#tell me you play tennis without telling me you play tennis

[gingergofastboatsmojito]

Pete & Nat, the role models

I've been wanting to meta a lil bit about Pete for sooooo long, I have soooo many good things to say about this guy.

And soooo many complaints for Storer, as well, because instead of introducing new and annoying characters like Computer and giving more airtime to Fak's brother, I don't even remember his name... Pete's character should have been better exploited last season. Especially considering that he became a new dad of THE NEW BEGINNING.

That baby reset the timer of the whole story, which we saw on screen a couple of eps later.

This is how Pete was introduced to us:

That magazine was right next to Pete's computer the first time we saw him in S1's Hands (01x02) when Carmy apologized over the phone, for having sent him to UC.

Pete is enough. No low self-esteem issues, no drama, no trauma. He's centered, stable, and most importantly: He's Nat's rock.

He's a casual guy (tennis shoes on the cover symbology), a "report maker" (name of the magazine) even though he's a lawyer. "Report makers" are reliable and organized, even borderline boring sometimes, they are certainly not daredevils, they are anal and collected. That's their profile, Pete's fits it perfectly.

Not all lawyers are "reliable". He is, because he's the report-maker type. IMO Symbolically speaking that magazine stealing the focal point of the frame for a second is probably telling us that about the character.

So, he is "enough." Yet Sugar married him and started a family with him with this flawed mindset that is nothing but her trauma response:

More about her here:

So, my point is that you don't have to be squeaky clean and your mental health does not have to be pristine for a loving relationship you enter into to work out, not necessarily. This does not mean that Carmy doesn't have to do his part of the work to get better for Syd, which he does and is doing:

OR that Syd doesn't have to clean her side of the street too, which she does:

It means that no, you don't necessarily have to be A-OK to allow yourself to love someone and be loved by that person as long as you choose each other and help each other to do the work, that work will be individual and it will be joint and you will always need help and there is no "right time" to start but ironically enough there is such a thing as too late.

Pete & Nat prove that they are doing it together, it's certainly not easy for them, especially for Natalie, but they are succeeding at it.

IT CAN BE DONE. it's not a utopia or even a bad idea. It can work out, sometimes it doesn't sure, but it can.

Bonus track: Pete may play cupid for Sydcarmy, I am positive Sugar will so it's not crazy he will too by proxy and here's why I have this hunch ↓

THE BEEF STEW

Fingers crossed like pretzels rn.🤞

Remember to follow my tag #Gingerpovs 💋

[itscooltoskate]

I have seen enough. It is time for me to cancel this mfer once and for all

[sapphire-writes]

Beyond The Play

college!Art x college!Reader

summary: Tashi needs some time alone with her man, which leaves you without a room for the night.

word count: 3.8k

rating: mature/explicit/18+

warnings: alcohol, fingering, dry humping, p in v sex with a condom, light praise, titty sucking, there's only one bed oh no!!

a/n: thanks for all the love on my first Challengers fic! hope you enjoy this one!

“You are so fucked,” Art says, taking another sip of his beer.

“Shut up.”

“He’s right,” Tashi agrees, sighing heavily, glancing at her cards.

You’re all sitting on the floor of your and Tashi’s dorm room, half-empty beer bottles littering the floor between you. You’d been playing poker for the past hour or so, swindling more of Patrick and Art’s money. It’d become a Friday night habit of yours, card games and beer with Patrick and Art. Patrick was always a maybe, he only came to visit his girlfriend a couple times a semester. 

But you, Art, and Tashi were always a solid trio. Tashi and Art had met through tennis of course, and you had met Art through Tashi after rooming with her freshman year of college. You’d become fast friends, and roommates for the next several years. You got along with Patrick well enough, you had to once he and Tashi started dating.

You could tell that had been a sore spot for Art, at least for a while. You’d suspected he’d had a thing for Tashi, and fire and ice hadn’t been the same since. You’d once asked Tashi about it and she’d only shrugged. Even though she was with Patrick for now, you knew Tashi had only one true love. 

Whatever Art felt for Tashi was easily molded into friendship, and the three of you became nearly inseparable. Which was good, even if you may or may not have developed some feelings of your own for the blond tennis player. 

But your friendship was more important. Those feelings could be pushed aside.

“God damn it,” Patrick curses, “I fold.”

Tashi snickers, revealing her cards and Patrick swears once more. 

“I need a smoke,” Patrick says, standing and leaning across Tashi’s bed to the open window.

“Oh no you don’t,” Tashi says, standing at lightning speed, “Outside, we are not getting in trouble for this.”

She grabs Patrick by the shirt collar, dragging him off the bed. He dramatically chokes, but lets her drag him towards the door.

“Art come on,” Patrick insists, reaching for his best friend.

“What? No, I wanna stay,” Art says, sandy hair falling in front of his eyes, “You don’t need a babysitter—”

“Yes I do,” Patrick insists, “C’mon five minutes, I swear.”

The boys tumble into the hall and you can hear their voices fading as they make their way outside. You stand from the floor, gathering up some beer bottles, and folding up the empty pizza box.

“Hey, d’you think you could sleep somewhere else tonight?” Tashi asks, brown eyes wide, “It’s Patrick’s last night, and y’know we really haven’t had any alone time.”

Your chest constricts at the thought. You totally get where she’s coming from but, it’s your room too. The thought of sleeping in the common area is less enticing. 

“Or at least just for a couple of hours,” Tashi backtracks, seeing your expression, “Just so we can—”

“Yeah, Tash it’s fine,” you tell her, swallowing your annoyance. Tashi’s been nothing but thoughtful and kind as a roommate, and friend. It’s an inconvenient favor, but nothing crazy. “I’ll get out of your hair for a couple of hours.”

“You’re the best,” she says, kissing your cheek, “Seriously, I owe you one.”

“You sure do,” you tell her, “I expect full payment for this.”

“Do you mean a trip to the movies with slurpees and popcorn?” Tashi asks, raising her eyebrows. 

“With extra butter,” you clarify and point at her, “You’re not cheaping out on me.”

“I’d never,” she insists, feigning seriousness before breaking into a grin. 

You finish helping Tashi clean up and begin your excommunication from your room. Walking down the hallway you bump into Patrick and Art on their way back from Patrick’s smoke break.

“What’re you doing out here? You start smoking?” Art asks as Patrick keeps walking past you, picking up the pace, “Hey where…”

“Party’s over,” you tell him, as Patrick turns the corner, eager to return to Tashi now that she’s alone.

Art frowns, confused.

“But we were—”

“Art,” you cut him off and place your hands on his shoulders, shaking him slightly, “Party’s over. Unless you’re eager to be a third.”

Art’s cheeks flush and he glances away, forcing out a laugh. Something tugs at your heart watching his half-smile appear. 

“Uh yeah ... .no thanks,” he says and you pat his shoulders before releasing them, “Wait but where are you going to go?”

You shrug, “I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

“You can’t just wander around campus, it’s like 2 am,” Art says, beckoning you with his hand, “Come back to my room, at least till they’re done.”

“Really?” you ask, “Cause if you’re tired I can just—”

“Don’t be silly,” Art says, poking your shoulder, “C’mon.”

Art’s room is in a separate building on campus, about a five-minute walk from you and Tashi’s building. Art is lucky enough to have a single; you’d been there a handful of times before class or practice. He keeps his room neat, aside from some clothes scattered on the floor from quick changes before practice. You smile as he hurriedly picks them up, throwing them into a hamper in his closet.

His bed is unmade, navy sheets messy as though he’d just woken up. 

“Sorry bout the mess,” he says, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck.

“I’m not judging, you’re cleaner than most guys I’ve met,” you tell him and he laughs. 

Suddenly, it hits you how late it is, sleepiness hitting you like a train as you yawn. This triggers Art’s yawn and the pair of you stand awkwardly in front of each other. 

“Um,” Art says suddenly, “It’s late.”

“Yeah,” you agree, stomach sinking, “I can just—”

“You should stay.”

You’re silent at that. You stare at him, as he nervously plays with the hem of his t-shirt, waiting for your reaction. You’re not sure what to say. It’s fine, right? Just a friend, helping out another friend.

A friend whom you have a big fat annoying crush on.

“I mean….it’s just late and you’re tired and who knows when they’ll be done.”

“I don’t have anything with me,” you tell him, voice sounding softer, meeker than you’d like.

“Oh, here I got you,” he says, walking to his dresser. He shuffles through the drawer a moment before revealing a shirt and clean boxers, “Just did laundry today. You can….you can change in the bathroom. I even have an extra toothbrush.”

You roll your eyes at that, taking the clothes from him. 

“Okay,” you agree.

“Bathroom’s right there.”

You nod, quickly making your way across the room and into the bathroom. You close the door and quickly change, finding Art’s spare toothbrush unopened in a goodie bag from the dentist shoved into a spare drawer. You quickly wash your face, brush your teeth, and change into his clothes. The shirt is baggy, with Stanford Men’s Tennis written across the front. It smells like him, like his detergent and his cologne and you can’t help but greedily inhale.

When you exit the bathroom, Art dips in, leaving the door open as he brushes his teeth. You place your clothes in a pile on his desk, awkwardly waiting for him. When he emerges, he’s wearing only his boxers and a gray t-shirt.

“I’ll take the floor,” Art says, his face turning beet red, “You can have the bed.”

“Art no,” you insist, “It’s your room. I’ll take the floor, it’s only fair—”

“Yeah that is not happening,” he says, satisfied smirk on his face, “Tashi’d kill me if she found out I made you sleep on the floor.”

“We could…..” you wet your lips, struggling to get the words out, “We could share the bed?”

Art watches you, his eyes wide. You watch his Adam’s apple bobs as he contemplates your question. Suddenly your pulse quickens, and embarrassment floods your body, and your face flushes. You turn away from him, scooting onto the bed.

“I mean only—”

“—if you’re comfortable,” Art finishes and you shut your mouth. You both giggle at the overlapping sentences.

“Yeah, I’m comfortable, Art,” you tell him, patting the space beside you, “Come on.”

Art moves onto the bed and you push closer to the wall. He’s so close when he lies down beside you, stretching his arm above your head. You’ve grown accustomed to the moonlit room and at this distance, you can almost count each eyelash that frames his blue eyes. 

“Is this okay?” he whispers, minty breath wafting over your face, making your head spin.

“Mhmm,” is all you can manage as the heat of his body warms you under the covers.

He’s silent then and you lay there for a moment, watching each other, listening to your shared breathing. Art chuckles then.

“What?”

“It’s just…” he trails off, “Nothing, it’s silly.”

“What is it?”

“You’re the first girl I’ve shared a bed with,” he admits, shyly glancing away from your gaze.

“Art Donaldson,” your tone is teasing, “I find that rather hard to believe.”

“It’s true,” he insists, brows furrowing together, “I mean….I’m not saying—wait” he wets his lips nervously, “I’m not a virgin—”

Your eyebrows raise, a smile curling at the corner of your lips. No, you did not doubt that. 

“Not that anything’s wrong with that, I just—wait and not to imply—”

“Art!” you cut him off, reaching forward and pressing your fingers against his lips, “I’m kidding. Don’t freak out.”

“M’not,” he mumbles, lips moving against your fingers.

“I’m fucking with you, Donaldson,” you whisper, taking your hand back, “I know you’re a gentleman.”

“Thank Christ,” he says with an exaggerated exhale causing you to giggle once more. He watches you, a smile on his face, eyes flickering to your lips.

Your face heats up as he wets his lips. Suddenly, nervousness flutters in your belly, and your heart flutters in your chest.

“Goodnight,” you tell him, turning away from him to face the wall.

You wait for his response, hoping he’s not disappointed. Disappointed about what, you’re not sure. 

“Goodnight,” he says softly and you close your eyes.

You wake up early. Birds are chirping outside the window, golden sunlight is beginning to bleed into the room, and Art’s chest is smushed firmly against your back. His arm is curled around your middle, hand splayed under your shirt and on your tummy, face buried in the crook of your neck. He’s so warm, his presence so comforting, you just want to close your eyes and melt back into him. 

Art groans in his sleep, moving his hips slightly and your eyes snap open.

Oh, Art.

He’s pressed firmly against your backside, rock-hard, hips unconsciously grinding against you. Your mouth falls open slightly feeling him against you, the hard outline of his cock bullying against your ass. Art groans again, hand on your stomach pushing you closer to him.

A breathy sigh escapes you and your head falls back against him slightly. 

“Art,” you breathe, answered with another groan, this one edging on a whimper. His hips gyrate, cock pressing against you with need, “Oh God…”

You swallow, breathing becoming more shallow. Your pussy clenches, and you can feel the growing wetness in the boxers Art had lent you, thighs pressing together desperate to relieve some of the pressure.

“Art wake up!” 

Art wakes with a start, head pulled from your shoulder. You can’t see him, but you feel him tense, the warmth of his body ripped from yours as he lurches backward, right off the edge of the bed. He falls with a yelp, hitting the floor with a loud thud. You sit up turning toward him. 

“Fuck!” he says, scrambling to sit and hide his erection, “Shit, I’m so sorry!” His face is red and he grabs a pillow, placing it over his lap, “God–fuck, I’m so sorry I was asleep—” He keeps stuttering, unable to meet your eyes. 

“Art.”

“It’s just biological you know, just morning wood, I would never do anything without your explicit consent–enthusiastic consent!”

“Art…”

“And I would never want to ruin anything between us, ever–”

“Art!”

His head snaps toward you then, eyes meeting yours. His mouth hangs open, eyes watery as he looks up at you. He looks so sad, so embarrassed, and disappointed. And something else as well. Worried, perhaps. 

“Get back up here,” you tell him.

Art’s mouth remains open in shock as he glances at the bed.

“Now?”

“Yes, right now.”

Art scrambles to rejoin you on the bed, lying beside you. He faces you just as he did last night, sandy hair falling across his forehead. You smile softly at his disheveled appearance and his flushed cheeks.

“I’m sorry—”

“Stop talking,” you tell him, reaching forward and brushing some hair from his face. You let your hand trail around to the nape of his neck, fingers curling in his hair. “You have my consent.”

Art’s eyes widen, lips parting in shock.

“Yeah?”

“Mhmm,” you tell him, pulling yourself closer. His hand drifts to your hip, anchoring himself to it. “Explicit, enthusiastic, all yours.”

The last word has barely left your lips before he’s leaning forward, pressing his lips against your own. They’re warm and soft, he kisses you with innocent eagerness, the hand on your hip pulling you flush against him. You lift your leg, hitching it around his thigh, fingers tangling in his hair and tugging slightly, earning a moan against your mouth.

“Fuck,” he moans against your lips, “You don’t know how long I’ve thought about this.”

Something deep inside your belly warms at his admission. 

“Yeah?”

“Mhmm,” he answers, kissing you again, “Since freshman year.”

“Why didn’t you…..oh fuck..” your question trails off as Art mouths your neck, sucking and biting the tender skin.

“Didn’t want to ruin anything,” he mumbles, kissing your collarbone. 

You hum at his answer, tilting your head to give him better access. His hand moves from your hip bone, up under your shirt—his shirt. 

“Is this okay?” he asks, mouth returning to your lips.

“Yes,” you tell him, “Please touch me.”

You can feel his smile against your lips as he does what you ask, fingers grazing the underside of your breast. Pushing against him, his hand cups your breast, squeezing lightly. You pull away from his lips briefly, tugging your shirt over your head and tossing it to the end of the bed. Art’s eyes devour you and he kisses you desperately as he continues to play with your tits. 

“Fuck you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, kissing down your neck until he reaches the top of your chest. 

Art’s lips move across the tops of your breasts, as though he’s struggling with choosing which one to lavish with attention. Luckily for you, he decides rather quickly and latches his mouth to your right nipple, thumb, and forefinger, tweaking the opposite. Your back arches as he gently bites down, sucking the hardened peak harshly before releasing it with a pop. 

“Art.”

He simply moans, ignoring your cries as he brings his mouth to your opposite nipple, repeating his previous action. Pleasure winds a current in your lower belly, your thighs clench as he repeats his little torture, alternating back and forth between your breasts. You grab his hair, tugging him not too gently until he glances up at you, cheeks red, lips glossy and puckered. 

He’s too pretty.

You pull him back to your lips, kissing him feverishly while trying to rid yourself of the clothing you have left. Art feels you squirming and assists, hands moving the boxers down your legs until you’re able to kick them off at your ankles. Your hands move to him next, eager to even the playing field. 

You tear his shirt over his head revealing his toned stomach from countless hours on the court. Your mouth waters at the sight before Art is on you once more, lips capturing yours in another heated kiss. His hand returns to your hip, curling against it before he reaches further, squeezing your ass.

You smile against his mouth as he squeezes again. 

“You’re just fucking perfect, aren’t you?” he murmurs, returning your smile.

His hand grazes down the back of your thigh before venturing to the front where your legs meet. Your breathing becomes more labored the closer he gets to your hot center. 

“Can I?” he asks, so softly, you nearly drown out his question with your heavy breath.

“Yes,” you tell him, and that’s all he needs. 

Art slides a curious finger between your wet folds, gently circling your clit. Your mouth falls open as he continues.

“You’re so wet,” he remarks, dipping his finger lower, and finding your entrance. 

He lets his middle finger sink into you, met with little resistance. Your walls greedily accept him as he curls his finger upwards, beginning to pump it in and out. Stars explode behind your eyes and you moan, clutching onto his shoulder.

Art smirks, eyes aglow at the pleasured noises you emit.

“That feel good?”

“Yes—fuck,” you squeak as he presses another finger inside of you, “Oh god.”

“Yeah?” 

Art crooks his fingers against your velvety walls, pressing against that special spot inside of you that has your head lolling against him, moans spilling from your lips. His thumb joins, caressing your sensitive clit in time with the strokes of his fingers. 

“Feels so good,” you moan, “I’m so close.”

