#Patrick sitting criss cross…..

[judasisgayriot]

most beautiful men on earth maybe

[wearenemies]

PRETTIEST GUYS IN THE WORLD……

[soulpunc]

love patrick sitting criss cross applesauce

[stardustfromtheotherside]

Corporate needs you to find the difference between this picture and this picture

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Two Can Play That Game.

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

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

warnings - smut. cursing. cheating.

word count - 3.5k

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

masterlist. inbox.

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

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

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

“What’s with the booze, Artie?”

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

“Fair enough.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We both do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, Art?”

“Hmm?”

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

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

“Dude, answer the question.”

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

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

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

“Yeah, of course.”

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

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

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

“Just say it, Art.”

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

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

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

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

“Understatement of the fucking century.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Will do. Have fun, boys!”

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

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

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

✵

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

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

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

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

“I just think Mackenzie-”

“Mallory.”

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

“How do you know?”

“Because you’d tell me.”

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

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

“Why not?”

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

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

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

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

“Right here.”

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

“You love me.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

“That sounds fun.”

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

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

“I like the two of you together.”

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

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Genuinely. I like her.”

A deep breath. Some quiet.

“I know you do.”

More quiet.

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

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

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

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

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

It doesn’t matter either way.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“You’re sure?”

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

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

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

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

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

From: Patrick

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

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

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

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

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

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

Instead, you see Art.

And Patrick.

In bed.

Together.

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

“Well, well, well.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Best of both worlds, baby.”

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

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

“Not years.”

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

“Months, maybe. Not years.”

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

“Idon’tknowit’salittleblurry.”

“Hmm? What was that?”

“I think he said-”

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

“No? It’s what it looks like to me.”

“No, it’s - I just…”

“Cat got your tongue, blondie?”

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

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

“Why does it matter?”

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

“Call it curiosity.”

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

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

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

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

“Yeah. We did.”

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

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

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

“Show me.”

“Hmm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tease him but don’t kill him, Rick.”

“Fine, fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the fuck, babe?”

“No, please. So close.”

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

“Whores don’t get to come, Art.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[evanpeterspeter]

AN: In celebration of me being on my period, (yay being a woman..) I figured, why not there be head cannons of the Evan’s response to you being on that time of the month. It’s something small but why not. Theres also a little bit of NSFW, so fair warning.

Ps. It is my birthday today 😽🫶

TW: Blood, NSFW, oral, fingering, unprotected p in v and stuff

———————————————————————————

Tate Langdon

———————————

Tate would set up a heating pad for you and

Grab you your favorite book to read

.

Play your favorite music and rest his head on your lower stomach, in hopes the weight of him might help the cramps.

.

Would pepper kisses everywhere to help distract the pain

.

He would sit criss crossed on the bed facing you and will rub your clit to help ease the pain, until you finish

Kit Walker

——————————

Kit would kiss your lower stomach and give you a deep massage where your uterus lays

.

Would buy you chocolate and your favorite desserts

.

Would do all the house work and chores for you, whilst you get plenty of rest (He'll be wearing your frilly apron while doing all the work)

.

He would dick you down so good, it'll cure those cramps by how deep he hits in you, completely bottoming himself out

Kyle Spencer

—————————

Kyle would take you out for a nice dinner

.

He would take you shopping and even surprise you with flowers

.

He doesn't know what exactly the difference is between pads and tampons, so he buys them both.

.

He is very respectful when it comes to sex on your period and no matter how horny he is, he'll always respect your boundaries. Which turns you on.. so now you guys are going missionary

Jimmy Darling

———————————

Jimmy would take care of you like as if you were sick

.

His mom would also make you some soup and home baked buttered bread, then he would hand feed you

.

He'd make sure that nothing and nobody would bother you

.

Would finger fuck you so hard, that your legs would shake and quiver afterwards.

James Patrick March

——————————————

James would make everything romantic no matter what

.

Would set up a warm bubble bath with candles, with rose petals on the surface of the water and with a glass of wine on the side

.

Would pamper you and caress you up and down, leaving kisses and love bites all over

.

Would kiss up your thighs and eat you out. Even when it's all a bloody mess, he loves the taste. Especially since it's you

Kai Anderson

——————————

Kai isn't really the kind to pamper you. He thinks it's being vulnerable

.

You're only allowed to skip one meeting for cramps/major discomfort, but you would have to make it up to him later

.

He also gets irritated when you're PMSing, but will soon apologize, not by words but by showing physical touch, such as in hugging behind you, nuzzling your neck and much more

.

Kai's idea of curing your cramps is to fuck you with a vibrator hard and fast. Your whole body and core will be shaking after, and once you finish he'll rail you to the bed. No protection, no towel, he'll leave the blood everywhere to show what mess he created from you

Warren Lipka

——————————

Warren would let you lay in his flannel and will spoon you in bed, placing his warm hands over your lower belly to cradle

.

He would pass you a blunt to ease the pain and to help you relax

.

He's too lazy to cook, so he'll probably make you a bowl of cereal

.

He would let you ride him all much as you wanted. Until of course when he finishes in you.

Peter Maximoff

——————————

Peter would do anything for you, no matter how crazy the request might be

.

Would "buy" you junk food in seconds

.

He would let you sit on his lap while you play one of his video games on the tv, while rubbing your lower tummy in a circular motion

.

Sure he's fast, but you don't know fast until he finger fucks you and using his other hand to rub your tender aching clit like a vibrator

———————————————————————————

Tag list: @evansonlylove @xrag-dollx @warrenlipkaswife

[apollosdaydreams]

Hello, can I request some smut of Lando Norris with rally driver reader??

Like something in the Monte Carlo rally after party or whatever you like 🤓

Lando Norris x driver!reader 

Warning: SMUT, MDNI, 18+ only, Unprotected sex- wrap it before you tap it.

Author's note: This is my first time writing smut, so sorry if it’s not good. I will try my best though!! And sorry I don't know much about Rally racing, so the rally part (and the drivers) will all be made up. I'm so sorry, so this will mainly focus on the after party!! Sorry for taking so long to get this uploaded, I was busy with the last two weeks in college and then finals and I finally had time to sit down and write. :) (Also in the mood board let's pretend she's not making lemonade.) 

The After, After, Party

The race went amazing, you were feeling like you were on top of the world. You are making history, as you are a female rally driver, making your childhood dreams come true and you have the most amazing, loving boyfriend ever. Lando Norris, a Formula 1 driver. Lando was able to come support you as he didn't have anything Formula 1 related. So here you both were in your hotel in Greece. Lando was standing in front of the mirror with just black boxers on, putting some hair product in. You were sitting criss-crossed on the counter in just a black lace thong and a matching black lace bra. You were also putting product in your hair. You weren't paying attention to Lando, as you were so focused on your hair that you didn't realize he was moving behind you until you felt his hands wrap around your waist. 

“You are so beautiful y/n.” He whispered into your ear while putting his chin on your shoulder. 

You turned a deep shade of red, “Shut up.”  You softly said while softly putting your hand on his face and pushing him away. You then grabbed for your small makeup bag, deciding you didn’t want to do much makeup. You just put on some mascara and highlighter. Once you got done doing your hair and makeup you walked over to your suitcase, as you were too lazy to unpack all of your stuff, and grabbed out some lighter wash jean shorts, a white tank top with one of Lando’s button up shirts that you had stolen from him, with your white converse. Tonight's party wasn't something you had to dress fancy for, but you also didn't want to show up looking like you had just rolled out of bed. 

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

You have been at the party for a while now, Lando staying sober and having nothing to drink so he could drive you both back to the hotel. While you decided to have a couple drinks, just enough to get you tipsy. You were starting to feel the effects of the alcohol, usually you were shy and you didn't show much PDA, but with some liquid courage you were dancing with Lando to the music. You were leaning back into Lando, grinding your hips back into his hands on your hips guiding your body to rock with the music. You leaned back your mouth now under his ear.

“Lando.” You breathed out.

“Yes love?” He asked while moving his hands up to your waist. 

“I need you.” You said, then moving your mouth to kiss under his jaw. You felt his hands move back to your hips and grip them harder. “Please.” You added.

He didn't say anything but took your hand and led you out the door, you saw your teammate, Filip and his best friend Patrick. You waved shyly at them as Lando led you out. 

