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themostpreciouspearl · 2 days ago

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Four's a Party Pt. 1

Author's note: This is quite self indulgent. Soft Tashi FOR THE WIN! I think I mostly wrote this because I became insanely jealous during the hotel scene, not (just) when they were three way frenching, but when they were just... existing. Sitting in a circle sharing a beer with two down bad guys on a summer night y'know? Not a care in the world. Sigh.

Description: 2.4k words. In which the movie's love triangle becomes a square .

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of racism, alluding to smut-? but really not

Inspired loosely by @tacobacoyeet’s challenger fic nothing (but love) for you. That shit is life changing.

"Oh my god." Art breathes.

Eyes closed, riding the afterglow of her victory, Tashi dances like that's all she was made for. Each movement flows into the next, carefree yet sensual, the whirling fabric of her dress catching the light. She's fucking glowing.

The glass bottles of their soda have gone warm under their fingertips, but they don't notice. Patrick might’ve jabbed at Art’s puppyish, slack jawed expression if he wasn’t wearing the same.

Their internal narratives are synonymous: talk to her. Patrick’s the first to move, clacking his soda against Art’s clumsily. “Let’s-”

“Yeah.” Art clears his throat and they make their way around their respective sides of the table. Their faces are both eager and awkward, eyes flicking from each other to Tashi as they approach. Their hesitance costs them.

You get there first.

Tashi spots you across the dance floor as your eyes lock on hers. Your face cracks into a grin as she opens her arms, crosses the floor in a few long strides and pulls you into a tight hug.

Art and Patrick watch as her arms tighten your waist, crimping the fabric of your dress. Like she’s trying to meld the two of you together. Then she’s letting you go, only to grab your shoulders and gently shake. Her expression is fond but stern as she talks to you, and they can’t help but wonder what you two are talking about.

It's hard to see Tashi now as the hard edged, lethal weapon she'd been hours ago. The one who unleashed a scream of victory, of adrenaline, teeth showing like an animal, the one with that fucking backhand.

"Ummm." Art mumbles. Patrick presses the lip of the soda bottle to his mouth for a moment before taking a swig. They've both deflated a little, looking more like lost pups than anything as they stand stock-still in the grass.

"Man, this is a waste of time." Patrick scoffs, taking a seat in one of the straw-weave chairs. "She's flocked."

She's not, but it's easier to pretend she is than to work up the guts to talk to her. Art stands listlessly by his side, silent.

“Sorry I’m late, my parents gave me another lecture on misplacing my emotions.” You say as Tashi engulfs you in a hug. “Ow- Tashi, you’re killing me.”

Tashi laughs, the sound easy and rich, still feeding off the nectar of her victory. “I’m telling you, put it into your tennis. That’s what I did. Told Anna she was a bitch with my backhand.” Her hands grip your shoulders and shake you lightly. “There’s nothing else you can do when you're dealing with people like that.”

“Okay, but you’re you.” You push her arms away just to step in again, not bothering to pretend you don’t gravitate toward her. “And I doubt you would’ve taken something like that lightly, either."

You glance over to where Anna, to your deep satisfaction, is hiccup crying over her 2nd place trophy. The trophy that was supposed to be yours, at the very least. "Racist cu-”

Tashi presses a hand to your mouth and glares at you playfully. “Quit it, this is a classy party.” She jerks the hand away when you pretend to bite her.

“It’s your party.” You counter, “or have you not noticed your face blown up everywhere?” A gesture in any direction would have pointed towards one of the posters. Tashi in an Adidas hoodie, Tashi's racket raised as she delivers an overhead smash, Tashi’s gorgeous side profile against a blue sky.

“It could’ve been your party too if you hadn’t let Anna get in your head.” Tashi shoots back, swift and powerful, just like her tennis.

You struggle slightly to keep your expression warm. Because she’s right.

“Shit.” You exhale in frustration as your shot goes out of bounds. Too strong, too reckless. Anna smirks on the other side of the net, relishing watching you slip. As she prepares to serve, you swear her lips twitch to form the same insult she mouthed at you earlier.

