#match tennis juniors

[nuisancehelicopter]

Zhou Zhi: My darling has arrived.

[sunshineandlyrics]

x

✨ Manifesting Louis content at the Australian Open in Melbourne Park on Saturday 27 January 2024 because Louis could attend both ✨ ....

The DMAs, Ruel and the Jungle Giants play in the AO Finals Festival in John Cain Arena from 2.00-7.00pm x

🎾 The Women's singles final in Rod Laver Arena which starts at 7.30pm x

[parfaitparka]

Rikkai boys in Hai Guang poses

(just finished watching the series and missed them already)

[ilovewigglyworms]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 奋斗吧少年! | The Prince of Tennis (TV 2019) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Mù Sīyáng/Zhuó Zhì (Prince of Tennis 2019) Characters: Mù Sīyáng, Zhuó Zhì (Prince of Tennis 2019), Qiáo Chén (Prince of Tennis 2019), Táng Jiālè Additional Tags: Mutual Pining, but theyre both stupid and dont realise it Summary:

In which Mu Siyang has never doubted the presence of fixed things in his life, like going fishing, tennis, and Zhuo Zhi

[stateofsport211]

AO JGS R2: Emerson Jones [6] def. Mika Buchnik 4-6, 6-3, 6-4 Match Stats

📸 Eurosport IL

Clutchness on return became everything this match came down to. While Mika's important break of serve in the first set came thanks to her forehand winner, it was also the reason behind Emerson's crucial points in the last two sets, added by her backhand down-the-line winners from the third set. Mika tried to approach it further with a defense-to-offense method, defensive enough to cause troubles in the final game, but Emerson's 2 unreturned serves saved her from further problems to close the match. As a result, Mika had 8 opportunities to break, but Emerson maximized her chances well with a 57% break point conversion rate, as well as confirming Mika's 16-44 winners-unforced errors rate due to the risks posed by her approach than Emerson's 35-49 rate thanks to the latter's aggression.

On the other hand, it appeared both players had their own service game strengths. Even though Mika only landed 64% of her first serves, she had an exceptional winning percentage by 6% (71% to 65%) than Emerson, firing 6 aces along the way. While this could drive her out of trouble in most occasions, her rushed follow-ups to her second serves did not, fading her second serve winning percentage 36% behind Emerson despite double-faulting just once.

In the quarterfinals, Emerson will face ninth seed Tyra Caterine Grant, who previously defeated Julie Pastikova 3-6, 6-2, 6-3 in the second round. While pacing became one of such issues in this match, the setup would be one of the most important things to see considering both players conceded the first set but absorbed the pace well to catch the rest of the match. Should also be an exciting watch while realizing both players' potentials!

[too-deviant]

strategic manoeuvre.

— WITH…ART DONALDSON!

contains...babysitter!reader, age gap, 18+ MDNI, art cheats w reader but it is lowkey implied that tashi planned the whole thing, car sex, semi-public sex, head (f receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, inspired by this post from @traumatrios

You had never been interested in tennis before Art. 

You weren’t interested in sports at all, really — you just wanted to buckle down and focus on your college work, earn some money with an easy part-time job. You didn’t have time to follow sports, or anything else. 

But then you got a call. You had been in the middle of a lecture when your phone buzzed against your notebook, a California number shining up at you and enticing you to pick up. Normally you would’ve let it go to voicemail, but you had recently gone around some of the fancier hotels in your city with flyers, asking for babysitting jobs and posting your number, so you excused yourself with a wave and took the call in the hallway. 

You didn’t know who Tashi Donaldson was when she introduced herself, but the hotel she’d asked you to come to later that night was fancy enough that you didn’t question it. You had done an extensive google search afterwards, of course, but simply raised an impressed brow at her repertoire. 

Then you met Art, her tennis player husband and the father of the lovely little girl you would be taking care of, and suddenly you were pretty interested in tennis. 

It started when Lily had a bad nightmare and you couldn’t get her down — well, it started when you met the guy, palm sweaty in his own as he introduced himself, but it didn’t really start until you had to put one of his old games on the TV for the girl to watch until she fell asleep at your side, tear tracks from her bad dream dry on her cheeks. 

You had been planning on carrying her back to her bed when she was down for the count, but you had been so fixated on Art’s movements; his determined look, his arms, his legs, that you ended up dropping out too. You woke up a few hours later with a blanket over your body and Art standing quietly at the kitchen island behind the sofa. 

“You looked peaceful. Didn't wanna wake you.” He’d said, sipping at his tea, and you knew you were done for. 

Now all of a sudden you had time to watch a tennis match in the morning, play one as background noise while you studied. You had started following his tennis journey right from the Junior Open in 2006 — you didn’t think you'd ever actually see him again, but you could fantasise about it whenever you remembered the smell of his cologne as he thanked you for taking care of Lily, promising a big tip would go straight into your account in the morning. 

(The money went in fifteen minutes after you’d left).

It came as a pleasant surprise when Tashi’s number popped up on your screen once more, a few months later. You had been in your kitchen, and took the call the moment you recognised the digits. 

“We’re a little ways out of town.” She’d said, “But Lily raved about you for days after last time, and we know you better than a stranger. If you can’t make it out here, don’t worry, but we still wanted to try our luck.”

We she’d said. As in her and Art. 

You cursed yourself for lusting after a married man in the uber to the hotel. 

From then on out, you became their primary babysitter. Since they travelled a lot, and Tashi’s mom was with them most of the time, you only really sat for them once every couple of months. The town you lived in was sunny and had a huge private sports centre for professional athletes — a fact you weren’t aware of until Art told you over a cup of tea — so they always came back. You were glad you could count on them coming back — it was like magic, the way your phone lit up with Tashi’s now saved contact whenever the late night bingeing of matches and interviews stopped fueling your infatuation. 

