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dumbass-sappho-stan · 4 months

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hit first and hit hard || challengers

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ꜰᴇᴀᴛᴜʀɪɴɢ: ᴀʀᴛ ᴅᴏɴᴀʟᴅꜱᴏɴ, ᴘᴀᴛʀɪᴄᴋ ᴢᴡᴇɪɢ, ᴛᴀꜱʜɪ ᴅᴜɴᴄᴀɴ

— fem! reader

summary: 𝘁𝘄𝗼 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗲𝗻𝗻𝗶𝘀 𝗴𝗶𝗿𝗹𝘀 𝘁𝘂𝗺𝗯𝗹𝗲 𝘂𝗽𝗼𝗻 𝘁𝘄𝗼 𝘁𝗲𝗻𝗻𝗶𝘀 𝗯𝗼𝘆𝘀, 𝘄𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗵𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗲𝗻𝘀 𝗶𝘀 𝗼𝗻𝗹𝘆 𝗰𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗴𝗼𝗿𝗶𝘀𝗲𝗱 𝗮𝘀 𝗰𝗮𝘁𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗼𝗽𝗵𝘆

𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, 𝘪𝘯𝘫𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴/𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥, 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘹𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘱𝘪𝘥 𝘣𝘰𝘺𝘴

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ʟɪᴛᴇʀᴀʟʟʏ ᴍʏ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ꜱᴏ ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛ, ʟɪᴋᴇ, ᴏʀ ɢɪᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴄᴏɴꜱᴛʀᴜᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴄʀɪᴛɪᴄɪꜱᴍ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ 3 ᴛᴏ 4 ᴘᴀʀᴛꜱ ᴅᴇᴘᴇɴᴅɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ʜᴏᴡ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ ʟɪᴋᴇ ɪᴛ! ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ɪᴛ!

🇼🇴🇷🇩 🇨🇴🇺🇳🇹: 7.9k

Part Two !!

𝙋𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙊𝙣𝙚: 𝙃𝙪𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧 𝙃𝙪𝙧𝙩𝙨

It seemed almost trivial when you'd joined your middle school's tennis team as a favor for a friend. She'd prompted you with positive words and affirmations that it'd "just be for the season" and "for fun". Tennis hadn't even crossed your mind only being mentioned for the celebrity players like Billie Jean King or Andre.... well, they weren't important enough for you to remember them. Or the championship with the silly name, "Wimbledon", at first when you'd learned of it you'd thought it was made up.

But it wasn't and you were set up for tennis during your middle school career. But to the shock of yourself and others—you were a fucking good player. You sailed across the court in "gym shoes" (which were really Converse) and baggy school-issued shorts. Being a twelve-year-old girl running around the court and playing fervently was surely tiring but you worked hard and long, strenuous hours.

Every time you'd trip over yourself trying to catch a ball on the other side of the court, you'd get up. You were determined to be good at something; tennis would be it. You didn't particularly know what fired you to work so hard, especially, at a sport you'd joined as a joke.

It seemed strange but lit a deep fire when you stepped on the concrete court, staring at your opponent standing opposite. The fire nipped at your fingertips when you picked up the heavy racquet and the neon atrocity that was the ball.

It made you feel powerful when you slammed, although not the best serve at first, the ball across the court in a serve that would ensue the rally and the pure enigma that followed—the breath of life that was tennis.

You'd worked pretty hard with your doubles partner, the friend who'd invited you, and you both had managed to snag your state female youth's championships doubles title for ages 12 to 14. To say you were pleased was an understatement, you were thrilled. You'd thrown yourself into the sport for the newfound love of it, and it got your parents off of your ass about joining stupid, fucking 'extracurriculars'.

The year after, you were put into the girl's circuit matches during the year and played throughout. Your intense training paid off so much that you'd shed the doubles-only path and managed to play singles. Somehow, by the chance of something holy, you managed to get to the USTA Girls 14s National Championships just before the start of your freshman year.

𝙎𝘼𝙉 𝘿𝙄𝙀𝙂𝙊, 𝘾𝘼𝙇𝙄𝙁𝙊𝙍𝙉𝙄𝘼, 2002

14 years old and deathly terrified, you waltzed to San Diego where you were sure you'd meet your fate (death), to lose to people you were convinced were so much better than you. Even though your love of tennis had thrived, you weren't dumb.

You weren't exactly the richest girl on the block, unlike most tennis players. Tennis, you'd learned that to be extraordinarily good or at least decent, with not a lot of raw talent, required lessons; lessons (the good, professional ones) cost a lot of money. You had benefitted from the fact that your school coach was very dedicated once she'd gauged your true love of the sport and soon forced you into a training routine that you dutifully followed.

But all of that didn't matter as you stepped into the stadium. All that mattered was the talent that you possessed, not the rich girls in their juicy couture, that you wished you could steal off of their bodies, their pristine Nike tennis shoes, or their stupidly expensive tennis outfits. You had yourself and your fabulous Wet Seal white skirt that you'd hand sewn so it looked pleated, sorta.

You walked around the stadium for a while, trying to find the locker room to place your stuff down before your match started. It was against some girl with the sorta name that reminded you of the state of Idaho with how forgetful it was. Nevertheless, you sauntered around the halls until you heard a loud, distracting clamor that came from behind you.

The sound of very loud overlapping voices clouded your mind as they all repeated the same name as if gospel:

𝙏𝙖𝙨𝙝𝙞 𝘿𝙪𝙣𝙘𝙖𝙣

You had turned your head slightly back to be met with a figure. A tall, beautiful girl entered your vision. And that was the beginning of the end for you.

She walked down the hallway with the entourage of players, adults, and coaches alike following around or behind her. Every step she took felt like the world shook around her, hair slicked back into a ponytail-braid, her outfit branded with some sports brand, and her face... A face that read of more conviction and drive than you'd ever seen in your short life.

You were still walking in an awkward position, head craned backward to gaze at the girl who was a few meters behind. She enraptured you, in more ways than one. It was strange how eye-catching she was, and she must've been popular too if she had everyone following her, or that was your thought process at least. Well you were thinking until from that stupid position you were in, you made eye contact with her.

Her deep eyes had met your own quickly, a flash of confusion on her face before it shifted back to its original stone confidence On the other hand, you had let out a small gasp of embarrassment (?) or some sort of flustered emotion, and scuttled along to the nearest door along the seemingly endless hall.

To your luck, it was the locker room, and even better it was emptier than a school library. Walking to the nearest bench you set your backpack down and let out a shutter, "Jesus Christ.."

You sighed and looked at yourself in the mirror, then began to change, and then you were ready. While you were lacing up your gym shoes, ACTUAL tennis shoes, your mind wandered to that girl again.

Tashi...it made your heart clench up and your palms sweat. Everything about today was beginning to make you panic, especially that girl, but you couldn't think about it much before your coach burst into the empty room. She hollered your name and her voice reverberated throughout the room— you blinked you were on the court and the stupid, forgettable girl stood on the other side of the 24 meters, doing whatever stupid, forgettable girls could do. You started your routine, blocking out anything that was deemed a distraction.

The match soon started, and everything seemed drowned out by you and the girl's grunts. The ball sailed across the net, again and again, but it seemed to be quite the easy game. The no-name girl couldn't backhand for her life and eventually, you caught her during the second set. The poor player simply couldn't take your, albeit shaky, jump serve and the ball barely skimmed the tip of her racquet.

You nearly felt bad for the girl, she looked so enraged when she lost. A forlorn battle cry left her lips, her racquet taking the brunt of the anger as it shattered. The girl's expression wrenched, she reminded you of a wounded animal being left for dead, or already on its way.

Bled out and begging.

Nevertheless, you bustled off the court and into the locker room, your coach had already congratulated you on your way out so you were stranded alone. The vibrant cobalt blue of the lockers almost blinded you upon entry but there were more pressing matters, there she was. "Good game," Tashi emitted, standing in the far back of the room. She looked less, terrifying than before... more human. A slight half-smirk or smile on her face flourished, it appeared almost natural.

"Oh! Thank you," You beamed, your smile widening at her praise, it'd felt like winning again. "It's my first time here so I was sorta hoping to win." A laugh escaped your lips awkwardly, slowly trotting over to where the other girl stood.

"I could tell, you looked as if you were about to like to shoot yourself or some shit," She chuckled drily, rummaging through her things while you stood there, like a statue. A very graceless statue.

"Yeah," You answered meekly with a laugh, though it sounded more like a squeak. You didn't know what about this girl made you sweat, you'd never heard of her, who the fuck was this bitch—Your stream of consciousness was soon cut off at the girl's gaze returning to you.

Tashi's expression had slightly toughened, but you chalked it up to being her opponent. She spoke once more, "Well, I got my game," She slung the huge bag over her shoulder and started on her way, before turning again to face you. "See ya..." She trailed off and awaited your name, giving you an expectant look.

Immediately you complied, sputtering out your name and watching the brunette's eyebrows raise in interest? Or that's what you assumed. Your name rolled off her tongue as she said it aloud, and then a second time to you, offering you that intense stare.

"Huh, well, see ya.." Then Tashi Duncan walked right out of the room. Something sparked in you as you saw the girl leave. You didn't know if it was loathing, admiration, or absolute fucking torment. Hell, to this day you don't know what it was. What you did know was that this girl was something; you wanted to be a part of that something. To be a part of her.

So you were.

𝙉𝙀𝙒 𝙔𝙊𝙍𝙆 𝘾𝙄𝙏𝙔, 𝙉𝙀𝙒 𝙔𝙊𝙍𝙆, 2006

𝘉𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘦 𝘑𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘒𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘕𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘛𝘦𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘴 𝘊𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳

The sun beaded down on the courts on the day of the US Open. Unforgiving in its light as it scorched the earth's wide terrain, making sure anyone who left the house that day within the sun's climax would surely get a foul burn. But it didn't matter, everyone was there on the day of the US Open. The fourth and final title any tennis player would need to get a Grand Slam and it all took place in the 'Greatest City' in the world as some say.

New (fucking) York.

You'd finally made it, US Open. It was juniors, sure, but the US Open itself felt like a badge of honor. Being here, aged 17, was everything you worked for the past five years. You felt like it was your birthday, Christmas, and waking up to see the goddamn tooth fairy all in one day. You'd walked past your opponent upon entering the court. Something you'd mastered within the past years was the benefit of the poker face. You set down your bulky bag on your side of the court, got your racquet out, and stretched. Your mind went silent as everything was called to a hush.

There was no coin flip, everyone knew who was serving first. But the question was, who would win?

Tashi had always been the better of the both of you.

You both stood, at opposing ends of the court, staring at each other awaiting the next move. Tashi gripped the ball like a vice and gazed at you. It honestly made you feel naked but you didn't show. There was no place in your world right now to fuck this game up. THWACK THWACK THWACK

The ball took its beating as it wafted from end to end on the green concrete. The loud sounds of grunts and cries intermingled, the sheer forces converging.

When playing with Tashi it almost felt as if you were one. Just as you knew what move she would make, she'd predict yours. You gave her your backhand, and she yielded a forehand. Play after play, you both gave a fight worth seeing. At this point it became a game of endurance, to see who could persist under each other's brutal grasp.

If it was a game of who wanted it badly enough Tashi would've won every single time. But a game of spite? That's something you couldn't afford to lose.

It was the last game. Tashi had won the first one, and you had won the second after managing a dive for a ball for a drop shot, subsequently, skinning practically half the skin off your right knee. But it was all worth it. The third game started with the serve and then you played like hell. Your body was not yours in that moment, it was the games. Your legs pounded into the concrete as they sidestepped, swerving and twisting your body to keep up with the rally. It felt as if the rally had gone on forever. You just needed to tie the set and you'd have the advantage.

You could tell Tashi was starting to break, she looked undoubtedly tired but wouldn't let up. The last hit she gave, a loud THWACK was sent across the court and you plunged to get the ball, it barely touched your racquet... The stands erupted in applause for Tashi as an expression of euphoria broke out upon your opponent's features. She won. "COME ON!" A loud battle cry ripped through her as her tennis racquet tumbled to the ground and a smile broke out on her features. A grin had even broken upon yours, watching your best friend win

Rather than shaking hands as typical at the end of a game, you ran to the net, leaped over it, and enveloped her in an air-tight hug. It was returned with the same amount of vehemence, and a peck to the apple of your cheek.

You wanted to slightly cry or maybe even frown at the aspect of losing but you couldn't. Tashi's win was your win, right?

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It's getting hot in here

So take off all your clothes

I am getting so hot...

The music hovered through the air as you and Tashi danced along the dance floor. The party on Long Island seemed a bit daunting to you, going to a social event right after a grueling day full of a tournament in the sweltering sun. But you sucked it up, put on your fetching little dress with high heels, and danced your heart out next to your best friend.

The dresses swung around in tandem while Nelly blasted through the speakers, you laughed with her hooking hands together, spinning throughout the floor.

While dancing you saw the chick Tashi had played before the final, she was sobbing to her parents, looking distraught. "God would you see that chick," You muttered to Tashi's ear, a small smirk forming.

She looked back at the girl, eyebrows raised and a surprised smile. Tashi spoke your name, "I never took you for a bitch," feigning a scold to you, and held your gaze, before busting out in a laugh.

You followed suit, giggling as well. The Russian girl had cursed Tashi out at the end of their match, needless to say, she wasn't the friendliest girl.

"Karma's a bitch, Tash!" A laugh slipped out of your mouth as you practically leaned on Tashi, keeping up dance in between you two. She looked down at you, smiling at your answer with that signature Tashi Duncan grin. Not exactly a smirk, but not an earnest smile.

You returned it, getting lost in her deep brown eyes for a moment, it felt as if on the floor it was just you two. You and Tashi dancing, you didn't know, and maybe would never know, that Tashi knew how you looked at her at that moment. She merely just didn't care.

However, your moment was interrupted by her words;

"Come on, I'm thirsty," She announced, still giving you that impish smile. You only nodded, your wrist was soon snatched up by your friend and promptly yanked off the dance floor. You followed Tashi, finding a cooler nearby, she snatched up two drinks and then led you onto some chairs.

Tashi down first, sipping whatever fruity nonalcoholic drink and you sat on the arm of the chair, of course. You sipped your own drink and stared out in the crowd, but something, no, some guys entered your peripheral vision— they were walking straight toward you. At first, all you could get from the figures was that one was blonde and the other brunette. Upon further inspection, they were the two doubles players, Fire and Ice.

This caused you to nudge your friend with your leg but they'd already appeared.

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By some form of charm and fascination, you found yourself on the beach, smoking a cigarette and captivated by two young men. You came to find that their names were Art Donaldson and Patrick Zweig and that they were undoubtedly head over heels. You had a sneaking suspicion they were already members of the Tashi Duncan Fan Club just based on their awestruck faces.

You sat on the rock next to your friend, legs crossed and head turned toward her before shifting to the ocean. A little smile had been laid on your features since meeting with them. They were so.. appealing. If that was a word to describe them. When asked earlier by Tashi, "Who was fire and who was ice?" There was no straight answer so you made one up yourself. "Y'know, I think I've figured you two out." You declared, turning your gaze to them. They both tore their gaze away from Tashi to you.

"What have you figured out?" Patrick inquired playfully, raising his brows unanimously.

"You're fire," You pointed directly at the brunette, "And you're ice." Then pointing to the blonde, a smug smile replaced the other as you took a puff of the cigarette. "Am I wrong?" Art chuckled at the assumption and shrugged, "I don't know is she, Patrick?" He asked his friend, matching your 'matter-of-fact' tone.

Patrick stared at you for a moment, his eyes sized you up, almost the way Tashi did. Confident, all-knowing. From the tips of your heels to the hilt of where your dress dipped into your chest, all the way up to meet your fierce eyes. He readjusted himself in his chair.

"That's up to you, Art." He replied, never breaking the eye contact. This time, Art didn't respond to anyone and only chuckled at the stupidity of the conversation. Though this didn't satiate you, before you could reply with another quip, your phone buzzed.

This caused your face to change as you whisked your shiny light pink Motorola Razr out of the strap of your heel to see who would be calling you—Your mother. "Damnit," You huffed, screening the call and clutching the phone. "Tash, it's my time to go." You started to stand up from the rock, as Tashi turned her head to gaze up at you.

"Your Mom?" "Yeah, who the fuck else." You muttered in annoyance, brushing off the sand that stuck to your leg. Tashi sent you a sympathetic look but she already knew this routine, it wasn't any new to her that your mom would want you back home. Especially, if she knew you were out with random boys.

"Hey, I gotta go, my mom's calling me." You announced to the rest of the company with an awkward grin and some weird hand motion where you limply pointed past them. "Aw really," Patrick whined playfully, "We'll miss you so much," He took a sip of his Coke with a smirk. "Do you really have to go?"

Art joined in, "Yeah, are we that terrible?" He asked teasingly, his lips upturning into a grin that mirrored his friend.

A slight flush had flitted across your face, the awkwardness replaced with a sense of sheepishness. Your reply died on the tip of your tongue as a familiar hug enraptured you from behind. "Oh don't scare her, she's shy. Aren't you?" Tashi jested, giving the boys a flippant glare, her head leaning on the crook of your neck.

You scoffed lightly and rolled your eyes, "No, just tired." A small huff left your lips as you leaned back into your friend's grasp, before turning around and hugging her back tightly. You loved your best friend deeply, she'd chosen you from the start and you still were in awe.

Pulling away from the hug, Tashi kissed the apple of your cheek as always and you grinned.

"Bye Tash," You chirped, finally leaving the sandy rock and onto the beach, passing by the boys before you were stopped by their silly farewells.

"Rude, no goodbye?" Patrick shouted, incredulously with a grin.

Art called out your name, "Bye, I'll see you at Stanford!"

You let out a small giggle to yourself as you skipped off back to your hotel. The boys stared at your figure as it got smaller and smaller, away in the distance.

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Later that night, while lounging in your room, watching stupid mindless late-night television there was a knock at your door. Perplexed, you walked over to the door and opened it to reveal your best friend.

"Tashi?" You asked tiredly, "What the hell are you doing here?" Your eyebrows drew together at her devious smirk, the way she looked at you made you think she was about to tell you something you really weren't gonna like.

"Well, you remember those two boys?" She inquired with her Cheshire smile, and you nodded slowly. "They want us to go to their room!" Tashi squealed, grabbing you by the shoulders happily.

Your expression shifted to one of confusion, "You mean they want you," You corrected with a thin, wiry smile.

