Challengers X Reader - Blog Posts

good luck, babe!

and when you think about me, all of those years ago you're standing face to face with "i told you so." - good luck, babe!, chappell roan

part 2 of black beauty

(↑ i recommend reading that one first)

pairing: tashi duncan x reader

in which: it's been twelve years since you kissed tashi on that beach— what are the odds that you'd see her again at the lobby of the ritz-carlton? she's married now. you shouldn't care. but the way she looks at you says maybe she does.

warnings: a few uses of y/n. lesbian hurt, no comfort. sad ending. tashi is married to art.

note: due to popular demand, here it is :) (i don't know if i'll continue this)

twelve years.

it’s been twelve years.

you wish you’d done things differently, you wish you stayed silent, you wish you just listened to her instead of telling her it’d be okay, you wish— you regret a lot of things. you blame yourself.

you miss your best friend.

you watched as she moved out of your shared dorm as you protested and apologized, just to get her to stay. she was petty, in a way. she was impulsive and upset. you don’t blame her.

why would you?

you couldn’t— you can’t blame her for anything.

for months, you tried texting her, sending endless useless messages, messages you weren’t sure she’d ever read. until you gave up, determined to move on.

but no one could ever forget tashi duncan.

especially you.

you could never forget tashi duncan.

you graduate stanford with your journalism degree and you take a job as a sports journalist— specializing in tennis. because of course you would.

you tell yourself, it’s normal. it’s natural. it’s obvious.

tennis is what you know. you always hung around tennis players during college. you know the rules, the players, the way the game worked— you knew tennis.

you tell yourself it was a coincidence when your first assignment is some second-tier tournament in florida. art donaldson is there too. you give him an awkward half-wave at the press conference which he sends back reluctantly.

you’re secretly relieved. she’s not there.

you’d hear her name occasionally at the offices, someone someone’s hitting partner.

then you get your next assignment a few weeks later— not like you asked for more coverage, you were just good— sharp observations, clean writing. your editor kept putting your name on stories.

of course you were good at writing about tennis, you spent almost two years of your life staring at her play every day—

soon you’re watching art absolutely destroy some guy at the australia open from the press office. you scribble down notes furiously and make the mistake of glancing at the crowd—

there she is.

arms crossed, her hair tied behind her back, her hand pushes her sunglasses up— the same pair you’d steal off her face. her eyes constantly follow the ball and art.

everything rushes back, how she used to sit like that on the bench, complaining about professors and girls on her team while you tried not to stare at her lips.

when art wins, art yells in triumph and rushes over to her, you snap out of it. you scribble down another note.

the next article you write is: ‘art donaldson wins australian with guide from new tennis coach, tashi duncan.’

you felt sick.

maybe there was a part of you who craved to stay attached to a part of her in some way.

maybe that’s why you didn’t quit.

so you watched as art grew in success.

you watched as tashi go from art donaldson’s coach to coach tashi donaldson.

it was inevitable that you saw them a lot.

fucking tennis journalist.

invited to opens, flown around the world— writing articles about how art donaldson won yet another open.

you could never get away from them. from her.

so your press conference questions were always directed to him, not her. you wanted to be petty too. you knew she was looking at you while you asked art about before game rituals with a smile. a smile you used to give her.

you don’t look at her. you don’t write about her.

and slowly you get used to it.

you get better. you’re a well-known name. you get invited to tournaments, opens, games— you go to press conferences. you board flights—

you convince yourself that you don’t care anymore. you’re not the same girl you were ten or something years ago. you try to forget about tashi donaldson.

you type your articles in the office and during some random conversation with your colleagues that you half listen to—

“donaldson’s pulling out of the finals this tournament, which’s an advantage to rodriguez, you might want to mention that in your predictions article—“

“wait, why?” you find the words coming out before you can stop them.

you’re just a journalist you shouldn’t care— but tashi would never do something like that. she’d never pull art out of a tournament- not when he’s on a winning streak-

“oh, tashi just had the baby— lily, i think? but their publicists don’t want coverage on it yet-“

lily.

your stomach churns.

and it finally— really does hit you.

she’s moved on.

she has a new life.

she has a family. you have deadlines.

AUGUST 2019

your fingers fly over the keyboard—

‘Art Donaldson: Finalist at Phil’s Tire Town New Rochelle Challenger— Will a Challenger Finally Get Him Out of His Losing Streak?’

you tilt your head— what is tashi’s goal here? a challenger? sure, art’s lost his confidence but a challenger?

you scroll through the matchups as you sip your espresso—

no. fucking. way.

ranking 271st national player— patrick fucking zweig.

you want to laugh. not because it’s funny, but because of course— of course you’re stuck watching the past play out in a goddamn place called phil’s tire town.

the last time you saw patrick—

“you’re, like, into girls.”

you can still smell the smoke that blew into your face as your jaw dropped on stanford campus.

you shake off the memory and continue typing your article- because you have a deadline.

6-time Open Winner and Star Player Art Donaldson seems to be winning games at the New Rochelle Challenger just a week before the US Open. Is this Tashi Donaldson’s grand scheme to help Donaldson gain his confidence before the US Open? A known title he’s been trying to win for a while. And what happens when he loses? Is the inevitable end of the Donaldsons’ reign on tennis finally happening?

you sigh, pausing to take a sip.

there’s a presence behind you.

you feel it before you hear it.

a voice sharp as a blade, one that’s stabbed you before—

“he’s not going to lose.”

you freeze

and the words take a second to register- too long.

tashi donaldson.

in the flesh.

your brain stutters, your heart does something it hasn’t done in years. you shake off the initial shock— but it lingers deep inside your veins.

she looks good, of course she does. she always looked good, even when she was wearing your sweatshirt with a messy bun and ranting about doubles practice. but now— she looks untouchable.

a shoulder-level cut, sleek blonde highlights, layered gold necklaces- she looks every bit like ‘legendary couch donaldson,’ the one you’ve written about for years. the one who turned art donaldson from a rank sixty-eight to a five–

and you almost forget how to speak.

then you remember-

you’re a tennis journalist. a professional.

you flash a media-friendly smile, fuck it- be petty.

“ah, coach donaldson, such a surprise to see you here. i had no idea we were staying at the same hotel— i really do love art’s career and was counting on his steady recovery— he really deserves it.”

tashi’s lips press together, if you weren’t looking hard enough, you’d miss it.

art’s career.

not her’s.

“y/n. seriously—“ but she stops herself.

you see the moment she decides it’s not worth it.

that you’re not worth it.

she simply rolls her eyes. like it’s nothing, like you’re nothing.

and for a second you feel sorry for her.

there’s a pause—

a pause long enough for her to scan your face, searching for something

as if she’s wondering if under this ‘sports journalist,’ there’s a 19-year-old girl that once loved her

“i just wanted to say hello to an old college friend.” she says with a smile so tight it looks painful. her head tilts, trying to make it casual.

it’s not.

“i’ve been keeping track of your career, y’know— i always wondered what my best friend was doing in life.”

of course she kept track. she’s tashi duncan- or donaldson- whatever.

“that’s truly an honor, mrs. donaldson—“ you want your words to sting, to finally pierce through her skin.

she laughs lightly— it almost feeling condescending. “no, don’t be— i’m sure you kept up with mine.”

she says it like it’s obvious. it’s worse because it’s true.

“tashi!”

mrs. duncan calls out from the elevators in the distance, she’s holding the hand of her granddaughter, lily, you assume.

“well, nice chat. i have to go,” tashi smiles thinly. “i’ll see you around.”

and just like that she’s gone.

you take another sip of your coffee

you are fucked.

this prediction article is due in four hours.

and the words started blurring after your last sentence, which you wrote three hours ago. right before you saw her.

fuck it.

it’s not going to work, you need to clear your head— you need—

you need a drink.

and maybe it’s the special ‘new rochelle challenger related guests’ fucking discount but one drink turn to two. then to another. and another—

and you see her.

tashi.

wrapped in some cardigan, asking the receptionist for something that’s a part of her husband’s routine tomorrow before the game—

and your brain no longer controls you legs and you’re in her face.

“heyyyy, tash,” you laugh like she just said the funniest thing in the entire world—

“y/n.” her eyebrow’s raised. you probably reek of alcohol.

“mrs. donaldson- we can escort this… hm.. person away-“ the receptionist starts.

“no, it’s— it’s fine.” tashi sighs. “if you don’t have what i’m looking for, it’s fine— um- we’ll just use a substitute. thank you.” she turns to look at you again.

she scans you, half-exasperated, half-something else. you wobble on your feet with a grin.

“jesus, y/n, how much did you drink?”

“just enough to stop thinking about you.”

her eyebrows furrow and she looks like she might just walk away. but she doesn’t. she just takes one good look at you and—

she grabs your arm. “c’mon,” she mutters. “what’s your room number?”

