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jesuistrestriste · 3 months

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♡ Cooking & Cleaning; Art Donaldson x Reader ♡

nsfw! (18+) cw: service sub!art donaldson, dom!reader, afab/fem reader, use of ma'am as an honorific, brief food play, oral sex (reader receiving), begging, handjob, brief edging, praise, degradation, multiple orgasms (character receiving), dry orgasm

wc: 6.3 k (whoops)

note: this was pulled from the most depraved parts of my brain. i refuse to be held accountable for the absolute filth this contains ! :)

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The very second that your key is in the apartment door and you're finally home, you find your legs nearly collapsing underneath you as you step inside and kick off your black kitten heels.

"God," you groan, shutting the door behind you before you move to peel your chic new blazer off of your shoulders. You toss it onto the coatrack nearby and bring a handful of your fingers up to your forehead to rub at it tensely, sighing deeply.

It had been a long day at the USTA (United States Tennis Association) office, and all you wanted to do was come home and see your husband.

After Art had lost several important and consecutive tennis matches, as well as his confidence on the court (despite his actual tennis skills still being phenomenal -- he just psyched himself out too much), he had decided to give up his life as a professional athlete.

At first, this devastated you. Not only did you love your partner and believe in him throughout his career, as well as believing in his very real ability to eventually win the US Open, but this decision of his also meant that your position as his coach would become obsolete..

You actually became quite anxious about you and Art's future at the time.. you had needed a purpose, and so did he. You both were just those kinds of people; you and him both wanted to feel that you were contributing to something bigger than just yourselves, and that you were being useful to someone or something.

Luckily, his many previous years of successful tennis playing had scored you and him a shit ton of wealth. Like, genuinely a lot. You were beyond grateful, but you still wanted a life of your own. You didn't dare to think about the idea of becoming a stay-at-home wife while he went out and did whatever he wanted. Yuck. It just wasn't for you.

Your fears and inner turmoil about this change in your lives were quickly eased once Art had sat you down about two weeks after he had left his tennis career behind. He had taken your hands in his, smiled softly like he always did, and told you that he wanted to stay at home and take care of everything in it while you went out and continued your career in the field of professional athletics.

Of course, you immediately and excitedly agreed with the idea of this new plan, and then that was that!

You two developed new lives and new roles as people over a short period of time, but it didn't take away from the love you two shared. That always stayed consistent and at the center of everything.

Eventually, after a month or so of coming home from your new job to Art doing things like vacuuming the wooden floors of your guys' expensive New York apartment, or making elaborate protein-packed smoothies for the gym sessions that you two still did together, you came to realize that the whole "house husband" persona was actually kinda hot.

He had realized it too. Quicker than you had, actually. In fact, he can distinctly remember the overwhelming feeling of heat that had pooled deep in his gut the first time he had ever served you a home-cooked meal after you came home from a long day at your new job. He had gently rubbed your sore feet that night while you ate, and then suddenly couldn't find a way to deny how this new practice of.. servicing you.. made him feel.

I mean, God, he loved doing that stuff for you.. cooking.. tidying.. pampering.. washing.. he would do it all. You knew that he worshipped the ground that you walked on—reminding yourself constantly of the time he had admitted to you during sex that he believed he would be "nowhere without you"—and you devoured the increased sense of power that came with it every. single. time. It eventually became very easy and comfortable for you to let him take care of you. You grew hungry for it.

And then this persona of his, over time, dissolved into something much more intimate..

After tossing your blazer on the rack and rubbing at your temples, you drag your pantyhose-covered feet across the floor and into the kitchen.

Your nose is instantly filled with the aroma of fluffy, vanilla sweetness and a bit of nutmeg. you sigh happily as you turn the corner and see Art standing over a mess of what appears to be flour and sugar in a large bowl on the kitchen counter. He looks over his shoulder briefly with a smile as he mixes the dry ingredients together with a whisk.

“Hey, hon,” he grins, before turning back to look down at his current baking project.

you shuffle up behind him and hug him, your cheek pressing against his warm upper back as your arms reach to wrap gently around his abdomen. You sigh deeply.

“Hey, babe.. ‘m so tired. It was such a long day.”

He laughs softly, which shakes you a bit as you hold him.

“What’d your colleagues do now?”

You shake your head against him, groaning dramatically.

“I don’t want to talk about it.. what are you baking? It smells good in here.”

“Nothing crazy, it’s just some holiday cookies. I found the recipe online this morning after you left.”

“How many are you planning to make? There’s already some in the oven.” you ask, peeking around his frame from behind to see him set the bowl aside and wipe his hands on the apron he’s wearing. (It was white with small pink hearts by the pockets. You got it for him when he started cooking for you everyday, and he used to feel weird about it. He said it made him feel “slightly emasculated”, but he quickly grew to absolutely adore it. It was just another way for you to claim him as your personal chef. One night before you got home, he jerked off while wearing it, but he would never tell you that.)

“I don’t really know,” he shrugs and chuckles sheepishly, “there are twelve baking right now, but I thought that maybe I could make some for our neighbors.”

You chuckle softly, your hands disconnecting from their place on his stomach to reach down and give his ass a small squeeze. He jumps a little at the feeling, embarrassed laughter bubbling up in his chest.

“Where’d all this holiday cheer come from?” you smirk, pulling back from your position against his back to lean your hip against the counter. You just wanted to look at his pretty face. Your eyes quickly fixate on the fact that he’s got a bit of flour on his flushed cheek.. It’s only a small puff and smear of the white substance near his jaw, but for some reason it starts a flame in your lower stomach. There was just something about the way he got a little messy when he cooked or baked for you.

His cheeks plump up in shape ever-so-slightly as he grins at you.

“I don’t know.. I had time before you got home- I mean, well, before i thought you’d get home, and so i thought I’d just-”

You take a step forward, nodding at his words while your body is now only inches from his. You look up into his glassy blue eyes.

“You thought you’d just.. what?” you purr, your hand coming up to caress his lower back.

He swallows thickly, briefly looking down at the mess on the counter before he looks back to you. His body temperature is steadily rising as he feels your fingertips caress him over his loose t-shirt.