You white knuckle the racket, precision and method slipping away as rage clouds the edges of your vision, sounds of your family’s and Tashi’s cheers fading as you silently curse out Anna Mueller. Racist fucking-

Flash. Tashi’s taking pictures with her trophy, beaming like she's just won it all over again. The camera captures her radiant smile, and in the string lights the smooth glass surface of the cup seems to wink at you.

You watch her from your seat, fingers tapping on the straw-weave armrest, desperately trying not to be jealous. You clutch a tiny bottle of orange juice in your other hand, barely touched.

Involuntarily, your mind drifts back to the semifinal two days ago. Your parents' disapproving words about the loss mix with your own to form the ultimate mental beatdown.

If you hadn’t let Anna’s barbs get the best of you, you might’ve beaten her in the semifinal. You and Tashi would’ve gone head to head in the finals. You could've even manage to lose to her. You don't even have a consolation prize to cry over.

You try not to let yourself dwell on it, but you can't help but sulk a little.

Drowning in self pity, you don't notice the voices before they rise in volume. "She probably saw us trying to approach her. We'll look desperate." You swivel, noticing a pair sitting a few feet away.

Well, one is sitting. Rather, he's slouching in the chair with such a weathered expression that it nearly makes you laugh. The other is gazing unfocused in Tashi's direction as she talks with some Adidas executives.

"You sure you don't wanna talk to her again?" The blonde one prods, looking down at the other, who shakes his head.

"Nah, let's just wait for the shuttle back to the hotel."

Neither of them move. They barely even blink as they watch her, hypnotized.

They look so forlorn, you can't help letting out a snicker. Their heads turn to you like they had been wholly unaware of your presence. Head on, you recognize them as the boys doubles winners. Kissing their trophies, kissing each other through layers of glass.

Another spike of unbidden jealousy hits. You ignore it the best you can.

"..Hi." You say after an uncomfortable silence.

"Hi-" "Hey." They respond nearly immediately, nearly in sync. The brunette's gaze is sharp. "Wait, aren't you Tashi's friend?"

Tashi's friend. You grit your teeth.

It's shameful, just being known by how Tashi's story touches yours. Please let it not always be this way.

"Yeah, I'm y/n." You say, and you see the blonde one mouth your name like he's committing it to memory.

And you really shouldn't, it'll make you sound egotistical, but you add, "I played Anna in the semifinals. And she won." You add the last part uselessly. Great, now you sound like a fucking idiot.

"Oh. Well, she's crying over there if you wanna feel better." The brunette points in her general direction, his eyes not leaving you.

You manage a smile at him. "Thanks, I saw." He smiles back, one side of his mouth lifting further than the other.

"So, what's it like? Being her friend, I mean." The blonde chimes in.

You shrug. "It's alright. It's pretty...." Memories of 6 am phone calls summoning you to the tennis courts, tactless criticism of your every move should it be anything less than perfect, her body shadowing yours in the bathroom before the match, 'decimate that bitch, okay?' so close you can count her eyelashes - "intense."

"Is it hard? Being in her shadow, I mean." He prods gently, and the only reason the words don't sting is because you've got a sneaking suspicion he's speaking from experience. You look to the brunette, who's been watching you more keenly than you realized.

"I guess at times, but it's not-"

"Not what?" Tashi's voice floats from behind you, and two pairs of eyes that had been on you immediately dart up to her. You turn in the chair and meet Tashi's eyes at once.

She's not looking at the boys, just you. Her eyes are still soft with laughter. Her lips are curved into a slight smile as she gazes down at you. You love her the most when she's like this. "Not important." You reply.

"Hm. Good." Tashi glances at the boys before deciding they're not worth her time. They're still staring at her helplessly. "You ready to go?" She picks up your orange juice and sips from the straw.

You're about to say yes when you catch the anguish on the two boys' faces. "Well, I was just talking to these guys-"

"Art." "Patrick." They jump at the chance to introduce themselves, which pisses you off a little. They didn't bother when talking to you.

"Right. Fire and Ice." Tashi muses. "Congratulations on your win today."

"Likewise." Art blurts out. "I mean, you were fucking incredible out there."

Oh, jealousy is going to eat you alive. Three winners and one loser enter an Adidas party. It sounds like the start of a bad joke.

"Thanks." Tashi never turns down flattery, but you can tell that the smile she gives them is polite, nearly bored. Something warms in your chest; she has never looked at you that way.

