i feel like one time he didn't tell you he'd be visiting art, and you see him at a crowded frat party from across the room.. you head into the kitchen to grab another drink to fill your red solo cup, and when you turn around you're face to face with him.. you make small talk because your friends are watching, wondering what you're doing with a guy who obviously doesn't go to stanford. he walks away.. but a moment later you get a text from him saying "meet me upstairs ;)"

you two are on each other immediately, patrick skillfully unhooking your bra and you slipping his jeans down his legs.. you're lucky the party downstairs is so loud, or else everyone would be able to hear the sound on the headboard banging against the wall.. "best pussy i ever fuckin' had.." he groans lowly against you. you almost wish he wasn't being responsible when he cums inside of the condom, only a thin latex shield stopping you from feeling just how much he missed you..

you both stumble downstairs afterwards, staggering your exits so no one could realize the two of you were upstairs together.. you don't see him at the party after that, but when you get home and get in bed, your phone dings with a notification from patrick..

"thanks for being such a great friend" <3

NEED more p links PLEEEAASEEE 🙏🙏🙏

challengers p links: part 3 (18+ under the cut)

the type of videos art sends you while he's away at tournaments <3

art donaldson:

patrick zweig:

art gets so stressed out.. so you help him relax <3

he looks so pretty when he sleeps <3

art loves getting overstimulated <3

leaving kiss marks all over his pretty dick <3

amazon position is arts favorite <3

he's obsessed with how soft you are <3

just let him use you after tour <3

he feels bad for being gone so long.. let him make it up to you <3

patrick gets so hard from eating you out <3

slow sex late at night <3

a new position with patrick <3

day 27: bondage <3

authors note: these next couple days will just be headcanons sadly.. maybe tmi but im currently prepping for a colonoscopy so.. not feeling great and haven't eaten in about 12+ hours 😭

i actually really think that art likes to be tied up, but he has to learn to like it. at first, it made him feel a little panicky because he couldn't move or touch you like he wants to, and it's harder to soothe himself. you have to do it a couple times when you're not having sex in order to get him used to the feeling and learn how to still communicate with you while being tied up <3

once art gets more comfortable, he finds that getting tied up makes his thoughts almost disappear, a stark difference between his usual thoughts that run wild 24/7 <3

art also really enjoys watching you tie him up, the way your fingers skillfully knot the rope and maneuver it into patterns that keep his hands behind his back or his legs spread. he could watch you work on the knots for hours, the way your eyebrows furrow and you bite your lip in concentration only makes his dick harder <3

art gets so much more sensitive when he's tied up as well, even a slight brush of your fingers on his skin will make him shiver, and precum to drool out of him <3

i headcanon that art has really sensitive skin, so you have to buy silk or velvet ropes to make sure he doesn't get rashes :( one of the things art loves most about being tied up is the aftercare he gets, he loves the way you massage and rub lotion over the red marks left by the rope <3

day 25: outside the bedroom (in the shower) <3

you're home late, later than you want to be. art had to make dinner for only himself (when usually he thrives at making dinner for the both of you) and you had to grab a quick meal at the taco place on the way home. you're tired when you walk in the door, dropping your keys on the cabinet next to the door, and placing your coat on the rack. you're surprised when art doesn't come and greet you, he always comes to say hi immediately when you walk through the door after being home alone practically all day. you walk through the house, looking in the kitchen and the living room before moving to the bedroom, starting to get worried when you don't see him.

your worries are stopped however, when you hear the running shower in the bathroom, relief washing over your body. you sigh, sitting on the edge of your bed. you feel bad, you've been home late almost every night this week, and although art says it's okay, you know it's hard on him to not see you for long periods of time. you make a decision, pulling off your clothes and folding them on your bed before walking to the bathroom and pulling open the door.

"it's me!" you yell out to art, trying to make sure he doesn't get scared. art peeks his head out of the shower curtain, preparing to ask why you're home late again but pausing when he sees that you're naked. "oh- h-hi.. d'you wanna come in?" art gets the sentence out, blushing like this is the first time he's ever seen you without clothes on. you giggle and nod, stepping into the shower with him. you're glad the two of you invested in a house with a big shower able to fit the both of you when you stand beside art, letting the water rush over you. art looks down at you, his hair dripping water all over your face. "art..." you groan, wiping water out of your eyes. "s-sorry!" art apologizes softly, turning up the temperature of the water so that you're more comfortable, knowing that as a (retired) athlete he usually takes colder showers than you would choose to.

"im sorry im late again art.. our shitty printer broke again and i had to print out these documents for my boss.." you ramble. art smiles, "it's okay really.. you know ive just been missing you recently.. the only time we spend together nowadays is before bed.." art almost pouts at you, the water rushing over his head making him seem even sadder than he is. arts lanky arms wrap around you, his soft skin a welcome texture against yours. you don't fail to notice his dick poking against your thigh, unable to tell if he's drooling precum against you or the water is just running down your legs (it's both).

before you have a chance to draw attention to it, his lips are on yours. kissing you eagerly as if it's been a million years. arts hands grow braver, sliding down the small of your back to grope at your ass, kneading the flesh between his fingers. you gasp into his mouth, art swallowing your quiet moans. his lips trail down the column of your neck, humming against you, "'m sorry.. just missed you s'much" you smile, "it's okay artie, i missed you too" he sighs, happy to know that he isn't smothering you. sliding your hand down his toned stomach, you wrap your hand around his dick, gripping him tightly. art groans, his hips bucking into your hand, fucking your fist with the tip of his dick while rubbing the rest of it on your thigh that's conveniently placed between his legs.

