Latest Posts by weasleysarch - Page 2

WARZONE • THE PITT FANFIC

👥: dr. michael robinavitch, maeve montgomery

“ i solely believe that you can be mad at him for as long as you want to— but he is the godfather of your child— you cannot stay mad forever. “

“ and you can forgive him? he betrayed our trust— he was high as a kite while looking after andrew, robby— i just don’t know if i can ever look at him the same— “

WARZONE • THE PITT FANFIC

jack abbott x maeve montgomery

search ‘ sttarkeys ‘ on wattpad to read <3

WARZONE • THE PITT FANFIC

frank lost 2 mentors in 1 day •

characters - frank langdon, michael robinavitch, maeve montgomery

SEARCH ‘ sttarkeys ‘ ON WATTPAD TO READ

can’t believe it’s actually out finally

i need these four to become besties or i’ll sue

SHAWN HATOSY as DETECTIVE SAMMY BRYANT Southland (2009-2013)

Ana de Armas as Ballerina

like or reblog if u save

Like father like son

I really hope whoever wrote thunderbolts is okay because you dont understand and interpret and write mental illness with such depth and understanding unless you've dealt with depression yourself. Seeing Bob's pain was like holding a magnifying mirror up to my own.

Mans was born to be a girl dad

When I was your age, I'd get angry all the time… you know?  Kids thought it was funny, so they'd steal my things and push me around.  I was kind of small.  So I'd get angry and… and hit somebody.  Teachers would get mad.  You know, they never saw what the other kids did.  Everybody thought I was… terrible, even Smurf.  I guess maybe I was pretty awful.  The only person that was nice to me was my sister.  Your dad was the second.  And then your mom.  I promised them I was gonna take care of you and I'm gonna do that, okay?

POPE & LENA Animal Kingdom (2016-2022)

So there's this 49 year old actor

didn’t even last 24 hours LMFAOOOOOO protect this man at all costs

I am so in love with this man— i need to be his age inappropriate girlfriend

SHAWN HATOSY as DEPUTY CHIEF CHARLIE REID Chicago P.D. | Season 12

abbot's internal monologue: i wonder what the coolest pose is for me to stand in during this mass casualty briefing rn

ik you said you were looking for ideas: what if the f!attending!reader got too drunk at a group outing and he took her home?

party for you | dr. jack abbot

pairing: jack abbot x f!resident!reader warnings: language, age gap (unspecified, but reader is late 20s/early 30s and jack is mid/late 40s), descriptions of throwing up, references to sex and gets steamy but nothing explicit, sweet sweet fluff <3 word count: 2.6k summary: you party a little too hard and jack takes care of you in his perfect way. notes: if you are under 18 do not interact with any of my work or this fic. thank you for this lovely request!!!! idk if i like how this one turned out but i hope that you do! oh to be taken care of by jack when i'm too drunk! this is a part of the ring of fire interconnected series, but it’s not necessary to read the prior parts to understand this fic. if you would like to, though, you can find the masterlist here <3 not proofread so apologies for any errors!

“hey, brother.”

“hey man.” jack keeps one steady hand on the wheel, the other holds the phone to his ear. when he felt the vibration from his pocket, there was that sudden, jolting feeling. was it you? were you okay? did you just want to say hi? did you miss him, the way he missed you? but then robby flashes across his screen, adorned with a stupid picture of him from a thanksgiving potluck a few years back.

( when he thinks about that thanksgiving potluck now, in retrospect, the detail that stands out to him is that he actually sat next to you. when dana, half drunk and wild with her wine glass in the air, asked everyone to share what they were grateful for, jack had nudged you and muttered, “just say your family. it makes her weepy, every time.”

you had covered your mouth to stifle your laughter. he felt entirely satisfied with himself. one little moment out of several across the years where the lines were clearly drawn: attending, resident. teacher, student. off limits. )

jack makes a shoddy attempt at shaking the thought of you away to focus on whatever it is robby needs to share– unlikely to keep him as rapt, but worthy of his time and attention, presumably.

“you getting close to town?”