“I just thought I’d make some more,” he whispers.

You lean in, reaching your other hand up to gingerly hold the side of his neck while you press a kiss to it.

“You’re such a sweetheart, aren’t you?”

He nods, slowly, his eyelids fluttering slightly at the feeling of your mouth on him.

“I..I mean, yeah, I guess.”

You lean in a bit more, sucking softly at his neck. His head lolls a bit forward, and you nip at him when the sound of his shaky breathing reaches your ears.

You pull back, a small smirk covering your face as you look up at him.

His focus darts from your eyes to your lips as he reaches both of his hands out for your waist, but he’s rudely interrupted when the timer for the oven goes off— cookies are done.

You both nearly jump out of your skin at the sound; the incessant beeping pulling you both out of the thick fog of tension between your bodies and minds.

“Shit,” he mumbles, flushing pink from his cheeks to the tips of his ears as he turns off the timer at the top of the oven and moves to hastily grab an oven mitt from the lower drawer.

He pulls open the oven door, and you step back to watch him pull the tray out and set it on top of the stove area.

He sighs, pulling off the mitt and setting it aside as he leans over the cookies. His eyes are inspecting each one, and he has a very focused expression plastered on his face. He was as much of a perfectionist in the kitchen as he used to be on the court, that was for sure.

Your body moves in to stand beside him, also peering down at the tray of gorgeous golden-brown cookies. You place a hand on his upper back, rubbing it encouragingly.

“These look incredible,” you say, smiling at him.

He nods, still inspecting them, “They look better than I thought they would.. I actually messed up earlier and accidentally added three-fourths of a cup of sugar instead of two-thirds..”

“They look perfect, don’t stress.”

He looks to you, his gaze meeting yours and then suddenly everything was back to how it was before the timer went off. His hands reach for your waist, squeezing at your hips as he looks lovingly down at you.

“Be proud of yourself, Art.. you did a good job,” you laugh softly, your hands reaching up to cup his face. He pulls you closer.

“I am.”

“Are you?”

“Mhm.”

“Good.”

You suddenly get a very filthy idea.

“Can.. can you tell me what the recipe called for?”

His brows furrow slightly as he seems taken aback by your request, his cock already starting to stir to life in his sweatpants just from holding your body. He didn’t want to talk about the damn cookies anymore.

“What?”

You roll your eyes, one of your hands dropping from his face to reach around the fabric of the front of his apron and grope him over his sweats. Your other hand moves down too, but just to gently hold the side of his torso. His whole body jolts forward and his lips part instantly.

“You’ll like where this is headed, trust me. Just talk to me.. tell me what you did to make the cookies look so perfect..”

He breathes unsteadily, his fingers digging into your waist as he feels your hand start to work his cock up to a full-blown, hot, twitchy erection.

“I.. uhm.. I just..” he breathes out, his eyes growing lidded as he absentmindedly bucks up against your touch, still trying to maintain eye contact as pleasure starts to flood his senses, “one cup of b-butter.. ngh-!.. two cups.. two cups of flour… and then- ugh!- two.. two-thir-r-ds.. of..”

His voice trails off, shaky and low and broken as he hangs his head a bit, leaking incessantly into his boxers. It was that easy for you to work him up.

You frown, “Uh oh.. come on, baby, don’t go nonverbal on me that quick.. we’ve just barely gotten started…”

A small whimper leaves his chest as he tries to finish his words, “Two-thirds, I m-mean- three-f-fourths of a c-cup of.. s-su.. sugar… one teasp’of vanilla.. and.. o-one.. teaspoon of nutm-eg.”

You smile, stroking his cock over the fabric of his pants, “Good boy.. God, you’re so pretty when you’re slurring for me..”

He moans obscenely, melting at the praise while he feels his length grow suddenly intensely hot. A certain kind of numbness starts to creep over his crotch before his hands are flying from your hips to your wrist.

“Wait! W-Wait!” he gasps, his eyes squeezing shut as he blows a concentrated shaky breath from his lips, his fingertips digging into your arm.

Your eyebrow lifts and you smile as you take in the way his body shakes and shudders as he holds it in for you. He knows how to behave.. what would make you happy.. what would make you disappointed.. After all, he’s been trained by you in more than just tennis.

“Close?” you whisper.

His body starts to slowly relax again as he regains some of his composure. He blinks his eyes back open slowly, looking into yours.

“Very,” he groans.

You pull your hands from his body, and he whines softly.

“Take off the apron. Put it on the floor.”

You’re sure you’ve never seen him move so fast— his hands reaching behind his back and undoing the tied string. Then, he pulls the apron off over his head, tossing it off to the side. He watches you study him with parted lips, and he bites onto his own.

“Now take your sweats off for me.”

He does as he’s told; his shaky fingers reaching down to slip his pants down to his lower thighs, and then down to his knees and ankles, and then he steps out of them. He kicks them gently next to where the apron was thrown, now making a mess of grey and white fabric where both items pooled on the kitchen floor.

You step close to his body, cupping his face before running a hand through his messy strawberry-blonde locks. But it doesn’t take long for your eyes to travel solely down to the bulge prominently pressing against the inside of his navy boxer briefs. You run a fingertip up and over the outline of his dick, relishing in the way it makes him shake. He was now just in his tee shirt, boxers, and white socks, while you stayed fully clothed. But not for too much longer.

"My pretty husband.." you coo to him, making his lips part to let out a few uneven breaths. You glance around his frame and notice a bowl off to the side that had remnants of the soft cookie dough from the first batch of the cookies. You smirk.

You lean forward and swipe your thumb along the inside of the bowl, gathering some of the sugary, buttery mixture on your digit. His gaze remains lidded and locked onto your face, not finding any importance in your hand's movements at the kitchen counter. You bring your thumb back in, showing him what you did.

He spares your thumb a quick glance, but then his eyes are back on yours, and then your lips, and then the way that your breasts are peeking out from the low-cut collar of your work top. You bring your thumb up to his mouth.

"Open," you whisper.

He does as he's told, parting his lips further and leaning in to encourage your finger to slip past them.