you see art getting more worked up, his breaths becoming shorter and closer to pants with every thrust of his hips. "d'you wanna get out of here?" you gesture to the shower with your hand that isn't currently occupied. to your surprise, art shakes his head, "n-no.. can we stay in here? you're just so.. warm 'n wet 'n soft.. can we try in here?" your mouth drops open even though you try to stop it, usually art isn't this open to trying new things. "h-how would that work?" you're open to the idea, but you don't want either of you to get hurt. "ill lift you.." your eyes widen, "n-no i promise i can do it.. it's just in the shower, it can't be that different from outside of it" art explains, almost begging you. you sigh, looking at his face and immediately caving. "alright.. alright okay.. but if you drop me..." "i won't" you sigh. "if you drop me.. you'll owe me big time" art nods, just eager to fuck you.

you wrap your arms around his neck, holding tight when he lifts you up from the back of your thighs, helping you to wrap your legs around his waist. art has to lean you up against the wall, causing you to shiver when your back hits the marble wall. "sorry... sorry" art mumbles against you as he pushes inside of you, his head falling forward onto your shoulder. you have no retort when he snaps his hips and enters you fully, almost knocking the wind out of you. you moan, half overwhelmed with pleasure and half scared to death that art will drop you, but that sort of makes it hotter for you. art groans, pretty much using you as a fleshlight as he moves you up and down on his dick using your thighs as leverage. from this position, his dick hits a spot inside of you that makes you squeeze tightly around him.

art notices this, starting to jackrabbit his hips into you so all you can hear are his heavy breaths and whines in your ear, and the wet slapping of his balls against you. both of your moans echo around the shower, getting louder as you both get closer. art uses the last of his strength to push deeply into you, almost looking to make his cum take inside of you. the feeling of everything around and inside of you gets too overwhelming as you cum around him, riding out your orgasm until you realize how tired you really are. you tap art on the shoulder to let him know he can let you down, happy that you can stand up and not slip after the whole ordeal. you smile, leaning your head up to kiss art, who has the cutest blush on the apples of his cheeks. you look towards the bottle of shampoo on the edge of the shower, and back at art. "will you do my hair and ill do yours?" <3

day 24: "be quiet" <3

authors note: this is just kind of a ramble.. just got home from family christmas so im super tired.. (would y'all want to see a haul of christmas/chanukah stuff.. it'll be every day for chanukah stuff if y'all wanna see!!)

thinking about having a fun date night out with college! art.. getting a little drunk off the wine art bought you with his winnings from his last tournament..

you stumble into arts room, almost waking up patrick but he just snores and turns over making you and art giggle. you both fall into the bed, kicking off your pants and shirts. art totally tries his best to be quiet, but your hand is slipping under the covers and jerking him off.

art is trying so hard :( he's biting his lip, trying to quiet his breathing, everything he can, but it's not working. when you swipe a finger over his slit he's done for, moaning loud enough to surely wake patrick up, but he doesn't care. you do though, and you immediately slap a hand over his mouth, whispering to him, "be quiet"

of course, art finds this more attractive than he probably should, his eyes rolling back as he squirts cum all over your hand, the culmination of your soft hand on his cock, your voice whispering in his ear, and the possibility of patrick waking up and seeing the two of you. you can hear arts muffled moans against your hand as his hips buck up into your hand.

you smile, taking your hand off of his mouth and kissing his cheek. art is already pretty tired (and tipsy) and he falls asleep almost immediately. you settle down with him, resting your head on his chest as you look over to patricks bed, seeing his signature smirk across the room <3

day 22: angry/makeup sex (just art coming to visit after a while) <3

almost home :) getting in uber now

your phone dings with arts text, making you smile widely. art has been gone for 3 weeks on a tournament in miami, and you've missed him terribly. you flutter around your room, picking up any stray papers or garbage on the floor. you're straightening your pillows on your bed when art knocks at your door, making you squeal with excitement. you open the door widely and jump into arts arms, making him drop his bags. "art!! you're here finally!" you smile, giving him a kiss on the cheek. art nods, his cheeks blushing. "im here.. finally" you kiss him for the first time in what seems like forever, and art immediately pushes his face against yours, his baby blue eyes fluttering closed.

art stumbles into your room, still kissing you as he shuts the door with one hand, before letting his arms loop around your waist and pull you closer. you weave your fingers into his hair, pulling and tugging to make him whine the way you like him to. art complies (of course) whining softly into your neck as he presses wet kisses below your ear. you giggle at the ticklish feeling, backing the two of you up until the back of your knees hit the bed. you sit up on the bed, pulling art to stand in between your legs. "missed you s' much.. was always thinking about you" art whispers into your ear, letting his hands rub up and down the sides of your body. you smile, "missed you too art.. missed you every day you were gone" art shivers at that, still not used to hearing such sweet words come out of your mouth.

