#yeah x10

[artexmachina]

That Challengers scene but its Jingrenheng

[theogonize]

looked up boys whimpering and then I saw a message by the cia? calling me witty, scientific, philosophical? and super sexy? has this happened to anyone else?

[greendr4gon]

Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah!

[iveseenitinmovies]

katharine hepburn playing tennis to yeah x10 from challengers

[peanutbyler]

ok byler challengers au but the part of challengers that wasn’t really part of the movie where patrick and art went to a boarding school for tennis and were really codependent

[poorwillednightjar]

YEAH YEAH YEAH YEAH YEAH YEAH YEAH YEAH

[mamaonmymind]

yeah yeah yeah yeahyeah yeah yeah yeahyeah yeah

[sofiskin]

mwe eh eh eh eh

other side of patrick choking?

warnings: 18+ smut, riding, choking

Patrick loves choking. Patrick loves to be choked.

He's freaky as hell! Doesn't matter what position you're in. If your arm is within reach, he will be guiding your hand around his throat. You can physically feel the way he grunts with effort, that little vibration and his Adam's apple bobbing under your loose grip. Can't even cum properly unless you squeeze properly. If he can still breathe, you aren't doing it right.

The first time it happens you're riding him, head tipped back as you grind down onto his cock. But it's Patrick so it doesn't take long until his hands find your hips in an attempt to guide your movement, bucking his hips up to meet you each time you rock down. But sometimes you just want to set the pace without him trying to take over.

"Patrick, stop it."

"C'mon, baby, just lemme—"

"No."

And then your hand is around his throat and he doesn't even remember why he's insisting in the first place. His eyes are wide, shocked by the gesture, and you repeat yourself and squeeze harder. "I said no. Do you understand me?

He almost climaxes then and there. He manages a jerky nod of his head in affirmation, hands sliding back down to rest on your thighs. And then every time you're riding him after that, he's the one putting your hand there. Begs you to do it and tells you he's been craving it all week. He applies pressure over the top with his own to make your grip is firm enough to cause discomfort, eyes rolled back and moaning as you sink down onto him. He's practically drooling every time your fingers tighten in sync with the way your cunt clenches around his cock.

And the entire time he's whining pathetically, "harder. Harder."

Ironic. It's normally you crying that out.

[tenderlady]

sometimes the smut so good you gotta put on the challengers soundtrack for ambiance

[diyasgarden]

merry christmas, please don’t come

“Oh, golden boy, you shined a light on our home and at your best you were magic we were sold. But don't tell 'em what you told me. Don't even tell 'em that you know me.I would rather burn forever”

from “Merry Christmas, Please Don’t Call” by the Bleachers

“What do you mean Patrick isn’t coming?”

Art doesn’t know how many times they’ve had this conversation. (He stopped keeping track after the fifth time)

Memory loss, a dwindling attention span, and blanking. All problems the doctors said his grandmother would struggle with after her stroke. He’d expected difficulties with remembering her routine or where she was. Even the people around her. General things, he could walk her through. Not something so specific. And frankly, considering all the things she could forget, this feels like a cruel joke.

He lets out a steady exhale, stepping closer to where his grandmother stands by the small fir covered in lights, tinsel, and other markers of the Christmas season. Sebastian, the old tabby, is nuzzled right by where his grandmother placed the small, wrapped box under the tree, looking up at him with a cautious gaze.

“He isn’t able to come this year,” Art repeats, reaching to the home-made popsicle candy cane ornament hanging at arm’s length on the tree. It was the decoration he made with Patrick when he came to visit Christmas in 2000 — the first of a long line of ornaments they’d make together for the holiday. 

His grandmother lets out a gentle, albeit unbelieving scoff as she shakes her head. “He always comes,” she remarks, a blatant dismissal of Art’s words. 

His thumb rubs aimlessly over the painted birchwood decoration, as he looks back at her with a tentative gaze. She wasn’t wrong, Patrick would always come for the holiday. After spending Hanukkah with his folks, he’d fly out to the midwest by the twenty-fourth and spend the rest of winter break with him. “For a proper Christmas experience” he’d tease, although Art knew that he just didn’t want to be at home.

Now it’s the twenty-third and he was nowhere in sight. 

“Well he isn’t this year, grandma,” Art sighs, eyes quickly darting back to the tree. The ornaments he made with Patrick are there on nearly every other branch. His thumb presses down harder on the candy-cane popsicle, continuing it's steady back and forth motion, as his eyes jump from one decoration to the next.

Her eyebrows knit and she looks down to the present she placed for Patrick, Art’s gaze trailing behind her’s. In smooth, cursive black sharpie, the word “Pat” is written on top of the metallic red wrapping paper. It's small enough that Art can’t figure out what it is, but its presence may as well take up the whole room. 

“Did he say why?” she suddenly asks, instantly looking back up to him. 

The question is ironic. As if Patrick had any say in the decision. As if he chose not to come. Really Art should just say "he isn't welcome here" and move on. But that's an over simplification in itself.

Art turns his head up to her and settles with: “He’s busy.” 

t wasn’t a lie. The last time he checked, Patrick was somewhere in the Mediterranean, probably trying his luck with the European tour. Or at least that’s what Art gathered from Patrick’s recent facebook posts. (He allowed himself a peek every once in a while to keep his curiosity at bay)

His grandma takes in a soft inhale, looking back down at the present. Sebastian moves away from the box to rub against her leg with a purr, and she looks down at the cat, before shrugging. “We’ll keep it in case he comes.” 

