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goodluckchamp · 2 months ago

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WARM-UP BOYS (18+)

PAIRING: Tashi Duncan x Artashi x Reader WORD COUNT: 2899 CONTENT TAGS: Smut, oral, through the fabric, fingering, jealousy, insecurity, comfort, hotel, diner, date night, kind of toxic if we really think about it but it's okay, girlfriend!Tashi who is happy and safe thanks to lesbianism SUMMARY: Why would you be jealous of two boys who call themselves "Fire and Ice?” Fuck them and their goofy nickname... Who do they think they are? Tashi is your girlfriend. Not theirs.

You’re sitting across from Tashi in a sticky booth, legs brushing under the table, plates of shared fries and milkshakes between you. The two of you managed to slip away after one of her matches. She won, of course— she always wins. And she hides herself well every time, with polite handshakes and assured smiles by the cameras and fans.

But you know Tashi. You see her. She’s completely exhilarated, softened by triumph— in a way she only lets show in front of you. You love her like this— giddy, victorious, satisfied. Grinning at you, hair slightly damp and body still buzzing from the game.

She’s rambling about her third set when she looks past you— and she pauses. You turn around to follow her eyes and— oh. Two boys have walked towards your table, one with dark curls and a strut, and the other, a blonde, softer but still insistent with his pace.

You assume they’re fans. Supporters of the Duncanator, probably. It’s fine. It happens, especially after a match. Sometimes it gets annoying, but it’s fine. You should be proud of her, really. You should be happy to play photographer, if it means they’ll take the damn picture and leave the two of you alone. But the familiar feeling lurches in your chest. It’s fine. It’s fine.

“Tashi—”

“Hey—”

They start at the same time, gawking at Tashi with the typical, captivated look that most boys give her.

“I don’t know if you remember us?”

“Fire and ice.” Tashi nods, giving a short smile.

Oh. Not just fans, then.

Groupies?

You give a subtle look towards Tashi with your eyes, who returns a slight tilt of her head.

“This is Patrick and Art.” She explains. “I met them at the US open last year.”

Ah. Tennis players.

You look back up at them, and the taller one— Patrick— meets your gaze. He’s handsome, annoyingly so, with his curly dark hair ruffled like he’s been constantly running his hands through them. He wears confidence like a jacket and gives you a look over, eventually landing on a smile like you’re nothing worth worrying about.

The other boy— Art— is more vague with himself. Blonde, pale, sharp— eyes flickering over to you with a gentle curiosity— or maybe he’s just wary. The dingy lighting subdues certain angles of his face but it’s not enough to hide the slight clench of his jaw. It soon morphs into a sweet smile that catches you off guard, like he’s never sized you up at all.

Patrick swings first. “Are you going to introduce us to your friend?”

Tashi smiles. “Girlfriend, actually.”

“Girlfriend?”

They look surprised and you try not to be offended— it’s not like you and Tashi’s relationship is very public. Still, petty pride pricks in your chest, and you meet their shock with a smug little grin.

“We’re actually on a celebratory date, so…” The words roll off your tongue and it gives you a surge of confidence, holding Tashi’s hand from across the table.

“Right.” Art fidgets, like he doesn’t know what to do with this newfound information. “Congratulations on your win, by the way.”

“Thank you.”

They stand around for a little while, waiting for something that Tashi refuses to acknowledge. Eventually, they mutter their goodbyes and leave you to yourselves. There’s a moment of silence as you pick apart the dark feeling curling in your chest.

“Fire and ice?” You hum.

“Their tennis nickname.”

You snort. “Lame.”

You pretend you’re not bothered by the whole interaction, stirring your milkshake, watching the swirl of cream and melted ice cream spin into a mixture of some off-white liquid. You take a sip. It’s warm. Tashi doesn’t miss the way you grimace at the room temperature liquid, focusing on anything but her face.

“Are you jealous?”

You shake your head no. Tashi raises an eyebrow.

You shrug. “Did you sleep with them?”

“No.”

You squint. “But you did something with them.”

Tashi’s quiet for a second, fiddling with the wilting paper straw. “I was invited to their hotel room, and we… got a little drunk.”

Your brain already runs to the worst image— Tashi in some hotel room, bubbly with post-match adrenaline, laughing into Patrick’s neck, touching Art’s hair— all sweat and teenage hormones. You kind of want to throw your milkshake at the wall.

“A handjob? A blowjob?” You lower your voice, leaning across the table. “Did they eat you out?”

“Relax. We kissed. That’s all.” Tashi pushes your head back with one finger, right to your forehead. “You are jealous.”

You sigh dramatically, slumping against your seat. “Why would I be? It’s not like they’re tall, muscular, and super hot.”

“Don’t be jealous.” Tashi steals a wimp fry from your plate, letting the words drag a bit. “They were pretty gay, actually.”

“Not gay enough.” You huff.

You watch as Tashi dusts the salt and greases off her fingers. Fingers that would have touched them. Maybe traced the line down Art’s jaw, or tugged Patrick by his collar. You conjure them up too easily— stomach twisting in an ugly, involuntary way.

Whatever. Tashi is yours. You’ll stop thinking about them eventually.