you pull off arts sweater quickly, placing your hands on his flushed skin as he sucks purple marks into your neck. art does the same to you, taking time to notice that the sweater you were wearing was his own that he left behind with you. you press your chest against his, raking your nails down his back and leaving red trails behind. art bends into your touch, leaning forward onto the bed to lay you down, sliding between your legs. you pull down your sweatpants, kicking them to the side of the bed as art does the same. art promptly presses his dick into you, even though you're covered by your panties, art swears he can feel every part of you. "t-thought about this every day.." art admits bashfully, hiding his head in your neck.

you smile, happy to hear that art missed you just as much as you missed him. you're motivated to pull arts patterned boxers down under his balls, peeling your underwear to the side. "please just make it up to me art.." you groan, your head falling back onto the pillow. you'd forgotten how big of a stretch it is to take art fully, but he's producing enough precum to thoroughly lube the both of you up. art is snugly inside of you now, the feeling of his warm, full balls plugging you up makes you scratch at his shoulders. "move art.. please move.. i wanna feel you" you moan out, letting art move his hips the way he likes it, shallow enough to not make you feel too empty, but pulling out enough to make you feel the plap plap plap of his balls against your ass.

art moans loudly, pulling you impossibly closer to him. "f-fuck.. tried to j-jerk off without you but i couldn't cum.. couldn't do it without you.." art whines. the thought of art frustrated in his bed over the fact that he can't cum without you makes you tighten up around him, causing arts hips to stutter. arts hands come up to widen your legs for him, giving him more room to maneuver his lanky frame. before long, you hear familiar moans and whines that get louder and louder, alerting you to the fact that art is going to cum. "don't cum without me okay artie? you can last a couple more minutes, can't you?" you whisper seductively in his ear, almost hypnotizing him to nod along with you. "y-yeah i can do it.. i-ill be really good 'n ill wait for you.."

it takes arts full strength to hold himself back from cumming, but luckily the deep strokes he gives you makes you cum quicker than you thought, your back arching into his chest. art follows closely after you, moving his hips almost out of instinct to push his cum further into you, to make sure you would still have a piece of him the next time he went away. art shivers against you, his body automatically growing heavy and relaxed. art climbs fully into the bed next to you, now fully feeling the exhaustion of his day of traveling. "'m gonna go t' sleep now.. okay?" art mumbles against your skin, already drooling a little bit. "alright artie, ill be here" <3

day 20: lazy sex <3

you're dragging your feet across the floor, hauling your backpack on your shoulders. after your last final before break, your mind is absolutely empty, only looking forward to collapsing in bed. you rustle your keys out of your pocket, unlocking your door and practically falling into your room. what you don't notice, is that art is sitting at your desk, patiently waiting for you to get home, and his face lights up when he sees you, and then gets concerned when you immediately fall into your bed. "are you alright babe?" art asks you, coming to lean against the side of your bed. you groan, turning your head to the side on your pillow so that you can talk to him. "that bad, huh?" art smooths his hand over your head, sliding into bed next to you. you nod, snuggling closer to him. "just relax yeah? let me take care of you.. please?" art knows you'd do the same for him, and he wants to prove that he's good for you, always.

you nod, tucking your head into his neck and letting him strip off your pants, kicking them to the end of the bed. art runs his large hands up and down your legs. you wrap your arms around his back, pulling his (your) sweatshirt up off of his back. art shivers when you trail your nails down his lean back, distracting himself by pulling off your loose t-shirt. you're extra thankful that you didn't wear a bra today, partly because of your long day of exams, and also because you know art hates taking them off. art cups your breasts with his palms, pressing small kisses on the soft skin. arts lips return to your face, "turn around for me, please" he says softly and you oblige.

you turn around on the bed, letting art spoon you a little bit as he strips himself of his pants and briefs. you feel the warm, wet sensation of his dick brushing up against your back and you can't help but arch into the feeling. art smiles, gently lifting your leg up to place over his hip, giving himself easier entry into you. arts hands are wrapped tight around your stomach, fingers rubbing circles and patterns into your flushed skin. "ill go slow.. i promise" art nuzzles into your neck, lifting up his hips to push himself into you. you whine softly at the stretch and art coos at you, whispering apologies. art thrusts into you slowly, slower than he normally would, but he knows you want it soft today, so he adheres to your wishes, as always.

art is hardly even thrusting into you at this point, if someone walked in they would probably think the two of you are just embracing. you love the comforting warmth of art, his chest against your back and his balls pressed flush against you. art makes small humping movements with his hips, hitting deep inside you over and over again, the feeling almost more intense than regular sex. art can tell you're tired, and he wants to make you feel good as soon as possible, so he snakes his hand around your body and rubs small hurried circles around your clit. you moan his name softly, clutching his bicep with your hand.

you cum quickly thanks to arts ministrations, clenching faster and faster around him until the pressure on your clit is too much and you can't hold back any longer. art lets you take what you need from him, happily watching you move your hips on him to elongate your orgasm. once you come to your senses, you tap art on the arm to let him know he can pull out, and you realize he hasn't cum. "w-wait you didn't cum? i feel bad art.. i could give you a blow job or something.." you offer to art, turning back around to face him. art shakes his head, pulling a blanket over you and tucking you in. "no, no it's okay really.. i just wanted you to relax.. to feel better" he says. you smile and feel warmth cover your cheeks, hiding your face in arts neck.

god, he really is the best boyfriend you could ask for <3

day 18: punishment <3

authors note: this is totally late im so sorry.. also i am skipping day 19, partially because im extremely tired and also because i don't know how to incorporate food into sex <3

art knew what he was doing was wrong, he just didn't care. he was past the point of caring.

you've been away for weeks (2 to be exact) and art hasn't jerked off at all since you've left. sure.. he's brushed up against his pillow while he's going to sleep one too many times, and sure hes "accidentally" stroked himself a little too much in the shower.. but he's been good!! he's been your good boy and followed your orders. until now.

you texted art that your flight was running late, grounded for about 2 hours because of the winter storm currently running its course outside the airport.