He supposed the danger of going no-contact with Patrick meant that his old friend really had no way of knowing what Art expected.

And Patrick always had a tendency to see what he wanted.

we'll keep it in case he comes

Suddenly, Art feels a sharp poke in his hand, and he turns back to where his finger holds the popsicle stick decoration to see a splinter in his thumb.

He stares at it for a moment and then yanks the decoration off the tree.

It’s around midnight when he goes to properly handle the decorations.

He tip-toes down the stairs, cautious to avoid Sebastian on the railing who is already looking at him with an accusatory gaze. If it wasn't for the cat's general hatred of him, he'd assume it knew exactly what he is about to do. When he walks to the kitchen to grab a trash bag, he can hear the cat hiss. Drawing out an eye roll as he creeps towards the tree in the living room.

The place is only illuminated by the yellow-toned string of lights on the tree, and he just stands there, taking in all the ornaments he is about to take down. 

Some wash pin-figures

Couple of snow globe bulbs

Many paper snowflakes. 

And the candy cane popsicles.  

He lets out a deep exhale before quietly pulling each decoration from the tree and placing it gently into the trash bag. He moves quietly and focuses his eyes on the motions of his hands, not allowing himself to look at any ornament longer than he has to. Only Sebastian’s displeased purrs filling the room.

By the time he’s done, his stomach churns at the sight of the tree now mostly decorated by store bought figures, tinsel, and lights. It’s a foreign sight he keeps looking at, up and down, until eventually the little present with the cursive “Pat” written on-top catches his attention. 

The metallic red wrapping of the little box reflects the Christmas tree lights back like a kaleidoscope. Art just stares down at the sight, still unsure of what the present is. 

Hesitantly, he bends to the floor and gingerly reaches for the box, picking it up in a sluggish motion. It fits into the palm of his hand, and makes no noise. There's a certain weight to it that he can’t place. and his thumb deliberately runs against the tape of wrapping paper.

Then with the same sluggish movement from before, he puts it back down underneath the tree. His hands flex against where he holds the trash bag, and he remains on the ground. Eyes tracing the loops of his grandmother's handwriting and the fractured reflections of colored light.

When he eventually pushes himself to go back upstairs, he puts the bag in the back corner of his closet. Tucking it away behind some old duffle bags from his time at the academy before dragging himself to bed.

Patrick posts a photo of a Turkish marketplace on the twenty-fourth. Somewhere in Istanbul. Or Izmir.

Art doesn't really care where.

At least he was right about it being the Mediterranean. 

authors note: this is me fighting the art donaldson hater allegations!! not really sure how i feel about this, but i think of art and patrick everytime i hear this song and knew i had to write a fic based on it for them. although i did change the line for the title, just so it would fit better with the final product. many mixed feelings on this, but i hope you enjoyed it!! tell me what you think!!! and if you want an edit of artrick to this song...check this out!

art credit: from the December 1960 issue of the new yorker

[sofiskin]

teh…

dp w art and patrick :3c u take art from the back bc he’ll be more gentle with you :3ccc patrick talks you both through it bc art can barely get a word out :3ccccc

i wrote a little thing about art and pat spitroasting art’s roommate reader in the past, but i put them in the reverse of these positions lol. however, either way makes sense to me for different reasons.

pat holding your chin, suffocating you with his cock smushed down into your throat and smirking when you drool and cough around him. “fuuuck, you’re so tight.. eyes on me, yeah? i’ve got you, don’t worry about artie—he can handle himself—“

him eagerly bucking as much of himself as he can into your mouth before pulling back to give you a moment to breathe. your head is full of cotton—barely functioning from the lack of oxygen intake and pleasure thrumming from art’s sloppy, needy thrusts—and you can’t do anything but take what they want to give you.

art’s obviously not as composed as patrick, given that he’s always been the more sensitive of the two. curled over you from behind, a hand on either side of your torso, steadily rocking his latex-covered shaft in and out and in and out as he trembles from his knees to his chest. his moans are almost loud (and broken) enough to drown out the sound of patrick’s groaning, but not quite. a few more seconds of humping though, and he’ll get there.. his needy noises pitching up as he makes eye contact with his best friend and watches you swallow down his heavy inches with the finesse of a seasoned pornstar. his lids flutter as he feels his load traveling from his balls. “aangh, aah—can i come ‘nside you? can i come? ohh god, i wanna fill you—“ he whimpers, clearly forgetting that he’s wearing a condom.

obviously, with your mouth occupied, you can’t respond; patrick speaks for you.

“shit, yeah—come inside, dude— ‘m gonna dump it down their throat, ungh..!”

it takes less than a minute for both of them to reach their highs, pouring their warm, sticky, bitter love into both ends of your shaken body.

