#Table Tennis Tournament | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

matchpointfaist · 11 days ago

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super rich kids with nothing but loose ends

art donaldson x pr relationship! reader

tw for drinking, drug usage, smut, might split into two parts

art donaldson had a tiny image problem. okay, maybe tiny wasn’t the right word. according to his team, and grandmother, he was on a downward spiral headed nowhere. he was at the height of his career, fresh out of stanford and in with the pros, perpetually gearing up for his next tournament, always running on as little sleep as possible. he had more than he knew how to handle; more money, more alcohol, more parties, more people offering him coke and more of a reason to finally try it. when he was younger, 16 or 17, he’d preached about his body being a temple, he’d never have dreamed of putting anything harmful into it. but now? now, he was living in a free for all, and he just kept coming out on top.

you, on the other hand? the media loved you. you were riding a high from your US open win straight out of college, on a winning streak that was finally being recognized as more to do with skill than luck. your team was a tight ship, constantly keeping tags on you, making sure nothing undesirable slipped through. it wasn’t just about winning, for you. it was about being the best, and that meant every aspect of your life revolving around getting people to like you. behind closed doors, though? that was a whole different story.

you could, and often did, keep up with art and all of his friends. you weren’t close, really, but you ran in the same circles, always running into each other at parties, occasionally flirting. he’d run into you once at some magazine launch, making small talk, already half drunk. “how do you do it?” he’d let slip through, watching you with hazy eyes. “do what?” you’d laughed, brows knit. “keep it together. you’re always more fucked up than i am, but you go out and win the next day like nothing happened,” he’d sounded frustrated, like he was holding it against you. “i just do it,” you’d shrugged, knowing fully well it was a blatant lie. every moment of your life was choreographed and orchestrated- you never just did anything. “bullshit,” he’d said under his breath, turning away before you could ask him what he meant. he’d avoided you after that, watching from afar as you drank the other girls under the table, as you stayed out even later than he did despite having a 8am match. he didn’t need to know how you did it. he could figure it out himself.

six months later, he found himself sitting in his manager's glass office, getting scolded for what felt like hours, lectured endlessly about his problematic behavior. "we need to rehab your image," his manager told him, leaned over his desk, "you need a girlfriend, someone to soften your appearance, make you more favorable to brands," "i'm a tennis player," art sighed, sinking down in the crinkling plastic seat, "i didn't sign up for all this shit, honestly, and i'm certainly not gonna go date some random girl just so a brand will sponsor me," "you don't need a random girl," his manager smiled, paging his assistant, and before art could ask him to clarify, you were strolling through the door. "oh, fuck no," he shook his head, standing without hesitation, "no. i don't need tennis' golden girl to tidy up my image, okay? this is bullshit," "if you want to stay signed on here, you'll sit down,"

art sat back down with an agitated huff, crossing his legs, trying to keep his eyes off of you as you sat down in the chair just beside his. "you need to understand that the two of you are not just tennis players anymore, alright? you're celebrities. my firm represents both of you, and i have zero intention of letting my investment go to waste because you can't get a grip, donaldson. we've drawn up contracts-" the man slid two folders across his desk, rigid with tension, "the two of you will maintain a stable, healthy relationship for a minimum of six months, until the buzz about art's recent escapades dies down. if, for any reason, this relationship ends before the six month term, both of your contracts with this firm will be terminated. got it?" a handful of mumbled expletives and messy signatures later, you were following art out of the office, the tension palpable.

"i think this is all bullshit, for the record," he told you as the elevator doors closed behind the two of you, "i don't need this. i'm doing perfectly fine for myself," "you're an alcoholic who sleeps his way through whichever city he finds himself competing in, don't be stupid. i know you, art. or were you too fucked up to remember all the times you hit on me at parties?" "i'm not an alcoholic," he scoffed, running a hand through his hair, "and that's rich, coming from you. you drink more than half the guys there," "and yet i still show up and don't make an ass out of myself!" you laughed incredulously, "face it, art, really. you need this,"

the elevator dinged and he watched as you stepped off, hesitating before following after you. “we might as well make the best of it,” he finally sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, “we need to be seen out together,” “just call me when you set something up,” you told him, smoothing out your skirt, “see you around, art,” and then you were gone, slipped out the door and into the back of some dark suv, just casual enough to get under his skin. he waited a week before calling you, finally deciding just to take you to dinner, try to at least be friends if you were stuck together for 6 months. he picked the restaurant, insisting on picking you up himself- he had a new sports car he was itching to drive- and sent you the details. he pulled into your driveway 5 minutes late, debating if he should get out and come to the door before changing his mind. this wasn’t a real date, after all.

you walked out after a moment, a vision of long legs and a sleek dress, your hair falling in loose curls down your back. “rude to make a lady come to the car alone,” you told him as you slid into the passenger seat, “i’d prefer if you didn’t do it again,” “do forgive me,” he rolled his eyes, raising his hands in mock surrender before putting the car back in drive, pulling out of your driveway, “you look nice,” “hm, you do too,” you smiled just slightly, eyes raking over his blazer and slacks, the shining watch on his wrist. he reached over to turn the music up, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. “we need to talk about how we want to come across," you said over the song, "like what do we want the public to think about our relationship?"

"i couldn't give a fuck less," he laughed, shrugging one shoulder, "as long as they think we're together, who cares about specifics?" "well you can't be seen with anyone else," you frowned slightly, irritated by his nonchalance, "you know that, right?" "getting jealous already?" he flashed you a grin, one hand coming to rest on your thigh. you jerked away immediately, glaring at him from the corner of your eye, but he just waved it off, pulling you back towards him. "relax, i'm just getting in character," he smiled, more like smirked, his eyes gleaming with mischief, "you want it to come natural, don't you?" you tried to relax, ignoring the way his thumb rubbed circles on the skin of your thigh, the way his hand felt warm against you. it wasn't real, so it didn't matter that the simple touch had your heart racing.

the dinner went smoothly, the two of you falling into practiced touches easily, your hand lingering on his arm and his eyes lingering on your lips. by the end of the night, you had a near perfect rhythm. "you're good at this," he mumbled as he walked you down the crowded sidewalk back to his car, his hand on your low back, "guess you get used to that, being the golden girl of american tennis," "that's funny coming from you," you laughed slightly, "you're number one in the country, damn near in the world. you should be used to it by now," "never get used to having a beautiful woman on my arm," his voice was dangerously slow, suspiciously genuine. "bet you say that to all the girls," you rolled your eyes, attempting to brush off the way goosebumps dotted along your skin. "you're naive if you think i care about the other girls enough to flatter them," it sounds too easy to be a lie, "they throw themselves at me, i don't really have time to try and impress them,"

"you're an asshole," you laughed, shocked at his bluntness, "i thought you were nice, you're always so soft at parties," "soft?" he repeated, like he'd been scorned, "i am not soft, i just try not to be as aggressive as some of the other guys," "well i'm glad to discover you're actually exactly the same as they are," you rolled your eyes, "frat boys are all the same anyway, i'm not surprised," "i'm not a frat boy!" he argued, "i graduated last year, thank you very much," "once a frat boy, always a frat boy," you grinned, looking up at his flushed face. he looked down at you, the tension melting away as a boyish smile spread across his lips, "god, should've known you were just fucking with me," he laughed, nudging your shoulder. "i have no room to talk," you laughed, running a hand through your hair before letting it fall to his shoulder, looping your arm through his as you walked, "guess we're not too different,"

the drive home was quiet, his playlist playing idly in the background as he drove, your eyes glued to your phone so you wouldn't look at him for too long. he walked you to the door when you got there, smiling apologetically, "hopefully this makes up for earlier," "i guess so," you grinned, leaning against your doorway. "so we won't see anyone else," he said after a moment, "what about affection? i know we have to sell it, but are you okay with kissing in public? i don't want to take it too far," "wow, a frat boy who cares about consent," you teased, "why don't you come inside? we can sit down and talk about everything,"

you shouldn't have invited him in. you knew it as soon as you actually saw him in your space, sitting on your couch like he belonged there, his dress shoes by the door right next to your discarded heels. it made it all too real, his sobering presence casting a light on your home. "your place is so nice," he said, standing from the couch to run his fingers along the frame of a painting, "i'm surprised you don't have all your trophies out on display," "oh, they're out, just not in here," you assured him, "i have a room for that," "can i see?" he sounded genuinely curious, bordering on excited, and you cursed yourself for being so stupid before pushing it down and leading him through the house.

you opened a door along the main hallway, hesitating before letting him step inside after you, the only person you'd ever allowed inside besides your parents. "jesus," he said under his breath, glancing around. you knew you must look insane to a normal person- there were trophies and medals littering the shelves, plaques displayed, framed photos of winning shots or of you posing with coaches. there was a small tv against the wall, only used to watch back matches, and a loveseat for when you spent hours locked in the room, examining your every played back movement. you watched as he studied each trophy, his eyes lingering on the US Junior Open cup, the first one you'd ever won. "you were 15," he finally said, his fingers tracing the inscription in the copper, "weren't you?" "yeah, i was," you nodded, surprised that he even knew that, "why?" "that's fucking incredible," he continued on over the awards, "this is all fucking incredible,"

"i thought you'd think i was crazy," you admitted, "like this was some kinda shrine or something," "i think this is the hottest thing i've ever seen," his voice was hoarse, his eyes on the photo of you just after your most recent win, kissing your trophy. "what?" you almost laughed, to diffuse the tension if nothing else. "you're so fucking talented," he turned to face you, and your breath left you, your cheeks flushing. he looked undone, pupils dilated and cheeks tinged pink, "do you just sit in here and look at all you've done?" "i only come in here to watch matches," you felt suddenly embarrassed, like you were admitting some weakness, baring some part of your soul to him, "that's really all," "oh, god," he ran a hand through his hair, "you're so intense," "is that a bad thing?" you asked defensively, crossing your arms over your chest. "no, god no," he said quickly, shaking his head, "this whole thing is just- you're just insanely talented,"

a mental alarm goes off as he crosses the room, standing just in front of you, brushing a lock of hair from your face. “you make all those other girls look like a fucking joke,” he murmured, “you know that? wouldn’t even bother playing against you if i were them,” that does it- ignore the voice in your head telling you this is wrong, that this isn’t real- and kiss him, feverish and hot, rough and quick. he grabs hold of your hips, tight and greedy, with an intensity you’d only ever seen on the court. “we shouldn’t,” it comes out in a pant between kisses, your voice heady, “art, wait-“ “fuck waiting,” he mumbles, pulling you back to kiss you again, your back hitting the wall behind you. he tastes like vodka and redbull and mint gum, your lips tingling against his. a startled gasp leaves you as he halfway picks you up, your shoulder knocking a trophy from the wall with a clang. “shit, i’m sorry-“ “bedroom,” you cut him off, sliding out of his arms to pull him down the hallway, stumbling steps taken between messy kisses.

he laid you back on your bed, his kisses getting sloppier the needier he got, his hands anywhere he could reach. “these fucking legs,” he choked out, his hands grabbing at your thighs, lips trailing down your neck, “gonna be the death of me,” “shut up and fuck me,” you pulled his lips back to yours, eager for more. your body was taut with need by the time he finally rolled on a condom, ignoring your chastising remark when he pulled it from his wallet, and fucked into you, stretching you out more than you’d expected. “art, fuck,” you moaned against his lips, back arching. “oh,” he pulled away just enough that you could see the moment his eyes rolled back, his lips swollen and red, all blissed out as he rolled his hips. “oh, fuck me, that feels good,” his hands came to your thighs as his thrusts grew faster, his fingers leaving little marks across your skin, roaming pointlessly until he stretched your legs up, holding them above you, the new angle making you squeeze him even tighter. “oh, right there,” you were breathless, reaching between your parted thighs to circle your clit, desperate for your high. “you like that?” he panted, pressing a kiss to your calf, “tell me, baby,” in any other situation, you’d have rolled your eyes at his cockiness, but it only served to bring you closer. “yes, feels so fucking good,” you nodded, shameless and eager, “oh! oh, art, right fuckin there-“ he fucked you even harder, your muscles burning as he held your legs higher, a scream nearly leaving your throat as you came, trembling beneath him. “oh, jesus-“ he followed you almost immediately, filling the condom with a moan, his hips stilling slowly, “god, that was good,”

he slowly pulled your legs back down, pulling out of you and disposing of the condom as he caught his breath. your eyes were heavy with exhaustion, a serene feeling enveloping you as you curled up into bed, yawning quietly. “you can stay over,” you offered- something you never did- “if you want,” “yeah, okay,” he nodded, curling up behind you, his hands resting on your waist, “g’night, then,” “mm, night art,” you hummed, eyes closing.

you woke up only a couple of hours later, blinking into the darkness of your room, the spot beside you cold. your brows furrowed as you sat up, glancing around, only to find art gone, as well as the pile of clothes he’d shed earlier that evening. “what the fuck?” you mumbled to yourself, checking the time on your phone, rubbing your eyes. just under the 3:14am, there was a text from art. ‘sorry i dipped. don’t think we should do that again, wasn’t in the contract and all that. night!’ your face stung, anger and humiliation filling your veins. you slammed your phone down on the nightstand, pulling the pillow over your head and trying your best to get some sleep. he was right, you thought. it wasn’t real, so why pretend? only five months and 29 days to go, anyway.

