#patrick zweig x female reader | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nottsangel · 13 days

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just friends — p.z. & a.d.

pairing: fwb!patrick zweig x fem!stanford!reader x bsf!stanford!art donaldson

warnings: smut 18+, threesome, unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex (m. and f. receiving), creampie, praise, dirty talk, everyone is really into each other

word count: 4.5k

summary: you and patrick have been secretly hooking up behind art’s back for months without him suspecting a thing. however, everything changes when art unexpectedly walks in on you both.

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“Fuck!” you cursed when your trembling, non-dominant hand holding the nail polish applicator accidentally painted your skin bright red with a rogue flick. Hastily shoving the applier back into the glass bottle, you reached for a tissue, carelessly splashed some nail polish remover on it, and tried to fix the mess as best as you could. You squinted your eyes as you dabbed the remover-soaked tissue on your skin, the sun gradually setting and the chilly evening summer breeze feeling pleasant against your skin in your humid Stanford dorm room.

“That’s… better.” you mumbled to yourself as you held your hands in front of you, admiring your freshly painted nails with a satisfied grin, when three loud knocks on your dorm room door resonated through the room, making you jump and let out a small squeal in surprise, jolting you out of your trance.

Hastily, you tucked away your nail polish supplies before another set of impatient knocks echoed through the space. “Coming!” you yelled out, leaping towards the door with a rush of excitement coursing through your body, knowing exactly who was waiting on the other side.

You carefully grasped the handle, ensuring not to ruin your fresh nail polish, and pulled the door open with a beaming smile. In front of the door opening, your best friend stood with his hands in his pockets and a broad grin that widened when he saw your excited expression.

“Patrick!” you exclaimed, holding your arms out as he swiftly wrapped you in a hug, lifted you from the ground, and spun you around while casually closing the door with his foot. “Careful, careful! I just painted my nails!” you grumbled, quickly checking your nails with a concerned frown before he set you back down on the ground.

“You were getting all dolled up f’me? You didn’t have to, you know.” You rolled your eyes, his cocky attitude already surfacing after approximately ten seconds. “Oh, shut up. And uhm, If you didn’t know already, I’m actually seeing someone. Stanford has some pretty cute guys, surprisingly.”

Patrick narrowed his eyes, closely observing your face with a serious expression before a wide grin broke out. He chuckled while shaking his head, his eyes briefly drifting away from yours before he firmly gripped your jaw, “You’re fucking lying.” A small smile tugged at your lips, unable to maintain your poker face any longer. Having been best friends for so long, it was easy for both of you to spot a lie.

“I mean, obviously you’re not seeing anyone. C’mon baby, we both know no one can fuck you as good as I can.” he taunted, his voice low and raspy, before he stepping closer to you until you’re merely inches away from each other, the smirk on his face gradually fading.

His eyes looked right into yours, then shifted to your lips as he licked his own before abruptly cupping your face with both hands and pressing his lips to yours hungrily. His mouth was warm against yours, a mingling of passion and urgency as teeth clashed briefly and tongues fought for dominance while you could taste the faint hint of cigarettes mixed with minty gum.

You were well aware of the risks that came with being friends with benefits, but god, it was so fucking addictive. Patrick had a way of making you feel like none of your ex-boyfriends ever had, which kept you coming back for more.

And since the two of you first hooked up at a party, both intoxicated and horny, a few months have passed of you continuing as friends with benefits without any issues yet. You both agreed right away to keep it a secret from your other best friend, Art, fearing it might complicate things between you three or potentially ruin your close friendship. And so far, it worked out just fine, and everything between you three remained as normal as ever.

“Have you seen Art already?” You questioned as you broke the kiss, making him whine as his rough hands wandered all over your body, reaching your waist.

“Hmm, what? Art? No, no, not yet. I— uh, I have more important things on my mind first.” He snickered, his signature smirk spreading across his face, before swiftly pushing you onto your bed, causing you to bounce lightly on the mattress as you gazed up at him through your eyelashes, taking in his athletic shape. You noticed he had grown more muscular since the last time you saw him, nearly making you drool at the sight of his biceps flexing as he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it aside, revealing his defined abs.

He then fumbled with the buttons of his trousers, his impatient and hurried manners only slowing him down instead, making him groan in frustration before finally yanking his trousers off and kicking them to the side. Your eyes were instantly drawn to his tented boxers, with precum forming a wet patch on the fabric as he approached you on the bed, causing you to unconsciously spread your legs open.

“Fuck, I haven’t gone a day without thinking about you, you know that? Your sweet mouth, your perfect tits, your pretty pussy. You have no idea how much I’ve looked forward to this moment.” he whispered with a raspy voice, your floral perfume filling his senses as he removed your top, the soft material gliding over your head, and then did the same to your shorts, his movements clumsy and uncoordinated, before tossing them to the ground, leaving a pile of scattered clothes on the floor of your dorm room.

“So… what? you’re telling me that you haven’t fucked any girls on tour? At all?” You asked sceptically with a raised eyebrow as he knelt before you on the bed, his lips slightly parted with a sly smile on his face as he admired your stunning body, a red lace lingerie set perfectly hugging your figure, his eyes scanning every inch of you. “Shit. You’re so fucking hot.” he chuckled softly, shaking his head in disbelief that someone as hot as you would want to have sex with him.

“Baby, trust me when I say the only thing I’ve fucked these past few weeks was my own hand while thinking about you.” he assured you as his head lowered to your neck, but you caught him off guard when you swiftly pushed him off, causing him to land on his back beside you before straddling his lap, grinning down at him. He groaned at your sudden dominance, a smug smile playing on his lips as his wandering hand moved to your ass, roughly squeezing it as he gazed up at you.

“Hmm, really? While thinking about me, huh? That’s cute.” You whispered while grinding your hips right on top of his boner, the sensation of your swollen clit rubbing against him making you grow wetter with each passing second, desperately needing to feel him inside of you after weeks of not seeing him.

“Oh c’mon, baby. Don’t act like you haven’t been doing the same. I know for a fact you’ve been using that pink toy of yours while moaning my name every time you came.” He taunted, then proceeded to imitate you mockingly by moaning his own name in a high-pitched tone. Dickhead. He knew you too well.

“Oh, fuck you, Patrick.” You playfully slapped him on the chest with a sheepish smile on your face, neither denying nor confirming anything as he cockily stared up at you with half-lidded eyes. “Only if you ask nicely, sweetheart.”

The smirk on his face quickly faded as you unexpectedly quickened your movements and lowered your head towards his neck, planting sloppy kisses along his jawline before nibbling on his earlobe, causing him to groan and buck his hips up in desperation.

You teasingly moved your mouth towards his, ghosting your lips against his and making him reach for you desperately, causing you to smirk. He bit his lip, staring at you with hunger in his eyes, until you finally gave in and kissed him eagerly, your eyes fluttering shut as your lips met his. Smacking noises along with soft moans filled the room, fully immersed in the moment, unable to think about anything else but his roaming hands roughly exploring your half-naked body as you lustfully made out.

Suddenly, the door burst open, jolting you both out of your trance as you quickly broke the kiss, a string of saliva still linking your lips.

Your heart leapt in your throat as you saw your best friend, Art, standing frozen in the doorway, his jaw dropping and his face turning red with one hand still tightly clutching the door handle. A hot wave of embarrassment crashed over him, and none of you dared to move— Patrick stared at Art with wide eyes, while Art's blue eyes darted between the two of you.

Both Patrick and Art remained frozen, too embarrassed and shocked to move. But you— you stayed put for a different reason. You were intrigued by how this scene would unfold, silently waiting for one of them to speak, a spark of mischief dancing in your eyes.

“Oh my god. Sorry, I— uh, I didn’t know you guys— I didn’t know you guys were, uhm, together.” Art stammered, finally breaking the silence as he awkwardly scratched the back of his head, his wide eyes unsure where to look and his lips tightly pressed together into a thin line.

“No, no, we aren’t, I promise! This is just— It’s like— we’re—” Patrick stammered, trying his best to come up with an excuse but failing miserably, so you quickly cut him off, “We aren’t together.” You remarked with a casual indifference, sitting up straight on Patrick’s lap now with your hands resting on his bare chest for support. Art finally mustered the courage to meet your gaze, one eyebrow raised in confusion and his lips parted as if to speak, but he was too dumbfounded to find the words.

“We’re just… you know, friends who… occasionally have sex.” You shifted your gaze back to Patrick, who snapped out of his frozen state and inhaled a deep breath, his cheeks flushing bright red, clearly unsure how to react. “I wanna die right now.” Patrick muttered through clenched teeth, his voice barely audible as he slowly dragged his hands over his red face in embarrassment.

You returned your attention to Art again who hadn’t moved an inch, still awkwardly standing there. A cunning smile tugged at your lips as you took in the scene. “So are you just going to watch like a fucking creep or are you actually going to join us?”

“What!?” Art, blurted out, eyes wide with disbelief as he swallowed hard, the sound of the gulp almost audible in the stunned silence. “You should, uh… come here and join us— As friends, of course.”

From your peripheral vision, you noticed Patrick's face gradually light up as soon as you suggested Art to join you, his excitement clearly visible. It was obvious, really— Patrick had always been attracted to Art. You could see it in the way he teased him, the smile that appeared whenever Art entered the room, and the subtle touches here and there. So, just before Patrick arrived, you had texted Art, asking him to meet you both in your room in ten minutes. But Patrick didn’t need to know that. To him, this all was simply a perfect accident.

“Uhm… I, uh— yeah, okay. I mean, sure.” Art let out an awkward chuckle and nodded slightly, the tension he was feeling gradually washing away and his stance slowly relaxing, though he still hadn't fully processed what he'd just walked in on, but he was more than eager to join.

He closed the door behind him and made his way towards you both, his eyes unintentionally darting between your half-naked body and Patrick’s tented boxers, before sitting on the edge of the bed as you rose from Patrick’s lap.

“I can’t believe you guys left me out of this.” He joked, but there was a hint of seriousness in his tone, which made you gaze at him with a sympathetic expression as you straddled his lap, hands resting on his toned shoulders.

“We’re sorry, really. It wasn’t… intentional. But I promise we’ll take good care of you now, okay?” you whispered softly, your sharp nails grazing over the skin of his neck before moving to the hem of his shirt. In one swift motion, you pulled it over his head and tossed it aside.

“Well, you better. I mean, you both have a lot to apologise for here, just saying.” Art teased, a challenging tone in his voice now as you could feel his erection growing bigger right beneath your dripping core. Patrick now sat beside Art, wasting no time as he attached his lips to Art’s neck and planted wet kisses while whispering softly against his skin, “We didn’t mean to. It just— it just happened, you know? But uhm… we’ll make it up to you.”

Art could only moan in response, strangled noises escaping his mouth as you began to slowly move your hips back and forth right on his painfully hard boner. His roaming hands explored your body with caution and eagerness, while his blue eyes stared down at your barely covered figure with his mouth slightly agape, giving him a perfect view of your cleavage. “Oh my fucking god.”

You then firmly gripped his jaw as your mouth slowly drew closer to his, causing him to shift his gaze back up, half-lidded eyes staring at you before your soft lips met his. Your bodies pressed together as his mouth moved against yours with an unrestrained passion while Patrick sloppily placed love bites all over Art’s neck and collarbones, whispering soft apologies against his skin.

Art felt as if he were in heaven as he sat on the edge of the bed, a warm glow spreading through him. The soft smacking noises of your and Patrick’s lips seemed to blend perfectly with his racing heart as his cheeks heated up, savouring every second of the moment.

You then grasped Patrick’s jaw, pulling his head toward yours and Art’s, inviting him into the kiss. Soon all three of you were entangled in the kiss, tongues moving against each other, fueled by the pent-up sexual energy between the three of you that finally seemed to burst. The world around you faded as Patrick’s lips pressed against yours with a hunger that was soon matched by Art’s, both of them eagerly moving their tongues against each other’s and yours while yearning for more.

Art's hand glided over your bare back, pausing at the clasp of your bra. He skillfully unclasped it with one hand, slipping it off your shoulders and throwing it aside, your bra quickly replaced by his firm hand. You softly moaned into their mouths at the feeling of Art kneading your breasts, causing him to slyly smirk into the kiss, meanwhile Patrick's hand travelled to between your thighs, trailing over your clothed cunt and feeling your wetness through the fabric.

You gently pulled away from the kiss, your mouth parting from theirs as quick breaths left your swollen lips. Gazing at your two best friends kissing before you, you carefully lifted yourself from Art’s lap.

Both of them were lost in their own world, lips still attached to each other as they hungrily kissed each other, the passion in their kiss so intense and urgent that they didn’t even notice you breaking the kiss. A mischievous smirk spread across your face as you slowly dropped down to your knees in front of them. Your eyes remained locked on the boys as sighs and moans echoed throughout the room, the hunger and longing for one another overtaking them both.

Your hands eagerly grasped at Art’s pants as you fumbled with the buttons, causing him to break the kiss and snap his head towards you, finally jolting him out of the trance and, for the first time, realising that you had pulled away from the kiss. “Why are you stopping? Go on, continue.” You ordered, Art’s hips instinctively bucking up so you could pull his pants down. Patrick was the first to resume the kiss, his hand gliding against Art’s jaw as he guided him back towards him, their lips meeting once again.

Both of them were now sitting in only their boxers, their erections clearly visible as they were making out heavily. A sense of power surged through you as you attentively gazed up at them and palmed them through their boxers at the same time, noticing their bodies instantly tensing up at your touch as they moaned into each other’s mouths. After a short while, you freed them both from their last piece of clothing, their erections jumping free against their abs with precum leaking from the top.

“Gonna make my boys feel so fucking good.” You murmured as you wrapped your hands around both of them and simultaneously pumped their cocks at a slow pace while licking your lips, nearly drooling at the sight in front of you.

You drew your head closer to Patrick’s cock first, starting by gently licking the tip and feeling him melt under your touch before you wrapped your lips around him, hollowing your cheeks. He let out a loud moan in Art’s mouth and gripped the sheets when feeling your head bob up and down on his erection. You made sure to flick your tongue over the pink tip at the same time, knowing exactly what drove Patrick crazy.

Then, you withdrew from Patrick and moved to Art who was eagerly waiting to feel your warm mouth around him after seeing how Patrick reacted to your touch. Your tongue moved along the length of his shaft before reaching the tip, swirling your tongue over the most sensitive part. A string of curse words flowed softly from his mouth as your lips wrapped around his cock and pushed yourself down on him until you felt him touch the back of your throat, all while your other hand stroked Patrick’s cock at a fast pace.

Groans and shattered breaths escaped both their lips as you alternated between sloppily sucking them both off, saliva running down your chin while using your hand on the one that wasn't in your mouth at the time, bringing them closer and closer to their release.

The kiss between them grew more heated and sloppy with each passing second, and they were both desperate to let go, but you abruptly stopped right before they could. Both of their heads snapped in your direction with disappointed expressions on their flushed faces, panting heavily as you gazed up at them with a sly smile.

“Not yet. I want you to cum inside of me. Both of you.” you murmured as you gazed up at them through your eyelashes with your lips slick and swollen. The sight of you kneeling in front of them, spit tracing down your chin and making a mess all over your tits as you stared up at them with large, doe-like eyes could make them cum on the spot. A soft oh my god slipped from Art’s lips as he fixed his gaze on you with a mesmerised grin, causing Patrick’s eyes to shift from you to Art, a knowing smile forming on his lips, chuckling as he noticed his enchanted expression.

“Art looks like he’s already about to cum, baby. Help the poor guy out.” Patrick chuckled, causing Art to snap out of his trance and lightly push Patrick to the side, his cheeks heating up because it was true— he was so fucking close already.

You rose to your feet, slipped your soaked underwear down and stepped out of them, before gently pushing Art onto the bed, making him lie flat on his back. Patrick moved behind you, his eyes fixed on your figure as you hovered over Art’s lap, your hands pressing against his chest and your wetness dripping onto him.

“You want me to fuck you, Art? ‘Cause I don’t know, I’m just… not fully convinced yet.” You taunted, his mouth slightly agape in mesmerisation as he stared up at you. “You’re such a fucking tease, you know that?“ You raised an eyebrow at him with a naughty grin dancing on your lips, waiting for him to say the words you so badly wanted to hear. “Fuck baby, you have no idea how bad I need you. I want you to fuck me, please.”

With a satisfied smile, you lined his cock up to your entrance and slowly sank down, feeling him gradually fill you up and stretch you out completely, causing you to hiss with pleasure. Art threw his head back at the sensation, and his hands instinctively moved to your hips, gripping them firmly to prevent himself from cumming straight away. “Is this okay?” You asked, slowly rolling your hips on top of him and resting your hands on his chest for support. “Yeah, that’s— fuck, that’s amazing. Please— keep going, baby.”

“Yeah, she feels good, huh?” Patrick chuckled, a smug grin spreading across his face as he reached around to massage your tits from behind, teasing your sensitive nipples while you leaned against his shoulder. Your hand found its way to his cock and began to stroke him slowly, causing him to moan into your neck and leave a trail of kisses.

“So fucking good, oh my god. I can’t believe you’ve kept her to yourself all this time, man.” Art replied, before letting out a hitched breath as you slowly began to rhythmically move up and down on him. The curve of Art’s cock allowed him to rub against your g-spot so perfectly, it caused your eyes to roll to the back of your head and let out a loud moan, one hand resting on his chest and the other one pumping Patrick’s erection at a fast pace.

You murmured a soft come here to Patrick, beckoning him to move closer to Art. You let go of Patrick and took Art’s hand, guiding it towards Patrick’s cock before wrapping his hand around it firmly.

“Make him feel good.” you murmured, and Art quickly obliged as he began to move his hand up and down on Patrick’s cock, allowing you to focus on the movements of your hips. Your fingers gently trailed over Art’s abs all the way to his lips, before sticking them in his mouth and forcing him to suck on your digits. Art’s eyes fluttered shut at the sensation of your cunt squeezing him so tightly, meanwhile, Patrick’s stared at him through half-lidded eyes and his mouth agape, making it even more obvious to you that he has been waiting for this moment for a long fucking time.

Sensual moans and grunts from all three of you filled the room as you moved your hips at a fast pace, and you’re so certain other people in the building could hear you, but at this moment, you couldn’t care less.

Patrick’s hand moved down to where your and Art’s bodies connected and began massaging his balls, only adding to the intense pleasure Art was already feeling, causing him to grip the sheets.

“I’m not— I’m not gonna last long.” Art cried out, biting his lip as he was nearing his release. “Let go, baby. Wanna feel you cum inside of me.” You could feel his cock twitch at your words before he let out a choked sob and painted your walls white, cumming as deep into you as possible. “Good boy.” you whispered as you cupped his flushed face with your hands and kissed him, giving him time to recover from his orgasm as he whispered against your lips, “So fucking good, oh my god.”

You then slowly lifted yourself off his cock, a mixture of your juices and his sperm dripping down your thighs, but Patrick quickly moved behind you as soon as he noticed, grabbing your hips and hungrily sucking on your neck. “Let me help you finish, pretty girl. You want that? Hmm?”

A soft please was all you could get out before he positioned himself behind you and pushed in with one quick thrust, too impatient to take it slow since he was already so fucking close to his release. When he was balls deep inside of you, he wrapped his bicep around your neck and pulled you up, your back resting against his sweat-soaked chest.

“Get— fuck, get under her, Art.” Art instantly understood as he moved his head directly under your body and wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking it eagerly while Patrick began to move inside of you. He quickly set a steady but rough pace, causing you to arch your back as he massaged your inner walls so perfectly, strangled noises escaping your lips. “Oh— oh my fucking god.”

It was so fucking messy— Patrick pounding into you while Art’s cum was still deep inside of you, causing a mixture of both Art’s cum and your juices to drip down onto Art, who was ferally sucking on your swollen clit, making you moan both their names loudly over and over again.

Patrick’s focused gaze was fixed on his cock disappearing into your body, and it felt like a dream come true to fuck his best friend with his other best friend’s cum dripping out of you at the same time— it used to be merely a fantasy that he would think about while stroking himself late at night all alone in his room.

He groaned as his hand reeled back before slapping your ass, causing you to clench around his cock as you moaned loudly. “Oh fuck, feels— feels so fucking good.”

Your eyes fluttered shut when he continued rubbing against that one spot inside you that made your toes curl, the pleasure building as you could feel his cock twitching inside you.

“Ah, fuck, fuck, fuck! I’m— I’m gonna cum” you cried out, brows knit together as you felt your release approaching. “Fuck, cum for us, baby.” Art moaned into your cunt, his tongue moving faster against your sensitive clit.

Another forceful thrust and your orgasm struck you, causing you to see stars as your vision blurred, your nails digging deep into Patrick’s arm. His hips began to stagger, losing rhythm, and you knew he was close too before you felt a pool of warmth inside of you as he filled you to the brim with his cum. A string of curse words left his lips as his grip around your body tightened when he felt your body go limp, trying his best to hold you up while slowly moving his hips and riding out his high.

Art lay back down on the bed again, sensing that you were about to collapse, and you soon did, falling right on top of his body, and giving Patrick a perfect view of your cum-dripping cunt.

“Oh well that was..” Art began, as Patrick chimed in, “Yup.” “And that.” “I know.” “And THAT.” “Yeahhh.” “Just, don’t you guys fucking dare leave me out of this next time!” Art demanded, his tone firm with his chest still heaving up and down. “Got it, no more secrets from now on. Right, Patrick?” you reassured Art, then glanced back at Patrick. “Yeah, I mean… both our cum is literally, like, dripping out of you, baby. I don’t think we can ever go back to normal after this.”

thank you for reading !! comments and reblogs are very much appreciated ♡

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tags (join here): @maizweig @swamp-box @oceandriveab @starkeysprincess @unhingedbanks @imawhoreforu @mcugurl @skylerwhitwyo @nottsbabydoll @hearts-4-kai @takaosin @imbabycowboy @mitskilover23 @kiiwizz @paulaiguess @midwestprincesss @dodgesgirl @head-slut-in-charge @badesire @parkerloves

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diorchids · 10 days

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PUT 'EM IN MY MOUTH. PLEASE?

★ patrick zweig x reader !

sex with your fingers in his mouth.

cw: unprotected sex, established relationship, university!patrick, fingermouthing, sub!patrick, praise kink, fem!reader, tennisplayer!reader, swearing, dumbification (well… sorta kinda!)

patrick loves your fingers. on the court, you’d stick your middle up with a smile when he’d loudly critique your serve, and that made him oh, so hungry.

“pat… you were being so needy today, weren’t you?” you teased, squeezing his thick cock as you spoke. he nodded, staring at your body perversely with no shame.. "i was… i…” he stammered, reaching up to grab onto your hips as you lowered yourself onto his drooling cock.

“so—so wet, mama,” he groaned, feeling the tip of his cock pushing into your tight entrance. he loved this—whatever it was. fucking every day after classes becoming a regular thing for you two. today was like any other.

you sunk onto him perfectly, slick cunt swallowing his swollen length as you cooed to him in his dazed state. he moaned loudly, feeling his cock being squeezed and caressed by your tight walls, making him tremble from the mere feeling. "oh… fuck… you're so tight, so perfect," he praised, his hands gripping your hips firmly as he starts to thrust upwards, filling you.

you slowly snaked your fingers up his chest, stopping just under his mouth before he opened it immediately for you to stick them in.

he closed his eyes and lovingly sucked on your fingers, tasting you while moaning in pleasure. “could tell you need this, hm, pat?” his poor cock twitched deep in your walls as he bucked his hips up into you. he looked up at you, eyes full of pure desperation as you pushed your fingers deeper into his mouth. “needed this so bad.”

“that’s good. you deserve it, pat.”

he groaned as he felt his cock being buried deeper into you, your long fingers being pushed farther into his mouth, you making him experience waves of overwhelming pleasure. "mhm… fuck… that's so good…" his muffled moans were beautiful, hips thrusting faster as his cock twitches in excitement. the way you’d scissor his tongue between your fingers and grind your hips at just the right angle pushed him over the edge.

“bet you wanna cum… been holdin’ off, need to let go,” you pushed your digits deeper into his mouth, reaching his throat as his eyes threatened to squeeze shut, but he couldn’t miss this. the view of you—so god-like on top of him, boobs bouncing as you fucked yourself on him, fingers drawing back and forth in his throat—made his dick twitch one last time. you’re too much.

he looked up at you, his eyes needy, running over your body.. "that’s it, give it to me, pat," you nodded as he pumped deeper into you, rubbing your swollen clit with one hand as the other swirled around his tongue.

at your disgusting words, he felt his climax building inside him, his balls tightening and his cock throbbing deep inside your velvety walls. "cummin!" he groaned, his thrusts becoming more urgent and desperate as he felt himself reaching the edge. "f-fuck!"

he let out a loud moan as he felt himself releasing inside you, filling you with his hot, thick cum. "s-so good…" he panted, his hips still thrusting as he rode out his orgasm. "you're so fucking good…”

your roommate found you two passed out, his arms wrapped around you as you slept soundly.

hot damn, you were addictive.

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hollandsfavbabe · 11 days

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Wet & Wild

pairing: art donaldson x reader

synopsis: in which you, a swimmer, and art, a tennis champ, change each other's lives for the better when you challenge his match-like stance on life

warnings: smut build up, porn with a plot, making out, cursing, frat party, art being stupid, happy ending dw, two parts because I cannot condense my writing for the life of me

word count: 4.0k

masterlist

“Swimmers…”

You curled your fingers around the rough end of the diving board, unconsciously holding your breath as you readied for the starting noise. The pool glinted below you, reflecting light from the glaring sun above that sparkled like the blue glitter polish on your toenails. But you ignored it, blocking out anything that wasn’t the signal as you lowered your neck.

“Take your marks…”

There it was. You tensed as the official hovered her finger over the mic button. She was about to send you off and there could be no hesitation once she did. Any second now.

“GO!”

You were already under as the crowd started cheering. Two laps,100 meters, that’s all that it took and you had already conquered a quarter of the length by the time you came up for your breakout strokes. You cut through the smooth pool surface leaving white water waves in your wake. You tried not to let your gaze stray anywhere away from the tiled black line at the bottom of the pool as you felt the competition slipping behind you.

As the wall comes into view at the other end of the 50 meter pool, you take your first breath of the race and pause your strokes for only a second to perform a nearly perfect flip turn. You only have one more length back before it’s over and you can claim the medal that is rightfully yours as you come up from your last breakout. Arms pulling and legs kicking almost frantically, you’re almost there, so close you can sense the touch pad waiting for you at the end. You zoom past the flags and…

“I can’t believe I lost by less than two tenths of a second!” you groan, taking a swig from the Heineken one of your teammates had handed you when you arrived earlier. More than 12 hours had passed since your race and yet you couldn’t stop thinking about your unexpected loss. It had plagued you still as you had made your way to the party a random fraternity had thrown, though your team considered it a celebration after the Stanford swim team took home another champion title. It was small in comparison to the larger meets you had won in the past, but it was a reason to stay out past the curfew your coach imposed on you. And any reason to stay out was good enough for you.

“You’re not actually upset about that, are you?” Chloe asked, one of your teammates who competed in the endurance free events. While you would consider yourself close to nearly every girl who swam with you, Chloe was more of an instant best friend.

You shake your head as she sips on her own beer. Unlike you, she had opted for a brand with a higher alcohol percentage as she was unafraid of hangover ridicule that inevitably awaited her at your next morning practice.

“Of course not. You know me, winning is only a plus. I just can’t believe I got so close to the record!”

It was true. You didn’t so much mind losing the first place prize to the opposing team in such an insignificant meet. What really had you grinding your teeth was the fact that you had only been a half of a second away from the official Stanford record. You weren’t sure where you lost that time in your race, whether it was one of your two breaths or if you needed to dive further out, but you were set on remedying every part of your race until the problem was solved. Your next meet was only a week away and unlike this one, it would be a much bigger deal.