Tashi scoffed, "No, they said 'Bring your hot friend too', " She moved her hands from your shoulders to connect with your own. "Please? It'll be fun I swear! They have beer!"

"Tash, I don't know about this," You pouted, trying to appeal that you didn't want to go, "Maybe we should think about this, I mean-" You were unfortunately cut off by her hauling you out of your room by your wrists.

"No, we're going, it'll be fun," Tashi stated with vitality as if it were fact rather than opinion. She pulled you through the corridors of the hotel, which conveniently, you learned, the boys were staying in the same one.

It seemed never-ending, the red and green carpeting looked dirty, and looking at the skeevy carpet did not help the unsettling feeling you had in your stomach. It just didn't make sense that they both wanted you there or maybe the idea of being desirable by guys that hot threw you off a bit.

"Tashi, please promise me that I'm not just being brought along so one guy doesn't hide in that bathroom while you fuck the other?" You look at her desperately, trying to search for an answer that registers in your brain. Tashi only ignored your question by giving you an expression that read, 'Shut up, you'll be fine'.

You've gotten that look throughout your friendship but it felt more militant now. So, you did shut up and kept on walking until eventually the red-carpeted trail ended at room 206, that was when Tashi released you from her iron grip and you two stood at the door.

The sound of the knock echoed throughout the empty hotel halls. There was silence and no one opened the door. The second time you knocked, more like pounded, but a knock nonetheless. Rustling and hushed voices were heard on the other side of the door, causing you and Tashi to both giggle a bit to yourself before the door was opened.

"Hi,"

"Hey,"

They welcomed you into the room, though they both looked reddened and disheveled. The room smelled like cigarettes and looked sloppy as fuck, but what would you expect from two teenage boys?

You and Tashi both took seats on the carpeted floor, and you brought your legs to a criss-crossed position while the boys took the spots across from you two.

"So, did you take like Mommy and me classes together or what?" Tashi asked teasingly, earning chuckles from around the circle. "You guys just seem like brothers."

Art laughed, "Well that's what the Mark Rebellato Tennis Academy will do for you," A laugh simmered once more and you quirked your eyebrow.

"Shit, you guys went to boarding school for tennis?" A curious grin blossomed across your face, "I didn't know they had actually had those."

Patrick nodded his head, "Yep, I've been bunkmates with him," he pointed a finger toward Art, "Since we were 12."

You bobbed your head, "That makes sense," The beer can was finally passed to you and you took a sip. "You both definitely have a gayness to you."

Tashi laughed at your words as the boy's faces dropped, not expecting those words to spill from you. It was deathly silent other than you and Tashi's giggling.

"Well, are you?" Tashi asked between laughs, earning another loud laugh from the two of you at Patrick's smirk and Art's panicked spluttering to defend himself and his friend.

"No, we're NOT gay," He corrected with a nervous smile, "Just because people go to boarding school doesn't mean they're gay. It wasn't even all boys, there were girls too." Art seemed pleased with his own explanation but that didn't stop the onslaught of giggles between you and your friend.

"Okay, sure," You snorted, taking another sip of the beer before it was snatched out your of grasp by Patrick. You shot him a playful glare to only be met with one back.

"Though, does this happen often?" Tashi questioned the boys with a flirtatious gaze, "You bring back two girls to your room?" "Or do you usually..?" The words died on the tip of your tongue as you finished the sentence, giving them an expectant expression. A few seconds passed by with no one speaking until...

"Well..." Patrick started, making you and Tashi wheeze in amusement as Art immediately cut him off.

"No."

That was the beginning of the tale of how Patrick taught Art to jerk off. Though you didn't find the conversation all that interesting, hearing about juvenile masturbation wasn't the topic you wanted to listen to. So, you began to space out until the question was turned on the both of you.

"What about you two?" Patrick asked sleazily, a permanent smirk written on his face. "Ever get lonely so you both..." The sentence hung in the air as you and Tashi glanced at each other. You didn't want to answer that question as that was truthfully some personal information that may or may not be true; luckily, Tashi was better at these things.

"That's for us to know and for y'all to find out," She passed the beer to you and you graciously took it from her hands. You resolved to be a bit of an asshole and finish the beer.

"We're out of beer," You put the can down on the carpet and looked at the rest of them, smiling thinly. Internally you were hoping this meant going back to your hotel room and returning to watching infomercials, but unfortunately, that's not what happened. What happened is something that truly signals the beginning of the intertwining between you and these individuals.

Tashi stood up first, her gaze as heavy as lead as she looked down upon the rest of you. The mood of the room had unmistakably shifted into one you weren't sure of, she sauntered to the bed and sat down on it. Her eyes settled on you first as she used her finger to signal you to the bed. You stood up and followed her command senselessly, not knowing what exactly was going to occur.

The two boys had watched the interaction intensely, you hadn't noticed but Tashi did. She always did. Her eyes darted to the boys and then you and a mischievous glint highlighted in her eyes.

She grabbed you by the cheek and stared strongly into your eyes. Your already skittish smile turned to one of confusion as you were confused about what exactly your friend was planning.

Tashi leaned really close to your ear and whispered, "Let's give them the show of their fucking lives," and so you did.

Her lips crashed to yours and before you knew it you were making out with Tashi Duncan. One of her hands had slipped from your face to your ass, and she seized it causing you to exclaim slightly into the kiss but nothing to stop you from it. The intense kissing and touching went on for a while, and her soft hands slid on your exposed thighs as your own hands stayed stationary on her own cheek and waist.

Tashi had pulled away first, her lips pouted from the kissing, to look at you with that same bold gaze but it soon left you in favor of the people who were still on the floor. Your eyes followed her gaze until it landed on them as well; they looked absolutely hungry.

The way they both looked at you reminded you of ravenous lions hunting their prey in the wild. Your hand clutched at Tashi's hair when your mind came to the revelation that the way the boys stared at you made your body feel hot. Hotter than it already was from your make-out session with Tashi.

"Well, are you gonna sit there and watch or join us?" In a flash, the boys clumsily ran to the bed, Art on yours, Patrick on hers. As soon as Art could even lay his eyes on you, his hands and lips followed. Hot kisses were laid on your jugular, but it didn't feel too lascivious, it felt pristine. His touch was soft and once he had dipped his head all the way to your sternum (thank god you had won a tank top), he pulled it away and laid his lips onto yours.

Art's lips were soft and moved rhythmically against yours, you kept up fine and collected his downy blonde curls in your hands. You managed to obtain dominance in the kiss, legs slipping together and locking in with his, your body soon taking precedence over him. His hands moved up and down the small of your back, subtle sounds emitting from his lips that one could classify as moans. It made you feel hotter inside, a deep pool of something warm had clouded your entire bloodstream, only fueled by every movement from the boy who so desperately kissed you. It felt nice to be wanted.

With the eagerness of your own fling you'd forgotten there was an opposite party within your midst, and they were getting it on in the same manner. But what you didn't expect was for Tashi, over the lewd noises, to say anything during the liaisons.

"Okay, switch."

Soon after you removed yourself from Art, begrudgingly, and were snatched up by Patrick. Patrick proved to be the rougher lover, skipping the foreplay and immediately rushing into raw, teeth-clashing kisses that shook you to your core. His hands felt like hot wax over your body as he palmed your breasts and the other slipped into your shorts and onto the smooth skin of your ass, delightfully exemplified by the shortness of them. His kisses were desperate and borderline depraved, you'd never been kissed so passionately before you practically didn't know what to do. Yet you'd let him take the lead after a while, his hand had slipped up from your ass to beneath your shirt, toying with the back of your bra.

Unfortunately for Patrick, the moment was cut abruptly by Tashi, with her ever-persisting smirk, pulled away from Art and nudged him toward you and Patrick, seeing what would transpire. The blonde had slid toward your left and started attacking an open space left at the arc of your neck, leading the brunette to sway to your right side of your neck.

Your whole body felt like it was ablaze, the touch of them both was overwhelming, and the skin-on-skin contact from both boys discerned a deep feeling being dug from you. Your eyes had been wired shut since your switch over to Patrick; they fluttered open for a wink to see one of the most erotic scenes that wouldn't even be found in the chasms of your mind.

Tashi stood a few feet away drinking in the sight with an unreadable but smirking expression. You couldn't tell if she loved the sight because it turned her on, or if she loved that she had this much control over the three of you. Faces and bodies tangled and lips slowly traveled up to your earlobes, and your eyes shut once more as the sensation of the boy's lips traveled to your own within their trail. However, you soon pulled away as the sensation of two people kissing you at once wasn't really a turn-on.

Regardless, by the power of your two open hands, you pushed their heads together as they soon mindlessly locked lips, hands leaving you and they pawed at each other. Leaning back, you watched the scene unfold with ardent interest. This was almost as hot as experiencing it, you suspected as your own smirk spread across your features.

Their kissing continued for a while, you and your best friend watching the boys thoroughly lock lips. But, the moment was not to last, Tashi stepped over and took your wrist, drawing you away from the sinful scene and back into reality.

"Okay, we're done," Tashi announced, a quaint smile on her face while you appeared positively confused and flushed, "It's been nice."

The boys stopped their kissing shortly after to give you both a baffled expression. They both glanced among the two of you, their eyebrows drawn in a line as they tried to configure what the fuck just happened. Patrick always assumed, to this day, that Tashi was just jealous of not being the 'center of attention'. Art, on the other hand, found Tashi to be envious but not about what Patrick presumed about.

"But what about your numbers?" Art asked, sitting up and looking very alarmed. Patrick assumed the same position and expression, they almost looked like twins, if it weren't that they were distinguishable in every way possible.

Tashi paused for a moment, she looked to be in deep thought to the naked eye, but you knew her—she'd planned this. "Well, you'll play for them of course," The words rolled right off her tongue, a glint of something unreadable in her eyes. Expressionless, you turned your gaze back to the boys as they looked stunned.

Tashi looked at you to continue, "Oh, uhm...Yeah, may the best player win.." Your cheeks started to burn once more from the mortification from whatever this tryst was finally setting into your brain. The other girl seemed pleased with your answer and toted you along to the door.

She opened it partly, looking them over with that stare, before saying, "We wanna see some good fucking tennis."

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𝙎𝙏𝘼𝙉𝘿𝙁𝙊𝙍𝘿, 𝘾𝘼𝙇𝙄𝙁𝙊𝙍𝙉𝙄𝘼, 2007

𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘜𝘯𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘺

Hunger hurts

But I want him so bad

Oh, it kills...

Fiona Apple spilled from the shitty iPod you'd set up in a glass cup as a speaker, working on whatever homework was given to you in your classes. Outside of hitting a ball with a stick, you would like some life skills, so... well your major was something you could worry about later. All that mattered now was two things; Tennis and your friends.

Surprisingly, you weren't a complete social reject and you did have friends outside of Tashi and Art, but they weren't actually welcomed. Tashi could fake many things but fake friendliness? She couldn't bring herself to that low level.

Speak of the devil, Tashi waltzed into your room, clad in athleisure. "God why are you listening to wrist-slitting music," She inquired humorously, an impish smile playing on her face, "Lighten the fuck up, this is California."

"What the fuck do people listen to in California?" The slam of your textbook echoed in the small room while Tashi sauntered to your bed. You leaned back and soon your head was in between her knees and you looked up to her.

"I don't know Pitbull?" Her finger flicked at your nose and you flinched, groaning in the process. "Really?" You asked warily, finally standing up with a crack to the back, "That's news to me..."

The girl giggled at your fatigue and let out a sigh, "You're so lame," Rolling your eyes in response you sighed yourself and trained your vision on her. "So, what's up? Why'd you come from your 'precious time with Patrick', " You mocked, "To see me?"

Tashi scoffed, "You're so damn dramatic," She uttered your name with gusto, moving to make space as you dropped onto the bed. The silence was comfortable, the two of you laying there and staring at the popcorn dorm ceiling.

"I think Patrick is in love with someone else."

Sitting up on the bed, your eyes shot down to Tashi's face. Her expression wasn't even of sadness, anger, or anything you could gage as negative. She just looked bored. "What do you mean, 'in love' with someone else?"

She shrugged and looked away from you, "That's just what Art told me the other day after practice," The bed shifted as she turned her whole body to face you. "He mentioned something about Patrick just wanting this to be a sort of fling, or that he wasn't 'committed' enough for me."

A small scoff left your lips, and a skeptical look passed over your features. "How could Patrick not be in love or committed? It's you, Tashi, he's not gonna do any better." You proclaimed affectionately, trying to present a sense of hope for your friend but you knew the dramatic irony of all of this.

Tashi took in your words with a thin smile and nodded, then yawned. "I don't truly care, you know that," Your name fell from her lips, "I just want to rest now if that's fine with you." A reply didn't come from you as you watched her slowly descend into an unprompted nap.

The music still played softly through the room while you were left alone with your thoughts. You knew two things now; One, Art Donaldson was a shady bitch. Two, now he had made it your problem and you were keen on solving it.

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"Art!" The echo of your voice thundered across the Stanford Tennis Courts, provoking the boy to look your way. You stormed into the court with a dynamic expression and at first Art had waved to you with a grin on his features but soon gauged that you looked like you were about to bash his head in.

The distance between you two lessened and lessened, quick strides made til you were feet apart. "Art Donaldson, what the fuck do you think you're doing?!"

"Playing... Tennis?" He replied in bewilderment, a gesture to the empty court was made with his racquet that was still in hand. "What's up?" He seemed genuinely confused, which only fueled the wrath you held.

"No, Art, you're not playing fucking tennis, you're playing damn mind games!" Spitefully, you slapped the racquet out of his hand and maintained his gaze. A gloss of paleness overrun Art and his confused expression shifted to one of bitterness.

"Listen, whatever you've heard about-"

You cut him off, "No, what I've heard about is that you're spewing bullshit to both of my friends and I don't fucking like it." Art scoffed and rolled his eyes at your statement, "What bullshit is that?" He challenged, crossing his arms over his chest.

"That Tashi doesn't love Patrick and Patrick doesn't love Tashi," You replied with vigor, narrowing your eyes at his aloofness about your remarks. The blonde gave you a thin smile, "And?"

It took a great amount of restraint to not punch his face in as being an asshole is something you'd never taken Art for. "And? What do you mean and?" You paused for a beat to see if he'd respond, it stayed quiet. "You're fucking up both of our friend's love lives," You continued, "That's, oh I don't know? Wrong?"

He had looked like he was listening but still said nothing to you. "Well? Have you anything to say for yourself? About your actions?" This did cause Art to let out a long sigh and meet your eyes.

"I mean, what do you want me to do?" He asked you tiredly, "Watch my best friend basically leave the girl of my dreams for weeks at a time, to come back for only 5 seconds to then leave again?"

It struck a despairing chord within you when he uttered the phrase 'girl of my dreams' but tried to not let it phase you. It wasn't about you, it never was, it was about Tashi.

"Yes, Art! That's exactly what I want you to do," You groaned with annoyance at his selfishness, it amazed you how selfish this boy was. "You're supposed to push your feelings aside for your friends, Art," Admonishing him finally seemed to make him look even smaller in front of you as his shoulders slightly sagged.

He looked up at you for a beat, with those sad teardrop-blue, puppy dog eyes begging for pity. You almost gave in like last time, quarreling and then awakening up to find yourself in his bed the next morning, but it wouldn't be like last time. You were soft back then, you had to stand on business.

When you didn't budge he looked even sadder if that was possible but you kept your gaze on him, "I know it's hard to think of what would've happened if you'd won that match. At this point ask for a rematch if you're this desperate," You grumbled, but this caused Art to perk up a bit with, finally, a passionate look in his eyes to match yours.

"Oh, shut up," Art snarled, "You're so fucking hypocritical as if no one sees the way you look at Patrick. Or the way Patrick looks at you," A nervous flush soon reddened your face, you couldn't deny he was right.

There were flirtations here and there from Patrick but that was just his natural manner, or that's at least what you told yourself. It was normal that he'd walked onto you changing one too many times, or commented on every single fling you'd had since meeting you, or how... You stopped listing the reasons that his actions were 'normal' in your head as you were met with Art's harsh gaze. Which was quite frankly terrifying to be under.

So, you broke first and in one swift motion your hand was on his face and your lips crashed onto his.

Safe to say there was no more discussion.

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Waking up in Art Donaldson's bed is not one of your proudest accomplishments. It's transpired too many times for you to count but every time it happens you feel a little shred of your self-respect wither away. His body was partly laid on top of you and his head was buried in the valley of your chest. You observed how peaceful he looked as he slept, blonde curls tousled and messed up from the night before and pink lips perfectly pouted.

Everything seemed peaceful in these moments, it was even better than the pillow talk Art always seemed to have while you were attempting to get your sleep. Though in your mind everything was but peaceful. You couldn't seem to shake the ache of what Art had said the day before.

The girl of his dreams, eugh, it made you want to crucify yourself on a burning cross. You always knew the two boys were wrapped around Tashi's finger but you had convinced yourself you fit in somewhere right? That you were liked by Art? I mean he had to, you'd been both fucking for about a year since you'd gotten to Stanford! He'd always gotten jealous when you had other men around, he had to love you just as much...or at least a little? You were a person who existed outside the realm of Tashi's Tennis world... Right?

Clenching your eyes shut you let out a shuttering breath before reconnecting back to reality. You had to get out of this damn dorm room. You tried to slip out of the bigger boy's grasp upon you but it worked to no avail. He only whined and pulled you closer.

"5 more minutes," Art muttered and buried his face further into the skin. Sighing you drove him off of you harshly, leaping out of the bed and starting the search for your previously discarded clothes. This action caused an even louder whine from the male as he finally awoke from his tranquil slumber to observe you. He pouted at the sight of you leaving.

"Do you really have to go?" Art asked as if the events of yesterday had never happened, "I know your schedule you don't have any classes today." Throwing on whatever clean shirt of Art's that was available you didn't respond to him, too busy with your own thoughts. The lack of an answer only made the blonde pout more and he sighed dejectedly.

"You know I love you right?"

The blood ran cold in your veins, "Excuse me?" Your head whipped toward the bed-bound boy, an indecipherable expression on your face. This compelled Art to smile, taking this as a sign of you being shocked that he could love you, that this was the shock of happiness. Oh, how the blonde was so wrong.

"I love you," He said your name tentatively, every syllable dripping from his lips like sweet honey, "I've loved you since that day at the beach."