“uh– ‘bout five minutes out. what’s up?” the rumble of the party is heard, but robby doesn’t say anything. jack asks robby if you’re alright. more quiet.

when you asked jack last weekend if he was planning on going to princess’s halloween party, with that goddamn glint of hope in your eye, it had taken all of the self control in the world to say, “i volunteer with the VA for a camping trip every halloween weekend. i won’t be back until late the night of the party.”

you had deflated slightly, but mustered up enough mischief to say, “what, you don’t want to go as jim and pam from the office, in true 'we just started dating' fashion? rude.”

he had hung his head, put his hands on your thighs and looked up at you with what he could only assume was a pathetic, pitiful expression. to be fair, you made him reasonably pathetic, and certainly pitiful. the fact that every man wasn’t unreasonably infatuated with you was a wonder to him.

“i’m sure i can get someone to cover for me–”

“no,” you had said with a shake of your head. your hands went to cradle his face, your thumb brushing the place where a dimple develops when you really get him smiling, or laughing. “don’t do that. they’re planning on having you. i shouldn’t be selfish.”

but what if he wanted to be selfish? it’s already been a significant struggle to not want to follow you everywhere. he would go with you into his worst nightmare if you asked. he’d do another tour if it meant that you were smiling at him, just like you were in that moment. the hold that you have on him is not lost on him in the slightest, and he wouldn't change it, even if he wanted to. devotion feels good. it feels right.

but, with coaxing from you, he had gone on the trip, and you still went to princess’s party. when he got cell service back during the four hour drive, he immediately called you, if only to hear your voice. you sounded excited, but he could hear the dip in it when you said wish you were here. then you sent a picture of that goddamn tomb raider costume…

which was why, despite his exhaustion, despite the fact that he probably stinks like a campfire, despite the way that his leg burns… he has princess’s address in his gps.

“is she alright?” jack repeats himself.

“she’s fine. she’s fine. she’s just had a lot to drink, is all. dana’s in the bathroom with her now, but i think she’s about ready to, uh, go. i was just wanting to see if you were close, or if we should get mateo to–”

“don’t put her in a goddamn car with mateo, or anyone else. i’m down the fucking road. are you keeping her hydrated?”

“yes, and–”

“what about some carbs? get her a piece of toast. she’ll ask for it with honey, but best to keep it plain. and maybe some ice on her wrists to cool her body temperature. she’s prone to overheating.”

“jack,” robby cuts through. “we know. we got her. i’ll see you soon, brother.”

–

the thing that people don’t tell you about alcohol? it’s fun when it’s fun. it’s horrible when it’s horrible. well, they do tell you that. you've seen enough alcohol poisoning cases come through the emergency department to know just how easy it is to topple over the edge without even realizing it. but, treating it is one thing. experiencing it is another.

and there might not be anything more hellish than getting nearly blacked out, surrounded by health care professionals.

everything had been great. you were drinking a little more than normal, but, hey– it was halloween! and you had two days off in a row! that felt like something to be celebrated. and, yeah, maybe the fact that you drank two of those nearly neon blue buzzballs was a bad idea. maybe that last shot with princess was also a bad idea. but you had been feeling good. better than good.

you had never been much of a drinker, or a partier, but not because you didn’t want to be. sometimes, you just didn’t know how to be. at a certain point, you had accepted that you were a little bit of a recluse in college… and med school… and, now, through your residency, too. you liked working and researching and if you weren’t doing either of those things, you preferred to smoke some weed to relax and watch below deck, or a real housewives franchise.

the only time that you didn’t feel like a loser was when you were in jack’s living room watching something inane, like one of those live police shows, or ancient aliens, because if you get jack high enough, he’ll want to watch it for hours. in those moments, the only label that felt sufficient was his.

you are typically wise enough to know what your limits are around drinking– you are a doctor, after all. but you were feeling a little moody since jack wasn’t there, and the alcohol wasn’t doing anything to help that, and then, you made the uniquely horrible decision to hit the joint that was being passed around the backyard. you told yourself it would calm your nerves. the only thing it did was kick off the world spinning for the better part of an hour.

which is how you’re now, here. back against the wall of princess’s bathroom, your head between your knees, with dana and samira crouched beside you, each trying to heal you– as is their nature.