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theoldsports · 1 year ago

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SOLUTION.

Art Donaldson x Reader | 5k words

SORRY SERIES LINK.

warnings: pregnancy, implied discussion of abortion, a boy groveling on his knees for his family, there’s a dog (a real one, not just Art), talk about Art’s forced weird athletic borderline disordered eating.

okay, i lied last time. THIS is my best work. this is very out of my brain and i hope you love it. holy shit.

Have you ever sat and listened to a leaky faucet? I mean, really listened?

Steady. Like a heartbeat, if you think about it.

Sometimes, though, if the leak is slow enough, it’s more like the kind of heart rate that sends the nurse with the crash-cart sweeping into the room to shock you out of an AFIB pattern. Or however that worked.

[Y/N] was listening to it. The dripping. The kitchen sink. It hadn’t stopped for days. When it began, it was steady. Now, it was irregular. It started the day Art left

Art had been away at an early season tournament. [Y/N] had an impossible work week, so Art had told her he was happy to go for the better part of the week on his own. They both knew Art really did hate to be alone in situations like that. He had always had one of his people there. His mom, Patrick, [Y/N]; one of them was in his corner at these things. This time, he was truly on his own. Art could not stand to travel alone. He had his team of physios and coaches, but not his family. [Y/N] was going to swing by and surprise him at the end, but her boss had leaned into her for trying to take more days off during release season for the big summer blockbusters. Plus, someone did have to watch the dog.

This context about Art’s being away is important. It’s not that Art was the epitome of a handyman, but he really liked to feel like he was contributing to their home’s ecosystem when a lightbulb went out or a switch needed replacing. The man was incredible with the small things. Yet, [Y/N] sat at the kitchen table with a frown on her face, trying to rough in an outline for an article. With the faucet dripping. If Art were there, or if she was with Art three states over, the faucet wouldn’t be dripping against the porcelain basin.

It wasn’t like the wifi signal was strong enough anywhere else on the property for her to up and move either.

drip drip drip. Said the faucet.

[Y/N] was damn near the point where she was going to run upstairs to the bedroom and get the baseball bat Art kept with the express purpose of running down the stairs in his briefs and cracking up on possible intruders. All she could think about was bringing the wood down against the glass and cheap metal on her kitchen counter.

A new house would have a working sink and a bathroom counter that wasn’t too small and a halfway decent wifi signal.

Instead, [Y/N] set her face down upon the cool blue faux granite countertop. The temperature helped ease the feeling of the hyperbolic corkscrew being driven between her eyes. The dripping kept dripping and [Y/N] wanted to cry.

This agony wasn’t all the sink’s fault, though.

[Y/N] saw on the tennis channel before she even got a call from Art that he’d won that weekend. He still hadn’t called. The lack of a call from made her feel ashamed. Not a soul there to celebrate the success with him. She felt an immense sense of guilt slide across her skin because she wasn’t there to witness that smile he got when he won. Sweaty and angry, but relieved every time. He still got that look when he won. Art was a machine on the court, and a competitor not worth counting out at this point in his career. He still looked surprised and delighted every time he, of all people, hit the winner. [Y/N] loved that look. Art loved how she would celebrate with him after a win, too.

[Y/N] prayed Art made his flight without delay that evening. Selfishly, because she wanted her boy back. Also because Art was mortally terrified of airplanes. Planes made him feel out of control due to lack of trust with the pilot. Without that phone call from him, [Y/N] was scared knowing he was out on his own and that he likely felt anxious enough to give a horse a heart attack. She would have no way of knowing if something had happened between the match end and now.

She did know that the sink was leaking.

She also knew her period was two weeks late.

That, Art couldn’t fix on his own. In fact, it was fairly obvious that the delay was more or less Art’s fault.

[Y/N] hadn’t yet taken a pregnancy test at that time. If she took the time to take one, it would make everything the obvious answer a reality she would have to deal with. She had scares before. Ones that she had never, and would never, tell Art about. She would wait for her delayed—not missed!—period and everything would be fine. Like the other times. It had to be fine.

She checked her phone. It was a blue slidephone with small rhinestone stickers she had applied to the back. Still nothing from Art. He said he would call first right after the match, but he still hadn’t actually called, so maybe it was time to call first. It had been hours since he said he’d ring up. It wasn’t a major concern that Art would blow her off. Ideas of danger and uncertainties flooded her head.

“I’m the one that wants marriage so bad. Not Artie. What if he says no? Or not now…?”

[Y/N] sat on the beach with her back against Patrick’s shins. Art and [Y/N] were completing their first year completely post college. [Y/N] and Patrick were twenty-four and Art was almost twenty-four. His November birthday set him behind.

Patrick’s hands were on her shoulders and his body in a beach chair behind her while they both stared off over ocean as the sun set. “You’re actually stupid if you think he’ll deny you, [Y/N].”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to step on his game, or whatever. The guy is supposed to ask. Isn’t this going to be… emasculating or something?”

“Emasculating for Art? For pretty baby? Yeah, okay,” Patrick teased. [Y/N] threw a fistful of sand at him. “Christ, okay, okay. Cool it.” He spit.

Art had run back up toward to hotel to grab his water bottle, while Patrick and [Y/N] stayed at the dunes. [Y/N] wanted to propose to Art by trip’s end. She thought it would be sweet. Art was extremely forward when it came to her her, but he hadn’t been forward about the whole proposal business. He seemed scared about marriage. [Y/N]he would do it herself.

She was grateful for the time alone with her best friend too. Sitting and doing nothing, or partying. Either was more than welcome. “He’s not going to say no,” Patrick continued. His mouth casually leaned close to her ear. “Because it’s insane how whipped you’ve got him.”

“Don’t say that—“

“He wants to have your babies. Ask him. Trust me, he’ll say yes and he will be all the hell over you.” His fingers worked into [Y/N]’s shoulders, feeling the tension there. He took his hands off of her when Art came running down the beach.

[Y/N] heard a click in the lock. Her head flopped to the left, still pressed against the counter, to glance at the door. Her heart rate increased. She was so tired and the speed of the situation so fast, that she didn’t both moving or attempting to defend herself.

Most fortunately, when the door swung open, it was her Art. The sun was going down behind him. He looked a bit ragged and had a racket bag over one shoulder and two duffels in the other hand. She sat upright sharply on the kitchen barstool. “Pretty baby!”

All Art’s gear hit the floor. The door was left open behind him (taking a big chance that their Labrador mix, Cheese, didn’t run down the stairs and bolt out and away). Art walked toward [Y/N], arms extending. His strong arms pulled [Y/N] in close to his chest. She rested her head against his soft gray t-shirt. Her own arms embraced him back and one of her hands tucked comfortably into the back pocket of his jeans. “[Y/N]… I missed you.” Art said into her hair.

“I missed you… I-I… You didn’t call. How did you get here—“

“Final match actually started on time, so I gambled on moving my flight to the earlier one. I didn’t have time to call if I was taking the early one. I should’ve texted. I got nervous with the-the flight. I’m sorry. Forgive me?”

[Y/N] leaned back to look at him. There was no more welcome sight in the world than Art Donaldson. Irish genetics saw to it that Art was freckled from the spring sun. With shaggy hair boyishly covered by a baseball cap tipping back dangerously, he practically glowed. Even though he looked like shit. His sunglasses were hanging on his shirt. [Y/N/] tilted her head up, signaling for a kiss. Hungrily, Art leaned forward to take as many kisses as he wanted. His lips tasted like spearmint gum. Like always.

Cheese did run downstairs when Art’s hand climbed up the side of [Y/N]’s throat and when her own hand started to squeeze from under the fabric of Art’s back left pants pocket. Art had to pull regretfully away to grab Cheese by the collar and shut the front door.

Delightedly, Art did gteet Cheese with ear-scratches and a belly rub. Art received the customary licks and a tailwags in return. Cheese was always pretty down when the whole family wasn’t together. He walked and played a bit, but when his dad wasn’t around, Cheese kind of deflated. He had spent most of the time laying flat on Art’s side of the bed. It was obvious the dog was grieving the disappearance of his boy.

When Art bent down to pat his beloved Cheese, [Y/N] stood from her chair and bent at the waist. She pulled Art’s hat off and set it on the counter. Gently, she kissed Art on top of the head. With a scratch not unlike the ones he gave to the canine to the back of Art’s neck, the man looked up at her from the ground with a half-smile.

“Congrats, baby,” [Y/N] said. Art cut his eyes curiously from her to the tennis channel on the TV playing in the next room. That had him realizing where she would have gotten the information of his win from so efficiently. “How was the tournament? I’m sorry I couldn’t—“

“Sure, sure, but I bet Cheese here is pretty glad you were home,” Art said and stood up with one final pat to Cheese’s flank. “The whole thing was great. I… I’m kind of surprised I won, if I’m being honest.” Art said, wrapping an arm around [Y/N]’s waist.

Naturally, her hands flattened against his toned chest when he tugged her towards him. “I’m not. You’re fucking good at tennis, Art.”

His ears reddened in embarrassment as he tucked his face into [Y/N]’s neck to hide his face. Art was used to praise and loved it more than anything, no matter where it came from. Every compliment from [Y/N] was worth a hell of a lot more. Art hated thinking about why that was the case. He knew why, though. She had seen he and Patrick play and even then thought Art was good. Art still won the match when it came to [Y/N] and he would never tell her that.

“Hush…” He mumbled into her neck, planting a biting, teasing kiss there. She laughed. He laughed. “I played against an eighteen year old kid yesterday. He played really well,” Art leaned back to look at her again. “You saw, I’m sure,” he indicated the TV with a nod. “He would’ve won this weekend if I hadn’t won that match. Just… I’m twenty-six. Made me feel old.”

“…Glad you won, then.”

“I said if I hadn’t…”

“Well, if you’re sooooo down on your win then congrats on flying home all by yourself like a big boy.” [Y/N] smirked.

“Oh, you’re gonna be like that, huh?” Art withdrew his hands from his wife’s body and put them teasingly on his own hips.

[Y/N] nodded. “Yeah. If you’re old, imagine how I feel.”

“Ancient, probably.”

Art leaned in for another kiss. She pushed him back playfully. “No! You called me old!” [Y/N] laughed.

She leaned one way, then the other to avoid Art’s beautifully wrinkled nose and smiling mouth. “Please? I’m sorry, I’m sorry! You’re-you’re not old!” Art said and attempted to trap her with his arms and give her a kiss.

[Y/N] turned hard over her shoulder and ran up the stairs. Cheese gave a woof from the couch when Art chased after her. Art spent his life chasing after her.

“No! You can’t kiss me! Doghouse! Bad Art! Bad!” [Y/N] accused jokingly. Art jumped up the stairs. He took them two and three at a time.