“They are definitely going to fuck.” Filip turned to Patrick. 

“Oh for sure.” Patrick said while laughing. 

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Lando used your body to close the hotel door, his hands couldn't get off of you, one on your waist and one on your jaw. One of your hands was on his chest while the other was playing with his belt. 

“Jump.” He whispered out. You slightly jumped and he grabbed the bottom of your thighs, before he left the door he made sure it was locked and that the "Do not disturb” sign was still out, once he did that he brought you over to the bed and softly threw you on the bed. 

You laid on your back, breathing heavily, your heart rate was rapid. Lando then climbed on top of you, smiling slightly. 

“God.” He breathed out. “You are so beautiful y/n.” He said.

You blushed, and slightly hid your face in embarrassment. 

He grabbed your hands and put them above your head, “Don’t hide from me, love.” He whispered in your ear with a smirk. 

You blushed even harder, and Lando chuckled at that. You then wrapped your legs around his torso to bring him in closer to you. He then used one of his hands to grab your face, slowly making out with you. Moving his hips against yours. You moaned at the friction, wanting more you started to move your own hips. You then both quickly started to take off your clothes, wanting to be close to each other. After a few minutes of some slow kissing, and touching each other he had reached for your thong. He then quickly pulled your thong off, you have moved your hips up to get them off faster. He then went for your bra clasp quickly removing it and throwing it to where the rest of the clothes were. He was still left in his boxers. You didn't think that was fair though so you decided to speak up about it. 

“It's not fair.” You pouted. “I'm all naked and you still have your boxers on.” You said while playing with the band of boxers. He smiled at you and quickly threw his boxers off. His cock hitting his lower stomach, he then grabbed it and lined it up to your pussy. Moving it up and down to tease you before he finally pushed himself fully inside. You then gripped his back, making small crescent-like shapes on his muscular back. He then began moving at a slow pace, making your eyes roll into the back of your head. 

“Faster.” You breathed out.

He smiled, but followed your wishes, as he began to speed up the pace. He could feel you tighten around him making him groan, which made you clench him tighter and let out a moan. Your walls clenched against him, your breath hitching with his every thrust. He was pinning your squirming body down. When his breath hitched, his head slowly fell back in pleasure. 

“I'm going to cum-” He managed to get out. Your breath hitched, clenching his harder, your soft hands trailing up and down his back. When you felt him release in you, he gasped out. Moving his hand to your clit, to help you finish. 

Your body began to tremble in pleasure when you finally felt release. You gasped out, Lando still pumping in and out of you. When you softly hit his V-line, telling him that it was getting to much, so he softly pulled out, Both of you gasping at the lost of being so close to each other, Lando had a smug look on his face, looking down at your pussy, your cummed filled pussy. 

He then quickly left to run to the bathroom, he came back with a warm rag to start cleaning you. You gasped at the feeling on the rag on your sensitive pussy. 

“I'm sorry baby.” He said. “I’ll try to be fast.” He quickly responded. He slowly went faster, still wanting to be soft with you. “Its ok baby.” you whispered. He smiled down at you, he had left to put the soiled rag in the bathroom. He lightly hit your thigh. “Come on baby, you need to use the bathroom.” He told you. You sat up and got out of bed, holding on to Lando for support, once you got done in the bathroom you headed back to bed and layed down. Lando quickly followed, pulling your body close to his. It didn't take you long to fall asleep. Lando then looked down at your sleeping face and smiled. 

“I'm the luckiest guy on the planet.” He said while closing his eyes. 

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[theitgirlnetwork]

Earn It

Ch. 9: Pretty Tired of Talking About Tennis

Note: Well...I'm back. And I have several things to say in this author's note. A.) sorry, it should've been sooner. B.) I can't wait to get back into the swing of this story. Most importantly, C.) thank you so much for the continued love you've shown it. As those who have seen the movie know, we're quite literally still in the beginning. I hope you'll enjoy this chapter and the ones to come. Please remember these characters are all meant to be flawed but none completely evil as you read. They will be toxic and make mistakes. Our good friend Patrick is distinctly missing in this one, but don't worry, his absence is not permanent. Anyways, I love interacting with you all so feel free to send me messages, things in my inbox, and comment. And to those who would like to know who's children those are...well...what do you guys think? I'd love to hear thoughts and guesses. If this sucks let's chalk it up to me being rusty and I'll try to do better next time lol. Love y'all <3

Warnings: Mention of sexual content, strong language, themes of cheating (MDNI)

Taglist (This shit normally doesn't work for me): @spookystitchery@anehkael@fkaams@butterflyybabe@sun2flower @holierthancunt @silkenthusiasts @wolflover384 @liziihorta @summerssover @jackierose902109

“This is some bullshit. Now, they don’t wanna sing.” Heaven shakes her head, flexing her toes against Tashi’s leg on the other side of the couch. “That’s so stupid.”

“They need to get rid of those other two girls, clearly, Chanel and Galleria want it more.” Tashi shrugs, swatting Heaven’s foot away, rolling her eyes when she feels the girl drop them right back into her lap. “I’m Galleria, you’re Chanel.”

“Um, I’m definitely Galleria, what the fuck are you even saying?” 

“Nope,” Tashi says, popping the ‘p’ and reaching across the coffee table to take a sip of her drink, cringing at the bitter taste of alcohol on her tongue. “Okay, this is fucking nasty, we probably should’ve looked up what the fuck we were making.”

“Mm. And have my mom find out we drank when she goes through my computer? Girl.” Heaven shifts in her seat, moving to sit criss-crossed and face Tashi on the couch. “Cheers.” She grins, pushing her mug against Tashi’s, smiling even harder when the taller girl mirrors her position and makes a little ‘tink’ sound as the glasses collide. “You wouldn’t even like having two other girls that hang out with us all the time.”

Tashi’s brows furrow disbelief clear on her face at the accusation. “Me? Why?”

“You’re possessive.”

“I’m not possessive, you just pick dickheads to fuck with.” 

“Oh yeah? And your type is better?” Heaven snorts, leaning to the side, reaching over to the coffee table digging through the makeup bag of nail polishes Tashi had presented her with when they’d started setting up for their little movie night. Heaven produces a sage green polish from the bag, waving the bottle for Tashi’s approval. “Caleb was the cream of the crop then?”

Tashi shrugs, reaching into Heaven’s lap and selecting the baby blue the dancer had selected for herself. “Better than Chance. Try to stay in the lines this time?” 

“Shut the fuck up.” Heaven mumbles, a smile on her face as she takes Tashi’s hand, hunching over, breaking her generally perfect posture to focus in on her friend’s delicate nails. Tashi sits back and watches as Heaven tilts her head in concentration, biting down lightly on her bottom lip as she glides the brush across her fingernails, the cool polish setting in as Heaven lightly blows on each nail as she goes. “Chance was the fucking worst.”

“Yeah and he hated me.”

“All of your boyfriends always hate me.” Heaven hums. “Wonder why that is.”

Tashi smiles, turning her face away for a second, giving herself a break from the thrumming feeling looking at Heaven gives her and watching the scene playing out on tv. It was something of a mutiny. Dorinda and Aqua, talking shit about Galleria to Chanel. Calling her a diva and demanding that her best friend do something. Chanel knowing her friend had gone too far, done too much and loving her anyway. Because their dreams were too important. Their friendship took precedent. “Probably because they know you’re obsessed with me. Look at you, working so hard to paint my nails and make me all pretty.”

“You’re the one who picked out my favorite color.” Heaven purses her lips, closing the polish and placing it back into the bag, holding out Tashi’s hand to admire her own work. “They’re just jealous because I;m a better boyfriend to you than they are. No one meets your expectations like I do.”

“Yeah?” Tashi challenges, quirking an eyebrow, her own twin grin matching Heaven’s. “You think you impress me?” Locked in a stalemate, both girls are unflinching, both daring the other to look away, to fold first. That’s how it starts. Their staring contest had begun as a battle of wills. The smell of popcorn and nail polish in the air. The distant noise of the ‘All Around the World’ song from Cheetah Girls playing on the television. The dark hallways leading to the living room threaten to suddenly reveal Heaven’s stepfather or worse mother to discover them and burst their bubble. But what was more pressing was the energy between the two girls. It was nothing they hadn’t felt before. After a heated match, as they rush together to celebrate another victory for Tashi, Heaven’s voice hoarse from how loudly she’d screamed from her. After each show, or recital, when Heaven is still doused in show makeup and glitter, and Tashi can’t help but see a shining star when she’s looking her in the face. But this time, Tashi did something different. Something only Heaven has ever been able to draw out of her in her 16 years of living. 