“why? you wanna hook up with me?” you laugh again.

the receptionist looks between you and her with a concerned expression—

“it’s fine. leave it.” tashi shakes her head as she hoists your arm around her shoulder.

and before you can process, she’s practically carrying you across the lobby. like she knows exactly how to take care of you, whether you like it or not.

she sighs and adjusts her grips when you’re finally in the elevator. “give me your room key.” she squints— “where the fuck is 2755?”

it’s late, she’s tired, you don’t blame her— but your drunk mouth can’t help but giggle, “you’re really bad at this.”

tashi just sighs again, the elevator door slides open. the hallway stretches ahead, but she doesn't leave you down it and pushes you towards the glass door.

"forget it. i need air," she mutters.

you both step onto the hotel terrace, the doors open and the chill winds of the outside air hit your skin—

tashi leans against the balcony and takes a deep breath.

you stare at the soft city glow, the flapping of the tarp hitting against the tennis court in the distance. the alcohol in your system softens into something else.

you open your mouth and let out what's been rotting deep inside you for the last twelve years—

"do you ever think of me?"

the answer comes after a pause.

"no."

liar. tashi donaldson's a fuckin' liar.

you laugh.

clear, bright, bitter.

"pussy. you can't even admit it." you smile widely because it hurts. it really does. you can feel your nails scrape into your palms.

tashi rolls her eyes. “y/n—“ she starts.

then she stops.

"i should go. i need to tuck lily in and..." her eyes shift, "art needs me to give him a review before his match."

you shake your head laughing again. "nevermind. you're never going to admit it."

"what is there to admit?"

"you loved me."

she exhales sharply, "that was literally ten-"

"twelve"

"-twelve years ago." she give you a hard, stony look. "get some sleep, y/n. you probably have a deadline."

and just like that, she's gone. again.

you stare at the glass door that she'll turn back.

but she doesn't.

and night is quiet.

-

tags: @hyuneskkami for the dividers

black beauty

but oh, what can i do? to turn you on or get through to you? oh, what can i do? life is beautiful, but you don't have a clue - black beauty, lana del rey

pairing: stanford post-injury!tashi x roommate!reader

in which: tashi’s world ended the day she wrecked her knee. you remind her that there's more to life than tennis. that it can still be beautiful— but she can't seem to see the color in anything anymore.

warnings: hurt without comfort, just hurt. lesbian yearning. brief mention of patrick x tashi. reader has beef with patrick.

note: and they were roommates…

tashi’s world is tennis.

it always was, and it always would be— until it wasn’t.

you were at the game when it happened. sitting a few rows above art, holding a little ‘duncanator!’ sign with a wide smile. you were at every game. she always won.

you say there, waiting for her to win again—

then her knee twisted at an inhuman angle, a loud, sickening crack echoed through the court. she collapsed to the ground with a scream.

art was on his feet instantly and ran to her side while you stood there. frozen in shock, covering your mouth,

when it finally clicked to you. tashi was already being rolled away on a stretcher.

you spent the night with her and art, rubbing circles into her back when she cried and gave her space, standing in front of the medic’s door with a sinking feeling in your chest.

soon, patrick heads towards the door and you resist the urge to roll your eyes. “don’t. she doesn’t want to see you.”

patrick stops, his eyes narrowing. you know that look, it's the same look he gave tashi before the match. the one she ranted about in the locker room as you helped her get ready. "he's just— he pisses me off. like, patrick's the type of guy who wants a fucking cheerleader. he doesn't want to listen to my advice, complains about how all i do is talk about— tennis-" she rambles as she yanks on her wristbands, "-and plays like shit. what am i supposed to do, not give him advice?" “you deserve more than him,” you’d whispered as you tried not to look too hard at her bare collarbones, you never knew why you were like this. roommates usually watch each other change. it’s completely normal. and platonic.

“i know.” she’d shook her head gently, “trust me, i know.”

you always hated him. you never thought he was good enough for her.

you could be better for her.

patrick's voice drags you back to the present— “my girlfriend’s been injured. i don’t get what your problem is with me, you’re like constantly at my neck.” he leans in towards your ear, “i didn’t know you were the gatekeeper of who gets to check on her. maybe you’re being a good friend or maybe... you just miss the way she used to suck on your throat.”

you scoff as patrick shoves past you into the medic room. you let him go, you know tashi won't want to seem him, anyway.

as expected, the shouting starts quickly. you sigh, leaning your head back against the concrete wall. you wince at the particularly harsh— 'get the fuck out, patrick' from art.

patrick passes you, defeated. you bite back your tongue to keep yourself from saying, "i told you so."

before she leaves for the hospital, you press a kiss against tashi’s forehead. “it’ll go well, trust me.” you murmur against her skin. “you’ll be back, and you’ll demolish those fuckers.”

tashi’s in the hospital for a month.

the room is too quiet without her.

no more godforsaken 5 am warmups, no faint traces of beyoncé drifting from the other room as she gets ready, no smell of her morning coffee, no knock on the door, no murmur of her voice telling you to wake up.

it feels empty.

you miss the way she’d slip into your bed at night. it started when you couldn’t sleep— she’d always help you out with that.

tashi helped you a lot.

when your ex-boyfriend couldn’t get you off, she did. but that’s because she was such a good friend.

you visited her in the hospital, and you can tell she was suffering. badly.

“you’ll be able to play tennis again. everything’s going to be fine, tash.” you mumble as you lay your head on her chest, your thumb idly tracing circles on the back of her hand.

“what if— what if i— can’t? what if it goes wrong?” tashi asks, breathing into your hair.

“even if it did go wrong, and i’m sure it won’t,” you tilt your head up to look at her. “there’s more to life than tennis, y’know?”

she stares at you. like you’ve said something confusing. or horrifying.

another day on campus. without her.

you zone out as you scan the places that used to feel like home.

you used to sit there with her after every practice, eating ice cream. she’d laugh as she wiped away at the excess on your chin. you burned after every touch.

then— a disturbance in the peace.

patrick zweig smoking a cigarette against a tree.

you never noticed how big this place was until tashi wasn’t here to fill it. now, even patrick fucking zweig has room to linger.

you roll your eyes as you walk towards him. “what are you doing here? you don’t even go here.” you pause. “and i’m pretty sure that tashi most definitely broke up with you. didn’t she make that clear when told you to get the fuck out?”

he squints his eyes at you. “i’m here to see art.”

“like fuck you are,” you scoff. “i’m like 99% sure he doesn’t want to see you again.”

patrick glares at you, taking a slow drag of his cigarette. he blows towards your face. “didn’t realize you were fuckin’ campus security. gonna call the cops on me now?”

you sigh. “what are you doing here patrick?”

he shrugs, taking a slow drag of his cigarette. “just killing time before i go back on tour,” a pause, then he smirks, “y’know— the plan was to sleep with my girlfriend and hang out with my best friend for two weeks. but, yeah, that didn’t go as plan.”

“so— you’re here—“

“—hooking up with stanford girls and partying at the frats,” he shrugs. “i’d ask you to hook up with me too, but…” he gives you a lazy once-over, “you’re not really my type and,” he pauses, “you’re like, into girls.”

your whole face flushes up. “what?”

“i mean, i’m totally chill with that- y’know?” he adds, like it’s barely worth mentioning. “be who you are or whatever.”

“i’m not—“

“well, it’s quite obvious that you are.” patrick exhales smoke, raising his eyebrow. “but i mean… sure, whatever.”

your mouth opens then shuts.

it hits you. staring at tashi, wanting tashi— that isn’t… normal, is it?

“i mean, everyone wanted her, i don’t really judge you for it.” he takes another drag, “and, yeah, she gave you hickies, like, that was kind of… weird, i guess.” he snorts

you don’t say anything— can’t say anything.

patrick exhales another cloud of smoke, watching it disappear into the air. he shrugs, “anyway, see you around.” he flicks his cigarette and crushes it under his shoe before wandering away.

you just stand there… staring at the space where he was. but all you can see is her.

you’ve always just wanted her.

when tashi comes back from the hospital, she pretends everything is fine.

she does her morning stretches and runs as usual, though you notice her small winces of pain that spread on her face. she jokes about having ‘battle scars’ but her hands endlessly fidget with the velcro of her knee sleeve.

“you shouldn’t touch it,” you remind her gently. “the doctor said to leave it be while it finishes recovery. it might get better than it is now—“

she glares at you and the words die in your throat.

“might.” she smiles joylessly.

she rips at the velcro anyway.

you sit on the bleachers as tashi and art do rallies.

“stop being a pussy and actually serve,” tashi yells. “actually hit the ball, donaldson.”

you bite your bottom lip gently, teeth worrying at the skin.

“i don’t- i don’t want—“ art stammers.

“you don’t want to hurt me?” tashi raises her eyebrow. “oh fuck off, i’m not doing this.”