The guilt was almost enough to make you ignore it, say you were busy or just get a new number all together. But you never did. As much as you knew it was wrong, you always dropped what you were doing and drove to that cushy hotel where the receptionist knew your face and let you in with a smile. You travelled that same memorised route to the master suite, knocked on the door and made sure you were standing far enough away from the peep hole that you didn’t look weird and distorted when Art would look through before letting you in. 

It was always Art now. Tashi had greeted you a few times but lately it had always been him — a sick part of you thought she might’ve known about your crush on him, played with it for fun because she couldn’t play tennis anymore. But that was crazy, and you really needed to sort yourself out. 

You would greet him with a smile, push through the small talk, lean up against the kitchen island and watch his shirt stretch around the planes of his back as he made you coffee (On those unlucky days he would be wearing a shirt. Sometimes he would be just done with warm ups and physio and would answer the door half naked and covered in sweat. Those were the good days). Then Lily would come running at you from her room, hug you around your waist and pull you in to play; Art would laugh and grin at you, sliding the coffee cup in your direction and holding your eyes before heading to his room to get ready. 

You would be knee deep in headless barbies and chewed up polly pocket clothes when he and would return, dressed up and ready to go. He would lean down, kiss Lily on the forehead, and press his hand to your back in a silent goodbye. Then he would leave, and you would spend the whole day trying to pull yourself together. 

He was married. He was ten years older than you. He had a child, and was paying you to look after her. 

But he always made you coffee when you arrived — just how you liked it because he remembered. He always checked in on you, asked you how your life was while you nursed the mug that was warm from the beverage and his hands. He would tell Lily to behave for you because We like her, and we don’t want to scare her off. He would let his land linger on your back half a second longer every single time he left. 

But.

But Tashi was the one who would call you. She was the one who made you coffee the first time, told you it was the least they could do for you. She would walk out of her room with Art, smile at you and tell you how beautiful you look in that shirt. She would grin at you before leaving, waiting patiently by the door for her husband to take his hand off your back. 

You were evil. Truly. The guy was married. 

But as evil as you were, you always made sure there was an old game of his playing on the TV when they would return — because then Art would prompt you to stay and listen to him talk about it. And you would have an excuse to lean up against that island and watch him make tea while Tashi excused herself to bed. Hours would pass before he was checking his watch and hissing out an apology for keeping you so late, and then letting you leave. 

The first couple of times he’d simply make sure you got in your uber safely. Then he started calling cars himself, the same ones that would drive him and his family to and from matches, press events. The same sort of service celebrites used, not their babysitters. You didn’t mind — it was a thrill, listening to him ask the person behind the wheel to make sure you got back safely.

(The bar was under the court at this point, but at least you were aware of that).

But tonight was different. In more ways than one. 

In the beginning, all was the same. You were left sitting on the plush carpet of Lily’s room surrounded by lego pieces, a burning in your gut and guilt in your heart. You played doctor, you made dinner, ordered room service after her relentless begging, put on a movie, carried her sleeping form to bed, came back and watched Art play tennis until he returned. 

You had started to run out of games to watch, ones you hadn’t already seen, so settled for an old game from 2006. He was playing against his old partner, Patrick something, and you wondered where the lesser known second half of Fire and Ice had disappeared to after that night. 

Then Art came back, Tashi right behind him, and you smiled at them both over the back of the sofa. Tashi watched the game, something unfamiliar glinting in her irises, before blinking back at Art, “I’m going to bed.”

He responded a little slower, kissing her goodnight and looking back at you, “Tea? This game was one of my most memorable.”

“Even though you lost?” You teased, leaning against the marble. 

He paused, looking back at you. He blinked, “Yeah.”

You drank your tea. You pretended like you weren’t full of shame for standing that inch closer to him. You let him talk until he had nothing left to talk about, and watched him check his watch. You waited for him to pick up the phone and call the car — only he paused by the phone, hand floating just before it, and retracted his steps to the kitchen, “I’m gonna drive you back, if it’s not too much trouble. Saves waking up my driver.”

“Oh.” Your fingers twitched, and you told them to stop. “Sure, of course.” 

Art’s car wasn’t what you had expected. Thinking back on it, he didn’t seem like the sports car type, but his status and riches led you to assume you were about to get into one of the two seats in his Bugatti — you didn’t. The black jeep was expensive enough for someone like him, but close enough to home that you didn’t feel like an outsider climbing into the passenger seat.  

The drive wasn’t all that far — twenty minutes both ways, so Art would’ve been back before Tashi fell asleep if he hadn't pulled into a parking lot five minutes out. 

Your lips parted, eyes following his hands as they slid slowly off the wheel and into his thighs. His chest rose with a deep breath and his jaw constricted when he swallowed. Then he was looking at you, eyes piercing. 

“Lily likes you.”

You were unsure, feet shifting beneath you, the sound encasing the silence of the space and forcing you to stop and blink, “I’m glad. I like her.” 

“Tashi likes you.” 

You weren’t too positive that she would like you if she could feel how you were feeling now — that all too familiar heartbeat pulsing between your legs with every one of Art’s breaths. 

“I like you.” He finished, tilting his head until his temple rested softly on the headrest of his seat. His smile was almost taunting when he undid his seatbelt, “Which is your favourite?”

“What?”

“The games.” He clarified, knowing his question was too broad and that you would have to ask, “The ones you watch every time you’re over. The ones I assume you watch even when you aren’t sitting for us. My games. Which is your favourite?” 

“Oh. Um —“ Slightly distracted by the way he shed his jacket, dumping it in the backseat. He’d lent all the way forward to take it off and his eyes didn’t leave yours once. “I don’t know.” 

“The one you were watching tonight.” He asked then, “What’d you think of it? Honestly.” 

“Honestly?” You swallowed, mortified that you were even entertaining this, “You looked a little distracted.” 