You push your cookie dough-covered thumb into his mouth, feeling him immediately begin to suckle on it; his tongue swirled over it, and his eyes fluttered shut right after they began to roll back. His brows furrow, and a couple of faint whines bubble up out of him as the taste of his homemade sweetness melts seamlessly on his palate.

While your thumb is in his mouth, you push it down softly on his tongue.

"Knees, baby," you say breathlessly.

Art knew this command like the back of his hand.

Effortlessly and steadily, he dropped down to his knees one after the other, keeping your digit in his mouth the entire time. He didn't dare let it go. He moved to sit on his calves.

"Good job.. good boy..."

He whimpered, the vibrations of his pathetic sounds causing your hand to buzz slightly.

"I want your mouth on my cunt.. can you do that for me, darling?" you purr, running your hand through his hair for a moment. He nods around you.

"Y'sh, m'm.." he mumbled, trying his best to speak while still relishing your touch with enough attention.

You pull your thumb from the heat of his wet mouth, and smirk as you watch his lips chase after it.

"What was that?"

You already had a good idea about what he had murmured, but it was just.. best to be sure.

"Yes, ma'am," he gasps out softly, his eyes glazed over.

He reaches up and pulls at your skirt, shimmying it down and over your ass and thighs, letting it fall to your ankles. You kick it aside, and lean your back against the countertop. Art positions himself on his knees so that he's on the floor in front of you, looking up at you. His hands shakily reach up to the sides of your pantyhose, his tongue licking out over his bottom lip. He digs his fingers into the taut fabric and looks up at you once more, beginning to pull them down.

Immediately you grab his wrists, halting his movements. His eyes look up into yours, worried that he had made a wrong move, but you shake your head with a soft smile.

"You can rip them."

He doesn't even mean to, but he moans when you give him permission to be a little desperate right now.

In an instant, his strong hands are pulling needily at your tights, causing them to rip from your crotch to your lower thighs. He hooks one of his index fingers into the inside of your panties, his thighs tensing up at the feeling of your wetness, and then he's pushing them to the side. His tongue rests out over his bottom lip as he leans in, holding the back of your leg with his free hand as his eyes flutter shut and he engulfs your heat with his mouth.

"Oh, fuck-!" you yelp, reaching down to tangle your hands in his soft curls, "fuck, fuck, that feels good, Art, don't stop.."

He moans, his eyes squeezed shut as he lathes his tongue up and down and over your wet hole. He lewdly sucks and swallows your slick that's quickly spilling over his tongue, trying to focus harder on your pleasure (and less on the feeling of his cock throbbing rapidly in his boxers.. he can feel himself leaking).

You remove your hands from his hair and move to unsteadily grip the countertop, your back pressing hard against it. Art hums around you in his mouth, moving his tongue up to lick sloppily at your clit. He opens his eyes, his brows furrowed, and looks up at you.

"God, you're so good at this.. you're doing so well.. i'm getting.. close.." you breathe out, studying the upper half of his face while the lower half remains buried in your pussy.

He doubles his efforts, smushing his face deeper against you, his lips pursing to suckle against your sensitive nub as his grip on your leg tightens. Art has half a mind at that moment to just scoot forward a bit and slot your ankle between his thighs, but he won't. You came first, in his mind. Literally, and figuratively.

You sling the leg that he's holding over his shoulder, giving him more access, and then you begin to feel an overwhelming, hot numbness creep over your lower half..

"ANGH!" you moan loudly, squeezing your eyes shut as your body begins to shake. Your fingers grip the kitchen counter so hard that you're afraid you'll break a nail.

"I'm going to cum, Art..!"

"Mm! Mm-mm!"

"I'm.. oh my god.... I'm... I'm-! Cumming-!" you whine, feeling your orgasm crash over you.

"MM-!" he laps at your pulsing cunt, squeezing his eyes shut before forcing them open so that he can watch the way your beautiful face moves to contort in ecstasy.

You groan and whine as your orgasm's aftershocks are uncomfortably prolonged by Art's relentless tongue, and your hands release the marble countertop to reach down and grab two soft fistfuls of his hair. You try to tug his head back from your cunt, but he just closes his eyes and presses his nose and mouth further against your core. The repetitive movements of his tongue over your folds cause lewd, wet noises to fill the kitchen.

"Art... A-Art..! Enough!" you slur out as the pleasure from before starts to melt into a prickly sting of oversensitivity.

His eyes flutter open and you shoot him a warning glance as he peers up at you.

"I said enough, yeah?" you snap, "stand up."

He immediately pulls his mouth away from your sticky body and stands up on shaky legs. His eyes look downward, guiltily avoiding your gaze, as he wipes at the clear slick covering his chin with the back of his hand.

You try to catch your breath for a moment, studying his chest as it heaves up and down -- him trying to catch his breath all the same. You reach out and take his lower jaw softly in one hand, forcing him to look at you properly.

"You got a little fucking greedy there for a minute.. didn't you?"

He bites his bottom lip for a second, nervously chewing on the inside of it as he debates what answer he could give that would result in the least amount of punishment from you.

"Did you hear what I said?" you whisper coldly, taking a step closer to him as your hand grazes against the erection standing proudly in his underwear.

His body automatically jolts forward, and he lets out a shaky breath as his brow twitches. "Yeah.. I did.." he huffs out.

You smirk, wrapping your hand around him over the dark blue fabric, "And what do you think, hm? Were you being greedy?"

He looks deep into your eyes, his lips parting as he feels you start to stroke him. He tries to stop it, but his hips start to shallowly buck against your grasp, and now he can't get any words out. He wants to, but he just.. he really can't.

You roll your eyes.

"You know what I want you to say, honey. Use that big brain of yours."

He moans softly, his hands coming up to hold the sides of your upper arms as his eyes grow lidded.

"I'm.. I was being greedy.. I'm greedy," he moans lowly, thrusting into your hand a bit quicker and with a tad bit more abandon.

"Yeah, yeah you are. You're a greedy little whore for this, aren't you?"

He nods slowly but repeatedly as his brows pinch together and his breathing picks up.

"Yesss," he says brokenly, his voice straining a little as his moans start to become whimpers and whines, "I'm.. s' greedy for you.. jus' for you.. mm..!"