[who-is-page]

hi. seeing people talk about physically shapeshifting and that there’s a category of humans with like powers called supernaturals- shapeshifters, dragons, real vampires that need energy/blood, etc in such a matter of fact way is making me feel strange. there is no proof and science says otherwise, but there is a huge community claiming these experiences and they even have history/lore and that others have witnessed their shifts. is this objectively true and possible in the collective shared reality, or are these individuals experiencing psychosis without double book keeping or something? yes their experience is real to them but is it real in the collectively perceivable scientifically possible way? will diving into this be diving into delusional thinking and be risky for me? at what point does something need to be tagged unreality? I support everyone and their self expression, including folk with delusions that cannot dbk, but what is real? the amount of people claiming this and guides on everything make it seem like it must be real especially since they say it’s not a delusion. but is that just bc they can’t double book keep? this many people just happen to have the same delusion? I cannot diagnose people, and I don’t want to be ableist by saying it may be a delusion, but if it isn’t then what is it? what else do you call it? genuinely. I don’t know.

follow up question- it is not morally wrong if someone is experiencing a delusion without double book keeping and genuinely believes they can pshift. but people say pshifters are like intentionally harmful to other people because of how they talk about it. but what if they just talk about it as capital R Reality real and possible to achieve because they are experiencing a delusion and can’t help but talk about it like this bc it’s real to them? is the issue that they are unaware and unintentionally harming others or is there a specific intentional way they are talking about it different that is not excusable by delusions? I’m just trying to learn what people mean when they say they are bad bc I don’t want to be ableist about it /gen

---

This is....a lot of questions jammed into just a couple of asks, so I'll do my best to answer the main focus of them.

Look, at the end of the day regarding "is it a delusion? is it RealTM? are they just fucking lying?" I want to say that it just kind of fundamentally...doesn't actually matter?

The problem with self-identified p-shifters isn't that they're making claims that they can physically shapeshift or that they have physical nonhuman aspects. Physical nonhumans are fine (and are in this discussion a separate thing from p-shifters, because "p-shifter" is a very specific term with a specific history). The problem is that:

Telling a group of dysphoric individuals that they CAN be their true selves in an otherwise completely impossible way if they just try hard enough, and that any issue to do so is because of a personal failing (you didn't want it enough, you didn't try hard enough, etc.) is just kind of a shitty thing to do. It's also potentially dangerous.

The above idea has most notably been used to manipulate, scam, con, and hurt people by folks who have self-labeled as p-shifters. This is why so many folks are leery of the term "p-shifter." This doesn't mean that people who identify as p-shifters are inherently going to do any of that, but it can come across a lot of the time as though modern self-identified p-shifters are just handwaving that history--at least, that's how it appears to me, but maybe it's just me.

The ways that p-shifters talk about their experiences in capital R reality (without getting into the weeds of "is it true/it is real/are they just lying") are extremely triggering to delusional nonhumans, which is something that endels have talked more at length about; see babydog's post here.

The division between ignorance (do they just not know) and malice (do they just not care) doesn't matter here, imo. I also personally don't think p-shifting is real, because if it was, I don't think the otherkin and therian communities would actually exist-- because we'd all fuck off and go be animals in the woods. That, and the ye olde science side of Tumblr went out of their way to break it down and debunk it so, so many years ago: Biologyweeps even had a dedicated p-shifting right past the laws of physics tag, back in the day. But that's just my take on things.

[kuroppiii]

  forty, love ᵕ̈       tennis au!miya twins x gn!reader       ( pt. two ) ˎˊ˗

⋮⋮ ˒ ₍ᐢ..ᐢ₎ 𖥻 ⿻ : what to do when two  ⋮⋮  fellow pro tennis players are ⋮⋮  interested in you ? you compare ⋮⋮  their stats , of course !

📋 content     ♡ # 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧 🐮     ♡ # 𝘴𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦❕     ♡ # 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 🥛     ♡ # ~4.1𝘬 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 ( wow )     ♡ # 𝙘𝙬 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘦 ( all characters are 18     or older during all events of the story !! ) ,     𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨

🧺 extensions  ⋮⋮  prev  ⋮⋮  series masterlist  ⋮⋮  next ( coming soon ! )  ⋮⋮

🎶 on shuffle " yeah x10 " - trent reznor & atticus ross ( challengers movie soundtrack )

�� directory  ‹ ✩  like what you read ? check out more of my blog !  •ᴗ•

💬 kuroppiii ─ “ i locked tf in for this one ... ( also thank you ree for helping with the smau stuff i ' ve never done myself prior to this lolll ) ”

atsumu and osamu are neck-and-neck in a tie break. the crowd around you grows frustrated in a twisted type of voyeurism as the two tennis players are almost equally matched in the masterful way they return the ball to each other.

it's still only the first set but it feels like you've been sitting there watching 100 tennis matches–and in a sense, you have been.

as the ball gets traded between the miya twins on each side of the net, the countless times you've seen the two passionately rally tennis balls with their rackets cycle through your mind. they overlay the sight in front of you, almost like a flip book–one that eventually lands on a page from a long-gone time.

a time when the twins used to play alongside each other on one side of the net.