"sorry artie, flight is delayed cuz of weather, don't wait up for me baby, might not even be home tonight"

"okay :( i miss you soooo much, text me when u land pls"

"alright angel, will do :) love u <3"

"love u too <3"

art sighs and flops on the unbearably empty bed, flinging his phone a little farther than he meant to and wincing. he looks down at his cock slowly filling out in his jeans and groans. what is he supposed to do without you here? as thoughts of you start to cloud his mind, art can't stop thinking that if he just jerked off really quick and got rid of all the evidence, you wouldn't know it, and you'd come back none the wiser and he wouldn't get punished. great plan right? wrong.

after furiously jerking off until he cums himself silly, art finds himself totally unable to clean up after himself, cum stating to dry on his blanket and stomach, as well as tissues strewn about the bed. art sighs and tries to fight the sleepiness that clouds his mind and makes his eyelids droop more and more. he thinks to himself that he'll clean himself up before you get back, and drifts off to sleep with a smile on his face.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚　˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚　˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

you arrive at your apartment door hauling your heavy suitcase and back pack behind you, trying your best not to jingle your keys too much and wake up art. you carefully unlock the door and push your bags inside, slipping off your shoes and walking into the house tiredly, wanting nothing more to sleep for 20 hours. you're stopped however, when you round the corner and see art splayed out on your bed, absolutely naked, cuddling your pillow with a cum stained blanket bedside him. you sigh, leaning down to pick up the scattered tissues and throw them away. when you're done with that, you gently sit next to art, trying to pull away the dirty blanket from him and replace it with a new one.

art senses the movement and awakens, first being elated to see your face, and then shocked at the fact that he was caught red-handed. "h-hi.." art looks away from you and blushes. "hey artie.. you gonna tell me what happened?" you coo at him softly, tricking his brain into thinking he won't get punished. "w-well i jus' missed you so much and then when you said you weren't gonna be home for a while i just couldn't handle it anymore.. b-but i swear i didn't do anything while you were away!! except for that.." art rambles, trying to plead his case in front of you. you smile and nod, reaching out to cup his face. art sighs, he's safe. "... but you remember what the rule was, right?"

arts eyes snap open from their blissful state. "w-what?" art is starting to lose his composure, guilt washing through him. "the rule? remember.. before i left i told you that you weren't allowed to masturbate at all while i was gone. and you broke the rule artie.." you say with a pout on your face. "l-listen 'm sorry, 'm really sorry.. you understand right? i- just couldn't take it anymore.." you shake your head, "you know that i have to punish you right? it's what i told you would happen if you broke the rules.." art nods sadly, trying to charm you with his puppy-dog eyes but you're stronger than that, not falling for his tricks.

art tries his best to hide his obvious arousal from you, but you see how hard he is through the blanket he's covering himself with. you inch closer to him, gently pulling the blanket off of him, watching as his cock slaps against his stomach. art whines and looks away from you, moaning softly when you grip him in your hand. even though he's already practically empty from cumming earlier. you stroke him up and down gently, smiling happily when he bucks his hips up to meet your touch, feeling like he's halfway to heaven after not feeling your touch on him the whole time you've been away.

arts head is in the clouds, watching as you stroke him faster and faster, your hand getting slick from all of the precum drooling out of him. you know he's getting close, his hips move faster, almost fucking your hand, as his moans turn almost girlish. "'m gettin' close.. it feels s' good.. thankyouthankyouthankyou..." art doesn't get a chance to finish his sentence before you rip your hand off of him, leaving art to pathetically hump the air to try to finish himself off, but it's no use, his orgasm is completely ruined. art has tears brimming in his eyes, "w-why did you do that.. i- i was s' close.." his lower lip wobbles. you tilt your head to the side, hand smoothing over his milky thigh. "what do you mean artie? i told you that you'd be punished, did you forget so easy?" art frowns, shaking his head. "i- i didn't forget i just.. it's unfair" he pouts. you smile and bring art closer to you, cuddling him against your sternum.

"i know.. and im sorry.. you know i hate when you're sad, but you have to learn your lesson yeah?" you press a kiss to his forehead. art nods, cuddling up to you. "yeah.. 'm sorry really, it's just cuz i missed you so much" art says quietly, blushing a little bit. "i missed you too artie, don't worry, ill make it up to you soon" <3

day 17: fingering <3

authors note: sorry only headcanons today.. i got the flu and COVID vaccine and i am now sicker than ive ever been :)

with most things related to sex, you have to teach art how to finger you.. it's not like hes never watched porn, hes seen guys do it before and heard patrick brag about how many fingers his latest hook up took inside her, but he doesn't exactly get how it works, or how it feels good for you <3

you really have to start with the basics, and art isn't mad about the fact that you show him how you finger yourself, leading to a heavy makeout session that distracts the both of you <3

hes embarrassed, but he lets you guide his fingers inside of you the first time, having to hide the fact that hes immediately harder than hes ever been after feeling how warm and soft you are on the inside <3

he starts off with just one, letting you show him how to curl his finger to hit the spongey spot inside of you. art is thoroughly excited to have slight dominance over you, even though he knows you are still in charge, like always <3

art stays attentive to your facial expressions, learning what you like by the way your eyebrows furrow and your cheeks flush, he also holds your hand, letting you squeeze it as you clench around his fingers <3

"y-youre s' warm inside.."