He huffed a laugh, finally looking away and letting you breathe. It didn’t last long, because he was then getting out of the car and rounding the front of it. 

The breeze was cool when it hit you, Art blocking most of it from where he stood in the gap. His hand was still on the handle, but you were busy unbuckling your own seatbelt — the message had been received, you had crossed a line and he was kicking you out of his car. 

But when you turned, legs swinging carefully into the cold, his hand on your knee stopped you from really getting out. Your eyes snapped up to his, and you realised you had been caged — with one hand on the door and one hand on you, Art Donaldson had you right where you had been dreaming of him having you. It felt surreal. 

“My opponent. In the game from tonight.” He breathed, glancing around casually like you were having one of your simple conversations over tea. “He slept with my wife.”

Out of all the things… 

“What?” Your eyes darted between his, but the rest of your body otherwise remained still. Even when his hand on your knee travelled upwards. 

“He’d slept with her before. In college. We weren’t together then.” He was now watching his hand move, like he wasn’t the one moving it, “But then he slept with her again, in Atlanta. After I’d already married her.”

“Wow.” You breathed, mainly because it was the easiest word you could slide out of your mouth whilst holding your breath. His fingers reached your thigh, begged to dip between them. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He was quick to respond. Your legs parted on instinct, and at this point you had surrendered to being an awful person — although maybe you’d fallen asleep on the couch and this was all a dream. You didn’t think you’d be able to face Art if it was. You couldn’t even face him now. 

He took the newfound space for granted, stepping between your legs and holding them open with his body. His hand on the door followed him, taking its new place on your other leg. He rubbed up and down your thighs, but you couldn’t look away from his face. 

“I don’t want you watching him play.” He spoke lowly, tracing his fingertips around your waistband, “I’ve seen enough of his games.”

“Okay.” You didn’t hesitate to let out, swallowing the hungered saliva that had built up in your mouth. 

He unbuttoned your jeans, pulled the zipper down — painstakingly slow, but it allowed you time to brace your hands on the seat and the dashboard so you could raise your hips and let him slide them off you. 

You were stuck in your head, but Art didn’t seem to notice since he was too busy folding your jeans and hanging them over the open car door. You dared question it through a heavy breath but he just moved on to your panties, throwing them precariously on the dashboard and exposing your glittering cunt to his bright eyes. 

“We shouldn’t —“ It was a half-assed attempt at reconciling with your guilt, but the fact that you were half naked and spread eagle made it lose its meaning. 

Art shushed you, kneeling down so he was looking at your pussy, “We can, and we will.” Then he glanced back at you, brow arched, “Unless you don’t want to.”

Any sense of rationale had fucked off when he put his hand on your leg, so you swallowed and said, “I want to.”

He wasted no time, licking a thick stripe from your asshole to your clit. You knocked your head back with a gasped moan, bucking into him and hissing when the gear stick poked you in the back when you led back too far. 

You let out a shaky breath as he lapped you up, tongue dipping inside of you before travelling up to that sweet spot and sucking at it gently. You gasped and moaned, hands scrambling between holding yourself up and holding him down. His own were resting on your thighs — his calm and collected demeanour was a drastic contradiction from your own. 

His head nodded calmly between your legs, relaxed in its position — yours, shaky and tense all at once, neck bracing whenever you fell back. His hands tapped soft melodies on your skin whereas yours tightened around whatever was in their old, whether that be the leather of the seats or the blonde of Art’s hair. 

When he finally came up for air, his chin was coated in your slick, and he licked his lips clean before straightening up above you. You watched, paralysed, while he unbuckled his belt, threw it over the door with your jeans, and sent you a look under his lashes that you’d only seen him wear during his tennis matches. 

You had been keeping quiet earlier, but when he bottomed out inside you and started to piston, your mind went wild. Choruses of Oh my God and Fuck!, shouts of Art’s name and whimpers under your breath — it all came tumbling out and you couldn’t even try and stop it. 

Not that you wanted to; your vocality seemed to make him go faster, harder. It made him vocal, no longer calm and relaxed as he had been when eating you out, but loud and gruff. Grunts and moans you had dreamt about hearing outside of a television screen, now being huffed into the air you shared. 

You came with a whine and Art followed not long after, and you settled there for a moment — legs spread in his passenger seat with him standing between them — until you could muster up the strength to push yourself up. 

Five minutes later and you were both dressed, Art’s black jeep parked outside of your apartment building. You hadn’t exchanged any more words, but when you turned to slam the door once you had jumped out, you found his eyes on yours. 

“I have a game this weekend. Two hours out. Tashi wanted you to come. A gift, for all you’ve done for us.” 

(You went to the game. Art won. Tashi grinned like she’d made it happen and then offered to buy you a drink).

divider by @cafekitsune !!

[fandom]

Bridgerton Season 3: Colin's Monogamy Era

The friends-to-lovers trope is in full effect on the latest season of Bridgerton (if Colin has anything to say about it), but fans will have to wait until next month to see how it all plays out. The latest chapter of Jujutsu Kaisen left fans feeling confused and hopeful, but mostly confused. Interview With The Vampire is back for a second season with all the immortal gay flair we’ve come to love and expect. And, a tennis match for the ages, Challengers made sports fans of us all. This is Tumblr’s Week in Review. This is Tumblr’s Week in Review.