“You got that girl,” Chloe assured you, patting your shoulder in a comforting manner. “Half a second ain’t nothing for you.”

“I hope so. I’m not missing any more practices until I get it.”

Your conversation was disrupted as the room suddenly erupted in cheers, people gathering around the entrance as newcomers entered. You turned your head towards the noise, searching for whoever could elicit such a response.

You caught sight of him right away, a man you had never seen before though immediately prayed you’d never lose sight of. He was tall, his head covered in light blonde curls that were well trimmed to not hang over his hooded eyes. He was attractive, no doubt, but there was more to him than looks. There had to be. Anybody had to be more than attractive to get applause in a place like Stanford, especially within the frat parties.

“Who is that?” you nudged Chloe in his direction. She was normally more up to date than you on the campus celebrities as she didn’t get swallowed up by her swimming commitments as often as you. Chloe nearly choked on her drink as she saw him, turning back to you with a befuddled expression.

“You don’t know Art Donaldson? He’s like the most promising tennis student to ever play here.”

You furrowed a brow, staring at Chloe as if she had said something incredibly stupid.

“Do I look like I watch fucking tennis?” you gestures to your hoodie that clearly bore the words ‘Stanford Swimming and Diving’.

“Let me put it this way,” Chloe started, unoffended as always. “He’s already won the Junior US Open in the doubles category. He got second in the singles and at the rate he almost qualified for the real thing.”

“What’s stopping him?” You asked, looking back in the direction of the man who had now settled on the dance floor with a drink. You sensed a catch in Chloe’s explanation.

“That.”

Chloe pointed to the only television in the house that was conveniently showing a rerun of one of the man’s, Art’s, matches which from the date you could tell happened the same time as your meet. He was amazing, more skilled than any of the few players you had ever watched before, but even you, someone who knew nothing about tennis, could tell that he was playing like something was holding him back. Every ball out of his reach skirted to the fence behind him until he eventually lost. You couldn’t understand how a Junior US Open champion could miss shots that were arguably hard, but reasonable for a professional. There had to be more to it than what lay on the surface and as a swimmer you couldn’t stop the urge to dive in deeper.

“Oh no,” Chloe smirked. She knew you too well to miss when you were after something you wanted. And you weren’t sure by which mystical force you were being pulled, but you started to gravitate away from her. “You’re going to go after him, aren’t you?”

“I’ll be right back, I’m just gonna do a walk around.” you promised, standing from your couch seat beside her, though you were both certain she wouldn’t see you again until practice the next day.

“Good luck.”

You were careful not to approach him directly, instead jumping into a conversation with a couple of your teammates who happened to be chatting in his vicinity. After several minutes of receiving congratulations for your attempt at the record, the group surrounding Art had finally dispersed leaving him alone with his drink on the floor. Lucky for you, by the time he was without a crowd to bypass, your group had moved on to much more nonsensical topics. It was then, by chance or fate as you believed, that he just so happened to bump into you, forcing your drink out of your hand and his attention onto you.

The glass of your Heiniken sank to the group, shattering into a million dazzling pieces of green glass, but you were able to block it out with the focus of a swimmer as you felt his stare on you.

Through the flashing lights you were able to make out the shape of his face better, mapping out sharp jawlines and chiseled cheekbones. You decided then you preferred this Art, the one who smiled at you anxiously over his moving body on the tennis channel and by the slight intrigue on his face, you could tell he felt similarly.

“I’m so sorry,” he professed, looking down at the mess of glass behind you before his blue eyes again met yours “You okay?” He had to shout over the loud music, guilt evidently rushing through him as if he had shoved you to the ground rather than accidentally causing you to drop your nearly empty bottle.

“I’m fine,” you assured him. “Art, right?”

Art nodded, leaning in closer to you so that he could hear you over the blaring club music.

“Do I know you?” he asked, in awe that you knew his name as if it wasn’t being broadcasted all over the Stanford sport program.

“Not yet,” you laughed, pointing to the screen where you had just seen him, watching as a wave of embarrassment washed over him as they replayed the portion of the match where he lost it all, unbeknownst to you. “I was watching your game. You’re really good.”

“You play?”

“Not tennis.” you gestured to the logo on your hoodie, hoping the disco lighting wasn’t enough to distort the clear waves of the swimming logo.

“Oh wow,” he marveled. “I didn’t even know we had a swim team.”

“What can I say? My sport’s not quite as popular as yours.” you shrugged, shooting him a smile.

“We’ve really gotta get you another drink.” Art pointed out as he took a swig of his own beer.

“Sure,” you agreed. “I just have to take care of this first.”

You turned around to the glass mess that waited for you only to find that your teammates had already handled it in the time you had spent getting introduced to Art, leaving the two of you plenty of time to get acquainted, mess free. You caught sight of them across the room sitting next to Chloe, smirking at you as you looked their way. You rolled your eyes at the sight.

Art had his arm offered out to you when you turned back to him, a guarantee that the two of you wouldn’t get separated on the floor as you headed into the kitchen. It’s there that the seconds fade into elongated hours as you get to know more about each other. You told Art all about your life on the team and why swimming was your calling out of all sports while he spilled to you every tennis affiliated memory from his childhood where you learned he attended a special boarding school for the sport. You made note of his humility as he never once mentioned his success on the Junior US Open and the high level he can play.

You finish the soda Art had gotten for you as the music in the main room increases in volume, forcing you to crane your neck in order to talk in his ear, leaning in so close that you can smell his cologne. He’s not much taller than you, but it’s enough to make a difference.

“I can’t hear anything with this music,” you admitted, speaking at a timbre that’s loud enough to be audible to Art without bursting his eardrums. “Do you wanna move somewhere else?”

You knew Art was joining you when he looked at you with consideration. But it was impossible for you to know exactly what he was thinking, staying ignorant to the fact that he supposed after losing his match and an evening with Tashi due to another scheduled Patrick reappearance, what did he have left to lose? He wouldn’t normally do this, but you look like the perfect contender for a brand new game.

“Let’s go upstairs.” he nodded towards the stairs to your left, accepting your invitation. “It won’t be as loud up there.”

And so you both made your way up the frat house staircase, passing by closed door after closed door until you finally found a vacant bedroom. While you don’t know who lives there, it was tidy enough for you to neglect caring as you followed Art inside and shut the door behind you.

“I don't think I ever caught your name, by the way.” Art stated as he took a seat on the bed in the center of the room, leaving a space for you beside him..

“Oh, I didn’t say.” you chuckled in realization as you sat beside him, your name falling from your lips as you met the lumpy mattress.

“And this is your reward party?” he wondered, a thought you can’t help smiling at as you shake your head.

“Definitely not,” you took another swig from your bottle. “I don’t think there’s any real reason behind this besides to fuel college memories. If anything, they’d be celebrating you. You’re like famous right?”

Art’s gaze moves to the shag carpet below as he shakes his head of blonde curls, disappointment shrouding his face.

“Not quite,” he disagreed, his eyes meeting yours once more. “I don’t know if you saw the whole thing, but my match today wasn’t anything to celebrate.”

“Why not?”

“Because I lost.”

He stated it like it was obvious which only confuses you as a swimmer. All the work and dedication he must put into his sport all to think there was no yield. You couldn’t imagine basing your pride off of winning and winning alone when there were so many other components to competing.

“So?”

He’s startled by your nonchalance towards losing, something so foreign to him it isn’t even a refreshing take.

“So?” he repeated. “So I failed today. I let my team down. I let Tashi down.”

Tashi. You’ve definitely heard that name before. Though you don’t know much about the inner workers of tennis, everyone and their mother in the state of California knows who Tashi Duncan is. She’s the most famous person on campus, in and out of the tennis world. You didn’t know her personally, only ever seeing her when walking between classes. You also knew she had a boyfriend who didn’t attend Stanford from seeing them eating together. There had always been something off about her and now, with Art beside you in full self-deprecation mode, you figured you were about to find out exactly what it was.

“Is that who you were looking at?” you asked, piecing together that she must’ve been in attendance at his match. He immediately tensed at the mention, surprised you caught the simple detail. “I saw during your match. You looked like you were distracted.”

“It wasn’t just her,” he shook his head. “One of my oldest friends just flew for the weekend. He was there with her.” he paused. “They both saw me fail.”

“I’m sure they were both proud of you.” you assured, but Art was quick to set you straight as his friends didn’t operate the same way yours did.

“No, you don’t get it. I’m nothing if I don’t win.”

“Well it’s okay, you can just try again next time.”

“It doesn’t work like that. That’s not what tennis is about.”

You sensed a planted ideology in his evaluation, causing you to probe further.

“Really? So tennis isn’t just hitting balls with rackets over and over?”

“It’s more than that,” he informed you, taking no offense from your lack of knowledge. “It’s a relationship. It’s about the fight between two people. The back and forth until someone comes out on top. And even then the winning, it’s not nearly as important as the match. I didn’t just lose today, I let the crowd down. And my opponent won without the intensity of a good match. All because of me.”

You quieted as he explained, placing a careful hand on his shoulder as he finished. You felt for him, absorbing his sorrows like a therapeutic sponge, but it didn’t take a tennis expert to understand that bullshit behind his dogma. It sounded more like a manipulation technique than anything, all stemming from the same source.

“Did Tashi tell you that?”

He narrowed his eyes at you, as if your statement was any more outrageous than the lies he had been fed.

“It’s the truth.” he answered.

You weren’t sure how to get across to him, if it was even possible to crash through the wall of his beliefs in the first place, but you knew you had to try. It wasn’t right for him to harbor such disappointment over a match that did nothing to disprove his skill at his sport.

“Okay,” your voice softened as you thought of a way to challenge his theories. “Let’s change the subject. How about I tell you how swimming works?”

“Isn’t it more of the same?” he sighed, still overcomplicating his loss.

“Actually it’s very different.” you corrected.

“What do you mean?” Art asked, looking at you with the utmost intrigue.

“What if I told you that even the losers in swimming end up winning?”

Incredulous of the possibility, Art waited for further explanation.

“See like tennis, we have the players and of course only one person in each race can come out on top, but it’s not about beating the other players. Once you’re out there, it’s just you and the water. That’s the only relationship. It doesn’t matter where anyone else is, beside you, behind you, that’s not what’s not important. All that matters is how well you swim and if you lost a few seconds on the time board. Everything else is lost to the waves. And if your time is the fastest well, that’s just one big fucking bonus.”

Art sat with your words, unable to reply as he processes the possibility of winning as a loser. It’s almost too hard to imagine. You leaned closer to him, breath catching as his eyes moved down to your lips and one of his hands gently gripped your thigh.

“Really?” he asked.

You nodded, your faces so close now that your nose nudged his own.

“I didn’t win today either,” you whisper to him. “But my team screamed when I touched that wall. And do you know why?”

He waited for you to explain, eyes fluttering close for only a second as you laid a palm on his shirt, feeling the hard muscle that lay beneath. Your hands trailed to his sleeves, settling his bare skin a blaze as you take in his equally sturdy biceps.

“I almost beat a school record today. First time in 30 years if I had done it.”

��There’s no records like that in tennis.” he countered, but there was uncertainty in his tone. As if he was waiting for you to further back this new perspective. As if he was really starting to believe it.

“Then maybe you should take a page out of my book. Leave tennis in the past for now and focus on what’s here, in the present…” your lips brush over his before you mutter, “... focus on me.”

You're not entirely sure who initiated it, but before either of you could get out another word, his lips were on yours. You dove head first into the kiss, his lips melting against yours as you swipe your tongue out to catch the lingering taste of cheap beer at the edge of his parted mouth. It’s all so soft, like two cracked dolls who want nothing more than to break for the other until the intensity reaches its peak and you could feel microscopic beads of sweat forming at your brow.

Art pulled you in closer, gentle hands moving to your waist as the faint vocals of California Gurls played distantly in the background. His fingers curled into your sides, worming their way under the hem of your hoodie as they gave way to underlying desire, sparking every inch of your skin that they came into contact with.

You sighed as his teeth sank into your bottom lip. Pausing the kiss, he tipped his head back to jerk ever so lightly on your lip before allowing it to snap back into place and at once you crashed back into mouth, kissing him with a fervor you don’t remember ever feeling this intensely. Every movement, every change in the pace all worsened the heat igniting within you.

You tugged on the blonde roots of his curls that rest closest to his neck and soon enough you felt Art’s needy fingers claw at the waist back of your black athletic shorts. Though you're in desperate need of relief from the growing pool of desire at your core, you knew it was time to pull back. Art didn’t let you go so easy, his lips chasing after yours once you’ve broken the kiss, but it’s no use. You knew you couldn’t do this, at least not tonight.

“What’s wrong?” Art whispered against your lips, automatically assuming that it was his own fault rather than an independent decision of your own. It was certainly too intimate for a man you’d only just met, but you have to cup his cheek to keep from breaking as his own hands part from your skin.

You told him some form of the truth, that you didn’t think the timing was right. It’s not that you didn’t want to, you were dying to sneak another taste of his lips in and give him everything he’s ever wanted right there and then. But you couldn’t. Not when you know that it’s just another match. A distraction from Tashi. Especially not when you know that it didn’t have to be.

“We can’t do this here.”

Art face fell at your words, but he’s never been one to give up so easily.

“Then let’s go back to my place.” he offered, hoping it was just the atmosphere of the party that alarmed you. He wasn’t ready for you to leave.

“No, not tonight.” you frowned apologetically. “Not while you’re playing tennis.”

He stared at you in utter confusion as you stood up from your place beside him, dusting off your clothes as if you hadn’t been enjoying him all along. He didn’t understand the reasons behind your sudden switch, but he’s willing to risk it all in the heat of the moment.

“You want me to quit.” he suggested as if it’s a solution both of you are comfortable with. You turned back to him disturbed, shaking your head wildly at the proposal.

“Of course not, Art, you know that’s not what I mean,” you began, gathering an explanation that you hope will convey your reasons without making him feel like a complete piece of shit. “I don’t know what Tashi told you, but to me it sounds like she expects a winner. She’s programmed you into believing the player doesn’t matter without a title.”

You stepped an inch in his direction, close enough that you can see even the smallest details of his face, but not enough for him to touch you again.

“…but she’s forgetting that without the player, winner or loser, there is no title. Without a foundation, there is no relationship between you and the other player. And nobody can succeed if they’re scared of failure.” you explained further. You knew your words resonated with Art as his gaze turned to the stained carpet of the bedroom, but he had to pass the ball back.

“Well, you said it yourself, you don’t know Tashi.” he fired back, and you knew it’s only the tennis talking.

“You know I’m right.”

Art was silent, only proving your point. You knew you had to leave, but you had to promise him a second meeting, for him and for yourself. You wouldn’t be blocked from a happy ending by wrong timing.

“Come to my meet next weekend,” you invited him. “It’s the biggest one of the year. You should see how other sports operate.”

“I can’t see you before then?”

You almost smiled at the confirmation that his frustration wasn’t directed towards you.

“I have practice,” you shrugged. “- and so do you. You can see me again at my meet and in the meantime, just think about what I said. And know that you’re more than a loser, Art.”

You left without another word, shutting the door while silently cursing yourself for not taking the opportunity while you had it. It was very possible that you would never see the tennis star again, that every spark you felt with him in your first hour of knowing him was entirely one sided. You prayed it wasn’t true, that he had shown some feelings in return, but only time would tell. In exactly one week, you would be certain.

part two out now!!!

#art donaldson x reader #art donaldson #art donaldson x you #art donaldson x female reader #tashi duncan #patrick zweig #challengers #challengers movie #challengers 2024 #swimming #swimmer life #stanford art!!!#challengers fanfic #art donaldson fanfic #art donaldson smut #smut

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castiwls · 17 days

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my world - a.d

Paring; dad!art x mum!reader

Requested; anon

Synopsis; domestic mornings were all he'd ever dreamed off

Warnings; none

Notes;he is the definition of a girl dad. Also kinda canon diverent I guess I never named the daughter so you can pretend its his daughter from the film if u want :) reqs and inbox are open !

Masterlist

The feeling of a weight landing on your chest woke you from your sleep. A small giggle broke through the silence of the room and you felt a smile grow on your lips as the sound reached your ears.

“What do you think you're doing?” Art grinned reaching over to hook an arm around the toddler's waist. Another giggle erupted from her as he pulled her over to his chest. “I’m hungry.” She nestled her face into her father's neck as he ran a hand gently up and down her back.

“You're hungry?” He repeated watching as she raised her head with an enthusiastic nod. “Pancakes.” She grinned.

“You had pancakes yesterday missy.” You turned to face the two, pushing yourself up on your elbow. Your daughter smiled picking absently mindedly at Art’s top.

Your husband turned his head to look at you, a tired smile on his face. “But you can never have enough pancakes.” He joked using his free arm to pull you closer.

You hummed softly leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his lips before laying your head against his shoulder. Art settled further into the pillows, a content smile growing on his lips as he watched you go back and forth with your daughter for a moment.

After a moment you turned your attention to him leaning in and using a hand to cover your mouth. “What do you think.” Your eyes darted to the little girl who grinned bouncing slightly on his chest.

Art huffed slightly using the hand which had previously been rubbing her back to stop her from bouncing. “Does she get pancakes?”

Art hummed pretending to think for a moment. “I don’t know.” He grinned pressing his lips to your cheek for a moment. “Only kids who clean up their toys get pancakes.”

A small gasp left the child on his chest before she scrambled off the bed running off to her own room. “Smart.” You grinned as he turned on his side, now fully facing you.

You both knew her room would most likely be a mess of toys and blankets after she’d begged Art to build her a fort last night so she and her teddys could have a sleepover and part of you was dreading going anywhere near her room.

“Someone had to clean it.” Art pressed his lips to yours for a moment. “Plus now we have at least 10 more minutes.” He brushed his nose against yours before capturing your lips again.

This was all he’d ever wanted in life. Sure he loved tennis but he loved this so much more. A small sigh left your lips as you felt him move to press kisses along your jawline. With a gentle push to your shoulder, you rolled onto your back and Art was quick to fill the space between your legs.

After a moment he pulled back before laying his head on your chest. Art stared up at you, his eyes softening with adoration as you gently racked a hand through his hair.

“I love you.” He whispered turning his head to press a kiss to your arm, he let his lips linger for a moment before pressing another kiss and laying his head back.

“I love you more.” You smiled watching as he shook his head. “That’s impossible.”

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wyniepooh · 8 days

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Closer

you thought that you were already close with patrick and art; turns out, you could get even closer.

Boardingschool!patrick & boardingschool!art x boardingschool!reader.

it’s no secret that the three of you were close.

Everyone at school acknowledges it by joking that you’re practically their manager, because you’re on the bleachers at every practice, seated front row at every match, and whenever the game finishes, the first person they go running to is you.

in fact, you're all so close that you've developed a habit to follow them into the locker room after every practice. if anyone ever questioned your entry into the room, they’d both chime at the same time: “she’s ours.”

neither of them bat an eye when you sit down on the bench between the metal lockers and watch them get changed because it’s you, their little manager, and they didn’t ever hide anything from you.

You’d read them the daily school news, explain the daily school gossip, and update them on any homework they missed in the name of tennis practice. they’d thank you in their typical ways by ruffling your hair and throwing their sweaty shirts on you before sandwiching you in a suffocating hug.

You shriek and laugh and say, ‘stop it!’ but really, you’re too focused on the feel of their bare chests against you— slippery from sweat and hot from the heat— to care about anything else.

There’s always a brief moment after all the amusement when the laughter dissipates and you’re all just staring at each other. Your smile fades, and suddenly you’re painfully aware of their rapid breaths rising against you on either side, and the heat of it all fills the silent air with something else other than just audible breaths.

Today it’s patrick who looks over to art first, who returns his stare with pressed lips. you catch a flicker of something in their eyes, but they looked away before you could decipher it. However, it was clear that a silent agreement had been reached right in front of you. you suspect that for the first time since you transferred to the school, they were hiding something from you.

patrick breaks the silence first, turning slightly away from you to gently close his locker as he murmurs, “you know, there have been a lot of rumours on campus lately.”

You scoffed, stuffing your agenda into your bag before smoothing a hand over your hair. “Really? What kind of rumours?”

Patrick shrugged. He pulled a shirt over his shoulders, nodding his head towards art. “Rumours about us, mostly. Tell her, art.”

art purses his lips multiple rimes before speaking. “It’s just trash talk,” he pauses. patrick glances over to him one more time, flashing him a subtle glare before art finally continues, “there's talk about how the three of us are suspiciously close, or whatever.”

“I guess it’s not so much a rumour as it is true,” you responded. You tilted your head towards them both, eyes squinting with humour as you questioned, “you guys do consider us close, right? I mean, after all I do for you guys, I’m honestly glad that people are speculating and starting to appreciate my efforts.”

“It’s just,” Patrick turns back around, shuffling his feet to sit down across from you on the bench with legs on either side of the wooden plank. His hands are gathered in the middle, fingers attempting to itch closer and closer to your own without you seeing.

“We could be a lot closer, you know.”

You raised an eyebrow at Patrick’s sneaky hands, a slight smile still intact on your face as you asked, “How close can we get, pat? There’s a limit to everything. Even the sky.”

“he’s right.”

You almost jump at the sudden voice you hear in your ear. you cleared your throat as he slid closer towards your back. Art mirrored Patrick’s movements with legs on either side of the bench, but his hands fiddled with the edge of your hoodie as he rested his chin on your shoulder.

“We could be a lot closer.”

You observed the way art pressed his lips together, snuggling his face into the side of your neck as Patrick’s thumb rubbed circles on your hand. you hadn’t even registered that patrick was now grinning, guilding your unsuspecting hand towards his dark curls.

You instinctively wrap your fingers around his wet hair, and you almost gasp when you hear patrick whimper. He pants heavily against your wrist, lips tickling the tender skin as he breathes, “why don’t you come over to our dorm after classes are over?”

You shake your head, dropping your hand from his head. “I don’t think-“

“Please,” art whispers against your neck.

You close your eyes, sucking on the inside of your cheek as you sighed deeply. For a beat, you simply listen to the sound of their synced breathing, taking in the familiar smell of the locker room, and the familiar smell of them. When you open your eyes again, Patrick and art are both eagerly staring at you, pleading with silence.

You suddenly laugh, smiling uncontrollably as you lean back against art and pull patrick closer by the hand that is still wrapped around yours. patrick gladly scooches closer until his nose is practically rubbing against yours, and he returns your laughter with a chuckle of his own.

“Okay,” you mutter while glancing back at art, whose mouth was agape with something adjacent to shock.

“let’s get closer.”

a/n: “why don’t u come over to our-“ bags r packed.

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midwestprincesss · 17 days

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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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lovrre · 16 days

Text

Agreement Prt2

I wrote half of this to Need by pinegrove ♫

Art Donaldson x fem black reader

Prt1 here

Word count: 3k

Warnings: smuttt,unprotected sex, creampie,slight breeding kink if you squint. cursing (ofc) slightly domestic relationship (not with Art)and probably some other stuff.

Summary: Despite being engaged to one of the top and richest tennis players in the US, you feel unfulfilled. But everything changes when you transfer schools and meet Art Donaldson, who just can’t quit you.

Author note: I’m so glad I finished I was scared I wasn’t, but your comments gave gave me motivation. Thank you pookies 🫦 I like this one a lot more than the first one. Arts also very obsessed and in love in this one.

After twenty minutes, you finish your meal, alone. You decide to leave through a back exit to avoid the paparazzi waiting outside the hotel entrance. You stumble upon a narrow hallway and carefully make your way out, trying not to attract any attention. When you reach the entrance of the restaurant, you open the door and are greeted by a charming and seemingly empty establishment. The cozy yellow lighting, old pictures, and paintings on the walls, along with the white tablecloths and wooden woven chairs, remind you of an old Italian restaurant you and Art used to go to. You see moving in your peripheral and catch a glimpse of familiar golden locks.

You walk closer to see Art and Patrick sitting at a small square table with a vacant seat, you assume is reserved for you. Patrick with a full plate of food and Art without. "Patrick?" You question, your voice filled with suspicion as you creep towards the table. He looks back at the sound of your In voice, a smile forming on his face as he stands up, “What the hell are you doing here?” You ask, taken aback going in for a hug. Patrick returns it with a laugh before releasing from the hug slightly to look at Art.

“Ask him” You look between them confused. “I asked him to come here” Art states, adjusting in his seat. “Why?“ you ask clearly confused with the situation, “someone could see” you add your gripping the back of your chair almost afraid to sit down. “I bought the place out for an hour, it’s just us” Art reveals looking up at you. “You what?” you exclaim, a bit louder than you intended.

“I’ll explain everything in a minute, just sit” Art laughs, gesturing for you to sit down. You let out a sigh, reluctantly pulling out your chair. “Ok tell me what is going on” you say, slightly impatient. “We’ve got a plan for your marriage situation”, Patrick says, mixing his ice tea with his straw. “A plan?” you repeat, still confused. "Yes, a plan," Art confirms with a nod. Patrick takes a quick sip of his tea before opening a tan folder that he hadn't noticed before. “The private investigator dropped these off at the dorm the other day”, Patrick says, pushing the open folder towards you.

Inside were pictures of your fiancée , kissing all types of women. The worst part is, it was so obvious, he didn’t have a care in the world, every photo taken on different days in different settings. Outside, inside in the morning and at night, all different women.

You knew you shouldn't be upset, but you were, not because he was seeing other people behind your back, shit you were doing that same with Art, but it was the fact he acted holier than thou. That he continued to try and control you while actively putting your agreement at risk. “Wow…” you mutter.

Shuffling through the photos. “That’s not even all of them” Art says.

“Yeah… I accidentally left the other ones, but these are the most important ones. There’s also some paperwork underneath with names, time stamps and dates on stuff” Patrick ads. “How isn’t this everywhere?” You ask, furrowing your brow. “The investigator thinks he’s been paying them off,” Patrick says, taking a sip of his drink.

"Not that I don't want you here, but couldn't you just have faxed these over?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, yeah... but then I'd miss the match," Patrick says with a grin, taking a bite of his food. "Plus, I would never miss an opportunity to help my best buds."

"Okay, so what are we doing with these?" you ask, holding up the pictures in confusion.

"We're going to spin it," Patrick replies, still chewing his food. "My plan," Art reminds him, "my bad," Patrick laughs, still chewing his food. You couldn’t help but smile, you’d missed the three of you together.

"We're going to spin it," Art repeats, making you smile wider. "Is this why you're training with my father?" you interject . Art nods in response. "Why didn't you tell me any of this last night?"

Art didn't say anything, a knowing smile spread across his face. Patrick looks between the two of you "freaks," he jokes, "Anyway... how do you plan on spinning it?" You ask, ignoring his comment.

“We lean into the infidelity, take a couple of photos of you crying, the two of you arguing, or something like that release them”, Art explains confidently.

“But… I don’t see how this stops us from getting married, it’ll just look like I got cheated on,” you say, scrunching your brow.

“We’re hoping this, plus me winning today, will be enough to persuade the media against him?”

“You believe you can win?”

“I do,” he nodded.

“Okay… I’m down.”

“Told you,” Patrick added, still drinking his tea.

“Are you especially thirsty or something today?” you ask, tilting your head slightly watching him slurp down his tea. A second one untouched, waiting for him.

