#stanford!patrick zweig

[hollandsfavbabe]

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!!!

[coolgrl111]

what if you did toxic!bf! patrick w reader but art steps in bc he’s seeing how readers being treated and he’s liked her all along….

🫢🫢🫢🫢🫢

[leclercstars]

perfectly matched.

college!art donaldson x reader

Summary: You and Art swore to never speak of that drunken night again. But you found yourselves together at your college bar, tipsy, and almost unable to resist each other. Warnings: SMUT! 18! alcohol usage, drunk sex, cursing, biting, protected sex

It was one night.

One night, three months ago. Swept up in too many celebratory glasses of champagne. His messy blonde curls looked like a halo with your blurred vision. The traces of liquor on his upper lip seemed to be beckoning you in, begging you to find out if it was vodka or tequila. You left at the same time, he had offered to walk you home. Always a gentleman, always seemed to care about you. You both were stumbling, the drinks hitting the two of you all at once. You ended up outside your house, and then inside your house, up your stairs, in your bedroom. You’d seen his strong hands gripping the racket before but god they looked even better gripping your ass. Clothes thrown all over the room, not able to undress each other fast enough. His chiseled collarbones the perfect culprit for you to leave bite marks along. You woke up the next morning, head pounding, still naked. You felt him next to you, his tight abs pressed against your bare back, curls tickling the side of your neck. Fuck, how could you let that happen. He left in a haste, each of you promising to not discuss the events of the night prior ever again.

And now here you were. A few too many double vodka lemonades deep inside your shitty college bar. The whole team had decided to go out to celebrate the end of a stellar season and unfortunately, Art looked just as good as ever. His backwards Stanford cap and his loose Budweiser t-shirt made him look like some sort of shitty frat guy, which certainly wasn't unappealing to you since that tended to be your type. You tried to play it cool when he walked over to you. “Having fun?” he smirked, sidling up on the barstool next to yours. He leaned back against the bar, looking so perfectly relaxed. How do people end up this sexy?

“Could be having more fun,” you said casually, sipping your drink. Wait. What the fuck. Why did you just say that. You knew you had drank quite a bit but jesus christ isn’t it supposed to be liquid courage not liquid “ruin this friendship?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” said Art, looking genuinely confused. God sometimes his innocence was almost a little annoying, made you want him even more half the time.

“Sorry, geez I should not have said that,” you were slurring, the alcohol and your emotions making it hard to think straight.

He leaned in closer to you. You could smell the tequila on his breath, knowing that was his liquor of choice from the last time this happened. “I think I can make this night a whole lot more fun,” Art growled. 

You had never heard his voice sound like that before. Low and lusting, you knew you were not going to be able to resist. You locked eyes with him, and you could just feel how needy you probably looked. The two of you got up and left without saying goodbye.

Art was gentle. He was caring, a shoulder to cry on. Someone you could turn to if you were having a bad day and needed a hug. That side of him was not so apparent behind your bedroom door. He pinned you against the wall, muscles rippling in your face as he sucked on your neck. Your moans were soft, hands pulling on his curls, earning equally soft groans from him. You were obsessed, this didn’t happen often and you knew you had to take in every moment. Every inch of him that you could feel, taste, touch, it was completely overtaking you. His boxers were sitting low on his hips, exposing his v-line. Your lacy bralette had been tossed aside, leaving your nipples free to be caressed by his rough hands. His mouth roamed from your neck down to your tits, taking one in his mouth as he gazed up at you. Fuck, your head rolled back against the wall. His eyes were shut, tongue flicking so expertly across your nipple. You never wanted this image of him, looking so intoxicated with your body, to leave your mind.

He stood back up, leaving no room between your now naked bodies. Suddenly his features softened, a nervousness painting itself across his face. He scratched the back of his head, a tell-tale sign that something was on his mind. “Do you want to like-” he was basically whispering, cheeks flushed. It was astonishing how all his confidence had suddenly evaporated. “Fuck?” you filled in the blank, leaning closer to his lips, teasing him with the thought. That hadn’t happened last time you were together. He was too drunk, and well,  he just couldn’t quite get it up. “Yeah, fuck yes please.” he groaned. You laid down on your bed as he walked to his wallet, pulling out that little gold wrapper. He climbed up on top of you, using his thumb to gently brush the hair away from your face. He looked ecstatic, the drunken-ness painting a stupid grin across his face and making you just feel insanely horny. He slid the condom on over his already throbbing cock, positioning it just outside your entrance.

He slid just the tip in first, making you wince. You needed to get used to how big he was, learn how to take him. His hips rocked gently as he gave you more each time, slowly starting to fill you up.

“God I needed this,” you moaned breathlessly. “Yeah baby?” he cooed, giving you more of him as he pressed his lips against your tits, leaving marks along your cleavage. “Making sure you don’t forget this in the morning,” he smirked, his confidence returning. “Then fuck me like I won’t forget it,” you clapped back, basically saying you wanted all of him.

“Oh yeah?” He thrusted inside you, making you cry out in ecstasy. No dick had ever felt this good before, and maybe it was because you were drunk, but you could just tell he was hitting it like he fucking meant it. Your hands clawed into his back, legs wrapped around him, pulling him deeper inside. He was pounding into you now, the sound of your bodies echoing throughout the room. You watched as he slid in and out. “You like watching huh baby? Like seeing how good you are at taking me?” 

You grabbed his hair in response, pulling his head into your neck and making him groan and fuck you harder. His tip found your g-spot, and the feeling was unlike any other. Watching his muscles ripple with each thrust, so far inside you he was nearly in your stomach. You squirted all around his cock, leaving his abs glistening. He bit his lip and looked at you, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “God that is so hot.” he wasted no time getting back to the rhythm of things.

This sex was truly unlike anything else. Watching the man you saw as a teammate, so vulnerable above you. Completely naked, so far inside you. And you were taking him so well, the sexual chemistry between the two of you just completely undeniable. You made great hitting partners on the court, and that relationship suddenly didn’t feel so different from this one. The way you both knew exactly what the other wanted. The perfect balance of teasing and support. “Fuck, fuck.” Art’s moans were primal, and you could feel how close he was getting, watching his arms tense up. “I’m gonna cum too,” you said breathlessly.

“Look at me,” he grabbed your jaw, making you lock eyes.

It was like an explosion, overtaking every inch of skin on your body. You cried out, feeling his cock throb inside your pussy as you came simultaneously. You fit perfectly together, feeling each other up as you rode out your orgasms. His hand was wrapped around your arm, yours clawed into his back. He collapsed onto your chest, looking up at you in awe.

“You are unbelievable.”

dividers by : @.cafekitsune

[stanart4clearskin]

art is the kind of guy to carry a picture of you in his wallet and you have a picture of him in your locket that you wear. his lock screen is his favorite photos of you (he has it on rotation so every time he turns on his phone it’s a new photo of you) and your lock screen is a photo of the two of you tashi took. you guys have a matching ring that’s just a silver band but on the inside it’s engraved with your initials and anniversary date. art writes your initials on his tennis racket so he can see it whenever he’s practicing or playing. you get his initials painted on your nails whenever you get them done so you can stare at the letters in awe. you both are sickly in love with each other to the point where patrick and tashi are begging you both to tone it down because it’s A LOT. neither of you guys listen to them and continue being #that one couple people hate because you guys just so perfect and in love!!

