#They were at their best emotionally season one
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one thing me and my sisters kept reverting back to is that... They didn't need to set up anything beyond what they hinted at season 1?
Ambessa wants to weaponize Hextec for the sake of her war in Nexus. It's better yet to test it, make a Guernica from this city. Jinx attacked the Congress. Piltover elite demands counteractions. That's enough to set up a civil war.
And to be fair all of that happens in the first three episodes. But as much as I enjoyed Caitlyn's downfall into fascism and originally called it more bold than I expected before they attempted to erase it in record speed and creation of excuses... I feel like I should have seen the problems coming now I think of it. Because it was all too militaristic in contrast to anything we had seen from their police before wasn't it?
I feel like the entire season they've attempted to rise the two sides to equal independent cities. When they had previously always made clear it was one city with extreme class division, the elite and the slums they isolated at the other side of the river. Most obvious example being the overuse of the word "Zaun" even by top-side characters for me when before even Silco kinda saved it for special occasions. The dialogues and the few character driven scenes kept insisting the conflict is driven by human nature or senseless emotional drawbacks like there's comparison between Caitlyn and Jinx. And acting like it started with the girls or at best Vander and Silco. And not like they tried marching on that bridge for a reason.
It's quite obvious they wanted a big battle scene to use their experimental animation tactics on. But it's like they couldn't stomach the political implications of the testing nuclear/chemical weapon allegories on favelados they had previously set up. Yet they stomach to animate a revolutionary poor black woman dying in a military police uniform. But anyways the result is those scattered plotlines trying to set up this big battle and it just... completely negated any suspension belief for us. Truces in wartime happen but not like they've presented. One of my sisters started laughing so loud on the scene of them raising the barricades in the bridge so Zaun characters can go die for Piltover even tho they never even made Ambessa threaten the lanes. You're so emotionally uninvested by that point we just started nitpicking the show and they did give us a lot. Like why do all Ambessa's soldiers just stand there watching while Mel and Caitlyn were double teaming her. This is the big battle you gave up your themes of class warfare and your two main characters sibiling bound for???
If Vi just committed to killing Jinx and Caitlyn just killed Isha, cementing the enmity between sisters (instead of that time-wasting Vander plot) and building up to a finale where the focus was a battle between Piltover and Zaun, and Jinx wanted to avenge Isha as Vi wanted to avenge Vander/her girlfriend's mom--
If Viktor becoming an apex hex-tech man made him "evil" not because the arcane "corrupted him" but because the council considered him a weapon Zaun would leverage against them and if Jayce, now a councilman and puppet to Mel, went on a mission to disable Viktor for Piltover instead of "humanity", thus cementing his deviation from the dream of helping people they had both shared in the beginning--
If Jayce and Vi had the realizations that they loved Viktor/Jinx more than their perfect/peaceful worlds and lives in the midst of a devastating battle where everybody lost--
If Jinx and Viktor had once again difficulty choosing between the person they loved most in the world who was threatening to kill them and the glorious revolution that had been thrust upon them and their crushing sense of responsibility--
If the writers had just committed to one idea instead of trying to do everything in a season that already shouldered a lot of weight, if they'd just finished what season 1 started . . .
#some might scared of being haters but I'm not#it looked ridiculous they forgot themselves#the whole thing was a huge you could have not#anyways I think they should have went for the first and for Jinx trying to make sense of this imagery of a guerrillera ideal forced upon he#by SOME of the Undercity (and I really wanted like one moment of acknowledging it was some and a considerable portion still hated her and#Silco because I'm quite tired of poor people being represented as singular minded easily manipulated masses)#because this should have been about them#'oh they wanted to give time for the other League champions' I don't give a fuck about LOL it's them on that little vinil disk isn't it
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Aleduncan is an objectively hilarious ship. The two worst men you know are making out right behind you.
#total drama#td#aleduncan#I love Aleduncan sm it's so funny#Lame Gwen-Duncan-Courtney vs chad Alejandro-Duncan- Courtney love triangle#Considering how Duncan was acting in Action#I wouldn't be surprised if he would've cheated on Courtney either way#They were at their best emotionally season one#Then after it was just really toxic. Get well soon to them BOTH#Courtney ends up with Emma (RR!!!) and then Alejandro and Duncan continue to get worse#“my ex boyfriend is dating someone who was trying to pursue my lesbian friend. yeah she's sorta dating her enemy now.”
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RTD is so in love with David Tennant that it makes him look stupid, huh.
#listen friends i dont know what to feel#i love everyone involved#I'm so happy that Donna has her memories back and will spend the rest of her life with her best friend by her side#but that ending felt like it was straight out of a christmas Hallmark movie; my teeth ache from all that saccharine sweetness#I'll be able to justify it if RTD is setting the stage for bringing Tennant and Tate into his UNIT spin-off which seems to be in the works#if that's not the reason it's hard for me to swallow this plot twist with the biregeneration#firstly: RTD did something similar at the end of the fourth season—splitting the Doctor to “give” one version to Rose#it's a bit annoying to see him essentially do the same now by letting another version of the Doctor to stay with Donna#secondly: I missed the emotion in this#I spent a week bracing myself for heartbreak but we went a bit too far in the other direction#we got a cutesy ending where everything resolves through a deus ex machina#yet it’s those bitter and grief-soaked moments are what RTD has always excelled at#when it comes to the Doctor's regeneration and farewells to companions#it's hard to feel much about this plot development#some things should remain final and some goodbyes and endings are unavoidable#the conclusion of Rose’s arc (both from s2 and s4) or Donna's ending in s4#were among the most emotionally intense moments in the history of television#I missed a bit of that here#perhaps if there were more bitterness in the 14th Doctor's ending if he had to pay some PRICE for this biregeneration#(like not getting his TARDIS#being told that the Fifteenth takes over the regeneration ability#and the Tennant Doctor will die of old age)#emotionally it would have provided viewers with a cool punch#without that it seems like RTD wanted to have his cake and eat it too#have a new Doctor and give his old characters a last-minute happy ending that doesn't make much logical sense#I was hoping to feel more considering how much I love these characters#but my main reaction is an eyeroll#on the positive side I really hope to see Neil Patrick Harris in the show again he was a great villain#and Ncuti Gatwa’s Doctor is already so freaking great!!! <3#doctor who
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#school rumble#i could write an essay on it#actually i have#one of the most powerful stories ever written gah it drives me crazy that it comes in such a strange package#the story so powerful the animation team rejected the manga's bs to give the characters the finale they deserved#even though they were forced to retcon it in the final 2 episodes to push for another season#literally they just end the story on episode 19 and hard pivot to movie parody skits/vacation specials for the rest of the episodes#it's magical#until the episode 25 does the ''ohhh nooo they forgot the whole thing and put us right back where we started uh oh whoops''#''awww looks like we're gonna have to have another season''#literally#anyway if i ever start feeling emotions im probably going to start school rumble posting and never stop#schoolrum's so stupid you can only appreciate it emotionally#it's not like nichijou where theres still all this artistry and richness you can still engage with if youre cut off heartwise#i didnt even have emotions when i first watched it but it was still powerful enough to make a visceral impact#but at this point im just too far gone i need a bit of heartspace before i can have any chance of actually registering any of it again#<- finally caved and posted a schoolrum rant after like 5 and a half years on here#its the kind of series that lurks forgotten for years at a time#until one day it jumps out and grabs you and refuses to let go until you rewatch it again#best dub in history btw you didnt know english localization and voice acting could be this good#knocks the original japanese out of the park and truly ties everything together#nichijou japanese and school rumble english are the two best animation dubs of all time
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another great outer range interview for isabel! such interesting questions were asked, like what it's like working with lewis, things she's learned and struggled with in doing this show, and her scenes with a specific person... please check it out, if you dare!
#outer range#outer range s2#outer range s2 spoilers#isabel arraiza#maria olivares#lewis pullman mention#imogen poots mention#not her saying that looking into his ''baby blues'' helped her open up in one of the earlier scenes of the season#for the longest time i was wondering if his eyes were blue or grey#also LOVED the learned/struggled with question#i can see how she could feel so out of place since she's so removed from the sci-fi and western elements...#i'm glad she had fun with imogen in those scenes with autumn#she seems so sweet and pleasant to talk to#i wonder what her other costars would have to say about her#Youtube#also her saying she'd do every show with lewis? sounds like she had a fun time with him#would LOVE to hear more about how it was for her shooting scenes with imogen if there will be interviews that have spoilers in them#i wonder if the makeup artist she was talking about was madelene or jq#lol the way both monica and isa started with ''oh my god'' when they were asked about working with him#outer range cast#i feel like if lew were doing press day with the cast he might've been interviewed with her and man... that makes me sad#because i want to know what his response would be#but also i wanna hear how tamara imogen josh and lili's experiences working with her was like...#i like that for the most part she wasn't super negative or ableist towards her?#i think she described autumn as a creature from maria's perspective because there's so much of a disconnect there#it's nice that lew was available for her emotionally#maybe creature isn't the best term...?
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Yknow, im realizing that I’ve forgotten a lot of the clones’ names… YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS!