Tears threatened to spill from your eyes as you felt yourself consumed by an indescribable misery from inside. What sick joke was he playing on you? Lamenting on the lack of Tashi's love to express his to you? He was definitely playing with you.

"I... I don't know what the fuck you're playing at Art," Your voice trembled with rage, "But it has to stop right now." Art's once joyful expression shifted to one of confusion, something he seemed to love to do these days.

"What?" He asked, "I'm not playing at anything, I love you?" It sounded like a phrased question that caused you to scoff. You snatched up your shoes from the door and angrily put them on, ignoring the way he had started to call your name.

"No, the fuck you don't Art!" You shouted, silencing the boy in front of you, "You think you're always fucking winning and that you're the good one! That you're not fucking around with other people because no one would ever expect that of you!" Your voice quivered under the overwhelming amount of emotion you felt.

"God, I feel like I'm fucking shadowboxing here, you drive me fucking crazy." The tears felt cleansing against your dried face, "I can't keep playing this game anymore, Art. You're too much."

The room went noiseless for a beat, when you finally turned your teary eyes to Art he looked speechless. It stayed like that for a few minutes, the both of you staring at one another. His mouth finally opened:

"Are we talking about Tennis?"

The door slammed on your departure from Art Donaldson's dorm and you didn't see yourself coming back anytime soon.

🇪🇳🇩 🇴🇫 🇵🇦🇷🇹 🇴🇳🇪

Part 2 is here! Please read it!

Please like or comment, and thank you for reading <3

#patrick zweig x reader #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson #challengers #challengers x reader #tashi duncan #tashi duncan x reader #challengers 2024 #tashi donaldson #x reader #fem reader #angst #art donaldson smut #challengers fanfic #patrick zweig #love square

1K notes · View notes

vultbae · 3 months

Text

small world ❀

art donaldson x female reader

part two (soon)

↳ summary: Art and Patrick were once your peers at the Mark Rebellato Academy —not the nicest ones. Five years later, you've made a friend that can help you fuck with their minds a little.

↳ warnings: making out, dry humping, manipulation, a lot of pettiness, mentions of bullying, and weight!! the dumbification of art donaldson tbh

↳ notes: Istg I be having the most random ideas, but I hope you enjoy!! as always, english is not my first language lolz

word count: 3.1k

Tashi enters the living room with a bottle of champagne and two crystal flutes, moving gracefully in a beautiful blue mini-dress. With a soft pop, she eases the cork, instantly pouring the effervescent gold-ish liquid into the two glasses.

"You shouldn't even worry about them," Tashi says with a wry smile. As she finishes serving you some rosé Veuve Clicquot, she hands you the glass. "What are you—like, the second or third in Europe? They are gonna be broke by their thirties," she concludes, staring at you with confident eyes.

You nod, taking a sip of champagne. "Don't see it as serious; it'll be fun."

Tashi raises her glass, a gleam of satisfaction in her eyes. "Im just saying, don't stress over men."

You clink your flute against Tashi’s. "Alright."

A year and a half ago, you had met Tashi Duncan, who you believed was a hard-hearted bitch but ended up being a close friend of yours. She is merciless, proficient, and goddamn; she has that vicious aura you worship so much. While living in Biot, you'd always look for the nearest CRT to watch Tashi flawlessly play, enchanted by how she unnerved her adversaries.

During summer break, your father dragged you out of the academy to visit California for a benefaction event. Amidst the glamour and chatter of the event, you caught sight of Tashi —most likely attending due to her relevance spiking around the area. Luckily, your connection rapidly deepened, fueled by reciprocal admiration and tennis dependence.

And the commitment to stay in touch despite the geographical distance worked. Tashi became pretty much your best friend, and you became hers. Aside from the workaholic aspect, the resemblances between you were too much to ignore. Sooner than later, you discovered much about Tashi's personal life, the players she liked and despised, and her daily anecdotes regarding tennis and her intimate life. And that's how you became acquainted with Fire and Ice's peculiar hyper-fixation on Tashi.

Art Donaldson and Patrick Zweig.

You thought it was a unique offering from God. You didn't expect you'd get the opportunity to face the golden pair again. When Tashi told you she had met Zweig and Donalson, a powerful sentiment of gratitude washed over you. You nearly fell to your knees when she proceeded to explain they were a walking boner for her. If that wasn't high power granting you a second chance to delight yourself, it was an insane coincidence.

But telling Tashi the backstory was a different pain in the ass. Although she expressed some sort of disgust towards Zweig and Donaldson's brainless carnal-based attitude, you couldn't buy it. And your skepticisms were demonstrated as valid when she —dreamy voice and all that shit— confessed through the phone she nearly had a threesome with them. A fucking threesome. You couldn't hold it back anymore, so you told her everything.

Tashi was aware of tennis's influence on your household, as you were raised by two renowned tennis coaches from the States. When you turned eight, your parents turned you in at the Mark Rebellato Academy —as if you were condemned to play tennis by default. The detrimental part of your journey was developing thyroid issues when you were twelve. Jesus, twelve years old — the commencement of the preteen period where kids either kiss your feet or bully you. One year after, along with the anticipated weight gain, you met Art and Patrick. And as if you weren't unfortunate enough already, the two —who at the time looked like fucking Beavis and Butthead— decided they didn't like your physical appearance. They hated it.

“Hey, Y/l/n!” Patrick’s voice rang out, sharp and mocking.

You froze, your heart sinking to the underground. You tried to focus on your serve, but your hands were immobile.

Patrick sauntered over, his smirk widening as he looked you up and down. “What’s the matter, Y/n? Ball too heavy for you to lift?”

You heard Art’s laughter behind your back. He joined in a kind of trembling voice. “Or maybe she’s saving her strength for lunch. She doesn't hesitate when it comes to eating.”

The echo of them and the rest of the kids on the court laughing was a sound that felt like daggers piercing your heart.

After two years of ceaseless bullying and humiliation—which also distracted you from tennis—your parents sent you to The Mouratoglou Tennis Academy in Biot, a small town in France. You are not sure if it was the harassment itself, the low self-esteem, or possibly your undeniable attraction for Donaldson. It didn't matter. By the age of seventeen, you were undoubtedly one of the major promises of European tennis.

So, explaining the theatrical, soap opera-like backstory to Tashi for your detestation of Zweig and Donaldson took time. But when you did, it was worth it because Tashi didn't distrust your testimony, and if anyone was exhilarated to play some moves against them at the beginning, it was Duncan.

That's the explanation behind Tashi pitching a tremendous party to celebrate her commitment to Stanford. This was absurd, to say the least, considering she had college offers piling up, and no one doubted she would commit to a prestigious school. But Tashi knew you'd visit from France, and this was just the perfect instance to hook you up with both condemned.

Because, of course, her biggest fangirls would attend.

It didn't take long until the country house was full of people ranging from Tashi's cousins to bare acquaintances. And spotting Fire and Ice was easier than you thought.

Tashi elbows you discreetly and signs with her head the direction they are standing. "There they are."

Your gaze falls over Art, who is laughing with —who you assume is—Patrick. His features are sharper and more defined. The lanky, slender physique you remembered from his premature teenage years had filled out into a more athletic build, with broader shoulders tapering to a trim waist covered in a light pink shirt. His blonde hair, which was no longer too light, was now strawberry blonde-ish, slightly tousled, and cascading over his ears.

Patrick, standing a few feet away, was equally transformed. His brunette hair, just a bit longer than you remember, frames a face that had hardened over the years—angular jaw, defined cheekbones, and piercing eyes that seem to miss nothing. The fucking smirk is still there, and you can see how he displays it every two seconds at whatever thing Art is telling him.

The interior of your stomach resembles a volcano about to erupt. You feel ambivalent, so many emotions overlapping each other. You see two cute, hell, gorgeous guys, and you wish you could approach them without considering crucifying them before. And you can't help but feel envious at how effortlessly Tashi managed to tame Art and Patrick while the only thing you got from them was hostility.

Your eyes can't seem to unbuckle from them. Tashi catches you slightly frowning at the panorama, and she isn't certain if you are infatuated or planning murder on the spot. "Come on."

You have no time to react before Tashi leads you through some partygoers to reach where Zweig and Donaldson are. Like dogs sniffling fresh meat, it's pathetic how their heads twist simultaneously when Tashi approaches them, conversation instantly pausing. It is as if Tashi's presence was magnetic for them.

"Well, hello, both of you," Tashi greets them excitedly, still holding your hand. "Didn't think you'd come."

Art's eyes widen, "Are you kidding?" he's about to keep speaking, but his gaze merges with yours for a split second, and he shuts off. Dead. Silent.

"—Stanford's a big deal, Tashi." Patrick interrupts, compensating for the awkwardness of Art's sudden number. "I had to drag this lazy fuck out of his bed, but we made it."

Suddenly, Art's out of the trance, tearing his blue eyes off you to bombard Patrick with a killer look. "Hey—shut up, Patrick."

Tashi sweetly, softly giggles at their word exchange. God, she's good, you think. Tashi turns to gesture to you, "This is my friend, Claire, by the way. She is visiting from the Mouratoglou Academy—

To be fair, Claire is a believable name.

"Wait, the Patrick Mouratoglou Academy? In France?" Art runs over Tashis's sentence, incredulously shooting you a broad-eyed glare. You nod in agreement, still processing you are having a civil conversation with Art Donaldson.

You feel Tashi squeezing your hand at your quietness.

"Yeah, you know it?" you timidly ask, forcing a polite smile that, if you were Art, you wouldn't buy it. But, of course, he's as dumb as a pigeon.

"Heck... Of course, I do. I wish I could go there."

Tashi smirks, enjoying the spectacle.

Patrick’s investment in the conversation piques. "Mouratoglou, huh? That's impressive. Maybe we could hit the court sometime."

And that's the first time Patrick makes eye contact with you. He's stabbing you with his stare. You abruptly wonder if he's as dumb as Art, probably not.

You squeeze Tashi's hand.

Tashi leans closer to Patrick, her voice dropping to a more intimate tone. "Hey, Pat... do you remember what you mentioned about erectile dysfunction? My aunt's a sexologist, I think—

Patrick loudly chuckles, apparently alarmed by the deficiency of filtering confidential information. "I need to smoke sum' stronger. Wanna come, Tash?"

Tashi purses her lips, casting a quick glance at you. "Sure."

Your point of view is like a sitcom scene, swiftly panning from Tashi's body leaving your radar to the boy in front of you, staring at you with soothing eyes and reddened cheeks. It's basically comical.

Art's eyes dart around the lively yard before landing back on you. He clears his throat. "So, uh, Claire? That's a cute name."

It takes tons of willpower not to drop the good girl act right there. You attempt to return the sentiment with a quirk on the corner of your lips. "I need to get a drink. Come with me?"

He shakes his head up and down, finding it easier than answering with words.

For the first time in a couple of months, the inside of Art's mind has more than a giant cardboard cutout of Tashi Duncan. He is in awe.

You lead the way, weaving through clusters of drunk teenagers towards the house. You feel Art's gaze lingering on your back —or ass, you don't know—a magnetic pull that makes you hyper-aware of his presence.

You arrive in the kitchen and quickly grab a bottle of vodka, a can of soda, and a party cup. Art watches you closely with a look of hypnotic admiration as if you were concocting the most complicated cocktail in the world. You want to roll your eyes so badly.

"That dress looks amazing on you." Art blurts out, unable to contain his thoughts any longer.

You look at him. Art is sitting on one of the high stools by the kitchen island, his elbow resting on the table's sleek surface, supporting his chin with his hand. There is a softness in his eyes completely foreign to you, an infrequent vulnerability that contrasts sharply with the characteristic asshole demeanor you remember.

To Art, you appear almost ethereal, like an ideal concept from a wet dream of his. His thoughts are a kaleidoscope of jumbled fragments of memory that make no sense. You look so familiar... but no.

There's no way he would forget about you.

You glance up, a faint blush coloring your cheeks. "Thank you," you reply, handing him a drink.

Art sips on his red plastic cup, eyes hooked on yours. "So, uhm. I just realized I never introduced myself properly. Im Art—

"Yeah, Donaldson, I know." you cut him off, leaving him completely silent and confused. "I've seen you play. Not bad," you clarify, with an unconscious hint of pride in your voice.

Art's smile widens. "Wait, you've seen me play?" he exaggeratedly emphasizes me.

You nod.

His eyes twinkle with excitement. There’s this sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. "That's, uh, great. Next time you are watching, I'll play better..."

His innate nerdiness and try-hard flirtiness provoke nausea in you. If you didn't know him, it would be a different story. But seeing a former, intense crush who shamelessly bullied you for so long, giving you heart-shaped eyes...

It's fucking bizarre. And it pisses you off.

Art begins conversing about something else. You don't know what—tennis-related, maybe. You are not wearing earphones with noise cancellation, but you can't hear him anymore. It's a blur as his words course through one ear and depart through the other. Immediately. Your brain has simply blocked the action of listening to him.

You step closer, so close you can see the fine lines in his eyes, the flecks of green amidst the blue, with a hint of brown sectoral heterochromia on his right eye. You can smell the faint woody scent of his cologne, something spicy that makes you salivate. His lips keep moving, forming words that dissolve into the dim background noise. The music, the laughter, the chatter—they all blend into a distant hum.

Art's voice vanishes into oblivion as you fix your gaze on his mouth, the curve of his lips, the way they part and close as he speaks. "Art," you say, stopping him in his tracks.

His eyes flicker with uncertainty, puzzlement, and a spark of hope. His adam's apple throbs as he notices you staring at his lips.

You lean in, your breath mingling with his, your heart pounding in your chest. Your hand reaches up, fingers brushing against his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin and the slight stubble that prickles against your touch. Art's breath hitches, his eyes widening in surprise, but he doesn't pull away. Instead, he leans in, too.

Your lips crash against his. Although you don't want to make it weird, you fail. It's not a gentle kiss or a precious, out-of-a-book lips meeting. It's fierce, instructing, a clash of sour sentiments and intent. You pour all your frustration, your pent-up anger, and your fucked-up desire to overpower him into that kiss.

Art's shock melts away and quickly replaces it with an appetite that matches yours. His strong arms wrap around you, pulling you closer, his body pressing against yours. The kiss deepens, his lips parting to allow your tongue to explore, to taste the unmistakable flavor of cigarette and cheap vodka. You can feel the warmth of his breath and the way his hands tighten on your waist. It's almost as if he's frightened you'll pull away at some point.

And you can only fantasize about the moment you walk away.

—but not yet. You push harder, your fingers tugging slightly in his messy strawberry-blonde hair. He lowly moans into your mouth, a sound that dispatches a shiver down your spine. His hands roam your back, tracing the curve of your spine and dangerously lowering to your ass level. There's a distress in his touch you never thought would come from him.

The way he's dissolving under your venomous touch is already a win for you. You've managed to put him under you. And it's intoxicating, this control you have over him, this ability to make him forget everything else.

You pull back, your lips hovering just above his. Art's eyes are half-lidded, his lips swollen and ridiculously red from the intensity of the kiss. He looks at you in pure infatuation, "What- I... Did I do something wrong?"

You press a finger to his lips, silencing him again. "Come with me."

You peek at the party going outside—most people are outside. The living room is nearly empty, with a few alcoholized individuals entering the country house to refill their drinks. It's perfect.

You take Art's hand, your fingers lacing through his, and you lead him toward the sectional, six-seat couch in the center of the living room. You push Art down onto the couch, and he complies without resistance, his lust-drunken eyes never leaving yours; he nearly chokes on his spit at the sight of you slowly straddling him, your knees sinking into the soft cushions on either side of his hips.

"Jesus, Claire—"

You get the ick at the roleplay name Tashi baptized you with.

"Shh," you whisper, leaning in to brush your lips against his in a soft, teasing kiss. "You never shut up, Donaldson."

And that's odd for him. He gives it a second thought because he isn't aware of how much he has talked, but definitely not that much.

The overthinking vanishes as soon as you begin to kiss him again, slowly at first, savoring the way his lips deliciously move against yours. Art's hands rest tentatively on your hips, his fingers twitching as if afraid to hold on too tight. You guide his hands around your waist, urging him to hold you closer. His grip tightens, and you can feel the heat of his palms through the delicate fabric of your black mini-dress.

A sigh rolls out from your throat when you perceive something hard putting pressure against your core —which, because of the dress, is only shielded by thin lace panties. The coarse fabric of Art's light denim jeans rubs splendidly against your pussy.

A primitive groan slips out of Art's lips the moment you grind your hips against his clothed dick. Suddenly, he breaks the kiss, and his eyes wander downwards. "Shit— you'll kill me," he pants into your mouth.

You pull back slightly, looking into his eyes. They're dark with craving, his pupils dilated. "Then let me."

You are about to attack his lips again, but he hesitates. You tilt your head in confusion, murmuring a low what?

Art starts to speak, his voice shaky and breathless. "I... I was wondering if you wanted to go back to my hotel with me."

Before you can respond, Tashi suddenly appears in your vision behind Art's head. "Claire, there you are," she says, fucking loud with a knowing, manipulative smile on her lips. "Your dad called, he's outside."

You feel a surge of delicious triumph as you see the apparent dissatisfaction in Art's eyes.

"Sorry, Art," you say, standing up and smoothing your dress. "Maybe another time."

There’s a raw sadness in his eyes, an almost childlike hurt that he can’t quite conceal. He isn't even drunk; he's fully conscious of the stunning girl he just met and now is evaporating as if she was going to turn into a wolf at midnight or something.

As you are about to disappear from Art's vision, he shouts at you, "I'll see you later, right?"

But you don't answer.

Instead, you hurriedly walk with Tashi to reach the front yard.

"I didn't lie about your dad being here, though," Tashi clarifies, pointing at the big Jeep parked in front of the country house.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding, a smile tugging at your lips. "Yeah, alright." You glance back at the house to ensure you are out of earshot. "I think fucking him would've been better. Do you think he's gonna remember about this tomorrow?"

"Oh, yeah. This is definitely gonna fuck his head up for a while." Tashi chuckles, "he's pretty obsessive."

You feel a swell of fulfillment at your best friend's words. "How obsessive?"

Tashi smiles. "A lot."