“I am actually, thank you for noticing,” Patrick says with a big smile before taking another sip. You notice Art's eyes drop to Patrick’s plate for a second time while you two are talking.  “You should eat.”  “What?” Patrick says, looking between the two of you who seemed to be having your own conversation.   “No, I’m okay,” Art says, shaking his head.  “Mike had French toast for breakfast, I think you could have-“ you cut yourself off, looking down at Patrick’s plate. “Egg and sausage.”  “You guys aren’t talking about my food?” Patrick asks, slightly disturbed by your conversation.  “Patrick, I can buy you some more damn eggs,” you assure him as Art pulls the plate from under him.  “What just happened?” Patrick asked, looking around confused with no food in front of him.  Your phone rings, and you look down to see who it is. “It’s my Dad,” you inform, excusing yourself you answering the phone as you walk out of earshot.  The two of them watch your backside as you walk away. “She still looks good”, Patrick bites his lip, leaning over to Art.   “Careful, ” Art warns.   “What? you guys can joke about but I can’t?”   “Exactly”, Art laughs, plucking him on the head.

~~~~

With a dig, the elevator door opens, releasing you to your floor. You walk to your room, opening the door with your key card. Mike is packing stuff away in his duffle bag, getting ready to see your father. You don’t acknowledge him walking past him into the bedroom,leaving the door open. You sit on the edge of the bed carefully taking off your heals, you stand up and unzip the back of your dress with ease. The dress gracefully falls into a pile at your feet leaving you in only your underwear. You step over your dress and begin looking through your suitcase located in the closet. The sound of footsteps causes you to look up to see Mike in the doorway watching you.   “Where are you going?” Mike asked, leaning on the door frame slightly. You don’t answer right away looking for your dress under your neatly folded clothes. “There’s a press meeting with Art Donaldson's team, My Dad thought it’d look good if I’d came ” you say, moving more clothes around. “You didn’t come to mine” Mike states still watching you search.  “You didn’t ask me to” you responded, pulling out a light pink dress from your suitcase. There’s a beat of silence as Mike watches your actions "and you need to change for this press meeting?” Mike asks, raising an eyebrow. "No, but I want to” you say, standing up. When you see mike's eyes roaming up and down your body, you suddenly remembered you were only in your underwear.    “Can you turn around or something” you ask, scrunching your face up in disgust. “I’ve seen more than this” Mike chuckles before obliging and turning around. You roll your eyes by stepping into your dress. “I’m sorry for how I acted this morning, I’m just stressed,” he admits.  " Really?," you hum, pulling up the straps of your dress.  "I don't want to be that guy," Mike responds, still facing away.  "But you are constantly being that guy..." you mumble, but Mike hears you.   "I won't anymore. I want this marriage to work y/n, I.”   You release a heavy sigh at his word. “You can turn around now ” You announce zipping up the side of your dress. Mike turns around and watches as you sit back on the edge of the bed putting on your heels. “You’re still going to that thing?” Mike asks with a confused expression. “What about that conversation gave off the vibe that I was no longer going?” You say pulling your stiletto over your heel.   Mike goes silently for a moment watching you walk toward the bathroom. “Like you need more makeup?” Mike scoffs. “Be honest with me are you fucking him?” He asks from behind you in the doorway while you remove a bit of smudged lipstick. “are you serious right now?” You ask staring at him through the reflection in the mirror. “I’m not a fucking idiot, I saw the way you looked at each other, and I get the feeling that’s wasn’t your first time meeting”    “Only god knows what you’re doing at that college” you can’t stop your self from laughing. “I think you’re projecting” you say walking past him towards the door, picking up your purse on the way. “Where the fuck are you going?” Mike calls out, following you.   You swing the door open and step out into the hallway. Mike trails behind and tries to grab your arm to pull you back inside. “DONT TOUCH ME!” You yell yanking your arm back. “C’mon Don’t make a scene” Mike says looking around.    “You have some fucking nerve, you know that? Your friend Isabel came up here earlier looking for you, I’m guessing you guys have a lot of fun In Detroit” you say with a smile. “When were you in Detroit again…my birthday? You ask rhetorically, Mike goes silent for a moment before responding.  "I don't know what you're talking about," he says, trying to keep his voice down. "You don't?" you question. "What about Sarah, Kim, Kate, Alex? Do you not know them either?" Mike opens his mouth, then closes it. "Yeah…" you drawl,    "they meant nothing to me... I just needed to get it out of my system before fully committing. I want this to work, I want this to be real, y/n," Mike says, trying to corner against the door in a situation similar to the one you were in with Art last night.

"That's the dumbest shit I've ever heard," you respond, attempting to push past him. He grabs you again using his strength. You had forgotten how strong he actually was. “Last warning” you say looking up at Mike. he can tell by the look in your eyes you’re serious, he doesn’t know exactly what you’re going to do but something in his gut said don’t test it. “Let. Go” you repeat one more time before a voice interrupts you.

“Is everything ok?” Patrick asked from the end of the hallway. "Yeah, everything's fine," Mike reassured with a smile, gently releasing his grip on him. "We'll continue this conversation later," Mike says, forcing a tight-lipped smile as he presses the elevator button. "No, we won't," you smile back with a wave, as the elevator door chimes and he leaves. "Are you okay?" Patrick asks, walking up to you. "Yeah, he wasn’t going to hit me, he knows better," you laugh. "I was actually more concerned about you hitting him," Patrick jokes.

“I got the picture though” he smiles, showing you a camera and clicking through the images of your altercation with Mike.”These are good, you should take them now, I’ll call Art and tell him I’m on the way” you say, pulling out your phone.

“I’ll miss the game” Patrick states with a slight pout.

“Not if you hurry.”

~~~~~

"I won't keep you much longer, just a few more questions," the female interviewer says, holding the microphone up to Art. "Was the training for this upcoming match particularly challenging?" Before the interviewer could finish her sentence, Art was shaking his head. "Not necessarily, different for sure, but not harder."

"As of now, can you confirm or deny the rumor that you have started working with Olympic Coach Dylan Y\L\N?" the interviewer asked, lifting the mic slightly closer to his mouth. "Ummm," Art hesitates, accompanied by a smile. "I think I can. Yes, Dylan is my new coach."

"So you and your opponent today have trained under the same coach?" the interviewer asks, scrunching her brow. "Yes, we have," Art nods. "One more question, is there any special woman in Art Donaldson's life right now?" the interviewer asks with a smile. The sound of camera clicking intensifies, catching Art's attention. Intrigued, the interviewer turns around as well. "She is beautiful," Art says absentmindedly, staring in the direction where you're coming from. You give small waves to friends as you walk in. "That's your opponent's fiancé... and I guess also your trainer's daughter?" the interviewer says, looking confused and turning back to face Art.

"Really?" Art asks, faking shock with a dazed expression. "Yes," the interviewer nods. "I mean.. I meant what I said, She is beautiful," Art said with a laugh, causing the interviewer to join in. His eyes never leaving you. "Does your coach know you have a crush on his daughter?" the interviewer joked, chuckling. "He might now," Art says with a laugh before giving a quiet , "Nice meeting you," as he walks away out of frame.

A short while later, you find yourself reaching for a bottle of water from a nearby table, inserting one of those adorable green straws they had. Just as you're about to take a sip, a voice catches you off guard from behind. "There you are," Art says, a smile lighting up his face as he jogs towards you. As he approaches, you can't help but notice how close he gets, almost too close.

"You're not exactly great at keeping secrets, huh?" you chuckle, taking a step back. Art smirks, "Can't two friends have a conversation?" Peeking over your shoulder at the ongoing interviews, you reply with a straw in your mouth, "We're not even supposed to be friends. You're supposed to be my Dad's client, or from what I heard your crush." You laugh, recalling a question from one of the interviewers. "You're going to get us caught," you whisper quietly into the straw.  "I understand. I can't stand next to my trainer's daughter," Art nods, "Orrr, my opponents, fiancé, but maybe can I stand close to my crush?" Art asks.   “I think you could, yeah” you nod trying to keep the smile on your face. “Crush it is,” Art says with a smile taking a step forward, yet still maintaining a slight distance. “Did you get the pictures?” Art asks his eyes falling down to your lips. “Yeah, we got them," you confirm with a nod, unable to hide your smile when you notice his lingering gaze. “So we’re in the clear?” his eyes still fixated on your lips, as if he's ready to pounce. "Not yet," you laugh, taking a step back. "We have to wait for them to go to press." Art throws his head back with a strained laugh, and you can't help but watch his Adam's apple bobs up and down. You hadn’t realized until that moment how much you wanted him, it was an all consuming need.

“Just one day," you murmur, unsure if you're speaking to Art or yourself. "Just one day," Art echoes, his eyes now fixed on your neck, his finger brushing your curls away. You watch as he exhales shakily, looking at the fading hickeys on your shoulder, barely hidden by makeup. "Just one day," you remind, removing his hand from your chest. "Just one day," Art repeats, tearing his gaze away to look back up at you. "Your car is here, Mr. Donaldson," a man in black approaches and announces.  “One minute” Art says, gesturing for another second. The man nods in acknowledgment and walks away. “Come with me?” Art asked. “I don’t think that’ll look good.” You alluded to the countless people with cameras surrounding you.  “I couldn’t care less” Art says, shaking his head slightly. “I’d kiss you right here, if you’d let me ” Arts words catch you off guard, and you take a deep breath to try to steady your heart beat.   “This planning stuff is more for you than me, so you can feel more comfortable. And I’m perfectly fine doing it,’s just …” he trails of his eyes falling back down to your lip. "Alright, I'll come," you rush out, convincing yourself it's to prevent him from kissing you right then. But deep down you knew you just wanted to be near him. You follow closely behind.  Art swiftly enters the car before you lean up, capturing you with a kiss. Before you could even fully step inside, his hand gently grasped your cheek, drawing you closer to his lips as he guided you into the vehicle. Lost in the intensity of the moment, you surrender to the kiss. practically falling inside. The sound of the car door closing behind you brings you back to reality, but the kiss continues to deepen. Suddenly, the driver rolls up the partition, creating a sense of privacy.

A sense of responsibility tugs at you, and you reluctantly break the kiss when Art's hand starts to wander up your bare leg. "We can't," you whisper, "We don't even have a condom," you add, hoping the driver couldn’t overhear.   “You’re right” Art mumbles, sitting back against the seat trying to catch his breath. “ I lost myself for a second” Art laughs, attempting to slow his heartbreak. ”After the game I’ll come to your room” you nod, looking forward trying to gather yourself. “Don’t talk about that, talk about something else” Art says his voice coming out more strained. “Like what?” You turn around and ask. Your eyes landing on the strained erection in his pants. “Oh!” You say, snapping your head back forward. The familiar ache of your core comes back, and you have to bite the inside of your cheek in an attempt to control yourself.   Against your better judgment, you take another peak. His hard shaft still straining against the fabric, you could damn near see the veins on his dick. “Can I?” You ask in a voice barely above a whisper. “Y-yeah” Art replies with a nod agjusting in his seat. You rub your hand back and forth against the Arts bulge while listen as his breath becomes more and more ragged.   Art makes a low moan and that’s enough for you to begin unzipping his pants. Against his better judgment he stops you. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah” you nod breathlessly, fumbling with his pants, pulling them down until his dick springs free. When you begin pumping his shaft, he takes in a sharp breath which causes you to smile. You savor the feeling of his heavy dick in your hand, trying to combat the thoughts of his thick long length inside you. When Art's hips buck into your hand, you fold. “I need you inside of me”, Art opens his mouth to protest and then closes, watching as you bunch up your dress around your waist, pull your panties to the side and straddle him. He grabs your waist with one hand and lines himself up with your entrance with the other.    You sink onto him with a little too loudly of a moan and Art does the same. Opening his mouth for a sloppy kiss, he doesn’t wait for you to adjust to his size, moving you up and down his dick by your waist. ”shit I-“ Art groans out a wave of pleasure hitting him. “-I can’t go back to condoms” he moaned, scrunching his brow in pleasure. You laugh and Art quickly retaliates by slamming you hard down on him. You let out a loud moan reflexively using your hand, trying to pull off slightly.  Art moves your hand out of the way, holding you down on him by your waist. “I’m serious”, Art grows leaning forward for another kiss while returning to his previous, rhythm. His words cause you to squeeze around him, and he lets out another low ground throwing his head back, breaking the kiss.    “I’m not going to last much longer” Art says breathlessly. “Just a little longer baby” you coo, leaving kisses on his Adam’s apple down his neck. “You drive me crazy, you know that” you moan feeling his pace fastest. “I do?” you feel Art smile against your cheek. You nod, falling into the crook of his neck enjoying the feeling of him fucking into you. “I want you to cum in me” you whisper, kissing the crook of his neck. “Fuck” Art groans, throwing his head back again. “You’re going to kill me” he states with a strained laugh.   You feel your release building so you decide to taunt him. ”you don’t want to fill me up?” You ask innocently, removing your head from the crook of his shoulder. Look down at him with lust, filled eyes. “Don’t” Art warns, his grip on your waist tightening, “you don’t want to give me a baby?” You huff out trying to keep your voice steady literally feeling him in your stomach. “Fuc- shit shit shitttt” Art moans holding you down onto him filling you up with his cum. His moans echoed through the car, the poor driver.    “Fuck,” Art states after a minute. “Yea fuck,” you laugh, leaving a kiss on his cheek. “I think I might have a breeding kink”. Art laughs, “Me too,” you say with a smile, leaving another kiss on his head. You feel him twitch inside you, and knowing Art, you knew he would be ready for round two in a minute. You try to get off, but he holds you tighter, keeping you stationary.   “I want it to stick” he smiles. Oh his smile, you rolled your eyes. You loved him, you knew it now, and you had a feeling he did too. You had been lying to yourself pretending you liked you didn’t care as much as he did. But at that moment you knew you never wanted anyone but him.    You glance out the window to see you were seconds away from the stadium, and then you notice your father standing on the sidewalk. “Oh my god! MY DAD HERE” you say, scurrying out of Art's lap. Art looks out the window, seeing your father standing on the sidewalk expectingly. “Shit” Art huffs, sitting up slightly, pulling up his pants, you take a wet rag next to the champagne and quickly wipe the inside of your leg. You quickly fix yourself before rushing to wipe off any remains of your lipstick off his mouth with your hand.

"Oh no, do I have lipstick on my mouth?" you ask frantically. "Nope, all clear," Art replies with a grin, planting a quick kiss on your lips. "Art," you warn, settling back in your seat. "My bad," Art chuckles, getting ready to exit the car. The car come to stop and your dad Yanks open the door.

"Hurry up, we're late. Mike's already inside," your Dad urges, When he sees you, his expression turns puzzled.

"We were heading in the same direction, so we decided to ride together," you explain before he can say anything. Your dad eyed you both suspiciously. "Alright, let's go," he says, ushering Art into the building. You wanted to say goodbye or wish him luck, and you could sense Art wanted to as well but it would be just too obvious.

You step out of the car, rummaging through your wallet. You tap on the driver's window, and he rolls it down. "Sorry about that," you apologize, handing him a 100 dollar bill before heading into the building.

Once inside the stadium you sit next to your Dad’s team which was now also partially Arts team and somehow also Mikes. Your phone buzzes and look down to see a familiar unsaved number.

“I think your Dad on to us”

“What did he say?” you text back anxiously your fingers moving fast on the keys.

“Nothing really, but i think he knows”

“Did he seem mad?”

“Not really”

“That’s good” you send, letting out a sigh you didn’t know you were holding in.

“Good luck :)” you add before stuffing your phone in your purse . Almost immediately your phone dings and you pull it back out.

“You gave me enough of that in the car ; )” you can’t help but smile at his corniness.

“You’re nasty.”

“Not as nasty as you” you’re about to laugh at his message when you hear a voice directly behind you. “You guys are actually freaks” Patrick says with a laugh jumping over the seat so he was directly next to you. “I applaud you guys for staying consistent at least” Patrick says lightly hitting you on the shoulder. “Can you mind your business” you say rolling your eyes, stuffing your phone in your purse.

“Actually I’ve been minding you two’s business all day with no pay by the way” Patrick adds. “So I think I’ve earned the right to be a little nosy” Patrick says making a pinching gesture.

“So you delivered the pictures?”

“Yes” he responded with a nod

“Thank you” you express your appreciation, turning your attention back to the court.

“Do you think he’s gonna win” Patrick asks leaning in slightly, curious to your answer.

"I hope so, but I don't know. I haven't seen him play in a while," you admit with a weak smile, the reality of the situation sinking in. "I really hope he does win," you mumble.

Author note : GUYS FEEL FREE TO COMMENT I LOVE READING COMMENTS

#black reader #art donaldson x black reader #art donaldson smut #art donaldson #challengers fanfic #challengers #Art Donaldson breeding #patrick zweig #Spotify #challengers fic #mike faist #mike faist smut #art donaldson x female reader #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson fic

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izelascendant · 13 days

Text

Sportsmanlike

Chapter 2 - Finalist Fusion

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Rating | Mature Summary | What happens after the party on Long Island. Pairing | f!Original Character x Art Donaldson x Tashi Duncan x Patrick Zweig Tags | Tennis, Competition, Love Triangles (Squares?), Jealousy, Plot, Emotional Infidelity, Eventual smut, Eventual Romance, Eventual Relationships Word Count | 4.7K Author's note | This chapter contains smut. Things get juicy, alright.

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Sportsmanlike on AO3 | Chapter 1 - US Open 2006, Chapter 2 - Finalist Fusion, Chapter 3 - Aftermath and Accolades, Chapter 4 - Stanford, Chapter 5 - Stanford, Part 2 |

Part 2 of this series Unsportsmanlike

She senses their approach and gives Tashi a subtle nudge, discreetly alerting her to their presence. Tashi turns around, her gaze meeting the boys' with a playful curiosity sparkling in her eyes. The confidence is palpable as she stands tall, exuding a sense of self-assurance. Meanwhile, she stands shyly beside Tashi, her body language more reserved, but her allure still present.

Patrick takes the lead, his confidence evident as he introduces himself. “Hi, I’m Patrick Zweig,” He struts over, his stance slightly crooked yet self-assured.

Art chimes in with a nervous chuckle, “—Art Donaldson.”

Patrick continues, his voice carrying a hint of admiration. "We saw both your matches," he remarks, eager to initiate a conversation.

Tashi interrupts with a cool and charming tone, her words tinged with a hint of intimidation. "We know who you are." Her words spark an air of mystique, leaving the boys slightly stunned yet intrigued.

"Fire and Ice, right?" She takes her turn to ask after Tashi, sipping her drink through a straw with a faint smile dancing across her lips.

Art can't help but mumble to himself quietly, "Oh my god," he whispers, his eyes fixated on her. Patrick echoes his sentiments, a knowing smile on his face as he nods in agreement. “In the flesh.”

Tashi redirects her attention toward Art, a curious gleam in her eyes. "You're going to Stanford, right?" she asks, pointing his way with her finger.

Art looks slightly taken aback, his surprise evident as he confirms, "I am. How did you know?"

As Art and Tashi continue to talk, she continues to sip her drink, shifting her weight as she feels Patrick's discreet gaze fall upon her. His lips curl upward in a subtle gesture as he steals a quick glance at her.

Art asks a question, directing her attention back to him. "What about you? You enrolled anywhere?" he inquires.

She straightens up a little, a small chuckle escaping her lips at her own uncertainty. "Oh," she shrugs, "My team tells me I could get a scholarship pretty much anywhere based on how I'm playing, but—I still don’t know.”

Patrick turns towards her, his voice lighthearted and playful. "Skip all that," he smirks, gesturing towards Art and Tashi. "You should go pro like me. Or at least give it a try."

Tashi chimes in, wrapping her arm around hers, her tone persuasive. "No, I think you should come to Stanford too," she suggests with a playfully stern expression, her suggestion backed up by her own firm belief. Art and Patrick exchange a knowing glance, recognizing the power dynamics at play in their impromptu discussion.

Art interjects with a bit of humor, raising his hands in surrender. "Two against one," he jokes, gesturing toward Patrick.

Patrick can't help but let out a hearty laugh and shake his head in response as the conversation takes a light-hearted and playful turn.

The group is immersed in a moment of silence, the air filled with a potent mixture of anticipation and uncertainty. She ponders over Tashi's intentions—aware of their mutual attraction towards the boys—but unsure about how the night will unfold. As her thoughts swirl, she willingly places her trust in Tashi's hands, prepared to embrace whatever the night might bring.

The moment of silence is broken by Patrick's words, directed towards Tashi. "Your backhand is incredible." He compliments her, and his admiration is evident. Almost simultaneously, Art speaks up, addressing her opponent, "I wanted to ask you about that last point you scored."

It's comical how Patrick and Art's observations towards each girl overlap, their words perfectly synchronized. The girls exchange a lighthearted chuckle, amused by the boys' almost synchronized timing.

Art turns away with a sheepish chuckle, his cheeks tinged with a hint of pink. Patrick, on the other hand, continues to laugh heartily as he keeps his gaze on the girls, seemingly relishing the moment.

Tashi's father interrupts them, requesting her attention with a commanding tone. "Baby, I need to steal you for a second. Over at the trophies," he instructs.

She acknowledges the request with a simple "Oh, okay," and then she brushes her dress off before giving a final glance in their direction. "I have to go take pictures; I'll be right back," she says before walking over to her father, her grace and beauty radiant as she follows him.

All three of them—the redhead, the blonde, and the brunette—are momentarily captivated as they watch Tashi walk away, their eyes following her every move. But then, as their gazes shift back from Tashi to her, she feels a sudden wave of fluster and bashfulness wash over her, unused to the attention being directed her way.

Patrick's voice retains its playful tone as he asks, "So, how long have you two known each other for exactly?"

She giggles before answering, her voice soft, "Since yesterday."

Art looks surprised, remarking with raised eyebrows, "Really? You both seem pretty close." He observes the easy chemistry between them, intrigued by their fast connection.

She shrugs with a hint of satisfaction. "I guess I'm lucky to have been chosen by Tashi Duncan," she says, a proud smile playing on her lips. Her tone then shifts to a more pensive note as she continues, her gaze fixed on Tashi in the distance. "I honestly have no idea why she likes me."

Patrick's voice interjects with a bit of teasing, his tone playful. "Because you might beat her in the finals."

Art counters immediately, his tone more sincere, "Because you seem like a really sweet girl."

Confused and amused by the opposing answers, her gaze switches between the two, a smile starting to dance on her lips. She shrugs slightly, replying with a hint of humor, "Maybe a bit of both."

The conversation continues, flowing naturally as she engages with both boys, sharing their thoughts on tennis, personal backgrounds, and future plans. Art's gentle and humble outlook balances nicely with Patrick's more confident and comical style.

She clears her throat, preparing to leave as she points aimlessly towards the crowd. “I’m gonna go see if I can try and find Tashi.”

Art stops her by gently grabbing her arm. She turns to look at him, her expression slightly surprised. Art quietly speaks, with a hint of eagerness in his voice. "Meet us back here?" His question hangs in the air, his earnestness charming.

She offers a simple smile, nodding in agreement. "Yeah," she confirms. Her gaze lingers on Art for a moment before shifting to Patrick. With a final glance, she turns and walks away, leaving the boys to watch her go.

She finally returns with Tashi after leaving the boys waiting for what feels like an eternity. The boys had begun to wonder if they had been abandoned, thinking the girls might not come back after all. But there they were, returning as promised, much to their relief and anticipation.

Tashi's voice rings out, a hint of teasing in her tone as she says, "You guys are still here," as they approach.

Patrick tries to play it cool, replying with a casual shrug as he says, "Yeah, it's nothing," only to find Tashi even more amused by his effort to appear unbothered.

As the evening progresses and guests begin to leave, the wind gently picks up, creating a subtle breeze. The two boys and girls stand facing each other, their gazes occasionally meeting and holding for that extra fraction of a millisecond. The air is filled with anticipation, the silence between them speaking volumes.

The silence is broken by Patrick, who pulls out a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket. He offers them to her and Tashi, asking, "Smoke?"

Tashi declines with a hint of superiority in her tone, saying, "Nah."

Patrick grins smugly, taking a cigarette and placing it between his lips before passing the pack to Art. Art then asks, "They also put you girls at the hotel in Flushing?"

She answers with a casual shrug, "I’m on the first floor."

She then looks over at Tashi, who narrows her eyes a tad at Art's mention of the hotel. Tashi teasingly asks with a suggestive tone, "Why, want us to come tuck you guys in?"

Art and Patrick share a lighthearted laugh. Patrick lights his cigarette and takes a puff before replying with a playful shrug, suggesting, "We can just keep talking." He adds, with a hint of mischief, "We've got beer."

She can't help but bite the inside of her cheek, holding back a smirk as she glances at Tashi and then back to the boys. A soft sigh escapes her as she slips off her heels, her bare feet now touching the cool grass beneath.

She chuckles softly, her voice carrying a hint of weariness. "Whatever the plan is, let’s keep the walking to a minimum," she suggests, her feet already feeling the relief of being freed from her heels.

Tashi doesn't relent; her voice is tinged with a slight defiance. "My dad's probably gonna come looking for me," she protests, though a hint of excitement flickers in her eyes.

Patrick casually offers a suggestion, taking another drag from his cigarette. "Just ride the shuttle back to the hotel with us. Meet up with your dad, and then come hang out. Room 206.”

Art nods in agreement, the boys silently waiting for Tashi's response. Tashi directs a playful look at her before glancing back at the boys.

Tashi's nonchalant tone betrays her hidden excitement as she says with a shrug, "Alright."

She exchanges a smile with Tashi, before they follow behind the boys. Art quietly offers to carry her heels for her, a thoughtful gesture that she gratefully accepts. She walks beside him, thanking him softly.

The ride back is invigorating, the gentle breeze caressing their hair as they share laughter, the air filled with a sense of warmth and liveliness. There's a touch of bittersweetness, the feeling of those final blissful nights of summer lingering in the air.

She feels a spark of boldness, taking the cigarette from Patrick’s hand and inhaling deeply. Tashi and Art watch as she takes the hit, a serene and beautiful figure with her head tilted slightly to the side as the shuttle glides along the pavement towards the hotel.

Tashi laughs heartily as Art gently holds her in place during each sharp turn, her amusement echoing through the air. The ride may be brief, but it's fun and memorable—a moment sure to be ingrained in their minds for days to come.

Tashi and her girl

For a brief moment, they part ways as the boys head upstairs to their room. With linked hands, Tashi leads her down the corridor on the first floor. Barefoot and heels in hand, they tread silently across the plush carpeting of the hotel floor.

Tashi halts in front of her hotel room door, pivoting to face her directly. With a gentle touch, Tashi holds her face as she speaks. "You know, you're sweet, but—” Her tone is affectionate but firm. "You can't let them get what they want so easily. You need to keep them on their toes. Make them work for it. It has to be challenging."

She blinks, taken aback by Tashi’s unexpected words. However, a chuckle escapes her as she replies with a hint of amusement.

"Challenging? This isn't tennis, Tashi," she echoes with a mixture of humor and slight perplexity.

Tashi's tone grows more serious as she amends her previous statement, her words carrying a firm conviction. "No,” she clarifies, “It’s exactly like tennis.”

She stands there, puzzled and a little uncertain about what to say next, her mind swirling with confusion at the unexpected turn the conversation has taken.

Tashi releases her, gesturing towards the elevator. "Go," she commands, her tone shifting back to a softer, more affectionate tone. "I'll join you soon."

She knows better than to question Tashi, so she simply replies, "Don’t take too long," sounding almost like a plea. She turns and makes her way towards the elevator, her mind filled with curiosity and anticipation.

Art and Patrick

Patrick wastes no time undressing—feeling like they had been waiting forever yet again. He slouches back in the old chair in the corner of the hotel room, a cigarette between his lips. He shuffles through a deck of cards with a distracted air, clad only in a pair of dark boxer shorts.

Art is sprawled out on his bed in only his boxers, one leg resting against the wall in a comfortable yet odd pose. A heavy sigh escapes him as he lies there, his mind no doubt pondering the events of the night thus far.