#entire clone war rewatch#except for the ones I can’t emotionally handle#i’m going to cry#also I’m jsut now realizing that whenever I’ve watched the clone wars before I was rlly young#like too young to actually grasp it#the clone wars was literally my childhood#I actually didn’t understand five’s death because I was too young to even register who all the clones were#BUT OH BOY#WHEN SEASON SEVEN CAME OUT#you best believe I was sobbing at Echo’s return#honestly the only clones I ever remembered were the 501st and Cody#oh and Waxer and Boiler#still not over the fact that one of the twi’leks with Hera’s dad’s group was THAT twi’lek#all the Star Wars shows are so good#and so well thought out#I think I might rewatch all the way to rebels#in chronological order#speaking of chronological#I love how technically the clones wars episodes aren’t chronological#cuz remember Ponds died pretty early on#but he was seen in a later season#season 7 and maybe 6 were probably the only ones set in a certain order#I think this is cuz at the start of the show the clones weren’t really the memorable or important to begin with#except for the 501st and Rex and Cody#probably some others but I can’t remember#anyway I’ll stop ranting now#clone wars#Star Wars#star wars the clone wars#sw tbb
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still picking my way thru s3 of the witcher episode by agonizing episode but it's going SO slowly bc every time i watch one it's just like. right. this show is a B movie now and not in a good way
#like it's not like NONE of it has been fun but it's just like. i enjoy the fandom but the source material is. not actually good#and people SO badly want to credit it with all this depth and sophistication it just absolutely does not have#but s1 was at least like. coherent and fun if unsubtle#s2 and s3 have just been this big spiral into like. an attempt at Fantasy Saga#which would be fine if they were good enough at storytelling to do that coherently#but unfortunately it's just like. disconnected scene after disconnected scene strung together by mediocre action and worse humor#all of which have looked weirdly pastede-on-yay in a way i don't know enough formal film language to articulate#but it's just like. it doesn't feel like the characters are actually moving through the world‚ visually#it's just costumed ppl shoehorned into backgrounds that are either (1) cartoonishly stagey (2) dreary irl countryside somewhere (3) bad CGI#and then geralt gets whumped and it's like. wait NOW you want us to care abt him? after sidelining him all season?#like. idk. structurally and emotionally the writing just sucks#and then the acting and visuals are. largely also bad. lol.#jaskier is probably one of the best bits really but then they give him so much material that's absolutely clownish#and it's like. i'm not opposed to humor but it's remarkable the way the juxtaposition of his tone with the overall tone of the show#manages to make BOTH vibes seem stupid somehow. honestly an achievement#however. big fan of predicted-by-me-but-still-good betrayal scene. like. he didn't even seem surprised which was perf honestly#'obviously you lived down to my expectations‚ that's just how life goes and has gone ever since geralt blew up at me on that mountain'#just like. makes total sense and also grants him some actual depth and dignity#now do that the whole time with all the characters challenge…#tvblogging#(i realize no1 currs but like. i do like 2 record my Thots On Media otherwise they all fall out of my head like a sieve)
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hate to be a hater on the main … but this season of ted lasso excels (once again) at team dynamic and the found family elements and i think the finale absolutely nailed that, i cried, i laughed, it was perfect on that. now as for the individual stories and relationships… yeah, let’s leave it at that
#(rant below ignore me)#i think making longer episodes allowed them to add stories that felt so pointless to me#what was the point of zava? to make jamie understand something about himself? could have done that better with just the roy plot#i would have understood roy and keeley breaking up of it was like ‘let’s both grow as individuals’#and roy kinda did but apparently not enough because his plot at the end is how he do better so i guess he didn’t#jamie had the best development only to then lose part of it by throwing the random video comment?? like why??#keeley my love … from the random friend that added nothing to the story to an undervelopped love interest plot line … they did u so dirty#why the hell was ted so emotionally off this last episode instead of actually talking the time to proper end things with london and everyone#rebecca was SOBBING and ted was like ‘well gotta go’ ??#it’s not about the ship or anything but what ?? and rebecca … love that she stayed with the club#but to have her end up with some random creepy man she met once and whose name WE DONT EVEN KNOW#i have no issues with ted going home to his son. it makes perfect sense. but it felt so weird#the nate plot was wrapped kinda poorly too??#sam colin and most of the guys from the team were amazing#and the found family and team dynamic was still amazing as always#the beard and jane relationship was always weird to me because it feels like joke after joke of.. abuse?#do they get married or was it a dream?? and if so was the whole sequence a dream? and if it wasn’t WHO DID THE CGI FOR THE WEDDING 💀#we spent more time with these characters this season and it doesn’t feel that way and idk this season felt weird at so many points#I LOVE THIS SHOW I DO!! first 2 seasons are one of my all time favourite seasons of a sitcom!! and i still enjoyed a lot about s3 <33#anyway sorry to be a hater on the main but it was just a weird season to end it on#anti ted lasso#<- i really don’t wanna upset anyone i just felt like ranting a little 💀 pls don’t hate me#ted lasso spoilers
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so in my sonic underground rewrite bartleby after shooting Sonia on an eggman airship in the middle of his morality crisis coming to a head gets exploded along with the ship after the hedgehogs narrowly escape ad he lands on angel island, very unconscious and barely alive, where knuckles finds him (and the two have not ever met each other before or know of each other’s existence) and helps this mysterious injured random guy. By the way the shooting Sonia and exploding is like the season one finale. Bartleby spends the majority of season two stuck on angel island dealing with the aftermath of his morality crisis, helping out knuckles bc knuckles helped him and what else is he going to do, they become friends (and maybe develop a Thing, I haven’t decided yet) eventually the hedgehogs show up on the island for whatever reasons and there’s a confrontation bc the last time they saw him, he shot sonia. And knuckles didn’t know this and he feels betrayed and bartleby runs off all dramatic bc it’s him, emotions cool off a bit and they go after bartleby to talk and he apologizes and tells them that he’s on their side now, but he wants to stay on angel island until he’s needed. They make up, yayyy hugs and friendship.
#i speak#this is mostly just late night brainstorming so don’t really pay attention to it#See before the season one finale bartleby starts off as a snobby rich boy and Sonia’s best friend#They’ve been engaged since they were children but of course the secret is that Sonia’s aromatic and bartlebys gay so. Lavender marriage of#Sorts.#And he’s rather emotionally stunted but doe’s truly care for his best friend but he’s also a sheltered rich boy so when Sonia becomes a reb#Robotnik manipulates him into thinking she’s being brainwashed by her evil terrorist brothers and he has to save her and bring her back and#So he’s a reoccurring antagonist for the first season chasing after them and continuing to fail and he’s threatened by Robotnik and gradual#More and more desperate and losing sleep and questioning his ideals and who he’s fighting for and visually is much less put together as wel#And then in the season finale they’re on the airship and he and Sonia have a confrontation where she tries to reason with him and get him t#Join them but he’s not listening because if he’s wrong then he’s totally irredeemable and he’s too deep into it to stop now and so he shoot#Her. He realizes what he’s done and is horrified and he runs away like always and then sonic and manic show up and get Sonia back to their#Ship or whatever and then the airship explodes just in time with bartleby on it#hm. Certainly typed a Lotmore than I meant to#I need to sleep. Welp#bartleby montclair#sonic underground
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crying in the club | mv1
pairing: max verstappen x norris!reader
summary: how should one react when their boyfriend wins the world championship at the same time their brother loses it?
max my four time world champion!!!
liked by landonorris, maxverstappen1, and 481,017 others!
yourusername: the sun will shine on you soon baby brother!! this season was tough but you got through it ♡♡ i love you forever (world champions are overrated anyways 😉)
view comments below!
user1: you are the strongest soldier here
user2: you are the reason i survived this season
user2: everytime i wanted to throw up, i thought about how you were doing, and thought you must’ve been doing much worse, thank you!
user3: youre finally free from all this ‘champion battle’ talk 🍾
user4: you running back in forth from redbull to mclaren made my night
user5: it’s even funnier how her body language would change, in the mclaren garage she would be all gloomy but once she ran back to redbull it was arms up partying
lewishamilton: i wouldn’t say alll world championships are overrated
yourusername: shut up lewis hamilton 7x world champion, arguably the best f1 driver in existence, kind, humble, handsome and—would you like do go on a date with me?
maxverstappen1: excuse me?
yourusername: i don’t know what happened max, i was i insulting him and next thing i knew i wanted him on my lap
lewishamilton: i feel…odd
yourusername: good odd or bad odd
lewishamilton: i can’t tell…
yourusername: come over to the redbull garage to find out 😼
landonorris: genuinely, what the fuck is going on?
maxverstappen1: i don’t know, so i’ve decided to ignore it
landonorris: ignoring what ever that was, thank you 🧡
yourusername: say it
landonorris: say what
yourusername: say ‘i love you’ you emotionally stunted gremlin
landonorris: i don’t…
yourusername: say it lando
maxverstappen1: yeah cmon lando, say it
landonorris: too like both of you or?..
maxverstappen1: yes, tell your brother in law that you love him
landonorris: okay first, you’re not my brother in law, second, i don’t feel very comfortable right now
yourusername: say it with me lando, “i loveee youuu”
landonorris: guys…
yourusername: SAY IT
maxverstappen: CMON LANDO SAY IT
yourusername: SAY IT
yourusername: SAY IT
landonorris: OK I LOVE YOU GUYS
user6: is this the peer pressure my school always warned me about?