❀

#art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #challengers #challengers fanfic #challengers fic #fanfic #patrick zweig #tashi duncan #challengers x reader #tashi duncan x reader #x reader #female reader #fem reader #x female reader #art donaldson smut #challengers smut

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gabgabwrites · 3 months

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DEUCE | Art Donaldson & Patrick Zweig

summary ⇝ Art has been so stressed about his match coming up against his ex best friend and denies it completely, you’ve begged and begged him to relax before he agrees, until someone interrupts.

warnings ⇝ language, unestablished? relationship, kissing, smut! 3sum, softdom!art, mean!patrick, oral (M & F), masturbation (M), handjob, cum eating, spitting, rough sex, unprotected sex, riding, spanking, minor ass play, groping, scratching, semi-public sex, slight voyeurism, not much aftercare, mdni.

read part 2 here

note: this one is a little 𝒻𝓇ℯ𝒶𝓀𝓎 also is shorter than most of my fanfics, more porn than plot

Tomorrow Art would be playing against Patrick Zweig, his old time best friend and part time rival. Art told you he didn't worry for his match, but you saw the way his shoulders sagged with exhaustion and the bags under his eyes grew darker. You told him to take a sleeping pill when he slept but he said he was getting enough hours of sleep, you had to act like you didn't feel him constantly moving around at night, tossing and turning.

"Art, I really think you should relax today. I can book you an appointment with a masseuse to help your muscles, or, y'know, you could sleep," You chewed on your bottom lip after telling him this, Art sighed, stopping his upper body exercises in the small gym.

"It's fine, honey. I'm fine. I feel totally relaxed," He gave you a tight lipped smile before he picked up the orange resistance band and began to pull at it. You watched his eyes glaze over in focus before sighing yourself, pushing off the wall and leaving the room.

You knew better than to press further. Art was stubborn and determined, traits that made him both a fantastic athlete and a frustrating partner at times. You loved him dearly, but his single-minded dedication to his sport often left little room for self-care. As you walked away, you couldn't help but worry about the toll this match against Patrick was taking on him.

The evening passed slowly. You busied yourself with mundane tasks, trying to keep your mind off Art's impending match. The air in your shared apartment felt thick with unspoken concerns. Art, still in his workout gear, moved from one exercise to another, the rhythmic sounds of his routine creating a steady background noise. You watched him from the kitchen, your heart aching for the man who pushed himself so hard.

When dinner time rolled around, you called out to him, "Art, dinner's ready." He nodded, wiping sweat from his brow before making his way to the table. You had prepared his favorite meal, hoping it would bring some comfort.

"Thanks, sweetheart," he said, sitting down and picking at his food. You could tell his mind was elsewhere, probably on tomorrow's match and the strategies he needed to employ.

"You're really worried about this, aren't you?" you asked softly, trying to meet his eyes.

Art sighed, finally setting his fork down. "It's not that I'm worried, exactly. It's just... Patrick and I, we go way back. This isn't just another match. There's a lot of history there."

You reached across the table, taking his hand in yours. "I know. But you can't keep pushing yourself like this. You're going to burn out."

"I know you're right," he admitted, squeezing your hand. "But I can't help it. I need to be at my best."

"I understand," you said gently. "But you need to take care of yourself too. How about we go for a walk after dinner? Get some fresh air, clear your mind?"

Art considered it for a moment before nodding. "Yeah, that sounds nice."

After dinner, the two of you strolled through the nearby park, the cool evening air a welcome change from the stuffy apartment. The rhythmic crunch of gravel underfoot was soothing, and for a while, neither of you spoke. It was enough to just be together.

Eventually, Art broke the silence. "You know, sometimes I wonder if I made the right choice, pursuing this career so intensely."

You looked at him, surprised. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, it's all-consuming. I love it, don't get me wrong, but sometimes I feel like I'm missing out on other things. Important things."

You stopped walking, turning to face him. "Art, you have a passion and a talent that's incredible. But it's okay to have doubts. It's okay to want more than just your career."

He looked down, his expression thoughtful. "I just don't want to let anyone down. Not my team, not my fans... not you."

"You could never let me down," you said firmly. "I love you for who you are, not for what you achieve. And I'm here for you, no matter what."

Art pulled you into a tight hug, resting his chin on top of your head. "Thank you. I needed to hear that."

The walk seemed to have done some good, and by the time you returned home, Art appeared more relaxed. He took a long shower while you prepared some chamomile tea, hoping it would help him sleep better. When he emerged, you handed him a cup, and he accepted it gratefully.

"Let's try to get some good rest tonight, okay?" you suggested, leading him to the bedroom. He nodded, sipping his tea thoughtfully.

As you both settled into bed, you reached over and turned off the bedside lamp. The room was plunged into darkness, the only sounds the faint hum of the city outside and Art's steady breathing.

"I love you," he whispered, his voice barely audible in the quiet room.

"I love you too," you replied, snuggling closer to him. "We'll get through this, together."

That night, Art's restlessness seemed to ease. He still shifted occasionally, but there was a sense of calm that hadn't been there before. You stayed close, your presence a steady anchor in the turbulent sea of his thoughts.

The next morning, you woke to find Art already up, dressed in his gear and looking more focused than he had in days. There was a determined glint in his eye that made you believe he was ready for the match.

"Feeling better?" you asked, stretching and sitting up.

"Yeah," he said, a small smile playing on his lips. "I think I am."

"Good. I'll be cheering for you," You said, giving him an encouraging kiss. You grabbed his racket and headed for his car. Once there, you packed all his equipment in the back. He drove the car this time, to the stadium. You two had gotten there earlier, for many reasons like him relaxing before the match and for him to get last minute practice.

He told you he was going to the sauna for an hour or so, you told him you'd wait outside, on the small bench as you decided to flip through a magazine. As Art headed towards the sauna, you found a small bench outside and settled down with a magazine. The warm, humid air from the sauna seeped out, creating a comfortable ambiance despite the anticipation buzzing in your mind.

Flipping through the magazine, you tried to distract yourself with celebrity gossip and fashion trends, but your thoughts kept drifting back to Art and the upcoming match. You couldn't shake the worry that gnawed at your insides, no matter how hard you tried to focus on the glossy pages in front of you.

Minutes turned into what felt like hours as you anxiously waited. You checked your watch every few minutes, unable to shake off the nervous energy that pulsed through you. Finally, just as you were starting to wonder if you should check on him, the sauna door creaked open, and Art emerged, white towel around his waist, his muscles shiny with sweat and his blonde hair darker and sticking to his forehead.

He called your name, his voice a low, gravelly murmur that sent a shiver down your spine. You looked up from the magazine, your eyes meeting his intense gaze. "Yes?" you asked, your voice coming out softer than intended, laced with a hint of curiosity and a touch of anticipation.

He licked his top lip, his gaze scanning the room briefly before locking onto yours. "I realised I really do need to relax," he admitted with a sigh, pondering how to phrase his next request. "Come here, please?" His voice was soft yet tinged with a hint of longing, inviting you closer with a subtle urgency that stirred something deep within you.

You swallowed, placing the magazine neatly next to the pile of his disregarded clothes on the bench, before standing up and slowly walking towards him. "Yes?" His forefinger found the neckline of your shirt and hooked inside, before abruptly pulling you in making you yelp out in surprise. "Art?!"

"Shh-h-h, someone could hear you," He waited for you to stand up straight, after nearly being curb stomped by the sauna bench and turning to face him. His voice dropped to speak softer. "Help me relax?"

"Art, I-I don't—," The words got caught in your throat when you felt him pick up your hand and gently kiss your fingertips, lips moving to graze over each knuckle before they were on your wrist. "Anyone could walk in."

"They won't," he murmured against your skin, his lips lightly grazing the soft flesh of your forearm. "Please?" His plea was soft and earnest, his voice laced with vulnerability. You let out a gentle sigh, feeling the warmth of his breath against your skin, before tenderly moving your hand from his lips to cup his jaw.

"Only because it's getting hot in here," You smirked, Art's eyes shone at your words before his fingers moved to help you peel away your shirt that was becoming damp with moisture. He waited until you were fully undressed, clothes a disregardment, scattered around on the bamboo floor, before kissing you.

Your body was still somewhat dry while Art's was slippery against yours, dewy with sweat. His one hand cradled the back of your neck as you pushed your tongue between his lips, happily obliging to feel you against him. He let out a groan, signalling he wanted more, he needed more. Using little control, he grabbed your shoulders and pushed down on them, forcing you to sit on the bench.

Your lips broke apart before Art smashed them together again. Your fingers went to the white, fluffy towel and began to pull at it, falling apart to reveal his cock, hard and pulsing. "You really are needy?" You murmured, Art whimpered to ensure your questions.

You pressed a hand against his pec, letting it slither down and collect little moisture before your fingers found the tufts of hair below his belly button, following the trail until you reached his cock, wrapping your fingers around the base and slowly pumping your fist.

Art let a gasp, swallowing his moan at your actions. "Sit down, Art," You told him, he basically threw himself down, now kissing you shoulder to shoulder, your hand wrapped around his cock while his left hand squeezed at your thigh and his right curling at his side. "This helping?"

"Yeah, mmm, yes," He groaned, slowly but surely failing to kiss back as you squeezed his cock harder, making his mind go fuzzy. "Please don't stop."

His head fell back, lips parting as he panted and moaned, the crown of his head resting on the wall. Your lips took action down the column of his throat, tongue lapping up at his sweat. You sucked a path down to his shoulder, before allowing your teeth to graze the skin there.

"Art, I want to ride you," You said softly. Art was quick to shift his hips, snapping out a trance so you could slide onto his lap.

His fingers flew to your arousal, massaging at your aching clit to get your hole to relax. "That feels good."

Your fingers pumped his cock still, only at a slower pace. It twitched and throbbed, especially when the pads of his fingers moved and found your hole, feeling you drip onto his fingers. His eyebrows drew together in focus, fingertips breaching your pussy, sinking into it.

You ignored the initial pain of the stretch, humping your hips to sink onto him further. His fingers worked faster to relax your hole before they pulled out, too eager to have you around his length. He grabbed his cock and nudged the pink tip at your entrance, feeling your hands stabilise yourself on his shoulders, and drop onto him, both letting out a moan.

You bent your legs, for leverage, hips bucking into his to get friction while his hands grasped your hips. "You feel so good around me," He gasped. You nodded at his words, lips finding solace on his skin again to kiss his flesh.

It was pure bliss between the two of you, in the warm, sweaty room. Moans and wet sounds bouncing off the walls.

The door suddenly ripped open, a gush of cold air fanned your back. Your head whipped around to see what it was, or rather, who it was; Patrick Zweig, standing in all his naked glory.

Your hips didn't stop their movements, even though Art stiffened at the intrusion. A wicked grin cracked on Patrick's face at the sigh. "Huh. World renowned tennis star getting fucked like a whore in the men's sauna before a big game," Patrick whistled. "Who would've guessed?"

"G-Get out, Zweig," Art said, words stuttering from pleasure.

"No, no. I don't think so. I think I'll just sit here and enjoy the show," You watched him sink down onto the opposite side of the room, brown eyes looking from your face that never left his view, to where you and Art were connected at the hips. He couldn't help the stiffening feeling between his legs, not caring for his cock to slowly harden, and out in the open.

Perhaps you should've stopped and ran out in shame. Perhaps Art should have begged you to stop instead on having his fingers dig deeper into your hips, his own bucking up into yours. Perhaps you should've looked away when you saw Patrick take his own cock in hand and fist it, matching the same pace you fucked Art.

Perhaps it was all the reason you came too quickly, mouth falling open as moans tumbled from your lips, getting Art's thighs coated in your cum. You felt him curl up, his own high nearing. He slammed you down on his cock, before filling you up.

"Aw man," Patrick chuckled, though it was slow and rugged with lust. "The show’s over and I barely started jerking off." He sighed, throwing his hand up, no longer touching himself.

You turned to tuck your head between Art's neck. Panting from your labour. "What do we do?" You whispered to him.

"Wait until he leaves."

He did not. In fact, you heard the floorboards creak with Patrick's weight, until you felt a presence behind you. "Hey, Art," Patrick spoke. "You gonna move over so I can try her?"

Your heart dropped, at first in surprise before your mind mulled over scenarios. Art's eyes shot up and glared at Patrick, who just stood there and smirked. "Excuse me?"

"C'mon, man. It's not like it's the first time we shared her," Patrick had to bring up the one night you three shared in college, the one you never spoke about again. You didn't hate that night, in fact you used to think about it often, but Patrick grew to become a major prick thereafter, forcing you to forget about it.

Art stayed silent, until he sighed. Using his hands, he moved you to look at him. "You can tell him no."

You took in a breath, chewing on your bottom lip. You stared into Art's eyes, looking, searching for any sort of plead, or hesitation, but got none. Did he want to share you? Would he be willing to? "I don't mind," You whispered. "But if you don't want to, then we don't."

Art pried his eyes away from you to stare at Patrick, a multitude of emotions, ones that didn't look all too pleasant. "Only this once."

Patrick let out a grumble through his chest, happy you two agreed. Perhaps it would change the way on court. "You got it, hermano," Patrick slipped a hand on your shoulder, pulling you off Art's lap to stand, back pressing against his chest.

His one arm was wrapped around your shoulders while the other was snaking it's way down, tips of his fingers brushing along your tummy in the ticklish area that had it convulse, until they pressed into your pussy, collecting the residue from both you and Art. When he was satisfied with what was gathered on his fingers, he brought them to his lips and let out a groan at the taste of both of you.

"It tastes so good. You should try," He don't give you time to protest before reaching down to collect more cum before shoving his fingers in your mouth, having you choke and sputter until your tongue licked away at the salty liquids. "God, if that's the way you suck my fingers then I can't wait until I feel you suck my cock."

His fingers left your lips, hand moving down to grope your left breast, squeezing at the flesh.

"Tell me something, Art. How rough do you fuck her—ooh no wait, how rough does she fuck herself on you?" Patrick asked, eyes flirting to Art who just glared at the brunette, knuckles paling as he gripped the bench. Patrick smirked at the silence he got, from both ends.

He roughly grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him, he clicked his tongue in fake pity.

"Poor thing, not treated right?"

"I'm treated just fine," You told him. "Thanks."

"Hm, we'll see." Patrick basically threw you forward, hands seizing your wrists behind your back, having you at a near 90 degree angle, face close to Art's. Patrick used his foot to nudge open your legs. You felt the tip of his cock brush your folds, before he abruptly shoved his entire length inside you, he wasn't as long as Art, but he was more girthy.

Your face screwed in pain, giving you no time to adjust before his hips snapped against yours, fucking into you at light speed. "O-Oh, fuck," You whined, head falling forward from pleasure.

"That's what I thought. Needed someone to fuck you right," Patrick chuckled, taking one hand and slapping your ass, making you howl in pain. Patrick's brown eyes found Art's, who was still glaring at him, yet he had a blush on his cheeks. Patrick smirked. "Take notes."

"If you only fucked her to be an asshole, then you can stop." Art growled, anger sizzling in his chest.

"Nope, just doing it correctly." Patrick nearly fell forwards when he saw a sliver of movements on Art's end. His tongue swiping to wet his bottom lip as he gave Art a shit eating grin. "You bastard. You getting off to watching your old best friend fuck your girl? Dirty, dirty boy."

Gasps and moans clashed in your throat, getting the strength in your neck to look up where Art was, indeed, fisting his cock. Your mouth salivating at the sight. "L-Let me help," You stammered out, letting your lips fall open. Art gently grabbed your head and positioned it lower, sighing when he felt your tongue lap out and lick his tip.

It was so contrasting, the way Patrick was manhandling you, tip nudging that one sweet spot deep within you while his fingers slapped, scratched and groped your ass and Art's gentle caresses on your hair. It was like heaven and hell, all in a sauna, perhaps you were limbo.

"You're squeezing me so tight, baby. I'm so close, gonna let me cum deep in your pussy?" Patrick moaned. Words slurred from drunken pleasure.

"Patrick—." Art warned, a damn near growl escaping his chest.

"Nuh uh, man. I can't pull out now."

"Patrick—."

"Fuck!" Patrick moaned, his movements sloppy as he spilled his seed inside you. Panting as he caught his breath.

He was quick to pull out before dropping to his knees. He grabbed your ass cheeks and spread them apart before he dove his face inside, tongue rolling against your clit.

His own cum spilling from you and onto his nose and top lip. That man ate you out like a starved man.

Art's hips jerked before he was cumming in your mouth, fingers tightening slightly in your hair as your name fell from his lips.

"Gonna cum," You moaned, words coming out unclear as your mouth was still full of Art's cum. You couldn't get the energy to swallow, it slowly dribbled out your mouth, along with your drool and back onto Art's cock, Art couldn't lie and say it wasn't one of the hottest things he's seen, not even phased that you didn't swallow.

Patrick grabbed your hips and pushed you further down onto him, mouth open as you came on his tongue, hips rolling on his face. He swallowed most of it. He stood up, with some of your cum in his mouth and his own spit. His hands still kept your ass spread, pursing his lips, he allowed for the concoction to dribble onto your neglected asshole.

He didn't do anything to penetrate it, only using his forefinger to spread the liquids from your asshole to your pussy, leaving you wet and sticky all over.

Patrick stood back, allowing for you to hobble towards Art and sit down on the bench next to him. "Let's make a bet. If I win, I get to fuck her again."

"Get the fuck out of here," Art spat, grabbing a towel to help clean you. Patrick just chuckled before grabbing his own towel, wrapping it around his hips before pushing the door open and leaving.

Art turned to you, his voice softer.

"Hey, you alright?"

"Yeah," You smiled meekly. "Just promise me this, you'll win."