“Yeah? You're gonna come for me?” he asks, kissing your neck. Your fingers tangle themselves in his blonde hair, tugging harshly, your orgasm building deep in your belly, “Come on baby, come on my fingers, I wanna feel this pretty pussy come.”

His words send you over the edge and your pussy clenches around his digits as you come, thighs shaking from the intensity as warmth floods through you.

“That was so hot,” Art says, kissing you, still buried to the knuckles inside you, “You’re so hot. Let me fuck you, please.”

You hum against his lips as he carefully removes his fingers from your warmth. He pulls away, bringing his fingers to his lips, sucking them clean. You watch him awestruck as he moans, eyes closing at the taste of you.

“Get inside me,” you tell him, “Right now.”

Art doesn’t need to be told twice, sitting up and pulling his boxers off as you lay on your back. Your eyes drift down his stomach to his cock. It’s pretty, just like the rest of him. Long, girthy, a neat tuft of dark sandy colored hair at the base. The tip flushed red and weeping as he strokes himself. 

“Condom?” you ask, and he nods, walking to his desk and rummaging through the first drawer. 

He comes up successful, ripping the wrapper with his teeth and rolling the condom on his length before crawling on top of you. You spread your legs for him as he lines himself up, rubbing the tip along your soaked slit. 

“Art, please put it in,” you whine, hips lifting.

“Jesus, I’m not gonna last long if you keep that up,” he says, shaking his head.

Your responding giggle is short-lived as he slowly sinks inside of you, filling you to the brim.

“Oh god,” you whimper, as he rests his forehead against yours.

“You okay?”

“More than okay,” you answer, cupping his cheek. He mirrors your action and you smile, a sudden burst of tenderness exploding in your chest, tears welling in your eyes. 

Art rotates his hips, pulling back and sinking back into your inviting warmth. 

“You feel so fucking good,” he murmurs, kissing your lips, “I’ve dreamt of this for years.”

“Me too,” you admit, wrapping your legs around his waist, “God, Art, I’ve wanted this forever.”

This spurs him on, his thrusts becoming quicker, more eager at your confession. 

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” you whimper as he pounds into you, “Wanted this for so long—used to talk to….to Tashi about it—”

Art moves his hand along your side, reaching your thigh and hooking your leg over his shoulder.

“What’d you tell her?”

The new angle sends him deeper, the head of his cock rubbing perfectly against that spongy section of your walls that has your mouth dropping open in pleasure.

“Wanted you,” you manage as Art holds one of your hands above your head against the pillows, “Wanted this so bad.”

“I’ll give it to you,” Art says, his breath catching, “Fuck—oh god you’re so pretty like this, fuck.”

“Art!” you cry his name as your second orgasm builds, sneaking up on you as he slows his pace, “Why’d you—”

“Wanna savor this,” he says softly, kissing the tip of your nose. His thrusts have slowed, hips moving with leisure. 

The pressure in your belly continues to build as he smirks down at you. Tennis has done wonders to his stamina; he fucks you like he could keep this pace for hours, barely breaking a sweat. You whine, throwing your head back against the pillows as he kisses your neck, your hamstring burning deliciously with the stretch. 

“Please come for me,” he murmurs, right next to your ear, “I’ve got to feel that sweet little pussy come around my cock, please.”

You do as you’re told, spurred on by Art whispering praises and encouragement in your ear and you fall apart, clenching around his cock and milking him for all he’s worth. You feel his hips stutter, cock twitching inside your warmth as he follows your release with his own. Art’s lips find yours then, and you can taste yourself on his tongue as he kisses you like a drowning man coming up for air. 

You stay like that for several minutes, his cock softening as you kiss one another, before he slowly pulls out. He takes a moment to take off the condom, tying it off and tossing it in the trash before he rejoins you in bed.

“C’mere,” he says, pulling you across his chest. 

You lie with your cheek pressed against his pec, listening to the gentle beating of his heart. He strokes your arm with his fingers, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“Did you mean what you said?” he asks, face buried in your hair, “About wanting me? This?”

“Mhmm,” you answer, putting all your cards on the table, “I may have harbored a small crush on you.”

Art picks up your hand measuring it against his own before lacing your fingers together.

“I wish I knew that earlier,” he admits, still holding your hand, “I’ve been in love with you for ages.”

You glance up at him between your lashes and he grins.

“It’s true,” he says with a smile.

“And here I thought Patrick was the only one who owned your heart,” you tease, causing him to playfully bite your wrist, “Hey!”

“Not the only one,” he admits, rolling you over onto your back, “I’m glad you got kicked out of your room last night.”

You lean up, placing a kiss on the tip of his nose.

“Me too.”

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[hairmetal666]

No one knows who writes the Hawkins High Tattler. It comes out every week, without fail, has for almost two decades. Everyone reads it, even teachers, even parents. It's caused more the one suspension, grounding, and even--famously--a shipping off to boarding school.

Steve's never let the Tattler get to him much. He's in it, of course, practically a new story every week. But it's just silly gossip.

Of course, Steve is also, currently, the titular Tattler, so. It's not like he's surprised when his name shows up.

It's his third year, his last year, and he knows everything that ever goes on at Hawkins High. It's pretty easy, honestly. Everyone thinks he's ditzy and vapid; nothing more than hairspray and polos. People will say anything around him, assuming he's not listening or not interested, and then bam. It's in next week's Tattler. No one even suspects him.

The confessions locker probably helps. Down by the theater, busted and unusable, the perfect place for people to leave tips, to tattle on their friends (or enemies, as the case may be).

That's what he's doing right now, checking the confessions locker. After 9:30 on a Friday night, the place silent as the tomb, perfect time for it. Pretty standard fare this week. The only thing of interest is that Eddie Munson was the person who broke all Ms. Click's pencils and left the stubs on her desk. This one, he laughs at, can't wait to publish it; can't wait to talk to Munson about it.

He gets a lot of stuff about Eddie. Most of it he doesn't publish because it's bullshit about satanic rituals--the nerdy kids he babysits play dnd, and there's no way Karen Wheeler is letting anything satanic happen in her basement--or about his sexuality, and one thing Steve doesn't do is out people.

Gathering up this week's submissions, he closes the locker with a soft clink, and he swears, swears he hears the squeak of a tennis shoe on the polished tile of the floor. He freezes, heart in his throat. Nobody has been here this late before.

Seconds pass but there's only silence. Confident he's only hearing things, he heads out, the parking lot just as empty as when he arrived.

---

He sees Eddie a few days later, when he's picking up the kids from the arcade. They typically exchange casual greetings, but as Steve waits, Eddie stands with him, offers him a cigarette.

"Read that was you who messed with Click's pencils. Good one."

Eddie shrugs, gives a little bow and a smile. "Happy to be of service."

"It was my class, when she found them. Never seen her so mad."

"No way," Eddie laughs. "Not even when Hagan drew dicks on all the textbooks?"

"Not even then, man. She was throwing pencil stubs everywhere."

"Fuck, sad I missed it." Eddie takes a drag, Steve's eyes following the movement, lingering on his mouth. Something warm and tingling builds at the base of his spine and he forces his gaze away.

"How long you in detention for?"

"I'm not. Swore it wasn't me, and Click doesn't want to admit she reads the Tattler, so. Not much they could do. "

"I've seen it sitting on her desk!"

"I know! She reads it when she has detention duty!"

They lean against Steve's car, laughing, and Steve feels good. This is good. He likes Eddie. He's funny and dramatic and smart and kind. He's not deserving of any of the mean things that get submitted to the Tattler.

The kids come streaming into the parking lot then, and Eddie stubs out his cigarette, says "see you around, Harrington," and Steve finds himself flushing for reasons he can't quite explain.

---

He starts seeing Eddie around way more. He's in school most days, smoking in the parking lot after the last bell, chatting with Steve in the hallways.

It shows up in the Tattler; big news that the King and the Freak are hanging out. Most of the submissions are about it, increasingly elaborate rumors about their supposedly deep, close friendship.

He wishes he could tell Eddie.

Eventually, Eddie invites him to smoke at the quarry. He doesn't hesitate to say yes, doesn't even bother to try ignoring the swoop in his stomach, the speed of his heart.

They sprawl out in the back of the van, Eddie's loud, raucous music pounding around them, sharing a joint back and forth.

Steve gets hazy, boneless, can't stop watching Eddie, the way his lips purse around the joint, his long hair glinting gold in the weak light of the camping lanterns, the pleased shine of his eyes every time he makes Steve laughs.

He likes Eddie so much. Everything about him, honestly. Butterflies ping in his stomach, happy and slow, and he thinks how nice Eddie's lips are, wonders how soft they must be. And he thinks--he's read the submissions, right--he knows the things they say about Eddie, and he wishes it was true, he wants--he wants--

He wants

---

Steve's running late to check the locker. Lost track of time at the diner with Eddie, and it's making him panic.

He stuffs the submissions haphazardly into the pocket of his hoodie, dancing with nerves, willing himself to grab them all and get out.

Locker emptied, he sprints towards the exit. He has a second to process someone barreling towards him in the dark, but he's going too fast to stop, can only brace himself as they collide.

It sends him sliding across the floor, Tattler submissions spilling out of his pocket like snow. He hits the ground, scrabbling for the papers, praying that whoever is here with him can't see them in the low light.

Hands grips his biceps. "Stevie, Steve, we have to get out of here" and there's a second where he's comforted by the familiar rasp of Eddie's voice before terror spikes again.

He pulls himself from Eddie's grasp, searching for any dropped submissions in easy reach. "Wha--why--what's--"

"I ran into Jason Carver and his band of idiots at the gas station. They're on their way to here to try to catch the Tattler in action."

Steve freezes. "I don't--that's not--I--"

In the deep silence of the empty school, they both hear the slamming of a door, a bitten off giggle. Eddie grabs his wrist and they run. Into the theater room, through a door Steve didn't know existed, to the backstage area of the auditorium.

"You should be safe here," Eddie says.

Panic spirals through him. "I can explain. I was just--I forgot a--I needed--"

"Harrington! I know, okay? I already know."

Steve can only blink at him, swallows rough in his throat. "What--Eddie, I--"

"I saw you. Weeks ago. Forgot my notebook in the theater room after Hellfire and had to run back for it. You were there, at the locker."

"You can't tell anyone."

"I'm not going to."

"No, Munson, you really can't. Nobody can know. Nobody--"

"Swe--Stevie, I promise. The secret's safe with me." He rocks back on his heels, chewing on his lip for a second before he continues. " I--I couldn't figure you out, you know? I saw you around with those kids and it didn't make any sense. King Steve, babysitting tiny nerds? But I saw you at the locker and..."

"You're giving me too much credit, man."

"I don't think so. You're never--fuck, Harrington--you're never mean. At least, not in the last couple years. You spread gossip, but you don't punch down, and you're funny as hell. Mean as shit too, but only to the people who deserve it."

His ears burn and he looks down. "Just because I have fucking--fucking editorial standards doesn't mean that I'm anything special."

Eddie scoffs. "Remember, Stevie, I was reading it a year before you were here. Cruel, vapid garbage. Always the most vile, pointless stories about people who couldn't defend themselves. And how many submissions have you gotten about me, for instance, that you've never used?"

Steve clenches his fists. "I would never--"

"I know. Sweetheart, I know. That's why I li--You're so fucking good, Stevie."

He laughs, ears burning. "I'm really not, Eddie. I try to write about fun gossip that can't hurt anyone too much, and nobody's found me out because they think I'm too dumb--"

Eddie reaches out then, fingers connecting softly with the edge of Steve's jaw. He can't help but lean into the touch, eyes flickering closed.

"You don't want to hurt people because you're fucking kind. You know how I know for sure? You must get submissions every week about me, and you've never once printed that I'm--" Eddie stops then, swallowing hard.

Steve's throat goes tight. He rests his hand over Eddie's, still holding his face. "Me too," he whispers. "Kind of. I like--it's both. For me."

"Oh," Eddie breathes, mouth lifting in a bright, beautiful smile that Steve can't help but return.

He's watching, sees when Eddie's gaze drifts his lips, making his breath hitch. He doesn't really think about closing the distance between them, slotting their mouths together in a tentative, gentle kiss.

"You're just full of surprises aren't you, Steve Harrington? Eddie asks when they part.

Steve blushes. "That's sort of the last of them."

"Sure. Next you'll be telling me you've played dnd."

"I have a character."

"What???"

"Human paladin. Dustin worked on it with me. Ready to get out of here?"

"Human paladin," Eddie gapes. "You know--you said--what's happening?"

Steve twines their fingers together, leading Eddie towards the auditorium exit. "Well, first we're going to walk out to my car and then we're going to my house, and we're going to look through Tattler submissions. Maybe makeout a little bit."

Eddie giggles. "What the fuck? Like. What the fuck, sweetheart?"

He turns to face Eddie, smile big and pure and bright with happiness. "If you're really nice to me, I'll let you help write this week's issue."

"Oh, oh. You're going to wreck me." Eddie mumbles, almost to himself.

"If you're lucky." Steve beams.

[freakassfemme]

beloved butch abby and her soft femme

a/n: yeah, this is a self indulgent as fuck drabble <3 this is heavily inspired by my own relationship so sorry if it gets too niche </3 my fiancé and I just have a running joke about how much they are like abby so it kinda veered off that way. I still think its rly cute regardless

how you meet! <3

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who manages a nice cafe a few streets off of downtown in a big city somewhere on a northern coast. she's stumbling in the front door, grumbling about how the delivery trucks always drop packages out front instead of the back when she sees you.

sure, she's used to tourists, but it's fucking february. hardly anyone is traveling, let alone for anything beyond the major sights, and you're sitting in a booth, sipping on a hot latte with lipstick stains on the mug and clasping your hands like a princess as you look over your scrapbooking supplies. yeah, you're a local.

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who doesn't even bother trying to get your number at first. she's too busy with the cafe, with lev, with crippling debt from her attempt at medical school before her dad passed -- at least, that's what she tells herself and her coworkers who catch her ogling you when you show up more and more.

she notices some pins on your tote bag when you come up one day, listening to you chat to the barista and waving them off each time they ask her a ridiculous question like what syrups do we have, playing stupid so she is forced to interact with you.

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who just can't resist you when you start showing up more and more, so she goes home and listens to chappell fucking roan because she sees a pin on your bag. she hates it, but one day, after a month or so, she adds it to the morning Spotify shuffle, and just turns and smiles and says "me too" when she hears you telling the barista how much you love my kink is karma.

"oh my gosh, really?!"

yeah, everyone knows that's bullshit.

dating! <3

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who surprises you with full on fucking roses every date night, which are often on Wednesdays, because she loves taking you to karaoke nights. no, she doesn't sing, but she'll hold up your mirror for you to check your makeup before you run on stage, singing something adorable like from the start by Laufey.

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who is always so delighted when you swing by midday, dropping off a handmade lunch in a cute little metal bento box, even if she's covered in flour. she'll bring you to her office, give you a little somethinggggg sweet to hold you over, make you a coffee and send you on your way.

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who is so scared to have you meet lev, her fingers are physically shaking when you two are in the same room together for the first time. lev is a little suspicious of you at first, but quickly becomes well-adjusted when you start sending baked goods home with abby for him as well.

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who comes over to your apartment in a black tank top and sweats, hair messy whenever (yep! you guessed it!) the sink is clogged, because city plumbing is terrible and she's fixed them enough times at work to be able to save you from a regular bill each month. plus, the way you thank her is always payment enough

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who nearly fucking cries when you make her a homemade Christmas stocking. lev doesn't celebrate, and without her dad, she hasn't found a reason to do anything like that just for herself. so on Christmas morning, when she carefully shakes out a set of matching heart-shaped carabiners, yeah, she does cry a little bit.

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who shyly comes out of the bathroom one day holding some chest tape, asking if you’ll help her put it on because “for some reason the right side is halfway on but I put it on backwards on accident so I can’t get the plastic off so—“ (obviously you help her)

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who offers to buy you tennis skirts, athleisure dresses, fucking lululemon or whatever it is that will get you to come to the gym with her, even just to sit on her lap when she does hip thrusts. she loves sending you mirror pics after leg day, and yeah, you of course die every time.

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who weaves through crowded downtown like it's nothing with you on her arm and two tote bags of your mail hanging from her arms when you finally get around to sending it out. she insists that she doesn't mind the little canvas bags with their floral prints.

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who wears her beat up brown leather jacket like she's trying to run through the fabric. Lets you help her condition the material and put on patches, and even goes so far as to wrap you up a matching red one for your birthday that year.

as for her other clothes, she's constantly wearing little holes in the elbows and knees that you're more than happy to stitch up for her, and she swears her heart flutters every time she catches a glimpse of the woven embroidery thread in a green tee shirt or wool sweater.

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who goes feral for the type o negative/out of the fire TikTok trend. she doesn't have her own account, but when you show her the videos of girls in their dainty Mary Janes stepping on to leather or work boots, she agrees without batting an eye, much to your surprise.

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who slips a tag with your name on to it next to her other dog tags, keeping it like a secret special token on her necklace.

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who lets you do her hair sometimes, even though she's perfectly fine at it herself. she just adores those sweet late nights in her bedroom where you're rubbing some warm-smelling lotion into her back and weaving her hair back into place.

nsfw! <3

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who is a god damn sucker for praise and worship, both ways. she feels like you two are the only people in the world when she's on her knees, hands inching under your skirt and up your thighs while you purr sweet things in her ear, and she's telling you all the things she wants to do to you.

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who definitely talks you through it, and is constantly astonished by just how into her you are.

"oh, fuck baby -- you're dirty, jesus,"

"she's so needy for me, huh? you gonna let me take care of her, baby?"

"mmpf, thank you, thank you--"

"fuck, i know baby, i know. you can, i know you can. you're taking it so well, let me do it f'you. shit"

-`♡´- beloved butch abby whose hand nearly rips the mattress open the first time you're sat in front of her, leaving little lipstick marks on her strap as you work your mouth around it, making a slobbery and moaning debauched version of your pretty self for her.