The room is uncomfortably hot—thanks to the malfunctioning air conditioning—the light casts an intimate and cozy glow that mingled with the smoke that clung to the air as Patrick continues to idly puff on his cigarette.

Then, there’s a knock.

The unexpected knock jolts them, prompting them to swiftly spring into action. Patrick, frantically searching for whatever clothing he can find, “Shit,” he mumbles, accidentally grabbing one of Art's shirts and hastily throwing it on without bothering to button it. Art, equally hurried, snatches a shirt from somewhere and pulls it over his head as he dashes towards the door, ready to open it.

They swing open the door to find her standing there, a small smile gracing her lips, her heels still clutched in her hand. Her copper hair is now loose, revealing the soft cascades of her curls that frame her face and fall effortlessly by her sides.

Art greets her with a cheerful "Hi" and Patrick chimes in with a casual "Hey" as they stand there, a bit breathless from their frantic last-minute cleaning frenzy.

She lets out a low laugh, amused by their flustered state. "Sorry to keep you waiting," she explains apologetically, her smile lingering on her lips. "Tashi will be here in a second."

Art offers a simple response, "Yeah, yeah, cool," followed by a nod from Patrick, their momentary pause abruptly broken by her chuckle.

She looks at them with a grin as she teases, "So, are you going to let me in, or—?"

They seem to regain their senses, stepping aside with a sheepish grin. "Sorry—" Art begins, his voice tinged with a hint of embarrassment. "We, uh, yeah, come in." Patrick motions for her to come in, both boys seemingly a bit flustered by her sudden presence.

Finalist Fusion

And right on cue, another knock reverberates through the room, signaling Tashi's arrival. Tashi strolls in, having swapped out her previous attire for something more comfortable and laid-back.

Beers cracked, the three of them had already begun to indulge before Tashi walked in, leaving them slightly ahead in the inebriation department.

The four of them lounge comfortably on the floor of room 206, their bodies relaxed yet buzzing with exhilaration. Tashi rests her head on her new friend's lap, her body language carefree and at ease. Art leans back against one of the beds, his gaze lazily drifting around the room while Patrick sits somewhere in the middle, their legs slightly tangled up in their relaxed state. The floor is covered in an array of beer cans, the bottle of vodka glinting among them as the ashtray holds the remnants of extinguished cigarettes.

The gathering kicks off with a series of card games, each round filled with fierce competition, lighthearted banter, and uproarious laughter. As the night progresses, the cards are set aside as their focus shifts to the drinks and conversations take a more intimate turn. Secret confessions and whispered truths slowly begin to fill the air, replacing the joviality of the card games.

"Alright. Patrick was an early bloomer, okay?” Art admits with a hint of embarrassment, a pink flush creeping up his cheeks as they delve deeper into the conversation.

Tashi chimes in with a playful smile, attempting to lighten the mood. "You know, that is a pretty cute story," she says, her tone supportive and amused.

Patrick grins at the redhead, his eyes sparkling mischievously as he prompts, "Yeah, it's only fair that you share a story now," with a teasing grin.

She raises her eyebrow in mock protest, her playful nature shining through. "Me?" she echoes, pointing to herself before breaking into a lighthearted chuckle.

Tashi leaned in closer, her interest piqued as she chimed in with a curious tone, "Now I'm curious too."

She responds with a light chuckle, feigning distress at the sudden attention on her. "This is a lot of pressure, all eyes are on me," she exclaims with an exaggerated tone, her smirk revealing her playful intentions.

Art chimes in playfully, “You heard the embarrassing story of how Patrick taught me how to jerk off,” he grins. “You owe us one in return”

"C’mon, you’re not fooling anyone," Patrick says with a playful smirk, exhaling a puff of smoke from his cigarette. "I refuse to believe you’re as innocent as you seem. You have to have a story or two to share," he presses on, confident that she’s harbored some intimate secrets.

She exchanges a knowing look with Tashi, a bemused smile on her lips before taking a deep breath. The alcohol has done its work, dissolving many of the inhibitions that might otherwise have held her back. "Alright, fine," she says with a playful grin, crossing her legs and taking a generous sip from one of the open beer cans.

Tashi, Art, and Patrick all share a synchronized smirk, their curiosity piqued and their attention fully focused on her as she prepares to share her story.

"I got into quite a few scrapes when I was fourteen," she begins, her smile growing warmer as the memories flood back. "I was invited to a sleepover—a whole group of girls from my school."

Tashi chimes in with a nod and a raised eyebrow, commenting dryly, "Girls."

“Well, let’s just say me and this one girl wanted to—” She pauses, her cheeks tinted pink. “—Experiment.”

Patrick's chuckle breaks the brief silence, his intuition telling him where the story is headed. "I can see where this is going," he chimes in with a knowing grin.

"Well, once we had shut off the lights," she recalls, her tone filled with amusement, "there was a lot of kissing and not much breathing. Needless to say, we weren't as discreet as we thought, and we got quite the surprise when her mom walked in to find her daughter swapping spit with me."

Tashi is the first to comment, saying with a hint of playful bravado, "That's actually quite tame."

She shrugs and counters with a chuckle, leaning into Tashi as she challenges her, "Oh? Do you have a better story of your own you'd like to share?"

Tashi's peal giggles fill the air before she abruptly stands up, her infectious energy prompting her to announce, “No, but I sure do want to dance right now.” She swiftly extends her hands to help her up, her contagious spirits fueling her actions.

Art and Patrick follow her lead, rising to their feet to join in the moment. Their gaze remains focused on the girls, effortlessly following their lead as the music envelops the room and fills it with a playful energy.

♬ I'm everything you need

Put all you need in me

I don't need anything

I don't need anything ... ♬

Tashi’s at the center, shaking her head back and forth to the beat as the three of them dance around her, all of their moves slightly uncoordinated from the alcohol, but nobody seems to notice. They don’t need to notice, they're just having fun.

Tashi leans in towards Art, her body moving effortlessly to the rhythm of the beat as they sync their movements and share a laugh. Patrick closes the gap between him and the dancing redhead, captivated by the sweet scent that surrounds her. With a delicate touch, he takes her hand and twirls her around, drawing out another chuckle from her.

Without even realizing it, she finds herself trading places with Tashi, her body instinctively following the flow of the music, and ending up face-to-face with Art. They move in unison, their bodies swaying to the beat and their mouths forming the words to the song.

Tashi returns to the center, her hips moving with a mesmerizing allure that radiates a silent form of seduction.

With a swift turn, she breaks away from Art and moves towards Tashi, who welcomes her with open arms, clasping their hands together in time with the melody. Tashi takes the opportunity to spin her around, drawing her into a snug embrace, and something sparks within her, fueling her confidence at the touch.

Her hands find their way to Tashi's waist, resting gently on her warm skin. She closes the gap between them, planting a kiss on Tashi's neck, feeling the smoothness of her tan skin. Tashi's eyes close with a soft smile at the sensation, turning to face her and meet her gaze with an intensity that fills the air—the tension palpable.

She feels an overwhelming surge of heat spread across her entire body as their eyes meet, the intensity of Tashi's stare stirring a deep-rooted excitement within her. Suddenly—yet undeniably—Tashi leans in to kiss her; it is an unexpected yet inevitable moment that unfolds seamlessly.

Their lips meet again and again in a passionate dance of connection. Their hands explore each other's bodies, tracing along their waists, necks, hips, and backs, losing all sense of their surroundings.

Art and Patrick halt their dance, staring in disbelief at the intimate scene unraveling in front of them. Art's mouth hangs open, while Patrick lets out a light chuckle—a mix of surprise and intrigue. They stand as silent witnesses to the passionate display, both equally captivated and intrigued by the unexpected turn of events.

In a haze of alcohol-infused adrenaline, she finds herself leading Tashi toward the edge of the bed. The music's tempo picks up, fueling the chaotic energy that fills the air. Maybe it's the nonsensical nature of the moment that adds to the thrill.

Their actions become instinctual, driven by a mixture of desire and the carefree abandon that comes with drinking. Tashi's warm body becomes the canvas for her affection as her lips trace a path downward. Her voice is barely more than a hushed whisper, the desperate need to please her becomes her sole focus.

Tashi swiftly takes control, flipping their positions on their way to the mattress, her smirk directed at Art and Patrick, who remain captivated by the scene unfolding before them. Slowly and deliberately, she glides her hands under her dress, a teasing touch that only heightens the anticipation building between them.

Her eyes lock onto Tashi's as her face flushes with an intense heat, the pace of the moment not pausing to accommodate doubts or questions. She watches in a state of enthrallment as Tashi pulls off her panties with a quick flick, discarding them onto the ground with a careless gesture before disappearing beneath her dress.

Her fingers instinctively clutch at the sheets, her body tensing as a shaky breath escapes her lips.

Art and Patrick both become immobilized, their gazes fixated on the scene before them. Art stands frozen in place, his jaw still dropped as his mind struggles to process the unexpected turn of events, while Patrick quietly steps back to reclaim his seat on the chair, he settles in to enjoy the spectacle with a slightly amused expression. Hormones run high as they observe with a mix of astonishment and arousal.

A strangled moan escapes her lips, a desperate attempt to maintain her composure, as Tashi intensifies her efforts, her focus singular and intense.

Patrick's voice breaks through the heavy ambience, "Jesus, Tashi," he says, chuckling softly. "You're making it hard for the girl to breathe."

As she glances over, she catches sight of Patrick discreetly shifting in his seat, making adjustments in an attempt to soothe his arousal. Her eyes then flicker toward Art, who remains still, his expression filled with shock and disbelief. The evidence of his arousal is blatantly obvious, his tented boxers leaving no room for imagination.

Her body is hot with urgency as she reaches down, her hand tentatively resting atop Tashi's head. Between whimpers, she pleads, "Tash, please—" Her voice is filled with desperation, her need for release palpable in each syllable.

She finds herself on the cusp of her climax at an unexpectedly rapid pace. The combination of alcohol, circumstances, and built-up tension creates an explosive situation. She writhes against the mattress, her moans and pleas escaping in an unfiltered stream of desperate utterances.

Patrick shifts in his chair, trying to find some relief for his building desire. As he shifts uncomfortably, Art is unable to resist the impulse to press his palm against himself, the sight of the unfolding scene proving to be too much for him to resist any longer.

As the music quiets, she slowly comes back down to earth, her eyes fluttering open, still slightly disoriented.

Tashi emerges from beneath her dress, licking her lips with an air of nonchalance, as though she's just casually finished an ordinary task. Tashi reaches out to help her up, offering her hand with a casual smile that contradicts her earlier actions.

"Well, I'm going to bed," she declares, her tone relaxed and pleasant while her lips form a casual smile.

Tashi's declaration creates a slight stir in the room, leaving everyone slightly dazed, especially her.

She hastily composes herself, adjusting her dress and gathering her heels from the floor. "I'll go with you," she replies, her voice slightly flustered. "My room is on the same floor."

Art swiftly brings his hands to hide his crotch, feeling a wave of embarrassment wash over him. Clearing his throat, Patrick speaks up, attempting to diffuse the lingering tension. "We’ll see each other at the finals, right?" The question hangs in the air, serving as both a farewell and an attempt to move past the unexpected scene that just unfolded.

“Of course.” Tashi's warm smile washes over the room as she leaves, the redhead trailing behind her with a hint of confusion. The door closes softly behind them, enclosing the scene within the room and leaving behind a silence that echoes with unspoken emotions and lingering heat.

Patrick's exhale fills the room, followed by his movement as he stands up. "I'll take the bathroom," he mentions, discarding his shirt onto the bed before disappearing into the sanctuary of the bathroom.

Art releases a deep breath, his footsteps carrying him to the bed, where he takes a seat. His eyes catch sight of the forgotten pair of lace panties on the floor. He looks towards the closed bathroom door as if subconsciously assessing the surroundings before gently gathering the panties in his hand, his fingers tracing the soft fabric.

Tashi’s girl?

“Wait, I don’t—I’m not wearing any underwear.” She trails behind Tashi, forcing herself to sober up as she comes to terms with what just happened. The emptiness of the corridor seems to amplify the surreal nature of the situation, her mind slowly clearing up as they make their way toward their respective rooms.

The silence between them stretches, leaving her mind racing as she struggles to make sense of Tashi's ambiguous demeanor. Tashi's attitude is adding to the mental turmoil—each second of silence only amplifying her confusion.

"Tashi, is everything okay?" she queries, genuine concern lacing her words as they approach her door.

Tashi turns to face her, her smile simple yet sweet as she leans in to brush a tender kiss against her lips. The taste of their previous encounter lingers on Tashi's lips.

"Goodnight." Tashi whispers as she steps into her room, leaving her alone in the hallway.

She lingers in the hallway, her mind a whirlwind of confusion as she attempts to make sense of Tashi's actions—racing to make sense of the enigma that is Tashi Duncan.

229 notes · View notes

theitgirlnetwork · 8 days

Text

Earn It

Ch. 6: Pepperdine

Note: Okay...this one is long as hell, so sorry in advance! Thank you for all of the love, notes, comments, rebloggs! They are really inspiring and it's great to interact with you all. Some people have made me aware of things that I can do to make this easier to find, so I will sit down and apply those changes later today. I hope you all enjoy this one, and alsooo my best friend just started reading this story so if you're reading this hey boo! Thank you all for reading and reminder...all of the characters are pieces of shit in their own way...as it is in the movie. Alright! Enjoy <3

Warnings: Cheating (back to sorta), mild sexual content (MDNI!!!!!), some strong language, mention of injury.

Taglist: @spookystitchery@anehkael@fkaams@butterflyybabe@sun2flower @holierthancunt @silkenthusiasts @wolflover384 @liziihorta @summerssover @jackierose902109

She feels like she’s going insane. For what it’s worth, Heaven did not get a single ounce of sleep after she did what she did. Her lip curls as she looks down at Art, his arm tossed over her lap, his large hand spread over her bare thigh, the heat of it a reminder of her…predicament.

I love you.

She winces as she envisions the moment again, hears Art’s voice and pictures Patricks face, Tashi’s face if they knew, jesus. Heaven bites at her thumb nail nervously, staring off at the mostly bare wall in Art’s dark room. “Fuck.” she mumbles to herself, picturing Art kissing her, touching her, on top of her, between her legs- “Fuck”

Art’s hand tightens on her leg and she shifts her gaze down to him. He’s in the same position that they’d laid in when they’d gone to bed. His eyes are closed, she can see his lashes against his cheek. It’s annoying and unfair, men always have the best eyelashes. Art’s are a brown color, not quite dark brown or black, not quite blonde. She likes looking at his eyelashes, but she does wish that she could see his eyes.

It would distract her. From the tightness in her chest that had her wrenching his thin twin XL blanket off of them both because she was pretty sure the fabric was trying to smother her, earning a groan from Art as she slipped from under his grasp and sat up with her back against the cool painted cement walls of his dorms.

Heaven takes a deep breath trying to get rid of the squeezing feeling in her chest without waking the blond man half draped over her lap. Clenching her teeth she rolls her eyes upward to look at the ceiling as she wills her thoughts to slow the fuck down.

I love you.

She didn’t say anything. He said he loved her and she said nothing. Jesus, she is just like Tashi. As much as she loves her, the thought is scary. But what’s even scarier is that she almost wasn’t. She almost wasn’t Tashi. When Art looked at her and said what he said her mouth fell open, and she almost said the thing. She almost…she almost said what he said.

I love you.

“Fuck you.” she whispers, gaze dropping back down to the man below her. A careful manicured hand sweeps over the pale skin on his cheek, sliding along his jaw before a traveling finger smoothes over his nose. She giggles breathlessly as his nose wrinkles and his arm tightens around her legs. Heaven smoothes back the messy blond hair that had fallen on Art’s forehead as he slept, smiling to herself as he hums in his sleep, leaning into her hand.

I love you.

Heaven’s brows furrow as she suddenly feels very naked and very self conscious. She yanks her hand away from him, careful not to disrupt his sleep as she tries to lift his arm off of her. She barely has both feet on the cold, white dorm room floors before the arm is around her waist.

“Where’re you goin’?”

His voice is raspier in the morning. Heaven feels herself melting at the feel of a thumb smoothing over her stomach, rubbing circles over the baggy shirt she’d borrowed from him. Stolen? She has absolutely no intention of giving it back.

She almost gets back into bed. It would be so easy. Sliding into his arms, feeling him burrow his face in her neck, kissing her as she’s lulled back to sleep. Just one leg up, and then the other. It could be good. It could be great.

But then her eye catches on a framed picture on his desk. It’s one she’d known he’d have, but didn’t think he’d have so readily on display. Patrick was very open with discussing his affection for Art. He has no problem kissing his friend on the cheek or forehead. Talking about how they’ve pushed their beds together since their second year of being roommates, always opting to sleep next to one another in their one, big ‘super bed’ as he’d called it.

Art was subtle. He might share some food or toss an arm over Patrick’s shoulder. Turning red and furrowing his eyebrows when Patricks would lean into any insinuation about the two of them. But he loves his friend. It’s clear, it's obvious. And Tashi’s a homewrecker for messing with them.

And so am I. Heaven eyes the picture of Art and Patrick. Bright smiles on their faces, kissing their trophies while cheersing each other. This is too much. It’s all too much. Between Patrick and Tashi and now these feelings for Art…Art’s feelings for her- Heaven needs out.

This toxic jumble is not her idea of fun.

Her decision made, Heaven takes one more deep breath. She steels herself, and decides she’s doing what’s best. Snatching her bag and jeans off of the floor where she’d let Art tug them off the night before she rushes out of the dimly lit room as the sun starts to rise through the cheap, white shutter blinds. And she only lets herself look back once.

Thirty minutes. Art lays in his bed with his eyes squeezed shut hoping he dreamt it. He was praying to himself that he felt the cold morning air on his chest because he was having some kind of bad dream, not because Heaven had snuck out of his bed without saying goodbye all to probably go running back to Tashi and go back to pretending there wasn’t anything between them. The longer his eyes were closed, the longer he could pretend he still felt her soft fingers ghosting across his face. He could pretend that she was his.

He had to be fair, he asked her to pretend for the night, he never said anything about the next morning.

Sighing deeply, he opens his eyes, staring up at his ceiling he frowns, forced to be faced with reality and the hand he’s been dealt. All he had really accomplished was planting seeds of confusion in the girl’s head, they were far from the point where she was ready to leave her relationship for him. She still has feelings for Tashi, and what’s worse, Patrick.

Art loves his friend, he really does, but he knows him very well. He’s watched the guy go through puberty, learn that he’s got a sleazy type of swagger a lot of girls find attractive. He’d been there for Patrick’s first date with Lana Powel and his second the same week with Angie Cooper. Art had watched Patrick run through women like water, down to his last girlfriend who he had just started dating when he met Tashi and Heaven. Poor girl couldn’t compete with the hot Princess of Tennis and the sexy Ballerina two for one special being dangled in Patrick’s face and was therefore left high and dry with a simple breakup text. It’s not working. You were great.

Yeah. Forgive him if he doesn’t exactly think his friend is all that deserving of the masterpieces that are Heaven Whitlock and Tashi Duncan.

And Art doesn’t pretend he’s a saint. Like Patrick has said, he does…well for himself in the women department and has since he hit a cute little growth spurt back in the 8th grade. But he has the common decency to make his feelings for the girls he would see clear. If they were his girlfriend, they knew it, he would treat them like a girlfriend. If they were a fling, he would acknowledge that they were just having fun. It ends with him getting a lot less drinks tossed in his face than his friend does.

See, Art is smart. He knows how to compartmentalize. Random girls who throw themselves at him after tennis matches go in one category, nice girls he meets in class go in another.

Heaven and Tashi are in a league of their own.

Tashi is awe inspiring. Beautiful, talented, smart. Scary.

Heaven was scary in a different way. Scary like, the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. Scary like he was desperate to do anything and everything to make her happy, including play along in this little push and pull game she’d tossed them into. Scary in a way that despite the fact that she creeped out of his bed at the crack of dawn, cowering away from the feelings he has with her tail between her legs, he still pushes his nose into the pillow she’d laid her head on the night before, trying to take in the last of her scent before it fades into the morning air.

Dragging his way out of bed and away from what he has left of Heaven, he makes his way to the bathroom and forces himself to face the day.

Match point. Tashi thinks to herself, whistling out the extra hair in her lungs as she regulates her breathing, bouncing from foot to foot as she finishes out her final scrimmage against her teammate before her match with Pepperdine.

Her brain is nearly empty, the only thing swirling within her thoughts is following the ball, the only sound in her ears is her own breathing and the sound of her opponent’s sneakers scraping against the court. There’s no one in the world other than her and the girl across the net.

With a final swing she sends the ball sailing over the net, down the line where the girl is just not quick enough to reach and with that Tashi had one. It was over. Tashi always gets this brief, melancholy feeling when she finishes a match, or even something as small as a scrimmage. The high she gets from playing simmers down into a dullness that makes her miss the version of herself she was just moments before, when the match was still going.

That numb thrumb of disappointment under her skin usually dies out as she reminds herself that there will be more. More game to play. More time on the court. More of a tennis player she can be.

What can she say? Tennis makes her feel greedy. It was never enough. The only thing that ever brought her a similar high was being with Heaven. And while she meant being with Heaven, she also just meant…being with Heaven.

The two of them have been together in every capacity that matters. Friends, best friends, friends with benefits, girlfriends, exes, partners. The only title she would never give Heaven is her rival. They have too much history for that.

Tashi feels the sensation of a toe pushing insistently at her side, digging into her ribs as she tries to focus on the sound of Aaliyah singing in her ears. “Stop it.” She says lowly.

“‘M’trying to show you something, just look for a second-” her little brother Ellis whines, tugging at his seatbelt to get more wiggle room, nudging the girl again with a snicker when she swats his foot away. “Tashi, play with me-”

“Jesus, can I have one fucking second-”

“Tashi Sierra Duncan!”

The voice is sharp and unforgiving. Her mother’s tone leaves no room for nonsense as she whips around to stare her down, her father’s own gaze in the rearview mirror. Ellis is suddenly quiet, wide eyes watery as he looks at her from his seat causing a pang of guilt to form in her chest.

Great. Now she’s the bad guy.

Big bad Tashi. Taking her parent’s attention away from her siblings, needing to travel for tennis, being too tired to play all the damn time. Between struggling in school, watching her five younger siblings and helping her parents pay the bills with what she won at challengers and bigger competitions, somehow, she forgot to force herself to have the personality of a disney princess.

Sue her, she wants to focus before her match. God forbid she wants to be at her best when there’s a fucking Nike rep watching her, a detail about today that her father had only mentioned 500 times, mentioning what a great fucking opportunity it was.

Maybe she was the bitch who couldn’t take the time to glance over at her 8 year-old brother’s gameboy as he won the same game over and over again. But she was also the bitch who was working her ass off so that he could get new games. So that her sister would be able to afford the cute clothes by the time she started high school. So that her mom could stop working the job she fucking hated.

When everyone forgot that, she didn't know. What she does know is Cleo demanded that she let her do yoga with her this morning, and Carter fucking had to practice his recorder at the exact time she started meditating. And now she’s sitting in this hot ass car, with no air conditioning, stacked with her parents and siblings, looking at her like she's the monster for wanting to do her pregame ritual.

But they’d all be smiling at her when she won.

Just 20 more minutes. 20 more minutes until she could have some peace. 20 more before the world will disappear, and all there will be is tennis.

“Apologize to your brother, please.”

But for now she’s still here.

“I’m sorry, El. Didn’t mean it.” She sighs, brushing the back of her hand over the little boy’s wet cheek. “Mom, I need to start working my heart rate, I’m gonna take a lap.”

“Okay, honey, just wait for us to sign in.”

“Kay.” Tashi pushes the door open to the car, ignoring the whines of her youngest sister to go with her as slams the door to the minivan shut. There are crowds of people already gathering. Other competitors and their families. Coaches. Hers should be around here somewhere.

Normally she’d scope the competition. Her presence tends to put the other girls on edge, so she often chooses to warm up in front of them, letting them know what the fuck is on the other side of the net before they even hit the court. But today, all she could think about is all that’s on the line. Her head swirls with thoughts of how winning today could change a lot of things for her and the people she loves.

All she wants is to get rid of those thoughts. She wants to be one track minded. She wants to get on the court and have a good fucking time without worrying about what’s going on in the stands.

“Hey, I heard Tashi Duncan’s here, should we all just like, quit tennis and kill ourselves?”

A smile forms on Tashi’s face as she turns away from the van, finding Heaven standing behind her holding a piece of poster board. “Hey, there, Serena. I got here a little early. You’ve got bitches quaking already.”

The taller girl basically hops forward, tossing her arms around Heaven, Tashi giggles as the girl stumbles back a little in an attempt to catch her. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I think my best friend plays in some of these things. I came to cheer her on.” Heaven squeezes her back before stepping away, holding out the poster for Tashi to see. “You’re crumpling the poster I made you.”

“There’s,” Tashi laughs again, placing her hands on her hips. “A lot of curse words on that.”

“I’m passionate.”

“The poster makes you look like a fan girl, Hev.” She jokes, looping her arm with Heaven’s, guiding her toward the tennis club’s center and away from her parents' car. The headache that had started forming moments ago begins to fade as she and Heaven step side to side as they make their way to where the fences surrounding the courts are, ignoring the nervous looks from the girls they pass. “I’m usually a little more subtle when I come to see you twirl.”

“Twirl, you bitch.” Heaven scoffs. “Well, you don’t like flowers-”

“Who said I don’t like flowers?”

“Um, you, when Dylan Cho bought you some and I watched you regift them to your elderly neighbor after you said, quote, ‘I don’t fucking like flowers’ end quote.”

Tashi stops walking, standing in the little grassy area next to the fence she rolls her, “Fine, correction, I don’t like flowers from Dylan Cho.”

“And from Heaven Whitlock?” the shorter girl flirts, rocking on her feet.

“Dunno, get me some and find out I guess.”

“You’re annoying.” Heaven huffs. Her eyes narrow as Tashi plops down into the grass, ignoring the blades poking at her bare legs and sitting criss-crossed, taking in a deep breath. “You okay?”

“Yup, I’m fine.” Tashi sighs, eyes slipping closed.

“Oh, okay.” A beat passes. “It’s just you don’t seem okay. So, what’s up?”

“Just got a lot riding on today. And, I didn’t get through my regimen, so I feel fucking,” she waves her hands around as she tries to find the words. “Like just…too much. I’m thrown off. I hate when shit is too much right before I have something to do. Like, I like doing this, but I didn’t get to do what I need to and now i feel like-”

“What, you’ll lose?” Tashi’s eyes shoot open at that. Heaven had crouched down to her level, head tilted as she genuinely looked at her like she’s confused. “Since when do you do that?”

“What? Lose?” Tashi asks, staring into the deep brown eyes of her best friend.

“No, stop betting on yourself. You’re a tennis player, right? That’s what you are.”

“W-yeah-”

“Okay, so you’ll win. Because you’re a tennis player and because you’re the best. Because you have to. Because its what you do.” Heaven gently pushes Tashi’s cheek with the knuckle of her pointer finger. “And because I don’t move my dance practices for people who don’t fucking win.”

“No pressure.”

“You’ll be fine.” Heaven shrugs. Tashi laughs, dropping her head forward. It almost alarms her how similar she and her best friend are in times like this. Heaven is genuinely her other half. She’s the only person who can demand that she show results and get away with it. Tashi respects her, she’s strong and yet understanding. She’s a perfectionist, and expects excellence, but she can meet her own expectations. With her, Tashi doesn’t feel like she has to run everything, she doesn’t have to carry her weight along with her own. She’s her equal.