“baby, you need to look up, and just stare at that shampoo bottle. keep staring at it and don’t stop. that’s my trick for the spins.” dana’s voice sounds warbled, far away. you force your head up and stare at the shampoo bottle in question. “good, good. keep doing that.”

robby comes to the doorway with his phone in his hand, and a fresh glass of water in the other. you don’t quite pick up everything that he says, but you hear jack and soon and it’s enough for your incoherent brain to string together the rest. “jack is here?” you ask, and damn that hope in your voice, damn it to hell. you’ve been publicly dating for less than six months and you’re already being embarrassingly, publicly in love.

“yeah, he’s almost here.”

you smile. laugh a little to yourself. dana and samira share a look and they can’t help the laughter, too. you’re about to say something else when robby is maneuvered to the side, and jack stands in the doorframe. everything is still spinning, but you try dana’s trick, making jack into your shampoo bottle, using the image of him to ground yourself. “hey,” you say, head falling back and thunking against the wall. he’s at your side immediately, using a hand to cradle the back of your head, push strands away from your eyes. “i think i partied a little too hard.”

“yeah, i think so too, kid.” he gives robby an intense look and a nod of his head and everyone clears out from the bathroom, shutting the door behind them. he finds your eyes, so bleary and tired and unfocused. you give him a half hearted pout that turns into a smile. “want me to get you home?”

“yes, please,” you let him hold your head up, hand sliding from the back of it to your cheek. you turn your mouth to press a kiss into his palm, open-mouthed, wanting, despite everything. “i’m so embarrassed.”

“what?” jack scrunches his face up. “you have nothing to be embarrassed over.”

“i do,” you say through a hiccup, your hands reaching to grab at jack’s forearms– you love his arms, love how strong they look, love how they hold you. “i started blabbing about how much i love you to robby. and i’m not embarrassed that i love you– i’m embarrassed because i’m supposed to be a professional, and you’re my attending, and–” you cut yourself off because he’s smiling at you, wide. “why are you looking at me like that?”

“because you’re one of a kind, kid.” he presses a kiss into your forehead. “c’mon, let’s–”

the sentence dies because you dive forward, scrambling to get the toilet seat up before you empty the contents of your stomach into the toilet. “shit.” you hear him grunt, but it’s faint over the sound of you coughing, resting your forehead against the edge. you take in a shaky breath as you feel jack’s hands pulls the strands of your hair that have escaped the lara croft-esque braid you put your hair into. “let it out. you’re good, i’ve got you. you’ll feel better.”

you throw up another two times before your stomach finally relents and gives up the good fight. your limbs are shaky, and jack’s hand rubs a gentle pattern into your spine. you faintly, far away, hear the door open just a crack. jack murmurs something to who you can only presume is robby, because he returns with a fresh glass of water, a sleeve of saltine crackers, and a stick of gum. you're just glad they're not taking you to the emergency room for a bag of fluids. you wouldn't put it past them.

jack settles behind you with a groan, knees creaking. you look at him from over your shoulder and ask, despite everything, “how was the camping trip?”

he smirks, the amusement at your question evident on his face. “good. really good.” he adjusts the tank top that you wear, where it’s ridden up, smoothing it against your waist. “how are you feeling?”

“much better,” you say with a nod of your head as a punctuation. “it was the joint i smoked that really did me dirty. and the fact that i ate, like, ten hush puppies.”

“i believe it.” he looks lost in thought for a moment, before he adds, “i’m sorry i wasn’t here.”

“it’s not your job to babysit me,” you muse, shaky hand taking the water from him. he shakes his head and puts it to your lips, helps tip your head back, takes proper care of you. “and you deserve to do things on your own. we both have to do that if we want this to work.” the alcohol still has you loose, because you continue, “i like being my own person. doing my own things. but…” you shrug a shoulder. “i really like being me with you. i did wish you were here tonight. i missed you. i kept looking over my shoulder like you'd just... be there.”