You nod and smirk up at him as his face becomes pinker and pinker, "That's it, pretty boy.. good job. You like when I stroke your pretty cock?"

He lets out an obscenely loud moan as his abdomen curls in over itself a bit, his hands gripping the sleeves of your work top and pulling helplessly at the fabric as he feels a spurt of precome burst into the inside of his boxers.

You chuckle a little as you watch him visibly get closer to his climax, but then he suddenly releases the hold on one of your sleeves and urgently grabs the hand that's moving over his clothed length.

You look down to where his hand holds yours, and he lets out a filthy whimper as he pulls your touch off of him and then urgently pushes your hand past his waistband and down into the front of his boxers. You gasp at his seemingly impulsive actions, feeling your fingers finally come into contact with his slicked-up cockhead. Your fingertips just barely brush over his hot, leaking slit.. sliding over a thick glob of pre.. and then he's being sent over the edge. To the average person, the touch would be essentially imperceptible, but not to him.. not to Art. He was just far too sensitive.

Your husband lets out a startled cry as he doubles over your frame in front of him and frantically moans, his whole body trembling and tensing as his balls draw up, "I'm cumming!"

You don't even have time to really process what's happening until you feel your hand being covered in warm fluid, the substance dripping down your fingertips as Art basically comes untouched. You look up at him, dumbfounded, before you feel your abdomen grow warm and tingly. That was kinda.. hot?

"Jesus, baby," you whisper breathlessly as his hips jolt a few more times before stilling as he gulps air down into his lungs, "didn't realize you were that worked up.. that was a little quick, no?"

He moans softly, still feeling your fingers graze him inside of his boxers.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to.." he says, his breathing hitching in his throat as he tries to get the words out in spite of the pleasure still thrumming through his veins. He was still rock hard.

You smile, quickly using your clean, opposite hand to pull his boxers down to his lower thighs. His length slaps up lightly against his stomach before bobbing out in front of him, a tiny pearl-like bead of cum still leaking from his tip. He sighs shakily as he looks down at himself, and then up at you. You wrap your cum-covered hand around the base of his shaft, causing Art to jerk forward from sensitivity. He pulls a sharp breath in, his face scrunching up a little as he tries to control his body.

"I'll let you cum again," you start, watching his eyes light up, "but! you need to give me a warning this next time, okay? I want a clear warning, love."

He nods at your words, a more serious expression plastering over his face, "I will, I promise.. I.. I can give you a proper warning, ma'am.." he whispers.

And with that, you slide your hand from his base to his tip in one smooth motion, your thumb gliding over the head.

"GAH-!" he shudders forward, hissing in pain for a moment before he starts to moan again.

"You okay? Can you handle this?" you ask, your tone soft but seductive as you try to tease him but also legitimately check in. You two were always good at looking out for the other's wellbeing during your sessions together; the exchange of love and tender-care came easily to you both-- it was never something either of you had to question.

He nods, "Yeah, yes-ss, I can t-take it.." he slurs a little, watching your hand move up and down over his throbbing length.

"Look up into my eyes, darling," you purr, your hand starting to pick up speed, "does it feel good?"

He meets your eyes, his blue ones swimming with lust and desperation as he felt the beginnings of his second orgasm start to creep in, "Yes, fuck-! Yes! It feels so fucking good--!" he whines.

"Remember what we just talked about?"

He nods fervently, sucking his plump bottom lip in between his teeth as his focus darts from one of your eyes to the other. You speed up your hand, squeezing his shaft a little more to give him some pressure that you assume he needs.

He keens instantly, a loud moan rumbling from his chest as his thighs start to shake and his eyes squeeze shut.

"Art," you murmur in a seductive but warning tone.

He shakes all over, nodding his head, before his back stiffens up and he becomes incredibly tense. You keep your hand moving at the same fast pace, hoping his memory today is as good as his stamina.

"I'm going to cum," he whispers quickly, bringing his hands up to hold onto your shoulders as he pulls you closer.

You smile in approval, leaning in close to his ear and breathing warmly against his skin as you speak softly, "thank you for telling me, angel. do you want to cum for me?"

He nods, whining out a hasty "mhm". He lets out a breathy moan as he feels your hot words against his upper neck.

You press a chaste kiss there, and then you slide your hand up to gently grip his shaft while your thumb moves to rapidly swipe over his frenulum.

"Come."

And he does just that.

Art's back arches as soon as your one commanding word reaches his ears, cumming uncontrollably with an abrupt cry of pleasure. At first, his body is incredibly rigid as he lets go, his brows pinched up together as he feels the first, pulsing waves of his orgasm hit him, but then the full sensation of his release hits him and his whole body shudders deeply. He lets out little breathy moans and gasps as he relishes in the bursts of pleasure rolling over his cock. You slow your thumb down a bit as you watch him spurt rope after rope over your hand and onto the kitchen floor as he comes undone for you a second time.

"Fucking hell," you moan, now going back to stroking him fully instead of just rubbing a digit against his tip.

He grits his teeth in an instant, being pulled from his afterglow by the feeling of your hand forcing him back into a feeling of overstimulation. "Ah-! Ah!.. T-Too much, too much," he whimpers, his hands instinctively reaching down from your shoulders to push at your hand that's currently working him towards a third, uncomfortable orgasm that he's not even sure he wants anymore.

You use the hand that's not stroking him to move his hands away from your occupied one, giving him a small shake of your head.

"Hands behind your back, please. We're not done yet, okay?" you coo.

He quickly follows orders, moving both of his hands behind his back and away from his aching length, although not without letting out a sniffly whine of protest first.

"Please, ma'am.. I'm.. I can't do it I can't do it-- I'm-- AH!"

You cut off his soft moans of agony with a brief squeeze to the base of his dick, looking intently up into his eyes through your lashes.

"If you really want to stop, baby," you tilt your head teasingly, "you can always use the safeword, yeah?"

He bites his lip before he lets out a warped cry, his head lolling backwards in the same instant. You stop moving your hand.

"Art, darling," you whisper to him comfortingly.

He brings his head back upright to look down into your eyes, his face blank with pleasure; he almost looked drunk. His eyes were glazed over, his cheeks were pink, his hair was a mess, and his lips were parted to let out harsh little breaths of air as he tried to regain some semblance of being grounded in his own, ruined body.