Art backed her against the bathroom door. Nowhere left to run. His rough hands settled on her hips. “Gotcha. You’re pretty fast for an old lady, y’know. Late for bingo, or—“ Art smirked when he leaned in to kiss her.

[Y/N] shut him up with a kiss. She had missed his stupid boy babbling. His mouth was soft against hers. Art put one of his hands on the wooden door beside her face to hold himself up. The other hand found her belt loop, keeping her body close to his.

“I love you,” Art whispered between kisses. “I love you so much, honey. I missed you.”

[Y/N]’s head leaned back against the door with a soft thud. Her breath caught in her throat. “I love you t—mmh!” Art leaned in for another kiss.

The joy of being Art Donaldson’s wife was that he never got tired of touching her, or being physically close. Sometimes, [Y/N] would look over at him while she was writing, or making dinner, and he would be staring, or slowly extending his hand to her and seeing how long it took for [Y/N] to acknowledge his presence. It never ceased to make her feel beautiful. “Can we…” his fingers danced over the button on her jeans.

“Can we what…?” She asked coyly.

Art blushed, but smirked and lowered his lips by [Y/N] ear. “Can we fuck? Please?” He asked too politely for as dirty as those words were. Like the good midwestern boy that he was.

She tipped her head back further. Art kissed her neck with all the energy he could muster. “Can I not make you dinner first? You-you a cheap whore as well as old now, too?” [Y/N] jeered. Art snorted a laugh. The warm air from the giggle spread over [Y/N]’s skin, causing goosebumps to raise. “I’m never letting you leave home alone again, then.”

Art nodded against her skin, sucking and licking a spot they both new would bruise dark. The sound she let out was absolutely disgusting and Art loved it. “I would prefer to never be let out of your sight, personally.” He said when he pulled away.

“Come on, house boy… We’re havin’ dinner. And you’re gonna eat some bread,” [Y/N] said, pointing a finger at Art’s chest. He started to put up a fight about the ultra-low nonexistent amount of inactive carbs he was eating during the season, but [Y/N] kept chattering. “Stop talking. Your brain doesn’t work right without carbs. Braindead. Come on, dinner.”

“You’re bad for me.”

“I know.” [Y/N] smiled.

Normally, [Y/N] drank a cup of coffee when the pair made dinner. Art knew the pattern. He made her the cup of coffee every time. It sat mostly unfinished that night, though. She found herself heating and reheating it in the microwave as they cooked. She started to space out as he recapped the tournament in full detail, as she requested. If Art noticed, he didn’t let on. [Y/N] noticed, though. Little stood between her and coffee. She didn’t want to drink it. That was violently unusual.

“Hey, I’m gonna go piss. Can you—“

“Watch the sauce?” Art asked, indicating the creamy pesto she had on the stove while Art cleaned and cut vegetables.

“Mhm.” [Y/N] confirmed. Art slid over to take the spoon from her. He placed a hand at the bottom of her back as she walked away. Art fit perfectly into her life. It wasn’t fair how right he was for her.

She went to the upstairs bathroom instead of the downstairs one. She hoped that didn’t set off Art’s sixth sense about the way-things-had-to-be. Once upstairs, [Y/N] wasted no time yanking open the medicine cabinet behind the mirror. It was overflowing, naturally. Makeup, supplements, condoms, hair ties, pill bottles, loose painkillers. It was a disaster. There was also a pregnancy test.

A laughing Art had given it to [Y/N] as a joke the morning after their wedding night and she had hit him hard enough to bruise across the chest. The test sat wrapped and in the box behind the mirror every day since. Just in case.

[Y/N] had officially arrived at just in case.

She gingerly tossed the empty box under the sink so Art wouldn’t see it without looking for it. Then, [Y/N] undid the buttons on her overalls and, well, took the test.

Lacking the time to sit and watch it come back positive or negative, [Y/N] tossed the clean cap on the stick, slid it into the pocket of her overalls, washed her hands and went downstairs like nothing was wrong.

Except she knew something was wrong. Now she felt like she had a loaded gun in her pocket. She was too cautious with her movements due to the fear that the test would slip out of her front right pocket in front of Art.

She was damn near about to step into the pantry and shut the door just to see if the pee stick had one line or two. If he wasn’t already suspicious, that would do it. [Y/N] felt that the anxiety created was easily the worst anxiety she had ever had. Oops.

[Y/N] got quiet. She was talking less and listening more. Not that there was anything wrong with that, but she was a chatterbox. Art would notice her blanched face and wrinkled brow eventually, she worried.

Ever the perceptive bastard, Art did. When he sat beside [Y/N] at the counter to eat a bowl of pasta with more inactive carbs than he had eaten in six months, he kept cutting his eyes at her. His bare foot nudged her ankle. Her dish was relatively untouched. “You good, babe? You’re being weird.”

“I’m not being weird.”

“You are being weird because you’re not being you. I’ve barely asked you how you’re doing with all the excitement. Long day?” Art asked, setting down his fork to drag his hand across the back of her shoulders.

“Yeah, a bit.” [Y/N] said. What she meant to say was I have a pregnancy test and I bet it is positive in my pocket right now and I’m so terrified that I can practically smell my pit stains right now, baby. But she didn’t say that.

Art spun to face her, taking in her expression and demeanor. There was that contemplative knot perched between his eyebrows. The back of his hand landed calmly on [Y/N]’s forehead to check her temperature. “Art…” [Y/N] said, pushing his hand down.

“No, hang on.” Art said firmly. He tried to put his hand back on her face. Instead, not having a clue what it said, [Y/N] reached into her front right pocket and slammed the pregnancy test down between them. Art retracted his hand and flinched back a bit at the sudden movement. The test was face down on the counter.

Art’s eyes cut from the test back to her. His face was suddenly very solemn. “Are you—“

“—I dunno. I didn’t-I couldn’t look. It’s been in my pocket for twenty minutes. No idea.”

“Do you think you are?”

[Y/N] shrugged and looked at her bowl. It looked too green. sick sick sick. drip drip drip said the faucet.

“Do you want to know if you are?” Art asked wide-eyed. “I want to know, personally. Do… Do you?”

Again, [Y/N] shrugged. “If we don’t look, it’s not real.”

“…That’s stupid.” Art shook his head.

“You’re stupid.”

Art sighed. “I’m gonna look. I mean, I’m going to turn it over,” his eyes frantically reached for [Y/N]’s. He grabbed her hand with his to get her attention. “I’m going to look. Is that okay with you?”

“Yeah.” She whispered and it was okay.

And she was pregnant.

Two blue lines stared at them.

“Fuck.” [Y/N] said. She felt both elated and humiliated. She wanted so badly to be a mother. She wanted to cry. How could they keep it? The timing was wrong. She hadn’t agreed to this. The two of them had so many fights about it. She barely understood how this happened. She thought they were being so careful. It didn’t make any sense. Every precaution she could think of had been taken at one point or another.

And the fucking faucet was still dripping. She could hear it. drip drip drip. Over and over.

“Fuck.” She said sliding out of her chair and standing unsteadily. That wasn’t the result one should feel when they get something they have spent so long wanting.

Art ran his hands through his hair. He knew he shouldn’t be smiling when she looked so worried. His face betrayed the wide smile he hoped to hide. That’s exactly what he wanted to see. Fuck.

“Honey… Hey, hey. You’re okay. This is awesome. C’mere.” Art said like he was diffusing a bomb. His arm were wide open to hold her.

“Art…”

“No, uh-uh. Just come here. Please.”

Cautiously, [Y/N] made her way into her favorite pair of arms in the world. “It’s not supposed to be like this.” [Y/N] choked out as Art held her.

“Shh, I know, I know,” Art said calmly. His left hand’s fingers brushed her hair away from her face. “But that’s how it is now. We have to accept that and solve for the next move, right?” It was silent for a while after that. [Y/N]’s arms were tightly wrapped around Art’s shoulders and their bowls of pasta were certainly cold. She felt that she had ruined everything.

She glanced at Art’s face. The small smile betrayed him. “Art… We can’t. Not now.” she had told Art not now so many times that it felt forced and rehearsed. Now that [Y/N] that was actually pregnant, she wanted nothing more than to stay pregnant. The timing was far from good. She had articles that were still very due the next day. She had a husband who very much traveled often for work (who she traveled with too). She had Cheese, who was staring at her weird over the back the couch because he didn’t understand crying.

“What do you mean we can’t?” Art said quietly. “We-We can. We… have. We are… Actively.” He fumbled.

“We can. We did! But… You know now’s not a good time, baby.” [Y/N] countered weakly.

Art’s hands never left [Y/N]’s waist. “Let’s run pros and cons.”

“Pretty baby.” She said accusatorially. Good old analytic Art…

“Let’s run pros and cons.” Art repeated unflinchingly. He sprang up off of his barstool to gather a sharpie and a legal pad from some drawer. Art uncapped the marker harshly with his teeth. Cap between his teeth still, he asked: “Do you want it?” while he found a clean, smooth page.

Before she could respond with her head, [Y/N] responded with her heart. She nodded a yes to him immediately. “Do you?”

Art capped the back end of the marker to free up his mouth. “More than anything ever, I think. It would probably kill me a little bit, actually, if… Yeah. I understand and it’s all up to you, honey, but… Yeah.” His hand created a PRO column and a CON column on the page.

Under PRO, Art added the items he knew would cause no trouble in his blocky capitalized handwriting:

FINALLY START FAMILY

NATURAL/EASY START

SEASON ALMOST OVER

[Y/N] HAS FLEXIBLE HRS

DREAM COME TRUE??

WILL BE GR8 PARENTS

[Y/N] nodded in approval. She couldn’t think of more pros, but Art handed her the marker and she started in on the CON list:

OLYMPICS??

ART’S NEVER HOME

EXPENSIVE

SMOKING/COFFEE

CHEESE JEALOUS?

TOO YOUNG!

Art drew the line at giving up stimulants and assigning the dog human traits and struck both of those off the list with a frown.

Frankly, Art thought the cons list turned out rude.

“I haven’t qualified for the Olympics yet,” he protested. “And if I do, imagine how early on that would be. Before all the hard stuff.”

[Y/N] replied with the thing they both knew was the most real problem. She had waited forever to say it out loud. “No offense… You are never home anymore. You’re busy all the time. Which I get. It’s your job. You’re good at your job. But look how excited the fuckin’ dog got to see you because you were gone so long. You are never here. We can’t put a human in doggy day camp all the time. It would be fucking impossible to raise—“

“I’ll quit,” Art said, wincing. He wouldn’t. [Y/N] felt that this was a bluff. He tried in vain to hide his expression of shame. “I’ll quit tennis.” He said. He wasn’t going to.

“That would worsen the problem. No money.”

“I’ll work at the 7/11. I’ll be a construction worker. I could be a fuckin’ coach. I actually have a degree, y’know, I can use it. I’m more than a racket. I don’t want you to feel alone here. I want to be here for all of it, I can—“

“You know I’m alone here a lot, babe. A lot. You don’t… You’re in a position where you’re unable to help constantly. Because you’re gone. That’s okay. I married you knowing that, right? But a baby, Art? That’s not fair.”

“I’ll bail on a season. I will. I just…” Art stared at her. “Please. I’m begging you. See this kid through with me.”

The sharpie was forgotten on the counter along with dinner. Art’s knees landed on the floor before [Y/N]. Art practically lived on his knees in front of [Y/N]. He gathered [Y/N] hands in his. “Please. It’s your call, but hear me out. Because that thing is part of both us. I don’t want you to hate or resent me or the little stinker forever, but you want it. I know that. Hear me out.” His beautiful two-tone eyes stared up at her.

“Fine. Go ahead.”

“I will give you anything. Please, my world is you. Not tennis; you. I’m telling you, I-I would leave that behind to be anything you need right now. Just ask it. You’re my fucking priority, you got that? I just.. I… Please? I’m not going anywhere.”

“I want to keep it too, but—“

“Then what’s the big deal?” Art asked hopefully.