You’re still thinking about them.

You were thinking about them in the taxi, staring out the window while Tashi tapped through her texts, one leg casually thrown over yours. You were thinking about them in the elevator, when she leaned over to kiss your cheek— too distracted to kiss back properly. You were thinking about them in the hallway, in the room— and you’re still thinking about them when Tashi steps out of the shower, bathrobe loosely tied around her waist. She picks up her phone on the table, scrolling at something while you mope around the room.

“I was thinking we could go early tomorrow, beat the rush at security. We can get breakfast at the terminal.”

“Can you just show me what you did with them?”

Silence.

You swallow. “Please?”

Tashi breathes in your words, eyes locked on yours. You were never good at asking for things. Especially not things like this— like sex. You’ve always been quiet about it. A little unsure. So it amuses her to see such bravery in your words, which shrinks, just a little, under her gaze.

You’re aware of how pathetic this is. Asking your girlfriend to show you what she did with some boys— but the image stays with you. You can’t help it. Not when they understand Tashi’s world. Tennis. They knew what her win today meant. You were just lucky to be there.

Tashi sighs. She drops her phone onto the table. Then, slowly, she takes off her robe, revealing the silk nightgown underneath, green and short, skimming high on her thighs. Your gaze is fixed on her as she walks to the bed, sitting down at the edge of it.

“Come here.” She taps on the spot next to her.

You obey, mattress dipping beneath your weight.

Tashi watches you adjust yourself, knees bent, hands fidgeting in your hands like you’re waiting for instructions. One word and you’d do anything.

So she leans in. She guides the kiss, messy, clinging— all teeth and lips and way too sweet to your liking. You try to focus, but your mind conjures up the boys again. Knowing this is what she was doing to them before she met you, you instinctively reach for her waist, pulling her closer.

But Tashi pulls away.

“That’s it. They didn’t even touch me.” She holds your face. “I watched them make out for a bit, and then I left.”

You’re silent, expecting the jealousy will boil down with her words. But it doesn’t.

So you put your lips against hers again, tongue swirling like you’re searching for residue— as if your mouth can overwrite whatever history she has of them. And Tashi lets you kiss her, lets your hands caress her bare skin— and if she notices your tremor, she does not say anything.

You press kisses down from her neck to her chest, putting just the right amount of pressure to avoid any marks. No one likes the marks. It’s clumsy, excessively eager at first.

Your fingers pull on the straps of her nightgown, letting the top fall to her waist. Tashi exhales, feeling the cool air tickle her exposed form. You never initiate like this. Tashi’s the one who leads. You follow. You always have.

“You’re being insane,” she whispers, eyes heavy-lidded. “You know that, right?”

“I don’t care.” You don’t mean for it to come out so small, broken. “I don’t care, I just— I keep thinking about them. About you with them and not me.”

“Don’t be—”

“Stupid, I know.” You smile. “I’m sorry.”

Tashi watches you for a moment, then she shifts— positioning herself to the middle of the bed, arms falling loose at her sides in a kind of surrender. Like she’s allowing you to have her.

You follow her, landing on your knees, desperate as if she might change her mind. You reach for her and she meets your warmth, two bodies melding together. You’re nothing but earnest— unrestrained hunger in your kisses— and Tashi handles it with amusement, translating all your fervor into the way she touches you back.

“Let me—” you whine against her jaw, clinging to her— “Let me eat you out.”

She laughs in response.

“Please?” Your hand snakes under the silk, finding the waistband of her underwear and tugging on it. “I’ll be good. I’ll make it good.”

Tashi’s lips quirk up on one side, shaking her head— you shouldn’t be so jealous. You shouldn’t have to beg. All she has to do is say a couple words. Let you remember that you already have her.

But because she’s amused, because you’re so pretty like this, she bites her tongue and spreads her legs open, giving you space to lay on your stomach. You immediately press your face between her thighs, impatient—

You’re so fucking pathetic and you don’t even care.

Tashi pushes her gown up to her hips, your face just below the thin fabric of her underwear— sheer, damp, clinging to her shape. You let your mouth hang open, licking her with the slightest pressure. There’s a sharp inhale from Tashi, along with a tiny jerk of her hips, so you do it again, tongue tracing whatever you can reach through the cloth.

Your nose nudges against the silk sticking to her, wet enough that you can feel her warmth through it. You taste the salt-sweetness against your tongue, breathing her in and losing yourself— and Tashi watches you, starving thing, palming the back of your hand with one hand.

“Is this what you needed, baby?” Her nails scratch slow lines on your scalp— rewarding you. “Needed to prove you could make me feel good?”

You whimper in response, pressing closer, mouthing at her through the fabric. Tashi lets it happen for a bit, humming like she’s watching a pet too eager to sit still. But you’re growing more frantic, and she feels it in your hands tightening on her thighs.

“Just— take them off,” she orders, lifting her hips just enough to help you.

You obey, tugging down her underwear, clumsy with just how badly you want her. You toss the panties aside without looking, eyes completely fixed on her bare form. You lean in again, settling small, wet kisses, then longer licks, adding flat, full pressure with your tongue. Tashi responds with a satisfied moan, fingers tangling up in your hair. She’s hot against you, thighs tense and twitching around your head.

