#lily donaldson (challengers)

[angelplummie]

getting baby trapped by 30s art……… i m unwell. after a messy divorce with tashi he found you, his kinder, softer, altogether more human younger girlfriend, and he can’t get enough. part of him craves tashis authority, but the other part of him relishes in being more than someone, older and stronger and wiser. he loves the way you make him feel, loves the way you dote on him and listen to him and take him in his entirety. loves the way you don’t play fucking tennis, you talk about other things, care about other things, fuck about other things. loves the way you lay down on your back for him and do as he says, even when he commands you in his soft, kind way. loves the way your eyes bead with tears as he pounds your tight young cunt and stares into your blistering face. he loves to stretch you open on his long cock and use you, use you for his pleasure until you cream and whimper, eat his seed from your sore, spasming cunt. he could fuck you however he wanted, and you adored him for it. in all his years he had never had so much sexual freedom, never been as totally and utterly fufilled. he loves how you thank him, for everything. with the newest dior hanging from your arm, you thank him. with his cum still on your tongue and bleary eyes, you thank him. he loves so much about you he’s starting to think he loves you. he loves you. you’re everything he needs after all that transpired with tashi, he needs someone loving and open. he wants you forever. but you’re so young. you could change, it could all go away so quickly. he needs a way to keep you, to make sure you always look at him with stars in your eyes, make sure you need him as much as he needs you. so slowly, he begins hiding your birth control. not very well, if you really wanted to find it you would have. but you didn’t. and you won’t.

“art,” you sigh as your wonderful boyfriend kisses your neck. you lay on his white sofa together, legs interlocked, pressing into every part of each other.

“art,” you sigh again, his hands palming your breast over your thin cami,”art, i forgot to take my pill. i couldn’t find my pill.”

“hmm,” he moans into your neck, grinding his hips into your thigh.

“art we can’t.”

“i want you.”

you giggle, and let him push away your top, and take your soft nipple into his mouth until it hardened, and deep in your core you felt a furling, peeling pleasure.

“i’m ovulating,” you breathe,”im gonna get pregnant.”

he groans, rock hard dick straining against his shorts, against your supple thigh. his hands roam over your torso and with kitten licks he flicks your nipple. you expel a soft breath, fingers carding through the blonde, tousled hair you suggested he grew out. you were making him young again.

“i want you. i’ll get a condom in a second.”

he’s lying. hes a liar and a bad bad man and he knows it. but he can’t care. you mewl once more about ovulating, but your fingers comb through his hair, and your chest heaves and your eyes flutter shut as he sucks and licks and paws at your tits, humping your thigh with his achingly hard cock.

“i’m… art… pregnant…” you whine half heartedly, but it only makes him sigh deeper, and he imagines the day that you’ll tell him that in complete sentences. would you be teary eyed? would you need convincing? or would you give yourself to him like he felt you would? only time would tell.

“shhhh.”

you twitched, spine arching and pushing yourself further into his mouth.

“i’m gonna grab a condom any second,” he murmured, “i want you now.”

“you have me now.”

he moves up your body and presses his lips to yours, large hand ghosting your jaw. you close your lips against each others, and open again to touch lip to tongue and tongue to tooth, to taste and to breathe each other. he tastes like sweet nothing, like air and cleanliness and summer. you taste like honey to him. your fingers tuck his hair behind his peach fuzzed ear delicately, and you breathe against each others upper lip. his nose mushes against yours and he flicks his tongue at your gums and lips. it deepens, and he toes the line between lavishing you in affection and trying to eat you lips first. it’s hungry and wet, and you forget where his mouth begins and yours ends, all becoming blurred in the spit and the heat of it.

he pulls away, with a spit string connecting your two puffy lips. his eyes twinkle in the dim light that can reach them in your tight embrace.

