everybody here wants you
pairing: fratboy!art donaldson x fem!reader
summary: everybody wants you, but only he gets you.
word count: 2,725 words; 14,613 characters.
warnings: swearing, alcohol/drugs, unprotected sex, p in v, mommy kink, use of good boy, praise kink, slight feminization, talk of pegging, intoxication.
a/n: i won't lie this is butt. i haven't written anything in months and this was the last thing i was working on, so i genuinely lost the flow w this lol... this is not as smutty as other fics mainly bc i lost motivation halfway through
the sound of nelly furtado’s ‘promiscuous’ blares through the house so loud, art thinks his eardrums might start bleeding. patrick has no sense of how loud his speaker actually is.
he didn’t even want to throw this party, but patrick insisted. something about needing to ‘unwind, relax’, or in simpler terms, he thinks art should get laid tonight.
but if he’s being honest, art isn’t all that interested in hooking up with anybody tonight. not unless it’s you. sweet, beautiful, angelic you.
you and art had been… something. not quite lovers, but not just friends, either. he’d liked you for so long. maybe even started to love you. but he never thought you’d reciprocate.
so he got around, fucked any girl that would let him, which was great to bury his feelings deep in the ground. until you found out. you’d walked right in on him, with a random chick he met at a party.
he didn’t know you’d come over to confess how much you liked him. and you’d left without a word, and he hadn’t heard from you since.
as friends of the same person, you and art were often in the same room. exchanging sideways glances and small talk up until one of patrick’s infamous ragers, where he’d been tipsy enough to work up the courage to come talk to you.
it had only spiraled from there. sneaking out in the middle of the night to your dorm to hook up, pulling you into the locker rooms after tennis practice to kiss you silly. it had been perfect. until it stopped being casual.
there was some foolish, naive part of him that was hoping he’d catch a whiff of that frilly perfume you always wore, and then he’d see you walk through the door with your girlfriends, with glittering eyeshadow smeared on your lids, that pale pink lipstick you always wore pressed onto your lips.
he heard a commotion coming from the living room as more partygoers shuffle in, and his head unconsciously hung low when he didn’t spot you at first glance. of course you weren’t here. why would you be?
then, from behind him, patrick’s obnoxious voice calling out your name snapped him out of his thoughts, and he looked up quicker than anybody could say ‘who’s that?’
god. god, god, god. holy shit, you were here. hanging off the arm of some fucking fratboy that wasn’t him.
“earth to artie…. you alive in there?”
“huh?”
art blinks, a few of his curls flopping in his face as he shakes himself out of his stupor.
“dude. you’re staring.”
“i’m not staring!”
patrick gave him a look then, one that said he could see right through him. art huffed out a breath, deliberately avoiding looking at you or your new boy toy.
he mostly mingled with his teammates, and with a few girls that looked mildly interested in him. by the time you were finally alone, he was tipsy enough to make a beeline for you, ignoring the startled gasp of the sorority girl chatting him up.
“hey,” he breathed, trying to act casual. which was hard, considering he felt his pulse race just from your presence. and probably the fact that his face was flushed from alcohol, and he wasn’t too sure how he sounded.
“hey,” you murmured back, clutching your red solo cup. you looked good tonight. fuck. this was such a bad idea.
but the alcohol currently flowing through his bloodstream made it seem way less bad. especially when he risked a glance down and got an eyeful of your cleavage.
very bad idea. because no more than twenty minutes later, you find yourself in art’s bedroom. in his bed. his chest is pressed to your back, gripping the side of your jaw, moaning into your neck.
this wasn’t the first time art had brought someone back to his room and it certainly wouldn’t be the last, but there was something different this time. there’s almost a sense of forever when he’s with you.
he’s biting his lip hard as he feels you around him. there’s something so different this time around that makes you feel like more than just a fling. art is a playboy but he can’t remember the last time he’s felt this way.
he pushes these thoughts away for now. he’s already forgotten your friends and your reputation and now this whole thing between you is becoming too easy for art to fall into. he runs his fingers down your spine, his blunt fingernails scraping against your skin making you shiver.
you’re so wet, and he’s so turned on that all he can focus on is how you feel around his cock, squeezing and pulsating.