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who lets you slip a finger between her legs while you suck her strap, lets you push it inside while your mouth pushes the base of her strap against her clit until she's shaking and stuttering and practically face-fucking you.

yeah, she stays strapped up on dates, too.

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who has a mean 3 finger combo that she'll pull out absolutely anywhere - in the back of her truck, on the kitchen counter, in the bar bathroom, wherever she sees fit.

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who takes mirror selfies while you're riding her, or just in her lap, sucking on her neck or looking shyly back at the mirror. puts her huge ass hand on your ass, squeezing it and saves the photos for her own personal spank bank. the arch of your back drives her crazy.

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who melts so easily under your prettily-painted nails, dragging down her abs while you murmur how handsome she is right into her pussy. her legs twitch, and god, she's trying so hard not to fucking crush you (not that you'd mind), but she about loses it when you ask her to sit on your face.

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who hoists you on to her shoulders against the inside walls of her office, the door locked shut and your hand clamped over your mouth during her lunch break. covers up any stains on her shirt with her apron, acting like she needs to work up another batch of something while you're prancing out breathless and pink in the cheeks.

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who lets you play Jesse Jo Stark when you fuck in the backseat of her truck, hands intertwined and leaving palm prints on the steamy windows while you eat each other out in parking lots, murmuring I love you's while the truck rocks back and forth.

[luveline]

could you please write something where maybe bombshell!reader hears one of the team members teasing about how she’s torturing spencer and she kinda backs off with the flirting and maybe it’s his turn to hold her hand and call her cute names because even though he always says he doesn’t mind, maybe he does and he just doesn’t want to tell her

tysm for requesting, 1k

Spencer's hair is brown silk in the sun. You bite your tongue to hold in a compliment rearing to come out, saccharine and completely true. Looking sweet, Spence. 

You love to compliment him and especially while Hotch is out of earshot. He and Derek play pairs against two agents from a different unit, their tennis racquets a shiny FBI navy. You start to speak and bite it back —a memory flashes, a shouting stop sign. 

You'd been teasing Spencer as he left the room, something about his indecisive hair. He's cut it shorter but left his curls without product, and you love it. 

Poor guy, Emily'd murmured, lips set against the rim of her coffee cup. 

What's the matter with him? you asked, perplexed. 

Nothing, just that he spins into a total meltdown every time you guys are within ten feet of each other. He must be exhausted.

She was joking and you know that, but something deep down worries she's right. It's not fair for you to keep winding him up… Especially when Spencer might be going along with you because he isn't sure how to say no. 

What if you're forcing yourself on him? 

You're sitting together on a small blanket in the grass with Anderson and a few of the other less competitive BAU agents. You bring your bottled iced tea to your forehead to cool down, condensation wetting your hot skin. The top of your head feels as though it has the full concentration of the sun beating against it. 

Spencer looks up at your movement. He's been reading a book for pleasure, or so he says, so he isn't going a mile a minute but he's still way faster than the average Joe. "Do you want to go find some shade?" he asks. 

"You look comfortable," you say, putting your iced tea aside.

Which is to say, I don't want you to come with me, it would disrupt you. Spencer nods and turns to the brown leather of his familiar satchel, popping the buckle open to dig around inside. 

"Do you think this would be okay?" he asks, bringing out his baseball cap. 

The fabric is starchy and the brim stiff as you accept it and wedge it over your head. You don't immediately cool, but your heart spins strange loops. "Thank you," you say. Thank you, handsome, gorgeous, baby, all beg to be said. 

Spencer stays looking at you for longer than normal. 

"Do I have something on my face?" you ask, swatting self consciously at your cheeks. 

"Nothing. You look really pretty," he says. 

"Thank you." Another loop. You point at his book, fingertip hitting a creamy page with a small thud. "Is this any good?" 

"I think you'd really like it, it feels like that last book I borrowed from you, and you loved that. They're very similar. I can lend it to you when I'm done." 

"Don't rush it for my sake."

Spencer gives you a private smile. "I won't. Just because you could watch a movie at two times speed doesn't mean you should." 

Your returning smile isn't half as nice. No shared lightness, no bright eyes. You're feeling awkward and unhappy —you really like Spencer. Like, you think you could be happy together for a long long time sort of like. He's charming and sweet and no one is ever as kind to him as he deserves, which is why you're trying to be kind now by putting distance between you.

You'll be brash forever. You can't change that, and Spencer doesn't need the stress of dealing with you, not on top of everything else. 

His smile fades as yours does. Quiet, without fuss, he scoots back on the picnic blanket, putting you knee to knee. The subtle muscle of his arm presses to yours and his hand wraps gently around your wrist as he dips his head down, his cheek touching briefly to your shoulder. 

"I know it's nice, but if the heat is getting to you we should go inside," he says, his fingers sliding across your palm to slot between your own. He squeezes your hand. "Heat stroke isn't obvious at first. Do you feel woozy?"

You stare at your twined fingers. He surprises you again, being this soft with you, and being uncharacteristically forward. Or maybe not uncharacteristic at all; Spencer won't let something like timidity stop him from comforting someone that needs it. 

"Spence," you murmur, closing your eyes, face angled down. 

"What?" 

"I'm sorry if I… If I've been messing you around. But I don't think this is a good idea." 

"What's not a good idea?" 

You can't make yourself say it. Instead, you rub the back of his hand, more for your own comfort than his, your tongue like a useless lump in your mouth. 

"You're sorry? Are you sure you're okay?" Spencer asks, no heed to the people sitting with you as he lets go of your hand to put his arm behind your shoulder like a shield. 

"I don't want to torture you," you say. 

Your friends love that word. You torture Spencer with your flirting and your easy affection. 

Spencer makes a face, eyes squinting and nose wrinkled. "They're just kidding when they say that. Emily, Morgan, they like making fun of me, it's like, sibling bonding or something. They don't say it because there's actually something to feel sorry about." He lowers his voice, bashful but sincere at once, "If you're torturing me, I guess I'm a masochist." 

You laugh without thinking, a breathless, girlish sound you'd regret if you had the wherewithal. "You're a masochist?" you ask. 

He takes the brim of your borrowed hat and pushes it up to unobstruct the view of your eyes. 

"If that's what it takes," he says. A hint of wryness creeps into his otherwise smooth tone. 

Despite his brave talk and his steady eye contact, his face has started to blush. A rosy hue kisses the tops of his cheeks and his nose, a dusting of pink splodges stark against his paleness. The curve of his lips seems extra tantalising now. He's very, very pretty. 

And he doesn't mind stepping in to take the reins when you're unsure of things. 

"We really should sit in the shade for a bit," he says. "Let's get drinks from the gazebo. Yeah?" 

You're halfway through a nod when he kisses your cheek too quickly for you to respond. You follow him to the gazebo without any more reluctance, weaselling your hand back into his, and attempt to pull another kiss from him.

[norrisainz33]

Seeing Doubles Pt.2 - GR63

☆ summary: George Russell attends Wimbledon and meets the tennis it girl, Y/N

☆ pairing: george russell x reader

☆ fc: none

☆ warnings: slightly suggestive, you are responsible for the content you consume

prev.

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y/nuser has added to their story

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y/bff: now he’s got you playing doubles??

y/n: yes 😔

maxverstappen1: my invite must have gotten lost in the post… you still owe me that game of padel

y/n: let’s play when i get to monaco!!

maxverstappen1: i’ll make the reservation! you better be ready for some fierce competition

y/n: i have heard you are quite the pro

landonorris: simp 🫵

y/n: yes 🤭 have you seen him?

landonorris: unfortunately i have 🤢

y/nuser posted a story

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serenawilliams: you’re going to love monaco 💙

y/n: yayyyy!! miss you lots 🤍

serenawilliams: let’s get coffee when you’re back!

y/bff: come home the kids miss you

y/n: are you the kids

y/bff: yes mommy

lilymhe: see you soon gorgeous girl

y/n: looking forward to our date 🫶🏻

alexandrasaintmleux: leo is so excited to meet you

y/n: and i am so excited to meet leo 🥹🫶🏻

alexandrasaintmleux has posted a story

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y/nuser: love you both 🫶🏻

charlesleclerc: gotta teach leo tennis early 🎾

user18: omg alex and y/n together 😭

user27: two pretty best friends fr

maxverstappen1 has made a post

liked by alex_albon, georgerussell63, y/nuser and 325,038 others

tagged: alex_albon, georgerussell63, y/nuser

maxverstappen1: learned the hard way not to invite a professional to play padel

view all 986 comments

alex_albon: we are monte carlo’s finest losers

maxverstappen1: you got that right

georgerussell63: can’t relate 💅🏻

alex_albon: georgerussell63 a rematch without y/n will have you relating real quick mate

y/nuser: besties you all did great

user11: BESTIES?! pls tell me she’s not friendzoning george

y/nuser: thanks for the invite max! hopefully alex will take some of my pointers!

maxverstappen1: you’re welcome any time y/n

alex_albon: why am i catching strays now

landonorris: i can’t believe i missed a y/n masterclass

y/nuser: landonorris next time!!

user12: hanging out with y/n? likely place for george to be

user21: and hanging out with the other drivers? never beating the georgey/n allegations

user12: georgey/n agenda stronger than ever

user16: MAX IS THE GOAT

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user12: Y/N!!!!!! I’d recognize her anywhere

user18: this post just called me poor in 8 different languages

y/nuser: thank you for such a magical weekend georgie 🤍

georgerussell63: anything for you beautiful 💙

y/nuser: anything you say? come back to bed then

georgerussell63: running back from my meeting with toto right now 🏃‍♂️

georgerussell63 has made a post

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georgerussell63: summer break you were so good to me 😉 now let’s get back to winning races 💪🏻

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user12: just dropped to my knees

user17: SUMMER LOOKS GOOD ON YOU 😫

user13: this has got to be y/n ain’t no way

landonorris: mate we get it - you’ve got a hot girlfriend please stop rubbing it in my face *comment deleted by user

maxverstappen1: mate

danielricciardo: mate

y/nuser: lando please

user12: GIRLFRIEND!!!!!!! I SAW THAT LANDO

user19: ITS OFFICIAL!

user22: EVERYONE WAKE UP NEW BRITISH ROYALTY DROPPED

user23: i don’t know if i want to be y/n or george more

user19: LOVE YOU REGINA GEORGE

y/n & george texts

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tagged: georgerussell63

y/nuser: cats outta the bag (thanks lando)! i love you my gr63 🤍

view all 543 comments

user12: BEST DAY OF MY LIFE

mercedesamgf1: welcome to the family, y/n!

georgerussell63: i love you my star 💙

landonorris: IM SORRY MOM

georgerussell63: mom?

landonorris: dad!

y/nuser: it’s ok son

georgerussell63: oh

maxverstappen1: it’s about time!

user12: max is so me

user25: max is one of us fr

maxverstappen1: padel next week?

alex_albon: not this again

y/nuser: see you at the courts max

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☆ a/n: thanks for reading! still figuring out this smau thing so bear with me!! likes and reblogs appreciated 🫶🏻

☆ let me know what driver i should write an smau for next!!

© norrisainz33: please do not rewrite, translate, or copy any of my works posted here on to any other platform

[mistyorchid]

White Lipgloss

Logan Howlett x mutant fem!reader

Summary: Your lips are chapped after an intense mission in the heat. Logan is more than willing to help. Warnings: MDNI. 99.9% porn, no use of y/n, age gap, student/professor, reader is 21+, praise kink, pet names (doll, bub, sweet girl, baby), size kink, oral (male! receiving), mention of exhibitionism, cum play. wc: 790

Pink, cherry-flavored oasis. Gleaming with your natural spit or a sickeningly sweet gloss. Logan compared your usual appearance to the pouty pair that was frowning in his direction.

"What, somethin' on my face?" You asked, slightly annoyed by Logan's persistent stare.

Before walking towards you with a snarky grin, he waited for the rest of the team to head inside the mansion.

It was no secret that you both celebrated after successful missions. The thick wood walls were no match for whatever sex symphony you were composing.

Logan stood with a hand on his hip, jutting out his right leg to assume the position of a smug boyfriend. He always distributed his weight when standing, like his dick weighed five pounds. Cocky motherfucker.

Lightly tracing your bottom lip with his index finger, he vaguely explained, "Nothing's on your face. Actually, you're missing a 'lil something. . ."

Your eyes widened at the sudden contact. The team completed the mission without any injuries, and that only meant one thing. Logan was celebrating where anyone could see you.

Swiftly removing his hand, you hissed, "Inside. Now. I don't want Charles to write us up again."

Logan chuckled, reasoning, "It was only one time. How could I have known that Dr. Phil would stray from his usual route? All he saw was his star student inspecting and repairing the frayed belt fibers of a respected member of faculty. You know how Charles gets when I'm not business casual."

Before Logan had the chance to embarrass you further, you wrapped an arm around his waist and instantly traveled to your room, placing a hand behind his neck to prevent whiplash.

It was Logan's turn to use his mutation. Unsheathing his claws, Logan gestured towards the band t-shirt you were wearing.

With an argumentative snarl, you shook your head. "No way in hell I'm letting you tear my favorite shirt. It's vintage."

Raising his eyebrows, Logan quipped, "But, doll . . . I'm vintage."

You slowly removed the shirt, haphazardly tossing it onto the floor. Wearing tennis skirts during missions wasn't standard protocol, but Logan accidentally shredded your uniform. He was burning holes with his eyes into the delicate fabric, watching you shimmy them down your leg.

Logan stopped you from undressing fully. "Keep it on. I love seeing you on your knees in this skirt," he whispered.

Taking the hint, you kneeled on the floor. Thankfully, a rug softened the impact.

"No hands. No sucking. Just need your eyes on me, bub." Logan hastily stripped out of his uniform, spending extra time on the zipper leading to his half-hard cock.

Placing the palms of your hands on your thighs, you arched your back, pushing your tits forward. "Since you mentioned it, my lips are feeling a bit parched . . ." you teased.

Logan spit into his open palm and languidly stroked himself. A bead of precum bubbled at the tip. Catching the way your eyes widened, Logan warned you not to taste him . . . not yet.

"Sorry, doll. How's this, I'll tell you what I'm thinkin' of." Logan picked up the pace, tugging his cock with more vigor. "The first night we 'ran in' to each other in the kitchen, you were on my mind so much I thought I dreamed of your presence."

Logan's breathing labored. Furrowing his eyebrows, he paused momentarily to spit again onto the head. "I fantasized about fucking you on the counter top. Knocking over the fruit basket and the beers I just finished . . ."

His hips stuttered. With a sharp inhale, Logan continued, "We went back to bed without so much as a handshake. I could smell that you wanted it. Caught you staring at my ass when I turned to close the fridge. Jerked my cock to the sight of your glossy lips until sunrise."

"I fucking love you, bub. Wanna give you everything," he panted, signalling his release. "My sweet, sweet girl."

Heart warming at his praise, you opened your mouth, tongue outstretched to accept his generous load.

"I love you too, Logan," you professed.

His hips frantically stuttered with pulses of cum, heavily streaking your face. "Oh, fuck . . ." Logan cursed, slapping his cock on the soft expanse of your tongue.

Stepping backward just enough to leave the tip bobbing against your chin, Logan grasped his softening cock and started smearing his cum on your eager lips.

After a couple passes, he focused on applying it like he would a real tube of lip gloss. "That's my girl, so good for me," Logan admired. His cum crudely dripped down your chin.

You slowly licked off the cum Logan applied, which prompted a confused brow arch from your drained boyfriend.

With a shy smirk, you teased, "Guess I need you to retouch my lip gloss, baby."

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Two Can Play That Game.

You’re cheating on Patrick. You’re not proud of it, but it just… happened. Patrick’s cheating on you, too. He never meant for it to happen, but it just… did. Imagine the surprise from both of you when you find out that Art Donaldson is caught up right in the middle.

pairing - art donaldson x patrick zweig x female reader (college era)

warnings - smut. cursing. cheating.

word count - 3.5k

authors note - every dynamic in this film is so fucked up and I love it. i’ve thought about this movie every single day since it came out, so it was about time I put pen to paper… i’m about to write so many fics with these two (and tashi). get ready. yeah.

masterlist. inbox.

It was an accident, the first time it happened. You swear.

Art had turned up at your dorm room one evening, with your tennis racket in one hand and a bottle of rum in the other.

He’d claimed he’d accidentally picked up yours when you were practising your serves together earlier in the afternoon - he’d only realised when he’d got back to shower and change. You’d opened up your bag, and sure enough, there was Art’s racket. Laughing as you handed it back, you invited him in.

“What’s with the booze, Artie?”

“Wanted to drink. Didn’t want to do it alone.”

“Fair enough.”

You couldn’t find any cups, so you took turns swigging from the bottle. Laying across your bed, the two of you talked about everything, from college classes to childhood summers.

It wasn’t unusual for you to hang out. You’ve been good friends since the very first day at Stanford, meeting each other at orientation and deciding to stick together. You found out that you both played tennis, and decided it was an instant connection. Easy.

“Patrick’s coming this weekend. Did he call you?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed, handing the bottle back to him. “He wants to watch you beat Carson.”

“He has a lot of faith in me,” he’d laughed, taking a swig.

He gets this glint in his eye, when he’s a little tipsy. It usually signals mischief and carelessness, two things he doesn’t have while sober. It’s charming.

“We both do.”

Shaking his head, he held the bottle out to you.

“You’re good, still? You and Patrick?”

You nod, ignoring the way the rum burned your throat as you swallowed.

“Yeah, we’re good. Miss him, though. He’s not good at calling.”

“I know. He’s always got that phone in his hand, but he’s shit at using it.”

You’d chuckled, taking in the way the lamplight made Art’s hair glow like some sort of halo.

“Hey, Art?”

“Hmm?”

“It isn’t weird for you, is it? Me dating Patrick?”

“I mean, it’s a bit late for this conversation, isn’t it? You’ve been dating for like, nine months or something.”

“Dude, answer the question.”