“It isn’t a good time. It’s too soon.”

Art’s mouth trailed kisses across his wife’s stomach and hips and hands and arms. He let this go on for several minutes. “Please,” Art whimpered pathetically into the skin of her wrist. “Please, please, please. I will do anything, my love. I’m on my knees here,” Art looked up at her through thick lashes. “We can do this. Both of us together. I’ll do whatever you want. You know I will. This can be good for us. I’m really sorry we’re here, but here we are, hon. What time’s going to be the right time? Please. I love you.” Art pleaded desperately.

[Y/N] knew this was going to be a disaster. But she wanted to keep it. What time’s going to be the right time? rung in her ears over and over, like the faucet. They had put so much time into arguing about the time and the place that would be right for a family. Now it was right in front of them. Her hand caressed Art’s face. She loved it when he groveled like that. This time, on his knees and everything. On instinct, he nuzzled his face into her hand and looked up at her through long lashes.

“Will you fix the faucet? It’s been dripping all week.”

“Anything.”

“I’ll… I’ll think about it. I’m going to think about it. The baby.”

“You will?” Art’s teary eyes widened.

“Objectively, this is a terrible fucking idea. We both know that. But if it’s really so terrible, why do I feel, like… happy about it…”

Art’s face lit up. It wasn’t a yes, but it wasn’t a no either. [Y/N], honestly, found it very hard to say no to Art. His arms wrapped carefully around her thighs while his head rested against her middle as he knelt. [Y/N] could feel his silver ring through the denim of her overalls. “God, I love you. I love you, [Y/N]. We’re not going to regret this. Holy shit…”

“Love you too. We’re gonna… We’re gonna try, maybe? This doesn’t feel real. Does this feel real? I…”

“It feels like a dream is what it feels like,” Art mumbled into her clothes. “I love you.” Art said, pressing a kiss to her stomach.

“I love you.”

“I’m gonna be a dad…” Art almost wept. “If you, y’know, but… Shit. I’m sorry.” Which part he was apologizing for was unclear.

At that, [Y/N] laughed and tangled her fingers in his curly blonde mop of hair. “Yeah, you’re gonna be a fucking dad, pretty baby.” She smiled.

[Y/N]’s next instinct was to say: I have to call Patrick. Then she remembered couldn’t call Patrick.

TAGLIST (ask to join):

@diorrfairy @donaldsonsdarling @muthafuckingstargirl @shysstuff @soberbabes @avylanchce

apologies for tag issues. i’ll dm those it didn’t work for!

#art donaldson x reader #art donaldson imagine #art donaldson x you #art donaldson #challengers movie #challengers #patrick zweig #patrick zweig x reader #sorry series #father art

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woso-dreamzzz · 9 months ago

Text

Leaving V

Alexia Putellas x Teen!Reader

Summary: You hate clay courts

It's not often that two people from the same country end up in the finals for the French Open but you and Carlos Alcaraz have taken the Rolland Garros by storm.

You weren't the biggest fan of clay courts. You didn't like the way they felt under your feet and you knew you were a bit hit and miss this entire tournament.

You always managed to win though, by the skin of your teeth sometimes. But a win is a win and both you and Carlos were representing Spain at the finals.

He was against Zverev and you were against Iga.

She was your usual partner in training, the world number one. Her coach was your coach and he had purposely decided to sit this one out because he knew he couldn't coach both of you fairly for this final.

Iga was nice though. She'd always been nice and welcoming and she helped you settle in Poland and even introduced you to the girl that would eventually become your girlfriend.

But all that was off the table as soon as she first served.

Iga was brutal on the court and you'd always known that. She was a great player, a perfect player most of the time but you had a different play style than her.

She had it all planned out. She had a style and she stuck to it.

You were a bit more reckless. You were younger and you hadn't quite worked out the way you preferred to play.

It left you in a few tricky spots throughout the Rolland Garros but you'd pushed through like you're pushing through now, getting a volley going with Iga and trying to work out how to get her to make a mistake.

You're a bit of a wildcard sometimes. You've been known to feign one way and hit the other.

The audience is used to Iga dominating a final, especially this one, but you're holding your own very well. You're battling against her well though, holding your own even as you have to regain your footing a few times on the clay ground.

It's decided, as you stumble forward and just hit the ball over, you hate clay courts with a passion.

But, still, as the minutes go by, you find your rhythm.

A rhythm that lets you try one more reckless manoeuvre that completely catches Iga off guard. She can't return it and you fall to your knees in shock.

You've just won.

You hadn't gone into this final thinking you would win. You'd gone into it hoping you'd win, for sure, but you thought that you didn't actually have a chance.

You get to your feet shakily, stumbling over to the net to shake her hand.

"Next year," She says, bringing you into a hug," Let's go for the doubles together, alright?"

You nod. "Sounds good."

You thank the umpire and you go around shaking the hands of all the ball girls. When you were younger, at one of the professional tournaments, you had been a ball girl. You knew what it was like.

Iga got given her prize, holding it up for the crowd and then you received the cup, smiling brightly in all the pictures.

You were covered in red clay as you made your way through the corridors.

Your family was waiting for you.

You went into Alexia's arms like you always did and her arms wrapped around you, completely familiar and welcome. You lean into her, sagging in relief as someone takes the cup from you so you can hug her properly.

"I'm very proud of you," She whispers," So proud of you."

"I don't like clay courts," You say back and you can feel the little chuckle of amusement from her.

"I know."

"I'm covered in muck."

"I know but you can go and shower and then we'll head back to get some food."

You giggle as you pull away. "I'm so hungry."

Alexia laughs too. "I know."

Dinner is perfect when you've got the trophy sitting next to you and Alba insisting on having dessert for a job well done.

Mama cries, like usual after you've done anything even related to tennis. Alba makes fun of her.

Alexia sneaks into your hotel room.

You both lay on your bed together, looking up at the blank ceiling.

"I don't know anything about tennis," Alexia admits," Nothing. Nothing at all."

You flick your eyes to her. "What?"

"I don't know anything about it apart from you hit the ball back and forth."

"Ale...I've been playing tennis for years."

"I know and I still don't know anything. Isn't that scary?" She's laughing a little bit. "Years taking you back and forth and getting you new rackets and outfits and watching you win. I still couldn't tell you anything about it."

You're laughing as well, almost hysterically laughing. "Well," You say through your giggles," I must be the better sister because I actually understand the rules of football."

She swats at you with an eye roll. "Football's easy to understand. You don't get sister points for that."

"But still," You say," I've got the most amount of points."

"No you don't!"

"Yes I do!"

The thing about growing up with your sisters is that the three of you were hyper-competitive people, to the point that the 'Sister Championships' happened every year complete with a shared spreadsheet to keep track of everyone's points and a strict set of rules on how they could be earnt.

"I do," You say, bringing up the table on your phone to show," I've got ten more than you because I looked after Alba's dog when I was last home."

Alexia swears. "Damn it."

You grin. "I'm going to win this year."

"I've still got time. I'll let Alba have my window seat on the flight back tomorrow."

You shuffle closer until you've got your head resting on her shoulder. "We're not flying home tomorrow."

"Huh? Why not?"

"Because Carlos has won so it means Spain has won the men's and women's singles. There'll be lots of PR stuff for me to do with him."

"And why can't I go home?"

"Because I need someone to keep me sane, Ale."

She thinks for a moment before nodding. "That'll earn me at least fifteen more sister points."

#woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso

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shewrites444 · 5 months ago

Text

one time thing [ art donaldson x patrick's sister! reader smut ]

wc - 5.4k

[ summary - patrick and tashi have been together for a few months now, and art's been a bit jealous. he's in need of a distraction, and given that you're getting over a recent breakup while also preparing to transfer to stanford, you do, too. only issue is how patrick is your older brother, but it's not like that's stopped you and art before. ]

[ warnings - brother's best friend trope, little bit of fluff, dirty talk, oral (m&f), unprotected sex ]

❀⋆˚✿˖° 𐙚 ₊ ⊹ ♡𓊆ྀི❤︎𓊇ྀི

"it's nice to see you lit up about something, even if that something is my girlfriend."

art cringed at patrick's words, knowing his best friend was right, but he denied it, even though it was bluntly obvious to anyone and everyone who knew how he felt about tashi duncan.

he shook his head, glancing down at the table. "patrick, you know i would never do anything to jeopardize your relationship, or our friendship. i'm happy for you, i really am."

all patrick could do was laugh, giving art a cheekish grin before taking a sip of his coke. he set it down on the cafeteria table before looking back to his friend. "hmm. you gonna come with us to her parent's fundraiser tonight for the tournament tonight? she's letting us bring guests... so, you could always bring a little someone?"

"patrick." art rolled his blue eyes, shaking his head in disbelief with a half-smile. "as if. the only thing i'm focused on is tennis. but yeah, the plan was to come, as long as you two don't make me the hate my life as the third wheel."

"we would never." patrick leans back into his chair. "why don't you try.. i don't know, you could try talking to [ y/n ]." he shrugs.

art stops for a moment, blinking as he registers his friend's words. he's got to hide the red on his cheeks, which is a bit hard to do with his paler skin. he looks down from the floor back up to patrick. "are you prostituting your own sister to me, patrick?"

you were patrick's younger sister, only by about a year, and also happened to be enrolling in stanford as a transfer student for the upcoming semester. you weren't there for tennis like art and tashi, rather a pretty good academic scholarship for computer science. art liked that about you, the fact that you had more to you than sports (sports wasn't a bad thing, just different), and that you had goals other than the ones he, patrick, and tashi had. but he hadn't talked to you in about a year, so it had been a minute since he had even seen you. yeah, you two had each other on social media, but neither of you were that active.

"what? no." patrick smirks, clearly indicating otherwise. "i mean, she thinks you're cute, i guess. i can tell. and she'll be there since tashi's letting me bring my family, so you could always just flirt with her, i don't know. something to spice up your night? who knows, maybe you could fu-"

"you're - you're gross." art nudged patrick, an awkward laugh leaving with his words. "[ y/n ] and i wouldn't have anything to talk about anyway besides you and stanford, and she's not even going into the same program as me. and she's your sister, for one, so i'd prefer to not talk to her about you the entire time. weird conversation starter, don't you think?"

patrick leaned closer, holding his coke loosely and taking a sip, before tapping it quickly against art's lips. "not like you haven't accidentally kissed your dear friend before, art. wouldn't be weird to kiss anyone else in my bloodline."

"again, gross." art's cheeks tinted a light pink at that memory for a year or so ago of the two of them with tashi, before he stood up, slinging his bookbag across his shoulder. "enough of that. i'll see you tonight."

"m'kay." patrick nudged art with the bottom of his shoe as he stood up. "see you tonight. text me when you get there."

art left the cafeteria, looking down at his white, court-scuffed sneakers as he walked down the sidewalk. he was in trouble. he wasn't even thinking about tashi and patrick now. that jealousy subsided for the moment.

yeah, he hadn't talked to you in awhile, but it's not like you didn't have a history patrick didn't know about. i mean, you fucked like, what, right before he went to stanford?

there was never anything between the two of you. art would give you a simple 'hey' when he went to see patrick at your parents' house, but that was really it. except when patrick went to hook up with some girl in the middle of the night, and art was in the kitchen getting some snacks at 2 am, high off a bong him and patrick had been hitting for way too long, and you walked in there in nothing a but baggy t-shirt, also extremely high on your own accord, thinking no one else was around, and well... one thing led to another. whoops.

he didn't regret it, and neither did you, but there was an unspoken agreement to never tell patrick because regardless of how much he'd give you two shit for it, inside, he'd probably be extremely pissed off. it was a one time thing, but he wouldn't get that, no matter what the present matter was now.

impulsively, in the midst of stress, art dug into his jean pocket to pull his phone out. he pulled up your number, his pink lips pressed together as he debated what to do. should he text you and give you some sort of heads up? he wasn't going to leave you to the wrath of your own brother, so he started to type. he didn't even know what he was saying, but he had to say something, right?

hey, patrick said you'd be at the fundraiser tonight. i don't think he knows about last year, but he was making jokes with me about hitting on you. so i guess just, be cool tonight.

you were in your hotel room unpacking your suitcase when your phone pinged. luckily, given that your only sibling was patrick and he was staying with tashi, you had a room to yourself, as did your parents. you were glad for that too - you'd be able to focus on everything stanford this weekend to prepare for next semester. art didn't even really cross your mind until you saw his name pop up on your screen for the first time in months.

your brows furrow as you lean down to pick your phone up off the side of the bed. you open the text, your eyes widening a bit. there was no way patrick knew. like, actually no way, so you weren't concerned about that. it was just the idea that he was making jokes about you talking to art that kind of threw you off. why would he say that?

hey. i don't know why he'd say that - no way he knows, he's just fucking with you, so what's new lol. i'll see you tonight, i'm sure it'll be fine.