“why don’t you take off your panties?”

and he leant away, the warmth of his body leaving you burning in its absence. he sat, perched, watching you from above. he looked down his nose at you with a smile, so genuine and yet so condescending. so soft and nurturing, like you needed to be guided and taken care of. that him seeing you naked and feeling your insides and making you stupid and small was what you needed, was how he had to take care of you. it was times like this that you thought about the age difference, when he made you so aware that he could make you want to do anything, anything if it was just to please him. a special ability only he had over you, and if he has his way you would feel it forever. you scramble to be more upright, to rest on your elbows and lift your hips far enough that your reaching fingers could pull down your cotton panties. you writhed beneath him to reveal yourself, nipples peaking from your cami as he watched you fully clothed, in his white shirt and loose pyjama shorts. his hair was ruffled, this way and that, and he looked more collected than he ever had.

shed of your tiny covering, the orange glow of the living room light reflecting off the wetness that was smeared to your inner thigh. from under your lashes u stare up at him, the way his shirt clings involuntarily to the tightness of his core and to his broad shoulders, the way his blonde eyelashes flutter at the sight of your thighs, your hips, your tits, all the parts of you that spill over with softness. your lips part slightly, and in silence you forget what he wants you to forget and beg him to have his way with you.

he was pulled to you once more like a magnet, and you instinctively bent your knees up and spread your legs to receive his torso and hips. he took the bends of your knees in each hand and folded you up so that your ankles hung by his shoulders, bouncing in the air as the sofa gave way for his weight. he knelt above you for just a moment, just a tortuous moment before bending down, sliding his body back so his face could remain above your hot pussy.

with an untroubled drop of the wrist, your legs fell to his shoulders, sprawled on his back. the innermost part of your thighs pressed lightly to his ear, and your heels rested lightly on his back.

with his head situated mere inches from your hot throbbing hole, he took the opportunity to take his time. while he had you in the palm of his hand he made you suffer for it, kissing the tender flesh that shined with the mess he had made for you.

every touch was torture, and he knew what he was doing. his eyes never left your face, the ghost of a smile across his lips whenever they were not eclipsed by the fat of your thighs. your eyes never left his face either, and you watched him breathlessly. he licks a stripe of skin against the grain of your leg hair, and you make a sound like you’re crying.

“oh,” you whisper, “please.”

he hums, laughing. the air from his nose hits your folds and you twitch.

“ok,” he’s soft, controlled, serene.

lips parted, he leans forward into your core, not for one second breaking eye contact with you as he takes your clit into his wet mouth. his pink tongue lathes it, up and down and up and down.

his fingers make sharp indents in your thigh to stop your wriggling, and he forces your ass into his chest. he cranes his neck to eat you deeper, and you cry out, tears beading in your eyes. sucking brutally, he moans into your hole.

“fuck,” you fist the cushion beside you, gathering the fabric and ungathering it,”fuck.”

he eats your pussy like it’s your mouth, makes out with it, makes love to it. he seems to take you in your entirety into his mouth, making you all wet with him, covered and soaked. he reaches up slowly, taking your hand in his, and squeezes it softly. your fingers are tight, paralysed in his hold. the pressure his hand provides gets rid of your compulsive need to squeeze, pacifies you, makes you dumb and limp. you lie back, no longer watching his eyes trained on you, your mouth hanging open and your eyes fluttering closed. you moan involuntarily, unaware at all that you’re alive, that you haven’t died and gone to heaven.

his thumb rubs soft circles on the back of your hand in time with his mouthing, the swirl of his tongue and the rhythmic closing of his mouth. you taste like honey here too, like nectar and sugar and love. your ankles lock together and unlock on his back, and the mere feeling of that sends chills down his whole body.

suddenly he stops. he lays a final fat kiss on your clit, watching as you mewl and your tight, ready hole gushes. he pulls away with your puppy fat legs still hugging side burns and jaw. gently he rises and slips out of your leggy grasp, fingers still interlocked with yours. he wants to kiss you. you are so pathetic when he has his way with you, so passive and pliable. he wants to hurt you because you would let him, but infinitely more and for the exact same reason he wants only to look after you. to make you happy and full and rewarded for your eternal beauty, inside and out.

he wanted to kiss you, and so he did. he leaned over, still completely dressed, and draped his slender, finely chiselled body over yours. it even made him light headed to think about being close to you, to your body, not hardened by the dedication that destroyed him, left soft and unscarred, left without taint. his underbelly of tenderness was your everywhere. you were the rounding to his shoulders, the layer of fat that kept him in warm in winter.

you collided without friction, his wet lips gliding over yours in a dance of want. your legs were still under his control, and as such you were spread beneath him. your knees dangled by his sides, leaving your pussy wide open to leave sloppy kisses on his shorts. you kissed back with the same ferocity. despite your implicit submission, you wanted to consume him as much as he wanted to consume you, if not more. you gave him what he wanted because you wanted to give it to him. wanted to give him everything he would receive.

you gave him your tongue, which he accepted with a grin.

you gave him coiling fingers that grasped the fabric on his back desperately, which he took for momentum. he rolled forward on top of you, deepening the hold his mouth had on yours.

you gave him moans, whimpers from a wavering throat which he took for courage.