She concedes.

“Hev, you’re really pretty. Obviously,” she pulls Heaven’s hand into her own lap, toying with her fingers, without breaking eye contact. Her voice dropping to a whisper. “You know that.”

Heaven can appreciate it. Tashi putting herself out there like this, no matter how small the gesture. She got the point. And it was hard for Tashi, for both of them, to be vulnerable. Heaven had spent the past year wrestling with the feelings she’d developed for her friend. She’d just convinced herself she was satisfied just being her favorite person, even if they weren’t romantic a few months ago. Sure she flirted and joked, but she never thought Tashi would initiate something. There wasn’t anything in the world at that moment that could make her leave her hanging. 

“Yeah, but, you’re the only person it really matters to hear it from.” Heaven’s cheeks dimple as she scoots closer, intertwining her fingers with Tashi’s. 

Tashi’s brows furrow as she cocks her head back, creating a little more space as Heaven leans in, causing the other girl to roll her eyes. “And?”

���And,” Heaven’s nose wrinkles playfully as she sits up on her knees, breathing softly against Tashi’s lips before connecting them with hers. “You’re really pretty too.”

2019 (California)

Heaven speed walks down the walkway to the larger waiting room she knew Art would be placed in. A splitting stress headache is already forming in the front of her brain as she makes her way past the busy employees running the event, hiding her face from the flashing lights of fans and photographers. 

As she rounds the corner she sees Tashi pacing back and forth, running her fingers through her bob and biting her lower lip. She pauses in her steps as she sees Heaven making her way toward her. Clapping her hands together and shrugging she fixes Heaven with a disapproving look. “This should be easy. What the fuck is wrong with him?”

“Why? What happened?”

“He’s just,” Tashi huffs out a breath, shaking her head. “He doesn’t give a fuck. I can’t give a fuck for him, Heaven.”

“M’not asking you to. Stop talking to me like that, you’re not my coach, you’re Art’s.” Heaven snaps the gum in her mouth irritably.

“I am his coach.”

“Then coach him.”

“Arthur is a grown man-” Tashi scoffs, laughing humorously.

“I know.” 

“I can’t get him to do anything that he doesn’t want to do.” 

“Be patient with him.”

“Interestingly enough, that’s your job, not mine.” Tashi grimaces, leaning down to mumble as a pair of fans walk by waving at them. Heaven offers them her own smile and nod as they pass.  Team Donaldson is a unit after all. “Look, I’m doing my part. He needs to do his, or this doesn’t work. Then none of us are happy.” Tashi tilts her head in the direction of the door. “Look, he’s asking for you. If you can get him together, that’s great, if not…”

“He’s fine, Tashi. I’m gonna talk to him. Let me talk to him.” Heaven’s tired. She knows Tashi’s tired and it’s obvious Art is. But this has to work. They’ve worked too hard. All of them have worked too hard to not make it to the finish. Heaven reaches out, grabbing Tashi’s hand and squeezing, her own face softening at the exhausted look on Tashi’s pretty face. “Let me fix it.”

Tashi takes another deep breath, eyes slipping closed briefly before flexing her fingers around Heaven’s, twisting the gold band underneath the accent ring on her finger. “He needs to be ready in 7 minutes. I’m giving you 5.”

“That’s all I need.”

The door clicks open and Art’s eyes trail over from the wall to the doorway. 

“Arthur.”

Heaven stands in front of him with her hand on her hip, the other hand wrapped around the knob as the view of a sour Tashi fades from his view as the door closes again, head tilted as if she’s observing him. He shifts under the weight of her gaze, sitting back in the fold out chair, opening his legs and holding out one of his calloused hands he’d just been inspecting. Art holds his breath as she purses her lips, raising a single brow at him as she decides if she feels like bothering with him, if she is mad at him too. 

He releases that breath when she rolls her eyes, taking two large steps before standing between his legs, resting her own soft, unbroken hands on his face, soothing the frown on his lips away with each brush of her thumb. She allows him to explore with his own hands the body he’d wished he’d woken up to that morning. Every morning. He runs his palms up and down her strong, dancer’s legs, taking in her sweet scent as he pushes his face against her stomach and his palms squeeze her ass, pulling her closer. A familiar wave of pride washes over him as he feels the difference in fabric between the rest of her tracksuit and the letters painted across the backside that were similarly spelled out across her chest.

DONALDSON

“What the fuck?” She all but whispers, her rose petal lips set into a confused grimace. “You don’t wanna play today?”

“I never said that.” he mumbles against the fabric. Heaven pushes him by his shoulders so that he settles against the back of the chair and leans down so they’re face to face, sighing as Art pushes their foreheads together. 

“So, why are you sitting here like someone who doesn’t wanna go play some fucking tennis?” She asks. Big brown eyes scan his somber face, her manicured thumb sweeps across the skin of his cheek. “He’s a fucking nobody, Art.”

“I know that.” 

“So what’s the problem?” Heaven squints, brows furrowing, pushing him away again as he rubs his face against hers. She guides him by his chin, forcing him back enough so that can look him in his eyes. “Are you done?”

“Baby-” He starts, only for her to pull him even closer.

“No, seriously. Are you done? Is this all? Let me know now.” 

“I never…I never said that, it’s just-” Art stares up into concerned brown eyes and sees his reflection in them. He can't take it. The look. It’s not the stern look of disapproval or disdain. It’s not even annoyance or agitation. It's disappointment. It’s fear. Fear that he’s tapped out. Fear that he is done. He can see that Heaven is petrified of what that would mean. And Art is too. “I dunno, Hev.” 

She cups his face then, her warm hands contrasted by the cold ring on her finger, her proximity clouding his judgment and overpowering thoughts of exhaustion and disinterest. Heaven seduces him with the love in her eyes. She climbs fully into his lap then, resting her weight on him as they melt together, tension in his body dissipating with each new place their bodies meet. “I want to help you. Tell me how. Tell me what you need. Tell me what you need me to do, Art, and I’ll do it. What do you want, baby?” 

“I want,” He sighs deeply, eyes fluttering shut as he brushes his lips against hers, gripping her waist tighter as they share their air. “I want you to look at me.” His lips capture hers in a heated kiss. Heaven opens her mouth to him, releasing her own sigh as their tongues brush before she tugs his bottom lip into her mouth. A small sound of surprise escapes her as Art steals the gum from her mouth, holding it out of the way in his cheek as he explores her mouth. “Just me.” He murmurs against her lips. 

Heaven pulls back at that, pressing one more kiss on his nose, face softening when he leans into the last little piece of affection desperately, before dropping his own kisses on her nose, forehead and jaw, ending with her palm. “I’m always looking at you, superstar.”

It’s almost like fate wanted to remind him that’s not true. That these little moments in time are just a fantasy. Because just like that the room doors were opening and Tashi was power walking her way in. Suddenly, those brown eyes didn’t belong to him anymore. Neither set of them. Instead, there’s a silent conversation happening over his head. A language he couldn’t understand even if it were spoken out loud. He’s cold under the shadows they cast as they discuss him without him. His mind wanders as his eyes trail back over to the picture of a younger, more enthusiastic him that hangs on the waiting room wall. 

There’s another knock at the door that catches the trio’s attention, a woman with a headset pokes her head in and offers the blond a wide smile, a fan working the event no doubt, damn near gushing as she holds her clipboard to her chest. “Mr. Donaldson, it’s time.”

“Okay.” Tashi answers for him. The woman is shaken then, acknowledging there are two other people in the room. Two other athletes. There always are, with Art. But he’s the star. In everyone else’s eyes. He’s the one that matters. She nods and leaves the room, scurrying away to her hurry and fulfill whatever other responsibilities, no doubt in interest of finishing in time to see the Art Donaldson play.  Heaven doesn’t even wait for them, following the employee out as both Tashi and Art watch her slip from the room to meet them outside. Tashi moves in front of Art, smoothing her hand over his hair as she studies his face. She cups her hand under his mouth glancing down at it expectantly. Breathing out a heavy sigh, Art spits his gum into her open palm, before feeling the other hand hold his other cheek. “Decimate that little bitch.”