user7: no…that was just, sad.
liked by maxverstappen1, oscarpiastri, and 761,018 others!
yourusername: THATS MY FOUR TIME WORLD CHAMPION!!! THIS IS FOR ALL THE BUMS WHO SAID HE WAS NOTHING BUT A PRETTY MAN IN A FAST CAR, NOW WHAT????? NOBODY COMPARES TO MAX FUCKING VERSTAPPEN. AND YOU ALL BETTER REMEMBER THAT.
view comments below!
user8: now it’s time to hit the club
yourusername: i’ll be crying in the club, thank you very much
user9: crying for lando, partying for max, it’s perfect
user10: you are the perfect amount of supportive to both lando and max
maxverstappen1: ik houd van je 💙
yourusername: @/landonorris
landonorris: i don’t speak dutch??
yourusername: he just told me he loved me loser
landonorris: o-kay?
yourusername: gosh you are so emotionally unintelligent, it makes me sick
landonorris: i just lost the world championship please be kind to me
yourusername: im your sister which basically means i lost the championship too, yet i still tell you i love you?
landonorris: THATS NOT HOW THAT WORKS
yourusername: I LOVE YOU LANDO
landonorris: LEAVE ME ALONE
maxverstappen1: we should get married in vegas
yourusername: oh my god, yes. but no elvis because he freaks me out
maxverstappen1: CHARLES SHOULD MARRY US
charles_leclerc: guys…i would be honored
yourusername: i don’t know max, i have a feeling you’ll run away with him and leave me at the alter
maxverstappen1: yeah…that probably will happen 😔, it’s okay, lando can marry us!!!
landonorris: what the fuck is today
#f1 x reader#max verstappen x reader#f1 fanfic#f1 imagine#f1 fic#f1 x y/n#f1 x female reader#f1 x you#f1 social media au#f1#norris!reader#max verstappen x y/n#max verstappen smau#max verstappen blurb#max verstappen fluff#max verstappen x you#max verstappen fic#max verstappen imagine#max verstappen fanfic#max verstappen
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do you believe me now? | 8
it's the morning after. spencer reid suspects you’re left with some doubts after losing your virginity to him. he has to figure out why—which is hard when you're keeping secrets.
series masterlist
this series is 18+ warnings/tags: fem!reader, blood related to losing virginity (dramatized for the drama duh), super vague allusions to the BAU being hungover, mild blasphemy if anyone even cares, pondering god bc am I really a fanfic writer if I don’t get a little religious w it, emily AND hotch are here and nobody knows why pls don't pay attention to that bc we are imagining like season 11/12 spencer and I'm inconsistent w who is unit chief in this series apparently, spencer slut lore, spencer emotional wounds lore, Spencer is a traumatic situationship survivor a/n: DADDYS HOMEEEEE (me and dybmn not spencer) anyway missed these little guys and am happy to be writing for them again!! idk what my upload schedule will becoming back to this but pls lmk what u think of this part, I have no idea how you will respond but I'm being brave and ily
Friday morning Spencer comes into the office fifteen minutes late (he tried his best), in yesterday’s suit (everything in his go-bag had been too wrinkled), hair messy (no doubt from your fingers), coffee cold (he’s exhausted) and overall, in an excellent mood.
The rest of the team isn’t faring quite as well—Spencer gathers they stayed at the bar celebrating Derek’s birthday a lot later than he had. It shows through sallow skin and dark circles and the grimaces he receives on the way to his desk that are probably supposed to approximate good morning’s.
Honestly, he doesn’t mind the dull mood—he doesn’t need the teasing and the prying questions that would be sure to come if his co-workers were at peak performance and were able to put together his unusually perky demeanor and disheveled appearance. At least Prentiss doesn’t appear to be paying him any mind. She’s always the one who can read him like an open book and has no shame in doing so aloud. Echoes from years of, ‘so who was the lucky girl, last night, Reid?’ Still ring through his mind and it’s like he can feel her finger prodding at his side.
The Emily of it all makes him smile, though the rest of the memory leaves a metal tang in his mouth. Back in those days, there were sometimes a lot of girls, but even then he was consciously aware he wasn’t necessarily doing something he enjoyed. He spent a lot of time, actually, staring at his bedroom ceiling, psychoanalyzing himself. Repetition compulsion. The insatiable desire to repeat or reenact emotionally painful experiences. Maybe he thought if he could teach himself to subsist off of emotionless hookups, he could in some way heal from his experience with Elle. Though, he’s hesitant to think of it now as healing—it’s not like he didn’t know what he was doing when a few nights after she said I don’t feel the same I’m sorry he opened up his front door for her. It’s not like he didn’t know what he was doing every time after that. So, maybe heal isn’t the right word, when one doesn’t have the right to be injured. Or when the injuries are, in a manner of speaking, self-inflicted. At the very least he could tell himself that this time around, meaningless sex was a choice he was making for himself. Spencer hates when things just happen to him.
But you—you’re different. You were a complete surprise. At first, a cute and unexpected complication. After a few painful and short-lived attempts at real relationships, Spencer decided he was simply not to be trusted with emotional intimacy of any kind, including that which inevitably develops from physical intimacy, and would resign himself to a life of celibacy. He tried not to like you, but you were just so damn likable. Magnetic, to use a trite and perfectly honest turn of phrase. All that to say: he doesn’t regret you at all. There is no filter of putrid shame or anguish over his memories of last night.
Just you. Perfect. Starlit. Glowing softly around the edges like you’re not even real.
I love you I love you I love you. A hymn with no melody. You, always reminding him exactly why he is decidedly not a man of faith. At least, not in the typical sense of the word.
How God became the idol and not Mary is lost on him. That’s why, Spencer supposes, tapping an eraser on his desk, marriage and sex were forbidden for so many ecclesiastics. After all, if they knew what it was to love a woman, specifically to love you, he doubts they’d feel like spending much time in the pulpit. Love. Humans had that long before they had any gods. It’s primeval. It’s the most natural manifestation of devotion and worship. It will always have come first. Isn’t it a better kind of religion when a man realizes he can kneel in front of a woman rather than an altar?
A heavy hand falling on his shoulder jolts him from his theological musings—which are in all practicality useless. What’s that saying about blasphemous thinking on the FBI’s dime? Right. There isn’t one.
“I’m scared to ask,” Morgan says as Spencer jumps slightly in his chair.
“What?” He mumbles, looking up from the document he’d only sort of been reading.
Morgan just looks at him, strong brows furrowed and a ditch between them, angles his head and glances to the side as if Spencer is missing the obvious. He almost follows Derek’s eye-line. When that doesn’t work, Derek just says your name. Like your status is somehow in question.
“Did you two work things out, or not? It looked pretty bad when you guys were leaving last night.”
People often misunderstand an eidetic memory. It’s not like things can’t slip his mind—Spencer can actually be quite forgetful. It’s made worse by the fact that last night at the bar feels like months ago. For a moment, he has no idea what Derek is referring to.
“Oh. Oh! Right, we—right. Yeah, we, uh—we worked it out.” Before Derek has a chance to read his face, no doubt as incriminating as his fumbled speech and an ill-timed throat clearing, he turns back to his paperwork. “Thanks for keeping an eye on her at the bar. I appreciate that.”
It’s quiet for a moment, and Spencer’s lips twist as he can feel the incoming inappropriate comment.
“Is that the same suit you were wearing last night?” Morgan quips, his wide grin audible. Spencer can practically hear the cartoon gleam of his friend’s bleached teeth.
“No.”
“You dog.” Derek is still smiling as he claps Spencer’s shoulder again. “What did you say to her that worked so well?”
Spencer clears his throat again and tries to look extremely involved in logging onto his computer, speaking quickly as if he’s beyond disinterested and can’t wait for the exchange to be over.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m actually trying to work so if you wouldn’t mind going back to your desk that would be great.”
“Uh-huh. I’ll let you work. But I see you, pretty boy.”
Spencer tries not to blush like a teenager as he refuses to look up.
Naturally the rest of the day is a slow descent into dread and madness as all those good feelings with which Spencer had started his morning begin to harden into something much worse, chilled by your lack of response to the text he sent you earlier. Which was essentially a rehashing of the note he left on your bedside table.
Maybe it was too much. It should’ve been one or the other, but not both. He’s overwhelmed you.
Okay, so maybe this is what religion is for. A last ditch effort when you can’t talk to your girlfriend so you have to try talking to God.
But Spencer knows you, and he knows something is wrong. You wouldn’t just ice him out so blatantly if everything was okay. He catches himself glancing up toward Hotch’s window to see if the blinds are drawn, and considers faking an illness to get out of work early and go check on you. But he powers through the remaining hour and a half that he is obligated to stay at work, he bounces a pencil between his fingers, drums at his desk, and gets nothing else done. As soon as 4:59 rolls around, he’s out.
Spencer can hear shuffling on the other side of your door as he stands in the hallway. A pot clatters. The walls hum with the rush of water through the pipes to your sink. He knocks, relieved that you’re okay and at the same time struggling with that weight on his chest—something cold that leans over his shoulders and whispers into his ear—so she just didn’t want to talk to you.