“im so hard for you,” you felt the reverberation of his voice in your very core, and you died a sweet death,”i’m gonna put it in.”

“uh huh.”

success. you had forgotten. he laughed, mischievously, and a smile settled into the curves of his face.

all you heard was the snap of elastic, the rustle of fabric and the dulled slap of arts heavy cock against his t-shirt.

all you saw was his pupils grow until his eyes appeared black, like an animal’s, looking at you so directly you felt he saw you deeper than skin, deeper than meat or bone. you felt utterly seen, and utterly loved. you met his gaze pleadingly, eyebrows quirking up in the centre and lips pouting. please, it told him, please my love.

“you want it?” he breathed. pre cum smeared the fat tip, his balls hung low out of his shorts that gathered at his middle thigh. it was so big. long and fat and filling. so big and so pretty, so big and pretty it was all you could do not to cry.

“i want it art,” you replied, voice clipped and cheeks burning,”i want you.”

“yeah?”

he touched your face, from your jaw to the temple. he didn’t even try to kiss you. he just held your face. he was gentle, gentle, gentle as ever. his every action was kind. you love him. you’re in love with him.

“i want you art. i love you.”

and that was that. he was getting you pregnant tonight. someone would have to pry him off of you, because so help him god he would drain himself dry in your hot wet cunt if it was the last thing he ever did.

you squealed as he pushed the entirety of his cock in, bulbous head stretching your cunt wider than any cock had stretched it before. but it slipped in so easily with the outpour of your sticky love. it made a thick squelch, and he groaned so loud, squeezed his eyes shut so hard, you might’ve thought he was being tortured.

“fuck!”

the force of his thrust had caused the thick juices of you arousal to spread around his thick cock where he stretched you out, the pain minimal, familiar and intoxicating.

you throbbed in unison, blood coursing through where you connected. you were so tight and hot, so fucking wet. art struggled, arms bracing either side of your shoulders, to force the rest of himself into you. he also struggled to think, to be a human and not a ploughing, panting, thoughtless dog.

a moan rose through your throat, broke from you involuntarily, came out like the sound of murder. your taut pussy suckled his fat dick with every pulse and quiver. you felt him so deep inside you, and he fought to push deeper. fingers still locked, his crushed your knuckles and your palm.

“oh my fucking god.”

it could’ve been either one of you, because you both meant to say it. this moment of stillness and feeling waited one more second, before art became beast, and drew back his hips so that only his pink tip stayed gripped inside. you felt so soul crushingly empty, until he drove himself back in, and you were brought back to life.

“god,” he pounded any thoughts away, any and all of them, until all you could do was breath and blaspheme, “fucking- christ.”

the buttery, fevered roll of his hips was one he was in no control of. he felt as though he was being moved by some godly force to cram your tight cunt full of him. his jaw hung open, and the hand that didn’t hold yours instead held your shoulder, dwarfing in it in his wide palm. holding onto you for sanity, his eyes opened to take in what he had done to you.

“you’re so tight. perfect. perfect. perfect.”

“i love you.”

“i love you. i love you. please god.”

what was he asking for? was he asking you or god? you would do it for him, regardless. you would do it.

your hand reached into his hair, and tugged hard. a whorish moan left his lips, the rolling of his lower half stuttering as his neck arched up. his knees were spread wide, digging deeply into his sofa. his pelvis moved on its own, smoothly, as if he had reverted to his baser instincts and let years of evolution take its course, nature guiding him to your inevitable impregnation.

you were as he liked you, completely dumb. he was too gone to enjoy it, but on another planet of pleasure entirely. he couldn’t relish in the feeling of control, but he could in the feeling of you, of having you, being loved by and loving you. the suckling heat of you was more than a man could take, and the picture beneath him was no more comprehensible.