(also random but silly—art acts like he’s going off to war and he might not come back whenever he has an out of town tennis tournament. he’s on the verge of tears because he does not want to leave you)

[artstennisracket]

Gamer!Patrick

who… you started dating in college. you guys met in your second year finance class after working on a project together. you thought he was cute but a little egotistical, always answering teacher questions without raising his hand. always contributing to class discussions aka saying his opinion louder than everyone else

who… always wears sweatpants or board shorts to class. no in between. always paired with his nike killshot’s, a watch his father bought him, and soft sprays of his expensive tom ford cologne. he clearly doesn’t care what people think of him. he’s also stupidly charismatic. all the business professors love him.

who… always insists on hanging out at your dorm instead of his off campus apartment. you never knew why until one day he finally gave in. his place was nice. expensive. he said his parents paid for the rent. it was a two bedroom apartment that he shared with his best friend Art but he was rarely home. but Patrick’s room was a disaster. dirty clothes everywhere, half eaten cups of ramen, half drunk water bottles, and suspicious socks strewn all over that made your stomach turn at the thought of what they were probably used for.

who… essentially ignores you everytime he’s on the game. his pc would be the only source of light in his room most nights. even if you spent the night, hoping he’d join you to sleep, most times he wouldn’t until an ungodly hour. staying up until 4/5am screaming at his teammates through his headphones, you’re surprised you can even sleep.

who… jerks off to porn videos of his favorite video game characters. he would never tell you, but one day when you’re over at his place, making cereal in the kitchen (because there’s no real food there), Art outs him. he busts out laughing saying “oh you didn’t know? yeah you should ask him about that.” you’re not even sure how Art knows this information.

who… denies the accusation stating that “why the fuck would I do that? that’s fucking gross.” only for you to catch him jerking off at 4am to overwatch porn. t-shirt pulled up, hand shoved down his boxers, abs flexing, eyes locked onto his phone screen. he doesn’t even notice that you woke up until you inch closer to him and spot the visuals on his phone. he drops his t-shirt from where it was between his teeth, “it’s not—whatever. fuck you,” he groans, hand picking up its pace. so you pull his hair (for being a brat), kiss his neck, and whisper dirty things into his ear while keeps watching his phone, making him finish in record time.

who… loves when you sit under his desk to blow him while he’s playing. trying really hard to concentrate and play well but it’s hard. the obscene squelching noises everytime he hits the back of your throat, the drool falling from the sides of your mouth, your other hand toying with his balls at the same time. he has to mute his mic when his friends keep asking him why he’s breathing so hard. he calls you a slut for trying to get his attention this way, “such a fucking slut. only way you know how to get my attention huh? want all my friends to hear me? so they know how much of a whore you are for my cock?”

who… hates loves playing video games with you. he has to teach you a lot, and you keep forgetting which buttons do what. it’s cute at first when you guys are playing co-op games like It Takes Two, but eventually after you try to make an ‘easy’ jump 5 times (dying everytime) he grabs the controller from you and does it for you, “Jesus fuck, it’s not that hard.” playing fortnite is a hit or miss because sometimes it’s fun but eventually it becomes stressful since Patrick is carrying you, making all the kills but also trying to watch your back while you’re doing the Taste dance emote in your Sabrina Carpenter skin.

who… can’t function when he sees your halloween costume. you dressed up as Kitana from mortal kombat (with the help of Art since you wanted to surprise Patrick). back to back frat parties on frat row. you keep getting wolf whistled at as you guys walk from house to house. Patrick keeps at least one point of contact the entire night, he can’t keep his hands to himself. a hand on your waist, around your shoulder, on your thigh, on your ass. and his favorite obviously being when you dance on him. he makes sure neither of you drink too much that night so he can fuck you stupid when you guys get back to his apartment. he already texted Art earlier to fuck off unless he wanted to hear you getting wrecked. it’s sloppy and rough and of course you keep your costume on. he pulls out his phone to record while you guys are in doggy.

who… actually is really sweet. he builds you guys a house in minecraft (with cherry blossom wood as you requested). will always put himself in harm’s way when you guys go mining. so he takes the lead and if there’s a creeper or a zombie he takes care of it. goes on crazy stupid long adventures with you just so you can find an ocelot, “this is fucking stupid, jungles are rare biomes it’s gonna take us forever to find one.”

who… thinks you may actually be the first girl he’s ever fallen in love with. the first girl to see all of him and still accept him for who he is. the first girl who never tried to change him. the first girl to enjoy just sitting in his presence, even if he’s on the game. but he’d never tell you any of that. not unless you said it first anyway.

taglist: @tacobacoyeet @newrochellechallenger2019 @antxnxlla @hanneh69 @urmomsucksfrogs @ctrl-mari @cha11engers @jesuistrestriste

want to be tagged when I post? click here!

[starlinggirll]

ATP x reader at a college party

you and tashi pre game in her dorm while getting ready. you both stuff some shots in your bras, knowing that the spiked punch wont be enough for the four of you.

patrick and art meet you both at tashi's dorm, both of them kinda (super) turned on at how sexy both of you look!

once you four get to the party everybody turns up, from downing endlessly amounts of shots, to drinking a shot out of tashi's belly button to art drinking a shot out of your cleavage.

the shots, combined with infused gummies, make the night a fussy memory. but you definitely remember making out with all of them.

tashi in the restroom, her hands gripping your hips while your arms wrap around her neck. you dont quite remember what led up to it, you just remember the feeling of her lips and hands on you, and the stain of her lipstick on your collarbone. and when you pulled away, both of u burst out laughing.

patrick it happened after he finds you almost tripping on your way to another shot. he's drunk, but he's more sober than you. and it shows with the he way tries to stabilize you. you kiss him, and he kisses you back. his arms wrap around your waist while your hand cups the back of his head. and both of you pull away with a drunken gaze, and goofy smiles.

with art, it was like a movie. the lights were flashing and both of you were in the middle of the crowd. the tension had been brewing since way before the party, but the alcohol running in both of you clouded your senses and he kissed you when the beat of "Pursuit of Happiness" dropped. his hands were on your ass, yours were on his cheeks as you both indulged yourselves in a messy, sloppy kiss. and when you pulled away, instead of laughing or pushing eachother off, both of u leaned in for more.

after the party, the four of you walk drunkenly to your dorms. you leaning against tashi as she lean patrick for support. when you guys make it to the door of tashi's dorm, art volunteers letting you stay in his dorm before you can make other plans. tashi and patrick give eachother a look before nodding. and when you make it to art's dorm...well the rest is history.

[artssslut2]

Unexpected: Part 1

Art Donaldson x Pregnant!Reader

Prologue

Possible Warnings: talk of abortion

Disclaimer: I am 100% pro choice and the charectors I write are as well.

You sat on the floor of the bathroom in your dorm looking down at the pregnancy test you held in your hands. Positive. No way. You couldn’t be, you missed one pill like a month ago. You set the test down on the sink along with the five other ones you took that also said positive. You were hoping it was a false positive but it didn’t seem like it now.

“Fuck.” You whispered to yourself. You had no idea what you were going to do. You were eighteen, you were in college you were at the top of your class at Stanford’s nursing school. This cannot be happening to you. Then you thought about Art, you wanted to hate him because he did this to you. But you were the one who missed a pill, and you were certainly not resisting him. Not only was Art the best tennis player at school, he was your friend. Your best friend. You knew him forever, this would totally ruin your friendship. You laughed to yourself because your friendship was probably ruined the first time you hooked up. Surprisingly you weren’t panicked, not yet. You were a nurse failed positives happen, maybe something was wrong, you weren’t going to panic until you knew you were 100% pregnant.