Suddenly all sound from inside your unit ceases. For a few long seconds, Spencer’s confusion only grows exponentially.
“Who is it?” You finally call, voice wavering. Also odd. Usually you just open the door.
“Um… Spencer?”
“As in my boyfriend Spencer?”
He frowns, bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly as he tries to decipher your sudden paranoia. “I hope so?”
The click and jingle of several locks precipitates your much-anticipated reveal.
“Come in,” you say breathlessly, more harried than usual and not giving him the tender greeting he’s selfishly become accustomed to—barely even giving him a second to look at you. But he steps inside, watching on in concern as you do up every single lock—the one on the knob, the deadbolt, even the chain. Is this really all because of his little comment last night about anyone being able to get in? He certainly hopes not. He didn’t mean to terrify you.
When you finally turn, he takes stock of your appearance. Big hoodie, pajama pants patterned in little hearts. Hair pulled back hastily. Your skin is sort of dull where you normally glow. But you’re beautiful, like always. It always aches just a little bit to look at you. Spencer’s always been like that. Going breathless at a particularly good piece of art or pretty girl. Like yourself. Mostly you.
You quickly turn to hurry back into the kitchen. “I was trying to make dinner, I—”
“Hold on,” he interrupts, stopping you with a hand on your stomach that is so non-demanding it’s really mostly a suggestion. He tries to clear his head, though you make it hard. “You didn’t talk to me all day. Not that you have to, but… I was worried.”
You glance at the floor and mumble, “I lost my phone,” with so much embarrassment he believes you’re telling the truth. “Did you, um—did you text me?”
Insecurity. Spencer knows well what it looks like on you. He softens. You weren’t ignoring him—but you’d been left in a vulnerable state without any ability to contact him or anyone. That couldn’t have been comfortable.
“Of course I did.” He pauses to observe you. Still anxious. Still prepared to run at any second. Something, and he’s not sure what, did a number on you today. Maybe it’s sheer exhaustion, maybe it was the anxiety of not having your phone. But he has to figure out what it is so he can undo it. “What? What’s wrong?”
He watches your breathing pause—watches your eyes gloss over with tears and a frown contort your features. Oh, god. He’s done something terribly wrong. It’s been thirty seconds and he’s done something wrong.
“Can we sit down? I don’t feel very good.”
“Yeah. Yeah, we can. Whatever you need.”
You cast a baleful look at him and now he has to wonder what that means. Spencer sets his bag on a pulled out dining chair and follows you to the couch where you settle on opposite sides—you’re curled up in the far corner, hugging a pillow to your chest with your legs folded in front of you. Spencer’s heart is beating fast. He doesn’t know what’s going on with you and he can’t figure it out just by looking and you don’t seem eager to tell him.
He’s exhausted all his typical ways of collecting information, and now he’s at a loss.
Eventually, the anxiety comes bubbling up.
“Please talk to me,” he pleads. And you do. Almost instantly, like he stepped on some sort of landmine.
“I know it’s my own fault for not having my phone on me and not being able to see your texts, but it really sucks that I had to find out from my creepy neighbor that you snuck out in the middle of the night without saying goodbye.”
The whiplash is so strong it’s almost a broken neck. Spencer reels, frowning deeply as he tries to process your impromptu speech, the sudden confrontation. What creepy neighbor?
“I… didn’t. I went to grab my stuff from the car around one, but I came right back. I left at 7:30. You don’t remember me saying goodbye?”
Your brow furrows, and your eyes dart over the design on the rug like you’re watching memories go by. He sees it in your eyes when you recall some hazy image of him holding your face, kissing your cheek more times than was necessary and whispering sweet things against your lips before he had to go. You shrink into the couch, clearly struggling under the combined weight of relief and embarrassment.
“I forgot. I thought… he said…”
A moment passes and it’s clear you’ve abandoned the sentence. Spencer is concerned about this shadowy male figure who put malicious untruths into your head. He slides his hand under yours and twines your fingers together. Finally, finally you meet his gaze.
“Someone made you believe I left without saying goodbye.”
And he almost wishes you weren’t looking at him as more tears pool before falling down your cheeks. You nod, and don’t make a sound.
“No, honey. I didn’t do that. I’m sorry that’s what you’ve been thinking all day.”
“I was worried that you… or that I wasn’t…”
His chest aches. You’d woken up alone, no recollection of his goodbye, and without the comfort of even a text.
“You didn’t see my note?”
The way you look at him then is heartbreaking. Eyes wide and wet and sad, lip trembling.
“You left a note?”
Murphy’s Law. Anything that can go wrong, will.
It must’ve fallen off the bedside table, or maybe he just hadn’t positioned it obviously enough.
A lost phone, a missed note, and not even a memory of his departure. While none of these things are verifiably Spencer’s fault, he feels so, so guilty.
“I did,” Spencer says gently, scooting closer and pulling you into him, head pressed to his shoulder as you try not to cry, and he rubs your back slowly.
Your sulky words are muffled by his shirt. “I didn’t see it. What did it say?”
“A lot of very nice things about you,” he whispers. Spencer thought maybe he could get away with giving you all the sincere compliments you can’t accept face to face through a note you could read while he wasn’t around. That way you couldn’t refute them or stop him. It was a good plan.
He feels the sigh of relief leaving your body against his neck.
“I didn’t know.”
“I know. I’m sorry. That’s not… I should’ve just stayed. This is my fault.”
You keep your cheek pressed to his shoulder as you speak.
“It’s not. You have a job. A really important job. You can’t just call out whenever I want you around.”
Logically he knows you’re right, but he doesn’t always think logically around you.
“I could’ve made it work. I could’ve come in late, or the team could’ve called me if there was a case, which there wasn’t—”
“Spencer, it’s okay. It’s not your fault. Don’t worry about it.”
He pulls back slightly, frowning at your tone. You do look relieved, much less plagued than you’d been when he arrived minutes ago, but something heavy still weighs you down. The burden of it darkens your eyes and dulls your expression. When he cups your cheek, you glance up at him, and then away once more.
He speaks softly. “Is that all you wanted to tell me?”
Again he earns a moment of your eye contact, but it’s fleeting. He watches the words spin around your head as you try to figure out what to do with them—and then choose to remain silent.
There is in fact something you’re keeping from him.
Spencer hates to use work tactics on you, but he doesn’t speak either, hoping that you’ll feel compelled to fill the silence with the truth. Knowing how you’re not entirely comfortable with quiet.
And you try, lips parting and the sound delayed as you wrestle with something you clearly don’t know how to talk about.
“I… my neighbor,” you say, frowning like you don’t quite know why you’re speaking. “The one who told me he saw you leaving in the middle of the night. He also—he said…”
Spencer brushes hair away from your cheek with a thumb, stroking the high point in gentle passes as your words taper off. Now that he’s thinking about it, he did encounter a man in a dumpy robe standing in the courtyard and smoking a cigarette when he left you tangled in sheets and dozing contentedly to get his bag from the car. In fact, they rode back up to your floor in the elevator in mostly awkward silence. Spencer was sure his outfit told a story—shirt untucked and hastily buttoned only partway, no belt, shoes barely tied, duffel slung over his shoulder—he wasn’t really expecting to run into anyone at such an hour, to be honest, but he hadn’t particularly cared what this man thought of him, so it didn’t cross his mind again.
Now he remembers.��
Long night, huh? I remember those days.
It was an inappropriate comment, but given his job he’s used to ignoring those. Mostly his mind had been preoccupied with the idea of returning to you, who gave him such a warm and sleepy welcome when he climbed carefully back into your arms several minutes later that it was like he’d never known anyone else at all.
Now he resents that he hadn’t said anything, he hates the idea that you spoke to this man and he said something to upset you and Spencer wasn’t there. Usually he tries not a judge a book by its cover (metaphorically, of course) but he’s been around enough bad men to know when he’s looking at one. Last night he hadn’t even been cognizant enough to realize they got off on the same floor.
“What did he say, angel?” Spencer whispers, incapable of being anything but soft with you at the moment. Even though he senses something a lot like a tide of preemptive anger rising in his chest, painted over with layers of anxiety and guilt. He should’ve found a way to stay with you this morning.
You sniffle and let your head fall again, forehead resting against his collar. Instinctively his hand slides to the back of your neck and even at the awkward angle he finds a way to press his lips to yours hair. “Can we talk about it later? I don’t feel good.”
If it’s making you this uncomfortable, Spencer really wants to know what passed between you and this neighbor. In fact, he’d be willing to bet a lot of your strange behavior this evening stems from something that occurred which you don’t feel comfortable telling him yet. But he manages to bite back anymore questions. He doesn’t want to make you feel interrogated.
“Yeah, you mentioned that,” he says eventually, kindly, hand tracing down the length of your back and up again. “Why don’t you feel good?”
He doesn’t miss the way you reach up to discreetly wipe your cheek. But he won’t make you talk about anything you don’t want to talk about until you’re ready, and it seems like you’re already having a rough day. Which is not what he wanted. This is so far from what he wanted for you. He’s cursing himself for how he handled this whole situation.
“Um, I just… I don’t know. I feel… bad. I’m sorry I’m being so weird.”
“You’re not being weird, honey. You had a hard day. You’re having a normal reaction to an abnormal set of circumstances.”