your angel lips spread to a glistening tongue, your eyes glassy and dilated, your brow creased, hair mussed. he had to have that too, and so he kissed you once more. the hand on his hair tightened, and he moaned into your mouth.

he pumped your pussy so deep, pre cum was dashed from his oozing tip inside you, heavy balls slapping at your skin. you were so wet you didn’t notice, only felt the heat and the mind numbing ecstasy. the feeling of being pounded like a piece of meat till your tight girl pussy remembered every vein his grown man dick, but kissed like a lover and held like a princess pushed you that much closer, sent you that little bit more over the edge. you needed it. you needed him to cum. to please your daddy.

“i’m gonna cum, i’m gonna cum inside you.”

“fucking do it.”

“yeah?”

“yeah. get me fucking pregnant art.”

that was all he needed. he breathed into your lips and cried out, long steady body shuddering like a leaf. he held you close, pressing his weight on top of your till he could feel the fat of your breasts move around his chest. cum, thick and milky white, shot deep into your cunt, which even now gripped him tighter than ever. so much of it too. his meaty balls tweaked as their contents leaked into where they were always supposed to go.

your orgasm hit you like a ton of bricks, parting your lips in a silent scream.

his cock had not moved an inch from where it rested fully buried in your pussy. it was wet. it would spill out once he removed himself. it needed to stay inside.

he pressed his forehead to yours, your eyes fluttering closed from exhaustion and contentedness. you didn’t even think about what art had just done. you didn’t even realise he had done anything. he was just doing what you needed him to do.

you needed him. forever.

[raatniko]

too sick to do a finished drawing of this rn but just you fuckin wait 🫵

[tashiduncandonaldson]

this was tashi’s background on her phone for a little while, btw

[coolgrl111]

plss do bfpatrick x reader but they are in contact with artashi and occasionally take care of lily etc! maybe it wakes up a side of patricik that wants to be a dad and it starts a new topic in pat x readers relationship!

<33

AWWW OKAY!!! i looove this aweee😊😊😊🥰🥰

bf!patrick x reader - baby fever

[witharacket]

okay but lily being art’s phone background???

[amorisxx]

Y’all—

Depending on how old you think Lily was in New Rochelle, by now, she’s either already in middle school or starting soon…

I believe Tashi would adjust to it better than Art. Her younger years flew by for him because he was so busy with tennis. It’s hard for him to accept that she isn’t small anymore. He silently cries on the way home after dropping her off for her first day of middle school.

Sometimes, when he peeks into her room at night to check on her, he can’t help but stand there in the doorway, leaning against the wooden frame. He watches her back rise and fall as she breathes and he wonders if he can remember the last time his little girl asked him to sleep beside her.

Though Tashi is much more prepared for the transition, I think entering the preteen stage would mean more friction between Lily and her mom. She’s growing up and the constant talk about tennis probably starts to annoy her more than it did when she was younger. I can see her having moments of frustration where she openly talks nastily about tennis because she’s mad at her mom, and as her daughter, Lily is obviously the best suited to go head to head with Tashi.

But let’s not forget, that’s Art’s daughter. Art, who can have a mean streak when he’s feeling neglected. Maybe Tashi isn’t Art’s coach anymore but she’s still coaching tennis, so her life still revolves around the sport. Maybe 11 or 12-year-old Lily wishes her mom could be the one to host her friend hangouts (she doesn’t call them playdates anymore) instead of it always being the other kid’s mom. Or Art when there’s no other option. And if she weren’t so busy with tennis, then she’d be available for that.

Lily also feels like if her mom wasn’t a top tennis coach, then maybe she wouldn’t feel so much pressure to be the best at everything. When your dad’s a famous grand slam champion and your mom coached him to that level, being mediocre doesn’t really feel like an option. Even if they say they’re proud of you for whatever you do, or that they don’t care that tennis isn’t your thing, Lily knows the truth.

So, she fights with Tashi. Tells her that tennis is stupid. That she’d be happy if they abolished the sport entirely!

Anything to get a reaction.

It’s a phase that Tashi understands. She and Art talk about it in bed one night. Art tells Tashi that Lily just misses her. She’d told him herself.