You called one of your closest friends who was also in the nursing program, you needed an ultrasound.

“You think you’re pregnant?” She gasped, you nodded shamefully as she looked at you “what are you gonna do?”

“I don’t know okay. Get rid of it. I have too. I don’t even know if I am pregnant though so do the damn ultrasound.” You whisper yelled while getting on the table and lifting your shirt. Your friend nodded with this look in her eye like she felt bad for you, you hated it. She moved the wand around slowly until you saw it

“There.” You said pointing at the grey dot on the screen “shit.” You let your head fall back on the bed. You saw it, now this was real. There was a baby inside of you. A baby that you made with your best friend. Your eyes filled with tears there were so many emotions going through you right now.

“Listen I think there’s a heartbeat” your friend said to you turning the volume up on the machine.

Thud…Thud…Thud

You listened to the sound of your baby’s heartbeat and you knew there was no way you could “get rid of it”.

“I’ll give you a minute” your friend said as you still stared at the screen.

Once you left, you went straight to Arts dorm room. Since he was a student athlete his room was much bigger than yours. It was also private, he didn’t have to share a room.

“Oh hey y/n. I didn’t know you were coming.” Art said opening the door looking happily surprised.

“We have to talk Art.” You came in looking serious

“Of course what’s up?” He asked sitting across from you. You suddenly forgot everything you were going to say. It was like everything was hitting you all at once. You broke down in tears and couldn’t get any words out

“Hey hey what’s wrong y/n?” Art rushed to you wrapping his big arms around you pushing some hair from your face, he kissed your forehead until you calmed down “whatever it is you can tell me I promise” he told you. You felt bad knowing the two words you were about to say would change the course of his entire life completely.

“I’m pregnant.” There was immediate silence, Arts mouth was open and his arms slowly dropped to his sides. It felt like a lifetime before he responded.

“I-Is it mine?” He stuttered going completely pale. You felt offended by his question, of course it was his, there was no one else and he knew that.

“Yes it’s yours.” You scoffed standing up clearly annoyed.

“I’m sorry it’s just… but… you said you were on the pill!” He panicked standing up, his voice came out sounding accusatory

“I am! I missed one! It was forever ago okay I didn’t-“ Art interrupted you before you could finish

“What?! How could you miss one? And not say anything? Oh my god y/n!” He said not yelling but getting close to it. Art had never yelled at you. You didn’t even think he could yell. It brought tears to your eyes again, you felt horrible and angry and just about every other emotion

“I’m sorry okay?! Do you think I wanted this Art! Fuck!” You cried sliding down his wall putting your head in your arms. Art was quiet. He felt guilt come over him for losing his cool. He knew that this wasn’t your fault it was just a mistake, and now your life was changing. He collected himself, he told himself he could think about his feelings later. Right now he had to be there for you, his best friend. He walked to you and sat next to you

“Come here, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry y/n/n” you fell into him, his arm came to your hair . You cried into his chest for a long time before looking up at him.

“This isn’t your fault y/n. It’s going to be okay. Whatever you decide.” He told you holding your face with one hand. He knew that you would think it was your own fault because that’s just how you were. But he was very equally to blame and he knew that.

“I saw it.” You blurted out between sobs

“What?” He questioned

“I saw the baby… I heard the heartbeat. I thought I could get rid of it but I can’t. I just I -I “

“Stop y/n. You don’t have to explain yourself. I’m going to support you no matter what okay? This isn’t just on you. If you wanna have the baby, then… we’re gonna be parents.” He slightly smiled looking at you. “We can figure it out together okay, I got you I promise” he whispered kissing your head. You didn’t say anything. You leaned into him again as a thank you, he knew what you meant. You were so thankful that he didn’t hate you or abandon you. This is why you loved him, this is why he is your person.

You and art sat on the floor for a while. You didn’t talk you both sat there in thought. Art carried you to his bed and layed you down, he brushed hair from your face and wrapped his arms around you spooning you. He would do anything for you. Just then he wanted to say it. He wanted to say that he loves you, that he has forever. But that wouldn’t have been fair to you, you were to stressed out. Secretly art was happy about the baby. Mabye now you two would finally become a couple. Art thought about what this could mean

“I got you. It’s okay.” He whispered, settling for that instead of I love you. For now at least.

[fireniceicenfire]

Disturbances

Hi guys!! This is my first ever post on here and I am so so so so so happy I really hope you guys or whoever is reading this likes this!!! If y'all have any requests too lmk!!!

TW: Just a bit of cursing, but the rest is fluff :3

"So I thought you came over to hang out with me..." Art said as he shifted against the mattress beneath him. He turned his head, his eyes falling on you. He watched as you lay beside him, facing the opposite direction. You were wearing one of his Stanford Tennis sweatshirts and wrapped in his comforter. When he spoke, you turned your head 90 degrees and responded.

“I am.”

'Seriously?' Art thought. He furrowed his eyebrows slightly and scooted closer to you.

“Are you now? It just seems like you're using me for my bed and my sweatshirts. "He said with a small laugh. Once he moves closer to you, he drapes his arm over your torso and leans his face in the crook of your neck. Somebody was a bit clingy. He did have a rough day today - he lost two games in a row. 

“Well, what do you want me to do, Art?” You said as you turned over ever so slightly.

“Anything, everything, actually hang out with me.” He murmured into your neck, his warm breath splaying out against your skin.

You let out a dramatic sigh, acting as if it was such a burden to turn around and show him more attention. You roll over, a smile on your face as you see the way he's looking at you. No matter how you look or what you're doing, he looks at you like you're some queen. It was honestly the hottest thing you've ever seen. He sees the smile on your face and returns it with one of his signature grins. He was the cutest. But just then, the door of Art’s dorm swings open, a voice erupting through the door. You knew who it was immediately. 

“Yo Art! Let's go to that fucking party down the street! There's gonna be some hot ass chicks there-”  The obnoxious man yelled out. It was none other than Art's best friend, He was the ice to his fire. Patrick Zweig. Me and art and both sit up and stare at Patrick. His eyes dart between us for a second before he continues speaking.

“Oh. So no party?” Patrick said as if the answer wasn't obvious. 

“Nah man, I'm busy.” He blatantly says.

Patrick shifts on his feet. “If this is something about her going, I don't care, she can come too.”

“Patrick no.” He repeated.

Patrick let out a small huff, annoyed that Art was busy with somebody other than him. He grumbles a goodbye before walking off all butt-hurt.

“And you're sure he's not gay for you?” you say with a chuckle.

Art laughs with me before pulling me back down against the bed. “Sometimes I don't know.” He jokes. He pulls you against his chest, coddling you close.

“Whatever, the dude can get over it. I need some time alone with my girlfriend.” He murmurs as he leans his head on top of yours.

[amymbona]

First time writing an ask kinda nervous….. imagine you went to the tennis academy with ArtPatrick and they never really noticed you, not really on their radar but you end up going to Stanford and befriended Tashi and they are just whipped for you idk what else to add IM SO NERVOUS

Yes yes yes that's so cute! The boys being completely smitten with reader 🥹🥹🥹 I could make a series from this cause this one's a bit short (I've no inspiration😔). Let's pretend that in this neither of the boys study at Stanford and Patrick isn't dating Tashi.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

To begin the story simply, tennis is the main focus of your life. Or at least used to be, until you hit puberty. With hormones running through your body, up and down from head to toe, and your periods happening each month, you started noticing significant changes not only in your physique but your mentality too. Suddenly, boys were all you think about.