You sit up, sniffing and wiping your tears like you can just make the whole thing go away.
“No, I am. I am. It’s all okay now, right? So I don’t know why I feel like this. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
He watches helplessly. “Nothing is wrong with you. We’ve… it’s been a big couple of days. Mostly good, but I think you’re probably really tired. Emotionally and physically.”
You bury your face in your hands and nod silently. He still feels like he’s shooting in the dark, but you’re not entirely comforted yet, and it’s killing him.
“Whatever you’re feeling is okay. If this is… about last night, or this morning, or something entirely different—regardless of what it’s about, you’re not going to be… in trouble with me if you’re having complicated feelings. And you can talk to me. But it doesn’t have to be right now. We don’t have to figure it out all at once, okay?”
You press the heels of your palms into your eyes, and for a moment, his words sink into silence. When you do raise your head, nodding, the evidence of your discomfort is all over your face—reddened eyes, cheeks polished with wiped tears. But you take a deep breath and try to project whatever it is you think he wants to see.
The back of your hand is soft under his thumb as he sweeps it, as if he could draw forth more information that way. People speak when they’re ready.
“Is there anything I can do?” He tries, all ramped brow and soft spoken.
You’re looking at where he’s tracing swirls on your hand as you swallow and blink the last of your tears away.
“Um… you can say no, but—do you think it would be okay for you to maybe stay again tonight?”
Spencer sucks in a breath, painfully aware that he’s about to let you down.
“I… I haven’t been home in a week. I’ve been wearing this suit for two days straight and I don’t think I would want to share a bed with me again until I shower.” He watches you wilt and lifts a hand to stroke your hair. “But I do want to spend time with you… do you maybe want to come stay with me instead? No pressure—”
“Okay. Yes. Is that okay?”
Spencer’s brow knits. You seem even more enthused about the idea of going to his apartment, like now that the opportunity has presented itself you can’t wait to get out. Maybe you have some sort of black mold problem.
“Of course. Do you wanna grab a few things and then we can go?”
“Um—I also haven’t showered today. Do you mind waiting?”
“Sure. Or you could use mine. With supervision, this time.”
Spencer is attempting to make a joke about your unplanned (and unmoderated) stay at his apartment last week after he left—but looking at your face now he’s wondering if he touched a nerve.
“Like… one at a time? Or…”
He thought maybe you’d be more comfortable around him after last night—and it’s not like he hadn’t seen you naked before then, either.
“Do you wanna do it one at a time?” He asks gently.
There’s this sparkly sort of longing in your eyes that he’s seen before, but you tamp it down like always. You’re so cautious. About everything. Even the things you’re curious about. It’s sweet and a little sad.
“I’ve never… showered with anyone.”
The corner of Spencer’s mouth twitches as he pushes hair over your shoulder. “I know. You don’t have to. We could save like 100 gallons of water depending on how long your showers typically last, but—”
“Spencer—”
“Sorry, sorry—I didn’t—I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not trying to pressure you. You absolutely can take your own shower. You can go first so you get the hot water.”
“No,” you laugh, and it’s like a sparkling cloud of gold has settled around you, fractals bouncing off the shine of your cheeks and eyes—the sound of your laughter, the look of it, is such beautiful relief he can’t believe how good it feels, but it fades from you quickly. “It sounds… I think I want to, I just… I don’t wanna, like… do… anything.”
For a split second your veiled language mystifies him and then he realizes what you’re trying to say without saying. Something has changed since yesterday, when you brazenly referred to it as fucking, and today, when you can’t even say sex. He’s gotten as far as it being something your creepy neighbor said. Maybe. He needs to know what.
But that’s not the topic at hand.
“We don’t have to. I didn’t mean to imply that we would do anything like that. I don’t expect anything from you.”
You swallow.
“Okay. I wasn’t sure.”
About what?
He says your name. No response.
“Can you look at me, please?”
It takes you a moment, and your head raises like you might need some oil in your hinges, but eventually you manage. Spencer hopes the way he’s rubbing your leg is comforting.
“You know I’m never, ever going to make you do anything you don’t want to do, right?”
To his horror, your answer isn’t an immediate and resounding yes. Instead you look back down and cover his hand with your own, fiddling nervously with his fingers.
Eventually, you reply, “Yeah… I know. I just thought… I’m not sure. Maybe it’s supposed to be different now.”
“It doesn’t have to be. Nothing has to be different. We’re still doing everything on your schedule, okay? And as for the next few days, at least—I think it might be a good idea to take sex off the table altogether.”
Your eyes narrow and you hesitate. “Why?”
“Because I don’t want you worrying about it. And I don’t think it would feel good for you right now. I think there are things we need to talk about, but… we’ve probably tried enough for a while, hm?”
You give him a shy nod and hum your agreement. For a moment he lets his hand linger on your leg and then pulls it back.
“Okay. Do you want my help packing a bag, or should I wait out here?”
“You can wait. It should only take a minute.” You pause, halfway up to look pensive. “Um, Spencer—do you think it would be okay if maybe I… if I stayed tonight and tomorrow? I just—I wanna get out of here, for a bit.”
He frowns but doesn’t hesitate. “Of course. Can I ask why?”
“It’s just… suffocating sometimes,” you call as you turn and hurry down the hallway to the bedroom. “Feels like my neighbors are on top of me, like they’re… breathing down my neck, half the time.”
Sure, bigger apartments exist—but it’s not like you’re in a studio. And you’ve never mentioned feeling that way before. That bad feeling is starting to come back—like you’re not telling him something he needs to know. But is it worse to let you deal with it yourself until you’re ready to talk or to force it from you?
A few minutes later you return, a duffel of your own over your shoulder and full to bursting.
“So I’m an idiot. My phone was literally in the pocket of my jeans on the floor.” You drop the bag as you bend down by the door to pull on your favorite slippers. “Oh—I think I forgot my charger, can you grab it? It’s by my bed.”
Spencer of course obliges, and is secretly pleased to be in your room again, in the light this time, so he can see better. It’s sweet. The pictures on the walls, the plants and the knickknacks and the sticky notes scrawled with messy reminders on every surface and the sweater hanging over the back of a chair—the one you’d been wearing at the cafe all those months ago—it all feels so you. He wonders why the two of you don’t spend more time here.
He lets himself linger for only a minute before remembering his task, but as he reaches down to unplug your charger, whatever dopey smile he’d been wearing evaporates. The sheets have been stripped from your bed, and he can see why—there’s a striking stain of dried blood, and several surrounding dots, soaked into the mattress. Not much, but enough to make him feel horrendously guilty. He cringes, imagining what it must’ve been like to wake up all alone to nothing but your own blood. Poor girl. Of course he’d noticed some, last night when he was doing his best at cleaning you up, but it had been dark, and he was exhausted, and he hadn’t done enough.
“Where’d your sheets go, baby?” He asks once back by the front door with his own bag on his shoulder, setting a gentle hand on your lower back and holding out your charger for you. You jump slightly, and he makes circles on your back, wishing there was something he could do to settle you.
“Oh! They—they got ruined. I threw them out. It’s fine. I have others.”
So you didn’t have enough energy this morning to walk a few feet to your shower, but stripping your bed, getting dressed, and walking down to the trash chute at the end of the hall had been top of your priority list.
You swallow as he undoes the locks and holds the door open for you, and pretend like you’re not doing surveillance to either side as you stand in the hallway, locking your door again like you can’t get out of here fast enough.
Spencer casts a sidelong glance at you and wonders if you’re intentionally avoiding eye contact. He tries not to think like a profiler. He tries not to assign meaning to your actions, but he can’t help it. He can’t not notice.
He can’t not worry.
And he can’t not wonder what you’re not telling him.
-
part nine
#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid fic#spencer reid smut#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid x you#spencer reid#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid angst#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds fic#criminal minds smut#criminal minds imagine#criminal minds fanfic
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Game, Set, Love
ART DONALDSON X READER (18+)
Mature Content Warnings: spoilers if you SQUINT , Forbidden Love, Second-Chance Romance, Age Gap, Mentor and Protégé, cheating ( sorta, not on reader), SMUT, NOT PROOF READ.
WC: 13.2 k
description
After walking away from tennis at the height of his career, Art Donaldson finds himself drawn back into the sport as a favour to an old friend. His new charge, Katrina King, is a talented but emotionally young player navigating the intense pressures of the professional tennis circuit. Art and Katrina's connection deepens as they train for the 2020 US Open but a single night changes everything.
2020 BEVERLLY HILLS CHALLENGER
August 31st, 2020
Art Donaldson sat in the shaded section of the stands, his arms resting casually on the armrests. He'd made it clear to everyone—Tashi and the media—that he was done with tennis. But Martha King, a long-time supporter of his and Tashi's tennis foundation, insisted that he attend, going so far as to cover all his expenses for the weekend so he could attend. Her daughter, Katrina King, was playing her final challenger before qualifying for the US Open, and Martha believed it was something he couldn’t miss.
"It's just one set; I'm not going to sit here and beg you to coach her or anything. Just watch, Art. I think you'll find it worthwhile."