“Nah, it’s not weird. Was a bit unexpected at first, sure. But you’re good together. Makes sense.”

You nodded, putting the bottle down on your bedside table. You leaned your head sideways, resting it on Art’s shoulder where he lay.

“If it ever gets weird for you… you know, college friend and childhood friend, your two worlds colliding… just let me know, yeah?”

“Yeah, of course.”

You stayed in the comfortable silence, both slightly buzzed and a little warm. Eventually, Art sat up, looking at you seriously.

“If he ever… if, I - I don’t know how to say this without sounding like a dick.”

You sat up to face him, urging him to continue.

“Just say it, Art.”

He took a deep breath, chewing on his bottom lip.

“If he ever doesn’t treat you right, or tries to fuck you over… just tell me, okay? He’s not exactly known for being a model boyfriend.”

“He’s been good so far, but… thank you. I’m not stupid, Art. I know that boy has a reputation for being a slut.”

Art had laughed, then, all bouncy and unexpected. The sound of it lit you up.

“Understatement of the fucking century.”

You shook your head, but couldn’t quite wipe the grin off your face. You moved your legs to sit cross cross apple sauce as Art did the same, facing each other.

You’re not sure what possessed you, but you reached out gently to move a stray curl from his eyes. He caught your wrist, pressing a careful kiss into the bone. Your breath hitched, at the action and at the feeling of his rough fingertips against your soft skin.

To this day, you still don’t know who moved first. All of a sudden, he was kissing you, or you were kissing him, lips melding together like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle sliding into place. Art tasted like rum and spearmint gum, lips soft from the chapstick you bought him the week before.

His hands cradled your face as yours tangled in his hair, pulling him as close as possible. You’d climbed into his lap, tiny shorts doing nothing to separate the two of you.

You knew it was wrong. Both of you did. But maybe the thrill of it is what turned you on. Shirts thrown onto the floor, bra caught on the lamp, panties shoved into the pocket of Arts athletic shorts. It was a perfect picture of infidelity - and in that moment, you couldn’t have cared less. Neither of you could.

Art had fucked you slow and deep, spurred on by spiced rum and the sugary sweet noises spilling from your mouth. Sweat slicked skin slid together, groans and whines reverberating through the air.

You came three times before Art eventually did, babbling and muttering nonsense into the crook of your neck. All you could make out was the word Patrick.

He’d pulled the duvet over the two of you, falling asleep instantly with limbs intertwined.

Almost as if you hadn’t betrayed someone you both loved.

Almost as if it hadn’t felt inexplicably good to do it.

Almost as if you both knew you’d most likely do it again.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

They didn’t mean for it to happen, that first time. They both swear.

Patrick was crashing in Arts dorm room, both of them planning on hitting up some Stanford frat party. They’d been on the courts all afternoon, smacking balls at each other as hard as they could, keeping the other person on their toes.

Art never laughed with anyone else like he did with Patrick. All day, they’d been giggling like kids, undoubtedly pissing off everyone around them. But this is how they are. They’re the most themselves, when they’re together.

You were supposed to go to the party with them, but you’d knocked on the door last minute and told them that there was a situation with your friend that needed to be dealt with. She’d been broken up with, suddenly and without reason, as most college breakups happen. According to you, she was devastated, a real mess of emotions. You’d vowed to stay in her room that night so she wasn’t alone. Both Art and Patricks hearts had constricted at your kindness. They’d never met anyone like you.

“I’ll come by tomorrow morning and we can still go out, spend the day together. Okay, babe?”

You’d leant up to press a sweet kiss to Patrick’s lips, laughing when he pulled you in to deepen it.

“Okay,” he’d agreed eagerly. “Text us if you need anything, yeah?”

“Will do. Have fun, boys!”

And then you’d left as quickly as you’d arrived, in a cloud of Victoria’s Secret perfume mist and vanilla scented body butter.

“Looks like it’s just you and me tonight, Art.”

The blonde would be lying if he said he minded. He didn’t. He liked you a lot. But he liked Patrick more.

✵

Hours later, they stumbled back into Art’s dorm, drunk and babbling about the events of the night.

“She’s hot, Art. And she likes you. Clearly. How often does that happen?”

Patrick yelped when his best friend shoved him over, hitting the floor with a thump.

“Asshole. I’m not interested in her, like I told you eight thousand times tonight.”

“I just think Mackenzie-”

“Mallory.”

“-Mallory could be could for you. You’re not getting laid in college, Art. Do you know how lame that is?”

“How do you know?”

“Because you’d tell me.”

They looked at each other carefully, neither one daring to break the tense silence. Eventually, Patrick rose from the floor, kicking off his shoes and pulling off his jeans.

“I’m not sleeping on the ground tonight.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’ll kill my back. And I have a match coming up.”

Art rolled his eyes, climbing into bed in his little boxer shorts.

“Where else are you gonna sleep then, huh?”

Patrick grinned, all white toothed and gleaming, before jumping right into bed next to the blonde, pulling the duvet up and over them.

“Right here.”

“You’re the fucking worst, Patrick. You know that right?”

“You love me.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Art has never been able to argue with that stupid smirk. He rolled over, trying to put distance between them on the tiny university issued bed, acutely aware of how Patrick’s legs were tangled with his. It was all too intimate. The worst part was that he didn’t mind one bit.

“Missed you,” Patrick mumbled into the dark. “Don’t like that you’re not at home with me all the time now.”

Art half thought he was dreaming. All the sudden vulnerability had his head spinning, dizzy with affection.

“Miss you too,” he’d croaked out, quiet and afraid. “Wish you were here. We could have shared a dorm, played tennis together every day.”

“That sounds fun.”

Patrick was still speaking in hushed tones, as if he was scared he’d spook Art, send him running for the hills. They weren’t usually like this - so tender with each other. It had both of them reeling.

Both of them turned to face the other at the same time, trying to make out shapes of features in the dim light.

“I like the two of you together.”

Patrick knew Art was talking about you without him having to say it explicitly. It had always been like this with them. Easy, unspoken communication. Conversations without words.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Genuinely. I like her.”

A deep breath. Some quiet.

“I know you do.”

More quiet.

And then Patrick was propping himself up on his elbow, leaning over his best friend in the darkness. Art didn’t dare move an inch, unsure of what he wanted to happen next.

They say they don’t know who made the first move. All of a sudden, their lips were pressed together, gentle but insistent. Art could taste the liquor on Patrick’s lips. The history too.

It was more tender than either of them thought it’d be, when they’d dreamt it, imagined it, got themselves off thinking about it. They touched each other with almost careful hands, worried they’d spook the other person and send them sprinting down the hallway. Underwear was thrown across the room, duvet kicked to the end of the bed, pillows strewn across the floor.

They were gasping into each others mouths, sweat dripping down toned backs as their hips moved in tandem. Art silently thanked his lucky stars that his roommate was at his girlfriend’s for the weekend when Patrick groaned lowly into his ear, the sound reverberating through both of them.

One of them gasped I love you when they both came at the same time. Neither of them knows who it was.

It doesn’t matter either way.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“You’re sure?”

“Very sure, sweetie. He left last night. Been talking all week about how excited he was to see you and Art.”

“Okay. Thanks, Mrs Zweig. Appreciate it.”

“Of course, honey. I want to see you soon, okay? Carve out some time for us in your next break from school. We’d love to have you again.”

“I will. Thanks again. I’ll see you soon, maybe.”

You press the red button on your phone, confused. Going back through your texts, you find the one you’re looking for.

From: Patrick

can’t wait 2 c u on fri. thinking bout u. <3

It’s Thursday. You’re not technically expecting to see your boyfriend until tomorrow. Except, you could have sworn you saw the back of him in the cafeteria earlier, and now he’s not answering his phone. In a panic, you’d called his home landline, where his Mom had picked up and told you he’d left for Stanford last night.

So where the hell is he, and what the hell is he doing?

You decide to go to the one person who should know - Art Donaldson.

Marching down the hallway in your flip flops, you hold Art’s spare dorm key in your hand. You figure that if no one answers, you can just open the door and peek your head in to see if Patrick’s stuff has been dropped off.

Which is exactly what happens when you get there. Your knocking goes unheard, and so you turn the lock and swing the door open, expecting to see two empty beds and the usual mess on the floor.

Instead, you see Art.

And Patrick.

In bed.

Together.

They’re tangled, completely intertwined, momentarily unaware of your presence. When you kick the door shut, they both jump - Art hitting his head on the wall as Patrick almost falls off the mattress.

“Well, well, well.”

They’re both blushing furiously, avoiding your eyes on purpose.

“How long has this little rendezvous been going on, huh?”

You should feel nothing but rage. You should be boiling up inside. You should be outraged. Should, should, should.

Instead, you feel… even. Validated, almost. No one is saying anything, so you continue.

“Art. Fucking. Donaldson,” you laugh. “I did not think you had it in you. Damn.”

Patrick looks completely lost, so you sit yourself down on the edge of the bed where they still lay, toeing off your shoes and making yourself comfortable.

“Patrick, my lovely boyfriend. Let me tell you a story,” you grab his hand in yours, sickly sweet expression painted across your face. “Actually, I can’t be bothered. The bottom line is - Art has been fucking me into the mattress like, once a week. For a while.”

The brunette has the nerve to look shocked, glancing back and forth between you and the blonde next to him as if he’s watching a tennis match.

“You fucking snake,” Patrick jabs, but there’s no malice in it. He sounds… amused. “And you, Miss Goody Two Shoes. You’ve been fucking my best friend while I’m away, and then fucking me when I’m here?”

“Best of both worlds, baby.”

He grins at you, at the absurdity of it all. Art’s too busy blushing so hard he might pass out to process what’s happening.

“And you, you little fruit,” you poke Patrick’s chest, giggling. “You always told me you and blondie were just friends. Bet this has been going on for years, huh?”

“Not years.”

The sound of Arts voice surprises you both, two heads snapping around to face him.

“Months, maybe. Not years.”

“Who was first, Artie? Me or Patrick?”

“Idon’tknowit’salittleblurry.”

“Hmm? What was that?”

“I think he said-”

“Shut the fuck up, Patrick. Let the whore speak.”

They’re both stunned into silence, but they can’t take their eyes off you. They don’t dare.

“I don’t know,” Art chokes out, voice hoarse. “It’s a little blurry.”

You laugh, all maniacal and entertained, and the boys don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“Holy shit. Damn. Was this your master plan all along, Art? Get us both into bed? Live out your bisexual fantasies and hope no one finds out?”

“No.”

“No? It’s what it looks like to me.”

“No, it’s - I just…”

“Cat got your tongue, blondie?”

You surge forward and capture Arts lips in a bruising kiss, licking into his mouth all filthy and debauched. Patrick watches on with his jaw unhinged, blush on his cheeks and tent in his boxers. After a minute, you pull back, cool as ever.

“Well, your tongue still works, Art. So, spit it out. Who. Came. First? Me, or Patrick?”

“Why does it matter?”

His voice has gone all small and tinny and afraid, and you’re not proud to admit how much it turns you on. He’s pathetic, in this moment, and you’re living for it.

“Call it curiosity.”

“You know what that did to the cat, right?”

Patrick’s voice surprises you, considering he’s been a spectator for the duration of the last conversation.

“What’s your game here? You wanna figure out if I cheated first, or if you did?”

“Maybe. Doesn’t matter either way. We both did it.”

“Yeah. We did.”

The three of you sit suspended in time, both of them slightly scared to move out of line or speak out of turn.

“So what now?” Patrick asks eventually. “We gonna sit here all night?”

You think for a moment, looking at both of them carefully. You’re all sat within touching distance on the bed, so close but so far.

“Show me.”

“Hmm?”

“I want you two to show me how you touch each other when I’m not here.”

Art’s eyes go wide as Patrick’s lips curl into a lazy smirk.

“Yeah, babe?” your boyfriend asks, clearly unphased by the request.

“Show me what you do when you think you’re being slick behind my back. I want to see.”

When the blonde doesn’t move, his best friend pinches his thigh.

“You heard the lady, Art. She wants a show, so we’ll give her a show.”

You scoot backwards so you’re perched right at the end of the bed, giving them their space. Patrick sinks to his knees on the floor, pulling Art’s hips to the edge of the mattress as he goes. You realise, suddenly, that both boys are completely naked while you’re still fully clothed. That thought gets you hot under the collar, the power dynamic going to your head.

You watch as Patrick kisses up Art’s thighs with practised precision, nipping and biting at the spots that make him squirm. You chuckle, realising that both you and Patrick have learnt the same things about Art’s body and the way he reacts. He seems to have the same realisation, looking up through dark lashes to smirk at you.

Art is none the wiser, lost in the way Patrick’s tongue feels swiping across his toned muscle. He’s rock hard and leaking, begging to be touched in any way he can get. You squirm in your place, determined to stand your ground and make your point but desperate to relieve the ache between your legs.

Patrick takes Art in his hand, squeezing gently as he rubs his thumb over his tip. He writhes into him, whining like a puppy eager for attention. He’s panting, chest heaving as if he’s just finished a tennis match.

“Tease him but don’t kill him, Rick.”

“Fine, fine.”

Your boyfriend takes his best friend in his mouth suddenly, taking both of you by surprise. You watch as he sucks him within an inch of his life, all messy and wet and utterly debauched. You’re not sure if you’ve ever been this turned on.

There’s no handbook as to what you’re supposed to feel, watching your boyfriend suck the dick of his best friend. There’s a thought in the back of your mind that maybe you should feel shame, or embarrassment, or rage. Instead, all you feel is excitement. It’s fun, getting to peek into their dynamic behind closed doors, a show that usually has no audience. You feel… special, almost.

Art is wriggling on the edge of the bed, hips jerking upwards involuntarily, making Patrick gag. The sound of it is so erotic, you worry for a moment that you’ll pass out. You’re lightheaded, dizzy with it all.

“You look so pretty, Art. So pathetic, but so pretty.”

They both groan in unison, Art’s head dropping back in bliss. His stomach contracts as Patrick hollows his cheeks, and you can tell he’s getting closer and closer with every swipe of his best friend’s tongue.

You lean forward, running the back of your knuckle over Patrick’s cheek where it’s stuffed full. He makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a whine, and you laugh cruelly. Art’s hand tightens in the sheets, so you tangle your fingers into your boyfriend’s hair and yank as hard as you can.

“What the fuck, babe?”

“No, please. So close.”

You chuckle, running your thumb over Art’s bottom lip.

“Whores don’t get to come, Art.”

He goes to protest, but you cut him off sharply.

“Keep whinging and you won’t come for a week.”

They both shut up, silence swirling through the air. You take Arts place, moving him over so you can sit on the edge of the bed. Spreading your legs, you look down at your boyfriend where he’s still kneeling all pretty.

“Now’s time for your redemption, Patrick. Get to work.”

He slips your shorts and panties down to your ankles, pulling them off and throwing them onto the floor.

“Don’t worry,” you whisper into Art’s jaw, sucking a bruise there. “You’ll get your shot at redemption, too.”

They’re looking at you like guard dogs, ready to comply to any demand.

“You underestimated me, boys. I mean, what did you think was going to happen?”

Nothing can be heard except for the two of them taking desperate, heaving breaths.

“Two can play that game. Or, three, in our case.”

@nymphetkoo @diorrfairy @bobo-bush @amorisxx @imawhoreforu @luiise @raekensluver @ever1ongg @melancholicmelanin @munson-blurbs as promised <3

[pinkzier]

HEADCANONS ᯓᡣ𐭩

Art Donaldson x Fem!reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[zweiginator]

Thinking about very very innocent reader who has barely any sex education being all confused why she feels all achy and sticky between her legs when talking to her best friend patrick. She (who hates keeping secrets) of course tells him this and he being the good friend that he is offers to help check down there to make sure everything is okay. (perv patrick…you mean so much to me)

you're so so confused because lately you've been feeling so weird. it's the worst when you're eating ice cream with patrick or watching him play tennis. it was almost unbearable when you went swimming with him and his bare chest brushed against you as he picked you up to throw you in the deep end.

it feels weird--but not bad. fiery in your tummy and down there.

you start biting your lips, the inside of your cheeks as patrick explains a tennis match to you. he points to the tv but you don't even know what he's saying, you're too focused on squeezing your thighs together. the odd sensation is overpowering without the friction. should you be worried?

"are you okay?" he caresses your forehead to check for a fever. god, it's just getting worse.

"i--dunno. maybe. i just feel weird."

patrick furrows his eyebrows. "maybe you ate something weird? but we ate the same thing and i feel fine."

"i don't know--it doesn't feel like that but it's in my tummy area."

patrick touches your lower stomach. "here? does that make it better?" he massages the skin.

"no--" you start to feel fluttery. light and euphoric but it's so uncomfortable. like you need some kind of release.

"well tell me about it." patrick is serious, doting. wants to get to the bottom of this.

"it's in between my legs. like, down there." you're too shy to say the word.

"how does it feel?" patrick's face softens. he tries to hide a smug smile.

"sticky. wet--like different."

"does it feel bad?"

"not really." you shake your head.

patrick touches your thigh. there it goes again. you feel like you're soaking through your panties. your eyebrows are knit together and your nerves feel like they're on fire with hypersensitivity.

"let me see?" he nudges your legs apart.

"like, down there?"

"yeah, i think i can make it better. i can show you."

"uh--i don't know--" you cross your arms over your chest.

"if you wanna feel better you need to let me."

"oh--okay." you spread your legs and patrick draws in the breath. he can see your panties are completely soaked as your skirt bunches up around your thighs.

"tell me how this feels. does it feel good?" you don't know what he's talking about, but then he pushes your panties to the side and he rubs his thumb over your clit.

you mewl. "yeah--yeah that f-feels good."

he stops. he wants you to beg for it. he scoots closer to you. the unbearable pressure in your stomach returns.

"why'd you stop--that was making it better."

"yeah?" he holds the back of your head and kisses your forehead. "what do you want?"