"is- does it feel good for you?"

"i-is that the spot?"

"do you want me to go faster?"

"y-youre clenching so tight i can't.. i can't move.."

"add another one..? o-okay but promise you'll tell me if it hurts.."

"are you gonna cum? p-please i really wan' you to.."

day 16: 69 <3

"i feel bad"

you look up from your spot on the floor, unceremoniously removing arts dick from your mouth. "what?" you're confused, this situation far removed from how art usually is during blowjobs, all drooly and blabbery. "i- it's unfair isn't it?" art is obviously still stuck in the clouds, but he's trying his best to make you understand. "what's unfair?" when art is in this headspace, it's best to ask simple questions. "well.. you're making me feel really good.." you nod and encourage him to keep speaking, "but im not making you feel good right now.. isn't that unfair?"

you smile, comforted by the fact that art is so predictable in his kindness. "maybe by your standards it is.. but you know that making you feel good makes me feel good art" he pouts at your response, not really believing you. "really..? i just wish there was a way i could make you feel good at the same time.." art sighs. you would think he's being sarcastic if you didn't know that art genuinely doesn't know a lot about sex. "there is actually.. if you wanted to try it?" art blushes, nodding his head. he's always happy to learn from you about anything, but especially about sex.

you smile, and crawl up onto the bed with him. "okay.. it might seem a little awkward at first but you should trust me, it'll feel good alright?" art nods along with your words, letting you brush his hair out his eyes. "okay, just lay down.. put your head on the pillow.." he follows your orders, his dick slapping his stomach as he moves. "alright, so it's just gonna feel like im sitting on your face.." art grins at that "but im gonna be facing your dick.. and then, you know, you'll be able to eat me out at the same time that ill be able to suck you off" you say lightly, knowing that you may be a little nervous, but you want to be confident for art.

he nods, looking up at you with blue doe eyes that make you melt every time. you move across the sheets and turn your body away from him to hover your pussy over his face, leaning forward to lick a stripe up his dick. art shivers and moans, his hands coming up to grasp at your ass, spreading the soft skin open for him. you almost choke against him at the feeling, unable to stop yourself from basically riding arts face. art doesn't mind though, from his satisfied moans and hums into you it sounds like he would like nothing more but to drown in the holy water between your thighs.

arts legs quickly come to rest next to your face, his lean thighs forcing you to stay on his dick. you try your best to not gag around art, but the way his dick curves upwards in your throat makes it hard. not like arts complaining though, being a little sadistic in the way he moans a louder when your throat tries to force him out. you can practically feel his heart beat in his dick, and you're sure if you took it out of your mouth now it would be a ruddy purple. art is humming into your pussy, his tongue finding your clit over and over again, matching the strokes you're making on his dick. you move your arm out from between your bodies to reach around his leg, fingers sloppily rubbing and toying with his balls.

arts body bends into your touch, as he sobs into your pussy, using the last of his energy to shake his head back and forth against you. you moan around his dick and art whines high and loud, his hips starting to cant into your mouth. ropes and ropes of sticky, salty cum shoot into your mouth, spilling out as you pull your lips off of him. art happily lets you ride his face until you cum, his dick still twitching when you moan his name and babble about how good he's being. art finishes you off with a hum, sending vibrations into you and making you clench, your orgasm sending shivers all through your body. you eventually remember that art needs to breathe, swinging your body around to sit beside him.

"are you okay? im sorry i kind of got carried away.." you ask art, who's happily blissed out looking at you. "yeah.. im- that was great.. amazing even" he replies, making you giggle. "yeah? so you'd wanna do it again sometime?" you reach down and push his sweaty golden hair away from his face. arts eyes immediately light up "yes.. yes please i really do.." <3

day 15: begging <3 (aka what i think art says during sex)

"you smell so good. how do you always smell so good"

"just use me.. please just use me i only wanna make y' feel good.."

"i’m sorry.. i’m sorry, it’s just- fuck.. god, you’re so tight-"

"so good.. so good.. i love your pussy, fuck - thank you - thank you"

"fuck it feels s' good.. hold my hand, please"

“ah..ah..ah feels so good, oh god. ‘m not gonna— fuck, not gonna last long.”

"i need it, i need it s' bad.. please lemme have it.."

"can I cum.. please, fuck, i need it, need it.. you.. fuck, please?"

“can i please? oh god, please, i need to come, i wanna come for you.."

“is this good? am i doing good?”