Retirement probably gives Art the opportunity to step up. He still feels guilt every now and then because of the time he missed, but he and Lily would develop a closer knit relationship now that he has more free time. He draws with her in the evenings. Tries to help her with homework. Watches her favorite movies.

He learns how to style her hair. Has Tashi’s mom check his work. It takes him a couple tries to get it presentable. Lily would grumble that it’s “not how mommy does it.”

He takes her out on daddy daughter dates at least once a week. Their most frequented place is the ice cream shop, where he can actually indulge in it guilt free! By 10, Lily starts to roll her eyes at him when he inevitably dips his spoon into her serving, but she also steals a bite from his when he isn’t looking.

When he finds out about her first crush at 12, he’s surprisingly supportive. He crosses his feet on the coffee table and grins at her while her cheeks flush as she flops onto the couch.

Tashi walks into the room, pointing between them. “Okay what’s going on here?”

“Oh my goddd it’s nothing!!”

“Lily has a crush,” Art smirks.

“Dad!” She releases a loud groan into the pillow.

Tashi chuckles, sitting down to join them.

“Is that right Lily pad?”

Her voice comes out muffled. “It’s not a crush.”

Art smoothes his palm over her dark curls. “Hey, it’s normal to experience stuff like this.”

Another groan cuts him off.

“I’m serious,” Art laughs. “When I was your age, I uh, I also had my first crush.” Lily looks up at this.

Tashi reaches out a hand to rub up and down her arm.

Lily stares at him for a moment, face blank. “Dad, I know you’re talking about Uncle Patrick.”

Art���s jaw falls open. Tashi erupts into a fit of giggles. “Wow! She clocked you faster than I did!”

Now it’s Art’s turn to bury his face into the pillow as Lily and Tashi tease him about boarding school and boyhood crushes.

He rolls over to look at his girls. He thinks that if he can see them happy like this for the rest of his life, then he would have nothing else to ask for.

I’m sorry!!! I got carried away. But I hope you enjoy my random thoughts that turned into a blurb.

[newrochellechallenger2019]

lily's drawing of art and tashi playing tennis? I'M SICK TO MY STOMACH

[saturnicks]

girl dad!! GIRL DAD!!!

[artspats]

Late Checkout / Tashi Duncan

The first time they saw each other it was… pretty normal, just the ‘oh... look she also has a daughter’. What a nice coincidence!

Your 7-year-old daughter crossed paths with the daughter of the attractive woman you saw several times by the pool. Both playing in the splash area.

Her daughter had a love for swimming, an athletic spirit. Very cute, she must have gotten it from her mother.

Your little one was more like the sunbathing type, with the heart sunglasses she wore even sleeping, almost imitating you.

You laughed when you saw her, your eyes watching from the edge of the magazine. Smiling before continuing to flip the pages through the news, fashion, sports section... let’s see... tennis?

You were too focused to realize someone had sat in the chair next to you… until your hand reached out to take your lemonade from the table.

It was her.

The pretty woman with short hair.

You smiled slightly at her and lowered the magazine a bit—not because you’ve finished reading, but because her smile is suddenly more interesting than tennis stats.

She was the brave one to bend down and stretch out her hand.

“Hey,” she was prettier up close, Jesus.

“Hi,” you smiled, taking her hand.

“Tashi, Tashi Duncan.”

“Nice to meet you…”

And her hand is warm when you shake it. You can’t help but notice the tiny scar across her knuckle and wonder for half a second how she got it. Probably something cool. You always imagine short-haired women have stories.

“Tashi,” you repeat softly, still holding her hand a second longer than necessary. “I’ve seen you around.”

You introduced yourself before shifting up in your seat. Her eyes were distracted for a second while your magazine left the top of your chest in sight.

Huh.

“I’ve seen you, too.” Her smile is slow, like she’s testing the temperature between you.

Your daughter shrieks with laughter in the splash zone, and her daughter is right there next to her, already mid-cannonball. You both glance over. An unspoken relief: they’re entertaining each other.

“She’s cute,” you say.

Tashi turns back to you. "Thanks. She's got more energy than I know what to do with. Yours?"

You glance over your glasses at your daughter who is now reclined on her towel like a pint-sized diva, sipping from her pink lemonade with a little umbrella. "She's... more into the aesthetic of pool life and summer, you know."