Art nodded slightly, keeping his expression neutral. "I’m here, aren't I?" he said, keeping an aloof facade. He glanced toward the court, where Katrina was preparing to serve and begin the last set. Her movements were fluid and purposeful. He'd heard about her talent and determination, but he wasn't ready to be pulled back into the tennis world.
The game began, and Katrina's serve was powerful, almost explosive. Art watched with mild interest as her opponent, a seasoned French player, struggled to keep up. He watched her body move, head to toe, taking her in. She was tall and lean; her body was nothing less than an athletes that was for sure.
"She's impressive," Art commented, a hint of genuine appreciation in his voice. Katrina’s mother smiled, her perfectly manicured fingers resting on her lap, glancing over towards him.
"She works hard," she replied. "A lot like Tashi used to. I remember watching her play when she was just starting out. She had the same intensity, the same drive."
That had left a bad taste in his mouth.
Art's gaze lingered on Katrina as she moved around the court with confidence and agility. Each shot was precise. He found himself leaning forward slightly, and his interest piqued despite his best efforts to remain indifferent.
Martha noticed the shift in his demeanor and cocked a brow. "It's good to see you out here, Art. I know you didn't want to come, but I'm glad you did," she said, her voice soft yet firm. Art nodded, his eyes fixed on the match.
"I'm just watching; nothing special, really," he replied, unsure if he was convincing himself or her. — Another ace, and the crowd erupted in applause. Art found himself joining in, clapping slowly, though his eyes were locked on Katrina. Something about her—the energy, the focus—reminded him of the early days, the days of fire and ice, Stanford, Wimbledon, and Tashi. It was electric.
As the match progressed, Art's arms uncrossed, and he sat forward, his attention fully on the game. Katrina was dominating, each point building momentum until she reached the match point. The rallies were intense, and the shots were sharp and strategic. With one last ace, Katrina secured the game and title, and her triumphant fist-pump met with a roar from the crowd.
Art stood, clapping with genuine enthusiasm. It had been a long time since he'd felt this kind of excitement watching a match. Martha looked at him, raising an eyebrow, her expression expectant.
"Well?" she asked, her voice warm but with an edge that demanded a response.
Art hesitated only briefly, the words coming out almost involuntarily. "I'll do it," he said, realizing that he meant it. The idea of coaching Katrina suddenly seemed like an opportunity he couldn't pass up.
Martha smiled, giving him a tight-lipped smile. "I knew you'd come around," she said. "Katrina will be thrilled."
Art nodded, his gaze returning to the court where Katrina stood, smiling at the applause. Turning towards the crowd after a few seconds, she found her mother’s gaze, and then — Arts, and she held a fiery look in her eyes, sporting a raised brow and sly smirk for what felt like at least a minute. One thing was sure for Katrina, on August 31st, 2020, the match wasn’t the only thing she had won that day, and maybe, just maybe, tennis had a place for him again.
THE MEETING
Katrina King walked down the narrow corridor backstage, sweaty, hot, and short of breath, the adrenaline from her victory still coursing through her veins. She was basking in her win, her smile broad and confident. But her mother's text just minutes after the game was clear: "Come to the players' lounge. Now."
She pushed open the door and saw her mother sitting at a small table with Art Donaldson. Katrina knew who he was—everyone in tennis knew. A former tennis champion, the US Open winner from a decade earlier.
Art looked up as Katrina entered the room, his eyes scanning her with a mix of curiosity and appraisal. Her long hair was tied back in a tight ponytail, and her eyes sparkled with a mix of intensity and confidence. He noticed the subtle tilt of her chin—she was used to winning, and it showed.
"Katrina," Martha said, gesturing for her to join them. "You remember Art Donaldson, don't you?"
"Of course," Katrina replied, extending her hand. Art stood, his movement deliberate, and shook her hand firmly. His hair was longer than she remembered, resembling his past self, his Stanford days, and recalling his games she'd seen on YouTube. His grip was strong.
"Great game today," Art said, his voice measured. "You played with a lot of confidence. That last ace was a killer."
"Thanks," Katrina replied, a hint of pride in her tone. She could tell he was assessing her and weighing her potential. She didn't mind—she'd done the same with him, reading up on his career and his playing style as soon as she found out he was attending her game. He was known for his
Martha cleared her throat. "But," she said, her tone turning sharp, "there were a few things you need to work on. Your backhand was a bit sloppy today. And you were late on a couple of volleys. If your opponent had been more aggressive, you could've lost points."
Katrina's expression hardened. She knew her mother was right, but the criticism was not something that needed to be said in front of Art; for God sake, she was a 20-year-old woman but felt like she was a child getting scolded in front of her peers, especially after a big win. Art watched the exchange, noting the dynamic between them.
"I'll work on it," Katrina said, her voice steady. "But I got the win, didn't I?"
"You need to be prepared for tougher competition. Complacency is the enemy." Martha replied. “If you think you can win the grand slam playing like that, you’ll be in for a rude awakening, Katrina.”
Art leaned back in his chair, watching the interplay. Katrina definitely had the spark and the drive, but there was also a stubborn streak in her.
So Tashi
When she was younger, she was always pushing boundaries and never satisfied with just a win. He could see the potential for greatness.
"She's got a point," Art said, jumping in. "There's always room for improvement. But you played a solid game today. The key is to keep that momentum going without getting overconfident."
Katrina glanced at him, assessing his words. She appreciated his straightforward approach. He wasn't coddling her, but he also wasn't tearing her down. It was a balance she could respect.
"I'm not planning on slowing down," she said, meeting his gaze. "I want to keep getting better. Whatever it takes."
Art nodded. He liked her attitude. It was raw and unfiltered, just like he had been. But there was also a hint of something else—an edge that could either make or break her career. He'd have to be careful, tread lightly, and guide her without pushing too hard.
"Good," he replied, a faint smile on his lips. "Because coaching isn't just about winning. It's about building a mindset, a work ethic, and knowing when to listen. You up for that?"
Katrina raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. “You wouldn’t have agreed to coach me if I wasn’t.”
PRACTICE
Art Donaldson stepped into the grand foyer of the White residence, feeling a slight twinge of unease. The housekeepers greeted him politely, their voices formal and distant, leading him through the opulent hallways.
The backyard was large, with meticulously manicured gardens and a full-sized tennis court at its center. Katrina was on the court, stretching with the fluid grace of a seasoned athlete. Her dark hair was tied back in a ponytail, and in her matching tennis outfit, everything was neatly upheld, even Katrina.
"Hi," she said, her tone somewhat neutral, almost formal. "Ready for practice?"
Art nodded, his expression detached.
Katrina stretched a little longer, glancing at Art occasionally. He stood with his arms crossed, his posture stiff and unwelcoming. The silence between them felt heavy, and neither seemed eager to break it. Katrina was used to coaches being more engaged and enthusiastic, but Art seemed distant, as if he was doing this out of obligation rather than passion.
"Let's get started," he replied, keeping his voice level. He placed his bag on a bench and scanned the court, taking in the pristine surface and the quality equipment. It was clear that the King family spared no expense on Katrina's training facilities.
Art finally spoke, outlining the plan for the day. "We'll start with your serve. There's a lot of power, which is why you can get so many aces in, but you need better footwork if you want to avoid long-term injuries. Then we'll work on your defense, and after that, we'll focus on your shot selection."
Art finally spoke, outlining the plan for the day. "We'll start with your serve. There's a lot of power, which is why you can get so many aces in, but you need better footwork if you want to avoid long-term injuries. Then we'll work on your defense, and after that, we'll focus on your shot selection."
Katrina listened with a mix of uncertainty and skepticism. Art Donaldson wasn't the type to mince words, and despite his unbothered demeanor, his comments were sharp and to the point. What puzzled her was how much he seemed to know about her style, despite only seeing her play once.?
Art continued, his voice even and matter-of-fact. "I've reviewed some of your past games, mostly the ones you lost. It's clear you have the raw strength and power, but you rely on them too much. That's great for getting those aces, but without proper technique and precision, you're risking injuries and inconsistency. We need to refine that raw power and give it more structure."
Katrina couldn't help but feel a flicker of irritation. She knew she was strong, and her serve was one of the best on the circuit, but hearing someone dissect her game so quickly was unsettling. This was only their first practice; they hadn’t even started playing yet, but somehow Art already seemed to know her weaknesses better than most of her previous coaches.
Art continued, unaware of her internal resistance. "So, I've created a set of drills that will help improve your footwork and balance. It's not just about hitting the ball hard; it's about control and accuracy. If we don't work on these areas, you're going to burn out before you reach your peak."
Katrina folded her arms, her brow furrowing slightly. She wasn't one to take criticism lightly, especially from someone who'd barely spent time with her. Art had a point—she'd heard similar comments before—but his bluntness felt a bit too forward for her liking. Who was he to tell her she needed refinement after only seeing her play once?
As much as she wanted to dismiss him, she knew, deep down, that he was right. Her strength was a double-edged sword; it gave her an edge, but it also left her vulnerable. She'd suffered minor injuries in the past due to poor technique, and she'd lost matches because of these errors. Art's critique, though harsh, had truth to it.
Art noticed her hesitation and the slight edge in her expression. "I know this might sound a bit blunt," he said, softening his tone slightly. "But I'm not here to sugarcoat things. If you want to make it to the top and stay there, you need to listen and adjust. This isn't about criticism—it's about giving you the best chance to succeed."