Leo Du Marier was a new player. He was the best in his school and eventually made it into the big leagues. Big enough that today, he’d be playing against Art Donaldson today. The kid was fucking shitting his pants. Art Donaldson has basically won, every fucking award a tennis player could win, and was the youngest to do so. All he was missing was the U.S. Open. Du Marier himself had waited in line for an embarrassing amount of time to try and score a pair of Nike x Donaldson sneakers when they’d dropped. The younger player couldn’t decide if he was excited to meet the man he wishes to model his career after or petrified. The man was going to destroy him. Humiliate him. He knows it. 

The only thing that gave him some kind of relief was that Art was known to be kind. While the man was admittedly smug, past opponents do speak of the crooked smile and strong handshake that he offers after he drags them through the fucking mud. He’s seen many pictures that the blond man has taken with people just like Du Marier, wrapping his arm around them on one side, but refusing to let go of whatever trophy he’d wrenched out of their hands with the other. 

At least he’d kick his ass with a kind smile. 

So, when Du Marier’s coach nudges him as they make their way through the player’s tunnel leading to the courts and he sees Art, he stops. He feels larger than life. Not in height, because though he’s pretty tall, it’s not the length of him. It’s the stride. It’s the walk. His gear. It’s pristine, with his name printed on it. His demeanor. It’s not at all what the younger player had expected. It’s cold and unmoving. Nothing like the player he’d seen from the bleachers years ago when he was too young to even enter. Flanking his sides are two beautiful women, walking in unison with him, all of their steps coming off perfectly executed and calculated. Each of them seemingly the exact same distance apart from each other. Du Marier couldn’t help but stare. 

And Art felt it. He turns his head, looking at him. Staring. Almost…glaring. It felt like ice in his veins as he watched the celebrity frown at him, not so much as offering a wave as he made his way past. Du Marier unconsciously holds his breath, waiting, pleading for the moment to pass. He thanks his fucking lucky stars as one of the woman’s hand makes its way to Art’s face, diamond ring glittering against her skin as she guides his face forward before they exit the tunnel, waving to the paparazzi. 

“Did you see that look? He’s going to destroy me, no?”

“Worry about it later, Leo.”

As Du Marier watches the Art Donaldson, send yet another tennis racket sailing against the wall, sweat dripping down his brow he releases his breath. A smile spreads across his face as some of the crowd cheers for him and even more of them boo him for his win. He was cool with being an underdog success story. Especially against that asshole. He could feel the people in the crowd nearly vibrating with disappointment, as the fan favorite lost another match. He used to be one of them. Rooting for the blond asshole across the net. But now? Well, maybe this is why they say don’t meet your fuckin’ heroes. 

He could at least say, to Art’s credit, he didn’t seem to give a fuck about the crowd. As he paced along the court, kicking his chair and swearing under his breath, he only seemed to be looking in one section. To be honest, it’d been the only section he’d bothered looking at the entire match. One might say he’d looked so much that it was what threw him off. Du Marier takes a second to follow Art’s gaze, eyes flicking between the angry tennis player and two empty seats. He couldn’t help but understand why Art was so upset. Leo would be hurt too if his wife and coach left before they even got to matchpoint. 

.

2007 (California: Stanford Campus) 

Heaven’s leg jumps as she sits in the spectator seat, watching the ball go back and forth between Tashi and Art twice before it rolls to a stop on Art’s side. She drops her head back in the chair in annoyance as she hears Tashi huff. 

“Hit the ball.”

She doesn’t even bother opening her eyes as she hears Tashi serve, a severe lack in the sound of footsteps coming from Art’s side. He’s not even trying. It’s just gonna piss her off. It’s not helping us see what she can do. Heaven groans when she hears the ball hit the fence behind him and sits up with a frown on her face.

“What’re you, scared you’re gonna hurt me?” Tashi growls, gripping her racket. Her brows are furrowed as she glares at the blond man who simply opens his mouth and then closes it, glancing at Heaven as if she was supposed to save him from Tashi’s scrutiny. “Pussy.” 

With that, Heaven climbs down from the spectator’s seat, walking irritably over to Art’s side, tugging up her gym shorts and hopping a little from one foot to the other. “Tashi, come on.” She holds her hand out for Art’s racket without sparing him a glance, “move.” she mumbles nudging him out of the way.

Heaven is by no means a tennis player. Recreationally, she could hold her own very well, and she was quick on her feet due to dance, but the real reason she could play decently was because Tashi demanded it. It was for when Tashi was antsy and no one else was unavailable. Or when she was upset and needed to blow off some steam the only way she knew how. 

“Actually try to hit the ball.” The taller girl says grumpily, rounding back into position, sitting into a squat.

And she does. 

Heaven tries very hard. She respects Tashi, and she knows she’s the better player, so she does her best. And it’s good for a few moments. Until she tries to send her down the line, and her knee gives out, sending her down onto the court. 

Art is jumping over the net in a flash trying to get to the girl and help her up. But Heaven just stands behind, twirling the racket in her hand.

“Tashi, get up.” 

“I am. I’m good-” she lightly pushes Art’s helping hands away, leg wobbling as she attempts to stand, pushing off of the rough gravel of the court. “I’m good, I’m fine-”

“Hold on.” Art says softly, holding the girl’s arms, sighing as her knee buckles slightly, causing her to stumble. “Maybe we should take a break for today.”

“She’s fine. We need to keep going.” Heaven walks over to the net, taking Art’s outstretched hand as she swings her legs over, oblivious to Tashi's eyes dropping to their hands. “T, you’re good, right?”

“I’m fine.” the taller girl grits her teeth, trying to regain her balance.

“See?”

Art sucks some air between his teeth, running his hand along Heaven’s arm, pulling her a little closer, speaking softly. “Hev, her knee, c’mon.” 

Tashi feels her skin crawl as Art and Heaven’s eyes drop to her leg. The fucking pity in Art’s voice. The frustration on Heaven’s face. She was so fucking sick of being injured. Her teammates were bad enough, but Art the fucking tennis player who is hellbent on stealing her girlfriend, and said success junkie girlfriend looking at her the way they were was literally too much to fucking bear. She couldn’t handle him feeling bad for her and Heaven looking at her like she was damaged good. She was already irritable because that loser Patrick had been blowing up her goddamn phone with nothing but excuses. Even after she’d made it clear she never wanted to see him again. Then she misses one recital. One goddamn opener and all of a sudden Heaven was ‘navigating’ a new relationship with Art. They weren’t breaking up, but now there are feelings between the two of them. She can understand the appeal of Art. He’s hot, a good player, successful in his own right. And desperate. A lovesick puppy, hearts damn near appearing in his eyes when the object of his affection is in the room. But he’s here and he’s a constant reminder of what her body is screaming it can’t do anymore. They both are. And her choosing him in Tashi’s face only made the pain worse. “Ignore him. Let’s keep going.”

Her voice sounds stronger in her head than it does out loud, leading her girlfriend to pause. “T, maybe Art’s right and you need a break?”

“Jesus fucking christ, fucking forget it.” she hisses, tossing her head back. “If you don’t want to help me you seriously just go.”

“I’m here to fucking help you!”

“You’re here to fuck Art, which is fine, trust me, I don’t fucking care.” Tashi shrugs, laughing humorlessly. 

“Hey, Tashi-” Art starts, standing between them.

“I’m here to help you, Tashi. That’s what I always do, that’s why I’m always here.” 

“Well, I don’t need your help right now. I really don’t need to fuck up my other leg.” Tashi finishes, crossing her arms. Heaven’s mouth drops open, eyes watering as she stares at her girlfriend in shock.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“I mean was it supposed to be helpful finding out you’re cheating on me with our friend and then watching you fight with our boyfriend right before my match?” Tashi smoothes a hand over her messy ponytail, wetting her lips. “It’s fine, I forgive you. You too, thank you, for rubbing that in my face by the way, friend. I forgive you, for white knighting your way into my girlfriend’s pants and taking the time to let me know right before one of the biggest matches of my college career.”