She may have grown up in a different kind of home, being an only child and not very close to either of her biological parents. She might be rich and spoiled. But she has what Tashi has. She knows it. The drive, the tunnel vision, the lust for her craft.

Tashi remembers the first time she’d seen Heaven dance. The girl had shown up to the gym they used to hang out at, held her hand out to Tashi, and demanded she come watch her dance in one of the empty rooms. She’d said she’d watched Tashi play and it was only fair that she knew she was the best at something too. Tashi couldn’t have known what she was about to experience. The heart pounding, throat tightening feeling of watching someone change your life with every movement. Heaven’s eyes had been closed. It was like Heaven might as well have been alone. Everything had fallen away, including Tashi. It moved the young tennis player.

That was years ago, and now they were 16 and inseparable. They practice together, go on double dates, workout, and spend time with each other’s families. Mostly, they were themselves, not having to apologize to each torah about their passions. They were best friends.

Which is why Tashi is shocked when she feels Heaven’s hand cup her cheek, her face moving impossibly close to hers, yet, their lips not touching, her eyes searching. “You’ll also win, because you’re Tashi.”

Blinking slowly, Tashi’s eyes flick between Heaven’s eyes and lips, her own parting slightly as she inches just a little bit closer, yet still refusing to be the one to close the distance. “What’re you doing? Trying to motivate me?”

“You need me to motivate you?”

“I’m always motivated.”

“Okay.” Heaven’s smile brushes Tashi’s mirrored one for a moment, causing both girls to shiver. “Then it’s not motivation.” She stands abruptly, swiping the grass that stuck to her legs with the morning dew away. “It’s just something to think about.” With that, Heaven turns on her heel, jokingly waving her slightly explicit, very encouraging sign in the air before calling over her shoulder. “Destroy that bitch. And then, I’ll take you out for ice cream.”

Before Tashi takes the final serve she sees Art coming through the fence. He sends her a soft smile and a wave before he moves along the edges of the court to avoid getting in their way.

She hadn’t gotten to see a lot of him recently. Between classes, tennis and trying not to blow her brain out listening to Patrick bitch about tour, she hasn’t had time for much else. Yesterday she had four missed calls and no texts from Heaven when she’d gotten back from the courts. She offers him a smile back before serving the ball over the net.

When the match is done, Tashi watches on as her teammate pretends to whisper as she talks shit about her, taking a swig out of her water bottle before pushing it into her bag.

“Hey, you look good out there.”

Tashi looks up from her bag to see Art standing before her. He’d definitely gotten more defined in his time at Stanford. His muscles are more cut, his shirts a little tighter. And he seemed to have a little more swagger about him, his head a little cocked back as he addressed her, an easy smile on his face. And his win record was fucking great right now. It makes her think that maybe her assessment when she met him was right. He’s fucking good. Just terrified of his own best friend. Being out from Patrick’s shadow clearly agrees with him. “Thanks, stranger, it’s good to see you.”

“Oh, that’s my fault? I’m the campus celebrity that gets caught up signing her fans’ t-shirts on her way to class?” he jokes.

Tashi raises one shoulder noncommittally, sweeping her bag onto the other. “I hear the girls talking.”

“All talk, I swear.” He says, eyes widening. There’s the sheepish boy whose ears turn red at the drop of a hat.

“Hey, man, get your dick wet, I don’t care.” Tashi laughs, nudging Art before slipping past him.

“Wait-” He calls from behind her, stepping into her path again. “Let’s catch up, we can get lunch at the dining hall.”

Tashi quirks an eyebrow, shifting her weight from one hip to the other. “On you?”

“Uh, yeah, I’ve got it.”

“Good, I’m out of points.

“So, thanks for lunch, it’s nice to see you.” Tashi smiles, popping a cherry tomato into her mouth. “What’s up?”

Art shifts in his seat. He doesn’t know what he’d been thinking. He’d gone to the courts to hit the ball a little but for some reason, as soon as he saw Tashi, he found himself inviting her to lunch. If anything, he should probably be avoiding her out of guilt or something. And he does…feel guilty. He’s buying her lunch as if the fact that he’s getting her a mediocre campus lunch makes up for the fact that he’d spent the night with his face between her girlfriend’s legs.

It makes him wonder though. The fact that Tashi wasn’t tossing her gatorade into his face meant that Heaven probably didn’t tell her what happened. Maybe she plans to keep it a secret, and expects him to do the same. Maybe she freaked out and drove all the way back to UCLA, something he prayed didn’t happen because he was sort’ve banking on at least seeing her again later today. He knew he’d be forced to keep his distance, Patrick is coming at some point today and he knows if Heaven was still here, she wouldn’t give him the time of day in front of both of them.

Or maybe she did tell her. Maybe she told her that he’d said he loved her and Heaven and Tashi had a good laugh about it. Maybe Heaven promised that it hadn’t meant anything, and she was never going to let him near her like that again.

The thought makes Art irritable.

His mouth ticks downward as he sits back against the back of his plastic chair. “It’s nothing, I just wanted to catch up.”

“Mm, okay, well, Patrick and Heaven are supposed to be coming down later for the Pepperdine match, we should all get dinner or something.”

That makes him freeze. So she doesn’t even know she was here.

“If you want.”

Tashi’s fork hits her plate causing a plink sound to ring out in the air between them. “Okay, Art, this is fucking stupid.”

“What’s stupid? What’re you talking about?”

“Like you ask me to this lunch and then you’re being all weird-”

“I wanted to catch up with you, it’s not weird.”

She huffs, resting her elbows roughly on the table. “Just fucking say it. Spit it out.”

He shouldn’t. Art’s not an idiot, he knows he shouldn’t. He should shut the fuck up. Or make something up. This line of conversation would lead to nothing but trouble and he should know better. He does know better. So, he’s not gonna say it. He’s gonna keep his mouth shut-

“I’m just surprised you guys are all still together, that’s all.”

If looks could kill, Art Donaldson would be dead and fucking buried. The icy stare that Tashi fixes him with has him slumping in exasperation with himself. He just couldn’t fucking help himself. Tashi’s brows furrow as her eyes move across his face almost rapidly, studying him. “Why?”

“I don’t…I’m just surprised. I just, like Patrick’s never-”

“Is he fucking other girls on tour or something? Like is this your way of trying to tell me?”

“No, I don’t know, we don’t talk about that-”

“Bullshit.” Tashi rolls her eyes. “So what? There’s someone else? Or you feel like…like they’re fucking each other behind my back?”

“No, I don’t think Heaven is fucking Patrick behind your back.” Art scoffs jealously. This is where he fucked up. He shouldn’t have said her name. He knows he can’t say it normally, there’s always something behind it. Even Art can hear it. He adjusts his hat nervously as Tashi sits forward even more.

“I get it. You like her. That’s fine. She shows you attention. Fucking great. I bet it feels good. But Heaven isn’t going anywhere. Not without me. I know that, you know that. I’m gonna give you some advice because I’m actually a good friend. I know I sound like a bitch. I know it feels like I’m the mean one. But I’m actually showing you some grace. You don’t have what it takes to be with Heaven-”

“And Patrick does? He has what it takes to be with you two?”

“I do.” she asserts, scooting her chair out. “You might just be the worst friend in the world.”

The words cause a pang of pain that makes Art hang his head, eyes slipping closed. “Maybe.”

“Definitely.” Tashi scowls, grabbing her keys to leave.

“He’s not in love with you. Either of you.” He calls, squeezing his eyes shut, picking at his nails under the table, but keeping an even expression as Tashi rounds on the table again.

“What makes you think I want someone to be in love with me? Did I say I wanted someone to be in love with me?”

“No.”

“Okay.” she turns to exit again, stopping just short as Art’s word vomit fucks him over one more time.

“But Heaven does.” He says, scratching at his hair and dragging his eyes up to meet Tashi’s. “And she deserves it. You both do.”

Tashi snorts, meanly, crossing her arms over her chest, her large gray t-shirt wrinkles under how tightly she wraps her arms around herself. Her curls shake with her head as she looks down at him in disbelief. “You think because she gives you a crumb of pussy you know her better than me now? Don’t try to play me for her Art. I don’t lose.”

With that, Art watches as Tashi storms out of the cafeteria, her half eaten lunch sitting in front of the empty seat across from him and for the first time, he acknowledges that Patrick might not be the only opponent in his bracket.

“So, have you-uh, you been seeing anybody?” Art shoves his change in his pocket before balancing the two churros he’d bought in his hands, making his way back over to Patrick.

“What’re you talking about?” Patrick shifts on his stool, hooking his foot into the base of Art’s and tugging the chair closer as his friend plops down. “I’m taken. I think that Tashi and Heaven are making an honest man out of me.”

“Right.” Art laughs.

“What, you don’t believe me? I really like them, man. They’re both good for me in different ways. I didn’t realize how good it could be having girlfriends.”

“Girlfriends? Is that what you are to each other?”

“Yes, actually, that’s exactly what we are.” Patrick chuckles, taking a bite of his churro, “What did they say something?”

“No, not really,” Art shrugs, leaning against the counter. “I just had lunch with Tashi earlier, like we talk sometimes, and it just doesn’t seem like she’s taking it as something serious, you know?”

“Is that right?”

“I dunno man, it just gave that vibe. And like, Heaven, what do you two really have in common?”

“What? Aside from being hot for each other you mean?” Patrick smirks, flicking Art’s hat.

The muscle in Art’s jaw jumps at that as he involuntarily grits his teeth at the vision of Patrick being with Heaven, touching her, knowing her in the way he does, or worse, knowing her better. “I can’t help but think she might want something more than that and I know that’s not really your style is all. Just don’t want you to get hurt.” He mumbles, staring out of the large window in front of them.

Patrick scoffs and nods to himself before pushing out of his seat, leaning over Art, wrapping his arm around his shoulders as he presses his forehead to his. “You little fucking snake. I’d be doing the exact same thing, I’m almost proud of you.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“Sure.” Patrick says smugly, popping the rest of his churro into his mouth before snatching Art’s, taking a bite and holding it out for the blond to do the same. “Planting seeds of doubt, smart.”

“I would never do anything to sabotage your relationship, I’m just looking out for you.” Art says breezily, brushing sugar from Patrick’s lips.

“Hm, sure,” Patrick gets a text, slipping his phone out of his pocket, he grins at his phone, smile going even wider when he sees Art trying to nonchalantly peek at the device from his seat. “Hev’s here. You know this just makes it hotter for me right? Knowing you’re here, pining for them. Scheming and shit.”

“Fuck you, m’not scheming, I’m very happy that you managed to scam your way into two girlfriends, Patrick.”

“This is good. It’s nice to see you all lit up about something, I miss that. Even if it is my girlfriends.” The two men stop for a beat and think about the situation they’re in and suddenly they find themselves laughing. It’s crazy. They’ve only ever liked the same girl once before in their lives, and they were kids then. It is absolutely insane now that they both have feelings for not one but two girls. Maybe normal friends would be able to share. They’d each pick a girl and that would be it. But something about this situation was different. Beyond the fact that both of them thought both of the girls were too amazing to pass up, there's an added layer in the conflict, because they both had a fear they didn’t want to address.

Each girls’ feelings for them are conditional. There is no Tashi Duncan without Heaven Whitlock. There is no Heaven Whitlock without Tashi Duncan. Where one goes the other follows. That’s why none of their boyfriends and girlfriends ever worked out. They tried to divide them. But the grip the two women had on each other was too strong. Even if they could come to an agreement, if Patrick and Art decided they preferred one girl to the other, it wouldn’t matter. The two of them will always choose each other, and would always expect everyone else to fall in line.

It’s a sobering thought for both of them as they sit in the empty cafeteria, silence falling between them. Patrick feels his mind drift somewhere it seemed to be going a lot lately. He wonders if he and Art have the kind of relationship Tashi and Heaven do. Obviously they don’t fuck each other, though he’s pretty sure he’s made it clear before he’s down to hookup. But the loyalty.

They’re best friends. Fire and Ice. It’s not lost on him that despite the fact that his friend clearly has some strong feelings for his girlfriends, they’re still friends. He still checks in on him. They’re still happy to see each other. Art still feels like Art. And Patrick’s grateful for it. So he can overlook some of the snarky comments, the glares over his shoulder, the questioning of their relationship. As long as things ultimately stayed the same between him and Art, Patrick would be fine. He pats his friend on the shoulder, getting up from the stool, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Walk me over.”

“You look pretty.”

“You look pretty too.” Tashi hums, leaning over and kissing Heaven deeply. When the two girls pull apart Tashi pushes her hands under Heaven’s large red t-shirt, running her hands along the skin of her stomach. Her brow arches as she looks down at the girl. “Art give you this shirt?”

“Tashi-”

“I know it didn’t mean anything.” Tashi says lowly, glancing over at the bathroom door, careful not to let Patrick hear the conversation. “He’s pressed though, so, what do you like him or something? Like are you over Patrick?”

It didn’t not mean anything. “It’s fine, I…just couldn’t get you on the phone and Patrick was busy, so…it, I was just having a bad day.” Heaven breathes, bringing Tashi’s hand to her lips and kissing her palm. “Sorry.”

“Fair is fair, I’ve hooked up with both of them, now you have too.” Tashi shrugs. As much as her face is fixed in an uncaring expression, Heaven can tell she’s bothered by the fact that Heaven had been messing with Art. She’d never even addressed that she’d gone to visit Patrick without her again. Heaven wants to talk to her about these feelings she has. She wants to tell her that these guys are different from the others for her, and she thinks they are for Tashi too. The knob turns on the bathroom door and Patrick comes out, pulling his shirt over his head.

But now is not the time.

“Starting without me?” Patrick jokes, leaning down and kissing Tashi’s knee as he wraps a hand around Heaven’s ankle, causing her to squeal as he tugs her down closer to him. “Missed you.” He murmurs against Tashi’s skin before pulling away to capture Heaven’s lips. “Both of you.”

“Yeah?” Tashi smiles, sitting up and planting her hand on Patrick’s chest, pushing him down onto the mattress. He sits back, staring at the two women sitting on their knees in front of him. Tashi climbs into his lap leaning over and kissing Heaven one more time before she sinks down beside Patrick, kissing along his jaw.

Patrick reaches over and tugs at Heaven’s shirt, unable to get it off from beside her so she sits up, pulling the shirt off and tossing it. His eyes trail after the fabric as his face takes on a confused expression. “That’s Art’s shirt?”

Heaven sits up, wide-eyed as she exchanges a look with Tashi. “Uh, yeah, he gave it to me earlier.”

“Earlier. Right,” he shifts his gaze to Tashi, letting her guide his face back to hers. “When were you guys gonna tell me about him?”

“He’s your best friend. I figured you knew.” Tashi hums against the skin on his cheek as Heaven kisses his lips. “Are you jealous?”

“No,” he mumbles against Heaven’s lips, pulling back and watching as Heaven assists Tashi in getting her shirt off. “I’m the one who won the match. What do I need to be jealous of Art for?”

“Well,” Heaven kisses Patrick’s neck, murmuring her words against his jaw. “He’s smart, and handsome-” her hand slips down in the space between Tashi’s legs and Patricks, she relishes in the gasps they both release.

“And really fucking good at tennis.” Tashi cuts in.

“He’s always been very good.” Patrick grunts, burying his fingers at the base of the loose braid in Tashi’s hair.

“But he’s gotten better since he got here. I mean he’s really fucking good.”

Heaven’s brows furrow as she hears Tashi’s whispers. Was this really the time to be talking about Art? Hell, since when did Tashi have such a good fucking glowing review of him? Literally minutes ago she was dismissively saying that she knew hooking up with him would mean nothing. If she was trying to make Patrick jealous she should know the mission was already accomplished. As soon as they started talking about Art, he started kissing them a little rougher, gripping them a little tighter. “He’s never beaten me. We’re not still playing for your numbers. I won.” Patrick laughs.

“He’s been working hard.” Heaven blurts. Both her boyfriend and girlfriend look at her as she crosses his arms. “It’s just like, are we gonna hold that shit over him forever, he’s our friend.”

Tashi purses her lips, looking between the two of them. “See? This is your problem. You always think the match is over before it is. It’s why you’ve still got that serve.”

“Jesus, Tashi-”

“Are we talking about tennis right now?” Patrick asks, eyebrows raised.

“I’m always talking about tennis.” She huffs, sitting up straight, still perched on his lap. Heaven rolls her eyes, knowing exactly where this is going. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she snatches Art’s shirt off of the floor and storms into the bathroom.

Patrick gestures toward the bathroom exasperatedly. “Could we not?”

Tashi tilts her head from one side to the other, cracking her neck before chirping out a short, “Sure.” Climbing off of him she grabs a fresh t-shirt from her drawer and pulling it over her head. “Don’t know what else there is for us to talk about-”

“Maybe we should talk about the fact that she’s wearing Art’s shirt and neither of us knew when she got here.” Patrick follows the two girls off of the bed, standing in the middle of the floor between the bathroom door and where Tashi was rolling out her yoga mat.

“Heaven’s attracted to winners.” Tashi squats deeply on her yoga mat, not bothering to even look at Patrick out of the corner of her eyes. “So am I.”

“So what are you trying to say?”

“Art’s been winning, that’s all.” She says passively, standing into a tree pose.

“And so she’s cheating on us because Art’s getting better at tennis?”

Tashi fixes Patrick with a sharp look. “She’s not cheating on me. But if you want to confront her, go ahead, be my guest.”

“Yeah, fine I will.” Patrick takes two long strides and bangs at the bathroom door. “Hev. Can you come out here?” The door creaks open and the girl is fully dressed, still wearing Art’s shirt and a pair of shorts. “You’re dressed.”

“Yeah, imma head out, see you guys at the match.”

“Patrick wants to talk to you about Art.” Tashi says, moving into her lunges.

“Now’s not the time, Tashi has a match.” Heaven shrugs, grabbing Tashi’s water bottle and taking a drink.

“And you don’t think it’s important to talk about this now?”

“I tried to talk to you.” She sighs, “But I’m not gonna throw her off right before the match.”

“So this is still about tennis? Are you fucking serious?” He looks at the blank stares that both girls offer him and throws his arms out. “This is fucking crazy. So, you’re messing with Art because I lost a couple matches on tour?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Heaven frowns, crossing her arms.

“I’m saying I don’t need a fake fan for a girlfriend who's gonna mess with a different guy every time I go through a rough patch.”

“A rough patch?” Heaven scoffs. “Patrick, I’m having a rough patch. A rough patch is a bad day at practice, not your shitty win-loss record. Look, I’m sorry about the fucking shirt, okay? I’m sorry I went to see him, I’m sorry for this stupid fucking conversation, so take this-” She wrenches Art’s shirt over her head, and tosses it on the bed, grabbing one of Tashi’s instead. She looks at the girl with a scowl on her face. “You did this on purpose. I’ll see you guys at the match.”

Patrick watches in disbelief as Heaven has the audacity to be the one storming out and turns back to a still stretching Tashi. “I don’t need a coach for a girlfriend either.”

“Seems like you do.” She sighs, stretching her back. “Look, what is it you think you need from me, Patrick? Like really? There are plenty of girls who’d like to be your little girlfriend, cheerleader, whatever. You’re cute, you’re rich, you’ve got a big dick, go be with them. I get it, you’re living the dream, having two fucking girls but, Heaven and I actually expect results, so, I dunno. It’s kinda embarrassing, if you suck.”

“I suck now? I’m sorry not all of us are running around playing against Suzy Country Club, calling ourselves the Duncanator.”

“Fuck you.”

“I don’t see you harassing Heaven about skipping rehearsal to come see me.”

“Heaven’s a fucking professional. Doesn’t embarrass me.” Tashi scratches her ear as she sits on the floor. “Do you know how much of a fucking waste of time it is for us take turns sitting through listening to you bitch about how you’re being cheated out on tour?”

“Sorry for inconveniencing you.”

“You are actually.”

Patrick crouches next to her, face close to hers as she faces forward with a blank look. “You don’t get to talk to me like I’m beneath you two, I’m not desperate for you to like me, I’m not Art. I’m your boyfriend, not a member of your fan club.”

He stands and Tashi quickly follows, scowling at him as she stands almost nose to nose. “You’re not a member of my fan club?”

Patrick stands his ground, staring down at her. “I’m your peer.”

Tashi scoffs, laughing humorously. “Look, I’m just warning you, if you lose her, it’ll be your fault. And I’ll go with her.” Patrick curls his lip, sneering at that. He knew that. He knows that. But to hear her say it. Like its a given. The verbal confirmation that he’s valued less has his blood boiling. “I don’t have time for this, I’ll just see you at the match.”

“You don’t get to just dismiss me.” Patrick huffs, grabbing the shirt Tashi had shed and pulling it over his own head. “I don’t need this shit.”

The pieces of Tashi’s hair that had fallen out of her braid blow into her face as the door slams shut, and all she can do is try to regulate her breathing as she thinks that she somehow lost another point because there were too many balls in play.

Heaven’s leg jumps as she sits in the bleachers at the school match. She watches students climb into the stands, decked out in ‘Duncanator’ attire. She’s fucked everything up. With Tashi. She’s pissed. She knows she is. Her even voice and blank stare is something Heaven knows well. And now she’s digging shit up with Patrick.

She knows it’s her fault. No matter how sad she was she knows she had no business hanging out with Art. Not while he…feels the way he feels about her. Not while she feels the way she does. She clearly can’t handle even being his friend. One minute she’s just running into him, or alone with him by happenstance, or just calling to chat. The next he’s looking at her the way he does and her mind is foggy.

She needs to do better. Patrick and Tashi deserve better. Art deserves better than half of her. So she’s going to keep her distance.

In her peripheral view she sees blond hair moving up the stands towards her and immediately curses whatever god decided to make a joke of her today. She can feel Art’s intense gaze burn into her skin as he moves to sit in the seat next to her, pausing briefly, choosing to put one empty seat between them.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” He says softly, eyes on her as she faces forward determinedly.

“You aren’t.”

“You won’t look at me.” His voice cracks on the last word and on the side opposite of him, Heaven grips the bottom of the bleachers, willing herself not to face him. “It’s because of what I said.”

Yes. “No.”

“Yes.” Art breathes. “I know I fucked it up. But I just…care about you. A lot.”

“I care about you too.” Heaven sighs. “But-”

“What would it take?” He blurts, shifting completely in his seat to face her. “I’m just…he won and that’s fine but it was a stupid fucking game, so, what do I need a rematch or something, because I’ll win this time. Heaven, I’d win this time.”

“Art, we can’t talk about this okay? Patrick’s-”

“Not coming. He isn’t coming.” The blond man shrugs, sitting back in his seat, still watching the girl beside him. “I came, Heaven.”

“It’s complicated. I shouldn’t have gone out with you in the first place. I’m fucking up. Even now, sitting here, I’m fucking up. You’re confusing me, a-and distracting me. It’s not like that with them, and I’m…I can’t come running to you crying with my problems every time I’m upset. It’s not fair to you-”

“I want you to come to me.”

“It’s not fair to them. And…I’m gonna stop, Art. We’re going to stop.”

Before Art can say anything the crowd starts cheering loudly, everyone jumping to their feet apart from him and Heaven. He just stares at her. It’s as if he could blink and she’d be gone. He feels her pulling away, and it’s causing him to panic. He nervously picks at his fingers, chest rising and falling rapidly as he sifts through his brain, anything he could do or say, just for a glance, he just needs her eyes. Just for a little bit. Just one more time. He didn’t know what to do. What to convince her. He could be so much better for her. He would do anything. He could be anything, if she’d just look at him. He’d show her he could earn her attention. Her love.

He’s so lost in his thoughts he doesn’t notice the match started. Art watches Heavens pupils focus on one side of the court. He knows who’s over there. He knows who’s getting the attention he’s begging for. But she has his. Even like this, breaking his heart, she’s beautiful. The sad look on her face hardly affected her beautiful features. Her unbreaking focus makes her look otherworldly to him. If he wasn’t in so much pain, he might’ve been able to appreciate her passion, even if it wasn’t directed at him.

A pained wail finally pulls Art’s attention away from Heaven.

Studies say that the color of pain is red.

Studies are fucking right. Red is all Tashi fucking sees when her body decides to betray her and her knee absolutely snaps in half. The entire rest of her is numb as her knee screams and she feels her dreams start slipping away. It’s not fair.

Hurting this bad is not fair. That’s what really has her screaming out into the air. Several sets of eyes locked on her as she writhes on the court. The crowd had the fucking audacity to gasp when she went down. Oh you’re shocked? Me fucking too.

Quick footsteps make their way to her and she hears a man’s voice as she feels her head being lifted from on top of her racket and onto someone’s lap. “Tashi, Tashi-”

“Get that fucking camera out of her face, now! Fucking idiot!” There are two more steps and the sound of something sliding on the ground next to her. Suddenly, she feels a soft hand on her jaw. “T, you gotta breathe, babe, you have to breathe or you’ll pass out.”

The softness of Heaven’s voice makes her cry even harder as she tries to lean her head toward her. “You shouldn’t move, Tashi.”

Art. He’s here. Of course he is…Heaven’s here. But, still, as he smooths his hands over her hair, she thinks, he’s here. Despite what she’d said to him, he came. He’s here, after she yelled at him, holding her, lifting her gently to carry her to the infirmary. And Patrick was nowhere to be found. When she finally opens her eyes, she turns her head to focus her wet eyes on Heaven who was holding her hand over Art’s shoulder. Through her tear soaked lashes she can see the way Heaven was looking at him. And suddenly, she realized that she was too late in what she warned Patrick of. He’d already lost her. He was a sinking ship. Losing Heaven, fighting with her right before a match, not showing up. He’s unstable, unable to follow the course Tashi was charting. And she refuses to go down with him.

“Tashi, Tashi listen-”

“Out! Patrick out!”

“Just listen to me, Heaven talk to her-”

“Don’t fucking talk to her.” Tashi yells from the medical examination bed they had her wrapped leg hoisted up on. She points to the door again with venom. “Out!”

“Patrick-” Heaven starts, biting her nails from her seat next to Tashi, holding her hand with the other, Tashi whips her head to look at her, a teardrop escaping from her eye causes the girl to go quiet, sweeping her thumb across her girlfriend’s cheek.

“You’ve got to be kidding me, just listen-”

“Patrick get the fuck out!”

The outburst even startles Heaven. She turns her head to see Art standing from his seat, breathing heavily, fists clenched. Patrick’s face absolutely drops as he takes one slow step backward before turning and leaving the room entirely.

As soon as he leaves Tashi’s head falls back against the pillow, bottom lip shaking as he stares up at the ceiling. She attempts to disguise a sob as a sharp breath and Heaven hops down from the examination bed, ignoring Art’s soft call of her name and Tashi’s wide eyed look.

“Hey!” Heaven rushes out into the hallway, eyes burning from sterile white lights and drying tears. “Hey! Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

“Look, your girlfriend and boyfriend told me to go so-”

“So…so you’re just gonna leave? Fucking loser” She huffs, shaking her head at Patrick. Her lip curls as she sees him standing there in Tashi’s shirt. He’s breathing heavily, eyes narrowed at her disapproval. “Gimme her fuckin’ shirt back.”

Patrick scoffs, wrenching the fabric over his head, tossing it roughly at Heaven’s feet. “Here, give it to Art. Guess it’s his turn with you now-”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” she whisper-yells, not flinching at all as Patrick walks up on her, his nose nearly touching hers.

“I know you’re fucking him.” He says, a mean, rueful smirk on his face. “We know you’re fucking him.”

Heaven swallows hard. Clenching her teeth and looking back toward the door, praying that Art and Tashi weren’t hearing this conversation. Her voice betrays her as her heart drums against her chest. “You don’t know anything.”

“She’s done with me, so, so are you. That’s how this works, right?” He challenges, not moving an inch as she turns back to him. “You’re her bitch.”