Katrina sighed, feeling her resistance wane. Maybe Art was a bit too forward, but he wasn't wrong. He had seen something in her that others hadn't—or maybe he was just willing to point it out where others had stayed silent. She was stubborn, but she wasn't stupid.
"Okay," she said, her voice steady. "Let's give it a shot."
Art nodded, his demeanor slightly less rigid. "Good. Let's start with the footwork drills. I'll show you what I mean."
As they moved onto the court to begin the practice, Katrina felt a cautious sense of optimism. Art was a mystery; she had only met him once before and couldn’t recall him being this cold, but there was something about his straightforwardness that felt refreshing, even if it rubbed her the wrong way at first. Maybe this coaching thing would work out after all—if she could just learn to trust his instincts.
Art watched her for a while, his arms still crossed. He occasionally offered a brief correction, but his tone lacked enthusiasm. "Keep your elbow in on your serve. It'll give you more control," he said without much inflection.
Katrina adjusted her stance and served again, this time with better accuracy. "I got it," she replied, glancing at Art to gauge his reaction. He simply nodded, his face expressionless.
As the practice progressed, the tension between them slowly eased. Art started giving more detailed feedback, explaining why certain techniques were important. Katrina listened intently, realizing that, despite his aloof demeanor, he knew his stuff. His advice was sound, and when she followed it, she could see near-immediate improvement in her game.
"You're not bad at this coaching thing," she remarked, trying to lighten the mood. Art gave a faint smile, the first she'd seen from him. "Just repeating what I've heard a thousand times," he replied.
Katrina tilted her head, curiosity getting the better of her. "Didn't Tashi coach you your whole career? There must have been an adjustment when you two decided to retire, huh?" After those words left her mouth, she knew she had hit a sore spot.
Art's expression changed, the brief smile vanishing. "Yeah, she was." She hadn't meant any harm; really, it was an honest question. Art had a successful career with more than enough titles under his belt, not to mention a prior injury; it only made sense to retire when he did.
His voice grew colder. "Alright, breaks over." He turned away, signaling the end of the conversation.
The rest of the practice was more focused, with Art providing steady guidance and Katrina working hard to apply his advice. As the session drew to a close, Katrina felt a subtle shift in Art's attitude. He seemed a bit more relaxed and engaged in the process.
Before they wrapped up, Katrina decided to ask a question that had been on her mind. "Art, why did you agree to coach me?" she asked, her tone softer, almost hesitant. “No offense, but you didn't seem the most pleased when you got here.” She stopped and laughed. “And I know my mother's paying you well, but I'm sure you do good for yourself on your own.”
Art paused, considering his response. He looked up to the sky in thought, licking his lips only to settle his gaze on her while she rolled out her quads. "When I watched your game, I saw the determination and drive for tennis that I haven't seen in a long time," he said, his voice softer, almost reflective. "Not since Tashi," he added, his eyes distant. The memory of Tashi's knee injury and the end of her career lingered in the air. “It honestly felt like I was watching her for the first time again.”
Katrina nodded, sensing the heaviness in his words. "Thank you," she said quietly. She knew there was more to Art's story, but she also knew it wasn't her place to press further. She got up after her stretch, dusting herself off.
Art nodded, "We'll meet again tomorrow at the same time," he said, his voice returning to its usual calm. Katrina agreed, sensing that this coaching relationship would take time to develop but feeling that they were on the right track. “I think it would be a smart move to sign you up for some challengers; we’ll be able to fully gauge your abilities after a couple of weeks of training and see what we need to adjust.”
AFTER PRACTICE
Katrina stepped out of the shower, the hot water having done little to soothe the tension in her shoulders. The first practice with Art had been intense, and her muscles were starting to feel the strain. Wrapping a towel around herself, she took a deep breath, wondering if she'd made the right choice in agreeing to work with him.
As she got dressed, the scent of dinner wafted through the air, a rich aroma that made her stomach rumble. She hadn't eaten much during the day, and she hoped her mom would let her have something substantial.
Katrina entered the dining room, where her mother was already seated at the head of the table, a glass of wine in hand. The table was set with a carefully arranged selection of dishes, but Katrina noticed the absence of anything remotely indulgent. No desserts, no heavy carbs, just the usual assortment of protein and vegetables.
"Good evening, Mom," Katrina said, forcing a smile as she took a seat. Her mother looked up from her phone, her eyes bright but her expression serious.
"Katrina," Martha replied, her tone even. "How was practice with art?"
Katrina shrugged, picking up a piece of grilled chicken. "It was fine. He's... intense, but I guess that's to be expected from someone like him." She paused, then added, "How did you even get him to come to my match? He's been avoiding tennis for ages."
Martha's smile was tight, the kind that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Art and I have a history; we’ve always been interested in his foundational work. I just reminded him of the impact he could make by coming back, even if it was just for one match. And you know, he doesn't say no to me, not when your father and I are as generous as we are during his charity events."
Katrina raised an eyebrow, sensing the hint of manipulation in her mother's words. "So you used the foundation to guilt him into coming?"
Classic
Martha's eyes narrowed slightly. "It's not guilt, Katrina. It's connections; your father and I do a lot for you and your career. There's a difference.” She paused. “The money we put into the foundations were investments for you; we would have preferred Tashi, sure, but after Art retired, she went off to coach some European girls, so we got the second best.” She was irritated. “Besides, I thought you'd be happy to have a coach like Art. You said yourself you needed someone with real experience."
Katrina sighed, realizing that arguing with her mom was a lost cause. "I guess," she said, taking a cautious bite of the chicken. She glanced at the dessert tray on the far end of the table, spotting a small dish of fruit tarts. Her mouth watered at the sight of them.
Martha followed her gaze and shook her head. "Don't even think about it," she said firmly. "Your dietitian would have a fit. You know you're on a strict regimen."
Katrina rolled her eyes, but she didn't push back. Her mom was relentless when it came to her career, and any deviation from the plan was met with immediate correction. "Yeah, yeah," she muttered, feeling her appetite wane.
“Where’s Jayden and Judea?” Katrina asked only now, noticing her siblings were missing from the dinner table.
“They went out to dinner with the rest of the kids that train with them and coach Pattcheo.”
“mmh.”
After dinner, Katrina retreated to her room, closing the door behind her. She felt a mix of frustration and curiosity. Frustration with her mom's overbearing attitude and curiosity about Art.
She opened her laptop and started searching for Art's social media profiles. His Instagram was sparse, mostly old tennis photos and a few promotional shots, brand deals, and the foundation. Barley has no pictures of his daughter and no recent ones of Tashi. His Facebook was similar, with long gaps between posts. There were articles about his career, but nothing stood out.
"For such a big shot, there’s not much for me to stalk," she muttered to herself, scrolling through the limited content. It was clear that Art wasn't one for the limelight, preferring to keep a low profile. Katrina found herself intrigued.
She searched for videos of his old matches, curious to see him in action. She found a few highlights from his glory days, watching as he moved across the court with precision and grace. It was easy to see why he'd been a champion—his technique was flawless, and his focus was intense.
"Not bad," she said to herself, watching a particularly impressive rally where he had dominated his opponent.
As the night grew darker, Katrina closed her laptop and leaned back in her chair. Art was weird, and she wasn't sure how to feel about him yet. But one thing was clear—he had a depth that she'd have to uncover if she wanted to make the most of his coaching. And maybe, just maybe, he'd be the one to help her reach the next level.
SIX DAYS BEFORE US OPEN
It was six days before the Open, and Art stood at the far end of the court, watching Katrina as she moved through a set of agility drills. The sun was beating down, but Katrina was relentless, her movements swift and precise. As he took her in, he marveled at how good she looked. The thin layer of sweat that covered her form made her glow in the evening light, with her baby hair clinging to her face as she hit ball after ball. He drank in her curves, nearly forgetting what he was actually here for.
Art was calling out instructions, his voice clear but encouraging. Clearly, the past five weeks of training had brought them closer, both in skill and in the ease with which they interacted.
"Remember to keep your weight centered," Art said, pointing toward her feet. "Don't lean too much into the shot; it'll throw off your balance. Other than that, you’re looking good."
Katrina nodded, adjusting her stance. She enjoyed the sound of his voice, especially when he was praising her. It felt genuine, not just a coach’s platitude. She could sense an unspoken tension between them, but she couldn't quite define it. It was there, in the way his eyes lingered a fraction longer than they needed to, in the way he sometimes reached out to correct her form.
"Nice volley," Art said as she expertly returned the ball over the net. "You're really getting the hang of these drills."
"Thanks," Katrina replied, giving him a small smile. "I learned from the best."
Art chuckled, shaking his head. "Flattery won't save you on the court, but it's appreciated." He watched as she moved into position for a backhanded hit, a play that had been a weak point for her. She swung, and the ball clipped the net.
Maybe she was just tired, or maybe he just looked too good; either way, she was distracted. How was she supposed to focus when he was standing with his broad shoulders and arms crossed and that damn backwards Sandford snapback observing like a hawk? She understood that’s his job; he’s quite literally getting paid to be here. Something was different though; the look he gave her five weeks ago, shit even two weeks ago, was nothing near the way he looks at her now.
“Stop.” He says, and she halts her hit.