"great." you mutter to yourself, before setting your phone back down once you saw his immediate 'thumbs up' reaction to your message.

you were both high when you fucked, but you still remembered it. it's not like you didn't know what you were doing, both of you knew exactly what was going on. awkward small talk that led into you stepping closer to art, art stepping closer to you, you making the first move to kiss him, and well... yeah. you remembered well.

you thought art was hot too, obviously, and it was fun, but you never thought you'd have to even think about that again. i mean, yeah, you'd see him again probably at patrick's wedding (if he ever got married), or maybe at one of their matches, but that was really it.

you had been with someone for the past few months anyway, and that was your main focus, at least romantically, but he went away to college, and you both agreed it was best to just, move on, and go in different directions. and it was, because you were sad for a little, of course, but you wisely focused your attention towards school and work. never thought you'd be texting art donaldson for the first time in months right now.

"focus." you said to yourself, averting your attention back to the half-unpacked suitcase before you.

a few hours had passed and you were getting out of the uber with your parents to walk into the banquet room that the fundraiser was being held in, until you were directed to go outside for the social portion of the event before dinner. it was evident the duncans were like, insanely rich, probably from the amount of funding they got from their daughter since she committed to stanford, so i guess that was good on your brother.

you looked around for patrick, knowing that he was already there with tashi. you spotted them standing at a pub table talking to none other than art. of course, you looked back for your parents, but they were already off at the bar waiting for alcohol. shocker.

"[ y/n ]!" you could hear patrick yell your name, waving over to you. he gestured for you to come towards them.

you sigh, plastering a fake, obviously anxious smile across your face as you wave in return, walking towards the three of them. tashi smiled at you, and walked towards you first to introduce herself. you could see art in the corner of your eye, hands in his pockets, while he glanced more towards the floor. way to play it cool, art.

"hi! you're [ y/n ] - i'm tashi." she pulled you into a gentle hug. she was way taller than you, about the same height as your brother. you returned her hug, giving her a soft smile, as welcoming as you could be to your brother's only girlfriend that he had been with for more than a month.

"hey. it's nice to meet you, tashi." you nod, looking up to her as you step apart. you glance to patrick, then to art. you give him a short casual, wave. "hey, art."

art takes a sip of his beer. "[ y/n ]. good to see you."

"you too." you say shortly. patrick furrows his brows, looking between the two of you, before shaking his head.

patrick reaches forward to take tashi's hand. "let's go say hi to my parents. they wouldn't shut the hell about meeting you over the phone this morning." tashi nods, before giving you and art both a wave. "yeah, for sure. see you guys in a bit."

patrick and tashi walk off, before it's now art and you standing at the table alone. you can barely even hear the music around you with how much you were thinking about the situation at hand. you hadn't seen art in person in what felt like forever.

you would be lying to yourself if you didn’t think he looked good. better than good, actually. he was much more toned, you could tell with the way his muscles were tight, but not too tight, against his light blue polo. you could see it in his jawline, his legs, his chest... damn, he looked good. you'd never dispute that.

"so, has he said anything to you?" you break the silence, maintaining your distance.

art shook his head. "no. he's been more focused on tashi meeting your parents. you?"

"of course not." you sigh. you reach to the table next to the two of you and take one of the drinks from a serving tray. "he's distracted. i really don't think he's aware of anything, art. plus, that was like a year ago, it's not like either of us think about it either. i mean, i can barely remember it."

art wouldn't say that he was hurt by your remark, but it didn't feel too good. you didn't remember it? yes, you were both under some sort of influence, but he knew he fucked you good, and he didn't remember you not being aware of that.

"you don't remember it?" he asks, tilting his head in confusion.

you blink. you look up to him, the drink in your hands as you stand straight. you clear your throat. "uh, i mean, isn't it best to just.. act like it didn't happen? not like it keeps us up at night, so why would it be relevant? it was a one time thing."

art couldn’t help but frown, gently shrugging his shoulders as he look up at the marble ceiling. "well, i mean, it happened, so it's weirder to act like it didn't, you know."

"…okay." you trail your words, nodding as you notice him looking away. "so.. so you'd rather acknowledge it?"

his eyes went from the ceiling to you. “i can pretend like it didn’t happen if that’s what you want.”

god, he sounded so disappointed. you could hear it in his voice. he got quieter, and his hands would fidget in his pockets, struggling to express the way he felt to you in fear of stirring up any sort of tension, worse than the amount that was already in the room.

you take a sip from the drink in your hands. it was strong. you wince, setting the glass down on the table.

"no, that's... that's not what i mean." you wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out. your goal wasn't to make him feel like shit, just to be more casual about it. "i don't want you to think i didn't have a good time, i just.. just don't want to think about something that wouldn't happen again, you know."

art's brow raised. a smile creaked at the corner of his mouth. he leaned against the pub table, and glanced up to you. "do you want it to happen again, [ y/n ]?"

your eyes go wide, and you can feel the blush crawling onto your skin. you chew on the side of your cheek for a moment, and avoid eye contact by staring at the table.

"that's... that's a big question, art." you laugh to relieve your own inner tension, grabbing the glass that you had previously set down and taking another sip. maybe you need something strong for this conversation. "it's been awhile, and i mean, we weren't even sober when it happened. so, it's hard to answer that, i guess."

art hadn't thought much about it the past year either, if he was being honest with you. he'd been so wrapped up in tashi and patrick, and tennis, and school, that there wasn't even any room to think about you, or any other women, for that matter. but now that you were right in front of him, he wouldn't pretend that he wasn't thinking about it now.

the opportunity could potentially present itself, if you two were careful. he could fuck you in your hotel room tonight if you wanted him to, or, if you were antsy enough, he would gladly let you ride his dick on that table in the separate dining room that the duncan's weren't using tonight he noticed on his way in.

art was an understanding guy though, so it's not like he didn't consider how you felt in this situation. if you didn't want him to even lay a finger on you for whatever reason, that was fine, too. but if you did want that, god, he'd gladly do so.

he doesn't answer your words from beforehand. he got lost in his train of thought, so instead, he figured he'd have to take some sort of initiative. he wasn't the most dominant man out there, but if you were to want this, you seemed to prefer him doing all the work.

"do you want to go inside?" he asked quietly. the indication was there. you felt a pit in your stomach starting to form.

so, you nod. “yeah.” you answer in the same quiet tone of voice. you brush your hair out of your face to rest behind your ears, before turning yourself towards the banquet room.

you looked around for your brother and tashi, noticing they were standing with your parents more towards the front of the large room. you look back to art as he followed behind you.

“fuck it.” you look up to him, and you shrug, attempting to loosen up. “just follow me.”

art bites his bottom lip, and nods. “mhm.” he sighs. “lead the way. fuck it.”

what the fuck were you doing? you’re in a public place. you’re about to fuck your brother’s best friend, again. you thought you were sick - damn, good thing you didn't know what art did behind closed doors with your brother and his girlfriend.

whatever. maybe this would be a good way for you to get over your breakup (even though you were already over it, you just needed an excuse). maybe it would be a good distraction for art, too, god knows he’s been so buried in tennis this past semester he probably couldn’t focus on anything else.

you wouldn’t lie, you were nervous. when you hooked up, all you did was slide your panties to the side, and you kept your shirt on. and he fucked you from the back, so it was a hook up-hook up. no vulnerability there, so it’s not like he saw you for you.

tonight, you felt it in your gut that he'd see all of you. you'd see all of him. and you weren't high, barely even buzzed from your few sips of your drink earlier, so you'd be sober. fuck. you could be sick right now.

"do you know where you're going?" art laughed to himself. were you so nervous that you didn't even know where you were taking him to? he really has to do all the work, even when it comes to location.

art thought about it. you were a sweet girl, really, and he wasn't the type of guy to try and level you down to someone you weren't. yeah, he could gesture the two of you fuck there in somewhere private, despite it being a public event, but he'd like to think you were both above that, at least tonight.

part of him wanted patrick to know he'd be fucking you, but another part of him knew you didn't deserve to be put in the middle of that. he wouldn't do that to you.

"hey." he gently placed his hand on your shoulder, his fingers warm against your cold, exposed skin. "i'm gonna get an uber. we can go back to your hotel. would you prefer that?"

you think for a moment, and nod. "yeah. that.. that sounds good. thanks."

art nods, and with your permission, he takes his phone out of his back pocket and after a few seconds of scrolling and tapping pretty hastily, he orders an uber to the venue. mostly everyone was inside, and everyone was distracted. patrick and tashi were both so focused on your parents, and they were so focused on them, you wouldn't be missed. neither of you.

the ride to your hotel was quiet, both of you sitting in the backseat of the car, both of you refusing to look at each other, looking out the different windows on each side. luckily, it was quick. your hotel was only about a ten minute drive, so you didn't have that much time to think.

"thanks." art broke the silence by opening the car door, handing the driver a $10 bill before gesturing for you to come through his side.

you slide over, and you run your hands down the front of your dress to brush off any light wrinkles that formed on the drive. you clear your throat, looking up to art and then the hotel, before you turn to walk in.

"sorry if my room is a bit of a mess." you mutter, walking through the lobby towards the elevator. "i got here only a few hours before the event."

art smiled down at you as you stepped into the elevator, watching you click your floor's button. he brushed some of his curls off his forehead and shrugged. "as long as you aren't as messy as your brother, it's no problem."

you scoff, rolling your eyes and nudging him. "if there is any rules for whatever the fuck is going on, one of them is to not mention my brother, art."

he snickered, walking through the now opened doors with you towards the hallway. "fine. only because it's a rule now, i guess."

you grinned, the mood shifting from the initial nervousness and awkward atmosphere to a now lightened feeling. you remembered that you and art could joke around, too, and this wasn't some stranger to you. you had known him since you were kids, it wasn't that big of a deal. no need to be so up-tight.

"here." you say, stopping as you fumbled through your purse to grab the room key, holding it against the pad as the door made a short 'click' noise. you push it forward, and set your purse on the little kitchen nook right as you stepped inside. art followed closely behind you.

his hands slowly trailed along your waist, fingertips dancing against your stomach and thumbs pressed against you outer back. you froze, cheeks burning almost in an instinct while he leaned down, gently pressing a kiss on the side of your neck as his noise pushed some of your hair out of the way.

"is this okay?" he asked softly, his hot breath against your neck.

"yes."

art pressed another kiss against your neck, but this time, he let his tongue come forward, too, gently tracing coats of saliva with each kiss. you could feel his cock hardening, pressing against your lower back while he stood behind you.

you closed your eyes, a small moan escaping from your lips. you take one of his hands off your waist and lead it to the bottom of your dress. he takes note of this, and he slides his hand in between your legs, bunching up the middle of the material as he moved his fingers to your thong, pushing it to the side.

you lean forward, gasping as his cold fingers move to your slit, and he could already feel how turned on you were. you could feel him smile against your lips. he pushed two of his fingers against your clit, lightly beginning to rub. your eyes are shut, and you're already so fucking wet. it's almost pathetic.