“wait-“ art moves into position to serve. he hits the ball- thwack!

tashi hits back, it goes back and forth a few times, before tashi’s knee gives out under her.

she yelps and falls to the ground. you stand up immediately and art runs towards her. but she puts her hand up- “i’m fine, i’m fine.”

she gets up and screams in frustration, her chest rising and falling with sharp breaths. then— bam, bam, bam—her racket slams against the floor of the court, splintering with every hit until it’s demolished. art just watches, his hands half-raised like he wants to stop her but he doesn’t know how.

the racket clatters to the ground.

“tashi, wait—“ art sighs. but she’s already walking away.

you pace down the stairs and out of the practice court.

she sits under a tree, wiping tears.

“you okay?” you whisper.

she doesn’t say anything in response, you sit beside her, close but not touching. you gently press your hand against her back, rubbing small circles

“it’s okay.” it’s not. it’s clearly not, but you hope telling her that will make it better.

she starts to cry, and you let her, pressing her body into your chest. you play with a few strands of her hair, whispering sweet nothings into her ear.

“hey, hey— hey.” you pull her face into your hands, wiping her cheeks. “stop. there’s more to life than ten—“

“—stop saying that.” she pulls back, wiping at her eyes with a sharp breath.

you shut your mouth, not knowing what to say to make it better. you want to make it better for her, take away her pain. but you had no idea how.

you sigh again. you hesitate, teeth sinking into your lip again before asking, “want… want to go to the beach?”

she looks at you, eyes unreadable.

you think she’s about to refuse, shut you down again, push you away—

then she sighs.

“sure.”

you glance at tashi every once in a while throughout the car ride. she stares out the window, tapping her finger against her knee sleeve, lost in thought.

the ocean slowly comes into view as the sky begins to darken. a soft, muted blue.

“are you going to park now, or are you going to drive in circles?” tashi laughs gently. “just— pull in there, dumbass.”

you grin with an eye roll, doing as you’re told.

you open the door, the scent of sea salt hitting your nose. the waves crash against the shore. you move to tashi’s door, opening it and pulling her out of the car with your hand.

a few strands of her brown hair sway in the air and you share a small smile.

“it might be a bit cold for the beach, but hey. we’re by ourselves?” you brush a few strands behind her ear.

you start walking, hand in hand, and you find a spot on the sands.

"it's really pretty," tashi whispers gently. she leans her head against your chest and you wrap an arm around her waist.

"mhm," you muse but you can't help but look at her. she's prettier than the waves, you rub your thumb in shapes against the back of her hand.

"it's just, hard." tashi tilts her head. "i've played this my whole life, this is like— probably the only thing i'm good at-"

"-no, it's not, you're good at a lot of things-" you protest.

"then it's the only thing i think i'm good at," she sighs. "i mean, i came to stanford because i wanted— i wanted to figure out what else i could be good at-" she scoffs. "and really— all i am good at is hitting a ball with a racket."

your arm around her waist grows tighter. "that's fine— you'll still- you'll still be great. y'know? like- you're always amazing at whatever you do," you say.

"you think so?" tashi doesn't believe you, but she hearing it makes her feel better.

"yeah— we'll- we'll figure it out."

she laughs bitterly. "and what if we don't?"

the words die in your throat again, something that happens more often recently— you just want to help.

you don't know how to answer her, so you don't. you just—

you pull her into a kiss. messy. desperate. hoping, praying that this will make it better. that this will make her pain go away.

but tashi doesn't quite move at all. she tenses the second your lips touch. a sharp intake of breath—

then she pulls away.

“uh—“ she blinks then lets out a nervous laugh. “ok— wh— wow.” tashi looks away from you.

your stomach drops.

the waves keep rolling in.

“i—“

“no-“ she gets up, “no, just— just- forget it.”

you sit in the sand, heart pounding. she walks off towards to shoreline. the wind feels so much colder than before.

you sit there, frozen. maybe you should let her go, stay here, watching the waves pull in and out and drown in your misery.

but your body moves before you can think—

“tashi— tashi- wait—“

she doesn’t stop.

you run a bit more, and face her. grabbing her shoulders.

“i’m sorry- i didn’t— i shouldn’t have—“

she puts her hands on the hands of your shoulders, taking them off of her. she shakes her head. “no— no- i— said- forget it.”

your eyebrows furrow. “please— i-“

"i think you should go."

"tashi—"

"i think you should go"

you bite your tongue so you don't say anything, but you end up blurting out a— "i can drive you back to campus?"

"i'll figure that out myself."

she turns, walking without looking back.

the waves keep rolling in.

the winds howl.

you sniff, a stray tear rolls down your cheek.

you shove your hands into the pockets of your hoodie, but you’re still freezing.

-

part 2: good luck, babe!

tags: @hyuneskkami for the dividers

me & you together song

i've been in love with her for ages and I can't seem to get it right i fell in love with her in stages my whole life - me & you together song, the 1975

pairing: stanford!art x friend!reader, slight patrick x tashi

in which: art’s been in love with you for ages, and he can’t seem to muster the courage to tell you.

warnings: patrick and tashi are dating in this, art being an absolute loser and dork, severe pining

note: i just really like writing friends to lovers okay???

“seriously man?”

patrick snap his fingers in front of art’s face. “i come back from tour, just to visit you and you can’t even look at me because you’re busy— what, busy starin’ at a chick?”

“she’s not just some chick—“ art snaps his attention back to his best friend.

“no, she’s the girl of your dreams—“ the other boy mocks in a dreamy tone. “you’ve been doing this since the tennis academy days. since you saw her on the fuckin’ court when we were twelve.”

“shutup- shutup-“

“no! i will not shut up, donaldson.” patrick rolls his eyes. “you’ve been doing this for forever, and we’re in college now. ask her out, it’s not hard to—“

“shut up— PATRICK.” art says loudly. he clears his throat and he turns his head to you approaching. his cheeks flushing up from the sight of you. “hey.”

“hey.” patrick snorts casually.

“hi.” you smile politely. “um, art. do you know when practice starts today? i lost my schedule.”

“um. yeah- it’s- uh— it’s at- at- two.”

“oh okay, thanks, art.” you smile and wave before turning away and joining your friends at their table.

“it’s— uh— uh— uh— at— at— t-t-two,“ patrick teases with a smirk. art slaps his chest with a scoff.

“whatever man.”

“let me be your wingman!”

“no.” art says stiffly.

“oh come on, why not?” patrick groans as if he’s in physical pain.

“the last time you offered to be my wingman, you told her—“ he looks around and lowers his voice, “—that i have an intense boner.” art hisses, his pale skin turning red at the memory.

“what? was i wrong? no!” patrick cackles then slowly stops as he catches his friend’s glare, “besides, she laughed! she thought it was a joke. girls love a funny guy-“

“she didn’t laugh because it was funny, patrick. she laughed because she was mortified.” art says stiffly.

“whatever you say man.” patrick chuckles to himself, wearing that stupid, condescending grin. “i’m just saying— if you don’t ask her out, you’ll be pining after her until you’re forty-fucking-five.”

art’s mouth shifts in a thin line, because for once, what patrick’s saying is true.

at practice, art rallies the ball back to his hitting partner. his grip’s loose, his footwork’s sloppy, but he’s barely paying attention to that because you’re right there.

you laugh at something one of your friends said, the way your face shifts, perfecting that smile. the way your ponytail blows in the gentle wind, the way—

“donaldson! come on, this is the third time!” his hitting partner yells as the missed ball slams the fence behind him with a thwack.

“fuck— fuck- yeah, i’m sorry.” art says quickly, he snaps back to attention and turns around to pick up the ball. but when he bends over to reach it, another hand is already picking it up for him.

he looks up and his cheeks redden again.

“here.” you smile gently, like an angel— no— no- a goddess, and hands the ball to him.

for a moment, art stares, his mouth agape, speechless. his eyes never leaving your eyes, he freezes in place.

you furrow your eyebrows together in mild confusion and you laugh slightly to break the awkward silence. “art?”

“oh— yeah— yeah, sorry- zoned out.” art says frantically, standing up and taking the ball. as your fingers brush— just for a second—his heart stutters. “th— thanks.”

as he turns to toss the ball back to his partner, the coach yells— “ok, five minute water break! good work.” his partner groans and throws his hands up in the air.

art stares longingly at you from a distance as you tip your bottle back. he wishes he was the bottle. fuck— what is wrong with him?

from the bleachers, patrick catches the look in his friends eyes, and scoffs. he whistles. when art looks, gestures lazily in your direction. he then mimes drinking from an invisible cup. ‘ask her out for drinks,’ he mouths, just for good measure.

art mouths back— ‘how?’

but patrick’s already distracted— his hand finds tashi’s waist as he whispers something in her ear. she scoffs showing him off as he kisses her cheek. some wingman, art thinks to himself with an eye roll.

for once, art musters l the courage to talk to you. he takes a few heavy steps, scrambling for the right words. ‘hi, i’ve been in love with you for the past seven years.’ too strong. ‘how are you?’ too vague.

he decides on a ‘hey. are you free tonight? do you want to go get drinks? i know a good spot.’

yet, as he reaches where you are and has you staring at him expecting him to say something— he squeaks out a “drinks?”

you blink, “drinks?”