Tashi laughs. "She gets it from her mom?," it lands low and warm, you laugh too.

"What are you implying?" you tilt your head sipping a little of your lemonade with the same smile.

"That swimsuit? Kinda stealing the spotlight. And coming from me, that’s a compliment."

You feel that warm flush creep up again, and this time you don't bother hiding it with your magazine. "This old thing?" you tease.

Tashi leans back in her chair, arms stretched over her head. Her toned stomach glints in the sun, and you pretend not to notice-failing spectacularly.

Her partner was lucky.

"Do you live around here?" she asks.

You nod. "Just moved in. Trying to make this whole suburbia thing work."

"That makes two of us," she says, eyes on the girls now, "We should— get the girls together sometime. They seem to click."

You smile. "Yeah, I'd like that," you pick up your magazine again just to have something to do with your hands.

She notices there's something about the way you hold your magazine–not like you’re reading it, but like you’re keeping a boundary in place. A gentle one that says: Not yet, not here, but maybe.

Tashi likes that.

She shifts in her chair, careful not to seem too obvious when she says, “Lily likes hotels.”

You look over at her, surprised by the non sequitur, but intrigued.

“We’re here for Art,” she explains. “My husband. He’s got a few gallery shows and a regional circuit he’s doing. The hotel 's easier. Less messy than short-term leases. And Lily thinks the hallways are made for racing.”

You smile, already picturing the little girl running barefoot down the corridor.

“How long are you here?” you ask.

Tashi shrugs. “A couple weeks, a month, maybe. Depends how the shows go.”

“We are kind of in the same boat. My husband— he writes a column, but lately he’s very into the real estate content thing, i don’t know. He found this place and decided it’d be his first experiment.”

Your sunglasses slip a little down your nose. Tashi catches a glimpse of your eyes—curious, a little guarded.

“You like it?” she asks.

You shrug. “I like the quiet moments.”

Tashi nods. “Me too.”

She has this calmness to her, even her name gives you comfort. Not smug– just settled in her own skin. The kind of woman who doesn't mind when the pool towel is too short or when the kids draw on walls.

You admire it.

Her laugh is soft and the way her eyes keep traveling down to look at your bathing suit makes your stomach tighten, not in a bad way.

There’s also that strange comfort in the way she says Lily likes hotels. It’s a statement, but also a reveal. It tells you more about her than if she had rattled off five facts about her marriage.

You offer your life in return, casually at first. Your husband’s weird freelance path, the way he refers to this as “content” like it’s a mission, not a career. You’d followed him here, not unhappily, but not exactly inspired or expecting something more than just clean white sheets, chlorine, the fact that your daughter sunbathes like she’s 27.

She's not the woman who brags about how far her husband has come, because it's clear that she also has a great career and her personality makes you think she's good at everything she does.

Tashi listens, she really does. That’s your surprise right there.

Is this what people refer to when they say that good things come when you least expect it?

You both glance at your daughters now, ankle-deep in water, heads close together like they are sharing a secret. Maybe about how maple syrup is better than marmalade for pancakes, maybe about the rules of mermaid society.

And then Tashi says, “I’m glad they found each other.”

You murmur, “Me too.”

Both girls approach their moms, Tashi slides the little robe on Lily’s shoulders, you help Hanna slide her feet on the crocs.

You stand up before you can think of something to say, “See you two around,” you smile at Lily and then look at Tashi.

She stands up too, nodding with a smile. “I suppose that means you take me on that offer I told you about.”

“It does.” You place your sunglasses on top of your head, and that warmth again—stretching across your ribs as Tashi waves at Hanna.

[artssslut2]

“Please Don’t go Anywhere”

Summary: You try to teach Art how to do Lily’s hair

It’s safe to say Art was not a hairstylist, Neither was Tashi. Before you and Art fell in love Lily’s hair was always wild and unkept, it wasn’t that they didn’t try but she had a lot of very curly hair. Until you came into the picture, you could do any hairstyle under the sun. When Art saw you doing his little girls hair in cute little pigtails his heart nearly melted, he put a ring on your finger almost immediately after. Lily loved it too, every morning Lily was with you and Art you would style it in a different way. Art was relieved that he was off the hook as hairstylist however now that he had a second little girl on the way you thought it was time to teach him a few things. So here you were with Lily on the counter as he gently brushed her hair.