Bridgerton

Dungeon Meshi

Artists on Tumblr

Palestine

Polin | Penelope Featherington & Colin Bridgerton, Bridgerton

Interview With The Vampire

Doctor Who

Marcille Donato | Dungeon Meshi

Laios Touden | Dungeon Meshi

Fantasy High: Junior Year

Falin Touden | Dungeon Meshi

Challengers

Jujutsu Kaisen

Supernatural

Colin Bridgerton | Bridgerton

Penelope Featherington | Bridgerton

Izutsumi | Dungeon Meshi

Hazbin Hotel

Batman

House of the Dragon

[artdeco-zweig]

hitting partners | patrick zweig

part one

patrick zweig. even the way his name sat in your mouth annoyed you. everything about him did, from his smug smirk, to his attitude he convinced everyone was charming. everyone but you. you saw right through him. patrick zweig was nothing more than a privileged rich kid who never had to work for anything he got. and even worse, he believed he deserved it.

you on the other hand, devoted every moment of your life, since you were 8 years old, to tennis. you breathed it. you worshipped it, like a god. your family wasn’t wealthy, but they were good enough off to afford a tennis coach for you, and your equipment. but that was it. you sacrificed every birthday, christmas, and any other gift worthy milestone for tennis. and you were good, great even, though still young, and bursting with potential. but you would never be a prodigy. where you lacked natural talent, you made up for in discipline and utter devotion to your craft.

something patrick zweig could never even begin to comprehend. patrick was passionate about tennis for all the wrong reasons. he wanted to be great, the best even. but he had no desire in becoming the best. there was no work ethic, no diligence. potential? sure, tons of it. but no backbone to fulfill it. patrick zweig played tennis like he thought the trophy already had his name engraved into it.

and now? now he was your hitting partner.

you had never spent much time considering a career plan besides tennis. for that reason alone, the idea of college never really excited you. you weren’t interested in playing girls with no chance of going pro. matches that didn’t challenge you felt like a waste of time, and a risk of injury not necessary to take. you wanted to be a tennis player, a professional tennis player. so you started touring as soon as you graduated high school and were eligible.

unfortunately enough for you; that was also patrick’s plan. you first bumped into one another at the Tampa Bay Challenger tournament. it was both of your firsts. you watched the men’s final, zweig vs. tornids, and that was when your annoyance began. you had heard of patrick before then, seen his playstyle, you knew the reputation he held. his nickname of ‘fire’ following him into professional play. but without his ‘ice’ counter part, he played more like an inferno.

throughout the final match, you witnessed him smashing his racket to bits, audible swearing, and a brief verbal altercation with a line judge. none of these things were particularly character damning offenses, but they showed a lack of respect for the game. tennis has always been a clean sport, elegant almost. the behavior and temper of the players directly impacts the scoring of the matches. he was giving points away over anger. anger at himself no less, as he was the one tanking in the final set. you found it embarrassing. you knew you could be a bit of a prude with the seriousness you placed on tennis, and its equally prude rules at times. but it was all you had, all you had ever known. and watching someone as naturally talented as patrick zweig, throw games away got under your skin.

at the after party, later that night, you had the displeasure of meeting mr. zweig. you, the women’s Tampa Bay Challenger champion, and him, the men’s runner up. your managers knew each other, so they insisted you meet. you decided to play nice, as patrick had never done anything to you; his play style just had a way of annoying you. your managers briefly pointed to one another before occupying themselves with a conversation with each other.

“patrick zweig, it’s nice to finally meet you” he said outstretching his hand. “and congratulations” he added, as he nodded to the glass trophy settled atop your manager’s table next to you.

“y/n, yes, we must have just missed each other during juniors” you said as your hand, gently reached out and shook his. the gesture feeling a bit formal, but appreciating it nonetheless. his hand was warm, and much softer than you expected. your fingers ghosted past one another, almost aching not to be separated. before you could start out a lie about how he played well and had an unlucky break in his match, he met your eyes directly and asked

“do you always play so timidly, or was that just today?”

“excuse me?” you blinked at him and cocked your head slightly, thinking he must have misspoken and had a different intention behind the question.

“I mean your play style” he continued with no hesitation. “you looked like an entirely different player for the final set. you looked scared, almost shy. you didnt even really celebrate when you hit the winner” he had looked away from you by now, eyes drifting as if he was replaying your every move from the match in his head.

“do you always play that way?” he finished, eyes finding yours again. when he saw your furrowed brows, and blank eyes staring back at him, something washed over him. maybe it was a hint of regret, sorry for the way his question must have sounded, but you were in no mood to pay that any attention.

“actually patrick” you started, eyes locked on his, practically spitting the words down his throat. “i play to win. which i did. which i usually do” you placed your drink on the table, keeping a cool tone, despite the anger bubbling within you. “maybe if your play style were a bit more adaptive, or you showed any hint of control, you would as well” you retorted with a smug smile fueled by the signs of annoyance, your mention of his loss left all over his expression.

“hm” was all he could muster before he picked up the drink you had placed on the table next to you both. your eyes never parted, as if who ever looked away first was resigning the match. his hand steadily brought the glass to his lips and he took a big sip of whatever it was you were drinking. as he placed the glass back down, he smirked slightly, seeming almost fueled, or intrigued, by this rather polite argument. you broke the silence as you wanted to limit any possibility of him getting the last word.

“i have practice early tomorrow, so i need to get going. im sure you have an off day scheduled tomorrow, so please do enjoy the party.” you turned on your heels, perfume catching the wind and blowing right into patrick’s face. you walked away, swaying, content with how the conversation ended in you favor. a tiny part of you wanted to turn around, wanted to know if he was watching you walk away. the larger part of you, somehow, already knew that he was.

two hours later in your hotel room, showered and tucked away for the night, you brooded over his line of questioning again. how dare he? after everything, after how hard you worked, after securing your first professional tournament win, people like patrick zweig still questioned your skill… scared? shy? you were none of those things. you were a tennis player. the very thing patrick had yet to prove himself to be. yes he was talented, incredibly so. but he played tennis how he wanted to. you played tennis how you needed to.

you stirred, unable to drift asleep, thinking about him. you were hung up on the idea that he was willing to ruin your night, question your skill, despite having more than proved yourself just hours prior. hung up on the way he stared back at you, fire burning in his eyes. god, he was so annoying. somewhere, deep down, you were also hung up on the slight shine of your lipgloss painted across his bottom lip; where he had laid his lips a top the gloss stamp yours left on the rim of your glass.