،   の   ✧   後    🌱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗻 …

after winning the match that made your young pro-athlete career those many years ago, you remember you took your new trophy with you to sit in on a certain mens doubles match a few hours later that same day.

there were a few hours to kill between when the cameras flashed in your face as you held your trophy and when you'd have to deal with it all over again that night for the winners' banquet. so, you decided to take up the two twin brothers' offer from the previous day to watch them in action.

slipping into a secluded corner of the stands, you were just barely able to catch the last few sets of their game since yours had overlapped slightly time-wise. but even in those few sets, you found yourself drawn to how the two ruled the court.

looking at the scoreboard, it seems like they breezed past the first set, had faltered and lost the second, but were definitely back on track to secure the third when you had arrived.

under the searing afternoon sun you noticed how atsumu always donned a certain smirk on his face before serving. this smile somehow shone brighter than the rays of light beating down on him and his sweat-drenched shirt.

and not too far from the blonde and closer to the net, osamu continuously provided ample support whenever atsumu's serves were returned, no matter how powerfully their opponents hit them back. he had a show-stopping habit of leaping into the air to reach the tennis balls whenever they were returned up high. volley after volley, osamu's usually bored expression would turn to one that was laser-focused on swatting at his neon green targets with his racket so the balls would quickly crash onto their opponents' side.

in this way, the twins weren't ones who waited for the ball to hit the court. they always had the ball in motion. it was like they were so in-tune on some deep and unspoken level, and you hadn't seen doubles partners play in any way like it.

'maybe it's because they're brothers,' you thought to yourself as you found yourself more invested watching a tennis match than you ever had before, 'maybe it's because they're twins, at that!'

either way, the miya twins secured that third set, and despite the annoyance of your manager as you were completely oblivious to their calls and texts telling you to start getting ready for the winners' banquet, you intently watched every moment and every point as they finished off their match by winning the fourth set.

you earnestly joined the audience in the stands as you applauded the two, watching them drop their rackets and excitedly embrace one another in a tight hug upon realizing the match was now over. they were winners.

the trophy gets brought out, and you get a great view of their faces lighting up in celebratory smiles, holding their shared trophy between them for the cameras.

the image of them both–hair sticking to their foreheads and dripping in sweat yet still grinning impossibly wide–as they clutch their new trophy and both kiss it at the same time, was one that would be burned into your memory for years.

but at the time, the moment passes as quickly as it came before they go to pack up their duffels on the sidelines. you take this as your queue to leave and finally catch up on the notifications from your manager. but just as you stand up from your seat, atsumu spots you in the crowd, and you see his jaw drop.

immediately and without risking to glance away from you, he aggressively swats at osamu's arm next to him to get the gray-haired one to look at where you stood, too. osamu reluctantly follows his brothers gaze, and you see the frustrated expression aimed at his brother quickly melt into one mixed with shock and admiration as he locks eyes with you.

(unable to fight the small smile that tugs at your lips upon seeing their ego-boosting reactions again) you nod at them in acknowledgment, give them a small wave, and go to pick up your trophy as you leave while they flash those winning smiles right back at you.

،   そ   ✧   の後    🌱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗻 ...

the banquet a few hours later was held in a classy venue, with winding spotless marble staircases and chandeliers in every room. when your ride pulled up in front of the building, you stepped out onto the ostentatious red carpet that was laid out for all the tournament's victors to waltz down. you could hear the buzz of chatter and crystal glass clinking inside. the louder it grew, the more your hands gripped at the shiny handles of your award as you entered the hall.

a worker directed you to a table where all the winners were asked to place their trophies for a round of pictures that would take place before dinner started. just as you go to set yours down, two similar and familiar faces entered through the banquet hall doors.

the voice of the tournament employee started to sound more and more tuned-out as you watched them step into the hall. the miyas were clad in clean and simple dress pants and blazers. osamu's outfit was on the more, of course, grayer side than atsumu's (and defiinitely more of atsumu's dress shirt buttons were unbuttoned than that of his brother's).

osamu held in his hands the brothers' trophy from their match earlier that day, and a different worker suddenly approached them, kindly gesturing to the table you were standing right next to. they were probably asking osamu to place the trophy down on the table–something you were still yet to do.

you quickly look back at the worker talking to you, apologizing for "spacing out" before carefully positioning your prize in the spot where they needed it. you feel a presence come up next to you, and look up to make eye contact with the two twins.

"long time no see," atsumu teases as his brother sets down their trophy next to yours.

"nice trophy ya got there," osamu adds on. a light-hearted scoff escapes you before you attempt to congratulate them on their own win.

"thanks! congrats to you t–"

"l/n! i've been looking everywhere for you!" your manager suddenly appears and interrupts you, "there are some photographers who're asking for your picture. right this way, please..."

as your manager nudges you away from the award table, you glance back to give the two brothers an apologetic smile. they wave you off and soon you lose sight of them as the crowd in the room gets between you.

and that's how it went for the first half of the evening: looks here and there exchanged between you and the miyas, but always getting whisked away by the crowd to each take pictures with so-and-so or do another interview with whatever news outlet.

until finally, all the trophy bearers are called up to take one big picture together, and you find yourself standing next to the doubles partners once again. osamu is right next to you, and atsumu next to him. the moment after all the athletes have clobbered their big trophies in their grasp to hold up for the cameras, you start getting bombarded with flashing lights.

as you try to maintain your smile for the pictures, you catch in the corner of your eye osamu leaning closer to you, and he whispers, "ya looked great out there"–he pauses and smiles again at the flash of another camera–"and you're lookin' great now, too."