While slowly building your teenage career and attending the academy, you kept your eyes on boys around you, subconsciously searching for a partner. And you considered yourself pretty normal. Not many thoughts about sex, at least not the hardcore version of it, just hoping for a nice monogamous relationship with a guy who'd love and support you unconditionally. Until you met Patrick Zweig and Art Donaldson.

Aside from your crush on Brad Pitt as Achilles, you were never really smitten with boys before, so your poor brain froze the moment you entered the court and a mix of two muscular - for their age - moans reached your ears. There they were. The brunet one was taller, a mess of curly hair sticking to his forehead, and he was a bit more expressive too. Most of the groans were from his mouth, face grimacing as he chased the ball, limbs long. Next to him, on the court, was a guy who's blond hair was hidden under a cap, but you caught a glimpse of his big nose. This one, was a bit more muscular, eyes creased in concentration.

It's safe to say that you became obsessed with them, figuring out their schedule to be on the court exactly at the same time. It wasn't really your thing before, but you began tucking your skirts a bit higher so they could possibly catch a glimpse of your ass, and make sure to groan loud enough when you hit the ball. Every so often, your eyes would trail towards the two, eager to see if they are watching you, only to end up disappointed if you find them immersed in a deep conversation.

It shattered your poor teenage ego, especially when you decided to greet them - reminding yourself that tennis players all know one another so it won't be that awkward - only to end up with a light wave from Art in response. Honestly, you were devastated.

Now, one year into Stanford, you've managed to successfully push the two towards the most dark depths of your mind, focusing back on tennis. You are grateful to have befriended a fellow player - Tashi Duncan - who has become something close to a best friend. You hadn't really heard of her before, perhaps once or twice on the sport's channel news, but she has proven as an incredibly complex person. For her age, she is far above average, dominating every match, but her soul is delicate enough to flow in sync with yours.

The two of you are dorm mates, spend a lot of time together and have found much needed calmness in the presence of one another, a friendship one could really ask for. Doing the talk, you've learnt about Tashi's family, hobbies and friends - two of which, she has mentioned, were named Art and Patrick. Rings a bell?

And definitely rings a bell, if not even slaps you across the face, when you come back to your dorm after practice, eager for a shower and a good afternoon's rest, only to find two boys occupying your two beds. And Tashi's nowhere.

"Oh, hi," the blond guy is the first to break the awkward silence, rubbing the back of his neck bashfully. "We didn't know you were coming. We, um- we're waiting here for Tashi."

You nod, eyes trailing between the two boys, each of them gazing you up and down. And suddenly, you become too aware of your attire - a really mini *mini* skirt and a light sports bra, your top stuffed somewhere in your sports bag that you've dropped by the door - and it's easy to see the boys aren't trying to hide their excitement.

"Well, she's still at practice so..." you mutter, crossing arms over your chest to somehow hide whatever the boys are looking at.

"Should we go?" Art proposes, finger pointing at the door.

"No, no, you can wait here. I'm just gonna shower so I can't really entertain you." you offer the boys a small smile and quickly fish some clothes out of the wardrobe and disappear in the bathroom.

The boys exchange a glance, mouths parted and eyes wide. Damn. It's been a long time since they've seen a girl this pretty! Your flushed cheeks and plump lips are all engraved in their minds, the sight of you in so little clothes hard to erase. God, your cleavage was so full, almost spilling out of that bra, that Patrick desperately wished the fabric would magically burst and he's ve granted with the clear view of your tits.

You reenter the dorm in a fresh set of clothes, combed hair flowing down your back and the boys' eyes are on you again, small, playful smirks on their faces. You try to ignore the butterflies in your tummy and the way your voice threatens to quiver as you approach your own bed, currently occupied by Patrick.

"Do you mind?"

"No, no, enough space for both of us," he replies nonchalantly, patting the space next to him, but that smug smile on his face is hard to miss.

Your eyes roll, arms crossing. He knows damn well that's not what you meant. "Just move."

Patrick grins, raising his arms in mock defense and reluctantly pushes up from his spot only when Art commands him with a soft c'mon Pat, allowing you to plop down.

For a long while, now both settled on Tashi's bed, the boys study you, taking notice of the way your sweater clings to your skin, the way your bare feet tap against the floor nervously and how you're trying to look all calm and indifferent, picking up a random book from the nightstand to demonstrate so. But Patrick breaks the silence.

"So, who're you?"

The question surprises you and perhaps hurts a bit, as you realise the boys have completely forgotten your face, despite seeing it for years in the academy. Perhaps you hoped they would remember you.

"Tashi's roommate... Y/N." you add when they raise a brow.

"Y/N." the name rolls off of Art's tongue sweetly as he repeats it. He likes how it sounds, it's simple but very flirting, as if your face was meant to hold such a name.

Patrick, meanwhile, imagines himself screaming that name. Not only that, his mind is filled with various scenarios where you are the main character.

The boys introduce themselves, not that it's needed for you, and for a moment, you're almost tempted to remind them that you actually know each other. "Yeah, I know you."

"You do?" Patrick asks, raising a brow, almost too excited.

Fuck. But you can't just tell them how much of a crush you had on both of the boys back in the academy, how many days and nights you spent thinking about them, imagining that'd be thinking about you too, imagining all the possible moments you three could have spent together.

"Um, yeah, from the... From Tashi." you stumble over your words. "She's mentioned you before a couple of times."

The boys nod, looking you all over, examining every single of your tiny mannerisms that are on display, the way you nervously scratch the back of your neck and chew onto your lower lip. Fuck. You're so cute in their eyes, they could watch you forever.

A slightly awkward silence settles over the room, and the more intense their gazes become, the more nervous you are. God damn, where the hell is Tashi when you need her the most? If you'll be forced to stay alone with Art and Patrick for one more minute, you're probably gonna go crazy and say something incredibly stupid or just jump in one of their laps and begin kissing them.

Like a miracle, a much needed knight in shining armor, Tashi shows up. She greets her friends, introduces you three once again before finally taking the boys out. Like they're on a leash, the boys follow her without a single protest, but before they leave the dorm, two sly smirks are shot in your direction. What you don't hear, after the door closes, is the boys smothering Tashi in questions about you.

[bestmirandaever]

okay bicurios men

[advantage-artrick]

so this topic has been in convo recently sooo...wanted to see what you would think of it...art gangbang👀 who said that?!!-

omg yessss!! the slutty art agenda has been taking over, and i am so here for ittt! ❤️🤭

i'd say my biggest thought on the matter is that patrick should always be there in some capacity, whether he's participating, moderating, or even just on the phone supervising from a distance. (gotta protect the merchandise, you know?)

anywho, for the purposes of this fic, i think i want him present and pantsless, so that's what we're gonna do. 😊

after all, you can't get special best friend privileges if you're on the other side of the country, now can you?