“you— do you— you want— do you want drinks?”

you tilt your head with a half smile, “n-no?”

“i mean— fuck, uh.” he clears his throat, twice. “do you— do you want, do you want to go out with drinks with me? tonight? if you’re free- if you- have time.”

“as friends?” you smile slightly as you brush a strand of hair behind your ear.

fuck. fuck. abort mission. his brain screams at him to run, but his feet won’t move. okay, so you want to go as friends? sure— he can do that.

“well, duhhhhh—“ he says, way too loud. “um— yeah— as— um— the bestest friends. yes. from mark rebellato’s tennis academy. friends.”

everyone on the stanford tennis team is staring at him at this point. even patrick lets out an exaggerated sigh from the bleachers.

“…oooookay then, is seven good?” you ask gently

“yup. amazing. so good.” he grins— way too wide with his teeth clenched— and bolts.

he drops down next to tashi and patrick, exhaling like he’s just run a 100 miles. “i did it.” he lets out a breathless laugh, almost in disbelief. “i asked her out.”

patrick snorts. “you call that asking someone out?”

“i mean— technically, yeah?”

“did you actually— or-?” tashi raises her eyebrow.

“our big man did it, tash.” patrick laughs. “he’s going out for drinks with her. as the ‘bestest friends from mark rebellato’s tennis academy,’ of course.”

“shut up,“ art groans, holding his head in his hands.

“no- because, you weren’t even ‘bestest friends’— you were barely friends with her at the academy.” patrick points out. “you barely spoke to her, all you did was pine after her and jerk o—“

art’s cheeks flush up and covers patrick’s mouth, looking around frantically. “OKAY— okay, patrick. we get it.”

tashi sighs, patting her boyfriend’s arm. “just don’t be weird and scare her off.”

patrick grins, “like that’s possible.”

“patrick,” tashi gives him a look. patrick rolls his eyes, then turns to art, squeezing his cheeks.

“fine, good luck. just remember, you can’t fuck up more than you already have,” he pauses, “probably.”

for the past half hour, art’s been gripping on his drink like his life depends on it.

you’ve been going on and on about tennis practice, this girl who borrowed your lip gloss and lost it, and that time you fell on your face during a junior league.

but he’s completely distracted because at the moment, he doesn’t know whether he’s looking at you too much— or not enough. if his outfit says ‘causal friend hangout’ or ‘please love me and run off with me to a cabin where we can live happily for the rest of our lives.’

so he just laughs when you laugh. nod at the right times. says “yeah” when it seems appropriate.

and he prays that you don’t notice how he’s completely freaking out about this.

“art.”

he snaps out of it instantly.

“…mm yeah?” he mumbles like complete, fucking idiot.

“are you even listening to me?” you smirk, laughing slightly.

“of course, i am.” he tries to put on a winning smile but it comes out strained.

you raise your eyebrow, taking a slow sip from your glass. art, desperate to seem composed, mirrors you and drinks from his.

as you set your drink down, you casually mention, “y’know, i used to have the biggest crush on you?”

art chokes.

“what?” he coughs.

“yeah. back at the academy. i really, really liked you,” you laugh.

his heart practically leaps out of his chest and he swears his cheeks are probably heating up and shifting to some shade of pink.

but he plays it cool— or at least, he tries to.

"you said you used to? so- so, not anymore?" he stammers.

"i mean, i could like you, if you like me back," you tease. "but we're here as friends? right?"

he screams internally. fuck him. fuck his idiocy and not being able to ask the girl he loves on a real date. "...right." he looks down at the beer swirling in his cup.

you pause slightly, scanning the expression on his face. "do you like me?"

art raises his head, looking you in the eyes. this is his chance, whoever's up above has given him an opportunity. he cannot fuck this up.

"ye— i mean— pff, no."

fuck.

fuck.

patrick's voice rings in his head, 'just remember, you can’t fuck up more than you already have,' and look what he's done.

why, why would he say that? what is wrong with him? so many questions swarm his head and he has the urge to slap himself.

your eyebrows furrow in mild confusion and you look almost... disappointed? but you shrug anyways, "oh, okay then."

for a moment there is silence, before you clear your throat, "should we get another round of drinks?"

"yeah— sure." art murmurs, nodding slightly.

art donaldson is a fucking loser.

he repeats this in his head as he walks you back to your dorm. he opens his mouth several times to scream out about how much he loves you. about how he needs you. about how he wants to be with you for the rest of his life, despite it being only the first technical date.

but he can't.

he turns his head to look at you, because you're so pretty. and amazing. and perfect. he sighs and looks straight ahead.

he fucked it up.

patrick's right, he'll be pining after you until he's forty-five. actually, no, he'll be pining after you until he dies.

art's convinced he might explode because both of you haven't said a single word. he wants to rip his skin off or get on his knees and cling to you like a toddler.

after another two minutes of silence, he stops walking and bursts.

"i really like you."

he scans your face for a reaction but you stare at him.

"like— i really, really like you. i'm in love with you, i mean— who wouldn't be? you're so amazing— you're good at tennis, you're smart, you're nice, you're gorgeous— fuck- i should really shut up." he rambles, "i've just- i've just liked you since we were fucking twelve because you let me borrow your tennis ball after i hit mine over the fence. i thought you were really thoughtful— i mean, you still are—"

"art." you laugh, grabbing his shoulder.

"no- no- i know what you're going to say- like- we're friends. we're not even friends actually, i don't- i don't talk to you- at all—"

"art."

"-and i don't care if you don't like me back- i just wanted to get this out-"

"art!" you finally yell. you roll your eyes. "i know."

art stops talking.

"i know," you say again with a shrug. you brush a blonde hair out of his face.

art suddenly notices how close you are. "y-you know?"

you smirk, "i'm not an idiot. i have eyes."

is it just him or have you gotten closer? his cheeks are probably red again. like they always are around you.

"huh." his teeth worry into his lip in thought, he tries hard not to stare at your lips but ends up glancing at them.

you giggle softly, catching his glance, “i think you’re cute.”

“cute?” he squeaks.

“yeah, cute,” you grab his face a gently press your lips against his.

a few minutes later, art is running back to his dorm. his steps light and fast, he smiles like an idiot. his heart flutters so fast, he thinks it must be pounding out of his chest. he’s dizzy. he thinks he might faint.

but he stops, pulling his blackberry out of his pocket to type a message with shaky hands.

ART DONALDSON: you will not believe what just happened

he stares at the message with a grin, finger hovering over the send button, then presses it.

PATRICK ZWEIG: ?

PATRICK ZWEIG: dude

PATRICK ZWEIG: dude???

PATRICK ZWEIG: art??

PATRICK ZWEIG: hello?????

art laughs to himself still in disbelief.

ART DONALDSON: i dont even know what to say

ART DONALDSON: but it’s all happening

he leans back against the wall, laughing out loud again. he lets out a breath, grin never fading—

he’s definitely still an idiot, but maybe now— he’s a lucky one.

-

tags: @hyuneskkami for the divider

you’re here, that’s the thing

and i know you said that we’re not a thing but you’re here, that’s the thing - you're here that's the thing, beabadoobee

pairing: teen!patrick zweig x childhood bestfriend!reader

in which: you and patrick have spent summers tangled up with each other. you're in love, he's in denial. and yet— he's here, that's the thing.

warnings: patrick being an idiot

note: patrick and reader are 18-ish. this based off my favorite beabadoobee song, which is very patrick coded (in my opinion). this is my first fic, i hope you like it!!

“so we’re both here, aren’t we?”

you turn around, a stupid grin instantly blossoming on your face at the sight of patrick zweig standing a few steps above you on the staircase.

"you avoiding me or something? you haven't talked to me since you got here." patrick laughs gently.

"no, of course not." you tilt your head slightly, biting back everything you want to say and opting for a smile. you pat the space next to you and he sits down, all in comfortable silence.

whether you’re 10 or 18, you always end up here. with him. an escape from his parents’ suffocating parties and small talk.

patrick sniffs as he lights a cigarette. you scrunch up your nose, “we’re literally indoors, pat.”

patrick scoffs as pillows of smoke escape his mouth. “it’s my house. the window’s open, they won’t care.”

“summer house,” you correct and his eyes fly skyward.

“yeah, yeah. summer house. on the fuckin’, fuckin’— i forget- which island are we on?” patrick snaps his fingers in thought

“santa catalina,” you respond simply, picking at your nails because you don’t think you can look him in the eyes. your insides are already bubbling and he hasn’t even been here two minutes.

“santa fucking whatever-“ patrick snorts, bringing his beer bottle up to his lips and passing it over to you. he doesn’t even ask if you want it or not— he knows you well enough to know that you’ll take a sip.

you wrap your lips around the bottle, and you can taste him. or you think you can. or maybe you just connect everything that reminds you of him to him.

the taste of beer, cigarettes, the subtle hint of his cologne— earthy, citrusy, and unmistakably him

you shut your eyes and swallow down the cold liquid, you try not to gag because you know patrick will make fun of you for it.