"lay off the gorgeous singles winner, would'ya 'samu? you're ruinin' our photos right now," atsumu smoothly joins in on your brief hushed conversation.

your smile begins to resemble a more genuine one at the interaction, and you're hoping the photos of you don't show the blush dusted on your cheeks once they get released to the press.

again, you don't get to talk to the twins much throughout the rest of the event. but during dinner hour–while them and their team are off somewhere else in the venue doing some p.r.–you successfully managed to slip a napkin with your number scribbled on it into the cup of their trophy as you pass by.

that night at your hotel, two new numbers popped up on your phone.

،   そ   ✧   の後    🌱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗻 ...

the sound of tennis balls making contact with hardcourt echo through the darkness of night.

a few weeks later you're practicing late-night at a hotel court for your first grand slam appearance. for you recently, it's been nothing but nonstop training and drills. you were aiming for the final. sure, you could tell yourself to make it to at least quarter-finals, or even be satisfied at seeing yourself at semi-finals.

but no, your mind was set on the final. hell, your mindset was to win overall.

you got ready to practice your serve for another time, following the neon green ball as it went from the palm of your hand, to spinning in mid-air, to crashing against the wires of your racket–

your phone emits a small beam of light from where it laid on the bench in your peripheral vision. you wondered for a split second who could be texting you at this hour.

watching as your serve hit the exact corner you were aiming for, you decided you could give yourself a short break to check.

you reach into your duffel and fish out your towel, and you pat your neck and arms dry as you unlock your phone to open up the sudden set of notifications accruing on your homescreen,

it was the miyas.

ever since they added your number from the winners' banquet napkin, the three of you have had a shared groupchat you used to stay in touch. you had discovered pretty early on that the twins were very different, even if it's in how they text.

recently, however, on account of your intense grand slam preparations, you haven't been very active in it. but out of nowhere, here the two brothers are blowing up the chat. as you caught up on the messages, you pick up on an interesting amount of typos–more than usual...

at the mention of bottles, you immediately caught on. a small laugh escapes you as you type back to voice your suspicion, and atsumu almost instantly replies back to confirm it–that they've had a few drinks tonight.

you shake your head at the bench. it was almost midnight. and they want to see you this bad?

you debate for a moment how much you really wanted to see them again.

they were definitely staying at some different hotel than yours, as they were going to be at the upcoming tournament as well to compete in their usual doubles bracket. you had no idea where or how far their hotel might've been, though. how would they even get to your hotel from theirs anyway? how long would you have to wait for them out in the dark? you could probably fit some more drills in that time instead.

after thinking about it for another minute or two, you sigh and look up at the moon in the dark sky, too exhausted from the hours you've already spent on the hard court to really think of an excuse not to have them visit you. a small break right about now couldn't hurt.

besides–other than catching sight of them on tv or on online tennis news articles–the last time you saw them was at the winner's banquet, and you really wouldn't complain about seeing their faces in person again.

so you tell them what you're up to at your hotel, and you're met with eager replies back in the groupchat: atsumu suggesting they join you in your practice, osamu saying they have a driver that can bring them to you.

a sudden surge of energy enters your system realizing you're about to have them right in front of you again. you bounce your leg against the court impatiently to try and let some of it out.

you start thinking back to the last time you were face-to-face with them, and you can't help but cringe a little, recalling how you were more of a flustered mess than you might've wished in front of them.

you internally cursed the effect they have on you.

and yet, here you were giving in to see them. but if you were going to have to face them again, you concluded you'd need a bit of liquid courage pumping through you yourself...

around 20 minutes after you seal the deal and send your hotel's address to the two brothers, you hear footsteps approaching where you were sat at the court bench.

and then there they were–casually in t-shirts and shorts they were probably about to wear to bed–in front of you. you hear the clink of bottles as atsumu drops the duffel on his shoulder onto the court.

"be more careful with that, would'ya 'tsumu?" osamu hisses while landing a quick blow to the side of atsumu's arm.

you already find yourself giggling in their presence again and barely a minute has passed by. but what can you say? both on and off the court, the two were so interesting for you to watch.

after atsumu does in fact fail to open some more bottles with his racket and osamu instead opts to use the cap of one bottle to open two others, the three of you then start rallying in a friendly 2-v-1.

with the twins opposite you across the net, tennis balls start to get lazily passed over the net using one-handed forehands and backhands (you each had an occupied hand holding your drinks, after all). though you three aren't giving it your all, a steady and precise rhythm of clicks still start to ring out like a metronome with each pass of the ball, accompanying the catch-up conversation that you share on the court.

a few rallies in–and a drink or two more–atsumu suddenly poses a question mid-rally that catches you off-guard.

"hey, say if you had to date one of us, which one you would pick?" the blonde shouts across the court, almost causing you to miss your return on the ball. you question if this was atsumu, or the alcohol talking.

click!

skeptical, you shout back, "i'd go out with whoever actually liked me, obviously."

click!

"but what if we both did?" you barely catch osamu add on, as his words are more mumbled and almost slurred before you see him hurriedly take another swig from his bottle.

you can hear the joint-confession in his words, and your other hand goes to give you another sip from your own bottle to calm your nerves.

click!

"is it normal for you both like the same girl?" you tease.

click!

"nah, not really, actually," osamu calls back.

"so what, should i feel honored or something?" you can't help but sarcastically throw at the two.

click!