Anyways, this was inspired by the beautiful sweaty sauna scene:

#gabgabwrites #my works ✎#x reader #art donaldson x female reader #challengers art donaldson #art donaldson x fem reader #art donaldson x you #art donaldson smut #art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig #patrick zweig x you #patrick zweig x art donaldson #Patrick zweig x reader x art donaldson

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orquideazs · 2 months

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how can a man be THIS pretty ?!?!? need to cup his cheeks in my hands and spread kisses all over his face, while i ride him nice and slow <3

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pinkzier · 3 months

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HEADCANONS ᯓᡣ𐭩

Art Donaldson x Fem!reader

warnings: Infidelity(tashi doesn't give a damn) I mentioned tashi more than I would like!! Smut

₊˚⊹⋆ Can't help but get clingy with you even when you're around tashi

₊˚⊹⋆ Who already knows that Tashi noticed the way his pupils dilate whenever you appear in front of him and don't say anything

₊˚⊹⋆ Who spoils you and recognizes this, always being mocked by Patrick about how you commented about wanting a watch and the next day having it in perfect condition on your wrist

₊˚⊹⋆ He insists on having you in the front row, so you can see him win or lose, as long as you have the best view

₊˚⊹⋆ He started winning more games after you started watching him play, Tashi doesn't complain and doesn't even hesitate to invite you when she can to watch him

₊˚⊹⋆ That he can't help but be worried when you leave without warning, calling you, sending you messages and even thinking about the possibility of coming after you, wherever you are

₊˚⊹⋆ He's an idiot and every time he finishes playing he comes to hug you, no matter how sweaty and disgusting he is, he knows the difference in strength between you and him, and he knows that you would never be able to get out of his grip (he just doesn't hug Tashi because he knows she would punch him

₊˚⊹⋆ begs you to try playing tennis, which doesn't happen because even though he plays weakly with you, you can't catch the ball at all

₊˚⊹⋆ He loves to grab you, no matter if you're in public or alone, when he sees you he just runs to your small body in contrast to his, and hugs you, your face hitting his chest

₊˚⊹⋆ Can't even hide how he hit the tip of the racket against him crotch every time you leaned over to get something he needed

₊˚⊹⋆ Who started winning over and over again after you started rooting for him, always looking at you and looking for validation and a thread of pride in you, like a puppy wanting its owner's attention.

₊˚⊹⋆ Who spied Tashi telling you that if you were having sex, or he was in love with you, it didn't matter, as long as you supported him in whatever he was doing because only then would he be able to win

₊˚⊹⋆ Who gave subtle hints that he wanted you to wear shorts and tight skirts, making a point of buying from the best brands and giving them to you as gifts with some stupid excuses like "Tashi had seen them in a store and gave me the idea of buying them for you" you don't even bother to pretend that you believed it, how are you going to believe it when he is stuttering, while his fingertips turned white from squeezing the straps of the bags with different short clothes

₊˚⊹⋆ That every time he wins a very important match he runs to you and Tashi and casts glances in silent permission to hug you

₊˚⊹⋆ begged you to join his team, Damn, he had money left over to hire 10 helpers but he insisted on hiring you to do what? get him water, accompany him?

₊˚⊹⋆ Who is noisy, you've always known that, and he knows that, always whimpering when he kisses you, and it was worse when you had sex, feeling tears streaming from his eyes whenever he was close to cumming, as he grabbed your waist and put his face in your neck

₊˚⊹⋆ Who needs to hear or tell you every minute that he loves you while he fucks you so hard and squeezes your wrist so hard that you know it will leave ugly marks that are difficult to hide

₊˚⊹⋆ During the day, he calls you different pet names like darling, baby, candy, or something so outdated that you'd want to vomit if he wasn't the one saying it, but while you're fucking he gets worse, whines for hours about how you are so good to him, and how you are the love of his life

₊˚⊹⋆ he is the definition of "make love" he doesn't curse you, and he treats you so well that it hurts

₊˚⊹⋆ loves eating you out, he simply gets drunk on your pussy, pulling you to his face and eating you like he's been hungry all week

₊˚⊹⋆ Always comes up behind you and rubs the visible bulge in his shorts against your ass, he has no shame on his face

₊˚⊹⋆ He rolls his eyes and moans very loudly when he cums, he simply can't control it and his body has a life of its own

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et6rnalsun · 2 months

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“it’s not cheating if i don’t put it in” he breathed out, his hands resting on your hips with enough force to definitely leave marks on them. you reluctantly looked up at him, and he couldn’t stay still for a second longer after noticing the way you were observing him — deciding to test the waters, in one swift motion he had you straddling his lap, lifting you up as if you weighed absolutely nothing. and from that position you could feel his bulge perfectly, begging for some attention.

you always had that effect on patrick. since your first meeting he couldn't stop looking at you. your curves that looked so right, your fucking habit of dressing in clothes that were way too short and skimpy to count all that, tops that had your breasts pushed up and pressed against the fabric because of how ‘big’ they were. your attentive eyes always glanced at him with challenge just ‘cause you knew that he was lusting for you. damn if you knew. and you never agreed to anything he wanted to, knowing he was dating tashi. you weren't a whore, were you?

“pat…” you shook your head, placing your hands on his arms to stop whatever kind of motion he wanted to create, manicured nails digging into his skin. "shh" patrick silenced you with that little sound that came out of his parted lips, his hips lifting up slightly to meet yours, groaning immediately when he felt the fabric of your panties, from under your skirt, touch the one of his shorts. "c'mon, pretty, do it f'me" he was so worked up.

you wanted to argue, say something to show that you were against all that illicitness of his desires (even if you weren't completely), but his large hands moving roughly on your ass made you shut up immediately, feeling how he urged you to move on him. his head fell back against the headboard when he started pushing and pulling your hips back and forth against him, making you bit your lower lip hard at the way his bulge felt against your covered cunt. “i know y’like it, oh i know”

your hands moved to his shoulders to hold you up a little, and you tried in every way to hold back even if a moan escaped your lips when your clit bumped right on the head of his cock. “god” you murmured, starting to roll your hips to meet his movements almost in a needy way. you were so fucking beautiful in that moment, and he couldn't help but be proud of himself for finally getting a glimpse of you as a complete mess. his eyes dropped down to where your bodies met, and he raised an eyebrow with a little playful whistle when he noticed how the evidence of your arousal had started to stain a wet patch on his shorts.

he lifted your skirt all the way up, making it rest almost above your hips just to watch the way your panties got wetter and wetter, a sight that made his cock jump. he could feel the way you started to move faster against him, probably needing to increase that delicious friction of his cock rubbing against you — the head stimulating your now aching clit. “already close?” your head felt dizzy at his question and your only response was a simple moan followed by a nod of your head. "good, thats good" he praised, wanting to see you reach the peak.

your body shuddered and he knew you were there. the orgasm hit you while you whimpered against him, legs shaking and pussy clenching around nothing. a sight so beautiful that he’ll probably jerk off for days just thinking about it.

#patrick zweig #patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig x fem #challengers #challengers x reader

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ervotica · 4 months

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milf!reader fucking coach!patrick because she wants her son to get accepted into his tennis program and they’re old friend who used to fuck in college but she despises him but she’ll do anything for her son👀

warnings; smut, 18+, p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it), cum eating, a smidge of foot stuff if you squint, hate sex, exes (ish) to lovers (ish)

a/n; your honor i need him actually

imagining him wolf-whistling at you when you seek him out on the courts, racket strapped over your shoulder, hand limply holding a basket of tennis balls as you watch him practice his serving, trying and failing not to ogle his entire body through his clothes.

a sweat soaked tank top, slick and transparent. the smell of musk and man and tennis. thick corded thighs dusted with dark hair as he moves fluidly, as though the racket is an extension of himself. a thick bulge in his shorts that, no matter how much you hate him, you want to have your mouth on.

he’s all fire and passion and heat, and you know from experience that trait rings true in all areas of his life.

“so, you’re a milf now,” he drawls, beckoning you closer with a tip of his chin. your mouth is dry, chest so hollow it feels like you’re about to crumble from the inside out.

you roll your eyes, hoping to look more confident than you feel, taking place on the other side of the net.

“and you’re still a prick. your point?”

“why are you here?” he presses, tossing the ball up and catching it with a skilled ease that has your stomach flipping.

“how do i guarantee my son a place in your tennis program?” the words feel heavy on your tongue, struggling not to curl your lips into a sneer at the sight of his smug expression.

“you think i’m a prick but you want me to teach your son?”

“i think you’re a prick but i know you’re good at tennis. and you’re a good teacher. and i want him to be good.” his brow quirks. at least you’re honest.

he discards the tennis ball behind him and crosses the distance between you, long legs coming up to step over the net.

“i can think of a few things.”

that’s how you find yourself at his place, legs slung over his shoulders. it’s wet and dirty, each rock of his hips squelching as he feeds you his cock into your needy cunt inch by inch.

“yeah, know this pussy missed me, baby,” he rasps, pinching at your twitching clit. his throat works around a thick swallow, lips parted in a groan when you clench your cunt round him, shifting your hips upward to allow him to sink further into the wet clutch of you.

“stop talking to my pussy, you freak,” you hiss, quickly silenced as he flattens his thumb over your swollen bud, rolling it in tight circles until you’re creaming round him, wailing with the sheer force of your orgasm

he lifts your ankle, turning his flushed face to mouth at the smooth skin there, huffing hot air against the sole of your foot that has you squirming.

there are some perks to fucking patrick zweig.

he knows every inch of your body, knows what makes you tick and which buttons to press to keep you babbling nonsensical filth beneath him. knows your pussy, knows how to fuck you until you cry.

you’re clinging to his shoulders, almost drawing blood as you dig your knuckles further into that skin, because you know him just as well. know that this gets him going, keeps him rutting into you with that fervour that - despite yourself, despite hating him - you’ve missed so desperately.

because despite hating patrick zweig, no one fucks you like he does.

when he cums it’s in excess, spurt after spurt of it until you’re plugged full and it’s flooding you, dripping out of your spasming hole and gathering over your furled asshole. he gathers some of it with two fingers, feeds it into your eager mouth.

“i’m sure we can work something out about those tennis lessons, sweets.” and he grins, all teeth. the look should have you balking, send you running, but you find yourself drawn to it, clinging to the familiarity of him.

you’re caught in his honey trap once again, and he has no plans of letting you get away this time.

because you both know, no matter how much you claim to hate him, he’s the best sex you’ve ever had.

and he’s sure he can make you love him. just with a little time.

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midwestprincesss · 4 months

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how i look in the mirror after writing the word 'cock' 100 times

#smut #fanfic writer #x reader #challengers x reader #patrick zweig #challengers movie #art donaldson #mike faist #challengers #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson smut #challengers fanfic #challengers smut #mike faist x reader #patrick zweig x reader #fem reader #female reader #reader insert #patrick zweig smut

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coryosbaby · 4 months

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I Wanna Be Your Dog

Teammate! Patrick Zweig x fem! Reader (minor mention: Patrick Zweig x reader x art Donaldson)

18+, MDNI !!

Content warning . Pervy dom Patrick, major scent kink, wedgies, use of the word mutt once or twice, spanking, anal. A hint— a HINT— of a foot kink (I swear it’s not what it looks like). weird bullying tactics/ dynamics & teammate rivalry. Patrick is gross and unhinged in this

TEAMMATE! PATRICK ZWEIG loves to get filthy. If you ever come to him for a release, expect it to get sloppy and downright fucking disgusting. He loves to shove your nose right up against his pubic hair, all curly and dark, while he ruts against your face like an animal. He loves that you do anything he asks of you (outside of tennis, at least). So when he slides his cock up against your face for the first time— “cmon, baby, breathe that shit in… thaaaats it. You love that, don’t you? You dirty little girl-”— you exhale sharply and mewl. The idea of TEAMMATE! PATRICK ZWEIG shoving his cock down your throat shouldn’t be as appealing as it is.

TEAMMATE! PATRICK ZWEIG who lets you use his thigh to get off when he’s fixing one of his tennis rackets. The actual fixing doesn’t last long, obviously, because you get mad and you get bratty and you make fun of him for losing to you the day before. Patrick’s muscled thigh soon acts as a chair for your pussy as he guides your hips with one hand, the other wrapped around your throat and squeezing — “Can’t run that mouth now, huh? Yeah, that’s what I thought, brat”— as he feels the sticky trail of arousal you leave on his hairy leg. TEAMMATE! PATRICK ZWEIG also makes you clean up your mess afterward, ass perky and up against his face as he forces your tongue against his thigh and begins to peel your underwear to the side. Spreading apart your cheeks and tonguing your cute little asshole as you bury your face into his crotch for a more comfortable position.

And that’s when you feel the wet patch on the front of his briefs against your lip. His big fat cock is just aching for a nice, creamy cunt to come and choke it. He tells you that, too, and presses your legs down onto his hips, your hands against the floor holding you up so he can slide right in.

TEAMMATE! PATRICK ZWEIG who drags you into the sauna after a game. Just sits you down right across from him, rubs it in your face that you lost, and then stands right in front of you and drops his towel. All sweaty and musky and warm ughhh. And you can’t help but shove your face against his dick and let him hump against it, your tongue laving over his balls and making him cum all over your chin and neck. Doesn’t even give you anything to wipe it off with, just slaps your cheek lightly and says, “good job, kid” as he walks off (because TEAMMATE! PATRICK ZWEIG KNOWS you despise that nickname and the way he dumbs you down).

TEAMMATE! PATRICK ZWEIG loves to do this mean thing where he comes up behind you, sweaty and gross, and sticks his hand down the front of his pants. He shoves his fingers in your mouth— “taste that shit? Fuckin’ beat you again at practice, you little fuckin’ loser-“— swirls it around on your tongue then pokes the back of your throat until you gag. You push him off of you and swear up and down at him, but your panties are already soaked and you know you’ll be at his house later that night.

TEAMMATE! PATRICK ZWEIG loves to shove your head against his sweaty armpit after you beat him at practice. He gets so mad and acts like a five year old. It makes you giggle until he’s holding you there and calling you a dirty mutt for “cheating”.

TEAMMATE! PATRICK ZWEIG loves to shove his head between your thighs. No matter the day or time, he’s always got that tongue working wonders on you. Whether it be on your pussy, clit, ass. He doesn’t care! In fact, he prefers when you just finished tennis practice. If you have a hole, especially when it’s sweaty and warmed up, TEAMMATE! PATRICK ZWEIG is gonna stick his fucking tongue in it.

He’s good at it too. Uses his fingers and crooks them just right, absolutely devours that pussy like it’s his last meal. Clit swollen and throbbing as he takes it between his lips, chin and beard drenched in slick. His honey, as he calls it. The nectar of the Gods.

He loves putting his tongue on your little furled asshole, stretching out your rim and GODD is it the hottest fucking sight for him. TEAMMATE! PATRICK ZWEIG, ladies and gentlemen, is an ass man. A fuck-it-and-fill-it-with-cream-then-eat-it-out-of-you type of ass man. And I don’t mean with just yours, if you get what I’m saying. You’re his little whore and he’s gonna stick your mouth wherever he wants it to be (and you have zero complaints).

TEAMMATE! PATRICK ZWEIG is kind of a weird guy. Sometimes he bites the ends of your toes when he’s got your legs hiked up in the air and drilling into you. What can he say? He likes the pink nail polish you have on and the golden bracelet wrapped around your ankle.

TEAMMATE! PATRICK ZWEIG’s favorite position is doggy. Loves to watch your ass bounce as his balls slap against it ‘n the way your little asshole opens and closes like a pretty flower with each thrust. He also likes the way your back arches and how easy it is for him to wrap his biceps around your neck and choke you until you nearly pass out. TEAMMATE! PATRICK ZWEIG also loves when he’s got you in missionary and you shove your fingers into his mouth. He sucks on the digits while his eyes roll back and he grunts out a curse. He bites down on them when he finishes.

TEAMMATE! PATRICK ZWEIG loves when you beg for it. Spit slick lips sliding against his with a breathy whimper— “please, please, please, Pat, need it-“— as you take all eight inches deep in your tight little snatch, lips stretched obscenely around his length. Cunt drooling with your third—fourth?— orgasm of the night, eyes rolling back as your nails scrape down his broad shoulders. Abolishes that fucking pussy cus he’s so desperate to shoot his load.

TEAMMATE! PATRICK ZWEIG loves to cum all over your face and tits. Practically drenches you in his fucking cum, plays with it with his thumb and feeds it to you as it drips off his fingers. Messy creampies in your sore little pussy, spreading apart your hole so he can admire the sound it makes as it gushes out of you. Stuffing your ass full of creamy white cum and plugging it with a cute lil’ diamond anal plug. Ughh I need him

Lastly, TEAMMATE! PATRICK ZWEIG gives you wedgies. He bullies you so obscenely— sometimes he does it in front of your other teammate, Art. He’ll invite the man over, talking to him about the most random topics before girls are brought up. They’ll start talking about hookups, one night stands. You come back from a bathroom trip when they’re talking about pussy, and Patrick takes a swig of his beer and yanks you down on top of him. You grumble— no one is supposed to know ! But Art is Art, you guess, and he isn’t a completely terrible guy. He can keep a secret.

Patrick twists you and shapes you against his lap until you’re splayed across him, much to your annoyance. Your tummy presses into his thigh and your bare feet graze Art’s knee as Patrick directs the blonde’s attention to you. “yeah, but this one’s tight man. So wet, too—“

“Pat, if you don’t let me up, I swear to God—“

“You’ll what?”

He taunts you, flipping up your skirt and letting out a whistle. Art’s just as much as a sick perv, but he’s less open about it, so his cock tightens in his jeans and his eyes widen.

“She’s got such a cute little ass. She’d probably let you fuck it if you gave her a few wins on the court.”

You growl, but not before you’re whimpering when Patrick’s long fingers hook into the middle of your panties and pulls. Your underwear is pushed forcefully in between your cheeks, burning a little but also putting so much delicious pain/pleasure friction on your swollen clit. Patrick licks his lips when he sees the way your cunt lips practically swallow the fabric— he’s almost jealous of it as it becomes soaked with your slick. You press your head into your hands, embarrassed because of the company. Patrick ignores it, though, and his hand comes down on your backside as he holds you up by your panties. ‘N Art can’t help but let out a little chuckle when you begin to squirm, his fingers barely, just barely, leaving feather light touches on your outer thigh.

“Jesus fucking Christ! Quit it, guys, ‘s not funny!”

“Maybe,” Patrick chuckles, grabbing Art’s hand and pressing it against your skin so he can touch you properly. You can’t deny that Art’s hands feel good when they trail up to your ass and give your plump cheeks a nice squeeze. “But you’re adorable, sweet cheeks, and I think Art wants to watch us fuck.”

The three of you never speak about that night, but there are a lot more of them to come— literally.

:: @mysticpenguincreation @nightmare-niko @iheartinkonpaper @becauseseaotters @emmalandry @princesstiti14 @aerangi @kaithoughs @jamespotterismydaddy @wildgirllz

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nottsangel · 3 months

Text

— artrick and camgirl!reader ੈ♡˳

moodboard

it began as just a quick way to make some extra money during college and nothing more than that. you were a bit apprehensive at first, aware of the risks and consequences of someone finding you, but eventually, you started to find joy in it, especially because you received a lot of attention— even more than the other girls on the same website. people, who where mostly older men, started to like you, and money began to pour in like never before. but no matter what, you had to keep it a secret from everyone.

yet, patrick who scours the whole internet for porn that matches his specific taste, managed to unexpectedly find you while you were live. he almost couldn’t believe his eyes— his best friend, with her legs spread wide as she touched herself and loud moans escaped her mouth. and god, the way you moaned sounded so angelic, with your pretty, soft lips parted in ecstasy. he simply had no other choice— he had to tell art.