“i’ve missed you, y’know?”

you almost spit out your drink, your cheeks burn up and all of a sudden you’re 13 again. “really?”

patrick rolls his eyes again. “yeah, idiot. ‘course i missed you, you’re the only friend i have.”

“you have art?”

“that’s—“ patrick sniffs, “that’s different, you’re like a- a girl.”

“wow, i feel so special,” you can’t help but laugh. “where’s art anyways?”

“he’s staying with his grandmother for the summer this year,” patrick shrugs, taking another long drag of his cigarette. he turns to smirk at you- “why, do you miss him? did you want to see him?”

but you know him enough to know that under all that bravado is stupid, boyish jealousy.

“i’ve missed you too.” you let yourself admit.

he immediately smiles at that. “yeah, you did. you probably dreamed of me every night and fuckin’ cried to thought of me.” he cackles like a maniac, shoving you gently. now it’s your turn to roll your eyes.

you reach for the beer bottle and you brush his hands—warm and calloused— and the touch lingers a bit too long. you pull your hand away as you take another sip, your fingers twitch. it’d be so easy to grab his hand right now. you swallow the drink down with your fantasies as you clear your throat.

“so how’s—“ you begin to say

“fuck, this is so stupid,” he groans. he reaches for your chin and tilts your head.

your eyes meet.

his are a shade of blue and green, like when the sun shines on the ocean. that sort of pretty. comforting. you’d like to swim in them. those eyes flicker to your lips. his thumb brushes over your chin, your insides flutter. and he almost— almost leans in.

“you’re being weird, is this because i kissed you last year?”

yes. yes. it is patrick. you want to scream.

“no, why would— i’m not being weird-“

“you are- you are being so fuckin’ weird-“

“patrick- i’m fine,” you scoff.

“it’s wasn’t supposed to be serious if that’s what you’re so concerned about— we’re not a thing. it was like a drunk thing.”

oh.

a drunk thing. not a thing that happened after years of tension. just a drunk thing. that's all it was to him. you swallow that thought like you could wash it down with the lingering taste of beer in your mouth as your heart throbs in your chest.

but yeah, you and patrick were never a thing. it’s something patrick had made clear several times. but each time was a new stab in the chest.

the kiss was a drunken mistake. it was the last day of summer break, you, art, and patrick around six and a half beers in with some weed in the mix, sitting on the sands of the beach. all drunk out of their minds.

you were talking about something stupid while art laughed. patrick stared at the waves crashing into the rocks before he cupped your cheeks and kissed you.

it was soft. warm. right.

and even though you were both blackout drunk, you remember it so clearly. and so does he— he wouldn't have brought it up otherwise.

art had laughed at the action. "what, is this, like, a thing? you guys a thing now?"

patrick had pulled away at that point, his hand still on your waist, grip tightening with his jaw. "fuck, no. it's not like that."

your family left the zweig’s summer home the next morning.

and you couldn’t bear asking him about it over the phone in fear of ruining seven years of friendship.

so for the next 350 something days, you convinced yourself it was just some summer fling that couldn’t even be considered “a fling.”

you managed to convince yourself that you don’t care. but that doesn’t stop the burning, tingly sensation at your waterline and a tear or two from rolling down your cheek.

his entire face drops, almost comically. “why are you crying? no- don’t cry- what the fuck-“ he panics. he doesn’t know where to put his hands. they cup your cheeks then fall from your cheeks. hold your shoulders, then your hands. it’s almost like patrick’s brain crashed and he was malfunctioning. it would almost be funny if it didn't hurt so much, just because of that stupid look on his face. you almost smile. "hey, no- stop that." he starts to laugh, that stupid laugh you fell in love with, and when notices your glare, he stops.

he chooses to stare at you in silence, reaching over to wipe some of your tears. you push his hands away, it's petty. he sighs. "i dunno what i did wrong, i- i thought you wanted it to be a drunk thing. you didn't— you talk about it after we did it. I mean— girls usually talk about this kind of shit, right? to-"

you look at him through your tears, in a 'are you fucking stupid?' kind of way and he shuts up. through your tears you manage to finally say, "imfuckinginlovewithyou, youstupidfuckingidiot"

patrick's eyebrows furrow in confusion, but not in— 'wow this girl loves me' confusion. no— more in a 'what the fuck did you just say, because i don't understand the words that come out of your mouth when you cry' kind of way. you breathe deeply, calming your shaky vocal chords, and wipe your tears. "i love you, you idiot."

patrick's dumbfounded. he opens his mouth to say something. closes it. opens it again— then closes it for good. he's like a fish. a stupidly handsome fish. then he finally manages an "oh." "oh?" you repeat, then the frustration spills out. "the fuck you mean 'oh'? i just said something that could change the trajectory of our friendship—" without warning, he kisses you. grabbing onto the back of your neck and shutting you up.

your hand drops and you grab onto his shirt. your mouth moves with his, and it's so... right. he tastes like the smoke of his cigarette, he tastes like the beer— he tastes like patrick.

when you pull apart and just stare at him, he laughs. fucking laughs. like an idiot. you roll your eyes. "i like you too." he smirks slightly, pushing a hand through his curls and sighing.

"i just told you i love you, and you're saying you like me?" you tease with a smile. "wow, patrick. i'm hurt." he cups your cheeks again, inching closer. "please don't start crying again."

he brushes his thumb over your bottom lip.

"i love you too." — tags: @hyuneskkami for the divider

TRIBBING WITH FTM!ART ‼️‼️‼️‼️

summary: art is a bit shy about telling his girlfriend what he really wants; but once he does, he doesn't regret it. he knows his girlfriend will always take care of him and what he needs.

pairing: ftm!art donaldson x afab!girlfriend.

cw: +18. mdni. 1.1k words. praise. tribbing (vulva against vulva). messy kissing. submissive art donaldson. kind of dirty talking (soft).

taglist .ᐟ @blastzachilles, @lvve-talks, @jordiemeow, @strfallz, @222col, @soulxinxthexsky, @diyasgarden, @jinxedbambi, @lexiiscorect, @religionlost, @bluestrd, @jclolz22, @magicalmiserybore, @destinedtobegigi, @fwaist, @idyllicdaydreams (to be added)

The air was thick with summer heat, even with the window cracked open. Somewhere outside, a cicada buzzed lazily, the sound distant and muffled under the soft hum of the box fan in the corner of the room. The semester at Stanford was over and you had invited your boyfriend for vacation at your family’s house.

Art sat on the edge of your bed, fingers twisted in the hem of his T-shirt, thighs tense where they pressed together. His eyes flicked up to yours—dark, hungry, but nervous too.

“You sure?” you asked gently, stepping between his knees. The bed cracked.

Art nodded, hidden adam’s apple bobbing. “Yeah,” he breathed. “Just… just don’t stop talking. I like when you talk.”

You smiled and leaned down to kiss him—soft at first, your lips brushing his like a whisper. But the moment he leaned into you, you deepened it. His lips parted, eager and open, and your hands found his jaw, thumbs stroking lightly across his cheeks. He tasted like mint and nerves. The kiss was messy from the start, all breath and need and little whimpers that caught in his throat. You loved how easy it was to unravel him with nothing but your mouth.

“You’re already shaking,” you murmured against his lips, your voice low and fond.

Art let out a tiny, desperate sound, hips shifting involuntarily. “I can’t help it. You make me feel—fuck, I don’t even know.”

You pushed his shirt up and over his head in one smooth motion, tossing it aside. His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, a soft flush spreading across his skin. You let your fingertips skim over his scars with reverence, thumbs circling his nipples until he gasped.

“You’re so handsome like this,” you told him. “I love every inch of you. You know that?” Art’s eyes fluttered shut, as though the praise was too much to take. “Say it again.” He almost begged.

You leaned in, nipping gently at his jaw. “I love your body. Love the way you melt under my hands. You’re beautiful, Art.” He let out a shaky breath, hands coming up to grip your waist. His voice was smaller now, breathless. “Please… I want to feel you.”

“You will,” you promised, brushing your nose against his. “Lay back for me.”

He obeyed immediately, scooting up the bed until his head hit the pillow. You followed, straddling his thigh as you kissed him again—this time deeper, wetter, like you needed to taste every sound he made. Your hand slid between his legs, cupping the heat of him through his boxers. Art gasped, hips arching into your touch.

“You’re already soaked,” you murmured, half in awe. “I haven’t even taken these off you yet.” It wasn’t teasing, it wasn’t mocking—just a fact.

“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” he admitted in a whisper. “Thought about you on top of me. Thought about your thighs, your hands, your kisses…” You kissed his throat, then lower—pressing your mouth to every inch of skin you could reach just to hear his beautiful sounds. “You’re gonna get what you want. Just stay still for me, baby.”