"No, really. I mean it." Art insists, and a tedious back and forth ensues. Tedious for you, at least.

Through the conversation, as Patrick and Art not-so-subtly fight for Tashi's attention, they occasionally sneak glances at you.

It's only fair that Tashi siphones most of their attention, Tashi is the sun, and you're the moon, only known by your reflection of her light.

"Well, we should go." She finally says, beckoning you with a tilt of her chin. You rise from your chair, barely containing a sigh of relief. You take the hand she offers. It's warm, her palms marked with calluses from the tennis racket, and strong. Immediately, you feel better.

"Wait."

You can't control your eye roll as you both turn to face them again. Their gazes shift from you to Tashi in a way reminiscent of a tennis match. "Do either of you have Facebook?" Patrick asks.

"He's asking for your numbers." Art clarifies. "So am I."

You stare at them, unmoved.

"Why should we?" Tashi responds coolly. "We're fine on our own." Her hand squeezes yours, and you have to resist the urge to lay your head on her shoulder.

"Please?" Art, it seems, has no qualms in sounding desperate. Patrick gives you both a beseeching look. You cock your head at Tashi, she raises her brows back, Let's have some fun.

You're lying across both of your beds with your laptop open in front of you. You watch yourself gracelessly lunge for the ball, face stony as of present. The shot cuts to Anna as she delivers a crosscourt forehand, winning the point, and you bury your head between your folded arms.

Tashi sits cross legged at your side, using your back as a writing desk as she jots down notes on a post-it. One hand splays across the small of your back to keep you still. As always, she's having you both rewatch your matches as she scrutinizes them for flaws.

There are significantly more in your match than hers.

It feels like a punishment, mostly because it's such an embarrassing loss, and you'd rather be raked over hot coals than relive it. Still, you try to console yourself with the knowledge that she cares. It's her way of taking care of you.

(She pushes you hard, maybe because she knows as good as you get, as much as you try, you’ll never surpass her.)

The match finally ends, and you look away before the camera pans to the devastation that had been written on your face. Tashi pulls the post-it from your back and sticks it to the laptop.

A knock on the door.

You both freeze. The knock comes again, rapping insistently. “Oh my god.” You mutter to Tashi, "did they actually-“

Did they knock on every door on the third floor until they found your room? Yes.

"Those are our conditions." Tashi calls as she pulls you away. You don't need to look back at their faces to know they're filled with disbelief, your lips pressed together to hold back your laughter. "You're lucky we're all at the same hotel. You have the floor, you just need to find the room."

She loops her arm with yours. You feel better than you have in days, powerful, as you stroll away through the grass.

"Who is it?" Tashi calls, though you both already know who. You exchange gleeful glances at the evidence of their infatuation.

"Please let us in." Art's voice is muffled but urgent through the door. "There's an old man out here that's about to hit us with his cane."

Swinging your legs off the bed, you amble over to the door and unlock it as Tashi peeks over their shoulders into the hall. Sure enough, an elderly man in the room across from you is leaning heavily on his cane, chewing the guys out from the doorway.

Art looks mildly mortified. Patrick's dangling a pack of beer from his fingers, smiling like the Cheshire Cat.

"You actually did it." Tashi says, amused. Either she's hiding her surprise well, or she expected this. After all, who wouldn't go to the ends of the earth for Tashi Duncan?

You and Tashi wear matching smug grins as they squeeze past you into the room, eyes taking in the neatly packed suitcases, the floral coverlet, the perfectly fluffed pillows. The beds, pushed together.

Art takes a seat on the floor after eyeing the perfectly made beds with apprehension. Patrick follows, and Tashi pulls you down with her to complete the square.

"We brought beer." Patrick holds out the half empty 6-pack like it's a bouquet of flowers. "The finest beverage for the finest ladies. And gentlemen." He adds after a thoughtful pause.

"Right, we might need to get you back to first grade to work on that counting." Art drawls, resulting in a smack from Patrick's free hand, which he slaps away with less grace than you'd expect from doubles champion.

"I don't mind sharing." You shrug as Tashi pulls out one of the three cans and cracks it open. She takes a short sip before magnanimously handing it to you.

Holding her gaze, you bring it to your lips, pretending to be unaware of how the boys are staring at you two like you're the Second Coming.