"oh, fuck." you hiss, one of your hands pressed against the kitchen counter. "you've gotta slow down, art."

he sped his movements up. he felt your body jolt as his touch pressed harder, too. "get on the bed, [ y/n ]." he pulls away.

you gasp softly, and glance to him from behind. you walk towards the bed, where he follows. you stand before him and you glance to the tent in his khakis.

"no." you blush, but a confident grin slowly wrinkles onto the sides of your lips. "you get on the bed."

art chuckles, holding his hands up in the air before he scoots past you to lay on the bed. he sits down, propping his body up by his elbows as he watches you lean down before him.

you begin to unzip his pants, and slide them off him and off his ankles. you reach forward again, gulping while you take the waistband of his boxers into your hands, before you slide those down, too. his cock points up at the ceiling, long and so fucking hard for you. you had felt in before, yes, but you had never seen it until now.

you stand up to take your dress off, where he follows by taking his shirt off. you both strip, and both toss your clothes to the floor. you stand in nothing but your thong, given that your dress had some sort of built in bra. you were so fucking nervous, but you weren't even focusing on that right now.

you lean back down, reaching forward to take his cock into one of your hands, before you lean up, collecting spit into your mouth. before you can suck his cock, art stops you.

"wait."

you look up to him, your eyes wide. "i-is everything okay? did i make you uncomf-"

"no." art shakes his head, his eyebrows raising at your misunderstanding. "no, not at all. i... i wanted you to get on the bed, too.. i.. i want to eat your pussy, [ y/n ]. maybe we can both.. do it at the same time?"

you thought your eyes couldn't get bigger until his suggestion. you take your hand off him, and slowly rise up. "y-yeah. we can do that."

you crawl onto the bed, slowly turning your body to where your pussy is right in front of him, your folds on display before his mouth. his cock was aching, visibly twitching before you with how desperate it was to fill your holes.

you lean down, starting to slowly suck his tip, earning a moan from art before he leaned up, both his hands taking your ass into his hands. he begins to lick your slit, your juices coating his tongue before it latched onto your clit.

your moans were muffled as you filled your mouth with his cock, your eyes while you sucked. art didn't even notice that he began lightly rolling his hips, gently thrusting his cock into your mouth. you could feel him reach further down your throat, making you gag lightly but enjoy the feeling, nevertheless.

one of his hands moved off your ass and to your pussy, lightly, pushing his middle finger into your hole while he still licked at your clit. you gasped, pulling your mouth off his cock.

"f-fuck sorry, i-"

art didn't reply, he instead curled his finger inside of you, making you gasp and your body push closer to his. he pulled his finger out, before grabbing your ass in full again, squeezing your thick flesh before pulling you closer, until you were on his face.

your face was heated, and you slowly leaned down again, sliding his cock into your mouth in one swift movement, before your hips began to gently roll against him. you could feel his nose against your clit, and his tongue dive into your pussy.

you tried to push your mouth and your pussy into two different worlds. you wanted art to feel as good as you did.

you gagged on his cock, and you could feel his moans vibrate onto your pussy while he tongue-fucked you. you didn't know how much more of this you could take before you came all over his face.

"m-mmmhh.." you moaned onto his cock, slowly pulling your face up. you reached forward to stroke him. "art, i-i need to fuck you now, like right now.. you're gonna make me cum all over you if you don't stop.."

art groaned, pulling his face away, which was now coated in your wetness, before his hands found your waist, and lightly pulled you off of him and onto the bed, on your back. you watched him turn his body around, before he got on his knees between your legs.

"wanna see you when i fuck you." he leaned down to peck your lips before he took one of your legs and moved in onto his shoulder. "too pretty to not see when i'm inside you."

you blink, your cheeks a light pink as you take in his words. you smile, despite your nerves, as you look between your legs. you watch his other hand take his cock, and you reach forward, your hand on top of his, as you both guide his cock to slowly fill you.

you both gasp, watching art slide himself fully into your soaked pussy, before he began to find his rhythm. you look up to meet his eyes, both your hands trailing to your hardened tits, as you slowly began to rub your fingers against them.

art looked down, watching you touch yourself as he touched you, and rolled his eyes as the view only turned him on further. he picked up his pace lightly.

"i forgot how good it felt to fuck you." art hummed, his free hand that wasn't holding your leg up moving down to press his thumb against your clit, making you squeak at the added touch. "you are so beautiful, [ y/n ]. and your pussy is so, so good. so fucking sexy."

"yeah?" you giggle, looking between your legs again to watch him slide in and out of your pussy, each thrust sending a jolt through your stomach. "your cock fills me so perfectly, art. makes me so fucking wet. i missed it."

"you did?" he raised his eyebrows, tilting his head in a playful manner. he moved his thumb off your clit, reaching forward to gesture for you to open your mouth, before sliding his thumb inside for you to taste yourself. "you want me to keep fucking this pussy? i'll fuck you whenever you fucking want when you're at stanford. you make me feel so good."

"mhm." you nod, sliding his thumb out of your mouth as you moan at his now increasing speed while your words continued to build off each other's. "you can fuck this pussy anywhere. i don't fucking care, art. you're so fucking hot."

art shakes his head. he leans down to kiss you deeply, before his strokes become more staggered, pulling himself completely out of your hole and drilling himself right back into you. "let me fill you, [ y/n ]. please. wanna see you all stuffed with my cum."

you didn't give a fuck in the moment. you nodded, probably a bit quicker than you wanted to admit. you returned the kiss, but pulled away eagerly. "yeah, fill me up, do it, i don't care. it's so fucking hot. you’re so fucking hot."

art nods, starting to increase his speed, your muscles contracting as he leaned forward, and his cock pierced into you.

you didn’t remember him feeling so good inside you, and you certainly didn’t remember asking him to cum into your pussy, but you were so whipped in the moment you weren’t really focused on anything but what was between your legs and the man who the dick was attached to.

art reached down again to play with your clit, trying to stimulate your own orgasm along with his as both your bodies rocked onto each other, the hotel bed squeaking underneath you and the headboard hitting the wall harshly.

“i’m gonna cum in you, baby, i’m gonna now.. fuck—” art stammered, gasping as he stopped his movements inside you.

you arch your back while his cock filled you whole, your orgasm and his own warming inside you, your own orgasm dripping out from between his cock and your folds onto the bedsheets.

he fills you for a moment, holding you closely as he catches his breath before slowly pulling out of you, lightly rubbing his wet tip against your clit before rolling himself to lay beside you.

art reaches forward, and he cups your cheek. he kisses your lips lightly, some stupid, boyish smirk on his pink lips. you roll your eyes, looking up to the ceiling as you breathe.

“shut up.”

“i’m not talking!” art holds his hands up, chuckling as he glances down at you. “i’m just surprised, is all. this is not how i expected my night to go, but i’m not complaining.”

you roll your eyes, looking up to meet his blue eyes. they’re soft, and they’re gentle, despite the roughness in the way he just fucked you. you knew he meant everything he said to you.

“oh, hush. i’m sure you expected something to happen.”

he shrugs, a cheekish expression still covering his face. “well, maybe. but like, a kiss, or something like that, i don’t know.” he looks down at you, and kisses you again.

you smile into the kiss, before turning the side, grabbing your phone off the nightstand to check the time. “geez. we missed dinner.” you sigh, before looking back at him. “probably a good thing though.” you snicker.

art chuckles, nodding in agreement with you. the last thing he wanted to be around was your brother and tashi, too. “no kidding. you, uh, wanna grab something to eat? and then maybe i can show you around campus. i know it’s kinda late, but all the buildings will still be open. i can show you where some of your classes should be, if you’d want?”

“hm…” you pretend to think for a moment, before nodding, looking up to him and sitting up. “yeah, sure. why not.”

"great." art couldn't help but smile, watching you stand up and grab your clothes off the floor, handing him his own in the process.

he couldn't help but think that you coming to stanford was a good thing, for you and for him. he wasn't even thinking about how patrick would feel about all this. the goal was for him to not know, right?

#x reader #x yn #fanfiction #fanfic #smut writing #art donaldson #art donalson x reader #challengers fic #challengers x reader #challengers 2024 #challengers smut #challengers movie #mike faist #patrick zweig #tashi donaldson

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222col · 13 days ago

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Wait ok hear me out dadsbff!patrick with bimbo reader yeah 🤟🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

bimbo!reader x patrick zweig

summary: you finally get to watch patrick on the court

cw .ᐟ hints at nsfw, age gap

꒰ notes ꒱ 100% open to a part two, just had this sat in the drafts for ages lol

patrick had always been a friend of the family, you just didn't get to see him often with all the travelling he did on tour. but he was always your favourite friend of your dads. patrick was actually cool, never really treated you as a kid like the rest of them did. even as you grew up, most of them treated you like you were the same seven year old that they once knew. not patrick, he always saw you for you, not just as his friends kid.

maybe that was because patrick was a fair bit younger than your dads other friends, or maybe that's just what patrick was like. you weren't sure, but you always loved it when he was around either way.

patrick was playing in a tournament taking place in your college town, and with his career starting to come to a close, you wanted to watch him play at least once before he retired.

but jesus christ. something flipped in you as you watched him on that court. you'd never seen him play in person before, you'd seen videos, sure, but nothing compared to the real thing. you'd never thought about patrick in the way in which you currently were. watching the sweat drip down his skin, the movement of his muscles as he bounced around the court, the grunts– no, groans that escaped him. it was sinful, the way he looked as he played.

you can barely acknowledge the fact that he's won the match when he does. unable to snap yourself out of the downright perverted daze he's put you into until he's stood right before you on the sidelines.

"you alright, kiddo?" patrick smirks, ruffling your hair as he wipes the sweat from his face with the towel in his hand. "what'd ya think then?" god, the thoughts in your brain could get arrested in some countries. physically shaking your head in attempt to snap yourself out of it. "yeah, um, yeah, pat, it was real good." you mumble, smiling softly as you look up to him through your lashes in your seat.

his body leans over the barrier between you, and the way the veins in his biceps are popping out as he does are not helping right now. "liked watchin' me win then?" he teases, ruffling your hair again. met with a grumpy pout as you smooth down your hair immediately after, causing a chuckle from patrick. "mhm, it was fun." you smile softly, nodding your head.

patrick can feel the looks of the crowd on him, the old women whispering as he talks to you, he doesn't need to ask to know what they're assuming about the two of you. thing is... patrick doesn't mind. he kind of likes how people are looking at you both. it's almost turning him on that people think he can get a girl as young as you, as fuckin' pretty as you. jesus, your dad would kill him if he could see the way patrick's eyes are drifting down to the bare skin of your legs.

"wait by the fence, kiddo, just gotta put my stuff in the locker room, 'kay?" patrick murmurs, waiting for your nod before scooping up his racquet bag and duffle. he appears moments later, fresh tennis kit over his still sweaty skin.

"got a favour to ask, babe." patrick murmurs, his hand gently resting on your lower back as he leads you toward the country club bar. you can barely register that he's said anything to you, too focused on the feeling of his hand on you. "mm?" you hum, as he pulls out a chair for you to sit down before sliding into his own opposite you.

he probably should feel worse than he does as he asks, definitely should have run it past your dad beforehand, but when has patrick ever done anything by the book. "you've got a single dorm, haven't you, kid?"

"mhm, yeah, why?" you murmur softly, elbows on the table as you lean on your palms. patrick's desperately trying not to pay attention to the way your top lifted when you leant over the table, his eyes darting to the newly exposed skin on your waist before looking back to your eyes. "well, i haven't got anywhere to stay tonight, so, um–"

"you can stay with me." you smile softly, cutting him off as you nod your head quickly. maybe a little bit too excited, but there was no way you were about to pass up this opportunity. "are you sure, babe? it might be longer than just one night." patrick murmurs sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck.

shaking your head immediately, smile still plastered on your face, unable to look away from him. "s'okay, you can stay as long as you want, pat."

he was half surprised at your eagerness, but he was pushing down every inappropriate thought that was broadcasting in his mind. no, you were just being kind. just being the sweet girl your daddy had raised you to be. you were just giving your dad's broke friend a place to sleep that wasn't his car.

but one look at those wide eyes, all but begging him to stay with you. patrick could tell you were being more than sweet, you wanted him there. and jesus, the thought alone made him realise he's about to spend the week testing his self-control.