“i swear to god patrick, i don’t wanna see those golden shower porn videos again.” “just, trust me, you’re gonna wanna see this.” patrick insisted as he opened his laptop. he glanced at the time. 10 pm. that was usually when you came online on thursdays, because yes, patrick had already watched you so many days in a row, he memorised your streaming schedule. “who are these girls?” art questioned with a raised brow, puzzled as to why patrick would show him random camgirls, until he noticed he noticed you— fully naked while you held a vibrator against your swollen clit, causing his eyes to widen as he leaned closer to the laptop screen. “holy… fuck.” “yup. i know.”

and that’s how it all began. now, every day right before you would come online, patrick and art would sit impatiently next to each other on the bed, eagerly waiting for you to go live. “you think she’ll use that pink dildo again?” art asked patrick with clammy hands resting on his knees. “god, i hope so. that one’s my favourite.” and when you finally appeared on screen, a smirk spread simultaneously across both boys’ faces as they stared mesmerised at the screen, quickly adjusting their positions as their pants grew uncomfortably tight.

it was somewhat odd— it almost felt like video calling with you, as if you were touching yourself just for them, until they were hit with the harsh reality of the comments and countless men thirsting over you. the wave of comments flooding in during your streams, especially when you would interact with them, evoked a complex mix of emotions in patrick and art. they were consumed by jealousy— they wanted you for themselves, and they hated the fact that others could see what they saw. “jesus, these men are fucking desperate.” art exclaimed while reading the quick-paced comments with an unamused face. patrick shook his head in disapproval as he let out a chuckle. “i bet they’re all jerking off while watching her, fucking creeps.”

and ultimately… they found themselves becoming what they once criticised the most, as they’re now shoulder to shoulder in art’s stanford dorm room, hands tightly wrapped around their throbbing erections as they pumped it quickly. “this, uhm… this isn’t weird, right?” art questioned, his breaths coming in quick pants as your moans echoed through the shitty speakers of his cheap laptop. “no, no… i mean, we’re looking at her, right? nothing weird about that.” patrick reassured art as his eyes stayed fixed on your movements, and art nodded in agreement.

and even now, as they masturbated not only on their own to you but together, while watching you strip and bring yourself to your orgasms over and over again, they still hung out with you as usual. you noticed a change in their behaviour though— you couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was, but they seemed more, nervous around you. you brushed it off quickly though, thinking it was just you. but little did you know they were indeed nervous to be around you now, as their eyes scanned every inch of your body covered in clothing, knowing that they had seen all of it— all of you, naked.

“do you… do you think we should tell her? that we know?” patrick asked art as they were once again, sitting in art’s dorm room, their hands lazily pumping their cocks. soft fucks and oh my gods slipped from your lips and resonated through the room along with the buzzing sound of your rose toy, which was the usual on fridays. “i mean, yeah, we should, eventually. maybe… uhm, next week… or something.” “yeah, yeah. next week.”

ੈ♡˳

🏷️ tags: @maizweig @swamp-box @oceandriveab @starkeysprincess @unhingedbanks @imawhoreforu @mcugirl @skylerwhitwyo @maybankswifey @hearts-4-kai @takaosin @imbabycowboy @badesire @parkerloves @diorrfairy @jizzlle

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dumbass-sappho-stan · 4 months

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hit first and hit hard || challengers

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ꜰᴇᴀᴛᴜʀɪɴɢ: ᴀʀᴛ ᴅᴏɴᴀʟᴅꜱᴏɴ, ᴘᴀᴛʀɪᴄᴋ ᴢᴡᴇɪɢ, ᴛᴀꜱʜɪ ᴅᴜɴᴄᴀɴ

— fem! reader

summary: the tennis girl weaves her way through simple lover's quarrels and one manipulative blonde boy.

𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘹𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦(?), 𝘥𝘳𝘶𝘨𝘴/𝘢𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘩𝘰𝘭, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 sleepy 𝘛𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘪 𝘋𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘢𝘯

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: ʜɪ! ɪ'ᴍ ꜱᴏ, ꜱᴏ ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴏɴᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ, ʏ'ᴀʟʟ ᴀʀᴇ ꜱᴏ, ꜱᴏ ꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛ! ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛ! ɪ'ᴠᴇ ᴅᴇᴛᴇʀᴍɪɴᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ꜰᴏᴜʀ ᴘᴀʀᴛꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜɪꜱ, ꜱᴏ ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏ'ᴀʟʟ ʟɪᴋᴇ ɪᴛ.

🇼🇴🇷🇩 🇨🇴🇺🇳🇹: 7.7k

Read Part One here!

𝙋𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙏𝙬𝙤: 𝙇𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧

𝙎𝙏𝘼𝙉𝘿𝙁𝙊𝙍𝘿, 𝘾𝘼𝙇𝙄𝙁𝙊𝙍𝙉𝙄𝘼, 2007

𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘜𝘯𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘺

The days following your fight with Art were rife with silence and solitude. Sequestered alone in your dorm, you lay there either working on your piling homework or listening to 'emo'-esque music to help funnel your emotions, but that still didn't help.

As much as you hate to admit it the one thing that did was tennis. Wanting to avoid Art and even Tashi, you went as early as possible. Every morning since the fight for at least a solid week, you got up at 4:30 AM, dressed, jumped the court fence to practice for about 5 hours, and exited just as the other 'early' players showed up.

It invigorated you to be energized early in the day and you sometimes smashed the ball or even your racquet if you felt like it. Being alone wasn't a new circumstance for you but it was certainly novel as of late. You were so used to Art's presence on the court and in your life.

Dinners were spent together, and silly chats you two had were the norm for at least a year. Not to mention the bizarre push and pull with the romantic tension between you two. Even before Stanford, you'd labored to get his phone number, after begging Tashi for a few days and speaking to him on the phone constantly.

Though, the blonde seemed just as ardent as you in your aversion to one another. He had tried calling you multiple times and texting but it was fruitless. You'd picked up the phone once to only put it back down.

⋆★⋆

"I'm so sorry," Art sobbed, he sounded as if someone had stabbed him, "I'm so, so sorry." You said nothing and stayed neutral. You, unfortunately, picked up the phone after Donaldson had called it 23 times in the past 2 days, and decided the 24th would be the last. It was time to be the bigger person and end the fight between you two.

"Me too, Art." Muttering drily you heard his hiccups stop, and a loud sigh of relief. You could almost feel the weight being lifted off of his shoulders.

He whispered your name softly, "I never meant to hurt you. I just... I wanted to say what I thought you wanted."

A sharp pain shot through your chest as those lethal words left his lips and pure white-hot vexation replaced whatever emotion had been there previously. It was silent between the two of you, which confused the boy.

Art called your name but was interrupted, "You know what I want Art Donaldson?" You roared, "For your fucking castration to be slow and painful!"

⋆★⋆

The poor cutesy, pink Motorola Razr was no longer a phone after the conversation and lay shattered on your floor for days before you finally felt bad and threw it out. Your new one, a hue of bright cherry red, felt much more fitting for this new lifestyle.

Tashi you didn't actually avoid, more like you didn't tell her what was wrong. If beating around the bush was a professional sport you would've left tennis ages ago. Every time you and Tashi would be talking, in your small instants outside of your room or the court that week, Art would approach and you'd immediately give these automated lines;

"Oh shit, Tashi, sorry I got an essay to write!"

"Oops! I forgot I had a thing I have to get to so.."

"It's what time? I gotta go walk my fish!"

Ausispously, these went unnoticed by Tashi because in every single one of the instances you slipped away back to your dorm and to your desolation, without as much as a blink from your friend. If you weren't so content in your loneliness you probably would have been much more uncertain or at least unhappy about her sudden disconnect from you, but chalked it up to Patrick being in town for a longer period.

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𝗞𝗡𝗢𝗖𝗞 𝗞𝗡𝗢𝗖𝗞

The loud pounds landed dully against your door and woke you up immediately. Your body sat up and the sun's harsh blare into your tiny room flashed in your face, nearly blinding you upon waking up. You frantically glanced around your dorm room, seeing if it was something inside rather than external.

But no, all in your room were your postered walls full of music artists, art pieces themselves, silly photos of you and your friends from home (though most of those photos were overshadowed by Tashi's), and other miscellaneous items that sat around. In the small moment of silence between pounds, you began to slightly enjoy the pleasing sight of how pretty your room looked in the California dawning sun.

However, you were quickly slapped back into reality because the pounding had not ceased; seemingly getting louder if it was imaginable. What the fuck... That specific thought rattled through your foggy brain and your face contorted to deep confusion—even fear. Yet, you finally got the motivation to gradually inch toward the door, not even knowing who the fuck could be on the other side. The door rattled and shook explosively the closer you got until a hand to the handle.

The metal felt cool and smooth under your grasp. Soon flinching at the pounding and slightly wondered how your neighbors didn't get pissed off yet. But, you focused and opened the door.

Then there he was, Patrick Zweig, in all his glory posed in a mid-pound gesture at your dorm room door, staring straight at you.

"Hi,"

"Hey..."

Patrick soon pushed his way past you, walking into your dorm unphased. "Okay, just come right in.." You muttered, shutting the door behind you before turning to him. He stood in the middle of your room, inspecting it like he's the fucking DA. Nevertheless, he looked quite pretty as he was dressed in a simple white t-shirt with some dorky slogan and jorts—fit for California weather.

The silence was palpable between you two, Patrick seemed unbothered, almost jovial, and the signature devilish glint in his eyes. You, in contrast, glared at him like he was the spawn of Satan.

"Don't you look joyful?" Patrick chuckled, a playful smile soon following. Your scowl didn't budge but despite that, he came toward you with arms open wide, and enclosed you in a hug, "I'm certainly happy to see you." His words were muffled in the tangled mess that was your hair at this early of an hour. You hugged back briefly, then pressed him off.

"Pounding at my door at..." You glanced at the digital clock, "Jesus Christ, 7:15 in the morning?!" A small chuckle left Patrick again at his ability to get a rise out of you. You crossed your arms angrily and pinched the bridge of your nose with a sigh.

"Well, I'm eager to see one of my two special girls," He quipped, leaning back on your window sill with a surprising suaveness. That had become his nickname for you and Tashi over the past months. His 'special' girls were his way of flirting with you and getting on your nerves all at the same time. Both he and your best friend found it hilarious.

"Zweig, you have a pretty fucking odd way of showing 'enthusiasm'," A scoff left your lips just as you sauntered to the bathroom that was tangent to your room. The brunette soon followed and leaned on the doorway as you started your routine.

"I adore you, pookie!" A shutter audibly left you when he drawled out the terribly cheesy nickname. That one was the worst.

"Bleugh," You gagged, "Jesus Christ, Patrick why can't you be normal?" Somehow you frowned even deeper if that was even possible.

The boy laughed in reply, "Because who would be around to force you to have some fun?" Patrick looked at you with those eyes, his pretty forestry eyes that have broken hearts all across the country, they were meant for you. It made you want to stare back with your own, basking in it like a summer's day. And that smile, god— his smile was the sun itself. If Art was the ice, Patrick was the fire, the sun. The sun's light could always melt the winter's snow, you assumed he was with Tash for that similar reason. Opposites attract.

You started to feel yourself blush, your mind overthinking and repeating thoughts that all were about him, Patrick.

Patrick, Patrick, Patrick.

Hastily, you rushed to turn on the faucet and started to forcefully wash your face. Hopefully, it would wash away the shame that overtook the sudden rush of emotions for your best friend's boyfriend. Damnit, this is what happens when you don't get laid for a week... Scolding yourself internally, you washed your face and sighed to look back at him. As you expected, his eyes were still on you. But something had changed, the playfulness just wasn't there. It was something else, but you didn't have the time to place it before he looked away.

"So," Patrick spoke your name, "I haven't seen you for my entire time here, and..." He paused for effect, "I missed you."

You gasped dramatically and put a hand to your chest, "Me? Patrick Zweig misses me?" Teasing him with a smile, "What an honor! What's next, I get taken to the Dollar Tree?"

Laughter bounced off the small walls as the two of you were terribly unfunny and it was mutually known. It didn't stop you two from laughing at the stupidity of it. The laughter endured for a moment or two before it died down.

"But really," Patrick started to pull himself together, "I did miss you. Y'know how Art is these days, and Tashi only wants to talk about fucking tennis..." He stepped closer to you, close enough for his hand to slightly caress your free arm. "You're honestly my only friend right now..."

You laugh awkwardly, eyes darting everywhere from his own. Patrick was looking at you, you knew it, but if you looked now you wouldn't be responsible for what you would do after. Self-control was one of the better traits you'd taken from Tashi—you stepped away from his touch and smiled thinly.

"Oh come on Patrick," The shitty tile of your bathroom floor seemed more and more interesting as the seconds passed, "Tashi's just trying to help you." You knew what he was referring to as Tashi complained of Patrick's inability to listen to criticism.

Patrick scoffed at this and rolled his eyes, regardless didn't reply. He dropped the subject, realizing ages ago you'd always choose to defend Tashi over anyone else. He shifted back to his original plan.

"Okay, that's whatever, would you like to go out tonight then?" He asked, his original jovial tone returning, and suddenly like that, everything was okay. The bizarre tension was gone and you could meet his gaze with a knowing face.

"I'll think about it." That answer seemed good enough for Patrick, you witnessed a cheesy exclamation and a terrible fist pump to follow. You sighed at his absurdity but it finally got him out of your doorway as he sauntered back out to your room.

"Great! I'll see you at 8 tonight," He announced, walking toward the door and out the door before he could hear your faint, "Patrick I don't-"

It was suddenly silent in your dorm again. Which, you were grateful for as it meant now you had time to concentrate; you could possibly continue your new 15-step life plan of isolation and become the second-best tennis-female player of all time, Tashi would be the first. Or get black-out drunk tonight and forget all about everything. Each option was very crucial.

A few hours of homework later, you had determined two things like you had done a week ago. One, yes you did need to get black-out drunk, Two, you had to make more male friends that weren't your best friend's boyfriend or said boyfriend's best friend.

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The club was hot and sweaty, it felt as if it'd swallow you whole with the number of people who crowded around you. Dancing, grinding, touching. You hadn't drunk enough alcohol for you to start to enjoy this feeling so off to the bar you went. Patrick followed in tandem, keeping a good trail on you as he was the "designated driver", though you were sure that both of you were going home in a taxi that night.

Patrick ordered a round of 10 shots of assorted types of strong-smelling alcohol and smiled at you, though the smile made you queasy. It exactly mirrored Tashi's smile when she forced you to do shit.

"My favorite girl, pick your poison," The brunette snickered, taking in the blank features that had taken over. "Unless you're a pussy."

"Oh, I'm a pussy?" You raised your eyebrow in defiance, "Please, Patrick, watch and learn." Mirroring his confident smirk, you picked up one random shot and took it back. Then another, and another, and another... Soon there were only 3 shots left for your friend and your tongue started to go numb. The boy laughed at your efforts and followed your lead by taking the rest of the shots.

Shortly, you were on the dance floor, the colored lights seemed so much more welcoming and the touch of strangers felt like a blaze. You drunkenly danced with Patrick, spinning and moving against each other, hands above the waist for both of you as it felt anything but personal. Occasionally you two would make eye contact for too long and would just erupt in giggles and he'd take you for another spin. Patrick knew how to have fun and pulled you along for the ride.

During some Nelly Furtado song, you'd finally gotten fatigued of the club after who knows how long of dancing, drinking, and other illicit activities that involved a certain plant. You tugged at Patrick's collar of his shirt and he stopped his movement.

"Patrick," You slurred, "I wanna go home.." He looked down at your figure and nodded his head. Patrick led you off of the dance floor and finally outside of the club. You clutched onto his shirt on the walk to the car, which honestly felt like miles. Patrick filled the air with little comments about the people who had filled the club and it made you giggle. Though, as drunk as you were anything could've made you laugh.

"Yes! The car!" The grip on his shirt tightened as you through one of your hands in the air in celebration, "I'm so fuckinggg... tired.." You dragged out your constants as you both made your way to the car. Ultimately, it was more like Patrick was walking and you slanted onto him, trotting along.

"Mhm," Patrick hummed, he'd kept one hand on your waist but you hadn't really noticed it. There were many things you didn't notice in your inebriated state.

Patrick, luckily, hadn't drunk as much as you and was sober enough to drive you home. You laid your head comfortably on the window as you observed the blackened city and yellowed road soar past you. It was serene, you and Patrick. It was the first time in the past week you felt a smidge above the bare minimum. Your head was hazy and everything felt so miniature; boxed in.

The ride home was rather reserved, with no one speaking other than you drunkenly giving him directions to your dorm. Eventually, after he had to call Tashi, he stopped in front of the building.

"We're here, Sleeping Beauty," Patrick murmured quietly, slightly nudging you with his hand. When you responded with a groan, he sighed and got out of the car. You perked up a bit and lazily followed his figure until he opened the door. The lack of movement signaled to Patrick that he would be the one to get you out of this car.

Patrick heaved you out of your seat, to your disdain, and he held you close as he closed the passenger door behind you. Your face was squashed in the curve of his neck. He smelt like really lovely cologne and sweat.

Looking up at him, Patrick met your gaze with his own and smiled, "Hi." You smiled back, "Hey.." His hand stayed trained on your waist and you felt that warmth. The fervor you felt that night in the hotel room. It pooled deep inside of you, and it made the stupid smile on your face grow even wider.

"What are you smiling at?" Patrick grinned at your behavior and his hand that had been unlocking the door moved up to cup your cheek. Both of you stood there under the cloak of the night sky, staring foolishly at one another. He softly said your name, "What are you smiling at, pretty girl?"

The tone of his voice was something you'd never be able to interpret in your lifetime. Forgotten among memories and the intoxication, you thought about what led to the position you were in years later, and next to that night in the hotel room, this seemed to be another flick to the dominos collapsing.

Patrick didn't wait for your response, his lips were already on yours. He felt needy in this kiss, it was long and passionate. Your eyes were clenched shut, the euphoria you felt from being so out of it momentarily leaving your body to replace it with stone-cold regret. The kiss was split when you finally pushed one hand to his chest.