“I don’t want to pull too hard!” He said worried that he was hurting his daughter

“You’re not daddy don’t worry!” She tried calming his nerves and you chuckled

“Okay now section the hair into three parts” you instructed still giggling, he looked at you like you just explained how to do brain surgery

“Actually let’s just start with a ponytail okay?” You changed your mind so he wouldn’t get too overwhelmed. He nodded along as you showed him how to brush her hair onto the top of her head.

“Ow!” Lily gasped, art had a horrified look on his face

“Lily pad I’m so sorry!” He pleaded

“It’s ok daddy i know you’re trying your best” she smiled. You were convinced she was the sweetest little girl on the planet, you couldn’t wait to see her as a big sister.

“Ok see your almost done just tie it now!” You told him handing him a hair tie. He finished off the ponytail and took a step back

“Ok what do we think?” He said proudly. It then became apparent to all of you that it was not a work of art. It quickly slipped to the side causing you all to breakout in laughter. Art bent over in defeat then put him arm around you

“You really can’t go anywhere y/n I need you so do the girls” he said dramatically picking Lily up and putting a hand on your belly while giving you puppy dog eyes, Lily did the same

“Don’t worry I’m not” you blushed feeling the love of your family, “but you are not off the hook Donaldson!” You joked.

[diyasgarden]

lily’s jellycat is from the atlanta open…

[idciminlove]

Take a Slice

Part One - Miracle

f!reader x Tashi Duncan x Art Donaldson x Patrick Zweig

Cinnamonacid on AO3

warnings- age gap, inaccurate tennis stuff, etc.

You love tennis. You devoted your life to it, watching, practicing, and playing it every single day. You never thought it could love you back. You never thought they could love you back. Not until you caught Tashi's eye.

𝙽𝙲𝙰𝙰 𝚆𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚗'𝚜 𝚃𝚎𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚜 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚙 𝚂𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚜

𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚍, 𝙲𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚊 

𝙼𝚊𝚢 𝟸𝟷𝚜𝚝, 𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟸

𝟿 𝙰𝙼

 Anxious chatter resonated inside the bus, echoing off the walls. You did your best to ignore it, resting your head against the window, watching the buildings blur by and listening to music instead. Unfortunately, you were unable to ignore how your stomach was twisting with nerves. You felt sick. You tried to focus on the song playing, shutting your eyes.

 You imagined yourself with the racket in your hands, hitting the ball as hard as you could. Getting aces, scoring points, and winning. Positive imagery, like your coach would say. Visualizing the best possible outcome. What you’re good at. What you can do. What you’ve worked so hard to do. 

 Someone grabbed your shoulder, shaking you and making you jump. You opened your eyes and pulled out an earbud, gazing up at the culprit. Your teammate. 

 “You know I heard that Tashi Duncan and Art Donaldson are going to be at the matches today, and Patrick Zweig, too.” 

 “It’s not surprising. We’re going to their alma mater.” You shrugged, playing it cool, as if what she told you didn’t make you ten times more nervous, as if you hadn’t been obsessed with them ever since your early teenage years. Especially Tashi, who you idolize completely and may or may not have contributed to your bisexual awakening. 

 “Well, aren’t you nervous? I mean, if they see me mess up-”

 “Don’t worry. They didn’t go to our school, they’re not rooting for us, so they don't care. They won’t be watching us, It’ll be fine.” 

 Out of the corner of your eye, you caught someone smiling at you. Your hitting partner,  doubles partner, and best friend, Annaliese.

 “Maybe you can get Tashi’s autograph after you win.” She chimed in, reaching across the aisle and nudging your foot playfully with hers.

 You couldn’t help but smile back. “Maybe.” 

–

 Patrick groaned as he leaned back in his seat. The past few matches had been a shitshow. All three girls from the same college had lost badly and another girl from that same school was coming on, ready to be thrown to the wolves. 

 “Ugh, I can’t watch anymore. This is just depressing. It’s a miracle they even qualified. Let’s take a break and wait for some other schools to play, grab some lunch or something. I’m starving.” He remarked. 