Heaven’s eyes widen, turning to look between Art and Tashi, bottom lip wobbling as she holds back the tears that threaten to flood her eyes. Tashi rolls her own eyes to the sky, looking away as Art wraps his arm around Heaven, tugging her into a hug, murmuring an apology and stammering explanations into her hair. “Tashi, that’s not how it went, alright? All she ever does is try to think of you, and care about you.”

“Fucking kidding me.” the girl murmurs, limping to the other side of the court. Heaven watches as Tashi picks up a stray ball, bouncing it off of the fence and beginning to practice by herself. She shifts in Art’s arms, looking up at him. 

“I’m um, gonna stay with her for a while. Practice with her a bit. Can we…can I talk to you later?”

Blue and brown puppy dog eyes stare into her soul, and involuntary pout forming as Art lets Heaven send him off, chest tight as he feels his own wave of guilt overtake him. 

Art is anxious for the next few hours as he waits to hear from Heaven or Tashi. He’d hope they’d talk and call him back. But as day turned to night, he realized that the girls may have genuinely just needed him out of the way to continue peacefully practicing. 

He wishes he’d said more. Done more. Heaven and Tashi’s relationship is so complex, it feels like a minefield to navigate. Sometimes they’re friends, sometimes they’re girlfriends, sometimes it’s like they believe they’re the only two people in the world. He couldn’t step in and yell at Tashi, he wouldn’t want to, and even if he did, Heaven wouldn’t tolerate it for a second. He couldn’t bring himself to ask Heaven to leave with him. Partially because part of him wonders if what Tashi was starting to say was right. Did he ruin her life? He, Patrick, and Heaven, were walking out of this mess they made relatively unscathed and Tashi’s dreams were likely ruined. Anyone could look at the proud girl and know she’s devastated. Had her life been better without them in it? Had Heaven’s? 

The other reason being he’d feared what he would find out. It was one thing, to gain some confidence and beat Patrick out for something they both wanted. Someone. But his friend was liable to fuck up in some way, to lose the girls and leave room for Art to take his place. But Tashi was nearly flawless. She was so similar and different from Heaven, anyone could see they compliment each other. And Heaven loves her so much. Tashi has years worth of ‘I love you’ from Heaven under her belt. Art had just managed to get two to match his fifty. He didn’t want to know what would happen if he drew a line in the sand, held out his hand for Heaven when Tashi was going in the opposite direction. And so he’s careful. And he waits. He was choosing not to play a game he’s almost certain he would lose. 

It’s no shock to him when Heaven texts him at 1:25 in the morning to let him know she’d gone back to UCLA. He’d already packed a bag to take with him and had begun shoving one shoe on his foot, stumbling around the room as his phone vibrated with her message. He would chase her. Art would always chase her if he had to. Even if someone was pulling her away. 

But not if she didn’t want it. 

No. If Heaven decided she needed space, she didn’t…want him, he’d do what she wanted. Even if it hurts him. She’s worth it.

That’s exactly what he tells himself as he climbs into his twin sized bed, biting down on his own fist, willing himself not to cry when the phone brings him the message he was dreading.

I’ve got to think through some things. I think we need space…we did a bad thing Art.

Well, Tashi did warn him. When it came to Heaven, she’d never really lose.

2019 (California)

“Ouch this is getting to be brutal, you just can’t be missing shots like that.”

Tashi cuts her eyes toward Art, sipping her coffee silently as he meets her eyes, offering her a borderline sarcastic smile. 

“And there goes the racket.”

“He was playing really well.”

Tashi leans forward, placing her drink on the table before crossing her arms. “I’m pulling you out of Cincinnati.” 

“T-”

“Might as well pull you out of the Open too, if this isn’t gonna be your year then why bother?” she shrugs, kicking her feet back up onto the hotel couch. 

“I’m just rusty, it’s a confidence thing.”

“Get your fucking confidence back, I can’t do it for you. Heaven can’t do it for you.”

“No one is asking you to.” He sighs, grabbing his protein shake from the table. 

“When you play like that you are.” The door to the suite clicks open and Heaven comes in wearing a gym set, one headphone covering her ear, the other pushed back on her head. Art’s eyes follow her as she pauses, briefly making eye contact with him before leaning over the counter and typing on her phone. “I would fucking kill for a recovery like yours, a child, an old lady, fucking anybody.” 

“Okay, jesus.” Heaven calls from behind the couch, making her way over. She leans over the back of the couch, resting her forearms and curling her lip. 

Tashi shrugs again, adjusting herself to look at Heaven. “I mean we’re all adults here. Everyone has made decisions, if this is it, if this is all you guys want as your legacy that’s fine. We’ve all made enough money. We can retire, and be rich people, run the foundations.”

“Where are they?”

“In the living room.”

The three adults pause their conversation, all plastering easy looks onto their faces as Aurora comes bounding in, curls still dripping wet from the tub, plopping herself onto the couch between Tashi and Art. Tashi’s mom hovering in the doorway. 

“Hi, baby.” Tashi chirps, adjusting the girl’s Doc McStuffins nightgown. 

“Can we watch Spiderverse?” 

“Of course we can. Course we can, it’s just, we gotta talk about tennis right now.” Tashi pouts, running her hands along the little girl’s hair.

“But you’re always talking about tennis.”

“I know baby,” Tashi sends Art a pointed look, causing him to drag  his own eyes over to Heaven. The shorter woman stands behind the couch, rubbing her temples, eyes closed, refusing to look at either of them. “I know.” 

“Aurora, baby, I’ll watch with you. That’s like, my favorite movie.” Heaven smiles brightly, the grin not meeting her eyes as she walks around the front of the couch, taking Aurora’s hand in hers. “Besides, I’m getting pretty tired of talking about tennis too.”

Tashi picks up her phone, shaking her head as Art watches Heaven leave with Aurora, the separator for the bedroom closing shut behind them. “She likes it here. Aurora.” She snaps her phone shut. “Heaven doesn’t.”

“We could figure something out. Something more permanent. Or, closer to New York.” Art sighs, a pained expression on his face as he stares past Tashi at the doorway. 

“We could. I meant what I said. If this is all you can handle. It ends here.” The blond man swallows, bringing his gaze back to the woman in front of him. He knows it’s not true. It’s not okay if he can’t get them to the finish line. No matter how tired he is. “Or you can keep being a tennis player, which is what you are. What do you want?”

“I can play Cincinnati.”

“No, no you can’t. Not like this. Let me see.” Tashi crosses her legs as she scrolls through her phone, finally finding something she deems reasonable and scooting closer to Art, turning her phone to him. “Phil’s Tire Town, that seems promising.”

Art skims the information on the page and scoffs in disbelief, “That’s a challenger.”

“That, is exactly what you need to get your fuckin’ confidence back. Because in middle of fucking nowhere, Phil’s Tire Town, there will be absolutely nobody on the other side of the net who can shake your fucking confidence. Right?” She doesn’t wait for him to respond before she stands, declaring she was going to make a call to get him a spot.

He feels a wave of embarrassment at the thought of going to butt fuck nowhere to participate in the kind of Challenger he hadn’t participated in since he was 19. He’s fucking humiliated actually. But before the shame can overtake him, he catches sight of the gold band gleaming on his hand that he’d been sure to put back on as soon as his match was over. And any complaints he’d had are suddenly being drowned out by the fear of what would happen if he didn’t finish. 

“Tashi.”

“We had a deal, Art. I upheld my end, you uphold yours.”

[thekidsarentalright]

just realized the way patricks sitting criss cross in that new video…. i need to put him on a keychain or even chomp on him like a peach ring

[bked0n-lorazepam]

"Inseparable" Part Ten

Patrick groaned when Y/N shot up from her spot on the couch gasping and tightly gripping his forearm. He smacked his lips as he looked around the room trying to gather what was going on.

“The fuck’s your problem?” He whispered, squinting his eyes through the dark. Y/N whipped her head around to look at him and hugged onto him tightly, burying her face in his neck.

Patrick was too tired to care, though, and stayed in his seated position with his arms on his sides, blinking the sleep away from his eyes.

He looked back at her after scanning the room and sat motionless for a moment, right before plopping his face into her hair and going back to sleep as Y/N sobbed and cried.