"i want you--to do that." you nod your head down to your exposed cunt.

"do what?" he's teasing you; he does this all the time but this time it's different. it's meaner. it frustrates you more and you huff.

"i want you to keep touching me--"

patrick pulls you in so his forehead is resting against yours. he feels your soaked slit and rubs his middle finger over you before sliding it in. "do you want your best friend to touch your pussy?"

the word makes your cheeks flush, but you nod, not realizing you had yanked him in by his shirt.

he stops fucking you with his fingers.

"huh?"

"patrick-" you whimper and rock your hips against his fingers, idle inside you.

"do you know why you're feeling this way down here?" patrick curls his fingers, his thumb moving precise circles over your sensitive clit.

you shake your head. "i dunno--"

he takes his free hand and cups your jaw, his fingers speeding up. the lewd squelching of his fingers pushing deeper and deeper inside you are making that feeling inside you unravel and you moan, your eyes rolling back as patrick rubs your clit faster and faster. your head lolls back but patrick lifts it back up. tells you to open your eyes and look at him. look at what your best friend is doing to you.

"it's because you like me, don't you? you want me to fuck you." his fingers slow; you feel them more as they slide in and out and in and out again. "just like this. or maybe with my cock."

your hips jerk and patrick slams them down. "is that right?" he asks. "you want me to fuck you with my cock next?"

you can't answer him as your orgasm--your first one--rips through you, tearing that pressure down and down and down as you gush over his fingers, your own gripping his wrist so hard you can feel his pulse.

if you didn't want your best friend before this, you sure do now, as you watch him suck his soaked fingers into his mouth.

[222col]

second best

★ patrick zweig x reader ★ you and patrick are both in relationships, but after meeting at an event, you can't quit each other. you both know it's wrong, but you just can't stop. you're addicted to each other, unable to go without your fix. ★ 10.2k ★ 18+ | cw: angst, cheating, smut: unprotected sex, choking, slapping, f oral ★ an: this one took me a while, hope u luv ! <3

it's not like you and patrick don't acknowledge you shouldn't be doing what you're doing, you do, often. but there's something about patrick zweig that just keeps drawing you back in. he feels the same, patrick may look like he has very few morals, but typically, cheating is something he'd never do. usually, when in a relationship, patrick's completely locked in. but there's something different about what you two share. yeah, it's sex, but it's more. it's primal, the attraction, the whole experience. there should be guilt, you should both feel so guilty that it doesn't continue, so sick to your stomachs that you can't fathom seeing each other again, but you don't. the relationship you share with patrick overshadows every other feeling you could endure. it's an automatic reaction, an addiction, something neither you or patrick could begin to live without anytime soon. it all started two months ago, you'd been with your boyfriend a year, patrick in his relationship nine months. you met at an adidas party a few years into patrick's career, during your second season in professional tennis. setting eyes on patrick across the dance floor, it was as though you could feel your body come alive.

red dress slick to your skin, hips swaying, hands in your hair as you locked eyes with patrick. signature smirk plastered on his face, beer in hand as he watched you dance. licking his lips as you excused yourself and headed his way. it was almost involuntary as your feet started moving, feeling yourself being physically drawn to him. "like what you see, huh?" hands on hips as you speak the first words to patrick. he chuckles slightly, eye contact unbroken. "something like that." patrick introduces himself as you do, flirty smiles across both of your faces. you didn't need to speak to understand each other, know exactly what the other was really thinking, it went unspoken. "do you want a drink?" patrick asks, free hand slipping into his pocket. nodding your head as patrick leads you to the bar, buying you your favourite and moving to occupy a couple empty seats away from the crowd. "just to let you know, i have a boyfriend." you start, met with a hum from patrick, leaning his elbows on his knees as you sit opposite him. "and i have a girlfriend, doesn't mean i can't talk to you, does it?" you both know this isn't going to end with talking, but for now, you'll ignore the tension in the air between you. telling yourselves that you're good people, and would never dream of cheating on your partners.

the two of you sit for a while, discussing your tennis careers, how you got into the sport. flirty smirks and heavy eye contact filling the empty gaps, noticing the time and lack of bodies at the party, you stand, ready to say your goodbyes, but stopped by patrick. "we're at the same hotel, right? come have a nightcap with me." he offers, standing up with you, closing some distance. "that sounds like playing with fire." you half laugh, acknowledging the tension for the first time out loud tonight, only adding more excitement to the air. patrick raises his eyebrow to you, the corner of his lips turning upwards. breathing out, knowing there was no saying no to that damn smirk, you accept. patrick's hand pressed lightly to your back, leading you away from the party. it was only a short walk back to your hotel, his hand staying put against the fabric of your dress. both of you so aware this nightcap was nothing short of an excuse for more time together, specifically, time alone away from onlookers eyes. patrick's hand only dropping to his side to fish his hotel key from his pocket, showing you into his room. opening the mini fridge he pours you both a drink, sitting next to each other on the couch underneath the hotel room windows, his hand draped across the back, beside your shoulder.

facing each other slightly, the electricity in the air only becoming more obvious by the lack of space between your bodies. shoes kicked off feet beside the couch, holding the glass between your hands as patrick's eyes swallow yours. "stop looking at me like that." you laugh, feeling small under his gaze. "like what?" patrick questions, knowing exactly where this about to lead. what should be guilt filling his body is replaced by pure lust. bottom lip between his teeth as his eyes float over your body, only now realising how small your dress is on your body. collarbones fully exposed, the fabric hitching up your thigh due to how you're sat on the couch. "like a meal. you look like you wanna eat me." his breath hitches, eyes moving back up your body to your eyes. holding your gaze, he places his glass down the coffee table next to him. following his movements, you do the same, leaning in towards him. "well, maybe i do want to taste you." patrick admits, his body moving towards you, eyes growing darker as the admission leaves his lips. the slow, gradual movements you're making towards each other feel like miles you have to travel. every second of inching closer feels like hours. every thought leaves your brain as patrick's hands grasp your cheeks and pull your lips onto his. mouths open, tongues sliding over each other, desperate to discover every part of each other's mouths.

patrick kisses feel like you're finally being kissed properly, as though no one before him had ever known how. his lips are soft, tongue hard against yours. his hands moving to your waist, pulling your body onto his lap. straddling his hips as your arms wrap around his neck, hopelessly trying to taste more of him. moving your lips down his jaw, licking and sucking at his skin down to his neck. "my god, you're so hot." patrick mumbles, head falling back, eyes fluttering closed as you nibble at the skin below his earlobe. pushing your head back to face him, eyes locked on each other, breathing heavy as his lips push against yours again. his hips bucking up against you, the harsh fabric of his jeans rubbing against the lace of your underwear. "we shouldn't.." you start, words falling into his mouth, lips barely leaving each others. patrick knows exactly what you mean, knows you want to help your ego, feel like you at least tried to not fuck him. "hmm, i don't care," patrick mumbles, his hands caressing every inch of your curves as yours move to bunch in his curls. trying desperately to pull yourself off of him but your body not allowing it, you're sucked in. he's like a drug, one taste and you're hooked. pushing yourself backwards from his lips, half-lidded eyes looking down to him, his hands holding you in place as you part your lips and whisper. "i want you."

his hands hook under your thighs, lifting you up as if you weigh nothing, legs instinctively wrapping around his body as patrick walks you both over to the bed. dropping you down, standing over you at the end of the bed. propping yourself onto your elbows, looking up patrick through your lashes, watching him pull his t-shirt over his head. "take it off." patrick instructs, unbuttoning his jeans, pulling down his zipper, his body overcome with desire. lifting your dress up your body from the hem, shimmying the fabric up over your chest, slipping it over your head as it's flung off the bed. laid before him as his jeans drop to the floor, matching red lace underwear adorn your skin. patrick's mouth slightly agape, still stood before you, taking in every inch of you. readjusting the tent in his boxers as he smirks down to you. "you gonna stand there staring all night, patrick? or are you gonna actually fuck me?" patrick groans at your words, hearing you verbally admit what you want from him. crawling over your body, your knees bent squeezing him into place, his hands at either side of your head. grinding himself down against you, legs spread waiting for him. leaning his head down to yours, pulling your bottom lip between his teeth, biting down as your eyes roll back.

moving one of his hands to your chest, holding himself up with one arm as the other gropes your boobs. pulling them out from your bra as you push the straps down your arms. grabbing your waist as patrick flips the two of you over, sitting you up on his lap as he undoes your bra, letting it fall down your arms before throwing it in the direction of your dress. knees either side of his hips, grinding against him, the friction causing quiet noises from the both of you. patrick's mouth moving down to wrap around your nipple, hands caressing both of your boobs. manhandling your chest as his teeth graze the skin of your nipple, hissing at the sensation. shoulders pushing back as your head falls with them, patrick's lips attacking your neck as he continues squeezing your breasts. surprising patrick as your hands wrap around his wrists, pushing him down against the bed, his arms above his head. grinding your hips down against him quicker, patrick struggling below you, attempting to escape from your grip but failing. bucking his hips up against you, desperate for some friction on his aching cock. "hmm, getting needy?" you fake pout, patrick sucking his teeth in response. his cock twitching against you, so unfamiliar with the competition for dominance. feeling you start to rearrange your grip around his wrists, he slips from your grasp, throwing you onto your back once more. pushing his boxers down his legs, hands snaking between your bodies to pull your panties down too. reaching down to slip his fingers into you, as his other hand pins both your wrists above your head. smirking down to you as his digits push in and out of your cunt, his thumb circling your clit. your back arched as moans escape you, moving your wrists in attempt to loosen his grip, but failing as he pushes your arms further into the mattress. "stop struggling."

the both of you had never been so desperate for something in your lives. both never felt so overcome with lust and desire, bodies in need of each other. the tension building becoming unbearable, the room filling with heavy breathing and moans. slipping his fingers out from you, wrapping his hand around his member. freeing you from his grip as he lifts your leg onto his shoulder, lining himself up with your entrance. eyes staring into each others, keeping you there for a minute, his cock teasing you as the suspense builds between you. "patrick, fuckin-" you start, words cut off as his thick cock pushes all the way inside you. lifting your other leg onto his shoulder now, fingers digging into your thighs as he wastes no time pounding in and out of you. screams of pleasure from you met with a smirk on patrick's mouth. "you were saying?" patrick teases, his lips kissing down your ankle. holding back your moans through gritted teeth, the sheets balled in your fists, patrick's dick hitting your g-spot with every thrust. your ass lifted from the mattress as patrick's speed increases. fucking you deeper than you've ever felt, seeing a bulge on your stomach every time he thrusts into you. he's hitting places inside your walls you've never experienced, eyes in the back of your head as your moans mix together as one. skin slaps echoing in the room, fingers moving to grasp patrick's thighs, nails digging into the skin. biting your lip through a smirk as you look up to the brunette. "hit me."

"god, you're dirty." patrick mumbles through moans, the request making his cock twitch inside you. dropping your legs down from his shoulders, pounding into you harder as his open hand smacks against the skin of your cheek. the sound that escapes you is sinful, patrick's hand wrapping around your throat. "agai-" you start, cut off by another slap across your face. his body falling onto yours, your legs wrapping around his waist. his hand still around your throat, the other gripping the skin on your hip. teeth nibbling on your earlobe, every sound he makes falling into your ear. fingers scratching down the skin of his spine, sharp nails drawing blood from his back, only to be met by groans from patrick. "jesus christ, where have you been all my life?" he mumbles, thrusts getting sloppy. moving his hand from your hip to reach between your sweaty bodies to circle your clit. feeling you become undone underneath his body, legs jolting as your ankles tighten around him. his hand gripping your throat tighter as he feels you cum over his cock. circling you through your high before slipping his fingers from your skin. hands either side of your shoulders, pushing himself up as his hips slap against yours. "i'm on the pill," you start, struggling to speak through the sensations. "cum inside me, patrick, please."

his cock slaps against your g-spot once more as he paints your walls white, cursing his way through his orgasm. collapsing against you as his dick slips out from inside of you. the sweat from your bodies sticking the two of you together as you both come back down to earth, calming your breathing and dropping your legs down from around his body. peppering the side of your face in kisses before moving to the side of you on the bed. staring at the ceiling in silence for a few minutes as you both recover. breaking the silence once your breathing as returned to a normal pace. "we can't do that again." patrick scoffs, brown curls sticking to his skin. "we're doing that again as soon as physically possible." his head turning to look at you, following suit and looking into his half-lidded eyes. "that was the best sex of my life. i'm not giving that up anytime soon." patrick half laughs, making you giggle and shake your head. "you're gonna get me in so much trouble, zweig." patrick moves to bite down on your earlobe. "i think you're already in trouble."

you and patrick are playing most of the same tournaments on tour, meaning even if you wanted to avoid him and let the guilt wash over you, you couldn't. wanting to avoid him very quickly turns into falling into his bed every night you can. any idea of guilt or remorse is lost the second that smirk appears on his lips and the number of his room is text to you during the first day of the tournament. patrick fucks you like no other, both of you obsessed with the others touch. the others ability to turn each other on with just a look, just a thought. all patrick has to do is let his mind wander and all he can hear is 'hit me' and he's hard during practise. and that's the other issue, the lines are getting thinner. you've started helping each other with your games' during off days, playing practise matches together and hitting up bars after. what two months ago was a mindless fuck one night, has turned into hours of conversations and time spent together. lucky for you both, there hasn't been any major tournament's on the tour yet, ones that family and friends would request to attend. so you haven't had to worry about anyone you know noticing the amount of time you spend in each others pockets. other athlete's have of course noticed, but most are none the wiser or simply don't care. you're both becoming more needy for each other, more desperate for touch when you should resist. patrick making excuses, criticising your backhand to be able to jog across the court and touch the skin of your body to help your game. the addiction to each other growing stronger, harder to ignore and act like you're not doing anything wrong. it's easier to rationalise if it's said to be just sex, lying to yourself that you're lonely and horny on tour, needing someone to scratch the itch while your partner is far, far away from you. that would be easy, if it was just sex.

laying together, bodies tangled together as some old tv show plays from the screen in the hotel you're currently in. clothes spread across the floor, both naked as you lay together, patrick drawing circles on your shoulder, cigarette in the corner of his mouth. "you've improved a lot since the start of tour." patrick compliments, flicking the ash into the empty can on the nightstand. you have, every free minute you have you spend either on the courts or in patrick's bed. it's hard to be distracted by loneliness on tour if you're not lonely. "thanks, maybe it's because you're helping me." you half laugh, stealing the cigarette from him, inhaling and placing it back between his lips. patrick laughs lightly at your answer, he's gotten better too. he knows if there's free time you'll be on the courts, so naturally goes too. the stillness in the room is interrupted by your phone ringing, a picture of your boyfriend lighting the screen. "fuck." you mumble, escaping from patrick's grasp. rushing around the room, picking up a t-shirt from the floor and brushing down your hair. sitting in the corner of the room on an armchair, you answer the facetime call. "hey baby." you can see patrick roll his eyes as he puts the cigarette out in the can, slipping his boxers back onto his body. "yeah, final tomorrow, feeling good. how's home?" patrick watches you from the edge of the bed, seeing you bring your knees up to your chest, brushing against the fabric of his t-shirt you've slipped on. his eyes darken as he notices your exposed cunt, clearly not having had time to put your panties back on. his eyes grow dark, a devilish idea taking over his brain.

he can barely concentrate on what you're saying, not that he cares what lies you're telling your boyfriend, just curious. "i know, i wish you were here too." okay, that one slipped through. a quiet scoff leaves his lips. leaning down from the bed, falling onto all fours as patrick starts crawling across the floor over to you. your eyes darting to him and that signature smirk across his face, hiding any reaction from slipping through facetime. "yeah, us open in a couple weeks so i'll be able to see you then." you smile, trying to ignore patrick on his route to you. kneeling before you, his hands spreading your ankles, your elbows resting on your knees as you hold your phone. muting the call quickly and whispering down to patrick. "don't you dare." what was meant to deter him only spurs him on. unmuting the call before your boyfriend noticing, him still explaining his excitement for the tournament. legs spread open before patrick's face, his tongue licking a line up through your folds. gritting your teeth as you desperately attempt to focus on the call, trying to push patrick's head away, with no success. covering your reaction to patrick's mouth wrapping around your clit with a cough, breathing deeply through your nose. "yeah, i've already got your tickets all worked out, don't worry." your words come out stuttered, you can feel the smile from patrick against your cunt. licking and lapping you up, one hand grasping the hairs at his scalp.

a slight moan escapes you, trying to cover with another cough, met with questions from your boyfriend. "yeah, sorry, i'm fine, just a tickle in my throat." you lie as two of patrick's fingers insert themselves into you, breath hitching at the sensation. "so yeah, the driver will pick you up from the airport and i'll meet you at the hotel when you arrive." you attempt to continue conversation, the feeling in your stomach growing stronger as patrick's tongue draws shapes over your clit, wetness dripping down his chin. feeling his hot breath on your cunt, faint sounds of his fingers thrusting into you. "baby, i gotta go, got practise in half an hour, i'll call you tomorrow." you rush out your words, not letting him say bye before hanging up and throwing your phone down. head flinging back as loud moans leave you, both hands moving to patrick's curls now. "jesus, patrick, you're gonna kill me." you hear him laugh against you, the vibrations flowing through you as he does. he sloppily makes out with your wetness, finally letting the moans fall into the room, making his fingers move faster. his curls tickling your thighs as they clench around his head, bucking your hips up, grinding your clit against his nose. eyes rolling into the back of your head as your orgasm sends shock waves through your body, holding his head in place as you ride it out. loosening him from your grip as you stop seeing stars.