"Patrick?" You muttered, "What the fuck?" Patrick's air sobered at your words. He looked at you, the mere panic very visible on his face. Had he fucked up?

"What?" The brunette laughed humorously, "Did I, erm..." He was searching through his lexicon to say anything that could save whatever the hell just happened.

The shame began to quickly devour you, a sickish feeling overtaking your senses. Whatever just happened mortified you to no extent. You staggered back from Patrick, finally meeting his frenzied eyes.

Your eyes started to gloss over and you cried. Tears fell freely down your face as you felt the humiliation slap you in the face. All of it. The humiliation of Art not even liking you, Tashi's carelessness this week, and then this. The culmination of the efforts from the four of you, kissing your best friend's boyfriend. Or rather he kissed you, but what was the true distinction?

"What the fuck Patrick!?" You roughly wiped the tears that continued to fall, "What the fuck is wrong with you?" Patrick said nothing, only stared, so similar to his best friend.

"Jesus... The both of you!" You barked, "The both of you two fucking astound me." Your words were sharp and cutting bore into Patrick, apparently, that's what got him.

"What," His voice trailed off as his demeanor only heightened in puzzlement, "What do you mean both?"

"You and your fuck-face friend, that's who!" Your words blended together, as unfortunately, you were still pretty shit-faced. "You and Art fucking around with my head..."

Patrick tensed, "Art's fucking with your head?"

"Yes!" You replied, throwing your hands out in anger, "He's still in love with your girlfriend, and decided to fuck me on the side!"

Patrick's eyebrows raised, he knew Art was trying to manipulate the situation by trying to break him and Tashi apart but he didn't know that you were weaved in here too.

"That's... fucked up." He attempted to comfort you, very awkwardly.

"Yes, it is fucked up Patrick, almost as fucked up as you kissing me." You shot back venomously, narrowing your eyes at him. Patrick went quiet for a beat. He looked at you, looked away, and back at you. He seemed to be deliberating something.

"There's nothing fucked up about it," He finally answered, "I wanted to."

An involuntary gasp slipped from your lips. Your face contorted. "What?"

"I want you."

It felt like a gallon of cold water splashed on you. You stumbled back even further from the boy, your expression no longer confused but mortified.

Thundering down the sidewalk, you callously ran to where you didn't know. You heard Patirck's calls after you but they didn't matter. It wasn't as if he ran after you. The haze from everything that had happened still lingered as you ran. The thoughts bombarded your mind aimlessly, wondering what Patrick meant or what he might say to Tashi.

Tashi...

You'd raced so far that you were there at her dorm, which was seated right next to the tennis courts. Vision hazy, you tumbled into the building. It felt dingy and humid and walking through the corridors you tripped about six times and fully fallen over 3; that didn't stop you though from your destination.

By the grace of god, you handled yourself well enough to place three ordered knocks on Tashi's door, then slump to the floor with a deep sigh. Honestly, you didn't expect her to open the door. You didn't know what time it was but it was late enough into the night (or the early hours of the morning), that the rest of the world was silent.

Everything went silent for a moment as you stared at that wooden door. You focused on a dent in the door itself, right near the handle. You were so immersed in the indentation that you didn't notice the door hinged open.

"Well, well, well... look who it is," Tashi stared down at you with a slight smile. There she was.

"Tashi!" Your mood was instantly lifted at her company and smiled right back. The nastiness, the dread, and the remorse were lifted instantly once you saw her. She let out a sigh once she saw your state— your outfit was skimpy, mascara and eyeliner were smeared all over your face, and you looked like you'd cried a river.

"Christ," She sighed out your name, "Can't you have a good night?"

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You and Tashi lay on her bed peacefully, and you exchanged no sentiments in those moments. She'd washed you up from your sordid state and now she was tracing designs in the curve of your hip. Tashi laid her chin on your head and you nestled on her collarbone. This was a frequent situation for either of you, as, during tournaments during your adolescent year, nights were spent braiding each other's hair, swapping secrets with smiles, and just being girls.

"So, are we going to talk about it?" Tashi hummed, staring out into her own cluttered room. Smiling like a fool you replied, "Talk about what?"

"Art, he told me about what happened." She continued, her hand moved from your hip to your hair. Tashi threaded her fingers through it gently and you let out a giggle.

"Pfft, Art.. that stupid, dumb blonde," Laughter filled the room, and you drew your head away from Tashi to meet her. "He's just stupid, that's all."

Tashi held back her own laughter at your intoxicated words, "I see.." You nodded in confirmation and laid back down cuddled back in. "Well, I just wanted you to know that this week I wasn't trying to avoid you," She resumed, "Art just told me about your emotional state, and knowing you, I know you like space."

You hoisted your head again and sneered, "You'd believe that twink?" Tashi giggled and rolled her eyes, "I don't think you can say that anymore," She spoke your name in a scold, "But, yes I did, he's pretty fucking convincing you know."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah... Convincing my ASS," Your eyebrows drew together in irritation at the mention of the boy, "He's stupid, just like the other one.."

Dead air obscured the room again, the only sound being you and Tashi's breathing. The warmth you'd felt from the alcohol returned again, but it felt different. It didn't feel as murky or slowing, it felt good. Yet, the disgrace from earlier was still in the back of your mind. You knew the next day would hold so much bullshit for you and your friend depending on Patrick's efforts or if Art decided to tell Tashi whatever Patrick would recount to him. The involvement of the two boys had made everything so muddled.

"Tashi,"

"Hm?"

"Promise me you'll love me forever?" You asked quietly, finally breaking the tranquility. The voice you had dawned felt foreign to you, it was desperate, vulnerable. Tashi pulled herself away from you to meet your eyes. Her deep sharp eyes scrutinized you with an unreadable gaze.

"What do you mean?" She asked, trying to laugh it off with a dry chuckle.

"I said what I meant," You slurred in reply, a pout, "Will you love me forever?"

Tashi scoffed, "I'm not fucking Mother Theresa," She said your name with a mocking edge. "You're my best friend, I..." Tashi stopped to carefully phrase her words so you could understand in your blitzed condition. "I like you more than any other person on planet Earth."

Your pout formed into a frown, and you stayed silent. Tashi then exhaled wearily, knowing she'd hurt your feelings but didn't say anything. It was a staring contest that you wouldn't win. Tashi did like you a lot, more than she liked her family, friends, and her boyfriend. But she wasn't good at pretending—she couldn't pretend she loved more than one thing. She loved one thing, and one thing only; Tennis.

"Then I'll love you enough for the both of us." That response caught Tashi off guard and she blanked. "I'll love you seeds and all, Tashi Duncan." The announcement of your love for her wasn't on the list of things Tashi thought she would've heard tonight. A nervousness overtook her but you didn't notice, you just stared in determination.

"Seeds and all?" Tashi questioned, her demeanor shifted to something a bit fainter, similar to yours.

"Yes, Tashi, seeds and all," You said it as if it was the most common thing in the world and laid back down. A sudden wave of exhaustion had washed over you, it was so easy to fall asleep. Despite this, Tashi stayed awake and watched you. It wasn't uncommon for you to say sappy shit and for Tashi to combat it with banter, but this felt more amorous; for the first time in the girl's life, she felt confused.

Tashi glanced back down at your sleeping figure. You looked so peaceful and pretty. An involuntary grin graced her features as she lay next to you. Her face was inches away from your own, bringing her hand to brush away some stray pieces of your hair to simply stare at you.

"I love you too," The girl muttered your name, kissing the apple of your cheek, turning around to her side of the bed, and falling into a slumber soon after. Tashi had assumed you were sleeping and wouldn't remember it even if you weren't. But, unfortunately for her, you had heard.

Tashi Duncan loved you.

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𝘾𝙄𝙉𝘾𝙄𝙉𝙉𝘼𝙏𝙄, 𝙊𝙃𝙄𝙊, 2011

𝘊𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘪 𝘖𝘱𝘦𝘯

The hotel bar's music softly played through the speakers, setting a particular homely affection amid the room. A few people were there, tennis players and normal patrons alike, drinking or crying over their loss today. Cincinnati, Ohio was one of the last stops any of these players had of making it to the US Open but unfortunately, they didn't make the cut.

You on the other hand? The 15-step plan was in motion but this time you'd be first. Going pro three years ago was one of the best decisions you'd made, in your life. The dream was cradled in the palm of your hand. Young, beautiful, determined, the brands just ate you up.

Being sponsored by Nike, doing commercials for popular products, and selling out was pretty amicable. The celebrity that came with it was a sweet taste that you sunk your teeth in. People shouted your name on the street and begged for your signature, they wanted you. The only downside was that now and again you'd have to see him.

God, You thought, when was the last time I heard this song... Instead of nursing your drink, you glanced around the room, observing the players. You recognized some from previous competitions and some you'd played today. Suddenly, noticing how everyone had someone to talk to, it was exposing to be the lone person at the bar. At 23 and no man, for now, was a smidge uncomfortable.

So why were you holding her hand?

Is that the way we stand?

Were you lying all the time?

Was it just a game to you...

While scanning the room, you saw her, sitting there with her computer propped up and sporting a shorter hairstyle. A jolt surged through you, you'd seen enough of her today, and you swiveled your head back forward. Another bad move, there he was. The blonde shaggy curls bedazzled you when he strolled in. Art Donaldson walked through the room and the world stopped turning.

Art walked into the bar in search of something. He just didn't know what. For the past few weeks since the Atlanta Open, he'd been on edge; for what he didn't really know. The looming task of the US Open had been teasing him for years, but he was young. He had time to play and win it, this year might just be his year. Though that's what he told himself. The US Open was what he was worried about. Yes, nothing more, nothing less, and absolutely not about certain brunettes.

Art made eye contact with you for a split second. A look flashed across both of your faces, both with varying feelings. Art's face showed an emotion of enchantment, like seeing a rare jewel. You looked like you swallowed sour milk. You shifted your gaze away from him and back to your drink. The alcohol stung your nose.

But I'm in so deep

You know I'm such a fool for you

You got me wrapped around your finger...

Do you have to let it linger?

A shiver strained through you, wondering if the universe was truly trying to get you to buy 30 mg of fentanyl and a bottle of vodka. Art you were used to, both of you were established and young tennis players, it was foretold the two of you would cross paths after that day. Every time it did happen there were formalities exchanged between you two, and then you'd take 4 shots of the choice of alcohol that night and cry.

Art peeked back at you once more before back on his path to Tashi. She was perfect, he had known that fact since the day he met her. Shoved on the pedestal, his fiance typed stormily at her computer, eyebrows drawn together in a scowl.

A smile grazed his face, "Hey," He sat down across from her. Tashi barely acknowledged him with a nod. Art sighed and tapped on the rim of her computer, "Hey Tashi..."

Tashi exhaled and lips thinned, "Hi, what's up?" She curtly replied, "I'm working right now on our deal with Nike," Art's confidence slightly buckled under her glare and apparent annoyance with him.

"Oh, well, nothing..." He trailed off with his smile being replaced with a slight pout, unfortunately for Art, this irritated the coach more. "Well, then get out of my face. You have a game tomorrow," She articulated concisely instructed him with a tone a mother would use, "A game you need to win."

Art straightened up a bit, winning was important, he knew that but he missed Tashi. His paranoia surely wasn't helping her curtness as of recently, but he was still relegating it to US Open nerves. He just needed to win and it'd be fine. "Okay," He agreed, "I'll see you upstairs?" The blonde was met with a quick nod, the sound of typing only emitted.

"I love you."

"I know."

Art left the table with a sullen expression on his features, but you didn't know that. Now you were focused on what type of wood the table was, to avoid thinking about when was the last time the three of you were in the same room. Maybe it's maple.... Your thoughts were soon cut off by a buzz from your phone. The iPhone 4 buzzed madly in your pocket and you pulled it out.

It was some random number you didn't have on your phone.

415-xxx-xxxx

𝘏𝘪, 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘮𝘦 𝘈𝘳𝘵, 𝘸𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬.

𝘔𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 3𝘳𝘥 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘳.

𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦.

𝘖𝘳 𝘪𝘧 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘦.

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘰𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴, 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺.

A miniature smile begged to come onto your features, even texting you could hear the way he'd talk with his comforting, careful diction. But then the meaning of the message settled deep inside you. He wanted to meet you up? Why? Confusion replaced the thick nostalgia as the cogs in your head started to work. It confused you, but you were intrigued. Plus, what was the worst that could happen?

212-xxx-xxxx

𝘰𝘬𝘢𝘺, 𝘪'𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘪𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘯

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Idily standing in the dingy ice room, you'd start contemplating your life choices. Specifically, the ones that led you to this moment. Why did you approve of this? Why did you go to that fucking bar? You're not even supposed to drink the day before a game. Oh, that's right, you remembered, Patrick Zweig.

♬☆♬☆♬☆

Earlier that day...

The cooling feeling of the concrete against your back felt like pertinent compensation after a day of sprinting around in the sun. You'd finally made it to the semi-finals after dominating through the bracket, some you'd played against during earlier tournaments, others were just painless to beat and move on to the following one. Nonetheless, the girl you'd just played had given you a run for your money. Not because she was good, but because you were distracted.

Tashi Duncan, coach of the FAMOUS Art Donaldson, observed your match. You'd noticed her when perusing the stands after the first game when you were looking for your friend who had come to cheer you on. Seeing her was the biggest mistake of your game, serve after serve it'd either be out or barely touched the net. It was utterly embarrassing and you'd lost the second game by 15 love. When it was the break you'd skimmed only to find her gone.

It pissed you off. Who the fuck does she think she is? You clenched your water bottle angrily, your knuckles shy of a shade lighter than normal skin tone. The spite of Tashi leaving your game (or so you thought) had lit that flame that you doused years ago. The flame of insecurity produced by Tashi Duncan.

You were relentless against the girl, hitting the ball with your full strength each and every time. An intense volley had occurred in the middle of the game, so intense that your opponent fell face forward in an attempt to catch the shot (she did not). The stadium was silent other than the loud sounds of your grunts and anger. It was hotter than the concrete you played on but just as hard. It pissed you off so much that when you won, instead of your normal self-indulgent bow, you smashed your racquet to the floor and a roar. The crowd scarfed it down, hailing you as a passionate and beautiful player, tenacious against competition.

In all honesty, you just wanted to go home and cry, but you were hustled off the court to where you are now. Stranded in the hallway and lying in your muddled emotions. It was now the men's bracket, but you didn't plan on watching anyone. Particularly Donaldson. Yet, trying to make it out of the vacant hallway, a familiar face entered your vision.

"There's the golden girl!" No words in a dictionary could express the face you made at that moment.

"Oh my..." You muttered under your breath, turning around to see Patrick Zwieg, in all of his sleazy glory. "What in the ever-loving fuck are you doing here Patrick?"

Patrick laughed with faux hurt, "Aw, aren't you just a ball of sunshine!" He tried to get closer to you but you edged back. He gauged your expression and sighed, "And here I thought you'd be happy to see me..."

You scoffed in disgust, "Christ Patrick, seeing you is like seeing a dog with cancer, it should be put down already." The brunette's lips pulled into a smirk, he crossed his arms and gave an irksome look.

"Well, I'm not a dog," He corrected, "I'm a cat and we got 9 lives." An exasperated sigh left your lips, your eyes meeting his with a tiredness. After the mind-fuck of seeing Tashi, you had no bandwidth for Patrick's bitchiness.

"I don't fucking care, Patrick," You hissed, finally starting back on your walk. Patrick started to slightly slip from his confidence, he hadn't expected this. He usually was able to keep you around for a good banter but you'd genuinely just stopped it this time. To keep you from going he snatched your forearm, keeping you from going any further.

Your glare deepened, "Let me go!" He didn't budge and kept you in place, although you started struggling to try and escape his strong grasp.

Patrick spoke your name calmly, "I just want to talk..." He sounded like he was talking to a feral cat. Grunting and now starting to whine, you struggled in an attempt to get away from him and this conversation. "About what? How you fucked over my best-" You stopped yourself, the word 'friend' died on the tip of your tongue. You two weren't friends, you hadn't been for years. Patrick caught this moment of vulnerability and used this.

"Friend? Please, she left you once you got better," He goaded with a sinister grin, "She couldn't stand that you could play and she couldn't."

The struggle became relentless as you started to shout for 'help' but it was useless. You were isolated. The best you'd gotten was dragging Patrick an inch or two across the floor, no escape was foreseen. A thin line formed on your lips as you glared.

"Shut up Patrick, don't fucking project your bullshit with Art on me,' You spat venomously, "He won, you're fucking losing, so what?"

Patrick chuckled drily, "Won what? The match? In case you forgot I won that-"

"NO!" You cut him off with a shout, "God no Patrick, he won at life. He's getting married to the girl you, and only you Patrick, lost because you're a dipshit." Face contorted into one of pure hatred for the man in front of you, and his hold finally slackened for you to draw your arm back.

Patrick rolled his eyes, "Newsflash, I slept with the girl I lost like.." He stopped speaking to count on his fingers, "Three weeks ago!" A triumphant and smug smirk graced his features.

"Great, so you can add home-wrecker to your tennis accolades?" You raised a brow and scoffed again, "You astonish me Zweig, you really do."

Patrick's grin didn't budge, "I aim to please," He did feel quite pleased with himself, and was even more pleased because he confidently believed you were jealous. Jealous that Tashi Duncan slept with him again and you didn't. He was sorely mistaken.

A heavy breath was taken in and you became focused. You knew exactly what you wanted to say to him, "Patrick, you may've fucking one that on match, let's say a battle." You began harshly, "But you didn't win the war, Art did."

Coming closer to Patrick to look him square in the eye, "Art is going to marry Tashi, he won. He will continue to win and be remembered." Patrick clenched his fists to try and calm himself, your words cutting in like serrated blades, "Who will you be Patrick?"

The question echoed throughout Patrick's mind, but you didn't waste time on his reply. Quickly, you stormed away after and resolved that the finest thing to do was to drink this moment away.

♬☆♬☆

A disgusted exclamation softly left your lips as you remembered that instant from today. Patrick always knew how to rile you up, to push your buttons until they'd break. At this point, you thought he enjoyed pissing you off. However, your internal monologuing was cut off by approaching footsteps. Darting up from the checkered carpeted floor, the blonde approached.

Art felt his palms begin to sweat when he saw your languid figure up against the vending machine. You looked so effortlessly beautiful to him, even when looking like you wanted to kill him. He sauntered into the small corridor and shut the door behind him.