You reach your free hand up to cup his jaw, brushing your thumb over the side of his face.

"Does it really hurt that bad? You know that you can be honest," you whisper, now a little concerned that maybe you pushed him too far.

He thinks for a moment before shaking his head slowly and swallowing a bit of drool that he realized has been collecting in his mouth for the past minute or so, "N-Just a little.." he breathes out.

You nod, giving him one soft stroke of his come-covered cock. He gasps and his torso jolts at the sensation, faint tears springing to his eyes.

"Sorry, sorry," you hum, "should we stop here then? I think maybe that would be best for you.. you've already done so well for me.."

The latter half of your sentence, that subtle bit of praise, gives him all the motivation he needs to want to unravel again.

He looks down at his still-hard cock, and then back up at you, and shakes his head. His tongue pokes out over his bottom lip and wets it as he tries to collect his thoughts.

"No.. no, I can do- I can go again, ma'am.. I pro-promise.." he slurs out, thrusting up into your hand.

You raise a skeptical brow at him and his movements, keeping your hand still.

"Are you sure? You know that I won't be upset with you if you want to stop, Art."

He shakes his head again, his lip trembling, "Please."

You smile softly and start to move your hand up and down over his cock again. Despite his previous indications that it was painful, the feeling has now seemed to morph back into unfiltered pleasure as he lets out a high-pitched moan of your name. He babbles endlessly, a mixture of pleas for more, letting out repetitive mumblings of "feels good", and "yes", and an assortment of stuttered expletives.

It doesn't take long for Art to get close again.

"I think 'm gonna come again," he mumbles, letting his eyes fall shut as his head slumps forward against your shoulder. You stroke him quicker, focusing on his hypersensitive tip as you feel a drip of precome come out.

"Oh? You want to come again?" you tease coyly.

You could be cruel sometimes. He had known that this part was coming eventually.

He shakes his head against the crook of your neck with a whine, "don't do this, please.."

You stop your hand at the base of his cock, halting his orgasm just as his load started to rise up his length. Art bites back an obscenely loud moan of protest that is dying to be let out..

"No, no no noo," he squirms against you, repetitively shaking his head as his face remains buried in your neck.

"You know what you need to do, darling."

"Please," he moans, "let me come.."

"You want to come?"

"Yes."

"You do?"

"YES..!"

"How should I make you come?"

"Can y- keep stroking my- I want my cock to be- I-" he mumbles incoherently.

You place your free hand on the back of his head, pushing your fingers pleasurably into his hair as he trembles against you.

"You want me to keep jerking you off? Hm?"

"Y-Yes-ss!" he moans out brokenly, using every bit of restraint within himself to resist the urge to move his hands from behind his back and relieve his aching parts.

He would never do that, though.. no matter how much he wanted to. He would always follow your wants and needs first. Those were most important to him.

"Ask me for what you need again. Nicely; just the way I like it."

"Please, can I come?"

"Again."

He whines, his hips involuntarily bucking up against your stilled hand wrapped around him.

"Please," he sobs, "can I please come for you?"

"Yes, honey, you can come."

You start to stroke his cock once again, and within just a few pumps Art is releasing again. Even though you can't see them because his face is still in your shoulder, his eyes roll all the way to the back of his head as he lets out a couple pitiful squirts of white, sticky liquid over your hand. "Ooh, that's it.. good boy.. are you my pretty little slut?"

When Art hears this, he isn't exactly sure what happens, but it's like the orgasm that's already halfway finished just completely starts over.

"Ohh my fucking- oh my god-dd-! Ugh! HNGH-!"

It's like every single nerve ending in his body is lighting up at once, and he can't do a damn thing about it.. he can't stop it...

His legs nearly go limp underneath him, and he has to lean further into you to prevent himself from collapsing.

Art then releases the most pornographic moans you've ever heard and tenses up in your hold all over again. You're not really sure what's happening until he--

"I'm cumming again! I'm cumm-m-ing-! Again! Ohmyfucking--! GOD!"

He whines and sobs against your body, his arms still held behind his back as you feel his cock jump and pulse in your hand again. This time, nothing comes out. It's odd because it's clear that he's cumming for a fourth time, but there's nothing to show for it.

You slow your hand but continue to stroke his length which is now covered in the creamy-white filth of his previous loads. His cock softens a little, but you're unsure when his orgasm ends because, again, nothing is coming out.

Art's frame suddenly begins to jerk around every time your hand brushes over his tip, and he lets out a hiss of discomfort through his gritted teeth and a sniffle afterwards. As soon as you hear that, you know he's done and you quickly remove your hand. Any extra stimulation and he'd genuinely start to cry. You could save that for another time.. if he wanted you to.

You move your other hand from his hair to his clothed upper back and rub small, comforting circles over it.

"I've got you," you whisper, "you did such a good job, baby. You just came dry for me."

He nods, sniffling wetly and exhaustedly.

You continue to rub his back for a minute or so in silence as he comes back down to earth; the pleasurable waves of his release's aftershocks allowing him to bask in the ebb and flow of it all as he tries to calm his ragged breathing.

"I feel weak," he groans softly.

You nod, "I'm right here, you're okay.. take some deep breaths for me, honey."

He nuzzles deeper against your neck and sighs contentedly, the fuzziness in his head starting to dissipate with your caring words and gentle touch.

"You're my good boy," you whisper, pressing your cheek against the side of his head.

"Mhmm," he hums, "always for you."

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆.

notes; WOAH. ok. so this has been like months in the making by now i think..? but i finally finished it :D thank u so much to everyone who has been patiently/loyally waiting for this one after i teased it for over a month on this blog 😭 + thank u to anyone who gave me some kind words of encouragement when i had to put this aside for a while. i luv u guys !! <3

reblogs are always allowed + appreciated!