[callyourose]

match point, chapter one.

↳ introduction one two three

⸺ In which Art and Patrick find themselves intertwined with the relationship of tennis superstar Tashi Duncan and her best friend, Lennon Caddel.

LENNON CADDEL WASN'T SCARED OF TASHI DUNCAN. I mean, she was her best friend. Sure, Tashi was rude to some, intimidating to most. But Lennon might have been the only tennis player at the US Open that year who wasn't scared of her. She had learned that following her best friend around like a lost puppy was the best tactic, and she had gotten pretty good at it. She loved Tashi, adored her. No matter how good of a tennis player Lennon was, sometimes even better than the superstar herself, she would blush and smile and shy away from any praise from her. Tashi was the one that everyone noticed. The way she dominated the tennis court, even in a duos match. The way she swung her braid over her shoulder post win, while her opponent was throwing a temper tantrum just across the net. Everyone was enthralled by her. And Lennon understood it because she was too.

   "I'm just asking," Patrick said in between sips of Coke, standing in front of a poster of the stars of the evening, "If you had to pick, Lennon or Tashi?"

Art just shook his head. He and his best friend had been having this conversation for the better part of the day, beginning as soon as the girls finished their duos match. "I already told you dude," smacking Patrick on the back of the head, "I can't pick. I won't."

"Ever the feminist, Donaldson," the brunette replied turning his back to the posters and his friend. "It doesn't matter to me anyway. I'd let either of them fuck me with a racket."

Art tilted his head and raised his eyebrow, turning his neck to look at the boy next to him. A remark was on the tip of his tongue but he didn't get to start it before he was smacked on the shoulder and urged to look in the direction Patrick was pointing. 

He turned his body fully, scanning the lawn to find what Patrick was so urgent he see. There, standing around a table, was the duo of the hour. Lennon and Tashi were only about 20 feet away from them. They were huddled together, whispering and glancing at... them? Art caught Lennon's gaze and Patrick caught Tashi's and the two girls looked away quickly, giggling to each other. Tashi pinched the outside of Lennon's arm, causing the girl to yell out an "Ow!" and laugh. 

"Dude..." Art started, but Patrick was already in route. He was halfway to the girls before Art even had time to think.

Jogging to catch up, he was right by Patrick's side when he started with a "Hi."

The two girls froze before slowly turning around, Lennon's face was red and Tashi was biting back a laugh. "Hi," Tashi echoed.

There was a beat of awkward silence before Art jutted his hand out in Lennon's direction. "Art Donaldson," he introduced himself to Lennon before offering his hand to Tashi. Patrick followed suite with the introductions causing Tashi and Lennon to glance at each other and smile. 

"We know who you are," the taller girl responded before bumping her best friend's shoulder.

"Oh yeah, we know all about Mr. Fire and Ice," Lennon winked and Art and Patrick were convinced they were going to faint right there. Tashi Duncan and Lennon Caddel were not only talking to them, but they knew them? This is what their dreams were made of. 

"Uh..." Patrick started, unsure of how to respond before Art jumped in.

"You guys were fucking incredible today. Truly."

The girls bid their thanks and echoed their praises. The two best duos in junior tennis, magazines would call them. 

It wasn't long before Lennon and Tashi's parents had to steal them away. Photos with their trophies and kissing each others cheeks were in order. Patrick and Art hung back, gazing at them in awe. Each boy had subconsciously chosen a girl that they had their heart set on, even if it wasn't obvious yet. You could see it in the way their stare lingered on one girl before moving onto the other. You could almost feel it in the air.

Patrick and Art lingered at the party for longer than they intended to. They wanted the opportunity to talk to the girls again; get one more glance at the expanse of Tashi's legs in her dress and the batting of Lennon's eyelashes. They were about to give up, but almost as if they read their minds, Lennon and Tashi descended the stairs and into the area where the boys were sitting. Patrick called them over, the duo whipping their heads in their direction before sharing a smile and heading over. 

"You guys are still here?" Lennon asked, leaning into Tashi's side. 

"Uh, yeah! Great party," Art responded. He was leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. He might as well have had hearts in his eyes. 

The girls shared a glance, and echoed their thanks. Both Art and Patrick were practically drooling in their presence. It was cute to Lennon, cute and embarrassing to Tashi. She was used to this.

"Don't you guys have a final in the morning? That you should be... I don't know. Resting for? " She asked, trying to have a real conversation. She was tired of the praises for the day. 

"I mean, yeah," The boys looked at each other and shrugged. "But we pretty much know how it's gonna go." 

Lennon and Tashi shared a look. It was getting late and even if Art and Patrick weren't going to rest, they were. 

"We should probably-"

"You should come by," Patrick interrupted. 

Tashi bit back a laugh. "Come by where?"

Patrick and Art scrambled to their feet. "Our hotel, he means. I, we, would love to talk about tennis with you guys. And Stanford. And..." Art glances them up and down, "Whatever else you want to talk about."

Tashi glances at her friend, who's already looking at her. There's a silent plea in her eyes, one only her best friend would be able to pick up on. 

But Tashi grabs Lennon's hand and begins to pull her away with her. "Goodnight," she winks. Lennon waves them goodbye and turns in the direction Tashi is pulling her. The boys can hear them bickering quietly as they leave.

"Was that a yes?" Patrick asks.

Art keeps his back turned to him, his gaze still following the girls as they leave. "It wasn't a no."

[nuisancehelicopter]

Yooooo

The dramatics of the snek 🐍

[sebscore]

Hey I’m not sure if you’re taking requests, I’m so sorry if you’re not! but do you think you’d be able to do a gig with the Leclerc brothers where their sister maybe plays a sport and she gets Injured very badly and how they’d like comfort her! I’m sorry if it’s too much! Love your works! Don’t forget to take a break!