A little while later, she wiped her nose on his bare shoulder and grimaced at the line of snot she left on it. She sat up when she heard birds chirping, and the faintest bit of sun poking through her window, contrasting with the rest of the pitch black room. Sighing, she shifted to move away from Patrick right before she heard a loud thump and groaning.

“The fuck is your problem?” Patrick hissed from his new position on what Y/N assumed was the floor.

She snorted a bit and pulled her shirt back down, why it was raised past her breasts and exposing her bra made her concerned, but she didn’t want to know what Patrick was up to. She smacked her lips as Patrick had done in an earlier time and rubbed the sleep away from her eyes. 

“Ah, fuck!” Patrick yelled after yet another thump, and plopped himself onto the spot on the couch next to her holding his foot. The sun had risen more so she could see the room, and she bursted into full laughter when she realized he stubbed his toe on the coffee table in front of them.

“It’s not that fucking funny.” He grumbled, his hand massaging his toes.

“Oh, yes it is.” Y/N wiped away the tears that formed from her outburst and let out shaky breaths before calming down.

“Oh, yes it is.” Patrick mocked in a snarky tone and put his feet on the coffee table, knocking over the TV remote.

Y/N deadpanned at him and they stared at each other for a couple seconds before he realized that she wanted him to pick it up. He only grinned and moved his legs to sit criss-cross.

“Jackass.” Y/N mumbled, standing up to bend over and pick it up. Patrick wolf-whistled, grabbing his crotch and putting his arm on the back of the couch.

“Damn, is it hot in here, or is it just me?” He licked his lips, smiling when she tossed the remote at him. Y/N sat back down and made a disgusted sound.

“So what now.” Y/N said, crossing her hands in her lap and staring at the floor. 

“We could talk about whatever the fuck you were dreaming about.” Patrick turned his head to look at her, and he stared at her while she inspected her carpet.

Y/N was silent, eyes unmoving. It unnerved Patrick deeply to see her so quiet, and he was incredibly curious as to why she was. 

“Let’s make pancakes.”

[decaydanceredacted]

jesus christ. new fall out boy Instagram video with patrick sitting criss cross. fucking showing off that lap of his for the world to see. i swear to god i need to fly to wherever he is and frot him so that he comes on my stomach over and over and after hours of me begging he decides i've been good enough and lets me ride his cock

- jumping spider anon

.

[ultralightpoe]

In The Deck - Patrick Zweig

Authors Note: Part 6 of my Halloween Event! I have never written for this character before so I hope you enjoy the blurb!

Warnings: None?

Word Count: 791

Requests: OPEN

~2024 Halloween Event Masterlist

[Thank you for the gif @blood-stained-razorblades ]

ENJOY!

“This is ridiculous.” He huffs, pacing back and forth in the room as you spread out your deck on the floor with a calm ease. He had been pacing non stop since he came into your room, without knocking which had annoyed you to no end.  “What bullshit.”

“Patrick.” You huff, keeping your eyes closed as you roam your fingers over the edges of the card. “You can’t storm in here and ruin my energy-”

“Ruin your energy?” He repeats with a small mocking laugh as he keeps pacing before you feel him stop in front of your deck. “What are you doing?”

“Currently?” You smile, feeling your own eyebrow raise. “Wishing I could stab you.”

You hear a breathy laugh before a small amount of movement tells you he is sitting criss-crossed in front of you. “And with the cards?”

“I’m trying to read tarot.”

“For what?”

“It’s my ritual.”

“Your ritual?” And the second he asks you ,give up and open your eyes to glare, fully annoyed now. 

“Yes. My ritual. You stretch before a match and I read my deck before my day.” You laugh, pulling in the deck to restart.

“Read mine then.”

“Patrick. Come on.”

“No, please. Practice got canceled and I have nothing before the game later. I want you to read my deck….. Please.”

It had been a rocky road with Patrick, especially when Tashi had been involved and you had always managed to keep him at arms length in order to protect yourself from him. It had been months of friends with benefits and you knew that you were right on the edge of falling just as you always had been, but you couldn’t take the risk of doing so when you couldn’t trust him.

But then he gives you those puppy dog eyes, and you grow concerned that you will mistake that look for something more when you know there isn’t.

“Fine.” You huff, reshuffling the deck and splaying it out as he inches forward in attempt to make contact with your knees. “Ask me a question.”

“Will I win my match today.”

“No. Ask a better question.”

“Fine. How will my match today go?” He tries again which makes you roll your eyes and attempt to glare at him before he leans forward to peck your lips. 

“Pick a card.”

“Pick a card, any card.” He laughs, biting at his lip before pulling a card. 

“Six of wands, good.”

“Is it?”

“It represents victory, reaping it’s reward.” You lay it out for him, your finger tracing the card before getting back to business. 

“How is Art doing?”

“Wrong, this isn’t Arts deck.”

“Okay, How do I ask then?”

“What does Art think about you? What is Art thinking about your friendship?”

“Oh, go with the second.”

“Then you have to-”

“Pick a card, any card.” He smiles, grabbing one from the middle. You grab it easily and your gut tightens as you see it. 

“Ten of swords, he thinks of betrayal. He believes you breached his trust, he suspects or knows of infidelity.” 

“Ouch.”

“Very. Next.”

“What does the girl I love think of me?” He asks, picking a card before you have to remind him to do so, but as he rushes to do it he manages to pick up two. 

“The lovers card and the nine of swords.”

“Which means?”

“She loves you, it’s passionate, but she worries. The nine of swords symbolizes negative thoughts and worries. It’s self-inflicted.” You explain, trying to picture Tashi with any of these traits.

“Are they accurate?” He asks, leaning forward. 

“How would I know if these are accurate to Tash-”

“What? I was asking about you?” He laughs, snatching the cards from you and admiring them. “What self inflicted negative thoughts do you have?”

And then he looks up, and gives you the most soul punching look you had ever seen. 

“That I can’t trust you.” You blurt, watching as he leans forward slowly.

“Then how do I get you to trust me?”

“I don’t know.” You whisper and he shakes his head. 

“I was asking the deck.” And then he holds up the card he chose. 

“Wheel of fortune.”

“If that means we watch wheel of fortune all day then I’m in.” 

“It means to accept change.” You smile, watching him admire all the cards before shaking his head. “What’s the problem?” “I think we are going to have to do this every match day.”

“Not a chance in hell-” But before you can finish your complaint he launches forward to kiss you deeply, making sure not to crinkle any of the cards. 

He helps you pack them up, helping you pack up so you can head to the game together.

-

[Thank you for the gif @sophia-becketts ]

[ofalltheginjoints]

rewatching the vid and i just noticed patricks sitting criss cross applesauce he’s literally just like me fr

[fanficfanatic000]

eddie x female reader

Chapter8 (climbing)

Story name I just moved to hawkins.Warnings 18 plus Spoilers ahead Goes with Story kinda

You and eddie slept In the train separately And it was the next day you woke up and eddie was gone "eddie?! Where are you?""Right here sweetheart" He said as he's on top of the train cart "eddie how did you get up there" a smile instantly on your face because of silly playful eddie. You hopped out of the train cart and looked on top to see eddie his jackets were off he was still in his dirty hellfire shirt and he was sitting criss-cross "eddie how did you get up there?""I bet you're asking cause you want up here isnt it?" Your cheeks flushed with a rose pink "maybe so why dont you tell me or i'll find away up." "Hmm i dont hink i'll tell you princess." "Eddie when i get up there im gonna fuck you up" " ill be waiting for that event sweetheart." "EDDIE!" your face and his face very red from his words You go to climb up from the side of the train but you fell and your knee is bleeding through the rip of your jeans"Fuck princess are you okay!?" He says as he climbs down the side. "Yeah I'm okay kinda." Eddie grabbed you in his arms and put you on the ledge of the train cart "How many fingers am i holding up"He holds up his middle finger and thumb as he gets a boyish smirk "Sorry i had to make you laugh" you nodded and giggled a little then you hear a noise huh it's the walkie-talkie going off you grab it from the corner of the cart "Eddie Y/n we are coming right now its kinda a code red!""Copy that little curly""Little curly... really y/n hand it to eddie "You give it to eddie "hello hellfire king to little dwarf""Oh my gosh dustin to hellfire king over and out ".. eddie set the walkie next to you "That kid can be a little punk sometimes but most the time hes the best he actually helped me put together the hellfire club.""Really he was the first freind ive had since i was like seven" Eddie smiled at you "hey sweetheart ill show you how to climb up now"... after like 20 minutes passed the group showed up and you and eddie are on top of the train car Dustin:"we're here how did you guys get up there?" "That's me and y/ns little secret ""Okay we need to talk"You and eddie climbed down Nancy:"so my freind fred Benson got killed the same way as chrissy and patrick..we need to find whatever it is doing this so why not go to the seen of the crime I saw in eddies trailer it was black mold from the ceiling. right where chrissy died so we should go to lovers lake where patrick died to see if he could find something because it's not a human killer it's the mindflare"" i think we should tomorrow when it gets dark out." Max: Okay but I also have a way to find out more. so my school therapist ms donald is the therapist of chrissy fred and patrick so maybe we could see if they have anything in common anything at all. In common They all left to the school to get the files And max found out that the common symptoms are nose bleeds headaches hallucinations trauma she wasn't the next then who is. "Eddie? Eddie?! Where are you"You hear a chim of a clock then you see it the clock all the other victims saw four chimes "eddie!!"