“art. art.” you say, panting as you try to get his attention. he continues biting and nipping at your neck, humming in acknowledgement, his mouth too occupied to actually reply.
you reach up, grabbing a handful of his curls, giving them a sharp tug in warning. art pulls away with a slight moan and pouts at you. “ow,” he whimpers softly.
“i’m trying to get your attention.” you scoff, shifting slightly and pressing back against him. art groans in your ear and his grip on your hips tightens.
“god,” he whines, and bucks up against you again. “you’re supposed to be nice to me now, remember?” his breath is hot against your neck and his grip on your hips is probably going to have you marked up for days, and he can’t say that he minds if that’s the case.
“i was never the nice one out of us.” you say as you try to roll your eyes. your attempt falls flat because your retort ends up being choked off by a moan as his hips buck against yours again.
he groans against your neck. “you’re so mean.” he says, then his teeth gently nip at your collarbone. "and you're a dick, but—“ you cut off when art hits that spot, making you see stars as a gasp escapes your mouth.
art grins like the devil himself as he registers the noise that just left your mouth. he makes a mental note on where to aim from now on so he’s able to get that reaction over and over again.
“and you love it,” he coos in your ear, giving an unceremonious roll of his hips making you moan again. he’s still reeling from the fact that you decided to stay longer, let alone end up in bed with him. he had expected you to go straight home after the party.
“i don’t love you,” you spits out, trying sound firm but sounding very much the opposite and a lot more desperate than planned. “yeah, that’s why you’re currently in my bed.” he says back without hesitation which causes a shiver to rack through you. his hand is still gripping your cheek and his thumb gently brushes against your bottom lip.
you reluctantly open your mouth enough for him to push his thumb inside. this has definitely not been one of his better ideas. your lips close around his thumb as a moan leaves his throat. art pulls his thumb out and moves your hair away from your neck so he’s able to kiss and bite at your skin.
his other hand moves from your hip to the back of your thigh, pushing your leg up to give him a better angle. he’s losing it and he’s not quite sure what to do. art wants to pull you closer and stay like this forever. he wants to tell you about all the feelings he buried deep inside after your fight. he wants all of it.
but he won’t. he can’t. art buries his head into your shoulder instead, letting out a deep breath as he fights the urge to tell you everything he’s been feeling for years now. “missed you.” he mumbles against your skin.
at that, something snaps inside of you. art’s… fine in bed, but you know better. he wants to be dominated. you reach back to cup the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his golden curls. you tug him closer to you, murmuring—
“c’mon. be a good boy for me."
those words do something to him. art’s head drops and he’s whining against your shoulder which would’ve been funny if he wasn’t feeling so incredibly wrecked. his voice is coming out as a strangled whine. his hand grips your thigh, the pressure sure to leave a mark.
he’s starting to forget why this happened in the first place. all he can think about is you and the sinful things that you’re whispering to him. he’s ‘supposed’ to be the one making you do and say these things but you flipped it on him, and now he’s wrapped around your finger. your tight grip on his neck is the only thing keeping him grounded right now.
“art,” you murmurs softly, pulling him back up. “i need you to look at me.” he whines and his forehead drops against your shoulder again. you laugh softly and reach up, gently grabbing his chin and making him look at you. “come on baby,” you coo and art is so gone for you.
yeah, art definitely has a mommy kink. just the way you’re talking to him has him dripping wet like a girl. the way you says that pet name makes him shiver and he can’t help the desperate sounds he’s making. “s’too much,” he whines out, his grip on your thigh and neck tightening. art’s head is a mess. he’s losing himself and he doesn’t want to stop. he doesn’t want this to ever end. but what he wants and reality don’t seem to be working together right now.
because he can feel the orgasm building behind his balls and his groin, and he really, really doesn’t want to cum before you do. you leans your head against his, your hand still against his cheek coaxing him on. “come on, pretty boy. be a good boy and look at me. i need to see those pretty eyes of yours, baby.”
those words cause him to moan and he’s practically putty in your hand. art obeys you and he opens his eyes, his gaze meeting your. his blue eyes are blown wide and slightly glazed over and he’s positive that he’s never been this whipped before.
you can’t help the smirk that graces your lips. “there you are. i thought i lost you there for a second.” you coo softly, rubbing soothing circles on his cheek with your thumb. art sighs airily and leans into your touch, the feeling like heroin to him.