“i love you, i love you, i adore you, i need you.. don’t leave me”

"'m sorry, im cumming inside you, im cumming, im so sorry.." <3

day 14: over a surface (car sex) <3

"a-are you sure people won't see us?" art mumbles into the collar of your shirt, glancing out of the window of the car into the dark parking lot. "'m sure art.. it's so late no ones even gonna think about coming here.." you respond quickly, cooing at him in a way that silences all the doubt in his mind. "okay.. okay" art presses you up against the car door, whispering a small "sorry" when you shiver against the cold glass. you try your best to accommodate art between your legs, spreading them as much as you can in the cramped back seat.

art unzips your coat gently, throwing it into the front seat and attaching his lips to the side of your neck. you tangle your fingers into his golden hair, cupping the back of his neck. art groans, pushing his body backwards so that he can lift up your shirt, kissing the soft skin of your stomach gently. you smile, slipping the shirt off your body, hissing when your bare skin touches the chilly window. art hums an apology against you yet again, making it up to you by kneading your breasts with his hands. you arch your back to meet his touch, before pulling his hair softly and making him meet your lips once more.

arts hands wander to the waistband of your pants, looking up at you with blue puppy dog eyes. "can i?" art is practically drooling at this point, elated when you nod and let him pull them down your legs. art places your legs on his shoulders, bending down and attaching his lips to your cunt, swirling his tongue in circles against your clit. you moan his name, forgetting you're technically in a public place. art hums against you, rubbing his nose against your clit while pressing his tongue into you, his large hands placed on the back of your thighs, his thumbs occasionally rubbing softly. you feel your self getting closer and closer to the edge, clenching against his tongue you pull art away by his hair.

art pouts and looks up at you, obviously eager to get between your thighs again. "just be patient art.. let me make you feel good too.." you gently press your heel against his buldge, causing arts hips to buck up against your foot (which causes an usual wave of arousal.. but he'll focus on that later). art nods, switching places with you so now his back is against the window, spreading his legs like you did a moment before. you unzip his jeans, pulling them down his shaven legs along with his checkered boxers.

arts cock springs up against his stomach, causing him to whine in embarrassment. you eagerly lick the length of his cock, paying extra attention to the spot right under his tip, knowing that's where he's most sensitive. your hand strokes him up and down while your mouth focuses on his almost purple tip, licking his slit that's drooling slightly salty precum into your waiting mouth. you re-position him so that you can lick at his base, taking one of his squishy balls into your mouth, lapping at it messily. arts body twitches and squirms from the stimulation, his balls drawing up quicker than he expected.

"w-wait stop.." art groans, making you remove his cock from your mouth quickly. "are you okay?" you're worried that all of this happened to fast for him. "i- yes im okay i just didn't wanna cum yet.." art says shyly, biting the inside of his lip. you smile, maneuvering yourself so that you're sitting on his lap, and art can lean against the back of the seat. art gasps when he enters you, the warmth and tightness surrounding him becoming overwhelming quickly. art is okay with letting you do the work, watching you with stars in his eyes as you bounce up and down on him. anyone who walked by could immediately know what was going on inside of the car, but neither you or art cared at this point, only focused on the way your sweat slicked bodies rub against each other.

the soft plaps of your thighs on his and both of your combined moans fill the car, a symphony of sounds which you could never become bored of. art is getting closer, just watching you use him for your own pleasure is enough to make his balls pulse under him. you're in the same position though, arts cock is hitting all the smushy spots inside of you and the thought of anyone walking by and seeing you sends shocks of pleasure through your body. "'m- im gonna cum.. 'm gonna cum s' much baby.. it's gonna b' so much.. just f' you" art babbles on under you, giving a couple upward thrusts before his hips still.

art moans loudly, as usual, as shivers wrack through his body as his cum spills inside of you. the feeling of being filled up by art sends you over the edge as well, the rolling of your hips slowing down and stopping as you ride out your orgasm. arts chest moves slowly with his breaths as he comes down from his high, and you don't care that he's shiny with sweat when you rest your head against him. "you okay?" art asks softly, his voice a little scratchy from all the moaning he's been doing. you nod, "yes.. although i think we should probably get out of here.. anyone within a 50 mile radius probably heard you moaning" you tease, and arts cheeks flush red <3

day 13: shy sex <3

authors note: sorry this is so late!! i was so tired last night i literally fell asleep writing it..

every time you have sex with art it's shy sex.. but the most shy he's ever been, was the first time you two had sex.

art is nervous. more nervous than he's ever been, probably ever in his life. he'd said he was going to the bathroom to "freshen up" after you'd scooted closer to him on your bed. it's not like he didn't want to have sex with you.. he really, really did, but he's just so scared of embarrassing himself and having you laugh at him that he needed to excuse himself. art splashes water on his face, taking a deep breath and using one of your towels to dry off, lingering and smelling the left over scent of your shampoo. art doesn't want to keep you waiting though, so he checks his hair in the mirror, smells his breath and walks back out to meet you on your bed.

"s-sorry i- i had to wash my hands.." art explains, not really realizing that his excuse doesn't make sense. you nod, smiling at him. "it's alright art.." you know why he left, and you want to confront him about it. "you know.. we don't have to do anything tonight right? if you're nervous, we can wait, you know id wait forever for you, yeah?" you reassure him, tilting your head to the side. art blushes, realizing he's been caught. "n-no! it's not that.. i- i don't know.. it sounds stupid but you're just so smart and pretty and nice and-" before he can continue to ramble, you press your lips to his.