“i wished i was too. i missed you,” jack sets the glass down and hands you a saltine cracker instead. his eyes trail you, up and down. “i didn’t get a chance to say it yet, but you look sexy.”

“i just threw up enough alcohol to get an entire sorority drunk.”

“still sexy.” his hand lands on your thigh and squeezes one time before he lets go. “you wanna get out of here? or want to hang for a little?”

“i’m ready to go.” jack helps you to your feet and rubs at your shoulders while you take handfuls of water from the sink, swishing it about in your mouth. jack unwraps the stick of gum and turns you, tapping it against your chin once. you open your mouth for him and he places it on your tongue with a heady gaze. you blow a bubble at him, listen to the pop fill the air around you.

when his eyes flick down to your mouth, you put a hand on his chest. “you can’t wait to kiss me until i’ve brushed my teeth?”

“i don’t care.” his hands are getting greedy, going to your waist, squeezing like he just needs to feel you, needs to feel that you’re real and right in front of him. “please.”

before, you never would’ve pinned jack abbot as a clingy man. now, it makes perfect sense to you. you only need to be apart for a few hours before he’s looking at the little picture of you that he has in his wallet. you could only imagine him these last three days: huddled around a campfire, mind drifting to you. the thought makes you feel a satisfaction you've never known before.

you don’t know if you’ve ever been loved as completely as jack loves you. it’s not just one way that he’s good: it’s all of the ways. he’s not perfect, and you don’t expect him to be– sometimes, he can close himself off. he can snap at you when he’s irritable. but he’s good. a good man.

how can you deny jack what he’s asking for? especially when he asks so nicely. you give a slight nod of your head and that’s enough for him. he pulls you in close, by the back of your neck, his favorite point of your body: and he presses his lips against yours and kisses you so thoroughly that you feel breathless.

you feel a little bit like a college kid, making out in a bathroom while loud music plays behind you. but you wouldn’t change a thing: you love sex with jack, you love that he makes it good, tender, hot, passionate. but you love this, too: the neediness that can exist without ever taking an article of clothing off, arching your back so that your breasts press against his chest, hearing the catch of his breath when you do. you love to rake your fingers through his hair because you know that it drives him crazy, and you like seeing the goosebumps that you get in return.

jack nips your lower lip with his teeth and it makes you gasp into his mouth, and his hand squeezes against the back of your neck. he chuckles into you. “i love when you do that,” he breathes. “when you make that sound.”

it’s your turn to cling to the back of jack’s neck and press your fingers into it. “are you going to take me home or not?”

jack wears his smirk like a badge of honor. and then, so seamlessly, he blows a bubble with the gum that at some point went from your mouth to his.

“that is disgusting,” you say, but your face deceives you: your slack-jawed, twinkly eyes expression says everything that words can’t. “foul.”

“sorry,” jack says and comes in for one more hot kiss, using his tongue to press the gum back into your mouth. “didn’t mean to take that.”

One of the hottest things a man can do is love his wife

Animal Kingdom: The Cody Boys Read Fan Favorite Tweets | TNT

Shawn Hatosy's Arm Appreciation

Standing ovation for Noah Wyle who wrote the episode of The Pitt that showed support for women's abortion rights and had positive trans representation

SAY YES TO HEAVEN pt. 4

18+

I don’t know how taglists work but I hope it worked. Feeding the hungry and such.

Slowly you and Art fell back into your old routine. Sitting beside you in seminars, studying at your dorm, going to the movies. But only this time it was different. Holding hands was new. Art was addicted to holding your hand. The way your fingers fit so perfectly against his, like you were made from him. Sometimes he’d glance down at your fingers, thumb drawing over your knuckles. Your hands were always cold but it didn’t bother him, since Art ran hot.

Kissing was new as well. It didn’t matter if he picked you up from your dorm, or followed you into the toilet during class, Art couldn’t get enough of you. If he could, he’d climb inside you and embed himself into the marrow of your bone. He was an addict. Nibbling at your neck when you tried to finish your homework. An insatiable little thing that couldn’t believe his luck.