"of course. you're hot and talented," atsumu reasons, dropping his description of you like it's the most normal thing to say in that moment. you feel your face start to heat up–and it definitely wasn't the alcohol making its way through your system.

click!

"oh, is that all i am?" you feign offense, and for once both brothers mistakenly go to return the ball, when they usually are so coordinated only one ever has to take initiative. you loved messing around with them.

the ball falls between their two outstretched rackets, and atsumu curses under his breath as osamu goes after it as it starts bouncing away. after retrieving it, he tosses it to atsumu to serve it over and start up another rally.

click!

"'s not that," says osamu, "we've both gotten to know ya, you're great all-'round."

click! click! click...

"but based on what you've gotten to know 'bout us," atsumu speaks up in the pause of conversation, "who would'ya pick?"

click... click... click–

you suddenly give it your all and crash the ball hard onto their side of the court, downing the rest of your bottle right after, "let me think that over."

،   そ   ✧   の後    🌱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗻 ...

the three of you had stopped rallying, opting to hanging out on the bench and just talking about life. the few bottles from the miyas' duffel were about halfway through and it was close to about 2 in the morning now.

the sound of tennis balls and rackets making contact was now replaced with hushed giggles, the sound of tennis balls lightly being dropped against the court surface and being caught again once they inevitably bounce back up, and the whirr of rackets being twirled by absent-minded hands.

all these sounds muddle together in your ears, an internal tell-tale signal to you that you were very tipsy.

since you were asked the question, the notion of getting with either of the miya twins has been floating in your mind. other thoughts came along with it, too, and the alcohol was not helping to push those curiosities of yours away.

as always, these two made it so easy to cave into your wants of selfish self-satisfaction. but this was a much-welcomed respite from the otherwise constant pressures and grueling day-to-day of going pro so young on the tennis court.

that you could be sure of, sober or not.

... so you figured your future and more sober self in the morning can't get that upset for what you were about to try.

"i think i know how i can figure out an answer to your question from earlier," you find yourself humming while atsumu was on your right, attempting a racket trick on the bench, and osamu was to your left, on the ground leaning up against the bench and bouncing a ball between the court and the palm of his hand.

"which one?" atsumu questions with a quick glance over to you as he tried balancing the middle of his racket on one finger.

"who i'd go out with," you nonchalantly shrug as you hear the wires of your racket slice through the air when you quickly spin it in your grasp.

"really?" osamu cranes his neck back to look at you, hand still trading contact with the ball between his hand and the court.

you look between them, the blush from the alcohol clearly visible on their faces–one you can certainly feel is shared on your own facial features, too–before looking back down at your racket, "i dunno, i just think i need more... stats to compare."

"what d'ya mean?" atsumu now puts down his racket in his lap and asks. you bend down and use your racket to slice the tennis ball out from under osamu's palm, directing attention to the racket by tapping it against the ground.

you ask osamu, "heads or tails?"

a beat of expectant silence passes by the three of you, as the brothers wonder what you're getting at.

"...tails," osamu finally replies, and it almost sounds like he utters his words on bated breath as he looks at you. (or maybe that was just your ego getting to your head.)

you twirl your racket one more time and let it clatter to the ground. the sound reverberates in the now completely-silent space, as the miyas are frozen in place as they scan your every move.

heads.

you look at atsumu, and mustering up all the confidence from your inebriated system, you reach your hand up to lightly hold his jawline. his skin under your fingertips runs soft as you dare to start leaning in closer, and closer, and at the moment your lips brush the slightest bit, you feel his breath hitch.

for a second, you reconsider if now was the time to settle into desire, if this may all just wind up being a big mistake–

but then atsumu quickly gets fed up, and he finally closes the gap between you. before you know it, your eyes flutter closed as you get lost in how his mouth feels on yours. his kiss is relentless, leaving no room for you to catch your breath as he constantly makes sure you can feel as much of him against your lips as you can. it's like he doesn't want you thinking about anything but him, not on his watch.

yeah, this is definitely not a mistake.

after a few moments, you hear shuffling and the bench creaks under a new weight on your left, and suddenly you feel a hand on your left thigh–osamu's, no doubt.

you carefully pull back from you and atsumu's kiss, catching how atsumu's eyes remain lidded as his body involuntarily tries chasing after you, both of you letting out soft pants to try and breathe in much-needed air.

you turn your head to face osamu, and you follow how his eyes trace over your face and his teeth subtly gnaws at the inside of his bottom lip in an anxious state of anticipation. you take it as your sign to start leaning in towards him–your fingers still lingering on atsumu's face as you do so.

osamu's kiss is much softer, but deliberate nonetheless. he isn't afraid of pulling back a little bit, but it isn't long before he takes the initiative to gently trap your bottom lip between his teeth now and then, forcing content sighs out of you–this in itself almost eggs him on further to toy with you more.

and then the skin under your right hand's finger tips disappears, a pair of lips start to kisses your jaw, and a pair of hands starting to wander along the right side of your body.

now both miyas are all over you, their possessive hands almost competing in grasping at more of you than the other. that, combined with the feeling of lips on yours at the same time as lips trailing along the side of your neck, made your head buzz.

you felt giddy–you've only ever seen them playing on the same side of the court. but right now, they were opponents, but instead of fighting over some glass trophy or medal, they were trying to win your attention.

finally needing air, you pull away from osamu. when you open your eyes to see his face, his lips are swollen and even in the dark of night you can catch a glimpse of his pupils appear blown out.

those same eyes flick over to glance at his brother on your right, and before you can follow his gaze, osamu's going in for the left side of your neck.

in the dark you can feel every touch–two varying paces of lips working against your skin, bleached and dyed hair brushing along the underside of your jaw. there's hands on your thighs, hands on your waist, hands peeking just under the hem of your shirt, hands threading through their blonde and grey hair–

your phone starts to ring.