[thisoneisbatter]

Holy: Chapter Six

This is a new fic that is completed but I think I’ll be rolling it out chapter by chapter because it is a long one. It’s brat tamer, jaded widower Sheriff Hassan in full effect. This fic does contain some very rough sex and consensual sexual violence in some chapters so please do not read if that is a trigger for you. Otherwise, please enjoy and leave feedback!

Holy

Chapter six

Word Count: 2k+

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Hassan isn't the only one blinded by loss.

“Oh my god!” Leslie’s breathy cackle echoed through the boathouse. “Where’s the romance, Sheriff? This is your idea of a date?”

Hassan pulled his chest waders up and stepped onto the deck of the police boat. Leslie had her nose in the corner of the plywood building with her own waders down around her ankles. She was being punished for being mouthy. He’d picked her up for an early morning patrol of the Uppards and she’d called him baby. Since the night at his house, she was unbearable. He liked her and she knew it. The only thing that would make her shut up about it was a cock in her mouth or a tranquilizer dart.

“If you don’t shut up I’m leaving you.” Hassan took a labored step back off of the boat, crossing the boathouse quickly to kick her feet further apart and plant two fingers deep inside of her. She yelped.

“Oh no, I don’t have to go on a freezing cold boat ride to an island full of feral cats and garbage.” She was oozing sarcasm. Hassan pulled his fingers from her pussy, slapped her ass, and turned around frustrated.

“Get in the boat.” He didn’t bother to check over his shoulder for her. She was inches behind him pulling her jacket on as he started the motor.

“Can I drive?” She sat down with a wide, childlike smile, shooting him doe eyes.

He didn’t answer, simply lifting her out of his seat with the toe of his boot and sitting down himself. She gave him a pouty look but it was short lived.

They were going to the island on the mayor’s request, deterring teenagers, but they were also going to look for something specific. Whatever killed the cats after the Noreaster came from the island. Whatever sucked the blood out of hundreds of cats had been there at some point in the recent weeks. Hassan felt like it could mean something.

The truth was that since Leslie’s empowered speech about something weird happening at St. Patrick’s, and her mother’s screaming fit about Bev harboring a demon on the island, Hassan had been after just about every weird little bread crumb that came across his desk. So long as it didn’t mean actually having to set foot in the church or ruffling any obvious feathers, he was willing to take a look.

None of the puzzle pieces fit together yet. He was still collecting them, spreading them across the table, trying to find a pattern and a place to start. He wasn’t even entirely sure that there was anything to piece together at all.

They criss crossed the island separately. The most suspicious thing that Hassan found was nothing at all. Not a single living creature on the entire scrap of land. It had been overrun with cats, rabbits, and rats just a few months before. Leslie swore she found massive footprints, but they could have been anything. For all he knew, it was a pelican.

The afternoon had much more to offer, though, and neither Leslie nor Hassan were prepared for the pain that was to come.

He had her take the truck back to the office while he walked home from the boathouse. He needed to be alone. It was barely a quarter mile, but it was enough. Enough to clear his mind and calm the pounding behind his eyes. The cold wind on his face had never affected him well. He would have been a horrible fisherman.

He climbed the steps to his front door, kicked off his boots, and shrugged off his coat. He was going to go to bed early. He could almost feel the warm sheets as he stepped into the shower. He thought about warming up leftovers for Ali and making himself a cup of tea.

He was gently waterboarding himself under the searing hot shower spray when he heard pounding at his front door, quickly followed by Ali running into his room.

“Dad!” He wasn’t the type to barge in, but there he was, standing in the middle of his bathroom. Hassan hustled to grab a towel from the rack. “Leslie is here! She said it’s something with her mom.”

He threw on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt and hurried down the street to her front door. She was kneeling on the living room floor next to her mother’s slumped over body, still in uniform. Cindy had bloody foam crusted to her mouth, her skin was grey and lifeless. She was dead. She had been for some time.

“Ok, Les, honey.” Hassan used his most gentle voice, crouching down to help her up to her feet. He didn’t love using pet names, but it just flowed out. She needed a more tender touch. He knew enough about her to know that at least. He checked Cindy’s pulse, just in case. He was secretly thankful that he wasn’t going to need to perform CPR on a mouth full of purge. “It’s ok, its ok.” He pulled Leslie into the kitchen slowly. 

“I came in the front door and, and-uhm, she was just there and she was so cold.” He’d never seen her like that. She was struggling to take off her gun belt, hands shaking. He covered her hands with his and unbuckled it for her, laying it on the counter.

“Deep breath.” He demonstrated for her, placing her hand in the middle of his chest while she breathed along. While she regained control, he looked around the living room where the body sat. Her bedside table was knocked over. The sheets were pulled off of her medical bed by the window and laid partially under her body. There was vomit on the rug in the center of the room. Her clothes were twisted and disheveled like she’d been on the floor writhing around for some time. “Was the door unlocked?”

“It’s always unlocked, Hassan.” Her eyes welled up again, threatening to break open the dam and drop more tears from her pink rimmed eyes.

“Has anyone been over today that you know of?” Whatever happened to Cindy, it wasn’t the peaceful, quiet death of an elderly woman fading away. It was a struggle.

“Sarah, next door, she looks in during lunch time.” Leslie had taken a seat at the table, head in her hands. “What the hell happened, Hassan?”

“Dr. Gunning?” It was the only Sarah he knew on the island. She wasn’t next door, but they shared a back yard.

“No, Sarah Sturge. She’s in 848.” She gesture to the side door off of the kitchen, the one that faced directly to her neighbor’s house.

“Sturge’s wife?” He didn’t do a good job of keeping up on the names and stories Leslie had fed him in his first few weeks. If someone didn’t work at the General Store or have a good reason to be in front of him every day, he easily forgot their name.

“Sister. She works at the harbor during the evenings.”

He didn’t need to explain his suspicions to Leslie. He needed to get the body out of her house and get in contact with the state police on the mainland. He placed two calls. One to the dispatcher from the city who would be sending someone from the medical examiner in the morning, and one to Dr. Gunning to help him make sense of what he was seeing.

In the meantime, he took Leslie home, to his home.

“They can’t get her mom out until the morning so she’s going to stay here tonight.” He explained to Ali, who had a million questions that he knew wouldn’t be answered by his famously steel trap father. Leslie was on the couch, her head still in her hands. She wasn’t sobbing anymore. It was more of a scrunched face and vacant look. 

“Do you want me to change my sheets for her?” Ali spoke slowly, testing the waters. He had his suspicions. Warren said that he’d seen his dad slap Leslie’s ass once when she got out of the truck behind their office. He couldn’t imagine his dad slapping anyone’s ass, much less hers. Until he saw her out for a walk around the block with her mom a few days ago, wearing an NYPD t-shirt that he’d seen before. “Dad, are you-“ He didn’t get the rest of the question out before Hassan held up his hand and shook his head, dismissing the question immediately.

“She’s going to sleep in my room, with me. Is that ok with you?” Hassan shot him a stern look. The question had been rhetorical.