“Art,” you’d chuckle, softly nudging him away so you could finish writing your essay.

“Miss you,” he’d say, lips trailing down to your collarbone. You sighted softly, it didn’t take much for Art to convince you. You’d shove the papers away, spreading your legs for him to settle between your thighs. It had been going like this for weeks. Sometimes Art would cry after and you’d have to soothe him until he fell asleep. Other times he grew cold, distant. But you were patient. You couldn’t imagine how he felt, with his mind at war between his devotion and you. But you didn’t want him to suffer.

Art still wouldn’t let you touch him. Kissing was fine, your hands tugging at his curls or winding around his neck. But the moment your cold fingertips slipped under his shirt, he’d shake his head, gently pushing your hands away. You were surprised how much it bothered you. Usually the guys you were with mostly let you do your thing. They were with you because of their pleasure not yours. They barely made sure you’d finish after, so it felt weird, having Art go down on you but wanting nothing in return.

Sometimes you’d catch him adjusting himself with flushed cheeks, a wet patch growing quickly against the fabric of his boxers. It was frustrating. You wanted to touch him and you wanted to make him feel good. You wondered if it had to do with his beliefs. That he didn’t want to indulge his pleasure.

Art was tired. He was achy and frustrated. He was needy. Humping his bed until he came with your name on his lips was not enough at this point. But he didn’t allow to touch himself. He would be good. Well, as good as he could be. He tried not to imagine how the both of you could be doing other things. Emphasis on tried. His imagination wasn’t as loud and clear as most of the guys (Having never watched porn before) and he’d rather have it stay that way. Until some guys approached him after class.

Chad, one of the tennis guys, wound an arm around Art’s shoulders as if they had been friends for ages. Four other guys surrounded them, walking all in sync along the campus.

“Well, Artie, now that you managed to bag the jackpot you have to tell us,” the guys all had shit eating grins on their faces, waiting greedily for a crumb of information.

“Tell you what?” Art asked, confused. He didn’t really mind them talking to him, his thoughts were elsewhere already. He’d come over to your dorm that night and he knew he’d have to take care of his aching groin before seeing you, it was embarrassing how quick he spilled every time he heard those sinful sounds spill past your plump lips.

“Is she as good as some guys say?” One of the guys nudged Art playfully but Art only blinked at them all. He was feeling strangely left out. The group stopped surprised at the clueless look on his face.

“You must at least gotten to third base, with a girl like her,” a brunette snickers, his friend chiming in, “yeah, wouldn’t be surprised if she’d let you pound after a week.”

Art frowned. He had no clue what they were talking about but by their dirty grins and lustful gazes he shrugged Chads arm off his shoulder, stopping abruptly.

“Third base?” He asked.

“Yeah you know,” Chad made an obscene gesture with his hand, moving his tongue against his cheek in sync. Art flushed furiously before hot anger flared inside him.

“That is private.”

The guys laughed in unison. “Nothing is private with her. If you’re that easy, you’re obliged to give people a show.”

Art’s skin crawled at his grating voice. He usually wasn’t one to get riled up quickly. He was the one to turn his other cheek when someone hit. But you were changing him in some way, he didn’t know if he liked he change. The only thing he knew, was that these guys were talking about you with distasteful smirks, dropping comments and making obscene gesture.

They didn’t see it coming as much as he didn’t. His fist flew out and landed. Bulls eye.

*

“Love, you need to be more careful,” you murmured as you held the frozen pea’s bag against Art’s bloody knuckles. He sighed, eyes puffy and red, cheeks tear stained.

“Was all my fault,” he murmured, head hanging low. You didn’t ask him exactly what had happened. You only heard some loud shouts as you were leaving the lecture hall, on accident coming across Art, decking Chad in the face. Blood streamed over his lips as he cried out and you were quickly at Art’s side, eyes widened in surprise.