It's undecided how much sharing you four are going to do tonight.

#tashi duncan x reader #tashi duncan #art donaldson #patrick zweig #challengers #tashi x reader #challengers fic #challengers 2024 #div cred @/bbyg4rlhelps”#patrick zweig x reader #art donaldson x reader #art x tashi x patrick #tashi x patrick #tashi x art

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matchpointfaist · 1 day ago

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stanford art x reader based on the song "guilty as sin?" by taylor swift? this has been on my mind a lot recently lol

what if he's written 'mine' on my upper thigh, only in my mind?

stanford! art x reader

tw for smut, angst, emotional cheating, he does tashi dirty kinda, not tl accurate

you had known art since the first day of sophomore year, when he’d stumbled into your lecture thirty minutes late, tennis bag slung over his shoulder and sweat staining his shirt. he’d flopped down beside you, smiled apologetically, and started scribbling notes that appeared to be complete nonsense. he’d charmed you, somehow, somewhere between his sheepish grins and curious gaze. soon enough, he was always at your side, your best friend in the world. all of that changed when tashi came around, though. she demanded all of his time (what little time he had left after tennis), and demanded less and less of you, until eventually, your friendship with art was nothing but a sore memory. you understood, as a woman, her concerns. maybe at times, you and art had been a little too close, spent a little too much time together. the line had never been crossed, though, not even once. not even when his eyes lingered on your lips when you said his name, not when he stayed over because he was too drunk to drive home and you let yourself pretend he was yours for a night, not when you slipped into bed and imagined his fingers between your thighs instead of your own. you’d never tell him, never. and he’d never tell you about the nights he spent panting your name into his pillow, the way his hand practically ached to take yours when you walked side by side, the way he lit up when you were so much as mentioned. no, you were perfectly behaved, the picture of best friends.

tashi saw straight through it, even when the two of you didn’t. so, there was no more you and art, simple as that. you passed him in the halls, smiled in the way that felt more like barring your teeth, and went home to vent to your roommate about it. “we never even did anything,” you told her one night, your eyes red rimmed and the one scrap of him you had left - his tennis hoodie - scrunched in your hands, “i mean, really, i’m innocent here,” “sometimes not doing anything is worse,” she’s told you, in that all knowing way she had about her, “i don’t blame her, yknow? i’m sorry, i know that’s not what you wanna hear, but you’d do the same in her position,” so you shoved it down, tried to drown out the sound of his voice in your memories by spending your free time with friends, the occasional hook up at a party that never went farther than a rough make out, because every time you opened your eyes, you expected to be met with blonde hair and that half blue, half brown iris. tashi broke up with him in the fall. you’d heard it from a friend of a friend, some stanford whispered gossip, and you wanted to believe it wasn’t true. he’d have told you, would have found you right away, righted her wrong and secured your friendship once again. but a day passed since you heard, and he never showed up, never called. you started to think maybe it wasn’t true, that it was just another rumor that would later be discredited, or worse, he just didn’t want to see you.

you came home from class two days after you heard, and there he was, leaned against your doorframe like he belonged there. “art,” you stopped in your tracks, eyeing him cautiously, “what’re you doing here?” “i needed to see you,” his voice is a welcome comfort, “tashi dumped me a couple days ago, i just needed to tell you,” “yeah, i heard,” you shoulder past him lightly, twist the lock on your door, “i figured you’d have come as soon as it happened. yknow, for a shoulder to cry on,” “you’re more than a shoulder to cry on,” he sounds almost offended at the casualties, “can you- hey, let me talk to you,” he takes your arm, gentle and warm, as you start tidying the living room just to stay busy, “can we sit?” “you were my friend, art,” you hate how hurt you sound, “then you disappeared for her. it’s been a year,” “you were never just my friend,” his voice is lower now, heavy with something like shame, “you know that,” “nothing ever happened between us,” it’s easy, a practiced defense, “nothing at all,” “you know how i looked at you,” his fingers push a piece of hair from your face, achingly close to your skin, “come on, look at me, please?”