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carewyncromwell · 2 years

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Back to School Challenge // hosted by @cursebreakerfarrier

💗𝟓𝐭𝐡 𝐒𝐄𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑: 𝑻𝑨𝑳𝑬𝑺 𝑶𝑭 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑼𝑵𝑬𝑿𝑷𝑬𝑪𝑻𝑬𝑫💗

“I've always been a man with a plan, Always prepared never once to leave it to chance, But it's all unscripted when I'm with you: It seems familiar, yet it all feels so new... All of the sudden I miss you, Thinking about all of the things that we've been through... Oh no, it's not that I planned to, But I think it feels like maybe I'm falling for you and me...”

~“Unexpectedly” by Jason Chen

x~x~x~x

Duncan Ashe and Jacob Cromwell’s mutual attraction was an open secret to just about everyone in their year. Not only did Duncan’s constant scolding and derisiveness toward Jacob seem so overdramatic that it embodied the phrase “methinks he doth protest too much,” but Jacob and he both were incredibly attuned to each other, even in comparison to how they treated their other close companion, Olivia Green. Duncan was Jacob’s shadow in most classes and just about always sat next to him. He’d also go out of his way to heal any injuries Jacob received himself, rather than send him along to Madam Pomfrey, so he could scold him the entire time to be more careful. On Jacob’s side, he always without fail brightened up whenever he collided with “Ashe” (as he exclusively called Duncan), and he’d always go out of his way to make physical contact with his boy best friend, whether by leaning against his arm, wrapping his arm around him in one-armed hugs, resting his head on Duncan’s shoulder, or even grabbing his hand or wrist and pulling him along after him.

It seemed for a long while that the only people who were unaware of the sparks flying between them were the two boys themselves -- at least until their fourth year. Then the only person who didn’t know how deep the two boys’ feelings for each other had gotten was Jacob himself.

Jacob, Duncan, and Olivia had each earned themselves some admirers over the years, for their work with the Cursed Vaults. Most of those admirers weren’t gutsy enough to act upon their feelings, for good reason -- Duncan frequently intercepted any notes from and bared his teeth at anyone who made a move toward Jacob (who’d always been notoriously people-dumb), and the one idiot who thought it’d be okay to flirt non-stop with Olivia even after she politely told him to piss off ended up getting his ears Transfigured into kumquats, courtesy of Jacob. One of the people who’d been sweet on Duncan Ashe, however, was Sharon Edgecombe.

Sharon was a Gryffindor in their year with more wiles than her outward appearance would suggest. She was very pretty and poised, but that was partly thanks to how much value she put on appearances. She liked being around exciting people, even people who were a little on the “rebellious” side, but she also liked being well-liked and praised, and was rather enamored with the idea of dating someone with an edge while still remaining popular and squeaky-clean herself. To put it simply, she wanted a “bad boy” lover who would still protect and take care of a “good girl” like her.

Eccentric, scatter-brained, bright-eyed genius Jacob Cromwell would never have been someone who’d grab Sharon’s attention...but Hogwarts’s resident tsundere -- the cynical, mischievous, stylish Duncan Ashe -- most certainly was. Sharon saw Duncan as just the sort of rulebreaker who could give her the excitement and attention she craved and yet still be handsome, safe, and image-conscious enough that he wasn’t threatening. And so, liking the thought of Duncan coming to her and sweeping her off her feet in time for the upcoming Winter Ball, Sharon ordered a Love Potion and then used it to spike a glass of pumpkin juice, which ended up right in front of Duncan at breakfast that morning.

Fortunately for Duncan, his two best friends had both popped over to the Slytherin table to sit with him, to chat about the Ball next week. And when Jacob flopped down on Duncan from behind, playfully hugging him and resting his head on his boy best friend’s shoulder even as a darkly flushed Duncan snarked at him, the book-smart, people-dumb Ravenclaw caught a strange whiff of something coming from Duncan’s drink. In an instant, Jacob’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, and he abruptly snatched the glass right out of Duncan’s hand before he could drink from it.

“Wha -- ?! Jacob!” said Duncan, bewildered.

Jacob gave the glass a sniff. His eyes darkening more than ever, he glanced from Duncan to Olivia and back.

“Smell this,” he said, holding it out for Olivia to smell.

With a bemused blink, Olivia leaned in and gave the drink a sniff too. She wrinkled her nose.

“Smells...sugary,” she said with a deep frown. “Really sugary, sickly sweet. Like cherry-flavored medicine.”

Looking faintly vindicated, Jacob then tilted the glass back toward Duncan. Raising an eyebrow at Jacob, he reluctantly leaned in and smelled it himself. When he did, though, he gave a start.

“...That’s not sugary,” he said, bewildered. “It’s -- well, like some musty old chamber. Like the inside of the Fear Vault. And something sweet, like honeywater or something -- ”

“ -- while I smell chocolate and pine,” Jacob finished darkly. “Namely, things that should attract us.”

Duncan and Olivia both turned to Jacob. Then Duncan pieced it together.

“Amortentia?” he realized.

“Yup,” said Jacob, and his blue eyes flashed coldly down at the pumpkin juice. “The smell seemed weird for pumpkin juice, but us smelling different things confirmed it. Especially yours, Liv -- I reckon since you don’t swing toward romance at all, the smell isn’t particularly pleasant to you, no matter how sweet it is...”

Duncan looked at Jacob in bewilderment as Olivia picked up the glass, her eyebrows raised high over her narrowing eyes.

“Well, then, this is definitely taking a one-way trip to the loo,” she said very coolly.

She shot a quick, beady look around the Great Hall, as if checking to see if the perpetrator might be watching. Jacob’s almond-shaped blue eyes swiveled suspiciously around too.

“Right...” he said very lowly.

Unclenching his jaw, he took the glass from Olivia and got to his feet.

“I’ll take it -- you go on ahead to Charms, I’ll catch up...”

“Jacob,” Duncan said abruptly, before he could stop himself. “We were going to talk about the Ball, remember?”

“Go ahead and talk!” Jacob called over his shoulder casually. “Reckon it’ll just be the two of you going to that shindig anyway...”

Duncan was taken aback. “What? But Jacob...everyone’s planning on being there. It’s expected -- ”

“Since when do you do what’s expected of you, Ashe?” Jacob teased.

“Jacob, we were hoping the three of us could all go, as friends,” Olivia attempted a bit more mildly. “I think it’d be a lot more fun for all of us, if we went together...”