#bimbo!reader ౨ৎ #anon req ☽｡⋆#bimbo!reader x patrick zweig #patrick zweig x you #patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig #challengers x reader #challengers #josh o'connor #challengers fic

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townpostin · 9 months ago

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Tata Steel Trainees Excel at Jharkhand Table Tennis Championship

Students secure 17 medals at the 2nd Jharkhand State Ranking Table Tennis Championship. Tata Steel Training Centre students secured 17 medals across various age categories during the 2nd Jharkhand State Ranking Table Tennis Championship held in Ranchi from July 26-28. The event was organized by the Ranchi District TT Association under the Jharkhand State Table Tennis Association’s…

#Apurba Dasgupta #Archita Dey #खेल #Dinesh Rakshit #Jamshedpur sports #Jharkhand Table Tennis #Ranchi TT tournament #Sports #sports achievements #Table Tennis Championship #tata steel training centre #Vibhuti Dhand Adesara

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hollowed-theory-hall · 1 year ago

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Sirius Black was the best adult in Harry's life and I'm forever salty that we didn't get to see more of him

So, I love Sirius Black. He's a complex and interesting character that I love dearly. He's handsome, smart, brave, not as reckless as some fanon make him out to be, and above all else, he tried his best to be a good godfather to Harry.

I truly believe Sirius could've been an amazing father figure (more than he already was) to Harry if given the proper chance. And he's a much better parent to Harry than Arthur and Molly Weasley.

Here are some quotes along with my ramblings to prove it.

So, what I'm going to cover here are some quotes from Sirius and Harry that show their dynamic and how much Sirius cared and tried to be there for Harry. Also, I think Molyl and Hermione are wrong about Sirius seeing Harry as a James replacement.

“He came back to the country just because my scar twinged. He’ll probably come bursting right into the castle if I tell him someone’s entered me in the Triwizard Tournament —”

(GoF, page 290)

Harry wrote to Sirius at the beginning of GoF about his dream with Voldemort and his scar's reaction to it. Sirius left everything immediately to return to Britain — a place where he is hunted down and is a wanted man. All because he wants to be close to Harry, so he can spring up to protect him if the need arises.

Harry is correct in his assessment here.

“Poor old Snuffles,” said Ron, breathing deeply. “He must really like you, Harry. . . . Imagine having to live off rats.”

(GoF, page 534)

Ron is absolutely right. Sirius loves Harry more than pretty much anything. He would and does go incredibly far for Harry. I don't think Molly and Hermione are right about how Sirius sees Harry as James. He just doesn't.

He doesn't treat Harry as an equal to him, but as someone he needs to protect. Someone he is responsible to protect.

He stays around Hogwarts, eating rats in GoF so he can better protect Harry. He wouldn't have done the same with James because he treated James as an equal, not as someone he needed to protect.

“It’s not my fault you haven’t been told what the Order’s doing,” said Sirius calmly. “That’s your parents’ decision. Harry, on the other hand —” “It’s not down to you to decide what’s good for Harry!” said Mrs. Weasley sharply. Her normally kindly face looked dangerous. “You haven’t forgotten what Dumbledore said, I suppose?” “Which bit?” Sirius asked politely, but with an air as though readying himself for a fight. “The bit about not telling Harry more than he needs to know,” said Mrs. Weasley, placing a heavy emphasis on the last three words. Ron, Hermione, Fred, and George’s heads turned from Sirius to Mrs. Weasley as though following a tennis rally. Ginny was kneeling amid a pile of abandoned butterbeer corks, watching the conversation with her mouth slightly open. Lupin’s eyes were fixed on Sirius. “I don’t intend to tell him more than he needs to know, Molly,” said Sirius. “But as he was the one who saw Voldemort come back” (again, there was a collective shudder around the table at the name), “he has more right than most to —” “He’s not a member of the Order of the Phoenix!” said Mrs. Weasley. “He’s only fifteen and —” “— and he’s dealt with as much as most in the Order,” said Sirius, “and more than some —” “No one’s denying what he’s done!” said Mrs. Weasley, her voice rising, her fists trembling on the arms of her chair. “But he’s still —” “He’s not a child!” said Sirius impatiently. “He’s not an adult either!” said Mrs. Weasley, the color rising in her cheeks. “He’s not James, Sirius!” “I’m perfectly clear who he is, thanks, Molly,” said Sirius coldly. “I’m not sure you are!” said Mrs. Weasley. “Sometimes, the way you talk about him, it’s as though you think you’ve got your best friend back!” “What’s wrong with that?” said Harry. “What’s wrong, Harry, is that you are not your father, however much you might look like him!” said Mrs. Weasley, her eyes still boring into Sirius. “You are still at school and adults responsible for you should not forget it!” “Meaning I’m an irresponsible godfather?” demanded Sirius, his voice rising. “Meaning you’ve been known to act rashly, Sirius, which is why Dumbledore keeps reminding you to stay at home and —” “We’ll leave my instructions from Dumbledore out of this, if you please!” said Sirius loudly.

(OotP, page 88-89)

This above quote is a long one, but I love it. I mean, this shows a big contrast between Sirius' approach to parenting and Molly's. Sirius, while not seeing Harry as his equal, does see Harry as a capable wizard who deserves to know the full picture. Sirius knows Harry would be in more danger when ignorant and wants him as safe as possible. He thinks Harry deserves to know things that pertain to him, and I have to agree with him here. Keeping Harry in the dark is what eventually cost Sirius his life.

Molly, on the other hand, is intent on keeping Harry, Hermione, and her kids ignorant. She has the same intention as Sirius: to keep them safe. But she tries to keep them safe emotionally, even when this ignorance can and does place them in physical harm's way.

And Sirius is right. Harry is capable. And a 15-year-old shouldn't be treated the same as an 11-year-old child. And let's be real, Harry was never a regular child with how he grew up, and I think Sirius sees his maturity and treats him accordingly. Sirius actually gave Harry advice to not approach danger in GOF and Harry listened to him because Sirius treated him with respect, which works best with Harry who never really had parental figures.

“I don’t know,” said Sirius slowly, “I just don’t know . . . Karkaroff doesn’t strike me as the type who’d go back to Voldemort unless he knew Voldemort was powerful enough to protect him. But whoever put your name in that goblet did it for a reason, and I can’t help thinking the tournament would be a very good way to attack you and make it look like an accident.”

(GoF, page 334)

This is an expert from the Fireplace conversation Haryr had with Sirius before the first task. Sirius shares his theories with Harry because he needs him to know who to watch out for. Because everything he does is to keep Harry safe. And this is the same approach Sirius wishes he could take with Harry in OOTP. Because he knows it works. Keeping Harry informed means that if he does put himself in danger, at least he would inform Sirius about it; Which would allow Sirius to protect him.

I'm not copying all of them, but Sirius' letters to Harry throughout GOF are so caring and sweet. Harry deserved to have more of his godfather in his life:

Nice try, Harry. I'm back in the country and well hidden. I want you to keep me posted on everything that's going on at Hogwarts. Don't use Hedwig, keep changing owls, and don't worry about me, just watch out for yourself. Don't forget what I said about your scar. Sirius

(Gof, page 240)

This treatment encourages Harry to actually share everything with him and ask him for advice. Something he doesn't do with Dumbledore ever. (Harry actually doesn't like or trust Dumbledore all that much until book 6, it's usually Hermione who trusts Dumbledore fully)

“Sirius — how’re you doing?” ... “Never mind me, how are you?” said Sirius seriously.

(GoF, page 331)

Sirius again, shows his responsibility towards Harry's well-being over his own (both here and in the above letter).

Sirius is the only adult who actually talks to Harry about the Dursleys with sympathy:

“But if they do expel me,” said Harry, quietly, “can I come back here and live with you?” Sirius smiled sadly. “We’ll see.” “I’d feel a lot better about the hearing if I knew I didn’t have to go back to the Dursleys,” Harry pressed him. “They must be bad if you prefer this place,” said Sirius gloomily.

(OotP, page 116)

We know Sirius would love nothing more than for Harry to stay with him. He's lonely and bored at Grimmauld and would love to have Harry there. But at the same time, he doesn't want Harry expelled from Hogwarts and is trying not to be hopeful for it.

Sirius understands the Dursleys are awful, he just know the full scope, but it's more of a reaction than we get from most adults in this series. To me, it looks like Sirius is annoyed by how limited he is in helping Harry. He can't really do much about the Dursleys or their status as Harry's guardians.

“So you want me to say I’m not going to take part in the defense group?” he muttered finally. “Me? Certainly not!” said Sirius, looking surprised. “I think it’s an excellent idea!” “You do?” said Harry, his heart lifting. “Of course I do!” said Sirius. “D’you think your father and I would’ve lain down and taken orders from an old hag like Umbridge?” “But — last term all you did was tell me to be careful and not take risks —” “Last year all the evidence was that someone inside Hogwarts was trying to kill you, Harry!” said Sirius impatiently. “This year we know that there’s someone outside Hogwarts who’d like to kill us all, so I think learning to defend yourselves properly is a very good idea!” “And if we do get expelled?” Hermione asked, a quizzical look on her face. “Hermione, this whole thing was your idea!” said Harry, staring at her. “I know it was. . . . I just wondered what Sirius thought,” she said, shrugging. “Well, better expelled and able to defend yourselves than sitting safely in school without a clue,” said Sirius.

(OotP, page 371)

I love this scene as well. Sirius cares for Harry's safety first and foremost. Harry being safe is his top priority at every given point. And he's reasonable and logical and treats Harry like someone to protect, not like a friend.

Like, Harry when he has a problem and needs advice throughout books 4 and 5, he calls Sirius. He's Harry's go-to parental figure for advice, and Sirius takes his rule seriously. He gives the advice he honestly thinks is best and ensures Harry's safety and continued survival to the best of his ability.

“It matters because we don’t want to draw attention to the fact that Harry is having visions of things that are happening hundreds of miles away!” said Sirius angrily. “Have you any idea what the Ministry would make of that information?” Fred and George looked as though they could not care less what the Ministry made of anything. Ron was still white-faced and silent. Ginny said, “Somebody else could have told us. . . . We could have heard it somewhere other than Harry. . . .”

(OotP, pages 476-477)

Again, Harry's safety is Sirius' first priority above everyone else. Harry's happiness and privacy also take precedence over most other things. He doesn't want Harry under even more scrutiny from the ministry and the Wizarding World and protecting him from that is just as important to him.

To me, it feels like people who say he treats Harry like a James replacement didn't read the books....

“It must have been the aftermath of the vision, that’s all,” said Sirius. “You were still thinking of the dream or whatever it was and —” “It wasn’t that,” said Harry, shaking his head. “It was like something rose up inside me, like there’s a snake inside me —” “You need to sleep,” said Sirius firmly. “You’re going to have breakfast and then go upstairs to bed, and then you can go and see Arthur after lunch with the others. You’re in shock, Harry; you’re blaming yourself for something you only witnessed, and it’s lucky you did witness it or Arthur might have died. Just stop worrying. . . .” He clapped Harry on the shoulder and left the pantry, leaving Harry standing alone in the dark.

(OotP, pages 480-481)

And I love this too. How he tries to comfort Harry and make everything easier for him. When the rest of the Order were gossiping about how dangerous his connection to Voldemort is, Sirius is honestly trying to get Harry to worry about it less.

He might be lying here, but he is right about sending Harry to sleep after a sleepless night like they had. And he is right about Harry being in shock and needing the rest. I just, really like how much Sirius cares. Harry just doesn't have other adults in his life who care for him like Sirius does.

But some part of him realized, even as he fought to break free from Lupin, that Sirius had never kept him waiting before. . . . Sirius had risked everything, always, to see Harry, to help him. . . . If Sirius was not reappearing out of that archway when Harry was yelling for him as though his life depended on it, the only possible explanation was that he could not come back. . . . That he really was . . .