“I’m her bitch?” Heaven laughs humorously, tossing her head back, looking up at the ceiling. “You’re a fucking fan.”

“I’m a fan? Yeah, no, sweetheart, wrong boyfriend-”

“No, you’re a fucking fan, Patrick. It’s how you met Tashi, it’s how you met me, it’s why you’re about to cry like a little bitch because Art yelled at you, God for-fucking-bid-”

“Is that all?”

“No. And you’re a bum. You’re talented but it’s a fucking waste, why don’t you go out there and win something, instead of watching everyone else achieve shit and scoffing like a pretentious prick. And then you won’t waste all your time shitting on people for actually working for something.”

The brown haired man sucks on his teeth, nodding along. “My turn yet?” Heaven just places her hands on her hips as the man moves closer. “You know what, Hev, maybe you’re right. Maybe that shit is true. But you’re looking in a mirror, baby. You’re just like me. You might go to your fancy school and you’re a hell of a dancer but at the end of the day you learned to like tennis for her. You came here for her. You like me, you like Art, but you’re so fucking scared of her being unhappy that you can’t move. Everytime we fight it’s over her. Do you even know what you want?”

Heaven sniffs, looking off to the side as Patrick smoothes back some of the hair from her ponytail fell into her face, his palm slightly soothing the headache that had formed the moment Tashi hit the ground. “I didn’t tell you to leave, Patrick.”

“Alright, so come with me.”

“What?”

Patrick leans on the wall staring at her, daring her. “Come with me.” He watches as Heaven wraps her arms around herself, brows furrowing, and scoffs at her again. “We both know you’re going back in that room.”

“Yeah.” she nods. “I am. And you’re fucking pathetic if you don’t come with me.”

“And do what?”

Heaven’s hand fists in the baggy shirt, propelling her up slightly so they could be more face-to-face. The disgusted look on her face is evident as she stares him down, pretty feature’s dancing with rage. “You broke her, you fix her.”

Patrick’s face softens as he looks at Heaven. There’s emotion behind the anger, the fear. There’s desperation. She’s desperate for a solution, desperate to help Tashi, one way or another. Right now, it's clear nothing else mattered in Heaven’s eyes. It's clear that she blames him.

He brings his hand down to the raw, bleeding skin of Heaven’s knee, cupping the back of it. “That looks bad-”

Heaven knocks his hand away, lip quivering as she pleads with him through brown eyes. “Are you gonna fix it?” All it takes is a look. And then she’s shoving away from him, storming her way back to the room, sending him one last scowl of disappointment before slamming the door behind her. “Fucking pussy.”

“What the fuck did you chase him for?” Tashi calls harshly from the padding. “Heaven.”

Heaven just silently limps in, trying hard to mask the pain in her own knee. It’s nothing like Tashi’s. It’s not even worth dealing with. Not when Tashi is in pain like that. She simply sits on the edge of the pad, careful to sit on the side that Tashi’s isn’t injured on. Her eyes slip closed as she leans up, pressing her forehead to hers. “S’okay. M’gonna fix it.” she promises. “This doesn’t…it’s not over. We’re gonna fucking fix it.”

Art’s jaw sets as he looks away. It felt like he was intruding on a moment between the two women. He hears Tashi’s faint sniffles mixing with whatever Heaven was quietly whispering in her ear. He shifts uncomfortably on his feet. He was worried for Tashi. Heartbroken for her. Laying in the bed, with an injury like that…he just doesn’t know.

But all he could focus on is that damn drop of blood traveling from Heaven’s leg and splattering on the cold, white floor. The pink flesh showing from where she’d skinned herself, for her. She won’t just look at him.

As he watches Heaven tend to the injured girl, Tashi’s words from the day before echo in his mind. But that damn drop of blood. He can't help himself. So he stays.

When the pain drugs finally force Tashi to sleep, Art’s had enough.

Heaven was just…sitting there, watching Tashi sleep, running her hands over her hair with one hand, holding her hand with the other. He watches as she runs her thumb over Tashi’s forehead, staring blankly and biting her lip.

He takes a deep breath before whispering. “Hey, let me wrap that for you.”

“Wrap what?”

Does she really not feel it? She has to. The adrenaline had to have worn off, and she was limping when she came in. That scrape had to hurt like a bitch.

“Your…your leg, Hev, let me wrap it.” Art says softly, pushing off of the chair and walking around to the side of the bed she’s sitting on. “It looks like it hurts.”

Heaven doesn’t look up from Tashi as she quietly shakes her head no, opting to continue combing her fingers in Tashi’s now loose hair.

“Baby, c’mon-”

“I said no.” Heaven snaps, whipping her head to look at him briefly before turning back to Tashi. “Don’t call me that.”

Don’t try to play me for her. I don’t lose.

Art steadies himself before stepping closer, wordlessly holding his hand out to Heaven. He knows what he’s hoping for. He wants her to take it. But he also knows what he expects.

So he’s shocked when he feels a soft hand in his.

She’s still sitting. Still holding Tashi’s hand with her other one, but she took his. He has to do the rest. He knows that. Her eyes tell him that’s the only step she’ll take today. It’s been a rough one. For both of them.

So he pulls, and she stands, and he scoops her up. Hands holding the backs of her thighs as he lifts her, eyes locked on hers as she flinches, once, as her hand pulls from Tashi’s grasp. Art sits Heaven on the infirmary counter and digs around in drawers until he finds alcohol wipes, gauze and band-aids.

He makes work of her injury slowly, taking his time as he crouches in front of her. Art cleans the torn skin with the alcohol wipe, blowing cool air on it to soothe the sting, looking up at her through his lashes as he cleans her. He holds her thigh as he adds the gauze and band-aid, relishing in the feeling of her eyes on him. Only him.

Finally, when he’s done, he stops her from hopping down and retreating back to Tashi’s side, bringing the injured knee to his lips and placing long, deep kisses to it, all while giving her his eyes. He watches as different emotions flash across her face as he murmurs sweet nothings and prayers into her knee, allowing herself to be soothed for a moment.

Before long she’s swallowing back her own tears that draw him up to her, determined to catch them on his finger and chasing them with his lips along her cheeks and jaw. He gently pushes her hair back before bringing his lips to her ear, holding her close. “I know, baby, I know.”

“I-” her voice cracks and Art feels her drop her head into the crook of his neck and shoulder.

“What can I do? How can I make it better?”

She shakes her head, squeezing her eyes shut and curling into him completely. “I wish it was my fucking leg. Instead…instead of hers.”

“Don’t say that.” He breathes. “Heaven-”

He stops. He was going to say something else. She says something else, her words mumbled against his skin. But Art misses it.

Because all he can focus on is Tashi’s staring from the bed as he sees the reflection in the mirror.

119 notes · View notes

nottsangel · 27 days

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art would be eating you out but patrick gets jealous and they both fight to eat you out 🤗🤗

warnings: smut 18+, oral sex (f. receiving)

“fuck, right there! feels so good, art” you moaned as you ran your fingers through art’s blonde locks. his hands were pushing your legs further apart while he sucked on your clit so expertly, making you arch your back.

from your peripheral vision, you noticed patrick’s knee bouncing up and down, his painfully hard erection clearly visible in his pants as well as a wet patch forming on the fabric from precum. you promised he would get his turn after art, but with each passing second, it became increasingly difficult for patrick to just sit still and watch while soft moans left your pretty lips— it was torture.

“i can’t fucking take this anymore.” patrick muttered under his breath as he abruptly rose to his feet and marched towards the both of you before getting on his knees next to art and bumping his shoulder into art’s, causing him to stumble to the right. “what the fuck are you doing?” art snarled as he pushed patrick back with both his hands on his chest right when patrick was about to bury his head between your thighs. he tumbled backwards, giving art enough time to move his head to your cunt once again and pick up where he left off.

you smirked while observing the scene happening right between your legs, but without interfering as you let the boys fight for you. “just— let me join” patrick urged as he tried to squeeze his head between art’s and your left thigh, forcing himself to your dripping cunt. you grasped the sheets when you felt both their tongues eagerly against your pussy, fighting for dominance as you simultaneously felt their wandering hands all over your body.

the pleasure kept building, feeling as if you were in heaven with your right hand running through art’s blonde hair and your left through patrick’s curly locks. both of them occasionally made eye contact with you, causing your heart to skip a beat as they moaned into your core, the vibrations adding to the immense pleasure you were experiencing. “so fucking good, oh my god”

it was so fucking messy— saliva running down their chins mixed with your juices as they were fully making out with each other at this point. it became too much when one of them—you don’t even know who— pushed two fingers into your dripping hole before curling them up so perfectly, hitting your g-spot in no time and sending you over the edge.

“oh— oh my god, i’m coming— fuck!” a string of curse words left your lips as you firmly pulled both of their hair and arched your back, a wave of pleasure overtaking you as your eyes fluttered shut.

you slowly came down from one of the most intense orgasms you’ve had in a long time, your chest heaving up and down before slowly opening your eyes again, gazing down as both of their wide eyes stared up at you with mouths agape.

“fuck, that— that was so hot.” art stammered, shaking his head as he let out a chuckle. he then looked to the side, seeing patrick’s flushed face before gazing down at his crotch, the wet patch significantly more prominent, causing art’s smile to grow even wider. “did you just cum in your pants?” “can you blame me?”

ੈ♡˳

3K notes · View notes

solemnarration · 14 days

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𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐘 𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐍? | chapter one

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: art donaldson x female!reader x patrick zweig 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you’ve always been content being second place to your best friend tashi duncan, waiting for the day you can quit tennis. your world is upended when you meet art and patrick, and you’re forced to embrace a life in the sport you’ve been too afraid to claim for yourself. 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬): challengers content warnings, descriptions of anxiety, swearing, allusions to controlling mother, use of y/n 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.4k 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: y/i means your initial of your first name. i hope you enjoy the first chapter!! 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭

𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐎𝐑 𝐔𝐒 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐒’ 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 – 𝐒𝐄𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟗, 𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟔

Waiting in the entrance corridor that led to the USTA Billie Jean King National Tennis Center, you nervously fiddled with the homemade friendship bracelet on your wrist, an anxious habit you picked up over the years. The snapping of the elastic band on your skin distracted you from your spiralling thoughts.

You were a whirlwind of nerves and compulsive overthinking.

Even though you knew with certainty how the match would go that day, you couldn’t shake the anxiety that pulsed through your body before every game.

MOTHER: Duncan’s backhand is going to win her the whole damn Championship if you don’t get your act together.

DAD 🩵: I love you, win or lose. Have fun with Tashi and call me when it’s over! Best of luck. Hugs, Dad.

Making friendship bracelets before big tournaments was a tradition your dad started when you were eleven. It let you relax before nerve-wracking events and allowed you to spend time with your dad amidst your busy schedules. Surprisingly, it ended up being a fun, creative outlet as well. You enjoyed focusing on the details of something other than tennis, and sharing it with your dad only made it more special. Given how many years you had to practise, you were good at creating intricate patterns and now had a vast collection of bracelets. Most of them had your name, Tashi’s name, “Dad,” and the year and location of your favourite tournaments and memories on them.

The bracelets were your good luck charms, and you were comforted by the weight of the beads on your wrist.

The one you wore that day had a T and Y/I interwoven amongst pretty beads, creating deep pink and white flower shapes. They represented the stargazer lily, your favourite flower. You made the same bracelet for Tashi to wear during the US Open Junior Championships, and her beads were light and dark purple to represent her favourite flower, the sword lily. The meanings behind your favourite flowers were accurate for your roles in the friendship, given that Tashi’s sword lily – technically not a lily at all but an iris – represented strength, victory, and pride. Your stargazer lily represented innocence, purity, and prosperity. She was the heated tennis champion, while you were her gentle, equally successful friend.

The two of you thought it was perfect. Having your favourite flowers be lilies was just one of the many invisible strings that tied the two of you together.

Your father used to say that you and Tashi were the sun and the moon, and you had to agree. Tashi was fiery and outgoing, dominating the tennis world, just as the sun dominated the sky. Passionate and intense. You strived out of the spotlight and were introspective in a way that added serenity to your friendship. Warm-hearted and gentle. “The most important part is the balance,” your father would say when you grumbled how Tashi’s attributes sounded better. “The sun and the moon represent harmony. Together, they are day and night. Work and rest, visibility and mystery, rationality and emotion. Beginnings and endings.”

Perhaps that was why your life felt bookended by meeting and falling out with Tashi. It was the beginning and end of your adolescent life and the reason you made such drastic changes when your friendship ended. You couldn’t be the same person without her.

In the corridor, you could hear the crowd getting restless. Each shallow breath you took caught in your throat, and your anxious thoughts swirled like a tornado in your mind. The spectators were rightfully excited for the beautiful game of tennis they were promised if Tashi Duncan was playing. The fact that you, her talented best friend, were playing in the finals against her had them lapping up the match like they were starved for entertainment. In many ways, you supposed they were. The Junior Championships were dull without you and Tashi bringing the heat, and your matches turned the traditional game into a glittering spectacle of excellence.

Somewhere in the stands, Art Donaldson and Patrick Zweig nursed disposable soda cups and waited for the match to start.

“Don’t you want to meet Tashi Duncan and Y/N Y/L/N?” Patrick wondered, shocked by Art’s indifference to attending the Adidas party that evening. While Art went to the Junior Girls’ Final to see fresh talent in their sport, Patrick knew something far more exceptional awaited them. Art burped, and Patrick stared in disbelief. “You don’t get it, man. You’ve never seen them in person. They’re in another league,” he insisted.

Art glanced down at where Patrick’s knee pressed against his thigh. “You mean their game?” he asked sarcastically. Knowing Patrick as well as he did, Art was aware of the reason for his best friend’s obsession with Tashi Duncan and Y/N Y/L/N.

“No, I mean they’re the hottest women I’ve ever seen,” Patrick proclaimed. He was buzzing with an excitement Art rarely saw; Patrick was glowing. A devilish grin painted his lips, and his eyes darted across the court regularly in hopes of catching a glimpse of you and Tashi.

Answering your nervous prayers, Tashi finally joined you in the entrance corridor. “Hey!” She smiled, carefree and confident, like you weren’t about to play in the Junior Championship Final. The sun, you thought. She’s the sun. You wondered what it was like to shine so brightly and effortlessly. “Are you ready?” Tashi wondered, linking hands with you. Your friendship bracelets touched.

You sighed, squeezing her hand as you calmed your nerves. The crowd’s cheers faded in and out, interrupted by intermittent ringing in your ears. Your heart pounded, and you tried not to hyperventilate. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” you replied reluctantly. Your doubts and fears were a suppressive weight, glueing you to the spot.

Tashi nodded encouragingly at you. She knew you weren’t as scared about playing the match as incurring your mother’s wrath afterwards. Her eyes scanned your expression as if it were the map to the inner workings of your mind. She had a sixth sense when it came to reading your emotions. “You’ve got this, Y/I. You’re a fucking tennis player, and you’re going to kill it,” Tashi declared, squeezing your hand back. “Don’t let anybody tell you otherwise.”

She inhaled deeply, motioning for you to follow her with her free hand. You complied, following Tashi as she exhaled slowly. “I’m a fucking tennis player,” you agreed when you caught your breath, trying to keep your voice from wavering. For now, a voice in the back of your head reminded you. It’ll all be over soon.

“And we’re going to play some fucking tennis,” Tashi added.

You chuckled. “Thanks, T.”

“Let’s go.”

As you entered the court, the umpire introduced the two of you, “Winner of the Junior Australian Open, Tashi Duncan!” The crowd cheered as you and Tashi stepped onto the blue hard court with intertwined hands. “Local star and runner up of the Junior Australian Open, Y/N Y/L/N!”

You let the adrenaline rush take over and smiled, waving at your audience as you approached the benches. The applause for you wasn’t quite as blaring as for Tashi, but your home base of New Yorkers was pleased and proud to have you representing them.

From his seat, Art watched with wide eyes as his breath hitched. He watched your lips curve into a grin and felt his cheeks and ears heat up. Seeing you had ignited an insatiable fire in his chest, spreading south quickly. You were like a masterpiece come to life, sending a jolt of electricity through his veins and his senses into overdrive. Patrick glanced sideways at him, empathising with the lovestruck expression on his face.

“See you out there,” you told Tashi, grinning before parting ways and setting your bag down. She pointed two fingers at her eyes before turning her hand and pointing to you, reminding you to stay focused on the game and not let anyone ruin it for you.

It was an appreciated gesture. Tashi had known you long enough to notice when your mind wandered anxiously. You were reminded that your mother was in the crowd examining your every move; each step you made was deliberately catered to appease her. As long as you did what she said and got through the tournament, you could breathe easy. You took a few sips of electrolyte water, stretched your body, took deep breaths, and practised the visualisation methods your dad taught you.

Art leaned forward in his seat, eyes trained on you and periodically flickering to Tashi as you both stretched. “Holy shit,” he murmured appreciatively as the flouncy skirt of your white Nike tennis dress revealed the curve of your ass when you bent over to touch your toes. Forget a moth to the flame. Art was like a starving, panting dog waiting for his next meal. He and Patrick had been silent since you and Tashi walked out, blatantly staring with parted lips, too entranced to clap with the crowd.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this final round match will be the best of three tie-break sets,” the umpire declared for the audience to hear. “To the left of the chair, from the United States, Y/N Y/L/N. To the right of the chair, also from the United States, Tashi Duncan. Duncan won the toss and elected to serve.”

At the umpire’s cue, you grabbed your racket and walked behind the baseline. Art’s eyes trailed you, admiring how your hips moved as you sauntered across the court. “Fuck,” he remarked. He didn’t think he’d ever looked at someone and thought they had a sexy walk, yet there he was, helplessly looking to Patrick for an explanation. What was it about you that made you so perfectly captivating? “Patrick…” Art trailed off, powerless to your elegant charisma.

His best friend only laughed. “Just wait until you see them play,” Patrick warned Art eagerly.

Behind the baseline, you closed your eyes and took a deep breath. You envisioned yourself flawlessly executing aces and volleys, being deliberate with your movements and not getting hurt. Positive visualisation was something you started doing recently when your anxiety got the best of you, but you never pictured yourself winning. Not when you played against Tashi.

For a moment, right before the match started, it was just you and your best friend smiling at each other from across the court with an unspoken understanding. No matter how it went, you had unwavering love and support for each other. You were beyond rivalry, and tennis connected you rather than drawing a line between you. This was one of your favourite moments in tennis: the calm before the storm, the moment of anticipation when nobody knew how the match would play out.

Not you, though. You always knew.

“First set, Duncan to serve.” The umpire motioned to Tashi. “Ready? Play.”

Nothing could have prepared Art and Patrick for the match they were about to watch.

You crouched, waiting for your best friend to serve. Just as it had the day you first met Tashi, her backhand was like a sledgehammer strike each time she vaulted the ball over the net.

“Look at that fucking backhand,” Art groaned appreciatively at Tashi’s powerful two-handed backhand. Patrick merely shook his head like he couldn’t believe it.

At one point in the rally you hit wide, and the ball flew out. The umpire called, “15–love, Duncan.” Everyone applauded the point.

You gained the next point when Tashi hit the net. 15–all. Even though Tashi had that lightning-fast backhand, your rallies were thrilling and beautiful. Tashi took the first game, and then it was your turn to serve.

This was where you thrived.

You bounced the ball on the ground a few times before taking a deep breath, tossing it in the air, and firing it over the net so quickly that Tashi and the audience barely saw it coming. Your serve was quick as a whip, and Tashi couldn’t return it. An ace. A murmur rang through the crowd as the monitor displayed the speed of your serve: 120 miles per hour.

Art nearly whimpered, “Holy fuck!” He’d never seen a girl his age fire a serve that powerful, precise, and fast. Art shifted in his seat.

Patrick sighed reverently. “I think I just came,” he quipped.

You took the first set, 6-4 in your favour. Tashi took the next. The final set had everyone in the stands on the edge of their seats, waiting to see how things went. You and Tashi were stuck in a 6-6 tiebreaker, and this next point would decide the game. If you won this point, you would play another set to determine the winner of the match. If Tashi won, she would win the US Open Junior Girls’ Singles Championship Final.

There was an electric energy in the air, and Art and Patrick could hear their heartbeats hammering in their ears. The game unfolded remarkably. Everyone held their breaths in anticipation as Tashi served. You returned each stroke with precision and power, allowing the thud of the ball to echo through the court intermixed with your grunts.

It was a moment of pure bliss.

For once, you weren’t thinking of your mother or her overbearing expectations of you. All you could focus on was you, Tashi, and the ball floating between you. The tension was palpable and thick; nobody in the audience knew how they wanted it to go. Tashi was the clear fan favourite, but her losing this point would mean at least another half-hour of watching the two of you play. Nobody could deny that would be a gripping end to the match.

As if ignited by a rush of raw determination, Tashi struck the ball and sent it soaring across the court, kissing your baseline and winning her the entire match.

With a primal, reverberating roar of passion, Tashi crouched, clenched her fists, and screamed, “Come on!” Her voice echoed through the court, thundering above the crowd cheering for her.

Everyone present knew they’d seen something phenomenal, and they weren’t sure what to do now that it was over.

"Game, set, and match, Duncan. Seven games to six in the final tie break,” the umpire said over the clamour.

You laughed, dropped your racket, and shrieked when Tashi leapt over the tennis court to pull you into a hug. Breathless and sweaty, you wrapped your arms around your best friend and giggled deliriously. All your matches with Tashi were fantastic, but this was one of the most riveting. You pulled away enough to exchange bright smiles, heart pounding with exhilaration from the intense match. Your spirits were high, mirroring Tashi’s excitement and revelling in the knowledge that you had fun and entertained the crowd. For you, that transcended the outcome of the game.

“Now that’s tennis,” Patrick commented, giggling giddily.

Art got to his feet and clapped, speechless.

“Congrats, T! You just won the goddamn Junior US Open,” you exclaimed, lightheaded from the adrenaline rush. After the gruelling match, you felt your muscles twitching from the exertion. Your body was drenched in sweat, physically and emotionally exhausted by the demands of the sport you and Tashi dedicated your lives to.

Tashi chuckled, beads of sweat dripping from her temples. “Who cares? You just showed me that you’re not ready to give up on tennis yet,” she retorted, smirking triumphantly. You opened your mouth to argue, but Tashi shook her head. “I know you think you want to quit but you haven’t even given yourself a chance yet! Think about it, your mom isn’t going to be riding your ass when we’re at Stanford. You might just fall back in love with it,” she pointed out.

You rolled your eyes and smiled fondly at her. She meant well by encouraging you to keep up with tennis, but nobody could convince you to keep going.

When you and Tashi turned to bow and wave at the crowd, Patrick stood beside Art. “What time did you say the Adidas party was?” Art asked, wonderstruck.

Patrick’s lips curled into a brazen smirk, like a cat that had just caught the canary, and his eyes sparkled with a knowing gleam. “I knew you’d come around.”

𝐀𝐓𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍, 𝐆𝐄𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐈𝐀 – 𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟐𝟕, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟗

“We need to get you some more match time, then,” Tashi decided. She and Art were sitting in their hotel room in Atlanta after his crushing defeat by a French teenager. Grabbing her phone, she checked what other tournaments were happening before the US Open.

“I can play Cincinnati,” Art protested, not wanting Tashi to pull him out.

“No. No, you cannot. Not like this,” Tashi disagreed. It wasn’t that she would be embarrassed if Art lost; she loved and respected him more than his wins. It was the fact that she knew he had more in him. More fight and more passion. Tashi just needed to find a way to reignite the flames. “Okay, how about--” she paused. New Rochelle, New York. Around the corner from where Y/N Y/L/N grew up and currently resided. Speaking of reigniting old flames… “How about New Rochelle?” Tashi proposed.

Art’s shoulders tensed. He exhaled shakily, mind immediately going to you. Tashi wasn’t oblivious to how her husband had a visceral, physical reaction whenever you were brought up. The last time either of them saw you – really saw you up close – was three years ago at the French Open, the year you and Art took home the Singles titles. Art and Tashi were invited to the Nike afterparty celebrating your second French Open Singles win in 2016. Tashi thought Art would faint at the rate he held his breath each time he saw you. His hands clutched the table whenever you laughed; it was like his hands itched to reach for you, like a bee drawn to the sweetest flower.

“That’s a Challenger,” Art stammered, trying to change the subject.

Even though he tried to keep his mind off you, his thumb subconsciously traced the friendship bracelet on Tashi’s wrist. It was one of the many bracelets Lily made for her, a skill their daughter learned from her father.

Tashi recalled when you were teenagers, and you tried to get her to make bracelets with you. You must have convinced her to do it a handful of times, but she never had the patience to focus on anything except tennis and gave up every time.

The only person who ever took the time and care to make you a bracelet was Art Donaldson.

Tashi ignored his obvious shift in topic. “Yeah, I know that. It’s in a couple of days. Maybe we can get you a wildcard,” she suggested. Art scoffed quietly, averting his eyes and fiddling with the colourful beads on her bracelet. “Art?” He hummed nonchalantly. “You need to start winning,” Tashi told him firmly. Moments like these made it hard to walk the line between spouse and coach. “Right now, you’re getting crushed by guys like Du Maurier. So we need to go somewhere, where there’s absolutely nobody on the other side of the net who can shake your fucking confidence. Okay?” Tashi underscored the importance of the Challenger. “That’s why we’re going to--” she glanced at her phone-- “Phil’s Tire Town Challenger.”

Art chuckled. Even when he first started in the professional tennis world, he’d never gone to a Challenger with a name like that. “That’s the only reason we’re going to New Rochelle?” Art asked, smiling knowingly at Tashi.

She didn’t care that he’d caught on to her scheme. “You’re telling me you don’t want to see her?” Tashi retorted, raising an eyebrow at her husband. “If she was right in front of you, you’d just turn around and walk away?” Their silent exchange of glances spoke volumes, acknowledging the unspoken truth that he loved you. Amidst the tension, there was a quiet understanding between them. Tashi knew what it was like to have loved and lost you. Perhaps not in the same way as Art, but in your friendship that once meant everything to her. “Because I think you’d hold on and never let go of her again,” Tashi argued.

Art couldn’t disagree with her. After all, a man never forgets his first love.

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: how are we feeling after this chapter?? i hope you enjoyed the way i incorporated the friendship bracelets and lilies (yes art and tashi named their daughter after the fact that your favourite flower is a lily asdfghjhkhl) thank you for reading xx

#challengers #art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig x reader #art donaldson #patrick zweig #tashi duncan #challengers x reader #challengers fanfic #challengers fanfiction #mike faist x reader #josh o connor x reader #art donaldson x you #art donaldson imagine #patrick zweig x you #patrick zweig imagine #fic: guilty as sin?

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hollandsfavbabe · 9 days

Text

Wet & Wild II

pairing: art donaldson x reader

synopsis: in which you, a swimmer, and art, a tennis champ, change each other's lives for the better when you challenge his match-like stance on life

warnings: SMUT, porn with a plot, sexually explicit language, cursing, oral sex (f receiving), p in v sex, nipple play, locker room sex, swimmer lingo

word count: 5.5k

part 1

tags💜: @midnightwrriting @no1runawaymilkdad @ihave-aboringlife @blahhucantmakeme @laniirackssss @blood-bloss @lmaoyani @geminiflanagansblog @ruyaas-world @hrlzy @povobsessed @stephstephstephsteph @chakin @10ava01 @lem0ns77 @velvrei @hdhdhdndhdndk

masterlist

a/n: sorry if the tags aren’t working, I tried to include everyone that wanted it. lmk if you have questions on anything. hope you enjoy!!