You convinced him to join you early at your dorm, taking care of his split knuckles. You leaned down, kissing the split skin of his as silent sobs left his lips.

“I should’ve been better than this,” he whispered, head in your lap.

“Art, you’re only human.” Your hands softly weaved through his curls. “You hit him once you won’t do it again.”

He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. That’s not what Art meant. It wasn’t the fact that his hand was throbbing. He deserved the pain. He deserved to suffer. But it was his thoughts that had been torturing him the most. Whatever the guys had suggested Art was disgusted by them. For them. But he wasn’t any better.

“How can I make you feel better, baby?”

Oh those words.

Art looked up from your lap, all teary eyed. He crawled onto the bed, lips meeting yours desperately. Art needed you to make the pain go away, to soothe the ache inside him. His tongue slipped past your lips, tasting of salty tears and clear devotion. His hands found your hips, bruising your skin with the force he was exerting. You shivered slightly at the change in his movements.

Art was always slow. Determined yes, but he was also careful and took his time to make you feel good. This time he was hurried, his mind wasn’t in on it and when you noticed, you pushed him back by his shoulders.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” You asked, eyes wide in worry. How perfect you were. Worrying about him even though he didn’t deserve one bit of it.

He reached up to kiss you again but you pulled away, making him whine.

“I don’t want you to use me to drown out whatever you’re feeling right now, Art. That’s not what I’m here for.” There was hurt underlying in your voice.

Art flushed in a hurry. “I would never do that. Never.”

He kissed your cheek devotedly. “You’re everything to me. I just want to be close to you.”

You shivered, his words spreading over your soul like warm honey. You leaned down, capturing his lips again, tongues swiping wetly against each other. Your nails trailed down his stomach, stopping at the hem of his shirt.

Art was too fast, kissing too clumsily, tongue and spit mixing with yours before he leaned back breathlessly. He stared up at you like you were his god, thumb finding your bottom lip. Curiosity reflected in his eyes, pupils dilated.

He exerted small pressure and you parted your lips on instinct, letting him gently push his thumb in your hot mouth. Your lip gloss was all smudged, down your chin, glittering softly.

Art watched your lips entranced and a soft groan left his lips when you sucked the pad of his thumb.

“Ohh—mmh god,” he whispered and you slowly started to bob your head a few times. Arts lips parted pretty and flushed, making you smirk lightly.

You let his thumb go with a pop, eyes catching the bulge in his jeans. “Is that what’s having you all stressed?” You tilted your head at him and he flushed nodding shyly.

“You want me to do it?” You asked. “Give you head?”

Art didn’t know what to say. He knew it was wrong. He had tried to think his way around it, to somehow come up with a solution. But there wasn’t one. He had to decide between you and his beliefs. And right now the pulsing in his pants was obviously choosing you.

“I d-don’t,” he huffs, “I haven’t—“

“Art,” you chuckled softly, stroking his cheek gently. “We’ll try, if you feel uncomfortable at any point you tell me and I stop.”

“I won’t feel uncomfortable—“

“Art,” you interrupted him. Grabbing his chin you made sure that he was listening intently. “No matter what, no matter with who, you say stop the other person stops. If something with me doesn’t feel good you tell me or else this isn’t going to work.”

“Uh-huh,” he nodded quickly. Anything for you. Good. You pulled him to sit on the bed, leaning against the headboard.

His head was crimson, fingers fidgeting as impeding dread filled his chest. Your hands slowly unbuckled his jeans.

“You want them on or off?” You asked gently, hand stroking his thigh.

“O-off,” he stuttered. His hand went up to clutch the cross dangling from his neck. Once the jeans were off you looked down at his cock. It was already fully hard, no need to go easy on him. Still, you only started to stroke him over the fabric softly.

“W-wait,” Art stuttered and you stopped immediately. You looked up at him, waiting as he undid his necklace and leaned over to put it on your nightstand. The gold glinted in the dim light of the rum, metal hitting the wood with a dull thud.

Something shifted then and you turned to look at Art. He was shaking slightly, a determined look on his face as he slowly nodded. You kissed his left knee, then the right one, hand still moving slowly over his erection.