Then, he pivoted around to face you. A hush swallowed both of you. It had been the first time you two were alone in around 3 years, at least. Art looked nervous meanwhile you looked disinterested.

"So?" You asked expectantly, "What did you need to talk about?" Art uncoiled and bit his lip. What did he want to talk about again..?

"Oh uhm.." He stuttered, "Hi, so..." Art desperately combed his mind for an answer, "I just saw you and I..." He coughed awkwardly and shifted his weight, "I just wanted to know how you were."

You took a deep breath and then let out a sigh, "Great, so you wanted to waste my time?" Art visibly flinched at your response and his lips twitched in apprehension.

"No, I just missed you," He asserted quickly, trying to meet your tone. Art's deep blue eyes met your own and something tugged at your heartstrings. "We both missed you."

"We?" A wiry laugh echoed in the room, "I don't think Tashi misses me, Arthur, but a cute way of guilt-tripping me." You cooed mockingly with a smirk. A sour expression fell across Art's countenance at the use of his full government name.

Sighing, he leaned against the wall and; after a beat spoke, "We watched your name today," Art stared at you intensely, "You were good, but what fucked you up during the second game?"

You clenched your fists, annoyed that he had been there too. "I don't know, it's called none-ya."

"What's none-ya?" He asked, confused by your retort.

"None of ya fucking business, Donaldson," You shot, "We aren't friends, we don't have tea parties and talk about fucking tennis."

"Well," Art started calmly, holding himself together, "Why don't we talk about anything but tennis?" You smiled fakly at his offer and stepped toward him, the height difference not really being too big, close enough to meet eye to eye.

"Then why the hell are we talking, Art, if we're not talking tennis?"

Art was silenced by your reply and stared down at the floor. He understood why you were acting the way you were, you were hurt. Aching. He would be too if he were in your shoes. The boy knew it wasn't him that should be talking to you. If anything would be solved between you and him, it'd first have to be solved between you and his fiance.

So, he looked back up at you, "I don't know why are we still talking?" The way Art said your name triggered some deep-buried emotions you had killed many years ago along with your insecurities. It was the seductive, whiny nature of Art Donaldson that kept you awake during the hard, lonely nights and right now it was your reality.

The space between you two was barely existent, lips almost touching... Your phone buzzed. The moment was ruined instantly and you quickly plucked out your phone. It was your coach, texting you verbatim to 'GO THE FUCK TO SLEEP, NOW!' with five angry emojis.

Art's eyes searched your movements as you read the message. He was so intent on solving or fixing things with you tonight that he hadn't acknowledged that other outside forces could interfere. When he saw you play today and then back at the bar? It fell into place for him, he just had to have you again. He had to. He deserved it right?

You shoved Art aside and opened the door, focused on now going to sleep and preparing for your game tomorrow. Simply put, you didn't have time for stupid boys like Art Donaldson who wanted to play tennis with two balls. It was ineffective.

But, just as you were down the hallway he shouted, "Tashi misses you!" You ignored him, "She told me to tell you."

"Tell her," Turning around so he could directly hear you, "Tell her that she can go fuck herself, and," You had stopped speaking, storming off to right in front of the man, "Go fuck yourself too." It was easy to snatch the collar of his old grey hoodie and capture him in a kiss.

The clash of lips was a brutish one, Art being caught off guard and you kissing forcefully as if he was the last thing on earth. His hands traveled to your jaw and let you take control of the kiss.

It was a longer one, almost juvenile, letting yourself clash teeth or slightly push up against him. You finally pulled away, his bottom lip sliding through your teeth slowly, keeping eye contact while it bounced back in place.

The both of you were flushed a deep crimson, now both frustrated and sexually frustrated you let out an exclamation of anger and strode furiously down the hall, into the stairway.

There left was Art, his attempts hopeless and now he was alone. His hand shakily rose to his lips where you had just been. Fingers gently grazing his lip before letting out a shaky sigh. It'd been forever since he'd been caught so off-guard, it shook him inside. You always did, pushing his own buttons instead of yours. Art was always susceptible to your touch and words.

Yet, frowned when he thought of the way you had spoken to him tonight. You had become so jaded, so much more.. mean. It reminded him of how Tashi used to talk back at Stanford. Before the injury. How confident she was, somehow more than now, and how she had the world at the tips of her fingers. Art silently wished he'd handled that day differently than he did. But, deep down, he knew he didn't. Art got what he wanted at the end of the day, wasn't that beautiful?

ᴇɴᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴘᴀʀᴛ 2

Hi! I really hope you guys liked this chapter, I really wanted to explore the character dynamics more and just flesh out the relationships. It'll get spicy, trusttt!

Please like or comment!! I would love to hear what y'all think or want for the plot, you guys were literally so, so nice in the last part!

Thank you for reading <3

🇹🇦🇬🇱🇮🇸🇹:

@jackierose902109

@bloodyrevengedbullets

@ssababe

@skylerwhitwyo

#art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #tashi duncan x reader #tashi duncan #patrick zweig x reader #challengers 2024 #challengers x reader #art donaldson smut #tashi donaldson #x reader #fem reader #patrick zweig #challengers #love square #challengers fanfic

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saintstennis · 4 months

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❝ 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐃𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐑 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 ❞

- art donaldson.

-🎾-

summary. marie vanessa williams is to be described as stanford’s tennis supernova. from her undying passion for tennis to her bottomless pockets, nothing could ever stray her from dreaming of being the greatest to ever do it. not even her closest friend and competitor, tashi duncan. keeping to herself romantically whilst being a flirt, her greatness was being watched by a special pair.

pairing: art donaldson x black fem!oc; tashi duncan x black fem!oc; patrick zwieg x black fem!oc

warnings: cussing, outfit descriptions, smut (18+ MDNI); brand names; alcohol consumption; mean! marie at times; slight hints of poly!; mentions of cigarettes.

dividers by @cafekitsune

-🎾-

chapters:

I. I AINT NEVER REP A SET, BABY

☆ - nothing like a good practice game then ending off the day with a boy hot on her trail.

II. “YOU SEE THE TICK.”

☆ - coming soon.

III. TENNIS SZN, BITCH!

☆ - coming soon.

#☆ saint’s tennis court #challengers x black!reader #challengers x reader #x black fem reader #x black reader #art donaldson x reader #tashi duncan x reader #patrick zweig x reader

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gabgabwrites · 3 months

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COACH | Art Donaldson & Patrick Zweig

summary ⇝ Patrick decided to drop the bomb that Art has never eaten a girl out before, and being the loving best friend you are, you agreed for him to use you as first.

warnings ⇝ swearing , smut! oral (F), somewhat 3sum, bodily kissing, hair pulling, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, cum eating, some secret gayness, mdni

this is also just porn no plot

++ okay I have now one more Challenger fic, then I will start with my other 101 ideas for other characters.

You don't remember how you got here. One minute you were walking through the door of their shared room with snacks in hand and the next you were staring wide eyed at Patrick. The room stilled, Art's throat bobbed and his fingers fidgeted as they both waiter for your response. "What?" Tumbled from your lips.

"I mean it's perfect right? Art has never eaten a girl out before, so he can practice on someone who he knows and trusts, like you," Patrick has popped the idea that the film on the TV about some ditzy woman and the scary monster go at it, perhaps it wasn't a film you should watch with your friends, perhaps it wasn't a film you should've watched at all.

"Oh god," you ran a hand over your face, a labyrinth of emotions weaved through you. You shook your head before standing up, the gears in your mind turning, still trying to process Patrick's question.

Art called your name. "You don't have to, it was a stupid idea, sorry," You briefly nodded at his words before turning to find the nearest bathroom.

You shut yourself inside, pressing your back against the door. Your mind was swirling with the possibilities, if you agreed, it could result in an awkwardness thereafter between the three of you, if you didn't, well nothing, Art would just eat a girl out with little to no knowledge of how.

Your bottom lip was sucked between your teeth that chewed on the flesh. You hadn't exactly had sex, or anything close, in a while. The sweltering heat did nothing to help. It especially didn't help when you unwillingly started having small scenarios flashing in your head about either of your best friends. You remember waking up in such guilt, guilt that nestled itself in a puddle in your underwear.

You ripped open the door and basically flew to the two boys. "I'll do it," you blurted before you were able to have any regrets. A smile grew on Patrick's face at your answer.

So that's how you finally ended up, shirt off on Patrick's bed, Patrick's hands on each of your knee while Art sat on his and watched. Patrick explained how he would do it first, then Art would reciprocate. His hands felt like fire on your knees, burning hot into your skin.

Then, they pushed down, forcing your legs further apart and for your skirt to rise an inch above from where it lay. "Firstly, Art, if you're the one undressing the girl, you gotta do it slow, builds up the anticipation," Patrick spoke. "Maybe caress her thigh." His knuckles brushed your thigh, slowly to the more ticklish spot.

When Patrick's fingers brushed the hem of your panties, a gasp got caught in your throat. His two thumbs snuck underneath the waistband of the lace and began to pull it down your thigh, you quickly moving your hips up so they slid off, now of full display. Your skirt somewhat hid your pussy, but with little effort, Patrick could very well see it.

He pulled them off your ankles. Out of your peripherals, you saw him tuck the fabric into the pocket of his jeans. His eyes flicker down to between your legs, suddenly bashful, you tried your best to squeeze your legs together. Patrick's thumbs were pushing hard into your skin, slowly peeling your legs apart. "Art, come look at her."

"This is embarrassing," you mumbled, hands snaking down to tug your skirt down. Your eyes went as wide as saucers when Patrick let go of your left leg and snatched your hand up, yanking it away.

"Stop trying to hide your pretty pussy," He scolded. "Now behave." Patrick shifted to the side for Art to take a step, now having two pairs of eyes staring at your heat, you can't lie and say it didn't make you the least bit aroused.

Art swallowed hard when he made eye contact with your most private part. This felt a little too intimate, you were his best friend, yet the boner that began to grow in his pants said otherwise.

You let out a louder gasp when Patrick's fingers were running through your folds, spreading the slick that oozed from your fluttering hole, even pressing his fingers against your clit, making you whine at the touch. It swirled around the bud, hard enough to have you squint before his touch disappeared.

Patrick popped his fingers into his mouth to taste your arousal, a grumble of a moan rumbling through his chest. He let his fingers fall out his mouth and back onto your thigh. "Then, start kissing around the area, let her know what your lips feel like."

Patrick began to leave open mouth kisses, from the back of your knees to the middle of your thighs, not once did his eyes leave yours. "Patrick, please," you begged, Patrick was slow with it, lips only on the middle of your thighs, never going higher nor where you needed them the most.

"Quiet," he hissed, his teeth nicked your skin before his tongue was smoothing over the barely visible bite.

A pout formed on your lips, eyes going to Art whose hand cupped his aching erection, thumb caressing his balls through his red shorts. His eyes trained on your glistening and disregarded pussy.

Patrick took in a breath, before his tongue fell from between his pink lips, and flattened against the span of your arousal. You let out a long sigh, allowing for your shoulders to relax as you were finally getting what you wanted. "Have a little taste of the pussy," Patrick said against you.

His tongue tensed, it weaved down until it found your drenched hole, pushing in. His lips pursed as he sucked your juices into his mouth, a combination of salty and sweet, and slightly bitter, but it all tasted like a pure gastronomic delight, like nectar made by the dandiest bees.

Patrick could count the times he's fisted his cock on two hands, and even his feet, to thoughts of you. He didn't feel as guilty as you or Art though, shamelessly jerking off in bed, in the shower and one time at the beach, when the three of you had decided to go on a small vacation, a towel over his lap while his fingers were wrapped around his cock, you and Art to busy splashing in the waves, he remembers how your bikini was a little too snug, and when you bent over to get your sunglasses, how the fabric creeped into your ass.

Chin now shiny in your slick, he lifted his head before spitting out a fat glob of saliva right onto your clit, making your thighs jerk. Patrick spoke while he watched his spit slowly run down. "When you know she wants it, go ham."

"How do you know when she's ready?" Asked Art, voice scratchy from arousal, his fingers still massaging at his erection.

Patrick just stick out a finger, and flicked at your clit, once, twice, before your hips jerked up and a meek moan left your lips. "That's how."

His face dove between your legs again, this time, with no mercy. His head jerked left and right while his tongue was on your clit, the sensation slowly but surely having your toes curl, and for you to feel warm and mushy down there.

Patrick recalls a conversation you had with him, it started out with him talking about this situationship he had with a girl, who told him she didn't know how to please herself, when you innocently piped up, saying how you like to do it.

How you preferred to have your underwear completely off, fingers slowly touching yourself to get you wet, momentarily bringing your fingers to your lips to gather spit on there before using that as lube to your already wet pussy, before you rubbed, side to side.

He remembered every single fucking detail that poured from your lips so he could rush to his room that night, fingers flying on his keyboard as he typed up solo porn videos of girls doing what you explain.

So he was doing everything you told him, from the get go. He watched your eyes scrunch up, an almost pained expression gracing your features, but he knew it was you getting lost in the bliss.

Forget teaching Art, who was letting out small gasps as he felt his balls slowly fill with seed, nearing his high. Right now, it was just you and him. He'd alternate from practically motor-boating your pussy, getting his chin and your thighs wet, to sucking on your swollen clit, to sticking his tongue and far into your pussy as he could.

"Don't...stop...Pat..." your words were barely incoherent as getting them out your mouth was proven to be difficult. Your hips rolling up, onto his face while your fingers clenched around the sheets, and your skirt.

"You should hear yourself, god, you sound pathetic," he chuckled, earning a weak slap from you to his forehead.

"Don't be a dick," you managed to get out before your brain shut down. Your eyes screwed shut, hiding the fact that you began to get cross eyed. Your tongue pushing past your teeth, but not sticking out your mouth as you whined and begged, pleaded and whimpered until your back arched, without warning, cumming straight onto Patrick's tongue.

For his sanity, Art's hand ripped away from his crotch, not wanting to cum his pants as he watched you orgasm, riding out your high on Patrick's face, who just slurped it all up.

By the end of it, you were panting, face flushed and pupils blown, hair sticky with sweat. You winced when Patrick detached himself, your cum staining the collar of his shirt. "Your turn."

"What? But 'm too tired," you whined, arm thrown over your eyes to shroud your vision in faux darkness.

"Isn't that too bad," Patrick slid down next to you, before his arms hooked under your back, bringing your shoulders to his chest. With some manoeuvring, he had your back against his chest and his hands cupping the back of your knees, lifting them so only your heels lifted off the bed, spreading your sore legs apart. "You'll be good for Art, right? I mean, he's waited so long to taste you, isn't that right?"

Art nodded, slowly walking to stand at the bottom of the bed, a meter away from where he yearned to be. He slid a knee onto the bed so he could hover over your legs. "Let me know if it feels good," he said and you nodded.

You sucked in a breath. "O-Okay."

He bent at the waist, his lips attaching onto your thighs where they pecked at the skin. Art being much more delicate than Patrick. His arms hooked under your thighs that were sill lifted up by Patrick, his fingers cool under your touch. You watched his head bob as he gave you more kisses, leaving a pathway to your pussy.

Then, his lips found your clit, placing one soft peck before his eyes found yours, looking for any signs, whether it be hesitation or pleasure, he found the latter. He saw your eyelashes flutter, already being so sensitive down there that it didn't require much to get a reaction from you.

He dared to stick his tongue out, and lick a stripe, a strangled moan reverberated from your throat. "Y-Yeah, continue that," Art felt reassured by your words and lapped more vertical stripes, tasting your previous arousal and the faintest hint of Patrick's spit.

He then felt your hips push down onto his face, thinking it was you pushing him away, his tongue stopped, but once seeing how your head was tipped back, resting on Patrick's shoulder, he continued.

His lips now added to the pleasure, top lip resting on the spot a centimetre away from the crevice of your pussy, leaving big open mouth kisses, sucking your clit in as well. The kisses got more feverish the longer it went on. Art even sticking out his tongue, drooling onto your pussy.

"Art," you sighed his name in ecstasy, mouth falling open as his kisses had your knees jerk. "That feels nice."

Patrick's hands slipped under your bra and was kneading at the flesh of your breasts, palming them and feeling your hard nipple graze his skin.

Art kissed and kissed, drooling sloppily all over your folds, his saliva, tampered by your arousal, dribbled down your ass and settled into the bedsheets.

But Patrick was having none of it. He ripped one hand away from your breast, it flew until it landed on Art's head where his fingers curled around his blonde curls, and yanked, hard. "Fucking eat her pussy, not make out with it," Patrick snapped.

Art winced at the harsh tug, Patrick shoving Art's face deeper into you. You felt Art's teeth graze your folds, though you didn't mind. Especially not when feeling his tongue everywhere, on your clit, in and around your puckering hole, swirling around your folds. "That's better-r," you moaned, your own fingers finding solace in Patrick's forearms, where your nails dented his skin.

"Fucking thought it'd be," scoffed Patrick. "I know how to make a whore feel good."

"N-Not a whore," you choked.

"Mmm, yeah? Then why do you have your two best friends eat you out?"

"Fuck off," you scoffed.

Patrick just chuckled, continuing to watch the boy ravish you. The two boys made eye contact, neither of them broke it. There was some misplaced intimacy about this moment, how Patrick and Art stared at each other while one ate you out, and the other toyed with your breast.

Patrick's hand let go of Art's hair and went back to your unattended breast. His fingers pinching your nipples, having you flinch at the pain, but no complain.

"Ah-h, gonna cum, gonna cum!” You chanted, each time, your voice got higher and and louder before your stomach flexed as you came, Art not so skilled to catch all of it, hand it partially in his mouth, and on his chin.

Art sluggishly removed his face, about a few inches away before he felt Patrick's finger slide over his chin, his cum and drool covered chin. He watched with swelled pupils as Patrick placed his finger in his mouth, letting out a hum and giving Art a grin. "Just as sweet as I remember."

With a sigh, Art got off the bed and walked to the bathroom to clean his face while you lay there, barely conscious in Patrick's arms.

He mumbled your name, making you hum in acknowledgment. "Don't think this is the last time either of us use our dear best friend, m'kay?"

#gabgabwrites #my works ✎#art donaldson #challengers #x reader #patrick zweig x reader x art donaldson #art donaldson x female reader #challengers art donaldson #art donaldson x fem reader #patrick zweig x art donaldson #art donaldson x you #art donaldson smut #art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig x you #patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig

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