But Olivia’s sentiment somehow seemed to go right over Jacob’s head.

“Eh, sorry, Liv -- you know parties aren’t really my scene. Too much punch and not enough brain cells. You and Ashe knock yourselves out -- I’d better go take care of this.”

A vein was twitching to life in Duncan’s cheek as Jacob strolled away.

“Jacob!” the Slytherin bellowed after him. “For once in your life, could you think of anyone else’s feelings besides your own?!”

Little did Duncan know that Jacob had indeed been thinking of someone besides himself, while walking off with that spiked drink. Rather than just ditch it, he actually took it back to the Ravenclaw boys’ dorm, pouring it into a vial and then stoppering it so he could study it later. For the next week, while Duncan, Olivia, and the rest of their class got ready for the Winter Ball, Jacob spent his free time trying to dilute the ingredients so as to narrow down who had meant to drug Duncan. It was on the night of the ball himself that Jacob finally received his answer -- the mysterious sender was Sharon Edgecombe.

Now many people -- upon discovering something like this -- might’ve thought to take their findings to that person’s Head of House, or even Dumbledore himself. But Jacob was so furious that once he knew who had tried to drug his boy best friend, he immediately set about confronting Sharon. And after leaving the commonroom and seeing everyone walking downstairs toward the Great Hall in formal wear, Jacob realized that the Winter Ball had started, and she would most certainly be there.

Jacob stood out like a sore thumb on that crowded dance floor, dressed in his disheveled school uniform with his hair as messy as ever. Even Duncan, who’d been sitting on the sidelines with Olivia and looking rather surly, stiffened up abruptly when he noticed Jacob walk quickly across the room, right over toward the punch table, where Sharon Edgecombe and her date, the big, burly captain of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, were chatting.

“Jacob...?” Duncan muttered, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

Duncan and Olivia exchanged a quick, decisive look. The two got up from their table, smoothing out their dress robes (elegant black velvet and pale pink polyester, respectively) as they rushed to go find Jacob. When they spotted him again across the room, they saw Sharon’s date had left her and Jacob alone, and they weaved through the bustling crowd to try to reach them.

Sharon, for her part, had feigned innocence in response to Jacob’s accusation. Once she’d sent her date off so as to talk to Jacob privately, though, her angelic facade seemed to flicker somewhat.

“It’s so nice, when you can find someone who’ll do anything for you,” she said sweetly, indicating the Hufflepuff Captain with a short little nod. “I suppose that’s why you’re so territorial of him, isn’t it?”

Jacob’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”

“Duncan,” said Sharon, as if it were obvious. “Really, Jacob...you could’ve asked him to the dance yourself, if you’d wanted...”

“I don’t give a damn about this bloody dance!” Jacob snarled back. “What I care about is you trying to drug Ashe with Amortentia!”

Sharon gave a forced little laugh. “Still stuck on that idea?”

Her brown eyes grew a little smaller.

“We all know how you feel about him, Jacob,” she said under her breath. “Aren’t you tired of acting like this is all for him, and not for yourself?”

Jacob sneered at her. “If you truly knew how much Ashe means to me as a friend, then you wouldn’t question that. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do, for Ashe.”

“Oh, I’d definitely believe that,” Sharon said innocently. Something cooler flitted through her expression as she smiled at Jacob. “That’s why I know this ‘good friend’ act is just a mask you’re putting on.”

Jacob’s eyes flared. “Excuse me?”

“Plenty of people would be up to using a Love Potion, if it hooked them up with someone like Duncan Ashe,” Sharon said lowly. “You can’t tell me you would’ve been mad, if that Love Potion had made Duncan attracted to you. Honestly...you’re probably just mad that you weren’t smart enough to think of doing it yourself first -- ”

In a split-second, Jacob’s eyes widened, his pupils narrowing to dangerous, rage-filled slits --

SMASH.

In an instant, Jacob had brought up both of his hands and shoved Sharon backward, right off her feet and straight into the punch bowl set up behind her. With a scream, Sharon brought the entire table down with her, the reddish liquid splashing all over her dress as the bowl shattered under her weight and everything came down with a crash to the floor.

Duncan and Olivia both froze stock-still, their hearts jumping into their chest, as everyone else in the room whirled around to watch the action. Jacob was lording over Sharon, his eyes full of rage and his teeth bared.

“You listen here, you no-good, arse-licking little trollop -- if you want to act so bloody smart, then stay the HELL away from Ashe, or I’ll turn your face inside out -- !”

Sharon’s big, burly date ran over, yanking out his wand as he came up on Jacob from behind. Before his spell could land, however, Duncan had shoved his way through the crowd, right over to Jacob.

“Piscis Dolornasum!”

Jacob turned, startled, when his best friend appeared behind him seemingly out of nowhere, hexing the Hufflepuff Quidditch Captain right in the face. Within seconds, the Captain dropped his wand as both of his hands flew up to his nose, which was suddenly excreting tons of slimy-looking sardines.

“Ashe?” said Jacob, startled.

Duncan turned to look at Jacob over his shoulder, smiling darkly despite himself. “...Heh...Olivia said it’d be a lot more fun if we were here together. I don’t reckon this was what she meant, though.”

Jacob smiled weakly in return. “Probably not...”

“What is the meaning of this?”

All of the students parted quickly to let Professor McGonagall through. She was dressed in high-necked tartan.

“Professor -- ” Jacob started at once, but Sharon interjected.

“Professor, Jacob Cromwell, he -- he just went crazy!” she said pitifully. “H-he accused me of trying to drug Duncan Ashe with Love Potion, even though I told him I didn’t do it -- ”

“I have PROOF, you lying little -- !” Jacob was about ready to punch her, but Duncan and Olivia both grabbed hold of his shirt from behind.

“ -- And then out of nowhere, he just -- PUSHED me!” Sharon pressed on. “S-so Willy came over to try to help me, and then Duncan hexed him -- ”

“He was trying to attack Jacob!” Duncan couldn’t stop himself from interjecting despite himself.

“He pushed my date into the punch bowl!” the Hufflepuff Captain retorted as best he could around the sardines still spilling from his nose, pointing an accusing finger at Jacob.