Ali was surprised, and honestly a little impressed. His dad hadn’t even been on a date that he knew of since his mom died ten years before. Aunties had tried to set him up for awhile, but Hassan wasn’t exactly on the lookout for a new wife. He still wore his wedding ring every day.

He was admittedly slack jawed when he saw his dad take the grieving and absent Leslie by the hand and lead her to his bedroom.

It surprised Hassan too. He was surprised at how easily he unbuttoned her work shirt, helping her slip her arms out, and hung it up in his own closet. How mechanically his body walked into the bathroom and turned on the hot water, filling his tub for her. How mindlessly he could work the hair tie out of her ponytail and run his own comb through her knotted hair. How truly easy it was for him to sit on the floor next to her while she wept in the chest high water, holding her hand that hung over the edge of the tub.

He’d had grief take a seat in him before. He knew what it felt like to have that anvil in your belly dragging you underwater when you least expect it. He wasn’t sure if he still had enough heart left to break, but watching her go through it, watching this tiny, fragile thing buckling under the weight was a different kind of pain. Seeing it from the other end.

He took her hands and lifted her from the tub, wrapped her in a towel, and carried her to bed. She didn’t protest but his body did. It was less than 20 feet and she couldn’t be more than 120lbs. His back could take it just this once.

“Do you want to talk?” She hadn’t said anything since they’d talked in her kitchen. He put her in another one of his t-shirts. This one was grey, it was one he still enjoyed wearing. She shook her head no and climbed into his bed. “Do you want me to talk?”

That elicited a nod, and even a fleeting smile.

“When I was younger, I, uhm, was really into Ghostbusters. I saw the movie as many times as I could. I was 10 when the second movie came out and I begged my mom to let me see it in the theater. She even took me herself.” He shuffled around to pull Leslie into his chest, wrapping his arms around her in a nearly suffocating hold. He wanted to squeeze the sadness out of her. He knew he couldn’t, but he wanted to surround her anyway. He wanted to create a barrier between her and everything in the world trying to hurt her. “Just imagine me, tiny, ten years old, so excited I’m standing in my seat, and my poor mom having no idea what the hell is going on. I think about it sometimes and it always makes me laugh.”

“Is your mom still alive?” Her tiny voice broke through.

“No, she died when I was 30.” He desperately tried not to make it come out somber. It really wasn’t somber anymore. She’d passed from cancer just like his wife, but the shock of it had long worn off by the time she was gone. It was slow. “My dad is still alive. He lives in Pittsburg.”

“My mom used to make me watch Gene Kelley movies. She liked to sing along to his music and dance in the living room.” She sniffled, bringing her hand up to wipe her face before burrowing into his tshirt. “I know my mom was dying, but she was still so alive. She still watched Gene Kelley.”

“It’s so hard to lose someone when they’re still in your life every day. When my-when my wife died, I felt like she was turning into dust in my hands. She was still fighting every day but I couldn’t do anything to help her.” He closed his eyes and wove his fingers into Leslie’s hair, grounding himself there. “Her name is, was Shameema. She’s gone, but not really. She’s still in Ali. When I parent him, it’s for both of us.” He craned his neck down to look at Leslie’s face. She was listening, not turned away. She was captive. He continued. “At first she was in every room. I could still smell her. Her fingerprints were everywhere. I didn’t want to wash the clothes I wore the last time I held her. That wasn’t how she wanted it to go, though. She didn’t want to haunt me, so I don’t let that happen. What you did for your mother, moving back here, caring for her, I hope you know that what you did was good and right and you got to have so many more memories with her because of it.”

He felt like it was the most words he’d ever spoken to her. Opening up, taking a sledgehammer to the wall he kept between them, it was all so draining. It didn’t feel foreign or wrong though, and that was curious.

“Whatever happened to her, Hassan, she didn’t deserve to go like that.” The crack in her voice was heart wrenching.

“We’ll find out what happened and make it right, honey.” He kissed her forehead one last time for the night. He knew his sleep would be fitful. It’s so hard to sleep with someone when you’re used to being alone. Exhaustion was a powerful drug, though. He let it take him.

[callyourose]

match point, chapter two.

→ masterlist

— In which Art and Patrick find themselves intertwined with the relationship of tennis superstar Tashi Duncan and her best friend, Lennon Caddel.

LENNON CADDEL AND TASHI DUNCAN WEREN'T IN LOVE. Contrary to popular belief. Their own parents had sat down both of their daughters and asked them about it. Not that they would tell the truth if they were. They were best friends. That's all. Sure, they kissed sometimes and Tashi had a soft spot only for Lennon and Lennon valued Tashi's opinion more than anybody on the planet. She had dumped plenty of boyfriends at the advice of her best friend; so much so that she just preferred the stay single. She would wait until Tashi found someone that was worthy of her attention. She knew best, after all. Lennon wasn't a pushover, though. She had had to explain that to plenty of friends and boyfriends and even her own parents. She could stand up for herself, really she could. But what is there to stand up for when it comes to Tashi? She did know best. "He's not obsessed with you enough", Tashi would say after hanging out with Lennon and her boy of the month. "You need someone who's going to be so devoted to you that they can't think of anything else." Tashi would take Lennon's face in her hands, press a kiss to her forehead, and hug her tightly. No one was more devoted than Tashi. Their relationship wasn't entirely platonic, they knew that. But it wasn't romantic either. They were so devoted to each other that the line had started to blur.

     "They're not coming." Art was staring at the dirty ceiling of his and Patrick's shared hotel room. The party had ended three hours ago, and the time had begun to creep into the early hours of the morning. Patrick was standing, pacing, shuffling a deck of cards.

"They might," he huffed.

"But they're not."

Patrick knew they weren't coming. He knew it was soon as the thought entered his head six hours ago and he knew it before it left Art's mouth three hours later. "That's only because you made it sound like we want to fuck them in here!"

Art rolled over on to his stomach, pressing his head into the hard mattress. He wanted to scream, the sound muffled by the fabric, but he wasn't the dramatic type. He was irritated, obviously. He wanted to see Lennon and Tashi again but Patrick was right. He did make it sound like they wanted to fuck them in the sticky atmosphere of their hotel room. 

"Do we not?" He asked, turning his head so Patrick would hear him. 

"Well, yes! But that's..." the brunette stopped pacing, turning around so he could make eye contact with Art. "Not tonight. Not in… here. We don't even know them really."

Art rolled over on his side completely, tucking his hands under his head. "That's never stopped you before."

Two floors down, Lennon and Tashi were having a similar conversation. Tashi was standing at the bathroom mirror, moisturizing and brushing her teeth and Lennon was sitting criss cross on their shared king-size bed. 

"I'm just saying," Lennon pleads, like she had for the better part of the last two hours, "What's the worst that could happen? If we go over?"

Tashi turns off the bathroom light and joina her friend in bed. 

"Uh, they get drunk and try to fuck us?" She answered, brushing a stray hair out of the other girl's face.

Lennon hesitated before answering. "...Would that really be the worst thing?"

Tashi's eyes go wide and she doubles over laughing. This was routine for her. Pretty boys approach her, she entertains them for a while, and then she ghosts. She had enough on her plate. She didn't need boys, girls, or anyone to get in the way of her life, her success, and most importantly her relationship with Lennon. 

"I'm serious!" Lennon whines. "I know this happens to you all the time, but this never happens to me! I just..." She sighs and avoids Tashi's gaze.

"You what, Len?" Her eyebrows are furrowed and she grips Lennon's arm, forcing her to look at her. Her grip is strong in comparison to the sticky sweetness dripping from her tone. 

"I'm about to be a college freshman," Lennon continues, "and I... I don't have all the experience that you do. I don't want to be the only girl on Stanford's tennis roster that's... you know..."

"A virgin?"

"Yeah." 

Tashi sighs and lets her arm go. She considers her options. She could tell Lennon no, that she's not going and she knows Lennon will only go if she goes. Or...

"Get your shoes on, then." Tashi stands, sliding her own shoes onto her already socked feet. 

Lennon looks up at her wide eyed, the corners of her mouth twitching into a smile. "Really?"

She receives the smallest smile before being handed her beat up converse. "Really. Let's go before I change my mind."

So she takes out her retainer, pulls on her shoes, and grins.

"How do I look?" 

Beautiful. Like always. "Fuckable." 

Now it's Lennon's turn to double-over laughing.