"patrick-" you start, his chin dripping in drool and sticky from your wetness, about to tell him off. "you fucking love it." he cuts you off, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. shaking your head as patrick pushes onto the armchair you're sat on, moving your body onto his lap, his arm around your waist. "plus, it was very fucking hot." he mumbles as his lips crash onto yours, pulling you as close to his body as possible. "you're gonna get us caught one of these days." you regretted the words as soon as they left your mouth, you and patrick never discussed the idea of admitting what you were doing, not like he hadn't just gone down on you while on the phone to your boyfriend. but admitting you could get caught meant admitting one day it would have to stop, that you'd have to accept that it was wrong and immoral and totally against your values. that you were hurting people that you cared about for the sake of your own pleasure. "so fucking what?" patrick's response surprised you, his hand wrapping around your throat as he pulled your face back down onto his lips. you were scared of getting caught, petrified, you assumed patrick was too. you both cared deeply about your relationships despite the fact you were cheating, so patrick's answer threw you off guard slightly. pushing the thought to the back of your head as your body was lifted to the air and thrown against the bed, giggling as patrick pulled you to the edge of the bed, slipping off his boxers as he flips you onto your stomach. so fuck drunk from patrick's cock that you thought yeah, so what if you got caught, so fucking what?

things carry on the same way up to the us open, both you and patrick looking like strong contenders on your sides of the competition. both dreading the change in dynamic between you once partners arrive to support you during the two weeks of the tournament. sitting on the side of the courts, both breathless after the practise you'd done. "when does he arrive?" patrick asks, chugging down the most part of his water bottle. "three hours, you?" you return, sweat dropping from your skin. "four. we still have the hotel rooms we get assigned, you know?" patrick smirks to you, throwing a tennis ball back and forth in his hands. you were both planning on staying with your partners, in their hotels separate from the tournament. all players are put up in a hotel together during any stops on the tour, you and patrick had stayed there the night previous before both partners arrived today. "patrick, that really is playing with fire." packing away your things, standing up to collect stray tennis balls about the court as patrick begins to help. "we could just say we have commitments, press, practise, whatever." he shrugs, unwilling to accept he'll have to go two weeks without touching you. "we can still see each other, for lunch and things like that." you suggest, putting the balls into the crate, tidying it off to the side with your things. "not the same." he mumbles, sulking as he too puts his rackets back into their bag. "oh boohoo, we knew this would happen." slinging your bags onto shoulders, patrick grabbing the crate of balls and heading inside. "quickie before they arrive then?" you laugh as he follows you down the hall. "please?"

you'd become more open talking about partners, not experiences or what they were like, but in relation to your own relationship with patrick. you'd stopped pretending they didn't exist, more accepting of the fact you and patrick were sneaking around behind their backs. especially with knowing they'd be so close to each other, and to the two of you, aware of the fact you could cross paths with patrick's girlfriend or vice versa. after cleaning up in patrick's hotel room, patrick showering with you before you darted off to your partners hotel, meeting him in the lobby. swept up into affection and care by him, brushing off the idea of sex with an 'i'm tired'. the two of you catching up about your time apart while getting ready for the party held at the start of the tournament, being held at the players' hotel. introducing your partner to some of the female athletes you'd met and played against during the tour, sharing drinks and nibbling on the snacks brought around. his arm snaked around your waist as you mingled through the party, holding in the uncomfortable way his hands made you feel. standing around a table with him and a few other players and their families, spotting those familiar curls bouncing into the big hall. girl to his side, not touching her, her big eyes looking up to him as they entered. his eyes immediately finding yours as he can't hold back the smile forming on his lips.

walking towards you, drink in hand as the two of them slot into your group. stunned at his openness, swallowing down the frog in your throat as patrick says his hellos. "aren't you going to introduce me?" he taunts you, elbowing your side as he slots in next to you, his girlfriend to his left. extending his hand to your boyfriend, you calm yourself and introduce the two of them. "this is patrick zweig, he's been help-" you start to explain a reason for his need for introduction. "we've been helping each other, during the tour." you wish you could slap the smirk off of his face, your boyfriend none the wiser smiles and shakes his hand. "aren't you going to introduce me then, too?" you poke back, moving your head to look to his girlfriend, sweet smile disguising your true feelings. patrick introduces the two of you, further explaining your relationship, for reasons you wish he wouldn't. "yeah as i said, we've been helping each other a lot. she's made me a much better player." your fakeness dissipates, a true smile on your face at patrick's kindness. "me too." you return, the others in your group disbanding, leaving the four of you alone. "sounds like you've gotten close then." your oh so naive boyfriend smiles, arm still resting on the small of your back. "yeah, we definitely have." patrick smiles into his drink, throat bobbing as he finishes the drink. "if you'll excuse us, i owe this one a drink for thrashing me today." patrick smiles, leading you to the bar away from your partners', his hand replacing your boyfriends'.

"getting me alone already? you only saw me six hours ago." you laugh, met with a side eye from patrick as he leans onto the bar, ordering you both a drink. "i don't know how i'm gonna go two weeks like this." he admits. "did you have sex with him?" patrick leans down, whispering the question to you. you simply shake your head in response, receiving your drink from the bartender. "did you?" you find it harder to ask than you should. "nah, why would i when i have you?" patrick winks to you as he walks back over to your partners, guiding his girlfriend over to a table to sit. collecting yourself you walk back over to your boyfriend. "he seems nice." he starts. "did you give him that t-shirt?" he asks you, looking over to patrick, following his gaze you look to his outfit before turning back to your boyfriend, brows furrowed at the question. "you were wearing it on facetime the other week. you must shop at the same places!" he laughs, sipping his drink, turning away as the blush creeps up your cheeks, suddenly very grateful for your very naive boyfriend.

spending the night sharing secret glances at patrick, him doing the same every chance he gets. the night starting to draw to a close, witnessing patrick hug his girlfriend at the door. expecting them to leave, but only she does, patrick locking eyes with you from the exit. signalling his head upwards, towards the rooms upstairs in the hotel. shaking your head to him, lips upturned, patrick just nodding in response before darting off. hearing your phone ping from your purse, hiding the screen from your partner, who's too engaged in conversation to even notice.

patrick: come on, u know u want to ;)

that boy will be the death of you, you think. unable to go more than half a day without touching you, breathing deeply, thinking how you're going to go two weeks like this, hiding and risking getting caught for half an hour of each others time.

patrick: i need youuu

patrick's text chimes through again, rolling your eyes to the phone. interrupting your partner's conversation explaining you need to pack up the things you left in your room ready for press tomorrow, that you'll meet him back at his hotel later. "sure babe." his lips press against your cheek, a pinch of guilt under your skin, lying to his face like this. the remorse was a lot easier to ignore when he wasn't around. chewing the inside of your cheek as you enter the elevator up to patrick's floor, any idea of wrongdoing washing away as the tension builds up in your body. knocking lightly on his door, it opening within seconds of the sound. patrick's smile welcomes you in, pulling you into his arms the second the door is closed. "i missed you." he whispers into your skin, wet kisses placed all over your face. "you literally just saw me." you laugh into his frame, arms around his neck. "but i couldn't touch you." patrick pouts, wasting no time placing your lips against his. his big hands grabbing at your back, claiming the skin as his. walking your bodies to the edge of the bed, sitting together, lips not parting from each others for even a second. hands roaming each other, pulling and squeezing at fabric and skin. breathing each other in as your head feels light, getting your fix of your addiction.

"we don't have long, patrick." you mumble into his mouth, fiddling with the curls on his head. "that's okay, i just wanted to kiss you." you swear your heart stops beating for a second. he didn't even want sex, just a kiss from you. so needy for you that going half a day without a kiss would have been too much for him. you can feel the lines of the relationship thinning even more, trying to rationalise the cheating as just sex. it would be too wrong if you and patrick caught feelings for each other, it would cross the boundaries of culpability. you just liked spending time together, sleeping together, playing tennis together. there were no feelings involved, or at least admitted by either of you anyway. but hearing patrick tell you he orchestrated this current situation, sneaking away from your partners during a party, just to kiss you, made goosebumps form on your arms. melting into him further as his mouth swallowed yours. pulling away from his face, placing a kiss to the tip of his nose. "are you going soft on me, zweig?" you joke, arms still wrapped around each other. "oh sorry for wanting a kiss." he teases back, letting himself be slightly vulnerable with you. he would have been happy just sat holding your hand in this hotel room, anything to be close to you. patrick feels a specific calmness when in your company, a sensation that takes over him whenever you're close. he craves it, any time he's away from your skin.

patrick was more open with himself about his feelings in regards to your relationship, he knew that lines had already been crossed and there was no going back, for him anyway. he also knew you hadn't registered that idea yet, knew you were still refusing to accept that this was anything more than sex. you didn't act like that's all it was to you, but it's what helped you sleep at night. patrick often thought about breaking up with his girlfriend, he hadn't been with her too long before you anyway. patrick was more scared of the rejection he could face from you than breaking up with her. he knew if he were to leave her, it would be for you, and he couldn't handle the idea of you telling him no. telling him you wouldn't leave your boyfriend, for so now, he kept things the same, thinking he'd rather have you in some way than not at all. to you, ending your relationship wasn't an option, not yet anyway. you could handle being alone, waiting for patrick, but leaving your partner would make things messy. mean accepting the truth and having to admit to someone outside of you and patrick. it would mean accepting your wrongdoings and taking blame, making what you and patrick were doing wrong, and part of you could never view your relationship with patrick as wrong. he was like no other, made you feel like no other, and that feeling in your chest could never been told as wrong.

kissing patrick once more, near enough empty duffle bag hanging from your shoulder as you left the hotel with him, heading in separate directions to your partners hotels. your boyfriend in bed asleep by the time you enter, changing into an oversized t-shirt, patrick's of course, not that you noticed it was his. facing away from your partner, face buried into your phone, staying up late texting patrick all through the night.

patrick: can't sleep without u next to me anymore

your lip is constantly between your teeth, chewing at the softness, spinning your head around checking on your sleeping boyfriend periodically. you and patrick shared a bed most nights during tour, in either of your hotel rooms, falling asleep in each others arms, drifting off to the sound of calm breathing.

you: ur gonna have dark circles for press tomorrow, go to sleep!!

patrick holds back a chuckle, phone not leaving his head, his only way to feel close to you. knowing your on the other side of the screen, typing back to him as quick as he is you.

patrick: so are you, goodnight gorgeous

sending back your own goodnight message, finally locking your phone, tossing and turning your way to sleep.

getting dressed after breakfast with your boyfriend, white dress skort and matching tank slick to your skin, packing your bags before ubering to the venue. "i would have picked you up." you hear from patrick as you close the door to your uber, slinging your bags over your shoulders as he locks his car. "and that would have been really subtle, wouldn't it?" you laugh, leading you both into the venue. "that's why i made a point of telling our partners how well we get on, stupid." he teases you, jabbing his elbow into your side, met with an eye roll from you. "so we can still spend time together without any questions." you respond, realising patrick's reason for the introductions last night. "duh. i'll drive you back later." his words are more instructions than an offering, the two of you dropping off your things in the locker rooms. putting another layer of powder on your face, patrick leaving a soft kiss to your exposed shoulder. batting him away, grateful for the empty room. the two of you ready yourselves for press, walking over to the media rooms where multiple promotion screens are placed around the room. patrick is pulled into an interview, standing to the left of him as you await your turn. "you've definitely improved this season, patrick, why do you think that is? any new members to your team?" you hear patrick's interviewer ask him and you get mic'ed up by a member of the press. his gaze lands on you before quickly returning to the interviewer, camera blinking as he answers the question. "no new members no, i've been practising a lot with someone new though, it must be helping." patrick's arms folded on his chest, signature smirk down the camera as the interviewer pushes for more, hearing your name leave patrick's lips. "we've been playing in all the same tournaments, so we've been spending a lot of time together." this interviewers eyes move to you, hopeful to bring you into frame, getting a new scoop for his sports channel.

"come on," patrick states, pulling you over to his interview. cheeks slightly flushed as he does. "we had noticed your improvement too," the interviewer starts, stating your name before continuing. "is that also due to your time with patrick?" considering your answer carefully before responding. "yeah, patrick's been great, it's like having a second coach while we play." you laugh, a chuckle from patrick too. "i'm really grateful for sure." smiling over to patrick, holding his gaze for slightly too long before returning to the camera. "so i assume you're both rooting for each other during this tournament?" the interviewer continues, reshuffling his notes, the two of you nodding immediately. "definitely, i go to all of her matches that i can and she's always at mine." the interviewer asks a few more questions before thanking patrick and carrying on with your individual interview. wrapping up and returning the mic, you and patrick head for lunch in the players food hall. "i can't believe you." you laugh, stabbing your food onto your fork and bringing it to your mouth. patrick's ankle leaning against yours under the table. "what? he asked me a question so i told the truth, you are the reason i've improved." patrick mumbles through full mouth, shaking your head at him, his leg rubbing against yours. "you're making it so obvious though." you return, patrick shrugging as he sips on his gatorade. "can men and women not be friends?" he jokes. "so we're friends are we?"

patrick laughs as he cuts up his food. "you're my best friend, among other things." you so badly want to press, ask him for specifics, know how he views you and your relationship. but you don't, very aware of the amount of bodies around you, you drop the subject. finishing up your food, the two of you head back to the dressing room, readying yourselves to leave for the day. "i just wanna have a shower and get changed." you smile, pulling a towel and spare clothes from your bag, walking over to the private shower cubicle. placing your towel and clothes on the hook, undressing and slipping under the water. sighing as the warm water drips down your skin. washing the soap down the drain as you stand there still for a short while, before the handle of the cubicle moves and patrick closes the door behind you. "patrick, i swear." you laugh quietly, watching him remove his own clothes and place them on the hook. joining you under the water as his hands wrap around your waist. "what? i can leave if you really want." patrick mumbles into your neck as the water falls over you both. melting into his grip as you pull him down to your lips. reaching between you both to stroke his exposed cock, already hard at the sight of you. quiet groans fall into your mouth as you pump him between your bodies.

in one movement, patrick spins you round, your chest pushed against the cold tiles. hands up against the wall beside your head, ass pushed out towards him. patrick kicks your ankles open, hitting his dick against you before sliding in. his hand moving around you, wrapping around your mouth to hold in your moans. his free hand gripping your hip as he pounds into your cunt, your head falling back onto his shoulder. your bodies sliding together with ease from the warm water covering you both. "you're so fucking perfect, baby, my god." patrick mutters into your ear, not caring about the sound of his hips hitting against your ass as he slips in and out of you. peppering the side of your face and neck in wet kisses, lightly biting at the skin on your earlobe. the publicness and ability to get caught only spurring you both on, the band in your stomach being stretched further with every thrust of his cock inside your walls. "patrick, fuck- m'gonna cum." you mumble through his fingers. "show, don't tell." patrick instructs, hand slipping from your mouth to your throat. tightening his grip on the sides as he feels you clench around his cock. drawing blood from your bottom lip as you attempt to hold in the sounds forming in your throat. patrick's grip moving to your waist, holding you up as your body jolts around him. "good girl."

patrick pounds into you harder, pulling your ass backwards to meet him in the middle of every thrust. his short nails digging into the skin of your hips as he pushes into you once more, filling you up with his cum as his head falls onto your shoulder. holding himself inside of you as the two of you calm your breathing together. whining at the emptiness once he slips out of you, the water washing away any remaining proof of sex as patrick turns you around, holding you in his arms. "you've ruined sex for me forever, no one will ever compare." patrick laughs lightly to you, foreheads pressed against each other. "maybe you'll just have to keep having sex with me forever then." something you'd never say if you weren't coming down from your fuck high, a genuine smile forms on patrick's face at your words. "sounds good to me." turning off the shower as you both dry yourself on your towel, getting dressed and letting patrick leave the cubicle first, following after a few minutes later. the two of you grabbing your things and heading over to his car, starting the drive back to your hotel. "how's it going, with him?" patrick asks, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on your thigh. chewing the inside of your lip as you respond. "it's fine, he's clearly missed me as he's all over me," patrick sharply inhales at the idea of someone else touching your skin, kissing your lips, trying to downplay his reaction as he keeps driving. "but it's draining, very grateful for all the press and parties and practise to distract me." you continue, placing your hand over the top of his on your leg, wrapping your fingers around his. "what about you, with her?"

