cloudy

you are deep

(nsfw) alt!art donaldson who gets just a little bit slutty when alcohol is unraveling his mind...

alt!art donaldson who fixates on you in the middle of the small nightclub that sits on the outskirts of campus, eyes lidded and pink lips parted drunkenly as he watches you laugh and spill your cup of tequila-pineapple on the floor. he chews on the silver hoop adorning his bottom lip and sucks on it like he's imagining it's your tongue in his mouth instead. baggy jeans, a black band tee that shows his stomach when he lifts his arms up, scuffed sneakers, dumb tattoos scattered over his forearms and biceps—you look preppy, he wonders if you'd even be interested. maybe you don't like boys like him.

alt!art donaldson who somehow overhears you telling one of your friends about how med school is going, and then before he can stop himself he's tapping your shoulder and smirking down to you. he's all blonde curls and white teeth, chased with a lick of arrogance. he makes a show of dragging a hand down his chest and hooking his ring-clad fingers underneath the hem of his shirt, pulling it up his stomach and over his pecs. to no one's surprise, both of his nipples are pierced with a dainty, silver barbells. he asks if you can tell him if they're infected.. y'know, since you're a med-student and all.. (they've been perfectly healed for over nine months, he just wants to show off his tits).

alt!art donaldson who ends up dancing with you under the glow of the strobe lights, holding your hips and letting you rub yourself against him like you're trying to start a fire between the two of you. who cares if anyone sees? and anyway, everyone's too wasted to notice. he starts to kiss your neck, warm and wet and languid, and keeps you on your feet when he feels your knees buckle in response. no more than a few minutes pass, and then the two of you are bumping into walls—hands all over each other—on your way to the bathroom. art slams his back against the closed door once you're both tucked away inside, shoes sticking to the tiling, and drags you into his body—moaning desperately into your mouth and letting his hands wander to playfully cup your ass. he squeezes. he slacks his jaw so that you can taste him properly. vodka and cranberry juice and peppermint gum and sweet spit.

"Mhm, s'that a problem?" His sclera's are a soft red, lips chapped. His tongue flicks out to lick them before he leans up on his elbows to kiss you. And you kiss him back, obviously.

𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 - 𝐃.𝐂

WARNINGS: pure smut, minors dni !! ||۶ৎ in which darry needs to relax and you know just the right ways

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ a/n : im in love with this concept like darry has me in a chokehold. tysm for the request hon <33

⊹₊⋆.˚୨୧⋆.˚₊ ⊹

The sun had long since sunk below the horizon, stars appearing in spatters across the inky expanse sprawling above you. Crickets chirped somewhere beyond the yard; the creak of the deck was the only sound aside from the distant hum of traffic that seemed to travel around you. 

The poignant scent of weed hangs in the air, permeating your senses, making the world seem just that little bit further away: blissful, quiet. 

It had started as a joke; you'd told Darry he needed something to calm him down, that he'd been too worked up and tense lately. Work would still be there tomorrow, the bills could wait, and work could pause for a few seconds. 

You didn't expect him to take you up on the offer. 

Pony was off at Two-bit’s eith Johnny and wouldn't be back until the next morning, and Soda was on a date with some girl he would most likely never see again. You both had all the time in the world. 

You’d passed the joint back and forth lazily, neither of you saying much, just leaning against each other like this was the only thing that mattered. His fingers kept grazing your thigh, twitching further and further up, just enough to make you smirk, knowing full well what he wanted. 

“What are you looking at?” You whisper, catching his gaze, those murky green eyes blown wide, slightly red at the edges. 

Darry smiles lazily. “You.” His voice is rough, a steady southern drawl that is softened by the haze of the smoke. “You’re lookin’ real nice like this.” His hand slips between your thighs and you don't protest, simply stubbing the joint out in response.

“Feel good?” 

He hums, and you stand, offering him a hand. He takes it and you pull him up, letting him pull you inside the house eagerly, like he’s desperate for something more than the high. 

And that how you end up here: he leans back on the couch, practically melting back against the threadbare cushions like they're the only things keeping him upright. His jeans are unbuttoned, thighs spread wide as you straddle his lap, hands rubbing up and down the wide, solid expanse of his chest. 