Art whined, his hips moving upward into your hand, cheeks flushed. “Y-you need to start or I’ll-ahh,” he quickly pushed your hand away before he could spill in his boxers again.

An embarrassed smile made way on his lips and you chuckled. “All right, I’ll stop teasing.”

Your hand wandered inside his boxers, fingers wrapping around his hard cock and pulling it out. Your breath hitched at the look of the sensitive skin, the tip all wet. “Damn,” you huffed. “You’re wet like a girl.”

“Stop,” he whined and hid his face in his hands. You smiled sweetly, pressing an apologetic kiss to his tip. His eyes flew open as he quickly looked down at you. Your tongue licked a stripe up the length of him, salt hitting your taste buds.

“Ohh,” the sensation was so strange to Art. He tried to keep watching as you kissed him bottom to top, tongue darting out and pushing into his slit. His hips arched off the bed again as he whimpered softly, his cock slipping past your grip and sliding against your cheek.

Arts eyes widened. “Sorry.”

You giggled slightly, hand moving up and down his shaft. And finally your lips parted around his tip. It took everything in Art not to buck up his hips, his hands fisting the bedsheets as you slowly lowered your head.

You stayed down for a moment, letting him adjust to the warm feeling of your mouth around him. Art breathed through his nose, trying everything to not spill down your throat at that moment.

When his heart slowed enough you started to move. Your head bobbed slowly and if he weren’t so needy he’d be astonished by the way you could fit all of him down your throat.

The tight, hot inside of your throat kept working him, humming softly as your tongue swiped over his tip repeatedly.

“Oh—ohh fuckk,” he moaned, the tightness in his body rising rapidly. His hips slowly started to thrust, hands still fisting the mattress beneath him as he watched you.

“You’re so beautiful,” he mumbled one hand finding your cheek. Oh. Wrong move. He could feel his cock from the outside and he started to blubber incoherently.

“You feel so good, baby, uhh—fuck. Never want to leave your hot mouth,” he moaned. “‘M never gonna want anyone else. You’re—god—you’re it for me.”

You hummed appreciatively and when your fingers found his balls it was too much. There was no way he could hold back.

“Oh no don’t do that—I’m gonna—argh,” his hips bucked up quickly, making you gag but you knew well enough to stay where you were as Art’s hot seed spilled into your mouth. It was so much it started to spill past your lips and down his cock, even though you tried to swallow as much as you could.

It took him a full minute to calm his breathing as you slowly slipped his softening cock out of your mouth.

Art’s lids cracked open, his hand still stroking your cheek lovingly.

“How’d it feel?” You asked with a cheeky smile. Art couldn’t answer, only shaking his head repeatedly. How could he ever get enough of you? How would he be able to hold himself back after this?

His eyes met yours and he relished the moment, not worrying about his guilt. He could feel bad later, he would feel bad later.

His thumb slowly drew over your lips, pushing the spilled cum back into your mouth. You pressed a soft kiss against the palm of his hand.

“I want you to meet my nan,” he suddenly blurted and you looked at him wide eyed.

“What?”

“You need to meet my nan, she has to know my girl,” he said. Your heart thrummed and thrilled at his words and you crawled upwards into his lap.

“I can’t believe you just told me to meet your nan after you pushed your cum into my mouth.”

Art flushed furiously before you both broke out into laughter. You pressed a chaste kiss against his lips. Arts eyes widened at the salty taste of himself and you giggled again.

“I’d love to meet her, Art.”

____________________________

@curiousshifter101 @weasleysarch @tinythebunni @jamespotteraliveversion @grimsonandclover @soulxinxthexsky @addiexith @seokjinluvb0t @celuverst @devilpeqch @reverie-and-roses @antxnxlla @sazura @anehkael @faiththealbum

when you're trying to work but your coworkers are being gay

thinking about him

This was one of the most heartbreaking scenes in television history

just remembered these pictures exist and moaned

Random Actors icons

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the sounds art makes while playing tennis are actually OBSCENE