"well if you want to.. we can go slow, okay? ill take care of you.." art nods at your words, pretty much hypnotized by you. yes.. he wants to have sex with you.. yes he wants you to take care of him, he needs you to take care of him. you smile, pulling him closer by the sides of his face, and kissing him again, satisfied with how easily his mouth opens up and lets you swirl your tongue around. art mewls softly against your lips, spurring you to move his hands to rest on your hips. He moves so he’s pressed against your side, with his arms slung around you to hold you closer.

you can feel that he's hard and drooling precum against you, getting even wetter when you slide your hand down his chest, cupping him through his jeans. art groans, and muffles his whines in your hair. he's extremely eager, slipping his slightly cold fingers under the hem of your shirt, helping you pull it up and off. art doesn't even open his eyes and look at your breasts, waiting for your signal that it was okay. you giggle, grabbing his hands and placing them on your boobs, watching as his face flushes.

art is blushing like a maniac as he opens his eyes. he isn't a virgin by any means, but there's something special about you that makes him more nervous than anyone has ever made him before. it’s cute how quickly he got so shy, but you tell him it’s okay. art nods, lowering his head to suckle at your breasts like it's second nature to him. you don't know how he's so good at it, but you don't question it, allowing him to soothe himself while you pull off his shirt as well, rubbing your hands on his milky, freckled skin.

you're practically straddling his lap at this point, letting him roll his hips into you. you help art lay down on your bed, shucking off his jeans and watching his cock slap against his stomach, strings of precum sticking to his skin. art whines, flinging an arm over his face to cover his blushing cheeks. you smile, taking off your shorts as well, pressing your body to his. you move his arm away from his face, pressing kisses on his cheeks and nose. art whines, squirming on your sheets as he bucks his hips against nothing, the flush in his cheeks spreading to his chest.

you lean over art and grab a condom from your bedside table, sitting on your knees to pull it over his cock. art muffles his groans by biting his lips, embarrassed about the moans that threaten to escape them. you finally meet his eyes, "are you okay? we can stop any time if you want to.." you coo at him, trying to calm his mind. art nods eagerly, pulling you closer to his neck so he can nuzzle into you. you hover over him and sit down on him slowly, unable to stop yourself from squeezing tightly around him. art throws his head back, moaning loudly before he realizes how loud he's being.

you start to move up and down on him, scratching down his chest with you nails. art wraps his arms around your lower back, pulling you to lay against his chest as he plants his feet on your bed, fucking up into you with abandon, his previous shyness gone completely. you can't do anything but fall limp against his chest, letting him take what he wants from you. art pants and whines against your neck, licking and biting the soft skin there. you can tell that arts getting close by the increasing loudness of his whines, combined with the fact that he's jackrabbiting his hips into you, using all his adrenaline he's built up all night. art is trying to stay focused on making you cum.. but when you pop a couple fingers in his mouth to quiet him down, he's a goner.

art moans around your fingers, giving you deep strokes that you're sure would get you pregnant if he wasn't wearing a condom. art is content to lay there and let you take what you need from him, watching you rock your hips back and forth until you too tremble and shake with the force of your orgasm. coming back to earth, art sighs shakily, helping you slide off of him and lay down beside him. "are you okay?" you turn on your side and rest your head on your hand, swiping a couple of golden hairs from arts forehead. "y-yeah.. im great actually.. can we just.. stay like this for a little bit?" art looks away as he talks, his shyness taking over once again. you giggle and nod, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "of course art.. as long as you like" <3

day 12: masturbation <3

at first, art was jealous that patrick got to leave campus for winter break, leaving him stuck in the cold empty dorm without a friend. he was jealous until he realized he would be alone. for the first time in weeks art would be alone. not that he didn't like having patrick around.. but there were.. some things that art just couldn't do while patrick was there. sing in the shower, watch stupid reality tv, listen to loud music and.. jerk off.

patrick packed up the last of his stuff into his suitcase, shoving it in with no cares in the world. dragging his stuff to the door of their dorm patrick says goodbye to art, promising he'll send him pictures from his families ski lodge. art couldn't care less, but he smiles and nods, almost pushing patrick out of the door. once art is able to close the door and lock it, he looks around his now empty dorm and immediately gets hard.

art rushes over to his bed, quickly stripping off his clothes and laying down, feeling more aroused than he's felt in a long time. the fact he doesn't have to sneak around or hide from patrick makes butterflies soar in his stomach. as always, art doesn't really like jerking off in the sense of fucking his fist. ever since patrick introduced him to pillow humping, he hasn't masturbated any other way. art grabs a pillow from the pile at the top of his bed, cradling it against his chest so that he can rut his cock up into it. he moans softly, even though patrick isn't here he doesn't want anyone else to hear him. art rolls his hips slowly at first, closing his eyes and taking in all the little sensations of the soft fabric of his pillow against his pulsing flesh.

after a couple minutes of this, art finds that he can't hold back any longer, flipping over to lie on his stomach as he places the pillow underneath his hips. at this point, he's pretty much fucked out, drooling over his pillow and mumbling into his mattress as he clutches the sheets with clammy hands. art doesn't think of one specific person in his fantasy, only seeing shadows of soft warm bodies that run their hands over his skin, letting him take what he wants, what he needs. art grinds against the pillow a little faster, thinking about how hot and wet a pussy must feel, how it can clench and squeeze around him until he has no more cum left to give.