THAT IS REALLY EMBARRASSING

pairings: charles leclerc x sister!reader / lorenzo leclerc x sister!reader / charlotte siné x leclerc!reader 

warnings: injury. unaccurate medical advice. swearing. the sport wasn't specified so I choose tennis, i'm sorry if you don't like that (but I do and if there are more tennis fans pls be my friend, I dont have any tennis friends). 

author's note: another Little Leclerc chapter after a long time! hope the wait was worth it and you enjoy this fic! thank you so much for loving my works and I hope you have a great day!! 

masterlist

• • • • • • •

Similarly to her older brothers, the youngest Leclerc enjoyed passions of her own, but instead of a steering wheel, she thrived with a tennis racquet in her hand. 

She started playing at quite a young age, but her time was cut short due to her family's financial situation where they could only support one child's hobby- that being Charles' racing career. It had upset both her and Arthur, but it was an understandable decision. 

Once Charles started making his own money, the two youngest siblings slipped back into their own passions. It had been hard on the young girl at first as all the girls her age were much more advanced and she almost had to start back from scratch. However, she pulled through and began to compete against other players around the area. She wasn't the new Sharapova by any chance, but she had won several local junior tournaments and was seen as quite a big competitor in Monaco. 

Y/N had to prove that at the Monte-Carlo Country Club Junior Tournament, arguably the biggest junior competition in the country. Many girls and boys from different nationalities participated in the event, and it spanned over 2 weeks. 

Little Leclerc had never been able to win the tournament before, her best result being from the previous year when she was stranded in the semi-finals. Y/N had had a good tennis year and was one of the favourites to win her category at the prestigious competition. 

Y/N had seamlessly made it into the quarterfinals, having won all her previous matches in straight sets. Her mother had been present at every single match, not wanting to miss one second of her daughter's play and loving the attention the youngest was receiving. 

Lorenzo, Charles and Charlotte joined her at the girl's latest match, having missed most of them due to work. The brothers were glad they could finally watch her play after such a long time of not being able to attend her tournaments. 

''It's weird seeing her so serious.'' Charles mumbled as they waited for her to do her first serve, her focused face being one he didn't get to see often. 

Lorenzo chuckled. ''I know, she's always clowning around.'' He responded, shutting up as soon as his sister tossed the ball into the air. 

The serve was too fast for her opponent to return, resulting in an ace for Y/N and another game won- the score now 5-1 for Leclerc. She received an applause, the clapping of her family standing out and giving them a timid smile. 

She was on her way to win the first set, but not everything always goes as planned. Her opponent hit the ball to the opposite side of where Y/N was standing, the young girl having to make a long run to return the ball. Because it was a grass court, the players have to wear special shoes, but they often stick to the ground making it harder to run very fast. Her right foot became stuck to the court so Y/N had to put all her weight on it, causing a twist to happen as she chased the ball. She fell to the ground, clamping to her right ankle. 

Pascale immediately stood up from her seat, her heart dropping to her stomach as she saw her daughter go down on the court. Lorenzo processed the moment for a few seconds before standing up as well, and Charles and Charlotte stayed seated, the woman's hands covering her face in shock. 

They watched the umpire climb down from his high chair and approach her, crouching down next to Y/N and asking her if she's okay. ''My ankle hurts a lot.'' She answered him, holding back tears. 

''You want to continue playing?'' The man already knew the answer would be no, but he was mandated to ask her. 

Y/N shook her head. ''No, I think I need a medic or something.'' 

The umpire nodded his head at her words and pulled out his walkie talkie, calling for a medic to enter the court. He received an answer on the other side and turned back to her. ''Can you walk, Y/N?'' 

The young girl tried putting pressure on her ankle, but a throbbing pain shot through her foot and she yelped. ''No, I can't.'' 

''Get a wheelchair as well, she can't walk properly.'' He spoke into the device, receiving a short 'understood' from the other side of the walkie talkie. 

Y/N could see the concerned looks on her family's faces, giving them a thumbs up to ease their worries. Her mother let out a deep sigh, relieved her daughter seemed at least okay on the surface. 

Eventually, two medics arrived with one of them holding the wheelchair in their hand. They unfolded it and carefully helped the girl get up from the ground. They sat her down in the chair and rolled her off the court while the audience gave her an applause, showing their appreciation for the match and her hard work. 

The Leclerc Family made their way towards the inside of the stadium, wanting to get to their youngest as soon as possible. ''It looked like it hurt a lot, did you see it twisting?'' Charlotte said, the moment replaying in her head. 

''Yeah, and she was trying so hard not to cry, I could just see it.'' Charles responded, holding onto his girlfriend's hand for some sort of support. 

''Maman, the medical center is there!'' Lorenzo redirected his mother as she almost went into the wrong hallway. Pascale quickly turned the right way, running on her motherly instincts. 

She knocked on the door, opening it before being given permission to actually enter the room. ''Oh, look at you.'' Y/N was laying down on the doctor's table, her ankle being inspected by one of the medics. 

Pascale embraced her as well as she could while her daughter laid down, caressing her face. ''Does it hurt a lot?'' She glanced at the ankle, seeing it already swelled up. 

Y/N shrugged her shoulders. ''It only hurts when I move it or stand on it.'' She answered, tears escaping her eyes. 

''Don't cry, Chérie! You're so strong, you're a brave girl.'' Her mother tried comforting her, wiping the tears away and kissing her cheek. 

The medic scratched their voice, gathering everyone's attention. ''It's 100% not broken, but it is sprained,'' they explained, ''I'm gonna tape it and then you're free to leave, but I advice you rest your ankle for the next week and don't strain it too much, cause then you'll have to go to the hospital.'' They finished off, grabbing the support tape from one of the cabinets. 