CW: gangbang (duh), slutty!art, kinda d/s, slight feminization, a lil humiliation, we hit home base on this one folks, mdni!!

yippee! okay, enjoy! 🥰✨️

XOXO

despite only being in his second semester at stanford, art had made quite the name for himself on the men's tennis team.

not only was he an excellent player who could give even the fastest fourth-years a run for their money, he was also considered by many to be the life of the fucking party.

art was probably the biggest lightweight on the team, which they all found surprising considering the stories he'd told them about boarding school and his crazy roommate patrick. while it was true that he was good at smoking because of it, and he was good at keeping drinks down, when it came to staying sober, he remained positively hopeless.

not that anyone minded, of course, because a drunk art was a slutty art, and a slutty art was so. much. fun.

whenever the tennis team decided to meet up and crash a friday-night frat party, they usually waited until art was on his third drink to start fucking around. that's because the third drink was when art started to get flushed and giggly, and it was also when he started responding. . . differently to their playful comments.

usually, when they teased him in the locker rooms, calling him "pretty like a girl" and making fun of his smooth, pale chest, he just rolled his eyes and shoved them off with a laugh when they tried to grab a handful of his ass.

but, when they did the same thing to a freshly tipsy art, there wasn't an ounce of annoyance in sight. they called their little game 'fake out,' because the goal was to get art so needy and drunk on their attention that he wouldn't pull away if someone leaned in to kiss him.

but when the 'chosen one' eventually did, they would always change course at the very last second, leaving poor art confused, pouting, and desperate to be touched.

it wasn't that none of them wanted to kiss him. hell, he was so fuckin' pretty even the straightest guys on the team thought about it sometimes.

one of the only reasons none of them ever gave in to his pretty, pleading eyes was that they had a very high-stakes bet going on between them. the bet was that the first person to break and kiss art while playing fake out would be forced to strip naked and run across campus in the middle of the night until they were seen by at least one person.

so, yeah. art remained unkissed despite his drunken self's best efforts.

but then patrick came down for a visit one week in april, and, well, he had always been a bit of a game-changer.

it didn't take long for the team to notice that patrick was a bit protective of art, especially in a party environment. he stuck close to his side the whole time, steering him away from offers of hard drugs and blowjobs from plastered, half-naked girls. he even monitored how much art was drinking while they were there, making sure he took things slow and didn't overdo it after his inhibitions started to flutter away from him.

that's probably why the tennis players waited until art was on his fifth drink and they were all quite hammered themselves to begin their favorite party game. as usual, they all gravitated back together after an hour or two of socializing, and when the guys saw art wandering over to them, giggling and practically hanging off patrick's arm, they exchanged knowing smirks, getting ready to see who would be the 'chosen one' of the evening.

"hey, donaldson. cute shirt," a third-year named brett started off, giving the others a wink to let them know it was time.

"aww thanks, i just got it 'cause i liked the color," art replied, giving him a dopey, lop-sided smile.

"yeah? you got a good eye then, art. lavender suits you," another boy named marcus added. he was the only openly gay guy on the team, but no one ever gave him shit for it.

after all, the only thing it really affected was his success rate when playing fake out. he'd been the 'chosen one' ten times more than any of the other guys, likely because he had a way with words that art fell face-first for almost every time they played.

art grinned, giggling as he slumped against patrick's shoulder, relying on him entirely to stay up on his feet. patrick just rolled his eyes, steadying him easily as if he'd done it a thousand times before. he didn't seem to be catching onto the game quite yet, but he was certainly well-aware of what art was like when he'd had a few drinks.

"hey, art, why don't you give patrick's poor shoulder a rest, huh?" josh, a second-year singles player, suggested. "come over here with me, i'll make sure you don't fall over."

art nodded easily, entranced as he removed himself from patrick's side and stumbled in josh's direction. but right as he was about to fall into his teammate's waiting arms, one final voice spoke up from the arm chair in their corner.

"no, no, no, hang on, artie."

this voice belonged to none other than austin, their beloved team captain.

"come sit on my lap, sweetheart. josh is so clumsy, he'd drop you right on that cute little ass of yours."

"i would not! art, c'mere," josh retorted, pulling art closer by his wrist and wrapping an arm tightly around his waist.

art squeaked, blushing as he glanced between the two of them nervously. he looked so out of it already, just from a few compliments and a little fight for his attention. it was enough to get him higher than any drug on the market.

now, patrick seemed to be catching on. he could tell they were supposedly just fucking with art for their entertainment. but, he could also detect a strong hunger in their body language towards him, telling patrick that not everything they were saying was entirely untrue.

"there we go. hey, pretty boy," austin cooed with a salacious grin.

patrick hadn't heard what he'd said to win the battle with josh, but when he looked up, art was sitting sideways on his lap in the arm chair, giggling as austin poked playfully at his waist.

the other guys were watching on with jealous eyes, pretty much resigned to the fact that they weren't going to be the night's winner. patrick smirked, the scene reminding him of similar situations they'd been in back at the academy.

he'd used to be just like those boys, pining as he watched art soak up the attention of other guys like a little sponge. but that had been before he'd discovered just how easy art really was when he was drunk, and how easy he was sober if you knew the right buttons to push.

"wow, you're so light, artie," austin teased, standing up with art in his arms just to hear him squeal. "how much are you, anyway, 120?"

"shit, austin, you know you never ask a girl that," brett spoke up, acting mockingly aghast.

art blushed, squirming in austin's hold as he whined out a petulant, "'m not a girl."

"might as well be," marcus said casually, as if that simple sentence didn’t make art hard as a rock within seconds every time they did this.

"you sure are soft like one," brett supplied.

"you got some pretty nice tits, too," austin purred, sitting back down so art wouldn't wiggle right out of his arms.

"yeah?" art sighed drowsily, biting his lip at austin with a shy smile.

"oh, yeah," the team captain answered, walking his fingers up art's stomach so he could squeeze one of his growing pecs playfully.

they'd certainly gotten bigger since the beginning of the year. actually, it was one of the first things patrick noticed every time he came to visit.

art moaned softly, letting his head fall onto austin's shoulder with a hum.

"god, he is so. . ." brett commented, fully entranced by the beauty of art's syrupy movements and subtle flirtations.

even when he was overwhelmed with all the attention, art still managed to keep every boy present wrapped around his little finger.

even patrick, who was the only one to have already gotten a taste, was watching in awe, waiting for a chance to pull art's focus back over to himself.

"can you hurry up and win already, asshole? i want a turn," josh complained, leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed.

"who says you get him next?" marcus asked him, smirking deviously.

"marc, i swear to god-"

patrick frowned, wondering exactly what winning meant in this scenario. it didn't take long for him to find out, because right after josh said it, austin pulled art's head up from his shoulder and leaned in as if to press their lips together.

art shut his eyes, tilting his head up eagerly. . . but the contact never came. right at the last second, austin brought a hand up to cover his mouth, veering off course to kiss his forehead instead.

"fake out," brett grinned, and the guys all laughed, watching art's face fall in disappointment.

suddenly, it was starting to make a whole lot more sense why art hadn't told patrick about having hooked up with anyone on the team.

it's because he hadn't.

but it wasn't because they didn't want him. it couldn't be. patrick could clearly see that they would kill for an hour alone with him, so why. . .?

"you guys are so mean," art huffed, but he made no move to get off his captain's lap. he was obviously used to their little game, but that didn't mean he was any better at stopping himself from being pulled along and getting caught up in the moment. it just meant he was less embarrassed about it in the mornings now.

he never expected to be kissed, but he never stopped hoping, either.

the team laughed again, knowing there were no real bad feelings between them. in fact, josh was already trying to lure art over to him with the promise of a shoulder massage, but art was being a tease, smiling as he told him marcus' were better anyway.

they all appeared to be having fun on the surface, but patrick knew art, and he knew when art was desperate to be touched.

this was probably the most needy he'd ever seen art get with anyone else. he was so red and glassy-eyed, and whatever he thought about when he spaced out for a second was practically making him drool. he wanted it bad, but no one was giving it to him, and patrick was absolutely not having it.