A week has passed since the last time you’d seen Art and you try to rid any thoughts of him from your mind as you enter the women’s locker room, the day so early that the sun has only just risen. You’d only spent a few hours with him, but he feels more important to you than a mere acquaintance, especially considering you’d let him have more of you than most people would ever get to. You try to tell yourself it won’t matter if he shows or not, but deep down you know that it will. Regardless, overthinking won’t help you in the water so you shove it down as you steadily pull on your tech suit, careful not to rip the delicate fabric. Your headphones are currently blaring your hype playlist in your ear, but you slide them off once you notice movement to your left as Chloe opens her own locker.

“You ready?” she asks you, pulling out her own racing suit from the depths of her swim bag.

“Not really,” you admit, giving up on stretching your tight suit to your full body frame for the time being as you opt for a tie-back bikini top instead. Your shoulders are ever so grateful. “I’m so nervous.”

“Why? Because of your race or your little tennis boyfriend?” she teases, lips quirking into a classic Chloe smirk. As your best friend, she was the first and only person you told about your interaction with Art at the party and, of course, she had been teasing you about it since. While during practice it was amusing, you are not in the mood for jokes right before a race, especially one of such importance.

You furrow a brow, shaking your head to signal that it’s not the time for such jests concerning the blonde. As the good friend that she is, Chloe immediately understands as she moves to help tie your suit straps, a simple task that you are unexpectedly failing at due to the pressure of the meet ahead of you.

“You’re going to do great,” Chloe comforts, placing an assuring hand on your shoulder once she’s finished with your straps. “I’m sure of it.”

“What if I don’t break the record?”

“Who cares? You can try again next time. If that’s the worst that can happen, you don’t have anything to be nervous about,” she smiles in assurance. “Besides that record is as good as yours -” she makes a gesture to your tech suit that has the most magical of time bending abilities if wielded by the right swimmer. “You’ve worked so hard for this. Nothing can stop you now.”

“Thanks Clo.” you grin at her appreciatively, and though your nerves don’t settle in the slightest, you feel more comfortable living in cohabitation with them now. They’re so much easier to manage when you’re not alone.

It’s only minutes before the rest of your team has arrived and you have hours before your event is scheduled to take place, yet it only feels like seconds before you’re being seated in the waiting room amongst your competitors, tech suit finally fully on. Rousing music plays through your headphones though you are sure to skip any songs that seem even the slightest bit romantic. You try to slip into the right headspace, the line between confident and cocky that has always aided you in not panicking just before you step up to the blocks in the past. You try to find it, using any method at your fingertips, but it’s no use. You can’t seem to find it no matter how hard you try and suddenly it feels as if the weight of the world is crashing down on you when the door opens and your event is called. You stand with the other women and together you line up behind the blocks.

The sun shines much higher up in the sky than it had been when you dove in during warm ups, blaring down to reflect off the red of your cap that bears the Stanford logo in white along with your last name. You take your rightful place behind the starting block of the middle lane, and though you already wrote your heat and lane in black sharpie on your forearm just to be sure, you can’t help but worry that you’ve already missed your race.

It’s only when the head announcer calls your event on the loudspeaker that you stop dwelling on it, her voice echoing through the stands that seem so much taller now that you're in the center with so much pressure resting solely on you. You rake though the rafters to your left, hoping to be comforted by the sight of Chloe or one of your other teammates until you realize that they are more than likely preparing for their own events in the warm up pool.

It's then, just when the swirling hurricane of emotions is hurtling toward you, that you see him. He’s seated in the first row, blonde curls circling his head like a golden crown and a wide smile lighting up his face when he sees that you’ve finally spotted him, one that you can’t help returning as he mouths sweet wishes of luck to you.

Art came. He actually came!

The storm subsides and all of a sudden you’ve lost all your inhibitions. Instead of buzzing anxiety, you are filled with a new light and the confidence of a record breaker. It’s all so clear with Art in the stands and as his presence wafts away your storm of worries, you come to the realization that you can do it. You know you can.

The whistle of an official blares through the speaker and on cue you slide on your goggles and mount the block. You’re really starting to feel the compression of your suit as you bend into your diving position, waiting for the magic words. The signal that it’s time to race and leave everything you have in the pool as you go.

“Swimmers, take your marks…”

You take one last breath before the sound blares and you dive off the block. It all comes naturally to you and with the help of your suit, you find yourself breaking out farther than ever before.

You only have a few strokes until you’re at the end of the pool when out of nowhere, the girl in the lane beside you starts to catch up to you until the two of you are neck and neck and it doesn’t escape your attention when she flips a split second before you’re able to.

You know it’s not about winning, you told Art that, but it’s as if a fire has been lit behind you and you’re suddenly determined to go for the gold. You push yourself harder than you ever have before and though you're not sure where the energy has come from, you know it’s exactly what you need. You’ve failed if you’re able to get out of the pool without stumbling.

Before long you catch up to the swimmer beside you, taking your first and only breath as you summon the last of your power, pushing through the water like a jet-ski. At once you’re behind the flags and unlike before, there’s no one beating you to the touch pad resting on the side of the ending wall as you slam your hand down and come up for air.

The crowd erupts with applause once you finish and at first you’re under the impression that it’s because of your win until your eyes glaze over at the scoreboard and nearly burst from your skull at the sight of the result.

You had accomplished your goal. There it was, a time faster than the Stanford record glowing right beside your name. But you didn’t just pass it by a few flimsy hundredths. Your new record was more than a second faster.

You can hardly believe it and you know if the proof weren’t right in front of you, there’d only be disbelief instead of this crashing wave of accomplishment and pride. Though you’re in severe oxygen debt from the race, you find yourself screaming in excitement at your gigantic accomplishment.

“We have a new record!” an official announces through the loudspeaker once the other girls have returned to the starting wall, followed by your name and new time. You search for Art again once you’re out of the water, all but failing to suppress your grin as you find him clapping in the stands and smiling down at you as if you were the most precious stone in the world.

Your teammates are filled with the same immense pride when you join them in the locker room once the meet is over. You’ve since changed from your tech suit, switching out the tight fabric for your cozy hoodie, tie-back bikini top, and a towel tied around your waist. The suit in question now hangs in your locker with the rest of your clothes that you had been in the middle of putting on before the congradulations began.

“I fucking told you!” Chloe shouts, clapping you on the back like you had just won the lottery. You imagine such a feat couldn’t match the pride you feel now.

You almost say that you can’t believe it, but the words stall on your lips. You actually can believe it, this is something you’ve been working tirelessly for. And now, after a long hard race, the record title is finally yours.

“Did I see a certain blonde in the audience?” Chloe smirks, nudging you as you wave goodbye to one of your other parting teammates.

“Maybe,” you drawl, trying your best to hide your growing grin, but the thought of the man makes you feel like flying through the air as year worth of buried emotions bubble up to the surface. You haven’t felt anything like this for a very long time.

“You know what that means…” Chloe whispers to you after you pull away from a hug with one of the other girls who like everyone else, is on her way out. The night’s party is being hosted at a house that’s a longer commute than usual in honor of the women’s tenth annual win and unlike your teammates, you aren’t in any hurry to get there knowing the a portion of the celebration will surround you.

“Drinks on you?” you guess, pretending you are clueless as to what she’s getting at. You hope it’s enough to deter her from whatever inevitably grotesque she’s about to say, but you know it’s to no avail as she laughs and shakes her head.

“Nice try,” she smiles, nudging you with her elbow. “I meant that he’s definetly going to fuck the shit out of you next time you see him.”

You cringe bashfully at her words, hitting her on the shoulder as she backs away from your shrunken form.

“Chloe!” you chide, though you both know no real anger lies within your tone. She’s been like this since the day you’d first met her: always the same old loving, indecorous Chloe.

“Just saying.” she shrugs before turning to say her goodbyes to the last lingering one of your other teammates.

You turn to open your locker, finally ready to change out of your damp towel until you’re startled by the clacking footsteps of unfamiliar tennis shoes heading in your direction. You assume it’s another random spectator who had bypassed the many signs clearly stating that the locker room is for athlete occupance only, but at once you find you’re very wrong when you turn to see who it is.

Art stands before you and though it was his decision to invade the women’s locker room, he looks as surprised as you.

“Hey,” he says, almost breathlessly. You’re thankful when you notice that Chloe is fully dressed to your left, just pulling on her knit cardigan.

She smirks smuggly at the sight of him, swinging her bag over her shoulders before sending you a wink and a swiftly muttered, “Told ya.” Without another word she exits, leaving you and Art utterly and completely alone.

“You realize this is the women’s restroom, right?” you jab as you hear Chloe shut the door behind her, though it’s all in good fun. As far as you know, no one is coming anywhere near the locker room for the next several hours.

“I was waiting outside for you,” he states, gradually lifting his hands from their tense place in the front of his jean pockets. “I thought everyone else had already come out, but I guess I was wrong.”

“That’s just Chloe,” you laugh, gesturing in the direction of the exit path your best friend had just taken. “Don’t worry, she won’t tattle.”

He chuckles, amused by your jest before he takes a slow step closer to you. Like a sparkler to your stomach, you become acutely aware of the tension between the two of you, growing like the blush colored blossoms of a cherry tree in spring. “I’ve thought about what you said.”

This makes you smile.

“And?”

“You were right.”

You’re heart flutters, so light that if it weren’t encaged within your chest you’re sure it would’ve floated away. He pauses to take another tense step in your direction, now only a foot away.

“Do you know how Tashi and I met?”

“I don’t, actually,” you say, words laced with a twinge of sarcasm.

“Right,” he laughs, realizing the folly behind his question. It was more rhetorical than anything, but he begins the story like a spider spindiling its web. “Well it was only about a year ago. We met at the US open. Patrick and I both went after her and you know what she told us?”

You wait for the answer.

“She said she’d give her number to whoever won our match. That was the first time I ever lost and it was to my best friend.”

“That’s who was at your match, wasn��t it?” you ask.

Art nods solumnly, though the pain that had been etched on his face from your last meeting has vanished, as if the thorn in his side has been replced by a budding rose.

“I didn’t know Art, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he urges. “It’s all okay now. I’ve realized that none of it matters anymore and it’s all because of you. If I’m being honest, I thought maybe if I won my match, then Tashi would leave him. But it’s not what I want anymore. I don’t want to be the winner she’s running to. I don’t want to have to earn her love.”

“What do you want?”

There’s a pause, a distinct moment where the glint in his blue eyes from the bright lights above conveys a clever message to you than any words could. Then he speaks.

“I think you know what I want.”

It’s all the confirmation you need to know that he’s finally playing the same game as you. He’s unbearably close now as his head reaches up to gently rake through your stringy wet hair. You welcome his touch, breath catching in your throat at the feeling of his fingers as his lips hover just above yours. If you’re being completely honest, you haven’t stopped fantasizing about it since the night of the party. Since the moment he had kissed you.

“You were right,” he whispers as his hot breath tickles the tips of your top lips with every placid word. “I don’t care about winning anymore. The only point I want to score is you.”

“That’s a really bad joke.” you remark, pointing out the obvious from his corny declaration. But Art doesn’t share your smirk, his face settling in an expression that’s much more sensual.

“I’m not kidding.”

You feel the immediate shift in energy as your smirk fades to parted lips and Art’s longing gaze moves downward from your eyes. What little space left between you is squashed as you allow him to pull you even closer, noses prodigy one another as Art’s fingers drift from the tips of your hair to cup the back of your head. It’s almost salivating the way he looks at you and you’re suddenly eager to remember what he tastes like.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks through a whisper, so quietly that if you hadn’t been right in front of him, you surely wouldn’t have heard it. It’s milliseconds before you’re nodding exuberantly with more urgency than a speeding ambulance (something you might need if your heart decided to beat any faster).

“Pleas-” you start, but Art’s on you before you can even get the word out, covering your lips with his until all you can taste, smell, and feel is him. Everything is him.

He’s gentle with you at first, testing the waters as his lips pass smoothly over yours. You lift up your hands to invite him in, squeezing the toned flesh of his arms before you drag them slowly up to the nape of his neck. You toy with some of the curls that rest there, twirling them between your fingers while sinking into the sounds he makes in return. He lets out a soft moan into your mouth, and at once his tongue melds with yours. You match the new intensity, swallowing each low groan.

Unlike your last encounter, it’s Art who pulls away this time, forcing you to scowl at him in confusion, eyes squinting and lips puffy. He twists his head to the left, glazing at the wide space behind him as he slowly moves the both of you backwards to the nearest flat-board bench until one of its edges grazes the top of his shin.

“What are you doing?” you ask through a whisper, leaning forward so that your lips titillate the tip of his ear which sends inadvertent shivers through his whole body. Art turns back to you, smirking as he leans in for another sloppy kiss, earning a salacious sound from you before his lips shift from yours and trailing from the corner of your mouth to the line of your open jaw where his teeth scrape against your skin. You can feel him grinning as he makes you emit the softest of moans.

“I want to make up for the other night. I said some things - I’m not proud of.”

You give a giddy chuckle as you cup his cheek, amused by the fact that he thinks his past behavior was inexcusable until Art’s head dips to suck on the tender skin of your neck and you can’t help but whine. You’re glad you have the lung capacity of a swimmer otherwise you might’ve fainted from the near constant lack of oxygen.

“Art, honestly-” a sudden gasp is ripped from you as you feel him nipping at your sweet spot, crumbling like a tin can under pressure. “-it’s fine.” you barely manage to finish your sentence.

He places a few more steady kisses to the column of your neck, working his way down to your clavicle. You tip your head back, an unintentional effect from the sensation of his lips as he lays the last just near the edge of your collarbone before raising his head to look at you and it’s almost as if he can see right through you.

“Does that mean you don’t want what I’m offering?” he questions, glancing down at the steady movement of your chest as it rises and falls beneath your hoodie. You don’t recall when in the last few minutes he managed to move his hands down to your waist, but you can feel them now as clear as ever. He grips the sides of your hoodie, nimble fingers sliding under the thick gray fabric until they find the skin beneath and his touch feels like fire, sparking flames along your hips with every small caress. It’s so hot that you aren’t sure how Tashi could pick anyone over him. You aren’t sure how anyone could deny him for that matter.

“No…” you admit and at once his hands start to travel higher and higher until they reach the bottom band of your bikini, inflaming the whole of your torso as he meets the straps still tied neatly together in the middle of your spine forming a perfect bow. His fingers follow the provided path, meeting at the center of your back as he starts to twirl one of the tails of the knot around his pointer finger.

“May I?” he asks, his tone so deceivingly politely as he gently tugs on the string. He waits patiently for your consent as his eyes pan up from your chest to your expression. You can’t get the words out, already too overwhelmed from the sizzling sensation of his touch, but you make sure to nod with the utmost enthusiasm. Who were you to tell Art Donaldson no when he was so eager to touch you? And you, in turn, were so eager to feel him.

He smiled at your agreeance and instantly unfastened the tie of your suit, pulling on the strand until the entire bow came undone. He lips pressed against yours once more before he settled down on the bench and raised the hem of your hoodie just enough to expose your stomach, peppering kisses to every inch of you.

You released your hold on him to assist in pulling the hoodie over your head, tossing it behind you where it lands in a crumple pile near the metal door of your locker. Without any tension left to hold it up, the triangle cutlets of your bikini slump to reveal two perfect pebbled nipples, leaving the towel looped around your waist as your only source of coverage.

Usually you’d feel insecure being so bare for a man that’s practically a stranger, but from the dazed look Art gives you as he takes in the sight of your figure, you find that you don’t mind it in the slightest.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty,” Art mutters almost involuntarily, sending shock waves down straight to your core. The words came bursting out before he could find the strength to hold them back, his brain too busy processing your beauty to have any control over any sort of filter. You return your hands to his head of blonde curls just as he presses one last kiss to the center of your abdomen, exactly below your rib cage.

The movement is so sudden that you can't count the seconds that pass before he grabs at your breasts, each hand perfectly cupping the mounted flesh. His mouth is slower, trailing kisses up the valley of your chest.

His thumb works the sensitive skin encircling your nipple, running over the hardened peak in an unperceivable pattern that forces another well earned moan from your lips. It’s encouragement for his other hand that immediately drifts upwards to mirror the actions of the other. Every pinch and slight movement is like gasoline to your fire, all pouring in a downward stream to the part of you that grows more needy with every passing second. You could cry from the sensation of it all, the intensity only growing when you feel him pass his tongue over your left nipple. You try to suppress any sounds this time, teeth biting down on your lip as you curve your head back, but it forces its way out despite your efforts. You grip the hair fixed to his crown and pressure him forwards so that he remains in place.

“Shit, that feels - really good.” you praise, your phrase strung together like an old beaded bracelet as changes in pace break apart each word. When Art does part from your breasts, it’s to press wet kisses down the line of your abdomen as flickering thumbs replace his mouth. He pauses as he reaches the softest portion of your stomach, stopping just above the knot that is covering your very bare lower half, and though you don’t recall informing him about your lack of undergarments, you are sure that he already knows.

“I need to taste you,” he whispers against your skin.

He doesn’t ask you for permission anymore, but instead glances up at you from his spot on the bench and it’s everything you need to understand what he wants from you. And of course you want it. You’re sure if he wastes a second longer to tend to your throbbing center, you might just pass out in his sturdy arms.

“Please, Art, I need you,” you’re able to get out, though it’s breathy and delicate from the way that he’s rendered you.

He’s quick to oblige as he takes the top of your towel cover in between his perfect white teeth and yanks the fabric hard enough for it to fall to your feet. He’s on you in an instant, one of his hands moving to support your shaky frame as he slides a knee between yours to spread you open.

He coaxes every cry out of you with his tongue, wet and skilled as he traces it along each fold, his nose bobbing against your swollen clit not dissimilar from his left hand that still lies atop your breast. You press him closer to you as he swirls his tongue around you, over and over and never in the same way more than twice in a row. It’s overstimulation at its best, overwhelming you until you're trembling in his grasp and before you know it, you’re riding the edge of the wave to pure pleasure.

“Fuck, Art! I’m- I’m-“ you can’t even finish your sentence, he feels so good. He hums against you in amusement, the vibrations of his voice meeting your core in a melting sensation that you find yourself grinding into uncontrollably.

“On my tongue,” he promotes against you before licking a steady stripe along your center. It’s then that you know you’re done for. Your cry is almost inhuman as you leap off the edge, diving into the heart of the wave as Art finally relinquishes his hold on your breast and uses the newly unoccupied hand to pierce into your arousal, calloused fingers curling into you as he helps you down from your high. Even after you cum you know you still have more in you. And you can tell from the growing bulge in his pants that Art isn’t done with you either.

He stands to kiss you with dampened lips as the taste of your own arousal invades your senses, but you withdraw from the embrace after only a few seconds to ask him your burning question, desire already regrowing like a flooding river of need.

“Art, I need you,” you start, pulling at the canvas material of his button up. “Please, please fuck me.”

“Oh fuck,” he mumbles before pressing his mouth towards yours and back you up to the wall of lockers that are neatly arranged behind you.

Granted by his permission, you unfasten each button of his shirt until it’s enough to pull it off him which he happily helps you accomplish. You can’t tell who’s more desperate for you to feel the dense muscle of his chest as he places your palms face down on his pecs, granting you the assurance you needed to explore his body.

You take your time, squeezing and prodding just as he had done to you until one of your hands is low enough on his stomach to palm him through his light wash jeans. The soft whimper he returns is nearly enough to send you over again. He pulls back as he lets you undo his belt, eyelids fluttering after you’ve unbuttoned and unzipped the only thing keeping you from him. You’re quick to pull him out, not at all shocked by how hard he is and it’s a major ego boost knowing it’s all because of you.

“See what you do to me?” he whispers against your lips as if you needed more proof of his longing for you. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Please,” you beg. “I need to feel you.”

Art is quick to oblige as his calloused fingers grip the soft skin of your hips, so rough that you can feel every callus from his racket as he pushes you against the lockers, thrusting up into you. While he’s dying to continue, he hesitates so that you can acclimate to his size. It takes no longer than a second as you release a guttural groan and wrap a leg around his waist, aiding him in hitting even deeper within you.

“Fuck!” you cry, throwing your head back against the cold metal as Art nips at your neckline again. You’re drowning beneath the blissful rocky wave and from the sounds that he’s making, almost re-enacting one of his matches just for you, you can tell that Art is too.

It happens so quickly that your mind struggles to understand it, spinning wildly as the wave pulls you under once more along with Art who finishes in a similar amount of time. You lean into his chest, breathing heavily as you take in the heavenly scent of his undoubtedly expensive cologne and slightly wincing as he pulls out of you slowly. He ducks to pick up your fallen towel as he starts to clean you up.

The realization that it’s over doesn't quite hit you until Art helps you get dressed, buckling his belt back up only once you’re decent and in return you hand him a spare shirt so he doesn’t have to redo every button on the one you’d nearly torn off him.

“Thanks,” he smiles gratefully, pulling on your shirt which fits tighter around him than it would around you, though it’s nothing to complain about as every miniscule ripple of muscle is on display.

You’re both thinking the exact same thing as you exit the locker room, hand in hand with the same guilty expression on your face as you pass an incoming janitor who is too busy scowling to ask Art what he was doing in the women’s locker room. It’s obvious from the encounter that it won’t be your last and as Art drives you to the planned frat party, you’re even sure that it’s not the last of the night.

Time proves you right as you’re seated next to Art a few weeks later, curled into his side as you share a large plate of the appetizer combo at a local Applebees. It was the only thing open after a long day of matches and meets and steamy rendezvous in between. The two of you were going on steadier than the trunks of ancient trees as you continue to support each other, you attending all of Art’s matches ( even if it meant skipping a practice or two) and Art cheering for you at all of your meets. You’re not sure if it’s the consistent attendance, but the both of you were only getting better at your respective hobbies by the day, particularly Art who hadn’t lost a match since meeting you.

You’re both jokingly arguing over who gets the last quesadilla when a familiar woman stops near your table, joined by a man you’d never seen before, though you recognize him from several of Art's detailed stories. He straightens beside you, gathering himself to greet the new company.

“Hey guys, long time no see!”

“Art,” Patrick nods to his friend before smiling to you and offering his hand, one that you take without a second thought. “I’m Patrick.”

“I know,” you admit. “I’ve heard a lot about you. You must be Tashi.” you turn to the girl and you can’t help, but analyze the peculiarities of her expression. It’s clear she is content with her own man of choice, but something about the way she looks at you tells you that she’s still involved in the tennis philosophy you managed to screw out of Art. She looks at you like you’re a player she’s lost to. And from what Art’s told you, you're certain it’s the first time Tashi has lost.

“It’s nice to meet you.” she fakes a smile before pulling Patrick to the door, careful not to stay long enough for the conversation to lead anywhere important. It’s awkward and strange, but you know it’s for the best. You’re not particularly interested in anything she has to say anyways.

“Did you see that?” you ask, pointing in the direction of the doorway that the couple had used for an easy escape.

“What?” Art wonders, looking towards you in anticipation.

“I think she’s looking for a new winner.”

Art leans in to peck the apple of your cheek, assurance that no matter the circumstance, he’ll never be available to the likes of Tashi Duncan again.

“Must be because I’ve won,” he reasons, “-because I have you and there’s nothing she can do to separate us.”

You smile at his sweet words, praying that he never ceases to use his talent for affectionate poetry as you lean in to kiss him. Whether he wins or loses or even never plays again, you couldn’t care less about the outcome of his career. As long as Art’s happy, you’re prepared to take on any challenge you’re put up to, whether on the court or in the pool.

#art donaldson smut #art donaldson fanfic #stanford art!!!#art donaldson x female reader #art donaldson x you #art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson fic #tashi duncan #patrick zweig #challengers 2024 #challengers movie #challengers #challengers fanfic #swimmer life #swimming #smut #mike faist

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castiwls · 15 days

Text

i think I'll miss you forever - a.d

Paring; art x ex!reader

Requested; no

Synopsis; leaving always hurts worse the second time around

Warnings; none

Notes;this is long and sad :( reqs and inbox are open !

Masterlist

Taking another sip you felt the alcohol burn slightly as you swallowed. After the day you had you welcomed the burn, it took your mind off the absolute shit show that was your job.

Placing your chin onto your palm you continued to mindlessly scroll through another report you’d been sent, mentally making a list of things you’d need to change in the morning. Reaching for your drink you moved your wrist in a small circle, watching as the liquid sloshed around in the glass.

Taking another sip you placed the glass down. Going back to the report you went back to reading a paragraph you were pretty sure you’d already read. A sigh tumbled from your lips as you scrolled further down - mentally noting more things to change.

The sound of your name being called pulled you from the report. Sitting up straighter your eyes glanced round the relatively empty bar for a moment before you felt your breath stop.

Your heart seemed to speed up slightly as you noticed the familiar figure only a few feet away. He smiled brightly, his eyes sparkling almost as he noticed your attention on him.

“Art?” You gasped standing from your chair. He quickly strode across the room, his smile only seeming to widen as he got closer. When he’d first noticed you he could hardly believe it.

It had been years since he’d last saw you, yet his heart seemed to beat just as fast as it did the day that he’d met you. He’d felt like a teenager again, trying to hype himself up to talk to a cute girl yet you were so much more than that.

You were so much more to him still, and seeing you again after all those years only made those feelings he’d pushed down come crashing down on him.

“Hey.” His arms quickly engulfed you the moment he was close enough. A small noise of surprise left your lips before you reciprocated the hug. Art felt a small sigh of relief leave his lips as his body relaxed into your hold.

His chin rested on your head as he pulled you slightly closer, almost as if he was unwilling to let go. After a moment you loosened your hold, stepping back slightly.

You didn’t miss the way he kept one of his hands on your waist as he watched you for a moment. “I…I didn’t believe it was you.” He laughed his thumb slowly rubbing your hip.

You raised an eyebrow crossing your arms over your chest. “Are you saying I’ve changed?” You teased watching as his eyes widened slightly and he shook his head. “No..No I uh,” He rubbed his free hand across his neck. “You don’t look a day older.”

He was telling the truth. You looked exactly the same as you did when he’d last seen you.

You flushed slightly letting out a quiet laugh. “Thanks. You…you look good too.” You both grew quiet for a moment, the quiet wasn't an awkward one though it was something comfortable. Something so simple and normal it almost felt as if barely a day had passed since you’d last seen each other.

“Oh, I uh…I heard about your engagement. Congratulations.” You smiled feeling his grip on your waist tighten for a moment.

When you’d first heard of Art’s engagement part of you had been angry. You knew realistically it was dumb, you and him had broken up a year after college meaning you no longer held any claim over him. But that didn’t stop the feeling of jealousy that had ran through you at the news.

Tashi had been one of your best friends during college and finding out that she of all people was engaged to your ex had left you spiralling - your bedroom wall still had the evidence of your anger.

Art nodded his smile fading slightly as his gaze fell to his shoes for a moment. “Thanks.” You frowned slightly as his demeanour seemed to fall for a moment before he plastered a grin back on his face.

He didn’t know why hearing you mention his engagement stung so much. He was happy truly yet hearing you congratulate him only left a bad taste in his mouth. “What about you.” He quickly diverted the conversation watching you with an expectant look. “Anyone in your life?”

“Oh.” you gasped before holding up your left hand. “Married actually. 4 months next week.” You smiled watching as he started at your rings for a moment. “Wow.” Art felt his heart drop slightly as his breathing picked up ever so slightly.

You were married.

“Con…congratulations” He pulled you into another hug, this time though to hide the pained expression on his face. When he’d first seen you part of him hoped that maybe by some miracle you were still single but he knew it was naive.

Of course, you’d be married, who wouldn’t want someone like you? He pulled back after a moment. “I’m happy for you. Really.” You nodded feeling his thumb continue to rub circles on your waist.