''Okay, thank you.'' Lorenzo weakly smiled, grabbing a chair and setting himself down next to the table. 

''I was doing so well and then of course I have to fall.'' Y/N exclaimed, radiating frustration. 

Her oldest brother grabbed her hand. ''It can happen to anyone, even the big players fall and get injured.'' 

''But it's embarrassing falling in front of that many people- I wanted to die right then and there.'' His sister argued, her hands covering her face as if she was reliving the moment. 

Pascale chuckled at her daughter's dramatics. ''There are worse things to be embarrassed about, Chérie.'' 

''Yes,'' Charlotte spoke up, ''remember when I had to make a Twitch account so he would open the door for me? Way more embarrassing.'' She said, gathering laughs from everyone. 

''Or when Charles wore that banana costume on a livestream!'' Lorenzo added. 

''And Arthur with his 18-hour screen time? You've got nothing to worry about.'' Charles chimed in, directing the focus to Arthur's embarrassing moments. 

Y/N's tears had stopped and laughed along with her family, appreciating their attempt at cheering her up and making her feel better about her fall. ''Ooh~ she's smiling again.'' Charles poked at her dimple, a giggle escaping her mouth because of it. 

''Remember when Charles-''

''She gets it, Enzo!'' 

taglist :: @missskid @maxiel-jpg @glitterquadricorn @stillbreathin @obsessed-fan-alert @booknerd2004-blog @kageyamama-hinatatata @reblog-princess-blog @maezenin12 @gly-exe @lighttsoutlewis @topguncultleader @jaydensluv @nora_moon @erinisrightheree @7leb-kakaw @theamazingsimp @lovelyxlily @princessmiaelicia @mehrmonga @champomiel

[filmsdkye]

saw challengers again and i think that patrick and tashi have a sort of resentment towards each other that makes their clashes so explosive. In the scene where patrick and art are at the food court, the look he has while looking at tashis “duncanator” banner is similar to the one in the sauna. he looks almost hurt by it. he won the U.S junior open, he went pro, he was at the top and he won tashi number, but then he goes on tour and looses, he hadn’t won a single challengers, meanwhile tashi is being celebrated and art is continuously getting better. They have a clear class difference where patrick has never really had to work for anything in his life and that includes tennis so that’s why he’s so confused over tashi going to college and why he looks confused when tashi said they “couldn’t afford boarding school”. All tashi knows is hard work and discipline but that’s a lost art to patrick.

In the scene where patrick asks tashi to coach him, tashi explodes on him not only because that’s an insane fucking thing to say to her but because he’s still doing it, he’s still has this inflated ego that he shouldn’t have, he’s not 20 anymore, he’s 219th in the world, and for tashi who’s potential was ripped away from her, there’s nothing that would anger her than the walking example of thrown away potential telling her that he wants her to make him better. i also think it’s interesting that almost everything he says is proven wrong. art tells her he wants to retire. and she accepts it, then she begs patrick to throw the match, “what else could it want”. There’s no doubt that they both need him, but that doesn’t mean they don’t resent each other for the careers they lost, whether it was their fault or taken from them, that they think they deserve (in tashis case she did). adding that i don’t think their relationship would’ve survived if they patrick did not do what he did, like they need patrick to survive just as much as patrick need them to survive himself.

[stateofsport211]

📸 🎥 Eurosport IL

The third set then commenced with Emerson's early break (1-0) thanks to her backhand down-the-line winner that set an important equalizer before Mika's backhand error created the former's break point several moments later. Even though the said break point was initially broken, Emerson eventually earned that break before consolidating her lead to 2-0. Interestingly, Emerson had a backhand down-the-line winner as another equalizer and almost doubled the break, but Mika still managed to hold her service game to 2-1.

Since then, Emerson held firm until she had an opportunity to serve for the match in the tenth game, where she had her 3 match points saved while Mika also had 3 break points, to no avail. It all started from Emerson's failed lob while trying to respond to Mika's smash, which put her into a deficit position. Mika's first match point save then came from a backhand return ace to Emerson getting run over from her forehand side, while Emerson's forehand errors, one of which was a result of Mika's defenses, saved the other 2 match points. They also contributed to Mika's 3 break points, but the shot misfires (which went too wide) resulted in her break point non-conversions. Ultimately, Emerson closed the match with 2 unreturned serves, taking the third set 6-4 to secure her spot in the quarterfinals.

[dregs-leftovers-parsley]

trying to make a list of 70’s to early 80’s proto-yuri, if anyone knows about other works please lemme know so I can add them ^_^

updated as of May 2: series are now ordered by year, titles and author names are listed in jp as well as english, some summaries updated, series added (sakura namiki, secret love, shiroi heya no futari, oniisama e, sakura no sono), summary sources are now listed at the end of each entry

“sakura namiki” / “さくら並木” (1957) - takahashi macoto / 高橋真琴

-when yukiko throws a table tennis match against maki, an upper-classmen who she in love with she fears that she has driven a wedge in their friendship. As rumors and slander begin to swirl around the two girls Yukiko’s fear compounds. Will she be able to repair her friendship with Maki, and could this possibly even bring them closer than ever before? (my summary)

“Secret Love” / “シークレット・ラブ” (1970) - yashiro masako / 矢代まさこ

(no summary found)

“shiroi heya no futari” / “白い部屋のふたり” (1971) - yamagishi ryouko / 山岸凉子

-Resine comes to a new boarding school to find she is rooming with Simone, a rebel who is rude to her from the start. However, Resine and Simone end up falling in love… (copied from mangadex)