"oh shit–" you quickly stand up from between them, stumbling a little from the imbalance that comes with your current tipsy state. you feel around for your phone on the ground and by the time you locate it among the mess of duffels and rackets and empty bottles, you see a missed call and texts from a member of your team. they're wondering where you were, and telling you to wrap up and head to bed if you haven't already.

"s-sorry," you stutter out at the two boys, picking up your racket from where you left it on the ground and fumbling with the strap of your duffel, "i gotta go–thanks for... the drinks."

and all osamu and atsumu can do is dumbly nod as you leave them at the bench–lips slightly parted and hair messes, with star-stuck looks from them that you've grown quite accustomed to.

🗒⋆ *. ୨୧⋆｡ taglist (2/30 at the time of publishing) : @zumicho , @liillyliilly (just send me an ask if you’re interested! xx)

[connormccafferyhater]

y’all hear me out…you saw how her fans reacted when caitlin just LIKED taylor’s post? imagine if she CAME OUT.

[girliism]

“@. compress1repress says Why were you doing missionary on the court in 2006? Well as you can see we’re just not big on doggy” lmao

Fire and Ice read Thirst Tweets! ib: all the thirst tweet videos buzzfeed makes art donaldson x patrick zweig x tashi duncan :)

big shoutout to the lovely @diyasgarden for editing the thumbnail and making my idea come to life <3

cw: nsfw (18+), no smut but suggestive content

The bright lights of the studio were something Art had become accustomed to over the years. Many interviews and photoshoots later. But for Patrick this was all new. He wasn’t sure why so many people had gained interest in him after the challenger, but he wasn’t complaining about it. Now that Tashi was coaching him, and he and Art were playing doubles again, it definitely added to that garnered interest.

Today they’d be doing an interview together but it was completely unlike anything Art has ever done before.

“Hello! I’m Art Donaldson”

“And I’m Patrick Zweig”

“And we’re here with Buzzfeed to read your thirst tweets” Art finished.

When the Donaldson’s publicist had presented this opportunity originally, Art was confused . Who would be thirsting over two 30 something tennis players? To which Patrick responded, “We’re hot Art. Let’s just give the people what they want.” Tashi okayed it as long as they were on their best behavior, and with the stipulation that she gets to go over the final edit. Throuple rumors were at an all time high and while they weren’t necessarily incorrect, Tashi needed these rumors to die.

“I’m actually excited for this,” Patrick says leaning forward in his chair. Shuffling the cards with twitter screenshots in his hand.

Art shrugs, looking at the stack of cards in his hand, “I’m nervous? Why am I nervous?”

A producer off screen calls out, “Which one’s fire and which one’s ice?”

Art starts, “I-“

Only for Patrick to cut him off, “What do you think?” He smirks.

Cut.

Patrick reads his first card.

“@tennisluv3r says I need to climb Patrick Zweig like a tree. That was a pretty tame one, I don’t think that’s the first time I’ve heard that one,” he chuckles.

Art reads his first card.

“@cinephile750 says Thinking about Art Donaldson backshots once again. Oh that picked up very quickly. I can’t tell if that means they want me to do that to them or they want to do that to me?”

“Probably both,” Patrick chimes in.

Cut.

“ @itoldyatshirt says Patrick Zweig is the kind of guy who would eat your food and your ass. That is bold accusation.” Patrick says, not being able to help the smile spreading across his face.

“But they’re right,” Arts adds nodding. Only for Patrick to start cracking up. That’s when Art realizes how that sounded, “About the food part!!!! About the food not the, yeah you get it.” Art sighs, faint blush dusting his cheeks. They were right about both parts.

Cut.

“@atpalltheway530 says Art is soooo fine, i need him BAD. Thank you but I think need is a strong word. There are so many other things you actually need like food and water.”

Patrick shoots Art an amused look, “Don’t invalidate their feelings man. Not cool.”

Art scoffs, “Whatever man.”

“@artstennisracket says I want my man to look at me the way Patrick looks at Art’s ass when they’re playing doubles,” Patrick laughs because it’s not not wrong. But he was under specific instructions from Tashi to not add fuel to the throuple rumours that were circulating. “That was a good one, I’ll give you that.” What else was he supposed to say?

Art shakes his head playfully, “So that’s what you’re doing back there? Instead returning serves like you’re supposed to?”

Patrick shrugs, “I’m only human.” He’ll deal with Tashi’s disappointment later, he was having fun.

Cut.

Art’s face contorts when he looks at the card, “Oh I can’t read this.”

Patrick shoves him playfully, “You have to, that's the challenge.”

Art looks over at Patrick, “There’s no challenge we’re just reading—“

“Just read it.”