"luckily she knows a lot of people here, so she's got plans all the time that don't include me. but i just miss you most of the time." patrick squeezes your thigh. hiding your smile from him, hiding any form of admission of feelings slipping through. lifting his hand up to your lips, placing a soft kiss to his palm. leaning your face into his hand as he looks over to you during a red light. "i miss you too." your cheeks are flushed slightly, placing his hand back down on your thigh. "are we terrible people?" you laugh, readjusting to sit cross legged on the passenger seat, his hand still resting on your inner thigh. "maybe, but you know, you can't help how you feel." patrick states, looking to the road as he drives down the street. how you feel. the words linger in your mind, wanting to assume he means how he feels about sleeping with you, knowing neither of you can resist each other. but his words trigger something within you, you finally realise. sitting here in his car, caressing each others skin so carelessly, so naturally, you realise that have feelings for patrick. you like the way he smells after a tennis match, how he always has to be touching your skin, how he looks at you. your breathing increasing in pace, looking over to him as your mind keeps running. you love the way he says your name, how he always brings you a glass of water when you're thirsty, how he ties your shoelaces for you when they come undone. mouth slightly agape, wondering if he too feels the same.

the guilt washes over you when you leave patrick's car, arriving at your hotel. after two months of patrick and no remorse, it all hits you now. it was easier to ignore when it was just sex, but on one random car journey, it hits you like a ton of bricks. you've caught feelings for patrick zweig. heading to the hotel bar, ordering a drink and sitting alone on a table by the window, collecting your thoughts. fiddling with your lower lip, deep in thought, feeling the cut on your skin. shit. you drew blood holding in your noises in the shower, and now have to develop a lie to tell your boyfriend. shaking your head at yourself, truly now feeling like a terrible person. it's only now that you consider the fact that you'll of course have to break up with him. how could you possibly look at him the same knowing he'll never be patrick? he'll never make your heart skip a beat with just a smirk, never touch you like him, never make you feel like patrick does. the guilt almost consumes you, hoping the alcohol will numb some of the pain. snapping out of your obsessive thoughts to the sound of your phone pinging.

patrick: already can't wait to see u tomorrow

eyes fluttering closed, a sea of butterflies filling up your stomach at the words on your screen from patrick. how could you not see it? how could you not realise you were falling for him, knowing he was your first thought every morning and the last at every night.

you: me too baby <3

you text each other like lovers, as though if anyone could read your messages or see the way you are alone together, they'd assume you were deeply in love. finishing your drink, you start the dreaded walk up to your shared hotel room. unlocking the door, your boyfriend sat on the couch watching tv. seeing his teethy grin spread across his face as you walk into the room. more guilt. it's like your body is punishing you for all the days you didn't feel any remorse, you're feeling it all built up now. every inch of your body filled with the feeling. you're so angry at yourself, for one, letting it go this far with patrick without seeing the signs, but two, not accepting the fact that what you were doing was wrong. so wrong, so unforgivable, you were hurting someone so deeply and never even giving it a second thought. and the worst part about it was that you knew full well, you'd be all over patrick the second you got him alone tomorrow.

things stayed the same until the day before the quarter finals, both you and patrick advancing to that stage. seeing each other every chance you could before going home to your partners and acting like everything was fine. you had a day off before the quarter final, getting in some practise with your coach in the morning before spending the rest of the day off. entering your hotel room, showering and slipping into a hoodie and shorts. joining your boyfriend on the couch, turning off the tv and sitting to face him, him doing the same. "i need to talk to you about something." you knew it was time, your feelings had been eating you up. you'd barely been eating or sleeping, too focused on the guilt of the taste of patrick lingering on your mouth as you kissed your boyfriend goodnight. "okay." he smiles to you, still none the wiser. "i'm breaking up with you." you finally let out the words, fiddling with the hem of your hoodie, just about able to look him in the eyes. watching his body slump slowly, his eyes glossing over. "why?" he asks you, his words shaky but calm, not shouting or arguing, just wanting to know the reasons why. "i have feelings for someone else, it's nothing you did, it just happened. i'm so sorry." your bottom lip is between your teeth, so ashamed to be admitting the truth, but part of you grateful, the guilt finally dissipating. "who?" he returns, through gritted teeth. "are you sure you want to know?" you ask, hoping he wouldn't. he simply nods his head, feeling you owe him the answers to any of his questions, you tell him. he scoffs as he hears patrick's name fall from your lips. "god, i'm so naive. have you fucked him?" his sudden harshness takes you back, pulling your knees up to your chest, your eyes now glossing over, nodding your head. "wow." is all that comes back to you.

the two of you sit in silence for a short while, before he finally stands. "well, i'm sorry too, that i couldn't be what you wanted. does his girlfriend know?" he asks, pacing around the room. "i don't know, i don't think so." you respond, standing now too. "christ, how many people did you need to hurt?" his words cut you like a knife, immediately starting to pack up the things of yours in the room. "i'm gonna go, i'm so sorry, i never meant to hurt anyone." he half scoffs at your words, opening the door for you as you bunch your belongings under your arms, walking out the door. both of you saying final goodbyes and leaving each other for the last time. dragging all your bags into your uber, you rush to the hotel the players are assigned to. tears finally falling from your eyes once you enter the room. letting yourself feel every feeling you've held in for the past few weeks, losing yourself to emotion as they all come pouring out of you.

cleaning yourself up after a few hours, texting patrick and asking him to come to your hotel. he shows up half an hour later, knocking on your door. pulling him into the room, pulling his lips to yours as the two of you fall onto the bed. pulling himself from you as the two of you sit on the edge of the bed. "what's wrong? you look like you've been crying." he asks, placing a soft kiss to your temple. "i broke up with him." patrick's mouth falls open slightly in reaction. his mind running quicker than he can keep up with. not able to focus on one particular thought, he rushes out his words. "why did you do that?" he's harsher than he would have liked, not being able to focus hard enough to properly form sentences he would rather say. shocked you move slightly further away from his grip. "you, patrick. you're why." neither of you had ever admitted any feelings to each other, you'd barely admitted them to yourselves, let alone sharing them. but those words leaving your lips were all the admission patrick needed. he was very aware he felt the same, but he also knew that it would be too good to be true. patrick was prone to self-sabotage, he did it to protect himself from getting hurt in the long run. "i never asked you to do that." it's almost involuntary the harsh tone in which he's speaking, deep down he wants nothing more than to kiss you and run home to break off his own relationship to be with you. but his mind is singlehandedly running his ability to consider that an actual option in this scenario.

"i know you didn't." nearly matching his tone as you try to distract yourself from the tears welling up in your eyes. "i just thought.." trailing off as your words soften. "you thought what? that we'd dump our partners and run off into the sunset?" you can't believe the words coming from him, never has he been so harsh to you, so cold. "no i just, i thought you liked me." your eyes unable to look at him anymore, a single tear dropping onto the mattress from your eyes. "it's not that easy. this just complicates it even more. i never told you i'd break up with my girlfriend." patrick wishing he could stop himself, slap himself out of it and realise what he was doing. but he couldn't, couldn't pause and consider what he was pushing away. "why are you being like this?" you respond, words so quiet as you meet his gaze again. "we're just sleeping together, okay? was that not enough for you?" patrick standing up from the bed, his voice slightly raised. his words cutting through your skin like a knife, shaking your head slightly, unable to stop the tears now. "just leave patrick, please." your words shaky, lip quivering. "whatever." he leaves with a slam of the door. falling onto your back on the bed, crying out any remaining tears as your body curls up into a ball.

waking up to the sun rising the next morning, sadness turned to anger in the night spent alone. focusing all of your energy onto the match you were playing later today, jumping out of bed with a point to prove. soothing your puffy eyes and hiding your dark circles with light make-up. ubering to the venue and getting in a few hours with your hitting partner before readying yourself for your match. luckily avoiding patrick, who's match was happening at the same time as yours. sitting in your private dressing room, leg bouncing as you wait for the call to head to the court.

patrick: good luck champ

a text from patrick only spurs your anger more, ignoring the message and cracking your neck. the knock comes shortly after, slinging your racket bag over your shoulder as you walk down the hall. white dress with built in shorts standing opposite your opponent, bouncing side to side as the match starts. letting all of your anger out on the court, heavy grunts escaping you. your emotions fuelling your game as you win the first two sets, screaming out at your win. earning your place in the semi finals, asking your coach quickly about patrick's match. "third set is just starting, he won the first." rushing your way through your post match interview on the court, catching the end of patrick's match from the tunnel of the players entrance. arms folded, watching intently as you witness patrick fumble the final set. looking on as patrick's racket is smacked against the ground repeatedly, clearly frustrated with his loss. the racket is thrown across the court as he begrudgingly shakes the hand of his competitor. smirking from the sidelines as he picks up his bag, walking in your direction. slowing down slightly as he reaches you. he can tell you won just by the smug smile on your face as you stare him down. his big hands grabbing hold of your forearm as he drags you down the tunnel with him towards his dressing room.

struggling to free yourself from his grip as he slams the door behind you both. "what the fuck are you doing?" you shout, pushing him away from you once in the private space. the anger he felt on the court lifting as a devilish smirk spreads across his face. heavy hands cupping your face as his lips crash onto yours. hopelessly trying to push him off but not succeeding, your body desperate for your fix of him. your bodies fight against each other, pushing and pulling one another around the room, fighting for control. crashing into lockers and walls, tongues swirling around mouths. patrick pushing off all the items on the table in the corner, lifting you up to sit on the edge, pulling his tank over his head. grabbing the hem of your dress, attempting to pull it over your body but failing. "why can't i get this fucking thing off?" he struggles again, letting you slip it down yourself. "the shorts are built in." you half laugh at his frustration, fingers scratching down the skin of his arms. "stupid fucking thing." he laughs, lips attaching to yours again as he pushes his shorts and boxers down his legs. hooking his fingers around your underwear to pull them down, discarding them on the floor beneath you. pulling you further to the edge of the table as he pushes himself into you immediately, bottoming out. the table banging against the wall as he pounds into you, any anger left over working through his body to fuck you harder than he ever has.

bruising the skin on your hips as his hands dig in, slapping his crotch against yours. legs wrapping around his waist, ankles crossed behind his back. moans swallowed by each other in the sloppy kisses, foreheads pressed together as your nails scratch the length of his spine. "feel so fucking good baby." patrick mumbles into your neck, sucking on the skin. sweat dripping down your bodies, hair sticking to skin, his musk filling your nose. biting down on his shoulder as his hands slip underneath your ass, carrying you to the wall, your back pushed against it. your spine hitting against the cold wall with every thrust, his hands massaging the fat of your ass as he bucks his hips upwards into you at raw speed. his grasp on your skin pushing you up and down with his thrusts, bouncing on his cock as his tip hits your g-spot. the grip you have around his neck tightening as his thrusts grow sloppy, skin slapping echoing around the room as heavy groans fill the empty space. without warning his cum shoots into you, a drawn out groan leaving his lips as he pushes his weight onto you against the wall. slowly unwrapping your legs from his waist as he pulls out of you and places you on the floor. his body still weighing against you, his face nestled in your hair as you return to reality. throwing a towel down on the bench in the room, patrick sits and pulls you onto his lap. feeling his cock twitch as his hard on starts to calm, soft kisses placed on your face.

sitting there for a few minutes, before standing up to clean yourself up and get dressed. patrick following suit, cleaning up the table slightly. you're ready long before he is, waiting for him to slip his tank back onto his body. "don't you need to go find your girlfriend?" you tease, aiming to make him uncomfortable, seeking some revenge for his behaviour last night. you're expecting a laugh, a smirk, anything, but all he does is tense up. "don't talk about her." he whispers through gritted teeth. you're taken back, his words are harsh, protective, not like how he usually speaks. "i-i thought-" you start, rushing out words in attempt to understand. "i'm still with her." he spits out, the words hitting your chest as if he stabbed them into your skin. "i'm not breaking up with her, okay? you need to get that into your head." you've never heard patrick so harsh, so pointed. the thoughts are spinning around your mind, making you lightheaded. patrick was unable to stop himself, his self-sabotaging and attempts to protect himself from possible risk winning out. "if you want me, this is what you get. i'm not leaving her, not for you, not for anyone." your body is slumping, legs giving out on you as you fall onto the bench below you. all the words, all the affection, every glimpse of feeling patrick has ever showed you slowly slipping away as this unemotional version of him appears in his place. "it's second best, or nothing at all." his chest rising and falling as he looks to you.

patrick was different. he made you feel things no one ever had, made you feel electric. looking up to him through half-lidded eyes, breathing out sharply. both of you knowing you'd never be able to say no to him. you'd rather have him in some way than not at all. a single tear threatens to fall as you whisper.

"second best it is."

[b0r3dtod3ath]

Hello hi!

Can you do a challengers fic?

Art x reader, where he and reader had a flirty relationship but he started to experiment with tashi and patrick and she was like "well, it happens" but the trio didnt work out so he tried to recandle that dinamic between him and reader but she lost all the atraction to him.

(lots of groveling)

Thank you!

Thank you for the request!

Warnings: Mention of an injury, curse words. 

You and Art have been friends since middle school and since then he was always by your side. Your shared interest in tennis and joint decision about applying to Stanford resulted in you two being inseparable best friends. Well, maybe not really. Your relationship was quite hard to describe. People constantly mistook you for a couple but in reality you were just really close. Sure, there were a lot of flirtatious moments, some may even say romantic, but you never thought about it too deeply, thinking that it’s just the way Art is. 

Each morning he knocked vigorously on your dorm room door. “You need to wake up! We need to go.” The sight that he sees when you open the door always makes his heart skip a beat. Messy hair and a toothbrush in your mouth give him a glimpse of what it would be like if he was living with you. “Good morning!” He gives you a beautiful smile as he hands you a coffee in your favorite thermos. He insists on doing it because “it saves time in the morning as he’s up anyways”. Oh and also when you finish he takes the cup back to clean it so he doesn't bother you in the morning. His friend Patrick has always made fun of him for those small gestures but he recently got a girlfriend so he’s busy. Actually, you have heard of Tashi. She attends your school and you were supposed to play against her in a local tournament. You have heard that she’s really good but people also always point out your skills.

You head to the canteen, sipping your coffee as Art tells you about Patrick’s new girlfriend. It’s not like you are jealous but hearing your male best friend ramble about another girl is weird. You keep quiet, after all there was nothing romantic between you two. You eat your breakfast without saying much which goes unnoticed to your friend. He stops eating, looking at your face for a moment, trying to figure out what’s going on in your mind “I saw they had watermelon in the fruit section. I can bring it for you if you want. Did something happen? You know you can always talk to me. I will always be there for you.” The gentle tone in his voice almost feels like he is talking to a lost child, scared to make you withdraw. “No, no. It’s fine. I’m just a bit less confident about the next match. You know, after what happened a few days ago, my leg still sometimes cramps up a bit.” you halfy make up a lie. You were stressed about the match but it had nothing to do with your calf. “You should have told me earlier. I will massage it before we train today. You are going to do amazing".

He didn’t listen to your begging not to knead your muscle so you ended up with him rubbing it firmly enough to “help you” but gently enough not to hurt you. As you trained he could sense your frustration. Sure, it made you more confident on the court as you transferred your anger into each fore and backhand. Then suddenly you stop. Your opponent gives you a confused look as you out of the blue ignore the ball. “I don’t feel well. I’m gonna call it quits. I have a test tomorrow anyway that I should study for. I can’t be hitting a ball with a racket my whole life.” you look at him, his expression as shocked as a moment ago. “See you in the evening?” You two usually had some evening tennis sessions or just went for some walks as there were not many people around that time and you could freely chat about anything. “Well. I can’t actually make it today. I’m really sorry. Patrick invited me for some drinks. He wants me to meet Tashi”. His eyes looked like they belonged to a puppy. “Oh, yea. I mean. That’s fine. See you tomorrow then.” you say without giving him the usual light hug as a goodbye.

The following morning Art didn’t knock on your door. You assumed he must have been tired from the day before but it still felt unusual. You decided to push it aside and focus on yourself and your preparations to play against Tashi. The match started at 2 pm so you still had some time to get ready. You followed your usual routine with only one exception - your regular companion. 

The tennis court simmered under the midday sun, a gentle breeze whispered through the air, carrying a promise of an intense match. It was one of the most anticipated matches of the season on the Stanford campus. It was the end of a debate of who is the best tennis player among students but most importantly it was evidence of passion for sports and competition. You looked at Tashi coming on the court, getting a bigger applause than you did. You didn’t let it bother you, it didn’t matter who was the fan favorite, it mattered who was better. You were first to serve. Silence established itself on the court, a neon yellow ball bounced a few times between your hand and the ground. You looked deeply into your opponent’s eyes. It wasn’t a game of tennis, it was a battle for dominance. 

A thunderous serve from you, the ball sliced through the air with precision. Tashi returned it with equal force, the ball skimming just inches above the net. Back and forth you played, each stroke a testament to your skill and determination. The crowd watched in silence, fully immersed in the spectacle unfolding before them. As the match wore on, the intensity only seemed to grow. Tashi unleashed a powerful forehand, sending the ball to the other side of the net. But you were quick to react, sprinting across the court with lightning speed to return it with a perfectly executed backhand. The crowd erupted into applause, recognizing the sheer athleticism on display.  The game continued in this fashion, each player refusing to give an inch. Your muscles burned like they were on fire as you chased down every shot, your mind focused solely on victory. On letting her know who Art belongs to. 

Then, in a heartbeat, disaster struck. As Tashi ran to return a particularly fierce shot, her foot slipped. Time seemed to slow as she stumbled forward, her knee buckling beneath her weight. With a sharp cry of pain, she collapsed to the ground, clutching her injured leg. She started crying like a hurt animal, unable to think what people thought of her. You stood there in pure shock, unsure of what to do. In the corner of your eye you saw Art running up to her and trying to calm her down. 

You felt really bad for her. Not liking her didn’t mean you were happy for her injury. After asking the medical team about her, you got to know that she’s waiting for an ambulance. When you found her, your heart immediately dropped at the sight of Art holding her hand. “I just wanted to say, I’m so sorry it happened, I-” you started to apologize, “Out! Out! Out!” she screamed at you “But-” you tried to say something but Art stood up “Get the fuck out!”. He had never raised his voice towards you. He was always your gentle, soft, good boy. You silently walked away as hot tears rolled on your cheeks. The echo of your sobs filled your room for the whole night. 

For the next few weeks you didn’t see Art. It wasn’t like you didn’t want to see him, you did actually, but he was always accompanied by Tashi or Patrick. It did make you feel a bit lonely but you focused on training and improving. You actually started to do really well and moved up the rank. Despite an opportunity to get an apartment you stayed at Stanford. You told everyone that you would feel lonely living alone, but the truth was you just didn’t want to leave Art. He would still sometimes catch your glimpse across the canteen or the training hall but no words were exchanged. 

He found you one evening, your silhouette illuminated by the artificial glow of the light. You were alone, your movements fluid yet tense as you practiced your strokes with precision. Taking a deep breath, Art approached you cautiously, unsure of how you would react to his presence. "Hey" he said softly, his voice tinged with uncertainty. You turned to face him, your expression stone cold. You said nothing. A hint of bitterness in your eyes. "I-I just wanted to see how you were doing," he said, his words stumbling over each other in his nervousness. "What do you want?" you snapped, you tone sharp and cutting. Determination glinting in his eyes. "I saw you playing alone, and I thought... maybe you could use a partner," he offered hesitantly. You scoffed, your grip on the racquet tightening as you glared at him. "And why would I want to play with you?". Art took a step closer, his gaze unwavering as he met your overwhelming stare. "Because I miss playing with you, I miss you" he admitted softly. "And because I'm sorry. Truly sorry for what I did." You hesitated for a moment, your eyes narrowing as you considered his offer. “Don’t you have to take care of your little Tashi’s leg?” you said under your nose. "Fine. But don't expect too much" you warned.  