(OotP, page 808)

This. Scene. Just kills me.

Like, Harry understands how much Sirius cares about him, and how Sirius always puts him first. He knows the only way Sirius won't drop everything to come and when Harry calls for him is if he can't.

Because Sirius escaped Azkaban when he realized Harry might be in danger from Peter, not for his own safety, but for Harry’s. Sirius dropped everything and moved to live in a cave and eat rats when Harry's scar hurt. He stuck around Hogwarts and Hogsmead during the Triwizard Tournament, when it was crawling with ministry officials because Harry might need him. He was willing to do so much for Harry. And Harry knew this.

I think, given time, they could've had an amazing dynamic, and I wish we had more of Sirius and his care for Harry. That we saw more of his approach to parenting Harry.

#harry potter #harry potter thoughts #hp theory #harry potter theory #hp #hp thoughts #sirius black #good godfather sirius black #hollowedtheory #sirius black was a better parent figure for harry than the weasleys #pro sirius black #I also wanna talk about how smart sirius is #but that'll be another post

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shakehandstt · 1 year ago

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Wir freuen uns über die beiden shakehands-Spitzenplatzierungen beim Doppelturnier des Dresdner Hochschulsportzentrums, Ron & Rapha. Großen Respekt an Darius und vielen Dank an Denis Hünich für die Organisation 🤝🏾🏓

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bennyboyfics · 1 month ago

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ben x gf!reader whose friend is into Ben but you don’t realise and Ben tells you not to hang out w her bc she obvs wants to get into his pants

Friend or foe? || Ben Shelton x gf!reader

A/n: sorry didn’t mean to make it this long lol

Wc: 2,465

Warnings: none rlly

MASTERLIST

The Miami sun hung high, golden rays glinting off the courts as the hum of the tournament surrounded you. The distant murmur of crowds, the rhythmic pop of balls hitting racquets, and the occasional roar of applause blended into the background as you sat at a high-top table near one of the outdoor bars, a cold drink sweating in your hand.

Across from you, Sienna swirled her cocktail idly, her manicured nails tapping against the glass. You’d met her a couple of weeks ago at Indian Wells, and she was effortlessly cool—the kind of girl who always knew the right angle for a selfie, who made casual elegance look easy. She was an influencer, well-known in the tennis and lifestyle space, and you’d clicked instantly.

It was nice to have another female friend in the whirlwind of the tennis world, someone who understood the travel, the events, the long stretches of waiting between matches. “I swear, the way the cameras zoom in on the player boxes—it’s like they’re waiting for someone to react dramatically,” Sienna mused, tapping her manicured nails against her glass.

“You should see yourself on the broadcasts,” Sienna muses, swirling her drink with a lazy flick of her wrist. “You get so locked in when you watch Ben. It’s kinda intense.” You roll your eyes with a laugh. “That’s because I am focused. Have you seen him play? The way he hypes himself up after every point? It’s like watching a human firecracker.” Sienna chuckles, but there’s something else there—something almost thoughtful.

She leans back, crossing one leg over the other. “You’re so lucky,” she says, her tone light, yet carrying an undercurrent you can’t quite place. “Getting to live this lifestyle without really having to work for it.” The comment makes you pause, your fingers tightening slightly around your glass. You tilt your head, studying her. “Don’t you love your job, though?” Sienna meets your gaze, then exhales, shrugging as if the answer isn’t so simple.

“I mean… sometimes, I guess. I don’t know.” Her lips press together briefly before she takes another sip of her drink, avoiding your eyes. You hum in response, not pushing, but the moment lingers. Then, just for a second, her gaze flickers past you—so quick you almost miss it. When she looks back at you, there’s something unreadable in her expression.

Something that makes the hairs on the back of your neck rise, though you can’t quite figure out why. Then, out of nowhere, two strong arms wrapped around your waist from behind. A startled gasp left your lips before familiar warmth pressed against your back, a pair of lips brushing the side of your neck. The scent of fresh sweat, sunscreen, and the faintest hint of cologne filled your senses before you even had to look.

“Miss me, baby?” Ben’s voice was deep and teasing, sending a shiver down your spine. “Ben!” You twisted slightly in his hold, caught between a laugh and exasperation. “You scared me!” He chuckled, completely unbothered, his arms tightening around you as he nuzzled into your shoulder, “that was the point.” He placed a soft kiss on your neck before finally letting go.

You turned in your seat to face him, the sight of him still making your heart skip a beat despite how long you’d been together. He was in his training gear—Nike shirt slightly damp with sweat, curls a little messy from whatever practice session he’d just finished. His smile was wide and easy, dimples deep in his cheeks as he looked at you with pure affection.

Sienna, on the other hand, had gone stiff. Ben’s gaze flickered toward her, polite but observant. You, completely unaware of the sudden tension, gestured between the two of them. “Ben, this is Sienna! We met at Indian Wells—she’s amazing. We’ve been hanging out today.” Ben glanced at her, polite but reserved, his expression neutral as he extended a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

For a split second, Sienna hesitated. It was barely noticeable—just a fraction of a delay before she shook his hand, her smile a little too forced. “You too,” she said smoothly, but something about the way her voice dipped made Ben’s jaw tighten slightly. He wasn’t sure what it was exactly, but he was good at reading people—he had to be, given how often he interacted with strangers. And right now?

The way Sienna looked at him wasn’t just admiration or friendliness. It was something else. Something almost possessive. He didn’t say anything, but you felt the subtle shift in his energy. Normally, Ben was a natural in social situations—charming, playful, effortlessly drawing people in. But right now, there was something sharper in his gaze, something cautious. You didn’t notice. But Ben did. L

Ben didn’t let it show on his face, but he filed the information away. “Are you done for the day?” you asked, completely oblivious. “Yeah, I’ve got some media stuff later, but I wanted to find you first.” He let his hand rest on your waist as he spoke, thumb brushing lazily over your hipbone. It was a small gesture, one he probably didn’t even think about, but Sienna’s fingers gripped her glass just a little tighter.

“Perfect,” you grinned. “Hang out with us for a bit?” Ben hesitated. Everything in him told him no. But you looked so happy, and he wasn’t about to ruin the moment just yet. “Of course, babe.”

—

The afternoon continued, but the atmosphere was different. You chatted away happily, sipping your drink, oblivious to the silent undercurrent. But Ben? He noticed everything. Sienna’s eyes lingered just a little too long when she thought you weren’t looking. The way she leaned in when she spoke to him, subtly angling her body toward his.

The slight smirk that played on her lips whenever you mentioned something sweet about your relationship, as if she knew something you didn’t. Ben wasn’t stupid. He’d had enough experience with girls trying to hit on him to know the telltale signs—the too-casual touches, the careful way they steered conversations to make themselves seem more interesting, more compatible with him.

And right now, everything about Sienna screamed that she was playing a game. And you? You had no idea you were a piece on the board. At one point, you excused yourself to the bathroom, placing a quick kiss on Ben’s cheek before walking off. The second you disappeared into the crowd, Sienna shifted in her seat, her fingers lightly tracing the rim of her glass.

“So,” she started, her tone different now—smoother, more deliberate. “You and her.” Ben exhaled through his nose, already unimpressed. “Yeah? What about it?” Sienna tilted her head, her gaze assessing. “I mean, it’s cute. You two seem happy.” She paused, swirling her drink. “But relationships like this… they don’t always last, do they?”

Ben’s expression darkened slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?” She shrugged, feigning innocence. “It’s just—dating an athlete? It’s complicated. The travel, the media, the pressure. Most people wouldn’t understand it.” Her eyes flickered up, meeting his with something almost challenging. “Not like someone who actually lives in this world.” Ben’s grip on his knee tightened. Sienna leaned in slightly.

“I’m just saying… if things ever change, if you ever want something different—” “No.” The word came out sharp, final. Sienna blinked. “Ben, I—” “You need to stop before I call security,” he said, his voice low, controlled. She hesitated, as if trying to gauge if he really meant it, but Ben wasn’t interested in playing along. Instead, he glanced toward the direction you had walked off, pushing himself up from his seat.

Before you returned, Sienna made a few more weak attempts at conversation—light, seemingly harmless questions about tennis, his schedule, what his plans were for the rest of the tournament—but Ben barely engaged. Instead, he checked his phone, tracking the time, and the second you stepped back, his focus shifted entirely.

“Hey, you good?” His hand found your waist instinctively as he leaned in, scanning your face. “Bathroom line wasn’t too long, was it?” You smiled at the concern in his voice. “No, it was fine.” Ben nodded, his brows furrowing slightly. “You’ve eaten today, right?” You gave him a look. “Ben—”“I’m serious,” he insisted, ignoring Sienna completely now.

“You’ve barely touched your drink, and I know you were running around earlier. Did you eat before we came?” You sighed, playfully exasperated. “Yes, dad, I ate.” He smirked at the teasing but didn’t let up, rubbing your back gently. “Alright. Just making sure.” Sienna sat there, silent, watching the exchange with something unreadable in her expression.

Ben, on the other hand, was done entertaining her presence. His patience had worn thin, and he had no interest in prolonging the tension any further. Pressing a lingering kiss to your temple, he straightened up, his hand giving your waist a small squeeze. “I’ll get my stuff, I’ll meet you in the car?” he murmured, his voice softer when directed at you. You looked up at him, nodding easily.

“Of course. Sienna and I were almost done anyway.” Turning toward her, you smiled, completely unaware of the weight of the moment. Sienna returned it, but her smile was tight, strained. She quickly looked away, swirling what remained of her drink in her glass. Ben hummed, the sound low and thoughtful.

His eyes lingered on her for just a second longer—just long enough to let her know he’d caught on to everything. And then, without another word, he turned back to you, placing another kiss on your lips, slow and deliberate. It wasn’t just a goodbye kiss. It was a statement. When he finally pulled away, he brushed his thumb over your cheek before stepping back. “See you in a minute, baby.”

And with that, he left, his posture relaxed, but his mind anything but. As he disappeared through the crowd, Sienna let out a small breath, her fingers tightening around her drink. You, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing beneath the surface, simply turned back to her, still caught in the warmth of Ben’s kiss. “So,” you said, picking up your glass again, “what were we talking about?” Sienna forced another smile, but this time, she didn’t answer right away.

—

Later, as the two of you drove back to the hotel, you finally spoke up. “Okay, what’s up with you?”Ben gripped the wheel a little tighter than necessary, his jaw tense. He hadn’t said much since you’d left the lounge, and now you were watching him closely, concern in your voice. “Ben.” He sighed, running a hand through his curls. “I don’t want you hanging out with her anymore.”

You blinked, taken aback. “What? Why?” “Babe, she’s not your friend.” His tone was firm, no room for argument. Your brows furrowed. “Where is this coming from?” Ben scoffed lightly, shaking his head. “She likes me.” You frowned. “What? No, she doesn’t—” Ben shot you a look, incredulous. “Are you serious?” He exhaled, frustration creeping in.

“She literally waited until you left to basically tell me that if I ever wanted to—” He cut himself off, his grip tightening on the wheel. “She’s waiting for something that’s never gonna happen.” Your stomach twisted. You replayed the day in your head, all the little moments you’d brushed off. “Are you sure?” you asked, still reeling. Ben gave you a dry look.

“Trust me. I know when someone’s into me.” Silence stretched between you for a moment before you let out a breath, shaking your head. “That’s…wow. I didn’t think—” Ben shook his head, scoffing. “She’s not your friend,” Ben repeated firmly. “She was using you to get closer to me.” A heavy silence filled the car, reality sinking in.

And with that, you knew there was no argument to be made. Because if there was one thing Ben Shelton was never wrong about, it was reading the game. And this? This had been a game all along.

#ben shelton #ben shelton fanfic #ben shelton fanfiction #ben shelton imagine #ben shelton x reader #ben shelton au #ben shelton tennis #ben shelton x fem!reader #tennis fanfic #ben shelton x you #ben shelton angst #Ben Shelton fluff #ben shelton smut

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