“futaripocchi” / “ふたりぽっち” (1971) - riyoko ikeda / 池田理代子

-Kaoru, a poor girl and Reiko, the daughter of a wealthy family are on good terms and attend Aisei Girls' Academy together. These two, who had completely opposite upbringings and personalities, ended up becoming sisters when their parents remarried. Even as they rebel against each other and hurt each other, they gradually understand each other and deepen their bond, but eventually Reiko begins to develop romantic feelings for Kaoru. Attacked by the absurdities of society the beautiful sisters Kaoru and Reiko go on a journey, just the two of them. (translated from manga ookoku)

“maya no souretsu” / “摩耶の葬列” (1972) - ichijo yukari / 一条ゆかり

-A horror story, in which the main character and her family go to their summer house for vacation and people start dying one by one. The twist is that the main character, Reina, is falling in love with her mysterious neighbor, Maya. But who is Maya really, and how does she know so much about Reina's family? (copied from mangadex)

“aries no otometachi” / “アリエスの乙女たち” (1973) - satonaka machiko / 里中満智子

-Kubo Emiko and Mizuho Romi are two girls born under the Aries sign. Emiko is an earnest and innocent girl who grew up with gentle parents. On the other hand, Romi, who was raised by her fashion designer mother, has a fierce temper. Emiko admires Takashi from the equestrian club, but when she meets the strong and beautiful Romi, she gradually becomes attracted to her. Is this excitement... love? (translated from manga ookoku)

“yureru soushun" / “揺れる早春” (1973) - riyoko ikeda / 池田理代子

-Mako, who has excellent grades, is good at sports, and is popular, falls in love with Junko, a beautiful junior who is hated by all the female students at school. Mako is trapped by Junko's intense love and jealousy...!? (translated from manga ookoku)

“oniisama e” / “おにいさまへ“ (1974) - riyoko ikeda / 池田理代子

-Nanako enrolls in Seiran Academy, a prestigious girls' school, which is a girl's paradise for gorgeous students known as " Lady Kaoru," "Saint Juste," and so on. The selection committee for the school's social group "Sorority," of which every new student dreams of joining, begins. Sorority members are selected by upperclassmen, who vote on their family background, education, appearance, and other factors. Nanako thought she had no connection to this world, but for some reason she was chosen as a candidate...? (copied from mangadex)

“hadashi no mei” / “裸足のメイ” (1974) - fukuhara hiroko / 福原ヒロ子

-May is an ordinary high school girl with a crush on the handsome Kido from the soccer club. Thanks to taking a convenient soccer ball to the face she gets a chance to strike up a friendship with him. But on the same day she also gets caught up with the mysterious Misaki Kayako, who has mistaken her for someone named “Maya”. (my summary)

“kurenai ni moyu” / 真紅に燃ゆ (1979) - fukuhara hiroko / 福原ヒロ子

Suzuna went to a shrine to see the double cherry blossoms in full bloom on her way home from school. However, she gets tangled up with the biker gang that was hanging out there and is about to be taken away when she is rescued by Sarasa, who happens to be passing by. Suzuna is immediately captivated by the sight of this gallant knight on a motorcycle, with her swaying red hair and feminine gestures. After that, Suzuna and Sarasa hit it off, but as they continue to be chased by biker gang members, a major incident involving the two develops...!! (translated from manga ookoku)

“umibe no kain” / “海辺のカイン”  (1980) - kimura minori / 樹村みのり

-One day, Sano, a fashion designer who lives in a beach town, meets Nobuko, a woman who is trying to drink water from a tap at a park. Sano casually invites her to her home and gives her a ticket to an exhibition on the way home. At the exhibition, Sano feels as though she lost to a more popular designer, but Nobuko says she prefers her designs. On the way home, Nobuko confesses her troubles in not being able to dress femininely. Since she lives alone, they meet often and talk about their pasts. As Nobuko confesses her worries and receives advice from her, she begins to develop feelings for Sano. (translated from wikipedia)

“kanojotachi” (1982) - kashi michiyo / 樫みちよ

-On her first date with her boyfriend, Misono, a second year high school student, meets Ruiko, who looks like a beautiful young man. At the fashion show her boyfriend brought her to she sees Ruiko on stage as a model. Ruiko is a lesbian and is dating a friend of Misono’s brother, Susan. Misono becomes interested in Ruiko, and Ruiko is also attracted to Misono's purity, but... (translated from manga ookoku)

“ibutachi no heya” / イブたちの部屋 (1983) - nagahama sachiko / 長浜幸子

 (no summary found)

“sakura no sono” / “櫻の園” (1985) - yoshida akimi / 吉田秋生

-The drama club at Ouka Academy has a yearly tradition of putting on a production of Anton Checkov's The Cherry Orchard for the school's founding day festival. These interwoven tale of love and friendship focus on four girls in the drama club as they prepare for this year's presentation. (copied from mangadex)

[rurucreates]

Imagine loving tennis and being so fucking great at it at 17 and then injuring yourself while fighting some average girl after arguing with your boyfriend, ending up never professionally competing, but still having this deep desire and passion for tennis that you want to channel into something or someone, so you decide to coach and date and marry your ex’s best friend, who’s super in love with you, and he plays for you for a decade and a half, wins six slams but you still feel so fucking empty and can’t help but feel like you hate him because you know he’ll never be so crazy about tennis like you are and that he’s only and has ever really played for you, so you make him play in a challengers game, try to make him feel this intensity that you feel for the sport that you do, he tells you he wants to retire but you don't want it, so you ask his best friend, who is playing against him tomorrow, to lose on purpose then fuck him, who snitches on you mid-match and what do you know? he starts playing. and now you feel the intensity you once felt as a seventeen year old tennis junior us open champion.

[tuesdaygray]

and when i mention the fact that art and tashi are wearing complimentary tennis outfits (all white head-to-toe branded adidas) in both of their winning junior us open matches before they even meet each other, acting as an invisible string connection to their future commercial success as a married couple, what then??