"art, c'mere," he ordered, and the whole circle fell silent.

the guys looked over at him in surprise, almost like they'd totally forgotten he was there. art nodded absently, austin helping him get back on his feet before he was wandering back over to patrick with zero hesitation.

"pat, they're being mean to me," art whined, tucking himself back under his best friend's outstretched arm.

art practically melted into his side, taking a deep breath of his party cologne and nosing idly at patrick's jaw. it was almost like he belonged there, and none of the guys had ever seen him quite so at peace when he was already that drunk and horny.

"i saw," patrick responded, raising an eyebrow at the group. there was a part of him that yearned to establish who art's 'chosen one' really was, regardless of who he would've let kiss him. "care to explain?"

"it's just a game, man," josh defended after a moment, not wanting to show how much patrick actually intimidated them. "he's cool with it, i swear."

patrick scoffed, biting back a groan when art started mouthing drunkenly at his neck.

"i know that," he spat, laughing at their scared expressions. "i'm asking why none of you assholes have fucked him yet."

"they've got a bet or somethin'," art mumbled after a moment of startled silence. "they think i don't know 'bout it, but it's why they won't kiss me. . . will you kiss me? pleaseee?"

"just a sec, baby, i wanna talk to them first," patrick placated, smiling at him lovingly.

he was just the cutest thing sometimes. he made it hard for those around him to maintain their self control, which was why it was so surprising these guys had held out for months against their desires because of some stupid bet.

"hang on, dude. before you say anything, the bet isn't why we haven't passed him around yet," marcus butted in from his spot next to austin's chair. "we didn't want to do anything like that because we knew he'd regret it in the morning. he only ever wants us when he's drunk. when we say shit like that in the locker rooms, he always tells us to fuck off. it just didn't feel right."

the team appeared to think patrick would be understanding of this, or perhaps even grateful, but after hearing their little respectful explanation, the only thing he could do was laugh.

"aww, art, have you been playing hard to get?" he teased, tugging at art's messy curls to hear him whimper. "what, you didn't want your new college friends to know you're a slut when you're sober too?"

art groaned, hiding his face bashfully in patrick's shoulder.

"'m not a slut," he argued, but the way he was trying to crawl inside patrick's skin was kind of contradicting that statement.

"no? well, you'll have to tell that to the seven guys who took turns with you back at the academy, huh? and you'll have to convince me too, artie, but we both know that's not going to happen."

"yeah, okay," art sighed. "whatever, can you please just make them fuck me now, pat?"

"all of them?" patrick asked with a smirk, surveying the group to get their reactions.

oh, they were down. every single one of them was so fucking down.

"uhuh," art confirmed, risking a glance over at the team. they were all watching him with darkened eyes, as if they were one small gesture away from tearing him apart on the spot.

art's blush deepened. just looking at the hunger in their gazes was making him feel antsy. almost empty, really.

"so, what do you say, guys?" patrick asked them, grinning. "you think you can share?"

the agreement was, as expected, unanimous and very enthusiastic.

and that's how art found himself back at his dorm, starting to sober up as five boys crowded around where he was sitting on his bed.

well, four of them did, at least. patrick was standing off to the side, watching as they approached to make sure art was in good hands.

josh, who thankfully happened to be art's new roommate, stepped up first. for all his earlier bravado, he seemed hesitant to start anything without patrick's permission, likely still in disbelief that this was actually happening.

patrick sighed, pushing him aside and taking his place in front of art.

"come on, guys," he huffed impatiently. "if you're still thinking about your little bet, i will gladly kiss him first. i never agreed to it so i can't lose, right?"

art nodded happily before the team could even respond, reaching up to pull patrick between his legs.

within seconds, patrick was pushing him down on the bed and kissing him hard, doing everything he knew art liked with an easy precision.

art gasped, wrapping his legs around patrick's waist to pull him closer. it was exactly what he'd been needing for months, and he couldn't help but curse himself for how embarrassed he'd been all year to ask for it.

but he had it now, and all he could focus on was the wet slide of his tongue against his best friend's and the thrilling sound of belt buckles being unfastened in the background.

the rest of the night occurred in three stages.

the first stage had him on his hands and knees, moaning around josh's cock while patrick got him opened up with his fingers.

it wasn't something pat trusted any of the other guys to do, that was for sure. not even marcus, who had offered, but patrick knew art's body better than any of them, and he really didn't want him to get hurt.

not too hurt, at least. he didn't seem to care when josh started fucking art's mouth, making him choke and drool in an attempt to keep up. he was taking it well, though, swallowing him down to the base with ease and letting out sounds of enjoyment that were driving everyone in the room crazy with desire.

"fuck, look at him," they were saying, all either stroking themselves lazily or just about to.

it was the most pornographic thing they'd ever witnessed, and three of them hadn't even touched him yet.

"yeah- fuck- take it, baby. jus' like that," josh groaned, pulling his hair until art keened and started leaking on the mattress below him.

when patrick brushed over his sweet spot a few times, prodding at it roughly just to be a menace, art gasped and came for the very first time that night.

"fuckin' slut," patrick laughed, pulling his fingers out and smacking his ass for good measure.

art whined, arching into his hand like he wanted more, and as much from the sight of him as the warmth of his mouth, josh was finishing right after in record time.

art's eyes fluttered contentedly, the feeling of josh filling his mouth making him hot and dizzy. he swallowed it all like it was nothing, falling face-first into the bed as soon as josh pulled out.

that seemed to be his way of begging for more.

"who do you want first, baby?" patrick asked, spreading him open to tease his teammates with the sight of his tiny pink hole.

austin groaned, looking like he might pass out if he didn't get inside him immediately.

"victor gets the spoils," he said, stepping forward before anyone else could.

patrick snorted, letting him take his place behind art and going to grab them all some condoms. he silenced their complaints with a single glare, reminding them how lucky they were he was letting this happen in the first place.

once austin was all wrapped up, it was time for stage two.

in stage two, no one was left behind. while austin was fucking art from behind, art was up on his knees, going back and forth between sucking off brett and marcus.

within minutes, he was struggling to stay focused, moaning as austin absolutely pounded his prostate. he could barely stop his eyes from rolling back in his head, much less keep his lips wrapped around brett's cock.

but he did his best and they seemed to be enjoying it, pulling his hair and fucking his mouth when they could. marcus even slapped him once or twice, mostly out of overwhelming affection, and art fucking loved it every single time it happened.

the second austin stilled inside him, art fell forward between the two in front of him, pushing back against austin's lap to prolong the feeling of his cock pulsing against his walls. he couldn't feel him filling him up like he wanted to, but just imagining it was enough to have him shooting off again.

"oh my god," brett groaned, hurrying to take austin's place the second he pulled out. "this is fucking unreal. i swear, his ass should be in a museum."

"tell me about it," austin huffed, ruffling art's hair as he went to join patrick and josh on the other bed. "just wait 'til you get inside him."

"he's good, huh?" patrick agreed, grinning proudly.

"oh, fuck yeah. tightest pussy i ever had."

art was panting and a bit overstimulated, but he was in heaven, listening to them all talk about him like he wasn't there to hear it.

he let out a high-pitched whine, biting his lip when brett spread his cheeks open and spat directly on his twitching hole.