He's so hard it's almost painful, thick and twitching against you, his hips occasionally rutting up as needy little whimpers spill free from his swollen lips. 

“Please, baby… Need you so bad. Wanna taste you.” 

A small, knowing smile graces your features and you lean in close, the fabric of your panties brushing against him torturously. 

“Yeah? That what you want, Curtis?” 

He nods, hands gripping your hips and shifting you until you’re the one sunk back against the cushions. Darry kneels front of you. He looks so fucking needy like this, pushing your knees apart and holding your thighs open as he tugs your panties aside. 

He presses an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of your knee, his lips surprisingly soft and tender, the action so featherlight you would have missed it if you weren't so hyperaware. 

“Prettiest fuckin’ thing ive ever seen.” He grows, and the words are rough as gravel, the smoke still lingering on his breath, the high clearly taking a toll. 

And then he dips down and licks into you, a fat stripe right up your centre, lapping like a starved stray. 

Your hips jerk involuntarily, fingers grabbing at tousled strands of dark hair, and he holds you down. His tongue drags through your folds again—slow and methodical—like he's mapping out a path he's walked hundreds of times and never grows tired of. 

He’s stoned, and that makes him sloppy, spit dripping down his chin, your slick coating his lips as he sucks at your clit, and you realise with a strange sense of satisfaction that he's getting off on this. 

“Darry...” you cry out, trembling thighs locking around his head, teetering on the brink of climax. 

And just before you fall, he pulls back, licking his lips like the final traces of you are the last thing keeping him alive, a drug in its own filthy way. 

He leans up, lips grazing along your collarbone, trailing below your ear, his next words a whispered growl. 

“Wanna be inside you so bad it hurts, baby.”

The sheer honesty knocks the breath out of you, making your cheeks heat up, flushing an embarrassing shade of pink. 

“Please, Dar…” and now it’s your turn to beg. 

And Darry doesn’t make you wait. 

The second you sink down onto him, he lets out a groan so guttural that it shakes the walls, reverberating through the blissfully quiet house. 

“Fuck…” he grits out, head falling back against the couch, hands taking purchase on your hips, thumbs digging in so hard you know it'll bruise in the morning. “You’re so goddamn tight, sweetheart.”

You begin to move, slow at first, just little rolls of your hips, feeling him twitch inside of you, cock dragging against your walls in a way that seemed to be heightened by the lingering effect of the high. 

His hand drifted up your back, skin rough and calloused against yours, guiding your pace, still maintaining a semblance of control despite the fact he was unravelling beneath you, panting and gasping like a teenager. 

“You’re killin’ me, darlin’,” he drawls, the words melting into each other, barely legible through grunts. “Gonna come just watchin’ you.” 

You lean in, lips meeting his, the kiss hot and heavy with need—it’s all tongue and teeth, messy in the best way. He tastes like weed and mint, a combination that’s so intoxicating you find yourself deepening it, not pulling away even as your lungs scream for air.

His hips stutter beneath yours, grinding up into you, drawing a loud moan from you both, neither of you caring who hears. 

“God—don’t stop—please, don’t stop… ‘M so close…” He’s damn near whimpering now, and that alone is enough to bring you over the edge, your orgasm hitting you like a wave coaxing forth a loud cry. 

You squeeze around him, nails dragging down his chest, leaving harsh red lines behind, raw and no doubt sore by the time the sun comes up in the morning. It pushes him over the edge; he comes with a groan, voice low and broken, cracking slightly as he spills inside of you, not caring for the mess.

Darry tucks his face in the crook of your neck, his hair sticking to his forehead with sweat, the strands damp and wild. His breath is warm against your skin, causing goosebumps to prickle along your arms.

“Love you…” He whispers. “Love you so fuckin’ much, sweetheart. Think you ruined me.”

He sounds broken, completely exhausted and boneless. Your fingers card through his hair, nails scratching at his scalp lightly. “Love you too, Dar…”

And something tells you that right now, he’s never been calmer. 

||۶ৎ darry masterlist

there’s something so magical about looking at the moon and realizing i’ll get to experience her beauty in all of my realities.