 Tashi sighed in annoyance, but she knew he was right. So, she began to collect her things. She grabbed her purse and right as she stood up to get out of her seat, the players for the next match were introduced. She glanced over at the court, gazing over at the girls briefly, before she paused. 

 There was something familiar about the player for the losing school, but she couldn’t place it. Tashi watched as she strided onto the court, beaming as the announcers introduced her. She waved and blew kisses to the crowd, smiling from ear to ear, as if she hadn’t just witnessed her friends get destroyed in their previous matches. She was different. She was confident. Or at least, she was pretending to be, putting up a front and hiding her fear. Unlike her peers, who were practically shaking in their boots whenever the ball came near them.

 “Tash, c’mon let’s go. I don’t want to sit around and watch another blood bath.” Patrick called out to her, but she didn’t move, focused on the girl on the court. 

 She turned away from the crowd as she unzipped her bag, pulling out her racket. Tashi watched as she stretched, studying her and her figure. There was a tattoo on her upper back, between her shoulder blades of a smiling sun. 

 And then it clicked. 

  Sunshine.  

  Growing impatient, Patrick began to take off. Tashi grabbed his arm, stopping him before he could walk away. “Wait, I know her.” 

 “What?” He stopped, dumbfounded. 

 “I know her. She won the Junior’s US Open in 2020. Sunshine. That’s what they called her.” 

 The last time Tashi watched her, she liked what she saw. She even thought about recruiting her, but she was far too busy juggling careers, helping Art finish out his last season, training Patrick for his next, while also navigating her marriage after what went down at the Challengers at New Rochelle. She followed her through articles and posted statistics, until she heard about her knee injury a few months later. It was devastating, a tragic end to her career before it even started.

 But there she stood on the court, as good as new, like it had never happened. 

 Intrigued, Patrick sat back down beside her, watching the match unfold. She had grown since Tashi had seen her. She was even more beautiful, more strong and more explosive, her thighs bulging as she ran to return the serves. Her technique had improved as well, her movements much more methodical and precise. She was perfect. 

 The match went by quickly, with her winning every set. Once it finished, Tashi gazed over at Patrick, who seemed completely awestruck by the match that just occurred. 

 She smirked at him. “Looks like we found their miracle.” 

–

 Tashi stood in front of her mirror, rubbing cream over her legs. She ran her fingers over the scar on her knee, before pulling away. 

 “Hey.” Art greeted, entering their bedroom.

 Tashi glanced over her shoulder at him. “Hey. Patrick ran to the store, so he won’t be here for a while. Is Lily down?” 

 ���She’s knocked out cold. All that splashing around in the pool must’ve gotten to her.” He remarked with a small smile. 

 She hummed in response, screwing the jar close, and shutting the bathroom light off. Art gazed at her warily, trying to get a read on her. “So, how was your day? How were the semifinals?” 

 “It was good. Stanford made it to the finals.” She took a seat on the bed, next to him. 

 “That’s good.” He curled his arms around her and kissed down her neck. 

 “Yeah, but there’s this girl from the opposing college that I’ve got my eye on. She won the Junior open back in 2020. She’s pretty good. I think we’ll have fun watching her tomorrow.” 

 She leaned in and pressed a kiss to his lips. Art didn’t miss that look in her eyes. He didn’t miss that hunger. That fire. He hadn’t seen it in a long time. He thought finally, after all the awards he and Patrick had won, she would be satisfied. Ready to settle down once and for all. But it seemed like this girl really did a number on her. 

 He hopes that nothing more will come from this girl after the match tomorrow. That she’ll watch, get her fill, and let it go. That she’ll stay happy with her life as it is now, working with the foundation and continuing to coach young girls there, and putting her family before tennis. Art trusts her. He knows she’ll do the right thing.

 So why can’t he fight the dread gnawing at his chest?  

[tashiduncandonaldson]

tashi donaldson, the good mom that you are 🥹

[moonstarsunearth]

Lily drawing herself playing tennis with her parents and having her own rackets that you can see in some scenes. So she is more involved in tennis than I assume at first watch although it seems she also get bored by it.

[jilllovesmike]

Why am I Team Art? Exhibit A

[artiedonaldson]

Mike Faist as ART DONALDSON CHALLENGERS 2024, dir. Luca Guadagnino