For a moment you felt yourself get lost in his eyes. Your heartbeat sped up slightly as he stared down at you his lips parted slightly. His grip tightened on your waist subtly causing you to shuffle slightly closer.

‘It should have been him’ The thought continued to circle through his mind the longer he stood there. It had been so long since he’d felt any sense of jealousy that he’d almost forgotten what it felt like.

Yet that little green monster seemed to have returned. Taking a quiet breath he pushed the feelings down. He had the life he’d always dreamed off. He was happy.

“It’s um…it’s late i should probably head up.” Your voice pulled him from his head. Art nodded. “Oh yea…i guess i should to.” He begrudgingly released his grip on your waist watching as you turned around to gather your things.

His mind was going a mile a minute as he realised you were slipping away again. For a few moments he’d been able to pretend that you were still his, but then reality came crashing down and he realised that you hadn’t been his for a long time.

"If I had asked, would you have stayed?" The words made you pause. Turning to face him, your eyes widened slightly as you replayed his words in your head. “What?” You felt your lips part slightly as his eyes found yours.

“If I’d have asked you to marry me. Would you have stayed? He repeated. He almost looked like a kicked puppy as he waited for your response, his eyes pledging with you to say something.

You’d have said yes a million times over. Hell, you’d say yes right now if he asked. But you knew it was impossible, your time had passed.

“Art.” You whispered moving to cup his cheek. His hand came up to cover yours as he leaned into the touch - his eyes closing.

You swallowed letting out a shaky breath. “But you never did.”

Your words were quiet but they cut through him like a knife as he opened his eyes, a small frown pulling at his lips. Dropping your hand you reached for your bag. “So I guess we never know.” You sent him a small smile before mumbling goodnight as you passed him.

As you walked away tears began to sting at your eyes, walking away the first time had been hard yet doing it again felt almost impossible. Reaching the entrance to the lobby you paused, turning back.

Art stood still watching you. His arms ached to reach out, to make you stay but he knew it was wrong. His eyes were glassy with unleashed tears as you stared at him from across the room.

His hands shook slightly as he held your gaze. Before you could stop yourself your feet were moving on their own accord. Art reached out, his hand grabbing your wrist once you were close enough.

You fell back into his arms naturally, your hand settling on the nape of his neck. You felt him tuck his face into the crook of your neck, a shaky breath escaping him. “I love you.” He mumbled as he pulled back.

“I love you too.” You watched as a tear slipped down his cheek. Leaning up you pressed a kiss to his cheek, your lips lingering for a moment before you pulled back.

Art’s grip on your wrist loosened slightly as you stepped back.

“Goodbye Art.”

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miley1442111 · 15 days

Text

(part 8) choices in hindsight- a.donaldson

-------------------------------

summary: eleven years later.

(dw there are more parts after this :))

pairing: art donaldson x reader, patrick zweig x reader

warnings: angst, feelings of disappointment and depression, hurt, cheating, loneliness, etc.

PART 8 of 12

-------------------------------

Eleven years later….

You sat beside the umpire, your opponent smashing her racket in frustration as tears fell down her face. You were tired. Every bone in your body ached, your muscles were tense, your skin felt too tight.

Your mind was worse. Playing tennis since you were a little girl does that to someone. Being in the public eye does that to someone, being alone does that to someone.

“You fucking bitch!” She shouted. “You fucking bitch!”

You didn’t care about it, the match was done, and you’d won. As usual.

You hated tennis. You hated your life. Your lonely, empty life.

-------------------------------

“How about a challenger? To boost your motivation?” Your manager, Michael, offered.

“I’ll do whatever,” you shrugged.

Michael stopped in front of you, stopping you from walking. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I’m fine,” you plastered on a fake smile. “Just tired.”

“In what sense?” He asked. He’d always been able to see right through you. You rolled your eyes.

“In the sense that I’m completely alone and I’m sick of knowing that I’m a winner while I feel like a failure!” You exploded. “Tashi and Art got married. Patrick isn’t anywhere near as good as he was. I have no friends. I have no family. I have nothing but a bunch of cold, metal trophies, and a team who don’t care if I want to play anymore. All they care about is my game. And I fucking hate tennis!”

Michael stared at you, face hardening. “You really had to do that in front of everyone?” He asked. You looked around. Your team was around you, but so was your next opponent.

“I’m not exactly worried,” you snarled.

Michael rolled his eyes. “Go win the match, then we’ll let you have some alcohol and you can drown your sorrows.”

“Fuck yourself!” you shouted as he walked away.

“How can I do that when you’re constantly fucking me over anyways!” He shouted back.

-------------------------------

Back on the court again. Another subpar player against you.

HIT. You’re worthless. HIT. You’re awful. HIT. You’re nothing. HIT. You deserve to be lonely. HIT. You deserve to be alone. HIT. You deserve to feel worthless.

HIT. Be better. HIT. Be stronger. HIT. Be more.

HIT.

“We have a winner!”

-------------------------------

“Come on!” Lily shouted from beside him, her eyes on the court as you won, yet again. She’d seen her mother do it so much she was turning it into a catch-phrase.

“She’s pretty good, right?” He chuckled, his eyes never leaving you. He didn't want to let himself admit it, but god you looked good. The white tennis outfit you had on was practically making him weak in the knees, as well as the 'I don't give a shit' attitude you carried with you. You were simply leaning in your chair, a drink in hand as your opponent screamed to her manager about how unfair playing against you was.

I mean she wasn't wrong. You were the top female tennis player and you were practically unbeatable. You were incredible.

“She’s amazing!” Lily smiled. “When does she play again?”

“Tomorrow,” he answered. He had your schedule memorised.

“Can I meet her?”

Art shook his head. “She and mom have a complicated history.” Also, I’m still madly in love with her.

“How so?” Lily asked as he walked with her, hand in hand to the concessions stand.

“Well, back in college mom and her didn’t get along because mom couldn’t beat her-” he started but he felt Tashi beside him.

“You’re lying to Lily now?” She snarked.

Art felt his skin go cold. “No. It’s true-”

“I beat her,” Tashi nodded. “Dad used to date Y/n as well, isn’t that right?”

Art nodded and Lily looked up at him.

“That’s weird,” she confessed. “Why did you break up?”

“I was in love with mom,” Art lied and kissed Tashi on the cheek, the entire display looking awkward and rehearsed. His regret and resentment grew everyday. He’d never regret having Lily, but he regretted everything he did to you, and letting you get away.

“That’s gross!” She squealed, shielding her eyes from her parents kissing.

“Alright peanut, what do you want?” He asked, moving up in the line and getting ready to order.

-------------------------------

HIT. Train harder. HIT. Work harder. HIT. You deserve nothing.

The ball hit into your side and you groaned out in pain. “Fuck!”

You let yourself rest on the ground, not even bothering to turn off the automatic ball-throwing machine.

“Hi,” a familiar voice smiled at you. Your eyes opened to find Patrick Zweig over your head.

“Hi,” you mumbled, getting up.

“How are you?” he asked, following you as you began to hit the balls again.

“Fine,” you grunted out. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” he smirked, watching your figure as you bent to hit a ball. “Very good.”

“Your dad give you a job yet?”

Patrick’s fantasy was broken. He rolled his eyes and sighed. “No, not yet.”

“Too bad. You’d make a much better corporate asshole than the piece-of-shit tennis player you are.”

“Tread easy,” he chuckled, a touch of pathetic begging in his plea. You just rolled your eyes and continued on your exercise.

“How about you go fuck yourself, Patrick?” Tashi scoffed from the stands, Art beside her.

“How can I go back to that when she fucks me so well?” He joked. HIT.

“Leave her alone Pat,” Art sighed. HIT.

“Why are you defending her?” Tashi questioned, turning to Art. HIT.

“She is right here in case you don’t see her,” Pat defended. HIT.

“Pat we fucking know-” Art started, but it just ended up in Tashi talking over him to the point that Patrick started talking over both of them in the argument.

HIT. HIT. HIT.

“All three of you can fuck off!” you screamed. “I never want to see your stupid face again Patrick, Tashi you can stop flaunting that you got the love of my life, and Art, go be a dad or something! I don’t care anymore!”

All three of them turned to you with various faces. Patrick was smirking, happy he’d finally pushed your buttons to the extreme. Tashi looked awkward and caught, maybe even guilty.

But Art. Art looked at you like you’d hung the stars just for him, then tore it all down in front of him. His beautiful blue eyes filling with tears as he finally got to hear you admit that he was the love of your life, only eleven years too late.

“I’m content with being alone, as shit as it is. I suggest you all move on from me now,” you sighed, grabbing your bag and walking off to find you manager.

“See you at the challenger!” Patrick called after you. The ATP Challenger Tour.

The same one from eleven years ago.

Where everything fell apart.

You got that familiar sinking feeling in your stomach.

-------------------------------

art donaldson masterlist :)

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people who asked to be tagged :)

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#art donaldson smut #art challengers #art challenge #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson #challengers 2024 #challengers movie #patrick zweig smut #patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig #tashi duncan

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diettwistup · 25 days

Text

HALF OF YOU

PAIRINGS: tashi duncan x f!oc, art donaldson x f!oc, patrick zweig x f!oc

SUMMARY: No matter how bright Tashi Duncan shined, her best friend, Milan Mikaelson, wasn’t far behind. Though seeming second best, Milan would never let that define her career. Holding as much fame as Tashi, Milan encountered Patrick Zweig and Art Donaldson. Would this encounter change the trajectory of her life, and would it completely alter her relationship with Tashi Duncan?

WARNINGS: challengers spoilers, reader is milan mikaelson, sexual situations, language, angst, plot alterations.

WC: 3.9K

NOTES: hey y’all!!! so excited to be posting the first chapter of this story. manifesting my edits are all good LOL. enjoy! 💋

READ BEFORE THIS: INTRO

CHAPTER 1: INTRODUCTIONS AND EMBARRASSMENTS

US OPEN TOURNAMENT- 2006, 2:00 PM

Sitting down on the hot bleachers, I put my sunglasses on and adjusted the braids in my hair. Sucking on my teeth and brushing my fingers across the hem of my uniform skirt, I let my eyes gaze at the large crowd of people accumulating.

Damn Tashi, you always know how to make a bang.

Crossing my arms and softly laughing, I let my mind wander back to my match yesterday.

I had lost to the girl who would be playing Tashi for the championship. I really don’t know if that was a good or bad thing. On one hand, I lost from a bad call when I was so close to the end. On the other hand, I wouldn’t have to battle my best friend and get absolutely decimated, as she would say.

As I continued to lose myself in thought, two boys, blonde and brunette, moved through the growing crowd and sat in front of me.

You’re kidding me.

Patrick Zweig and Art Donaldson—the “fire and ice” duo—had just won their doubles match, if I’m not mistaken. How could I be when their trophies were sitting right on their laps?

There's still a ton of seats open, and they choose to sit here?

Rolling my eyes and crossing my arms, I pushed my sunglasses up, waiting for Tashi to come out.

Staring at the door to the locker rooms, I clicked my tongue in boredom before grabbing the tournament pamphlet to look at everyone’s stats.

“Don’t you wanna meet Tashi Duncan?”

My ears perked at this as I put the pamphlet down and narrowed my eyes at the brunette boy.

Whoever said eavesdropping was a bad thing…

I had to hold in my laughter as they began to talk about Tashi and how she was the entire package. Telling her this later would be the highlight of my week.

“What about Mikaelson, you know her?” Patrick asked as he slung his arm around his companion.

I froze at this and tilted my sunglasses down to better see the two of them.

“Of course I know her. Have you seen her play? She’s fucking hot.” Art added with a smirk as he attempted to whisper, failing miserably.

My face heated up at this as my eyes narrowed at the boys.

Do they not realize the person they’re talking about is behind them?

“Agreed,” Patrick started as he pulled his friend closer. “She’s also got a fat ass.” He laughed as Art chuckled along with him.

Gag.

Closing my eyes and pretending I didn’t hear that, I heard cheers and claps from around, signaling that Tashi had come out of the locker room. The chair umpire immediately began to talk about her stats and how she was the best female player in our division.

I happily clapped as I beamed at my friend, her eyes scanning the crowd and locking with mine, a large smile playing on her features.

“Fuck, did you see that? Tashi Duncan just smiled at us…” Patrick exclaimed in awe as he pushed Art in the chest.

“Shit, I missed it.” Art complained before leaning back and adjusting himself in his seat.

I almost had to cover my mouth to hide the vomit that was about to let loose.

Dumbasses.

After a few minutes, Tashi’s match began, of course, in her favor. Everything was perfect: her serves, backhand, line receives, counterattacks, and every single step she took.

I smirked widely as I watched Tashi decimate the bitch who, unfortunately, decimated me.

Patrick and Art watched Tashi in awe for the first ten minutes of the match while commenting on how amazing a player she was.

I snorted at this, wondering how long it would take to notice who was sitting behind them.

On the next serve, Tashi’s opponent hit the ball out, but the line umpire declared it as in.

Standing up immediately, I pointed a finger and yelled at the top of my lungs.

“What?! Come on, Tash, don’t take that shit!”

Everyone else agreed with me as the crowd began to roar in protest of the shitty call.

Lost in the moment, I hadn’t realized that Patrick and Art had turned around and stared at me in horror and awe.

“Oh,” I started and took off my sunglasses. Did I yell in your ear?” I looked between them before looking back up at Tashi.

“Fuck, you’re-“ Patrick started in a slightly panicked state before I cut him off.

“Milan Mikaelson? Yeah, I’m guessing you two know me.” I spoke with sarcasm as I kept my eyes trained on Tashi and her opponent.

Caught.

“Shit, I’m real sorry for what I said, I-“ Art started before I placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him, eyes still not leaving the game.

“Don’t sweat it, was too focused on the game to give a damn.” I lied straight through my teeth as I pretended to act nonchalant.

I could feel both of their eyes staring long and hard at my hand lingering on Art’s shoulder before I took it away to throw my hands in the air and yell as Tashi locked in another point.

“Come on, Tash!” I yelled and clapped with the roaring crowd, boys still looking back at me.

Sighing, I crossed my arms and looked back down at them. “Take a picture, it will last longer,” I spoke in annoyance before sitting back down and putting on my sunglasses.

All I could hear were muffled whispers and attempts to counteract my statement before they turned back around and shared we’re fucked looks.

Stifling my laughs, I angled my eyes back to the match.

As Tashi continued to hit the ball effortlessly for the rest of the match, her win came almost naturally.

Standing up and yelling, I quickly ran down the bleachers, feeling two pairs of eyes following me. I stood against the fence and clapped loudly while Tashi caught my eyes after her victory yell and smiled widely at me.

I jumped up and down with all the fans cheering with their signs and matching t-shirts.

Running around the court to thank everyone for coming, Tashi came over to me and grabbed my hands.

“Tashi! I’m so proud!” I yelled and bounced on my heels, extremely happy with my friend's success.

“My biggest fan.” She smiled and reached over to hug me before letting go and continuing to thank everyone.

Smiling proudly at her, I pushed my braids behind my back and took off my sunglasses. Turning around, I looked back at the sea of people cheering for Tashi before my eyes landed on two figures.

What a mystery those two are…

I smirked proudly at them as their eyes shifted between Tashi walking back to her locker room and myself standing by the fence.

Patrick leaned over to Art and whispered something as their eyes darted between us. I could only see Patrick's smirk and Art’s growing grin at his friend's words.

Snorting to myself, I turned around and put my sunglasses back on.

“Fucking morons…”

ADIDAS BRAND PARTY - 2006 8:00 PM

“Tashi!” I exclaimed as I weaved through a crowd of familiar and influential faces to ambush my best friend.

I could see her bright smile miles away as she turned to meet me at the edge of the dancefloor, engulfing her in a hug.

“Milan, I was wondering if you weren’t coming.” She laughed as she wrapped her arms around me and returned my hug.

Pulling away, I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms. “Tashi Duncan, my best friend, thought I would miss out on this?!” I questioned as I gestured to the bustling party. "You must be crazy if you think I would miss out on anything that concerned you and your tennis career,” I snapped at her with a knowing smirk.

“I’ll have you know I was late because my mother insisted on making me change ten times.” I rolled my eyes and tilted my head to where our moms were conversing. I stuck my nose up and closed my eyes, annoyed at the memory of how nagging my mother was when getting ready for the party.

Immediately, she raised her hands in defense and raised an eyebrow. “Sorry, Miss Mikaelson, didn’t mean to assume.” She laughed before crossing her arms.

I watched her expression change slightly as her eyes softened and lips parted.

“I watched your match yesterday,” she said, lightly treading. “I’m sorry about the loss.” She finished and brought a hand to my shoulder, rubbing it gently with a sad smile.

Flashes of my match fluttered back into my mind as a small pit formed in my stomach.

I shrugged this off and took up a carefree attitude, whereas my insides were screaming.

“It was a shitty call, what can I say? That bitch had and has nothing on me.” I smirked and made sure not to falter, but secretly, the loss had internally crushed me.

Tashi laughed, brought her other hand to my shoulder, and bent down to level our eyes. “Don't worry, I decimated her for you. Plus, at Stanford, the both of us will be fucking up bitches right and left.” She shot a cocky smirk at this as I gave her one back in turn.

Stanford. The next four years of my life with Tashi Duncan would be the ultimate dream.

Right?

I extended my pinky to Tashi with a slight wink. “Promise?” I bit my bottom lip and smirked at this familiar gesture between us.

As long as I can remember, Tashi and I have made over a hundred pinky promises. Our first one involved her letting me borrow her Barbie doll while we played house and my promise to return it. Since then, it’s been a norm between us.

I felt the confidence radiating from Tashi’s grin as she moved her right hand from my shoulder to interlock our pinkies.

“Promise.” She repeated and swung our interlocked pinkies back and forth.

I laughed like a child all over again before quickly raking my eyes across the entire party. As I scanned the crowd, I let go of Tashi’s pinky and leaned in to whisper.

“Lots of important people here, I see,” I whispered as Tashi’s eyes followed mine.

“And familiar faces too…” She responded in a lower tone, angling her eyes to an older man by the beverages.

“Shut up!” I gasped before looking back at Tashi. “Is that Mr. Reynolds?!” I asked in shock at seeing our fifth-grade English teacher.

“Yup,” Tashi responded, standing straight as she crossed her arms. She studied the older man as he scanned the beverages offered. “He was always my favorite,” she quipped, not needing a huge explanation for why he was here.

At this, I burst out into laughter, as did she.

“I thought he died years ago.” I clutched my stomach before placing a hand over my mouth and muffling my small laughs. “Wait, that’s not nice. I mean, I thought he passed on peacefully years ago.” I corrected in a serious tone as I watched the older man before glancing at Tashi and bursting into laughter again.

As I laughed with Tashi, I felt a burning feeling on the back of my head.

Was someone staring?

Wiping my eyes carefully to avoid messing up my makeup, I slowly turned around and almost froze as I locked eyes with the person, or should I say persons, staring at Tashi and me.

Oh, hell no. Is that who I think it is?

Quickly, I turned back around and whispered to Tashi in a hurried tone.

“Tash, is that Patrick Zweig and Art Donaldson?” I looked her in the eye as they narrowed at the mention of the “fire and ice” duo’s presence at the party.

“Oh yeah, they’ve been staring all night.” She smirked and looked between the two of us. “Frankly, I don’t blame them.” Her smirk grows even wider, mirroring the Cheshire Cat.

Biting my lip, I remembered my earlier encounter with the two tennis players. I shuddered as I remembered their smirks and remarks about Tashi and me.

“Tash…” I said warningly, pointing my perfectly manicured finger in her face. “Please tell me you don’t have one of your ideas in mind.” I slightly scolded her, studying her face to see what she was thinking. “Those two are complete and utter idiots.” I continued as I shook my head.

She wrapped an arm around my shoulder and whispered back as she lowered my finger and sucked on her teeth. “Do you really need to ask this?” She questioned with an air that spoke obviously, are you stupid?

“And believe me,” She started and moved to fix the straps of my dress. “I know exactly how they are…teenage boys.” She snickered wider at this as I rolled my eyes.

I huffed loudly before grabbing a piece of my hair to fiddle while I groaned. “But Tash, it’s our summer before we go to college. No boys.” I retorted as the music in the background got a little louder.

Grabbing my hands, Tashi dragged us to the middle of the dance floor and forced me to dance. “First of all,” She started as she twirled me around, “This was never a pinky promise.” She spoke, wrapped her arms around my neck, and swayed us to the music.

Fuck, she got me there.

“Second of all,” She continued before touching my neck to untangle my necklaces while swaying with me. “I know you’re internally drooling over Art Donaldson. He’s exactly your type, and he’s going to Stanford.” She laughed to herself as she worked on my necklaces.

Fuck x2 can’t deny that.

I rolled my eyes and turned away, knowing I couldn’t argue either of those statements.

“You’re crazy…” Was all I could protest.

Untangling my necklaces, Tashi clapped and smiled brightly at me before putting her hands back on my shoulders. “This is gonna be a great start to the summer.” She grinned like a mad woman as we kept dancing across the floor.

After dancing, mingling, and trying not to focus on the two hard stares hitting Tashi's and my head for the entire night, I decided to go to the beach.

“Hey, Tash, I’m going to the beach for a quick breather. If my mom asks, I’ll be down there. Come down if you need anything or if I miss something interesting.” I smile gently at her while I take my heels off.

“Got it. Be safe.” She waved before going to get pictures with her family.

I smiled at her before walking to navigate the path to go down to the beach, pretending not to notice the two pairs of eyes following me.

10:00 PM

I wonder how long I had been down here listening to the sweet waves ripple against the hot sand. I almost feel as if the ocean is calling me.

Imagine the escape of living on a secluded island where nothing mattered. Not school, not tennis, and not the future.

Especially the future.

Staring at my newly manicured nails, I continued to get lost in my thoughts while the ocean rang in my ears.

Shit, I’m over everything.

I reached a hand up to my mouth and began to bite one of my nails.

Do I even wanna go to Stanford?

Practically gnawing at it, I can feel the acrylic wearing off.

Doesn’t matter because I’ll be with Tashi… right?

SNAP

“Fuck…” I muttered to myself as I broke off a nail, leaving a tiny bit of blood seeping from my nail bed.

Rolling my eyes, I held onto the broken nail and rested my head on my knee as I watched the ocean.

“We’re not interrupting, are we?” I heard a deep voice ask behind me, making me let out a small yelp and nearly fall off the rock.

Quickly turning around, I was met with two, unfortunately familiar, faces.

Why now?

Patrick Zweig and Art Donaldson stood before me, shoes in one hand and cigarettes in the other. Frankly, I had no idea which one spoke, and I had no care to know at this rate. I wanted to be alone with my thoughts, and they disturbed that.

“What the fuck,” I explained as I stood up from the rock and patted my dress down. “Do you know how rude it is to sneak up on someone?” I crossed my arms and narrowed my eyes as I looked between the two boys sheepishly standing before me.

“Shit, really sorry, didn’t know you were here,” Patrick spoke up as his counterpart dropped his cigarette from his lips upon seeing me study his stature.

Bullshit.

“Hm, okay, well, I’ll be going then,” I exclaimed, irritated, as I bent down to grab my heels. “I hope you two have a grand time.” I sarcastically quipped as I went to walk past them and go back up the path to the party.

“Wait,” Art, almost panicked, stood before me with a lopsided grin as he flicked his cigarette bud beside him and treaded lightly as he motioned to the chairs near the rock I had just occupied. “We’d love it if you joined us, just for a chat.” He had a genuine smile on his face now.

Are they serious?

Before I could open my mouth, Patrick beat me to it as he walked to sit in one of the chairs Art motioned to.

“Yeah, just to talk. You're one of the best players in our age bracket, and it would be a real treat to get to know you as an apology for what happened earlier.” Patrick added and smirked so wide I could feel pure smitten radiating off it.

They are serious.

Both boys were now staring at me, gazes identical in pure amazement, awaiting my response.

Fuck this. Fuck me. Fuck x3.

Sighing softly and crossing my arms, I dropped my shoes, returned to the rock, and sat down.

“You get five minutes,” I spoke curtly as I looked between the boys, waiting for one of them to speak up.

Art took this chance to open his mouth, but before he could begin, I held a hand up to stop him.

“Oh, and there’s no need to introduce yourselves. Art Donaldson and Patrick Zweig, the “fire and ice” duo.” I spoke unenthusiastically, keeping my eyes on Art for a little longer before angling my expression to Patrick.

Both boys stared at me with slight smirks as I adjusted my dress and grabbed a piece of hair to play with while they continued.

“Well, Milan Mikaelson,”

I inwardly shuddered as he spoke my full name.

“During your match, I thought that call was fucked.” Patrick spoke up and got right to the point. He laughed as if he remembered it as a fond childhood memory.

Almost instantly, Art chimed in to add to his friends' thoughts, a bit too eager for my liking. “I mean, that Anna girl could barely serve your entire match, and then that?” He stated as he shook his head, acting like he was scolding my opponent to her face like a coach.

My eyes lit up at this. They knew how to crack me. Bring up my pride and losses, and I’ll talk your ear off for hours.

“I think the official was blind because that bitch’s ball was totally past the line,” I explained matter-of-factly. “Did you see the way he hesitated before calling it? He probably had it in with her.” I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms in annoyance at the memory of the loss.

“Still, you were fucking amazing out there. How did you get your backhand to be that powerful?” Art quickly added and leaned forward in his chair as if moving closer to me would allow him to understand my words better.

I let a slight smile adorn my features as I studied his position.

Fuck x4.

For the next four minutes, the three of us talked about tennis and our matches throughout the tournament. Though brief, I could quickly tell how these two relied on each other and their sport. It was definitely the glue for their friendship. I could also tell how they hung onto my every word, like a toddler waiting for his mother to let him out of the time-out-chair.

Checking my watch, I stood up and looked between the boys.

“Though this was fun, your five minutes is up.” I flashed my watch at them with a subtle smile before bending down to grab my shoes.

When I bent down, I could hear some rushed scuffles and whispers. Standing back up, I saw that both boys were also standing, very tense, might I add.

“How can we contact you to do this again?” Patrick asked with a smirk, which I presume was a signature for him.

Raising an eyebrow at him, I crossed my arms and looked between him and his blonde companion.

“Who said I wanted to do this again?” I asked as Patrick shoved his hands in his pockets with a defeated grin while Art let out a muffled chuckle.

“Come on, this was fun.” Art added and took a cautious step towards me. “Can we get your number?” He asked as he studied my face with the cheekiest grin he could muster.

I laughed at his question dryly before pointing my finger between the two boys. “We? You think I’m gonna get between this? Hell no.” I replied, walking past them to the stairs and back to the party.

Immediately, I could feel their eyes staring into the back of my head, and I wondered if they would beg or plead.

They better not.

“Come to our hotel,” Patrick yelled, making me whip my head around. “We have beer,” he grinned once he saw my interest somewhat piqued.

Fuck x5.

“It’s not far from here. We can talk more.” He gestured between the three of us and then pointed up to the party.

This made me look back to the party, about to question what he meant before Patrick chimed in.

“We talked to Tashi earlier and told her the same thing. Would be fun getting to know the beautiful golden tennis girl duo.” He chuckled as I watched his eyes flicker from my face to my lips.

This made my face heat up, but I would never reveal that. Teenage boys don’t deserve the satisfaction of knowing they have any sort of effect on me.

Clicking my tongue, I nodded at this new piece of information.

Tashi did say she had a plan in place. This could be fun.

“Maybe,” I replied as my eyes shifted between the boys.

You’re not easy, Milan Mikaleson. Remember that.

“Depends on my mood.” I finished and shot them small smirks before walking back up the stairs, not giving the boys a moment to retort.

As I walked back to the party, my eyes shut as I felt a headache coming on.

What the hell did I get myself into?

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