Art sighs asking off camera, “Are we allowed to curse?” He gets a thumbs up from the producer who says, “We’ll bleep it out later.”

He takes in a breath, “@atptruther says I want Art Donaldson to fuck me with a tennis racket until I cum all over it and then he makes me clean it up… I don’t even know what to say to that.” He looks down at his hand, mimicking his grip on a tennis racket to remember the width, “I feel like that’s not even anatomically possible.”

Patrick wants to say That makes two of us, but that would mean certain death from Tashi. So he opts for the safer option, “Anything’s possible if you believe.”

Cut.

“@tacobacoyeet says Need to lick the sweat off Patrick’s abs post match, can I be his designated sweat licker? Is that a thing? While I am extremely flattered I don’t think that’s a thing,” He chuckles before signing to the camera and mouthing Call me.

Art laughs as he can’t even begin to comprehend the logistics behind any of these tweets but the next one is so astronomically long he has to ask, “You want me to read this whole thing?”

The producer replies, “As much as you want but reading most of it would be appreciated.”

He clears his throat before he starts,” @sceletaflores says no lube, no protection, all night, all day, from the kitchen floor, to the toilet seat, from the dining room table, to the bedroom, from the bathroom sink, to the shower, from the front porch, to the balcony, vertically horizontally, quadratic, exponent, algorithmic, while I gasp for air, scream and see the light, missionary, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, doggy, backwards, forward, sideways, upside down, on the floor, in the bed, on the couch, on a chair, being carried against the wall— Okay I think I’m done. I have no response I don’t even know what half those math words mean.”

Patrick grabs the card from Art to read the rest, “Wow they were not playing around. I’m sorry I can’t stop laughing. So much effort went into this Art you should be appreciative to,” He glances at the card again, “Sceletaflores. C’mon tell them.” He says gesturing to the camera.

Art sighs side eyeing Patrick before he looks back to the camera to say, “Thank you @sceletaflores. I appreciate the effort you put into typing that out.”

Cut.

“@Anon5376 says All three of my holes are for the use of Patrick Zweig and Patrick Zweig only. I would let him use me everyday of the week and twice on days that end in Y. He definitely seems like the kinda guy who presses on your lower stomach while hes in you just to feel how deep he is ,” He hangs his head for a second to hide how much he’s smiling. It’s just funny because well, it’s true he does do that.

The faint blush on Art’s cheeks isn’t helping but it’s not Art’s fault. The sex flashbacks are running through his brain now. So Art laughs and hopes people assume that’s why his face is flushing. From all the laughter.

Patrick looks up at the camera forcing himself not to look at Art, “Wow I love the enthusiasm in that one.”

“People really tweet these? Like on the internet? For anyone to see?,” Art says.

Cut.

The producer starts, “Since everyone knows you two dormed together for 6 years at boarding school, we have a few tweets relating to the both of you so you guys can alternate reading them.”

Art and Patrick have a new stack of cards in their hands. So Patrick goes first, “ @artdonaldsonbabygirl says someone needs to invent time travel so I can give Art head while Patrick fucks me in their dorm room asap. I swear some of you guys are psychic. How’d you know?” Patrick laughs.

Art smacks Patrick’s shoulder with the cards he has, “Stop. We never did anything like that ever,” He turns to look at the camera, “He’s joking.”

Patrick nods smirking but holding up his hands in defense, “I’m joking, I’m joking.”

Cut.

Art goes next, “ @artdonaldsonbabygirl, wow two for one, says best believe if I went to that academy I'd have left a teen mum and wouldn't know which was the baby daddy. Okay well,” Art laughs this time. “Okay this was funny, but everyone should be practicing safe sex. And regardless we had no time for shenanigans at the academy. It was just school and tennis.”

“Who even calls sex shenanigans? What are you 80 years old?” Patrick snickers before he continues, “Yeah maybe you didn’t have enough time Mr. Goodie Two shoes, but I had more than enough time,” Patrick winks at the camera.

“And that’s why your grades were the way they were.” Art jokes.

Cut.

“Okay gotta save the best one for last,” Patrick says holding up the last tweet. This one had a picture attached to it.

“Oh my gosh, how did you guys even get this picture?” Patrick bursts out laughing, “I completely forgot about this specific moment. Even though, this was one of the best days of my life.”

Confusion leaves Art’s face as Patrick turns the card so Art can also see the picture. “Wait yeah how did you guys find this? I don’t remember anyone taking a picture,” Art asks chuckling.

“@compress1repress says Why were you doing missionary on the court in 2006? Well as you can see we’re just not big on doggy.”

If Art had water in his mouth, he would’ve spit it out, “Patrick!”

Patrick is itching to make a comment about how they actually did both this morning, missionary with Art and doggy with Tashi, but he refrains.

Cut.

“Thank you so much for having us Buzzfeed. This was really fun. You guys are so incredibly creative, we love it. Right Ice?”

“No this was actually very fun, I’m glad we agreed to do it. And you guys are amazing. We love you all. And I’m not calling you fire.”

Cut.

taglist: @artdonaldsonbabygirl @tacobacoyeet @newrochellechallenger2019 @antxnxlla

[wardingshout]

going through a post Grand Fest recovery period... please take me back;;;;,,,,,,,,