You move one hand down, teasing along her entrance, fingertips gathering slick. Tashi bucks into the weak touches, legs tensing tighter like she wants you to trap you there. You circle once, twice, then gently push in, just two fingers at the edge.

“Oh my god,” Tashi chokes, all breath and tears.

The wet warmth against your flesh sends a rush of heat flooding down your stomach— she’s so gorgeous like this, slowly falling back into the sheets, lean arms failing her. You don’t stop lapping at her clit, as you move your fingers in, just a little, feeling her stretch around you— and she curses, hands fisting into the sheets above her.

You keep pressing, nose brushing her as you get more serious, hopelessly uncoordinated but dedicated. It's all starved mouth on soaked skin, messy, practically a worship— tasting her like maybe if you do it right, she’ll forget every other mouth that’s ever been on her.

And as cruel as it may be, Tashi indulges in it.

She knows you could get jealous— sees the way you try to conceal it too, with your tight smile and fidgeting hands, all while glaring at the fans crowding over the Duncanator. It’s obvious how much it eats at you from the inside even within your silence. She knew it’d overflow someday— rabid with your need to belong to her. You’d stay here forever if she told you to.

“Look at you right now,” Tashi groans, words choked up in her throat. “Doing— ah— so good for— me.”

The praise feeds you and you relish it, responding with a proud hum. It vibrates through her and she ruts against your mouth, wanting more, needing more— but she’s never the one to beg. And you’re never the one to make her wait.

You start to thrust your fingers, slow at first, watching the way she adjusts to the length. How her muscles quiver, how her lips open and close like she wants to tell you to go faster— but doesn’t. She swallows her words, letting you choose the pace. You curl your fingers to hit a spot, drawing a noise out of her— and her mouth stays open, breath stuttering with your every movement.

“Yeah, just like that,” Tashi pants. “Fuck— don’t stop. That’s my girl.”

Your chest tightens, heat spreading across your body from your spine. She sees it— the way your rhythm stutters with her praise. Of course she does.

“Mouth— fucking perfect,” she continues, rolling her hips to meet each thrust. “Keep going. Show me who I belong to.”

You groan at her words, speeding up, harder— she’s yours. She belongs to you. She’s letting you have her, letting you ruin her— and for someone like her, someone who’s so used to being in control with her presence itself— it’s the loudest form of the love she knows how to give.

And you take it like a dog, pumping into her as deep as you can, as fast as you can. You don’t even remember when you started grinding against the mattress, shamelessly brushing against the parts that begs for friction.

“I’m close. I’m so fucking close,” Tashi gasps, pressing your closer, holding you in place exactly where she wants you. “You want me to come on your face?”

Stupid, stupid question. You nod frantically against her skin, words turning into whines. Tashi laughs.

The laughter soon morphs into moans, filthy and loud, filling the entirety of the room. She repeats your name, over and over again, like she wants to prove that’s the only thing she cares about, the only thing she knows— and you let her soak your face, your cheeks— hips barely controlled, as if she can’t help herself anymore.

Tashi is fully on her back when she comes, hips bucking as you drag your tongue through her orgasm. Her body jerks through her orgasm, hands gripping the sheets. You don’t stop, finger stroking her through it even when she’s sensitive, choking on incoherent half-pleas for you to slow down.

“Okay, stop— god, (Y/N)—” Her voice cracks, finally forcing herself up to grab your jaw, tilting your head up. “Practice. Tomorrow. I can’t go again.”

You pout, slowing down and peppering kisses, like you’re thanking her for her orgasm. She collapses onto the sheets, letting out a fulfilled sigh and you lay down beside her, staring at the ceiling, lips swollen, chin glistening. Tashi pulls her gown back up and you melt into her side, hugging her closer.

“Still jealous?”

“Hm.” You bury your face in her neck, breath hot against her skin. “I feel better.”

“Well, you just made me forget about everyone except you.” she murmurs. “You’re my girl, yeah?”

You nod without thinking, too fast, and she just laughs again, wrecked and warm.

“You didn’t come, did you?”

You swallow. “No.”

You sit with it for a while, fidgeting against her side. Tashi catches the way your thighs squirm between hers. Eventually, she moves, just a little, letting her hand trail down your stomach, down between your thighs— finding you embarrassingly wet. But your humiliation has never existed, tamed by a throbbing sensation that builds from your core. You lean into her touch— you need her to keep touching you, need her busy. If this slows down, if either of you have time to think, you’d lose the thin, fragile thread holding it all together.

Maybe you don’t feel better after all.

You lurch up to kiss her lips, smothering the awful swell of thoughts rising in your throat. Tashi kisses you back, slow, meeting your desperation without one of her own. It only makes you grip onto her harder, breaking apart in her arms like it's in your nature.

Pathetic. So fucking pathetic.

You come anyway.

Note: Sex as a proving ground for worth... FUCK YEAH !!! I lowkey didn't really know where to take this so it was marinating in my drafts for a while... so enjoy the unedited mess of Tashi Duncan. Happy late lesbian visibility week <3

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