"you wanna eat him out?" patrick asked, palming himself languidly through the boxers he'd stripped down to. "it's his favorite thing, i swear to god. he'll be all over you for weeks if you do."

art hummed in agreement, his eyes unfocused and his brain barely working. he wasn't even sure entirely what he was agreeing to, he just knew he wanted something else inside him.

"nah, man. i would, but i'd feel like i'm indirectly sucking austin's dick, and i'm not really into that," brett answered, thumbing over art's entrance reverently.

patrick shrugged as if to say 'your loss,' and then brett was sliding a condom on and pressing into art's perfect ass in one clean thrust.

and that's how things continued for the next hour or so, each teammate taking turns with art's mouth and ass, usually two at a time but sometimes three when art could manage it.

they didn't stop until everyone had come at least twice and art had finished three times, which is when he'd promptly fallen flat on his face, cushioned by the mattress while everyone laughed and high fived around him.

"bro, we didn't even touch his dick once," josh pointed out, nodding towards the wet spot on the bed beside him.

"slut," austin mumbled, smiling at how cute he looked all fucked out and boneless. "i can't believe we waited so fucking long to do this."

"oh my god, the locker room is going to be hell for him now," marcus added, chuckling. he clearly didn't feel bad about it at all.

"yeah, 'cause now we know he likes it, and we've got more buttons to press," brett grinned.

"you know, this might be the straightest i've ever felt," marcus declared, studying art's curves curiously.

"well yeah," josh shrugged, as if that made perfect sense. "i mean, all the boys you've fucked before this have been boys, and he's. . . well. . ."

patrick snorted, adding that comment to his list of things to tease art with later. he was the only one who hadn't gotten to fuck him yet, preferring to stay off to the side supervising in case something went wrong.

when the guys had asked him why, though, he'd just said, "if i take my turn now, he won't be as tight when you go again."

and they'd laughed and told him to fuck off, but they hadn't pushed anymore. patrick was definitely grateful for that, but it had been a long night of not coming deep inside his best friend's ass, and he knew it was his time to shine.

"looks like you'll have to do all the work on this one, man," austin said when he saw patrick standing up to go over to him. "i don't know if he could help if he tried."

patrick just shrugged, rolling him over and smiling when art blinked sleepily up at him.

"you alright?" he asked, climbing up on the bed beside him.

"patrick," art sighed, reaching up to touch his pretty dark curls. "'m good."

"yeah?"

patrick shifted so he was hovering over art, sliding one knee up between his thighs. art nodded, making room for him and pulling him down into a hug.

"soooo good," he slurred, giggling breathlessly. "but. . . wan' you to come in me. please?"

and who was patrick to deny him such a thing?

"that's so not fair, bro," brett pouted, but he sat down on josh's bed to watch anyway.

the other guys joined him, admittedly curious to see what art was like with someone who knew him so well.

"best friend privileges," patrick smirked, tugging his boxers down to finally pull his aching cock out.

and this was stage three.

one of the guys gasped. another muttered an astonished, "oh, shit."

they would never say it out loud, but patrick's earlier excuse may not have been a complete lie.

art, on the other hand, had absolutely zero problem saying it right to his face.

"mmmh so big, patrick," he moaned when he felt it start to push inside him. "so good."

the others watched on in awe (and maybe a bit of envy) as patrick made art completely fall apart piece by piece.

with just a few slow thrusts, he had him almost arching off the mattress, mewling with his eyes rolled back in his head. even though he'd already come three times, he was impossibly hard, and his pretty cock was leaking onto his soft stomach with every little grind.

"there we go," patrick breathed. it was almost like he'd been watching them act all proud of themselves all night just so he could step in and show them how it's really done.

like he wanted them to know they would never be able to get art like this. not like he could.

never like him.

"doin' so good, baby. you were so fuckin' good. so pretty," he murmured, pressing their lips together gently before hooking his arms under art's knees and folding him completely in half.

art cried out from the change in the angle of patrick's thrusts, every single movement causing the fat head of pat's dick to brush his sweet spot perfectly.

spurred on by his needy sounds, patrick picked up the pace, fucking him faster and deeper until art was trembling beneath him and his face was wet with tears.

"come on, baby," patrick huffed, feeling himself getting closer to the edge. "come on, you gonna come f'me? hmm?"

art nodded, sobbing as his release slammed into him and his poor, weeping cock spurted weakly across his tummy.

patrick groaned at the sight of him. he was such a fucking mess. his face was covered in drool and tears, he had somebody's cum in his hair despite how good he was at swallowing, and he had bruises forming on his hips and his own release all over his chest and stomach. he looked like he'd just been passed around the whole fucking school, and patrick had never seen anything more beautiful in his entire life.

"oh, fuck. good boy, artie," patrick groaned, fucking him slower as he worked through the aftershocks of his fourth orgasm of the night. "i know, baby," he cooed. "i know, they can't fuck you like i can, huh?"

there were a few noises of offense from the other side of the room, but they were quickly silenced by art's enthusiastic agreement.

patrick laughed, thrusting a few more times before he was coming, spilling deep inside him just like art had been waiting for all night.

art sighed, relaxing into the feeling of being completely filled up. patrick kissed him then, tilting his head up so he could slip his tongue past art's lips.

the poor thing hadn't really been kissed all night. everyone else had been so focused on getting their dicks in his holes to think he might want something like this.

that was perfectly fine, though. it was just another bullet point they could add to the list of things he could only ever get from patrick.

yeah, art donaldson may have been a slut, but to say he didn't belong to anybody. . .

well, that would be a bold-faced lie.

sorry this one took so long, it kinda ran away from me 😅😭

i really need to work on making these shorter lol, like not every smut request requires months of context.

anywho, i hope it was worth the wait! i love love love slutty art, so this was an absolute joy to write! requests are always open!

XOXO ❤️✨️

[hollandsfavbabe]

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.

[coolgrl111]

HAPPY CHALLENGERSVERSARY!!!!

here is throuple x reader texts to celebrate

[stanart4clearskin]

stanford!art x best friend!reader social media AU

credits to @222col for the layout and inspo!

part one | two | three

artdonaldson

liked by yourusername and other

artdonaldson life lately

view all comments

yourusername i had no clue you took that pic of me wtf artdonaldson @.yourusername you and beau looked so cute i had to yourusername @.artdonaldson weirdo

tashiduncan tennis > art

artdonaldson @.tashiduncan i am deeply offended rn patrickzweig @.artdonadlson HAHA LOSER tashiduncan @.patrickzweig tennis > patrick patrickzweig @.tashiduncan how could you say that to ur own boyfriend???

patrickzweig lame ah caption

yourusername

liked by tashiduncan and others

yourusername i can't wait to fall in love with you

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tashiduncan CAPTION WTF?? AM I OUT OF THE LOOP

yourusername @.tashiduncan it's just from a song i like 😭😭 tashiduncan @.yourusername got me excited for nothing mkay

artdonaldson petition to take down that photo of me

artdonaldson @.artdonaldson yes artdonaldson @.artdonaldson yes x2 artdonaldson @.artdonaldson yes x3 yourusername @.artdonaldson you're such a dork

patrickzweig i mog art

yourusername • close friends

[artstennisracket]

request: patrick with virgin!reader where she thinks she’s ready to go all the way but patrick’s more experienced movement start to make her feel nervous and she ask to stop. patrick so caught up in the moment doesn’t register what’s said until she’s pushing him off and it moves into a conversation about what happened and patrick comforting her.

experienced!Patrick x virgin!fem reader

cw: nsfw (18+), technical sexual assault by dumbfuckery (patrick doesn’t hear reader at first), this is a sensitive topic so I won’t be tagging anyone from my taglist , please take care yourselves! and sorry this took so long anon

Patrick had been seeing you for a little while now. Not really dating, not really fuck buddies since you didn’t fuck per se. More like flirty hangouts that sometimes end in heavy touching.