“She bloody well had it coming, for what she tried to do to Ashe!” snapped Jacob.

“B-but -- but I didn’t do anything!” sobbed Sharon.

Jacob once again made an angry move toward Sharon, but Olivia wrapped her arms in a hug from behind, to try to hold him back.

“Jacob, take deep breaths,” she urged him lowly.

“I -- I just wanted to have fun tonight!” Sharon choked. “And -- and now my dress is ruined, and -- and the Ball is ruined, and -- Jacob Cromwell ruined everything!”

She burst into tears. McGonagall regarded her with a rather detached, muted expression, before taking out her wand and flicking it at the Hufflepuff Quidditch Captain’s face.

“Finite Incantantem.”

In an instant, the sardines stopped spilling out of his nose.

“Go on back to your dormitory and change, Miss Edgecombe,” she said curtly. “I will speak to you in my office tomorrow morning.”

She then shifted her gaze over to Jacob and Duncan.

“As for you two gentlemen...you’re hereby banned from the remainder of the Ball, for your disgraceful conduct.”

Jacob and Duncan’s mouths both dropped open.

“But Professor, she spiked Ashe’s drink with Love Potion!” Jacob argued desperately.

“I did not!” whined Sharon.

“Enough,” McGonagall said in such a quelling voice that she silenced both of them. “Regardless of the evidence I’m sure you have to back up this accusation, Mr. Cromwell -- which, believe me, I would very much like to see -- ”

She shot Sharon a rather beady look. The pretty blonde’s face seemed to blanche at the severity of her expression.

“ -- it does not give you nor Mr. Ashe the right to physically attack your classmates. You should have come straight to one of your professors as soon as you suspected this and left us to settle the matter.”

Jacob’s shoulders seemed to deflate with resignation, even as his face flushed with further righteous anger and resentment.

A flicker of pity seemed to pass over McGonagall’s face.

“...Mr. Filch, escort these two back to their dormitories,” she said quietly.

Filch materialized out of the crowd and grabbed both Jacob and Duncan by the scruffs of their necks.

“Hey -- !”

“Let go, you -- !”

Filch gave both of them a leer before he looked back up at McGonagall.

“S’pose you’ll be sentencing them to detention too, then?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow at her. “I’d happily take care of these two’s punishment, if you -- ”

“I think missing out on the remainder of the festivities is more than enough discipline for now,” said McGonagall. “Off you go, then.”

With a displeased sneer, Filch nonetheless roughly yanked Jacob and Duncan out of the Hall and forcibly escorted them back to Ravenclaw Tower and the Slytherin dungeons.

Both Jacob and Duncan were left to stew in their juices for a while. Jacob felt furious at the seeming lack of justice for Sharon, while Duncan was irritated that Jacob had made him miss the Winter Ball after he’d gotten dressed up just to go. But, Duncan supposed, half the reason he’d really wanted to go was the thought of going with both Olivia and Jacob...pick out some robes for Jacob, the way he had for Olivia; snark about everyone else’s outfits together; sneak some Hiccough Sweets into the bowl of butterbeer...maybe even dance a little, if he could’ve pull Jacob aside...get out of everyone else’s line of sight, at least for a short while...see Jacob properly dressed, for once...his long dark hair combed into handsome waves, to frame his eyes...

Afterwards, though, Olivia came around to cheer Duncan and then Jacob up. When she came up to Ravenclaw Tower later, Duncan in tow, to find Jacob, Olivia had brought a whole bunch of enchanted fiery-red and watery-blue streamers from the party back with her.

“McGonagall let me have them,” she explained. “I think she does believe you about Sharon, Jacob, even if she hasn’t seen your proof yet. She just didn’t want to go too easy on you, since you still shouldn’t have pushed her.”

Jacob scoffed. “You’re right -- I should’ve Vanished her mouth right off her face: that would’ve shut her up...”

“Careful, or someone might think of doing the same thing to you, the next time you mouth off in Potions class,” Duncan said dryly.

He paused. Then, biting the inside of his cheek, he spoke again.

“...Jacob?”

Jacob tilted his head. “Hm?”

“I didn’t...hear everything you said to Sharon, but...I gather that the reason you shoved her into that punch bowl was...well, to protect me.”

Duncan swallowed.

“It was still really stupid of you, mind you,” he scolded very quickly, “especially considering Sharon’s incredibly well-liked and there were about a dozen witnesses around, so it was almost inevitable that she was going to play the victim -- ”

“I don’t care how many witnesses there were, or whatever charade that slag wants to put on,” Jacob said coldly. “If she so much as looks at you again, I’ll hex her face off.”

Duncan’s ears darkened with a flush and he actually seemed to be trying to bite back a pleased smile.

“...That...that’s beside the point,” he mumbled.

“It’s exactly the point!” Jacob argued. “I don’t care what anyone else says, what McGonagall does to me -- I don’t even care if you think it’s stupid, I’m going to protect you, Ashe -- you and Olivia.”

“That’s not -- ” Duncan muttered in a combination of frustration and awkwardness. “I didn’t mean -- I was just...ugh.”

“What I think Duncan is trying to say is ‘thank you,’” Olivia said serenely.

Jacob frowned at her. “...Then why didn’t he just say that?”

“I was trying to!” Duncan sighed in exasperation. “If you’d just bloody shut up for a minute...”

“You were the one who wouldn’t get to a point!” Jacob said with a confused frown. “And you say I prattle on aimlessly...”

Olivia chuckled quietly as her two male friends started to bicker. Easing herself up and off of the foot of Jacob’s bed, she took out her wand and started levitating the streamers into place, using a Sticking Charm to “pin” them along the bed frame. The moonlight peeking through the tall windows bounced off of the enchanted red and blue, making them glow supernaturally in the night.

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #back to school challenge 2022 #jacob cromwell #duncan ashe #olivia green #minerva mcgonagall #sharon edgecombe #argus filch #My writing #Aesthetic #moodboard #ahhhh I've been looking forward to finally writing out this scene in jacob's life for a while #yeah sharon's a superficial twit #I could totally see her becoming a politician's wife someday >>#and not in a good way

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