his hips are pumping in and out of you, and he knows he can’t last much longer. he turns his head to kiss the palm of your hand, his eyes looking up at you through his lashes. “you always have me. completely yours.” art whimpers without thinking about it. once the words leave his mouth, he knows they’re true and there’s no taking them back now.
you smile softly at his words, your eyes slightly widening. “yeah?” you ask, gently rubbing his bottom lip. art takes your finger into his mouth and sucks on it. “yeah.” he says around it, pulling you even closer so your back is completely pressed to his chest.
your other hand is still on the back of his neck, playing with the baby hairs there. “sweet boy,” you murmur softly, your fingers tracing over his sharp jawline. art’s nose is pressed to your neck again and he places soft kisses on your shoulder. he likes being praised a lot.
loves it, in fact, though he’d never admit that to patrick if he was sober. every single one of your soft touches feels like it’s lighting him on fire, but he’s addicted to the burn. art has a thing for pretty girls who are snarky and feisty enough to put him into place. you are all of those things. “don’t stop,” he mumbles against your skin. “keep talking t’me like that.”
“like what? like i’m talking to a good boy?” you question, voice sweet as honey as you look back over your shoulder at him. art nods as his head drops to the crook of your neck again. “like that. just like that.” he groans, his hips speeding up ever so slightly.
“such a good boy just for me,” you say, your breath hitching because of the change in pace. “only for you,”he mumbles, the words muffled against your skin.
the words go straight to your core. “god, you were made to be spoiled,” you moan, pressing your back against him again. art’s grip on your thigh tightens because he knows that you’re one hundred percent correct.
art whines, the sound desperate and wanting. “i’d do all the things i’d never do for anyone else for you. only you.” the words are a jumbled mess, his mind too clouded and overwhelmed with you to properly form a sentence.
"y’know, next time— i should fuck you. you wanna be pegged, baby?" you know it’s a fantasy of his.
the statement is so sudden and so not what he was expecting that he almost comes right there on the spot. art lets out a strangled moan. “jesus, yes.”
“you sound so pretty when you whine like that.” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. art’s too far gone to think straight at this point. too lost in the heat and the pleasure between you. “please,” he whines softly. “please.”
“please, what?”. he whimpers, too far gone to think of a response other than the word please. “please, anything,” he says, his voice wrecked.
“anything?” you echo, your fingers gently rubbing against his scalp. art almost melts at the feeling, nodding his head yes. “yes.” he whispers out, desperately bucking his hips against you.
"go on then, baby. come for me." with those words, you clench around him tightly, and his hips stutter, as he babbles. “yesyesyes, fuck—!”
that’s all it takes for him to fall over the edge. art bites down on your shoulder, his grip on your hip and thigh tight enough to leave marks behind. you’re all he can think about and he’s pretty sure he just came harder than he’s ever come in his life. “oh, god,” he moans against your skin, his body slack.
he’s shaking, his body almost boneless as he tries to catch his breath. art buries his face into your shoulder, the feeling of you rubbing soothing circles on his arm making him feel sleepy and completely spent. he mumbles something incoherently against your skin and holds onto you tighter.
“you look wrecked.” you say, looking back at him and taking in the state he’s in right now. he looks like complete mess, but he’s a mess for you. his curls are sticking off in every direction, he’s panting softly, and there’s a small, red bite mark on his lip. art is completely ruined.
he whines softly at the sound of your voice. “s’your fault,” is all he can manage to get out in his current state. the only thing he can manage to do is bury his face back in your shoulder. his grip on you is still tight, almost as if he’s scared you might just disappear if he lets go.
you haven’t cum, and he seems to sense that, as he reaches down and thumbs at your clit the way he knows you like it. it doesn’t take long for you to follow him over the edge.
it takes a moment to catch your breath, but when you do, you pant out, “my fault, huh?” you ask, gently squeezing his arm. he nods without moving from his place against your shoulder. he whimpers softly, his breathing starting to even out. “all your fault, all you,” he mumbles against your skin.
you kiss him softly, feeling almost too endeared. “such a good boy.” rubbing your thumb across his shoulder, art shivers at the contact and nuzzles against you. “your good boy.” He murmurs softly, completely and utterly wrecked.
as he laid in your arms, he was content. he finally had you back, and prayed to every god he knew in his hazy brain that it would stay that way.