He whimpered at that, thighs twitching. You peeled off his boxers with care, and he helped, lifting his hips, baring himself completely to you. The trust in his eyes nearly knocked the breath out of you.

“Look at you,” you said, tracing a line down his stomach to where he was slick and flushed. “So wet for me. So perfect.”

Art keened, covering his face with one arm. “Fuck, stop—you’re gonna make me come just from that.”

You grabbed his wrist and gently pulled it away, making him look at you. “Don’t hide from me,” you said softly. “I want to see every reaction. Every twitch. Every time you fall apart.”

His eyes darkened with arousal, lips parting in a silent moan.

You sat up just enough to strip off your own shirt and underwear, leaving you both bare. His gaze dropped to your thighs, your folds already glistening. His hands gripped your hips as you moved to straddle him, your wet heat pressing against his. You rocked gently, grinding down, and both of you gasped at the friction.

“Fuck,” Art groaned, his head tipping back. “Feels so—God—feels so good.”

You cupped the back of his neck, pulling him into another kiss, open-mouthed and slick. Your tongues slid together, and the sound of it—the soft, wet suck—sent heat spiraling low in your belly.

You rocked again, slower this time, dragging yourself along the length of his wet folds. He was flushed and trembling beneath you, hands tight on your waist, mouth falling open with every drag of your hips.

“That’s it,” you whispered into his mouth. “You feel so good like this. So fucking soft. So easy to love.”

His nails dug into your skin. “Keep talking.” You bit his lip gently. “You’re perfect, Art. You make me want to take my time. Make you come slow. Make you feel everything.”

He moaned—long and deep—and ground up into you, searching for more pressure. You shifted your angle, thighs tightening as your clits met again, slick and swollen, sending sparks through both of you.

“There,” you gasped. “Right there, baby. You like it like that?”

He nodded furiously, words failing him.

You took his face in your hands, kissing him through it. It was messy now—spit-slick, desperate, full of moans. His lips chased yours, like he couldn’t stand to be without the taste of you.

“You’re being so good for me,” you said, rocking harder now, your pace growing erratic. “So responsive. So fucking pretty.”

“Please don’t stop,” he begged. “I’m gonna—fuck—I’m so close—”

“Let me feel it,” you whispered. “Come for me, sweetheart.”

The sound he made then—half whimper, half sob—sent you over the edge with him. His thighs tensed and trembled as he came, grinding up against you, body jerking with every wave of pleasure. You followed seconds later, burying your face in his neck as your own orgasm crashed through you, leaving you breathless and shaking.

You stayed like that for a long time—bodies sticky and tangled, mouths still occasionally brushing in soft, open kisses. His fingers ran up and down your spine in a lazy rhythm, and your hands cradled his jaw as you murmured praise into his skin.

“You did so good for me,” you said. “So perfect. I love how you fall apart. Love how you feel against me.” Art’s cheeks were still flushed, but his smile was soft now. “You make me feel like I’m perfect.”

“You are,” you said, pressing a kiss to his temple. “You always are.”

hey y'all. i know ive been gone for a while and i think y'all are owed an explanation. recently, ive felt very very alone and depressed, and ive been/am extremely overwhelmed with everything i have planned for myself. i have had 2 mental breakdowns in the past 2 days, and i am exhausted. the best thing i can do for myself is take the weight of writing on here off of my shoulders. i love this community with all my heart and soul and im so grateful for all the love and support. i won't be deactivating my account, so all my work will continue to be here, and ill still be active in the way of liking posts and reposting occasionally. i really wish i didn't have to do this, and i hope y'all aren't mad. thank you for everything <3

thinking about overstimulating art 🤑

ME ALWAYS...

i just know he gets overstimulated so quick :( it only takes a couple flicks of your wrist on his cock for him to start trying to wiggle away, he's a freak though, so he never really tries his hardest.. he starts drooling precum.. slowly bubbling out of his cherry red tip.. and if you focus hard enough you can see the twin veins on either side of his dick pulsing with need.. if you speed up your hand art will try to grab it and slow you down, but his body is twitching so much that he can't keep a good grip on you :( he has such pretty cries you almost stop.. but you push on, speeding up until art absolutely breaks.. cumming all over his own chest, some even reaching his face.. and art is happy to suck the rest off your fingers <3

art x volleyball reader!!!!! you need to do a second part to this it’s so so cute!! yearning art will always be my fav 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

after the two of you finally couple up, art follows you around like a puppy, more present at your practices than he is at his own! it gets a little problematic, with you having to convince him to attend his own practices with the promise of weekly sleepovers at your dorm. art becomes a constant presence at your games, making silly signs and cheering the loudest out of anyone. he even helps you practice, trying his best to return serves to you even though he misses terribly 70% of the time. sometimes it's hard being in a relationship where the both of you are busy with school and sports, but to art, it only brings the both of you closer. talking about sports and supporting each other during playoff seasons. the both of you are together whenever time permits it, even convincing your roommate to let art stay over most nights. you have fun going to the gym together, stretching, and massaging each others muscles (which most of the time turns into something else.. ;)) nothing compares to the feeling of jumping into arts arms after a win, having him twirl you around and exclaim how proud he is of you. and for art, theres nothing better than you wrapping your arms tightly around him after a win, kissing his cheek and telling him that you knew he'd win <3

valentines day with art donaldson 💝

no one is more obsessed with challengers than letterboxd 😭

hi y'all, im sorry that ive been m.i.a recently, as you may know, i do live in america, and as a jewish-mexican daughter of an immigrant, these past few days have been really hard for me. additionally ive just had a lot on my plate as far as extracurriculars, so i haven't had much time to write, please forgive me. ill work on answering small asks and after this weekend ill start working on a longer fic for y'all. again, thank y'all for sticking around <3

ngh jerking off art between your legs.. his back leaning up against your chest.. forcing his legs to stay open with your own.. he's so insecure..aybe he lost a match, or he's just having a bad day, but he comes to you for comfort as always, and there's no better way to shut his brain off than wrapping your fingers around his cock.. whispering things like, "you're so good baby.. you're all good like this.." and "oh artie.. you're so smart 'n so talented.." and he creams so fast, shuddering and arching his back trying to get away and lean into the overwhelming feeling at the same time.. and he squirts out so much.. some of it even reaching his own shoulders, and he immediately falls into a peaceful sleep, happily skin to skin with you <3

tik tok is back and i bought the jellycat tennis ball keychain.. life is good ❤

tiktok just got banned.. where will i watch my horny art donsldson edits now...

i love the idea of sucking on arts nipples, like we’re ridding him and just lean down and start sucking as he’s whinny and bucking into us UGHHH

NGHHH you get it...

i feel like arts nipples are SOOO sensitive, but he didn't even know about it until he met you.. like a lot of things, you got him to explore what he liked and wasn't brave enough to try it on his own <3

his head is already in the clouds when you're riding him, the weight of you on his lap feeling both overstimulating and comforting at the same time.. at first you slowly lean down and lick at them softly, causing arts hips to buck up into you, and he almost screams when you scrape your teeth against his nipples, shivering and shaking which both pleasure and pain, a mix that quickly causes him to squirt his cum deep into you.. <3

you pull off of him gently with one last swipe at his nipples and art completely melts into the sheets below him <3

hey y'all!!! sadly i have to announce that the "loverboy" fic with art is gonna have to be postponed, im currently studying for a healthcare competition and preparing music for a solo/ensemble competition and i just don't have any time to work on it this week 💔 i do have some more simple asks in my inbox so ill definitely get to those, but sadly no long fic until my life calms down a bit <3 thank y'all for understanding

you showed up after work, im bathin' your body/touch you in places only i know

art wipes the sweat from his brow, satisfied with temperature currently in the sauna. he flexes his shoulders, muscles relaxing with the heat. art quickly feels himself getting a little too warm, wrapping his towel loosely around his waist and stepping out of the sauna with a sigh of relief. art runs his fingers through his hair, pulling the wet strands away from his face. he sits down on the bench next to his locker mustering his energy to go shower and rinse the sweat off of his body. he flinches slightly when a hand is placed on his shoulder, relaxing when he looks up and sees your face. "how'd you get in here?" art questions you, not mad that you're here. "just pretended i was going to the women's locker.. you told me you would be the only one here today so i thought id come surprise you.." you lean down, kissing the heated skin of his shoulder, admiring the freckles that are scattered over his back. art stands up, dropping his towel on the ground and holding out his hand to you, "come shower with me?"

you're wet and you're warm just like our bathwater/can we make love before you go?