you look up, your eyes meeting his, warmth flooding your veins, “i have no idea how you looked at me. you never said anything,” your voice is quieter now, “how was i supposed to know?” “i should’ve told you,” he says softly, “i thought about you all the time. i thought tashi would- i don’t know. i thought i couldn’t have you, that maybe she’d get you out of my system,” “out of your system?” you scoff, “jesus, art,” “i didn’t mean it like that,” he says quickly, eyes widening at your reaction, “just, i don’t know. i didn’t think you felt the same,” “well you didn’t ask,” you shift your weight, resting your hip against the wall beside you, “like i said, nothing happened, anyway. it’s not like we dated,” his eyes trace over your face like he’s recounting memories, landing on your lips eventually, “we didn’t have to do anything for there to have been something between us. i thought of you in a way i’ve never thought of anyone, but i was so good, i didn’t try anything. i just thought it would go away,” “i wanted you to want me,” you watch as his tongue swipes against his bottom lip, “i would’ve- it would’ve been different,” “i’m here now,” his voice cracks slightly, “i’m telling you i wanted you,” “maybe it’s too late,” you murmur. “is it?” he catches your jaw in his hand, tilting your face up to him, “tell me you want me to go and i will. tell me you didn’t think of me, that you don’t still,” he trails his thumb over your bottom lip, “i know you. i can see it all over you,” “does it make me a bad person?” his thumb goes down to your jawline, running the pad of it along your bone, “no, it doesn’t. if anything, it’s me. i’m the one that was thinking of you when i was in bed with her,” jealousy simmers at the mention of the two of them in bed, but you push it down, raise your hand to rest it on his wrist, “this is a bad idea,”

you barely get the words out before his lips are on yours, any hesitation long forgotten as he takes you in his arms, kissing you hard and fast, all teeth and tongues and unspoken secrets. he backs you against the wall, one hand on the back of your head to keep it from hitting the plaster, the other on your waist, looped around you to pull you tight against him. he slides his leg between your thighs, kissing you like he wants to drown in your lips, grinning against you when your hips rock against his knee. he pulls away to kiss down your neck, sucking and biting, drawing quiet gasps from you as you pull at the back of his shirt. “we should slow down,” you say it even as you grind against his thigh, breathless and red faced. “do you want me to stop?” he asks, voice hoarse, “tell me,” you hesitate, blinking up at him, before shaking your head, “no, i don’t, just maybe we should-“ “i don’t care what we should do,” he returns to your neck, greedy and wanting, “i’ve waited so long to have you like this,” you throw out all hesitation, all logic, and let him suck bruises into your flushed skin, let yourself slide along his bent knee like you’re chasing a high.

time is a blur until the two of you end up flushed and bare across your bed, your legs on either side of his lap as you ride him, slow and tedious. his hands rest on your hips, guiding you, his lips parted as soft gasps leave his throat. “you’re perfect,” he manages to grit out as you roll your hips, “god, baby, just like that,” somewhere in the mess of clothes being shed and messy kisses, he’d made you come just from the friction of his thigh, left you wet and desperate to make him feel that same release. you rest your hands on his shoulders, arching your back into him as you change your angle, drunk off the moans you pull from his lips with each bounce onto his cock. “so good,” he’s practically whining for it, voice hoarse and lips bitten red, “fuck, you’re gonna make me cum,” you let your head fall to the crook of his neck, muffling your moans as you speed up your motions, needing to feel him fall apart beneath you. he digs his fingers into the plush skin of your hips as he fills the condom, shuddering and twitching, your name falling off his lips like a prayer. “fuck,” he pants, chest rising and falling rapidly, “that was so good,” you smile to yourself, pressing a kiss to his chest and slowly sliding off his lap, watching in a daze as he ties off the condom and tosses it into the bin. “are you okay?” he asks softly, tracing the shape of your jaw as he returns to bed, “feeling good still?” “perfect,” you nod, humming as you lean into his touch, “made all the waiting worth it,” you don’t talk about what this means, about a future or anything substantial. you just let yourself bask in the feeling of his arms around you and his breath on your neck as he falls asleep, content and warm.

#matchpointfaist #art donaldson #challengers #mike faist #art x reader #challengers 2024 #art donaldson fic #art donaldson x reader #artdonaldson #art donaldson smut #art donaldson angst #art donaldson x reader fluff #art donaldson au #art donaldson x you #stanford! art #guilty as sin #matchpointfaist requests

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