As you began to play, your movements were sharp and precise, your shots landing with deadly accuracy. Art did his best to keep up, but he couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled in the pit of his stomach. You had always been better than him but he could sense something else. After all, tennis was the most intimate out of all sports. Suddenly, you unleashed a powerful forehand that sailed towards Art with an alarming speed. Instinctively, he raised his racket to block the shot, but it ricocheted off the strings with a resounding thud, leaving him staggering backwards. "Are you trying to kill me or something?" he exclaimed, his heart racing as he moved closer to the net. You turned around -  a little habit you gained, you never looked at your opponent after scoring a point. "Maybe," you replied nonchalantly, your tone betraying a hint of amusement. Art chuckled nervously, rubbing his sore arm where the ball had made contact, as he got closer and closer to you. "Well, you can kill me if you want," he offered, making you chuckle. He reached to touch your hand, his expression pleading, as you turned. "Please. I know I messed up, but I can't stand not having you in my life. I... I have feelings for you. And I need you to know that. I don’t see you as just a friend." You felt your heart skip a beat at his confession, your breath catching in your throat. You had suspected as much, but hearing him say the words out loud sent a jolt of electricity through your veins. "I... I don't know, Art” you responded, torn between the anger still simmering inside you and the warmth of his words. "You ditched me for her. "Art nodded, his eyes brimming with regret. "I know. And I'm so sorry. I was weak and I thought you would never look at me the same way I look at you. I'll do anything to make it right, I swear." he got on his knees, both hands holding yours. “I will never leave your side, I will show you how much I love you and I will buy you this diamond bracelet you always wanted.” You chuckled “Art, get up. I don’t need a bracelet from you. I will give this a chance.” A smile broke across Art’s face, relief flooding his features as he reached out to wrap you in a tight embrace. "Thank you, I promise, you won't regret this." he murmured, his voice thick with emotion and eyes wet with tears. You returned the hug. The two of you swayed for a moment before you broke the silence with your dead serious tone. “Never raise your voice at me again, understand?” He looked deeply in your eyes. “Understood, maam. I’m incredibly sorry”.

April 29, 2024

[woso-dreamzzz]

Injured (Jenni's Version): Future

Grace Clinton x Reader

Summary: You need to leave

"Mami! Mami! Mami!"

You smile slightly, continuing to pack your suitcase as your son lays back on your bed.

"Yes, my James?"

He grins at you. "Can I come?"

You shake your head. "You know you can't."

"But why?"

"Because Paris is a long way away from Lyon." You add another set of pointe shoes to your bag. "And I need you to do a very special job for me."

You sit down on the bed, patting the spot next to you.

James is more than happy to crawl towards you, leaning close to hear his special job.

"You're a very responsible boy, aren't you?"

He nods. "I helped Mummy pick up Ollie's poo yesterday on our walk!"

Ollie's your family dog. Grace had gotten him for you when the first two rounds of ivf didn't take and you'd been so down about it. You were right in the middle of your third round and losing hope when Grace had come home with a German Shepherd puppy.

You called Ollie your good luck charm because two weeks after you'd successfully potty trained him, you fell pregnant with your other golden boy, James.

"That's very responsible!" You tell him," Because I need a very responsible boy to help me out."

"I'm responsible! I'm responsible! What is it?"

"I need you to be in charge of the house while I'm gone," You tell him," That's why you can't come with. You've got to make sure Mummy doesn't order takeout every day and cleans up Olivia's toys when she's done playing."

Olivia's the other light of your life, your nearly one year old daughter.

You didn't particularly want to leave either of them but you'd been called up by the Paris Opera Ballet to be their guest Principal for one of the shows they were putting on and you loved dancing in their venue.

Originally, you were going to say no but Grace pushed you to accept. She was more than capable of looking after both of the kids at once.

"I'll make sure Mummy eats healthy and cleans up!" James tells you," Can I go tell her I'm in charge while you're gone?"

"I'm sure she would love that."

James goes bursting out of the room and you take the time to finish packing.

Ollie whines a little as you zip up the bag.

"I'm sorry, Ollie," You say, gently stroking his head," You know I'll back soon."

Ollie's the family dog, technically, but, secretly, you know he's yours. He had been incredibly protective over you when you were pregnant with Livy and he had been super excitable as a puppy when you were pregnant with James.

Fully grown now, he loved being in the same room as you. He adored the kids and Grace, of course, but you had always been his person.

Frankly, you were getting a little worried he was lonely in the house alone all day so you and Grace had been in talks about getting Ollie his own puppy.

It was only fair to Olivia as well.

Ollie grew up with James. It's only right to have a puppy for Olivia to grow up with too.

But, that was a conversation for when you got back and after your planned trip to Spain in the summer.

It would be nice, you think, to have a puppy for Ollie to be the best big brother too just like how James is the best big brother to Livy.

Ollie follows you down the stairs, his favourite tennis ball in his mouth as you start pulling your suitcase down.

Grace appears at the bottom, hurrying up to swap the bag with Livy and carry it the down for you.

"Careful, beautiful," She says as you swap," You don't want to strain anything before you go on stage." She winks at you and you roll your eyes.

"Did James tell you I've left him in charge?"

"He did," Grace replies with a grin," I think he's already planning on demanding Big Bed access."

"Don't let him," You remind her but your wife just shrugs.

"I don't know. He's making a convincing case. Says that it would be cold without you and he should be there to warm it up."

"If you get him in the habit of sleeping in our bed while I'm away, Grace Clinton, then you're in trouble and I'm choosing what breed the next puppy is."

"Oh, come on!" Grace is laughing though so you know she isn't taking your empty threats too seriously. "Cab's here though. You finished up just in time."

"Okay." You pull on your coat surprisingly well for someone balancing a baby in the other arm.

You litter kisses all over Livy's face as Grace calls James to the door.

"I'll miss you, Mami," He tells you and you crouch down to give him kisses too.

"I'll miss you too, James," You say," I love you, baby."

"Love you too."

He curls into your arms and your rock him side to side softly before pulling away.

"Remember, you're in charge, okay? So I want you to boss around Mummy and make her eat healthy, deal?"

He nods. "Deal."

"I'll see you in a week, amor," You tell Grace, pecking her lips a few times and laughing when she tries to chase your kiss each time.

"Love you, beautiful."

"Love you too."

[gallaghersgal]

first misses || carmen berzatto

pairing: carmy x fem!reader

warnings & tags: no warnings! fluff, fluff, and more fluff. first kiss scenario. giving carmen the sweet innocent childhood moments he deserves. growing apart but finding each other again <33

a/n: thank u to worm for the idea, and to the tumblr baddie collective for cheering me on! my first FULL length carmy fic, and my first work over 1k in ... actual years i think.

wc: 1.3k

Carmen never liked wearing glasses. they fogged up too often, or slipped down the bridge of his nose. and one time, when he was eleven years old, they just about ruined his life.

You were the prettiest girl in the fifth grade, a Chicago transplant, and the apple of every little boy's eye. But you only had eyes for one Carmen Berzatto. The day you made him hold your hand to cross the street on the field trip to the art museum, he knew he couldn't let summer roll around without telling you how he felt. But Mikey teased him, and Sugar tried her best but her advice sounded too motherly, so Carmen was left to plot for himself.

He still remembers that day, the last day of fifth grade. The pretty gingham dress with the little bow you wore—your Dorothy dress, as you called it—and your hair tied up to play field games with the other kids waiting at pickup. He had tugged you behind the bleachers with nervous, sweaty palms, thankful that you didn't notice or at the very least held back any comments.

"I wanna kiss you," he blurted out, cheeks turning pink at the admission. "C-Can i kiss you?"

You looked down at your feet for a minute, tennis shoe toe digging into the gravel, before you looked up at him. "Um, sure!" you grinned shyly, and Carmen felt like his world was skidding to a halt right then and there. "I've never kissed anyone before. like, on the lips?"

"I-I h-haven't either," he stammered, his face going pale with nerves. His hands began to shake when you stepped up closer.

"That's okay, I think it's easy."

You held out your hand until Carmen took it, then closed your eyes to lean in. He couldn't help but stare curiously, and the moment unfolded before his eyes. Before you could kiss him, your brow ran right into the wireframe of his glasses. You pulled back, a little startled, one eyebrow raised.

"Sorry, 'm s-sorry," he said nervously, watching as you scrunch your nose in concentration. Before he knew what was happening you'd leaned in again. Your lips barely brushed his, those stupid glasses still in the way, but it was a kiss. It counted.

You pulled back with a wide grin, "there! Now we had our first kiss!"

Carmen wanted to say something, he really did. Maybe ask to sign your yearbook, or if you’d want to come see a movie with him, but the teacher was calling your name. You had to leave. You had to leave, and Carmen didn't know if he'd see you at all, for the whole summer. His little heart ached at the thought of not seeing your smile. Not hearing your laugh. Missing the way you always smelled like strawberries and vanilla from your little hand sanitizer, the one he always asked to borrow after recess.

But at that moment you were standing in front of him, with that same pretty grin, and throwing your arms around him for a quick hug. You turned to leave, then turned back, just to surprise him with a sweet kiss to his cheek. "Bye Carmy! Have a good summer!" you said, before running off.

And Carmen just stood there, awestruck.

Sure, he saw you again the next year, but a lot happened that summer. The transition to middle school was a big one, you weren't in any classes together, and year by year the two of you grew apart until Carmen was halfway across the country and you were nothing but a memory.

He didn't see you again until, god, at least thirteen years later. He wasn't sure how long it had been. He wasn't even sure how he'd managed to bump into you. But a few hours and a coffee later you'd given him your number. And that night you'd texted him; would you wanna go out, like on a date? i couldn't bring myself to ask you face to face. but i think it would be nice. just lmk :)

And it was nice. you wore a dress that looked amazing against your skin, and he got to finally tell you how pretty you were, after all the years of silence. After the days spent sketching you in the margins of his notebooks, peering at you from across the cafeteria, and showing up to football games just to get a glimpse of you with your friends. You looked beautiful as ever, and he made sure to tell you. 

“Y’know, I always thought you were so pretty” he mumbled, sounding reverent as he stood outside your apartment door. Your back was against your door, hands not even bothering with pushing it open. 

“That’s really sweet, Carmy,” you whispered. One hand raised up to touch his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin under your fingertips. His cheeks were tinted a soft pink, that same lovely color you’d see when you were young. The one you’d crack jokes, give lingering glances, and throw compliments his way just to see. 

Carmen’s eyes fluttered closed, like he was committing your image to memory. Maybe he was. 

“Do you remember the last day of fifth grade?” you asked cautiously, waiting for him to open his eyes before continuing. “When we kissed under the bleachers?” His embarrassment was written across his face, cheeks flushed and eyes cast down to the floor. You took one curl by the side of his face around your finger, twirled it into a perfect little spiral just to let it go again. Patiently, you waited for him to speak.

“Y-Yeah, yeah. I remember,” he replied with a quiet laugh. “I went home and begged my mom not to make me wear glasses anymore. As if she could’ve done anything about my shitty eyesight,” he added with a scoff.

“Hm. Well, I mean, I guess it worked. You got contacts, yeah? Or are you just blind as a bat?” you asked, and brought your eyes up to meet his own. “Do you wanna try again?” You tacked the last sentence on, almost like an afterthought, afraid if you took too much time to think on it you’d chicken out entirely. 

Carmen grinned, and you swore it was one of the most beautiful things you’d ever seen. Not the tight lipped smile he often wore in photos, no, this was all teeth and sparkling eyes and joy. Like the kid under the bleachers all those years ago. 

“Bats, uhm, they- they aren’t,” he stammered, his hands shaking as they held on to your hips. “Common mistake, see, they’ve actually got-”

“Carmen,” you interrupted softly. He only hummed in response, a soft affirmative noise that let you know he wanted this too. As if the way he looked at you could’ve been interpreted any other way. “Just kiss me.”

You didn’t have to tell him twice. His lips were soft–if not a little chapped, but you didn’t mind–when they finally brushed yours, this time with no pesky glasses in the way. One of his hands moved up to the back of your neck, cradling you there.

To call the moment bliss would’ve been an understatement. 

When Carmen finally pulled away from you his eyes remained closed, soaking up the moment, afraid he’d look again to find it was all a dream. A dream he’d had over and over, each night as he drifted off. The sweet girl he’d once known, finally in his arms again.

When his blue eyes finally made their reappearance you were staring at him, analyzing his expression as one finger twirled around that same little curl. “You should come inside,” you told him, and he winced slightly. 

“I-I, don’t wanna fuck it up. Don't wanna rush... this,” he admitted breathlessly, to which you shook your head.

“Nothing like that. Just, don’t wanna stop talking to you,” you explained, showing your intentions were to take this slow. To learn him again, or, was it for the first time? It didn’t matter. All that mattered was his smile, as he nodded and followed you inside.

end.

main masterlist || carmy masterlist

[luveline]

i lowkey need to see stripper!reader and spencer again

for you gorgeous ♡ fem

cw adult themes

Hotch and Spencer draw attention at the strip club for the same reason but in varied fonts. They're both reminiscent of your regulars, Hotch the picture of a businessman with a wife to forget and steam to blow, and Spencer the silent sweetheart, pretty but too shy to talk to normal girls. 

He doesn't need a normal girl when he has you. 

You're glad for your cover up clothes as you lean against the dressing room door. One of the bouncers peers at you from the corner of his eye. 

"Trouble?" he asks. 

"Not sure. Probably not." You wave until Agent Hotchner notices you. To your delight, he raises his hand politely. 

You step around the bouncer and bypass the stage to the lighter area of the club where they stand in wait. "Hello. I could've met you outside." 

"Would you?" Agent Hotchner asks. 

You don't need him to explain. It's not the most professional thing, loitering in a club like this. You follow them out of the club and onto the street, cold even in your sweatpants as the wind rails. Spencer lets you squeeze his fingers in greeting, but that's all. 

"It's nice to see you again, Agent Hotchner," you say honestly, giving him a smile. 

He doesn't return the pleasantry, but Spencer swears he's softer than he looks so you choose to run with it as Agent Hotchner says, "We need information on one of your patrons." 

"Tennis Lawley," Spencer adds. 

"Tennis," you repeat. "I thought my pseudonym was bad."

Spencer gives you a quick look. I'd laugh if I weren't at work, it says. "We think he's involved in a string of killings in Washington DC. What do you know about him?" 

It's not an exaggeration to say you've played therapist for Tennis and a ton of guys just like him. Being a stripper, an exotic dancer, whatever anyone wants to call it (though Spencer usually just calls it your work) has pros and cons. You've felt it to be heavier on the con side, but this is a big plus, being able to assist someone you care about with something important. It makes you feel useful for once, like you're more than the froth of the city. "Ask me anything," you say, hiding your cheek from the cold with a deft hand. 

Spencer and Agent Hotchner ask you all sorts of questions, personal to their suspect and less so, and for the most part you're able to answer them. You can tell from the look on Hotchner's face that he's both surprised and extremely satisfied by your knowing, and he emphasises his thankfulness with a touch to your upper arm before he says goodbye. "Your help is invaluable, Y/N, thank you." 

Spencer, your sweetheart, stays for a more thorough farewell. 

"Have you eaten yet today?" he asks, the hand you'd squeezed earlier leaping for yours. "You look tired." 

"It's getting close to midnight, Spence. I'm alright. You and Agent Hotchner should head home and rest yourselves…" You bring your hand to his cheek but think better of yourself, pushing your arm over his shoulder instead for a hug. His own arms contract around you immediately. "I miss you lately, where have you been?" 

"Everywhere. I miss you too," he says. Despite the months of knowing one another, and the many states he's seen you in, you know without looking that Spencer is blushing profusely. 

You kiss his cheek as your heels return to safe ground. "Come and see me again soon, okay? And bring your rich friends. The older one, Rossi, is he really a millionaire? A divorced one?" 

"Yes, he is," Spencer says with a laugh, his voice climbing higher, "but I don't think he's looking for another wife right now, sorry." 

"Maybe Agent Hotchner–" 

"Stop calling him that." 

You look Spencer straight in the eye, nearly caught off guard by how sweet and soft they meld at your touch where your hands linger in his. 

You often think that you and Spencer aren't meant to be. Your life, whether willing or unwilling, by choice or design, is entirely focused around your body, and Spencer's world revolves around his mind. You know that what you do for work isn't anything to be ashamed of, but you have the same doubts as anyone else. You know what people think of you. You wouldn't blame Spencer for thinking the same things. And you wouldn't expect him to want to be with you in any aspect that wasn't physical. 

But when he holds your hands in his like this, as though they're made of something delicate, something he wants to map every detail or by fingertip alone, you wish things were different. 

You clear your throat. "I really do miss you when you're away," you confess. 

"I'm sorry." 

"Don't be." Your hands miss his the millisecond you pull them away. "I guess I shouldn't keep you. Your boss will be wondering where you are." 

"Are you okay?" 

You can't even pretend it's a strange question; you're acting strange. "I'm fine, Dr. Reid. My nice new boss knows I know the feds, and all the girls are jealous of me when you guys come to visit. They think I'm on your payroll." 

Spencer quirks a puzzled frown, brows pulled together tightly. "You're harder to read than most people. Have I ever told you that?" 

"I guess it's 'cos I spend so much time pretending I'm a different person," you say, smiling to prompt him into smiling back. 

"Maybe." He pulls his bag from where it rests against his hip and opens it, rummaging through the contents with a confused murmur until he pulls out the shape he'd been looking for. "Here. Don't go to bed hungry, okay?" 

Spencer puts a protein bar in your hand. 

He steals a quick hug and leaves not long after that, crossing the dark parking lot to the mass of the dark SUV he arrives in. With one hand, you clutch the protein bar until it takes a new shape, and with the other you blow two sweet kisses, a cheesy, gaudy gesture that never fails to make your favourite special Agent blush.