you get up and follow him into the shower room, smiling up at him as he turns the faucet on, shivering at the first droplets of cold water before it turns warm. art rests his head on your shoulder, running his hands down your wet skin. "glad you're here.." he mumbles into your skin, slowly starting to rock his hips into the small of your back. "please can i.." art snakes his arm towards your stomach, moving it down to cup your cunt, nimble fingers trying to swirl around your clit. you moan, tipping your head back onto his shoulder behind you. nodding, you help art guide himself into you, whining at the stretch as art grips your hips so tight he may leave bruises in the shape of his hands. he shudders when he presses himself fully into you, balls smushed up against you in a way that makes you moan and back your hips into him. "you're so fuckin' warm.." he groans into you, obviously exhausted after a long day of practice but you can tell this is what he needs, moving his hips quickly and sharply into you. art moves your body for you, almost using you for his own pleasure, but you don't mind, happy to just have him holding you in the warm rinse of the shower.

the way you say my name makes me feel like im that -/but im still unemployed

"art.." you moan his name, almost feeling like it's being punched out of you with the strength of his thrusts, knowing that if someone even peeked into the locker room they would be able to hear what was going on. you try to hold onto him as best you can, with both of you sliding against each other with the water making your skin slick. art gathers himself enough that he's able to rub at your cit again, and the feeling of his fingers, his cock, his body lean and strong behind you and the water.. it's almost too much. it’s so much stimulation that you find yourself unable to stop your orgasm from crashing over the edge and art is right behind you, pumping ropes of his cum into you and fucking it back in even after he’s got nothing left to give. he doesn’t stop until there’s a creamy ring at the base of his cock and it’s leaking out all over the inside of your thighs, quickly getting washed into the drain. you look behind you and art is almost pouting, sad that evidence of all his hard work went, literally, down the drain. you lean up to kiss him softly, smiling against his lips. "cmon art, ill make it up to you" art matches your smile as you lower your knees to the tiled floor of the shower <3

NEED THAT LOVERBOY FIC NOWWWW‼️

it will be out sometime next week!! sadly im very very busy but it'll be super cute for y'all <3

cooking smth up for you guys..

imagine you and art studying together, and he was too distracted with his games to actually do the homework so he teases you and acts all innocent when he’s really trying to get those homework awnsers out of you…

(sorry i’m not best at explaining i hope this made sense)

YUPPPPP

since he earned a scholarship from playing tennis, it's hard for art to focus on academics, when it's not really what he's in school for!

he tries hard in the first semester of his freshman year.. but then he kind of gives up and coasts on his successful career as a college tennis player. finally his coach makes him get a tutor; you.

art needs the most help in math, because he has such a hard time paying attention. the first time you meet, he seems like the classic jock, not pressured like anyone else to actually try hard at school. for the first few tutoring sessions art just sits there on his phone, humming in response whenever you answer a problem on his homework, or teasing you about being such a "nerd". you roll your eyes, pretty much fed up with doing his homework every day while he just sits and plays stupid games on his phone. you decide to finally say something.

"you know i don't have to do this for you, right? it's frustrating when im literally doing your work for you and you never even do as much as say thank you." art looks up from his phone, initially having a look of surprise on his face, but quickly covering it up with a pout. "im really, really sorry.. its just.. ive been so tired after tennis, and i have so much practice that i barely sleep.." he almost has a whine in his voice, "im really sorry.. it's just.. i don't even think i can do all the stuff that you do, you're so smart.." he looks up at you with those baby blue eyes and you can't help but feel sorry for him. "art.. you're smart, for real. if you just applied yourself to the work you'd be as good as i am in no time.." he nods slowly, putting down his phone. "i guess you're right.. let me make it up to you though, can i buy you dinner or something?" art looks at you earnestly, eyes searching yours for any hints of you giving in. you sigh, "okay.. sure, only if you promise to actually do your work once and a while." art nods happily and crosses his fingers behind his back, "oh of course i will"

you both get up and leave, art satisfied that you're now under his little spell <3

was any1 gonna release a subspace! art bot.. ive been yearning for it but now i can't remember who it was 😭😭

This with art donaldson. Imagine his voice cracking when you do a particularly deep bounce GOD

ugh yessssssss

this but making him watch his filmed tournaments.. making him narrate his plays and moves while he's whining and moaning.. giving him a deep bounce when he scores.. but stopping when he allows his opponent to score.. it makes him stumble through his words cuz he's sooooo embarrassed and he cums so so quick <3

Imagine being secret fwb with Patrick UGH you wouldn’t be able to keep your hands off each otherrrrrrrrrrrr

omg i loveeeee this sm...

no one knows about the two of you.. surprisingly patrick is able to keep it a secret, even from art. it's definitely a situation of convenience for him.. you fuck like rabbits when he comes back from tour to visit art.. and he never texts you while he's away (except for an occasional picture of him in the shower after a game).

i feel like one time he didn't tell you he'd be visiting art, and you see him at a crowded frat party from across the room.. you head into the kitchen to grab another drink to fill your red solo cup, and when you turn around you're face to face with him.. you make small talk because your friends are watching, wondering what you're doing with a guy who obviously doesn't go to stanford. he walks away.. but a moment later you get a text from him saying "meet me upstairs ;)"

you two are on each other immediately, patrick skillfully unhooking your bra and you slipping his jeans down his legs.. you're lucky the party downstairs is so loud, or else everyone would be able to hear the sound on the headboard banging against the wall.. "best pussy i ever fuckin' had.." he groans lowly against you. you almost wish he wasn't being responsible when he cums inside of the condom, only a thin latex shield stopping you from feeling just how much he missed you..

you both stumble downstairs afterwards, staggering your exits so no one could realize the two of you were upstairs together.. you don't see him at the party after that, but when you get home and get in bed, your phone dings with a notification from patrick..

"thanks for being such a great friend" <3

NEED more p links PLEEEAASEEE 🙏🙏🙏

challengers p links: part 3 (18+ under the cut)

the type of videos art sends you while he's away at tournaments <3

art donaldson:

patrick zweig:

art gets so stressed out.. so you help him relax <3

he looks so pretty when he sleeps <3

art loves getting overstimulated <3

leaving kiss marks all over his pretty dick <3

amazon position is arts favorite <3

he's obsessed with how soft you are <3

just let him use you after tour <3

he feels bad for being gone so long.. let him make it up to you <3

patrick gets so hard from eating you out <3

slow sex late at night <3

a new position with patrick <3

need to have relationship with patrick and art thats centered around ART instead of centered around me (the reader) like ik we're all little horny freaks who want patrick and art to fight over us but.. what about fighting with patrick over art..? just food for thot :)

happy new years!!! (it's 2am) ik i always talk about it but im so so seriously thankful for y'all.. the challengers community has been so welcoming to me even though i started a bit late in the game.. y'all are honestly so nice and thank you to everyone who's ever interacted with my posts!! im so glad y'all like the crazy thoughts in my brain.. many more to come in 2025!!

(p.s.. maybe im misremembering but i feel like a while ago i saw someone post about making a subspace art c.ai bot.. who was that.. is it real.. is it out yet.. all these questions i have)

love y'all sm!!!

day 27: bondage <3

authors note: these next couple days will just be headcanons sadly.. maybe tmi but im currently prepping for a colonoscopy so.. not feeling great and haven't eaten in about 12+ hours 😭

i actually really think that art likes to be tied up, but he has to learn to like it. at first, it made him feel a little panicky because he couldn't move or touch you like he wants to, and it's harder to soothe himself. you have to do it a couple times when you're not having sex in order to get him used to the feeling and learn how to still communicate with you while being tied up <3

once art gets more comfortable, he finds that getting tied up makes his thoughts almost disappear, a stark difference between his usual thoughts that run wild 24/7 <3

art also really enjoys watching you tie him up, the way your fingers skillfully knot the rope and maneuver it into patterns that keep his hands behind his back or his legs spread. he could watch you work on the knots for hours, the way your eyebrows furrow and you bite your lip in concentration only makes his dick harder <3

art gets so much more sensitive when he's tied up as well, even a slight brush of your fingers on his skin will make him shiver, and precum to drool out of him <3

i headcanon that art has really sensitive skin, so you have to buy silk or velvet ropes to make sure he doesn't get rashes :( one of the things art loves most about being tied up is the aftercare he gets, he loves the way you massage and rub lotion over the red marks left by the rope <3

day 25: outside the bedroom (in the shower) <3

you're home late, later than you want to be. art had to make dinner for only himself (when usually he thrives at making dinner for the both of you) and you had to grab a quick meal at the taco place on the way home. you're tired when you walk in the door, dropping your keys on the cabinet next to the door, and placing your coat on the rack. you're surprised when art doesn't come and greet you, he always comes to say hi immediately when you walk through the door after being home alone practically all day. you walk through the house, looking in the kitchen and the living room before moving to the bedroom, starting to get worried when you don't see him.

your worries are stopped however, when you hear the running shower in the bathroom, relief washing over your body. you sigh, sitting on the edge of your bed. you feel bad, you've been home late almost every night this week, and although art says it's okay, you know it's hard on him to not see you for long periods of time. you make a decision, pulling off your clothes and folding them on your bed before walking to the bathroom and pulling open the door.