You wanted to do more but you were nervous. He would try to progress things but you’d shut it down, making up some excuse about having to study. You’ve never had sex before so you didn’t know what to expect and you’ve felt Patrick hard before, he wasn’t exactly small.

You also felt like one day he’d get fed up and stop hanging out with you. You’re sure you weren’t the only person he was seeing so what’s to stop him from ending whatever this was.

A part of you was also just scared to let him in. Sex was a super intimate act that two people do when they love each other very much. At least that how your parents described it to you when you were younger.

What if he didn’t like it? Didn’t like doing it with you? What if he didn’t like the faces you made? The noises you let out? Being that vulnerable to someone like Patrick didn’t appeal to you. He’s experienced. He knows what he likes and what he doesn’t. So who’s to say he’d even enjoy sex with some as inexperienced as you?

You also didn’t want to be a virgin forever. Being an inexperienced first year at college was embarrassing. Okay fuck it, Patrick was the only guy currently interested in you so you might well.

So you started off easy. One night you asked to go further. Asking to give him a blowjob to which he said, “Never gonna say no to that,” with his signature smirk.

He gave you minimal instruction but you did some of your own research prior. Judging from his reactions you could tell he was enjoying it. He didn’t finish from it , which was disappointing. But he explained that it’d take practice and he doesn’t always finish from head.

Afterwards he just jerked off while he instructed you on how he wanted you to touch yourself. Something about watching him cum from watching you, gave you an extra boost of confidence you didn’t know you needed.

Things naturally progressed for the next two weeks until you guys had done everything except sex.

You were still getting into your head about sex. Whenever you talked to your friends about it they would just say, “You’ll know when you’re ready.”

You guys were making out on your dorm bed like usual, some random movie in the background. Patrick was in his boxers while you were only in your bra.

He kissed down your navel until he reached your opening. He placed a light kiss on your clit before he started to eat you eat. Licking and sucking with the perfect amounts of pressure as he’s gotten to know your body the past few weeks.

He adds a finger and then another, pumping in and out of you while his tongue focuses on your bundle of nerves, “Fuck Patrick.” His fingers feel good but your mind drifts, thinking about how good he could feel inside you. Your hands find your way to his dark curls, pulling the way you know he likes, “Need you, inside me,” You whine.

He pulls his mouth off you, still pumping his fingers, “I’m already fingering you.” His lips glistened slightly from being covered in your slick.

“No Patrick, need you inside me,” You gasp as he starts curling his fingers mid sentence.

“Oh fuck, yeah, okay.” He pulls his fingers out, getting off the bed in search of his discarded shorts. You are about to ask what he’s doing until you see him pull a condom out of his wallet.

He pulls his boxers off before he climbs on top of you. He’s kneeling in between your legs, stroking himself a few times to come to full hardness. “Are you sure about this?” He asks. He’s giving an out but somehow it doesn’t feel like an out. You watch him roll the condom on before you even give a response. Like he’s already assumed your response.

You take a deep breath before you nod. He lines himself up, leaning over you with his hand planted next to your face to hold himself up.

He pushes in slowly and his face falls in the crook of your neck. He murmurs into your skin, “You’re really fucking tight jesus christ.”

You could feel the way your body was stretching to accommodate him but it— it hurts. He hasn’t even bottomed out yet but your face was scrunched up in pain. It wasn’t an overbearing pain but it just didn’t feel good.

“Patrick,” You say hoping to get his attention, but he keeps his face buried still pushing into you.

“Patrick, stop,” You say barely above a whisper because you’re not even sure what you want yourself. You could stick it out and hope it’ll get better. But everyone says sex isn’t supposed to hurt. Maybe your physical pain was being exacerbated by the fact that you were panicking internally. You thought you were ready for this, ready for him.

“Stop! Patrick stop, please,” You cry out but it’s like he can’t hear you. You move your hands to start pushing him off of you.

He sits up, “You okay?” He’s still inside you, so you keep pushing against his abdomen until he gets the idea.

That’s when he notices the way you’re breathing heavily and the glossiness in your eyes.

“Hey what happened?” He runs a hand through his hair, very confused.

You get off the bed and start picking up your clothes off the floor. You start pulling them on, “I said stop and you just— you ignored me.”

That’s when his face drops. He’s heard of guys like that and he thought they were all assholes. He’s even beat up guys like that before. Patrick has two older sisters who he's always been overprotective of and he can’t believe what he just did.

There’s no excuse. Even if he didn't hear you, if he just caught up in the moment, he should’ve stopped. “Fuck, I’m so sorry Y/N.”

He pulls off the condom to throw it out. He pulls on his boxers and his shorts. He tries to approach you but you shake your head no.

You walk over to your bed, sitting with your knees pulled up to your chest.

He sighs pulling his shirt on, “I swear I didn’t hear you. I know that’s not an excuse but I would never do that to you on purpose. I’m really fucking sorry.”

You focus on trying to steady your breathing. Of course you don’t think he did it on purpose, it just hurt. You put a lot of trust into him and maybe there’s a part of you that knew you rushed yourself.

“I know you didn’t I just—“ You’re not really sure what to say.

He walks back over to you, deciding to sit on the floor in front of you so as to not crowd your personal space too much, “I really hope that I didn’t ruin everything,” he says softly looking up at you.

And he didn’t. But it would probably take some time to build that trust back up again. He moves his hand slowly, giving you time to reject his touch. He brings it up to your ankle, rubbing soothing circles on the exposed skin there. Hid touch is so light, likes he’s scared he’s going to break you. And he just sits with you.

After a few moments he moves up onto the bed to sit next to you. Still keeping his movements slow. He puts his arm around your shoulder and you lean into him. Closing your eyes and letting your feelings wash over you.

The anger you felt towards him dissipated as the frustration you feel about yourself grows. Why didn’t you say something sooner? Push him off sooner? Scream sooner? but the part that really made you upset was why couldn’t you just be ready?

You didn’t realize you said that last part out loud until Patrick responds, “You’ll know when you’re ready. Could be tomorrow, could be ten years from now. But don’t rush yourself for me.”

You sigh, “I just- I feel like a big baby,” letting out a dry laugh. You use your sleeve to wipe away the unspilt tears from your eyes.

He shakes his head, “You’re not I promise. You really don’t think you’re the only first year that’s still a virgin right? Because I can promise there are full grown adults who are still virgins. And that’s okay. They’ll know when they’re ready too.”

You nod. He’s right. There’s no need to rush

[themiserablechick]

When you heard it you thought it was joke.

“They like to fuck the same girls-“ Your friend said casually

“that can’t be true, what do you mean? Like they pass girls around?”

“No” she shakes her head “my friend told me they like to fuck girls together”

“At the same time?”

She nods

“So should I like not respond?” You look down at the text from Art on your phone inviting you out

“What? No! That means you should totally respond.”