art has quickly forgotten about his will to stay silent, letting out breathy moans and whimpers every time his hips jerk back into the pillow. art is so worked up, he's so sensitive to all the stimulation he's putting himself through, the soft sheets on his drooling tip, the silky pillow he rubs his head against, the almost unbearable throbbing of his balls between his legs.. it's almost too much and- oh. oh- art realizes that he's going to cum. a short wave of disappointment over the fact that this heavenly experience didn't last as long as he wanted it to washes over him, quickly over taken my the electrifying feeling of his orgasm.

art thrusts wildly into his pillow, his adrenaline making it almost impossible for him to stop, even when ropes and ropes of sticky cum shoot out from his cock. art only stops when the shaking of his body becomes too much, making him lay down fully and take deep gulping breaths of air. he's blushing profusely, trying not to imaging how patrick would look at home if he found out the moment he left, art masturbated like a mad man.

art pulls on a pair of his boxers, grabbing his phone and checking his messages, finding one from patrick. "i forgot my sweatshirt in the dorm but when i came back it sounded like u were pretty busy.. have fun without me perv ;)" <3

im so sorry y'all i don't wanna disappoint but i literally cannot write for day 11 😭 ive been working late all week and i thought i could pull through tonight and write for y'all but i just can't do it... once i take a billion hour nap tomorrow ill be ready for day 12!! yet again, sorry for the disappointment!! and thank y'all for all the support on the 31 days of smut <3

day 10: rimming <3

a/n: im sadly only going to be able to do headcanons for days 10 and 11 because i have no time to write rn 😇

art is initially very nervous about letting you anywhere near his ass, not quite understanding why he's okay with you touching his dick, but extremely nervous about letting you rim him <3

the part he's most nervous about is that he's always felt the pressure to he more "masculine" and be the dominant one in the relationship, and getting his walls down and letting him admit that he likes being submissive took some time, but it's worth it <3

setting the mood is always important when you're intimate with art. you lay out a fluffy blanket on the bed, turn down the lights and light a couple candles, knowing that it's crucial that art feels comfortable <3

you have to reassure art throughout the whole process, pressing kisses into his legs as you spread them open, and reaching up to hold his hand while you take his dick into your mouth, opting to get him more relaxed before you try something new <3

the moment art feels your tongue on his hole he wonders why you two haven't been doing this the whole time you've been together. warmth blooms through his lower stomach as he squirms against the sheets, reaching a hand down to rub at his dick as you busy yourself against him <3

art (as always) cums embarrassingly quick, but it's understandable when you look up from your place between his legs and see the expression of pure ecstasy on his face. all of the stimulation keeps him twitching even after he cums, milky ropes of cum reaching as far up as his chin <3

there's only one thing that you regret about choosing to finally rim art.. it's that you can't give him a regular blowjob anymore, he always finds a way to gently push your head lower and lower until he finally get you where he wants you.. he's such a fiend <3

day 9: kink discovery/negotiation <3

despite what you might think, art is quite open to experimentation. the hushed whispers by patrick who would walk in on art during college are enough to tell you that. you're surprised at first, hearing about how patrick gifted art a fleshlight as a joke for his birthday one year and art couldnt be left alone or else he'd cum himself stupid. more embarrassing (to art) was when patrick walked in on him spreading himself open, bending his legs and thrusting his fingers inside himself, too fucked out to realize patrick was standing there.

once in a relationship with you however, he tones it down, afraid of scaring you away like he has done with other partners before. after hearing from patrick about arts sexual escapades, you start looking online for something to surprise him with, settling on a strap-on that had the best reviews. now you just have to play the waiting game, and hope that art doesn't check your expenses and find out what you bought for him.

you're intensely thankful when you get the notification that your package was delivered while you're on your way home, hoping that art hasn't seen it been delivered, but you're pretty sure he's at the gym. you get home and grab your keys, before you notice that the package isn't outside your door. the first thought is that someone stole it, but then a sinking feeling in your stomach accompanies the thought that art might have seen it and brought it in.

opening the door, you see art looking at the package, smiling at you shyly as he sees you. "oh you.. you picked up my package" you say, trying not to be suspicious as you set down your bag and take off your shoes. "yeah i did.. i thought you'd appreciate it but.." art looks down, then glances at you again. "um.. do you mind if i ask what it is?" he asks quietly, turning the package towards you so that you can see the label. it boldly reads, "toys for his pleasure" and you almost have the urge to laugh, thinking back to the promised "discreet packaging" advertised on the website.

"well um.." you blush, tapping your fingers on the table in front of you. "maybe it would just be better if you opened it." you suggest, looking at him for support. art is almost more embarrassed than you, but he nods, opening the box easily and removing the wrapping paper around the strap-on, his eyes widening when he sees it. "you.. bought this for.. me? for.. us?" art is clearly having a hard time understanding how you figured out that he was waiting to ask you to fuck him.. but maybe you just know him so well. whatever the reason may be, art is happy about it.

"well yeah.. i mean i was wondering if you were even interested in that stuff but i guess i should've asked you about it before i bought it.." you admit, anxiously looking at him. "i- would you be interested..?" you ask, resisting the urge to cross your fingers for luck. art smiles sweetly at you, like he always does, and nods. "yeah of course i would.. i mean not of course but.. you know what i mean.." he stumbles over his words already having to shift the way he's standing to accommodate the growth in his pants. "can we try it now?" <3