"it's me!" you yell out to art, trying to make sure he doesn't get scared. art peeks his head out of the shower curtain, preparing to ask why you're home late again but pausing when he sees that you're naked. "oh- h-hi.. d'you wanna come in?" art gets the sentence out, blushing like this is the first time he's ever seen you without clothes on. you giggle and nod, stepping into the shower with him. you're glad the two of you invested in a house with a big shower able to fit the both of you when you stand beside art, letting the water rush over you. art looks down at you, his hair dripping water all over your face. "art..." you groan, wiping water out of your eyes. "s-sorry!" art apologizes softly, turning up the temperature of the water so that you're more comfortable, knowing that as a (retired) athlete he usually takes colder showers than you would choose to.

"im sorry im late again art.. our shitty printer broke again and i had to print out these documents for my boss.." you ramble. art smiles, "it's okay really.. you know ive just been missing you recently.. the only time we spend together nowadays is before bed.." art almost pouts at you, the water rushing over his head making him seem even sadder than he is. arts lanky arms wrap around you, his soft skin a welcome texture against yours. you don't fail to notice his dick poking against your thigh, unable to tell if he's drooling precum against you or the water is just running down your legs (it's both).

before you have a chance to draw attention to it, his lips are on yours. kissing you eagerly as if it's been a million years. arts hands grow braver, sliding down the small of your back to grope at your ass, kneading the flesh between his fingers. you gasp into his mouth, art swallowing your quiet moans. his lips trail down the column of your neck, humming against you, "'m sorry.. just missed you s'much" you smile, "it's okay artie, i missed you too" he sighs, happy to know that he isn't smothering you. sliding your hand down his toned stomach, you wrap your hand around his dick, gripping him tightly. art groans, his hips bucking into your hand, fucking your fist with the tip of his dick while rubbing the rest of it on your thigh that's conveniently placed between his legs.

you see art getting more worked up, his breaths becoming shorter and closer to pants with every thrust of his hips. "d'you wanna get out of here?" you gesture to the shower with your hand that isn't currently occupied. to your surprise, art shakes his head, "n-no.. can we stay in here? you're just so.. warm 'n wet 'n soft.. can we try in here?" your mouth drops open even though you try to stop it, usually art isn't this open to trying new things. "h-how would that work?" you're open to the idea, but you don't want either of you to get hurt. "ill lift you.." your eyes widen, "n-no i promise i can do it.. it's just in the shower, it can't be that different from outside of it" art explains, almost begging you. you sigh, looking at his face and immediately caving. "alright.. alright okay.. but if you drop me..." "i won't" you sigh. "if you drop me.. you'll owe me big time" art nods, just eager to fuck you.

you wrap your arms around his neck, holding tight when he lifts you up from the back of your thighs, helping you to wrap your legs around his waist. art has to lean you up against the wall, causing you to shiver when your back hits the marble wall. "sorry... sorry" art mumbles against you as he pushes inside of you, his head falling forward onto your shoulder. you have no retort when he snaps his hips and enters you fully, almost knocking the wind out of you. you moan, half overwhelmed with pleasure and half scared to death that art will drop you, but that sort of makes it hotter for you. art groans, pretty much using you as a fleshlight as he moves you up and down on his dick using your thighs as leverage. from this position, his dick hits a spot inside of you that makes you squeeze tightly around him.

art notices this, starting to jackrabbit his hips into you so all you can hear are his heavy breaths and whines in your ear, and the wet slapping of his balls against you. both of your moans echo around the shower, getting louder as you both get closer. art uses the last of his strength to push deeply into you, almost looking to make his cum take inside of you. the feeling of everything around and inside of you gets too overwhelming as you cum around him, riding out your orgasm until you realize how tired you really are. you tap art on the shoulder to let him know he can let you down, happy that you can stand up and not slip after the whole ordeal. you smile, leaning your head up to kiss art, who has the cutest blush on the apples of his cheeks. you look towards the bottle of shampoo on the edge of the shower, and back at art. "will you do my hair and ill do yours?" <3

day 24: "be quiet" <3

authors note: this is just kind of a ramble.. just got home from family christmas so im super tired.. (would y'all want to see a haul of christmas/chanukah stuff.. it'll be every day for chanukah stuff if y'all wanna see!!)

thinking about having a fun date night out with college! art.. getting a little drunk off the wine art bought you with his winnings from his last tournament..

you stumble into arts room, almost waking up patrick but he just snores and turns over making you and art giggle. you both fall into the bed, kicking off your pants and shirts. art totally tries his best to be quiet, but your hand is slipping under the covers and jerking him off.

art is trying so hard :( he's biting his lip, trying to quiet his breathing, everything he can, but it's not working. when you swipe a finger over his slit he's done for, moaning loud enough to surely wake patrick up, but he doesn't care. you do though, and you immediately slap a hand over his mouth, whispering to him, "be quiet"

of course, art finds this more attractive than he probably should, his eyes rolling back as he squirts cum all over your hand, the culmination of your soft hand on his cock, your voice whispering in his ear, and the possibility of patrick waking up and seeing the two of you. you can hear arts muffled moans against your hand as his hips buck up into your hand.

you smile, taking your hand off of his mouth and kissing his cheek. art is already pretty tired (and tipsy) and he falls asleep almost immediately. you settle down with him, resting your head on his chest as you look over to patricks bed, seeing his signature smirk across the room <3

day 22: angry/makeup sex (just art coming to visit after a while) <3

almost home :) getting in uber now

your phone dings with arts text, making you smile widely. art has been gone for 3 weeks on a tournament in miami, and you've missed him terribly. you flutter around your room, picking up any stray papers or garbage on the floor. you're straightening your pillows on your bed when art knocks at your door, making you squeal with excitement. you open the door widely and jump into arts arms, making him drop his bags. "art!! you're here finally!" you smile, giving him a kiss on the cheek. art nods, his cheeks blushing. "im here.. finally" you kiss him for the first time in what seems like forever, and art immediately pushes his face against yours, his baby blue eyes fluttering closed.

art stumbles into your room, still kissing you as he shuts the door with one hand, before letting his arms loop around your waist and pull you closer. you weave your fingers into his hair, pulling and tugging to make him whine the way you like him to. art complies (of course) whining softly into your neck as he presses wet kisses below your ear. you giggle at the ticklish feeling, backing the two of you up until the back of your knees hit the bed. you sit up on the bed, pulling art to stand in between your legs. "missed you s' much.. was always thinking about you" art whispers into your ear, letting his hands rub up and down the sides of your body. you smile, "missed you too art.. missed you every day you were gone" art shivers at that, still not used to hearing such sweet words come out of your mouth.

you pull off arts sweater quickly, placing your hands on his flushed skin as he sucks purple marks into your neck. art does the same to you, taking time to notice that the sweater you were wearing was his own that he left behind with you. you press your chest against his, raking your nails down his back and leaving red trails behind. art bends into your touch, leaning forward onto the bed to lay you down, sliding between your legs. you pull down your sweatpants, kicking them to the side of the bed as art does the same. art promptly presses his dick into you, even though you're covered by your panties, art swears he can feel every part of you. "t-thought about this every day.." art admits bashfully, hiding his head in your neck.

you smile, happy to hear that art missed you just as much as you missed him. you're motivated to pull arts patterned boxers down under his balls, peeling your underwear to the side. "please just make it up to me art.." you groan, your head falling back onto the pillow. you'd forgotten how big of a stretch it is to take art fully, but he's producing enough precum to thoroughly lube the both of you up. art is snugly inside of you now, the feeling of his warm, full balls plugging you up makes you scratch at his shoulders. "move art.. please move.. i wanna feel you" you moan out, letting art move his hips the way he likes it, shallow enough to not make you feel too empty, but pulling out enough to make you feel the plap plap plap of his balls against your ass.

art moans loudly, pulling you impossibly closer to him. "f-fuck.. tried to j-jerk off without you but i couldn't cum.. couldn't do it without you.." art whines. the thought of art frustrated in his bed over the fact that he can't cum without you makes you tighten up around him, causing arts hips to stutter. arts hands come up to widen your legs for him, giving him more room to maneuver his lanky frame. before long, you hear familiar moans and whines that get louder and louder, alerting you to the fact that art is going to cum. "don't cum without me okay artie? you can last a couple more minutes, can't you?" you whisper seductively in his ear, almost hypnotizing him to nod along with you. "y-yeah i can do it.. i-ill be really good 'n ill wait for you.."

it takes arts full strength to hold himself back from cumming, but luckily the deep strokes he gives you makes you cum quicker than you thought, your back arching into his chest. art follows closely after you, moving his hips almost out of instinct to push his cum further into you, to make sure you would still have a piece of him the next time he went away. art shivers against you, his body automatically growing heavy and relaxed. art climbs fully into the bed next to you, now fully feeling the exhaustion of his day of traveling. "'m gonna go t' sleep now.. okay?" art mumbles against your skin, already drooling a little bit. "alright artie, ill be here" <3