Art moved closer, taking a pause, before walking behind her, closing the distance between them. "Here, let me show you," he said, reaching around her to correct her grip on the racket. His breath was warm on her neck, and Katrina tensed, feeling a heat that wasn't from the sun. His touch was gentle but firm, guiding her into the proper position.
"Like this," Art said, stepping back slightly but still close enough to feel his presence. "Keep your elbow straight and your wrist firm."
Katrina nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. She took a deep breath and swung again, this time clearing the net with ease.
“There we go, atta girl.” He whispered while cracking a smile.
She felt hot, oh god, and it definitely wasn’t the sun. How could he say that so casually? She didn’t have to just deal with the fact that she’s now all hot and bothered, but also the guilty embarrassment of realizing she has a fat crush on her 30-sum-year-old tennis coach, who just happens to be a husband and father.
Right
Pulling away, she changes the subject, considering he’s been silent for the past minute and a half. "How's your daughter doing? And Tashi?" She felt the atmosphere shift as Art cleared his throat, stepping back.
"Lily's doing well," he replied, his voice controlled. "She's on tour with Tashi, who's coaching her for the season." He left it at that, his eyes avoiding hers as he focused on the court. "Keep hitting the ball with that form," he added, his tone all business now.
Art adjusted his pants, his expression tight, and turned to leave. "I'll be right back," he said. "I just need to run to the bathroom."
Katrina watched him go, her heart still racing from the moment he'd been so close. She tried to push the thoughts aside, focusing on her training, but the lingering warmth of his presence was hard to ignore. The open tournament was coming up, and she needed to be at her best, both on and off the court. The challenge would be to keep her focus where it needed to be.
“Oh, what the fuck, Art?” feeling his own disappointment, he said to himself as he did his best to fix the hard-on that was growing by the second. What would he give to be able to take a cold shower right now?
Scurrying to the bathroom, he quickly shut the door behind him. He takes a deep breath and leans against the door, contemplating what just happened and palming himself.
“Fuck” was uttered in a raspy and hushed manner.
He turns to look at himself in the mirror. He felt guilty forgetting hard for a girl over a decade younger than him. But that wasn’t what he really felt guilty about. He felt guilty because he liked it. She was fiery; she was driven, and the way she looked at him, with admiration, was long since Tashi looked at him with any emotion of the sort. Katrina made him feel good about himself. And fuck, was she hot. He was almost certain that as the days of training passed, the length of her skirt shortened and her tops got tighter, or maybe he just started paying attention to it.
He needed to stop thinking of her for his sanity and his cocks, because leaving every practice with blue balls for the last week and a half hasn’t been pleasant.
Splashing himself with cold water and tucking his dick into his waistband, he walks back out before she starts questioning anything.
"All right, that's it for today," he called out, clapping his hands to get her attention. "Good work. We'll take it easy tomorrow, then hit the road the day after."
Katrina straightened, wiping the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. "Thanks," she said, her voice a little breathless from the intense workout. "I feel good about it. I think we're ready."
Art nodded, watching her carefully as she walked toward him. There was a grace to her movements, even in her exhaustion. She carried herself with confidence, but there was also a vulnerability that he'd come to recognize. It was in the way she sometimes hesitated before speaking or the way her eyes softened when they shared a joke.
"Thanks for, you know, doing this," Katrina said, her eyes meeting his. "I know you didn't have to, but... I'm glad you did."
Art felt a strange warmth in his chest, a sense of connection that he'd been avoiding, or perhaps suppressing. There was something about Katrina that made him want to stay, to guide her through the ups and downs of the game. And it wasn't just about tennis. It was something deeper, something that made him feel almost protective.
"It's been a good few weeks," he said, trying to keep his tone light. "You've got a lot of potential, Katrina. I wouldn't be here if I didn't think you could go far."
She smiled, a genuine smile that made her eyes crinkle at the corners. "Thanks. It means a lot to hear that from you."
There was a moment of silence, a charged pause where neither of them moved. He knew he should step back and create some distance, but he found himself drawn in, his gaze lingering on her lips, then her eyes. There was something about her.
"All right," he said, finally breaking the silence. "Get some rest tonight. We've got a long drive ahead of us, and I need you focused."
Katrina nodded, her eyes locking with his. The tension was palpable, a mix of excitement and something else, something neither of them wanted to name. Art felt the stirrings of something almost primal, a desire that had been dormant for a long time. He knew it wasn't appropriate, but it was there, simmering just beneath the surface.
"Good night," she said, her voice soft, almost a whisper.
"Good night," he replied, his eyes lingering on her a moment longer than they should. "Rest up. I'll see you tomorrow." With his things packed, he walked off the court, leaving her to stretch.
The US Open tournament was coming, and with it, a new set of challenges—both on and off the court.
THE DRIVE TO SAN DIEGO
This was unexpected. Somehow, Katrina was sitting in the passenger seat of Arts Blue Bronco and had managed to snag herself a one-on-one tournament weekend with the Art Donaldson himself. Her mother had only missed three of her games throughout her entire career. The first time was when Katrina was 12. Her mother didn't attend because Katrina had just started playing tennis, and her mother assumed she wouldn't be good enough to watch, so she spent her time on holiday with the neighborhood housewives and was pleasantly surprised when Katrina returned with her first trophy. The second time was when Katrina was 16. Their grandmother had passed away, but Katrina's mother insisted that Katrina should play in the game instead of staying home to grieve like a normal person. She told Katrina that every win was one step closer to a successful career; bad things happen all the time, and you simply “need to get over it and move on." The third time was today, when Katrina was 20, after her little brother's appendix unexpectedly burst at 4 a.m. in the morning, and he and their mom had to rush to the hospital.
"How do you feel about your mom not being here this time?" Art asked, leaning back in his seat. He took a sip of his coffee, glancing at Katrina's expression carefully.
Katrina shrugged. "Honestly? I'm kind of happy she's not here. It's like a weight off my shoulders. I don't have to worry about her criticizing every move I make or every shot I miss."
Art nodded, sensing the relief in her voice. "Your mom seems pretty tough on you."
"She is," Katrina replied, swirling her drink. "She talks a big game, but sometimes I think she doesn't really know what she's saying. Like when she criticizes my plays—she doesn't really get the game, you know? She just wants to be involved, but it's not always helpful."
Art felt a twinge of sympathy. He'd known parents like that, always pushing, always expecting perfection without understanding the sacrifices involved. "I'm glad I could be here for you, then," he said. "You shouldn't have to go through all this alone. It's hard enough without extra pressure from someone who isn't really helping."
Katrina shrugged, her lips curling into a small, ironic smile. "It's been like that since I was a kid. I never had much of a childhood, anyway. The little bit of teenager-like stuff I did, I had to sneak around to do it. Mom was always watching, always pushing me to be the best and to win. I never really got to be a kid."
Art felt a pang of something deep in his chest. It wasn't just empathy—it was a sense of injustice, of the things Katrina had missed out on. He'd seen it before in other athletes whose parents lived vicariously through their children, expecting them to carry the weight of their own dreams. It was a burden no young person should have to bear. Shit went through it himself with Tashi, and it eventually cost them their relationship.
"That sounds rough," he said, his voice gentle. "Everyone deserves a chance to be a kid—to have fun, to make mistakes, to figure things out without a constant spotlight."
“I definitely have to make mistakes." She paused and giggled in embarrassment. “This might be T.M.I. But my first time was with a random guy around my age that was dragged to a dinner party at his parents house.” She side-eyes Art for a moment. “Of course, while the adults did whatever adults do, we snuck off into the liquor cabinet, got so hammered, and then decided to go up to my room.”
Art only looked at her with a raised brow, waiting for her to finish.
“Long story short, by the time we were done, everyone was looking for us — of course we were too stupid to think that anyone would notice we were missing for over an hour.” She sighs with a smile. "Anyways, it turns out they were serving desert, and when the housekeeper came in looking for us, she couldn’t hold back a scream. It's safe to say I can’t even remember how long I was grounded for.”
Art was fully laughing now, not sure if it was from second hand embarrassment or because of how unexpected this was.
“Mistakes aren’t something; you escape, believe me.” He seemed nostalgic.
"Yeah," Katrina replied, her gaze dropping to the table.
“Anyways, I’m sure instances like that’s what made me basically one of the strongest tennis players of all time,” she concludes, sarcastically exaggerating.
Art sighed, leaning forward slightly. "Strength isn't just about winning," he said. "It's about finding your own way, making your own choices, and being okay with who you are, even if it doesn't fit someone else's expectations."
Katrina looked up at him, her expression thoughtful. "That's what I want," she said. "I want to play because I love it, not because I'm trying to prove something to someone else. I just... I wish I had more time to figure it all out."
Art nodded, understanding her struggle. "You'll get there," he said. "You've got a lot of potential, and you're doing it for the right reasons. Just remember, it's okay to take a step back sometimes. To enjoy the game, to find joy in the small things,
Katrina smiled—a real smile that reached her eyes. "Thanks," she said. "I needed to hear that."
Art returned her smile, feeling a connection that went beyond coach and player. It was a moment of genuine understanding, the kind that made all the effort and hard work worth it. He knew the road ahead wouldn't be easy, but at least they had each other to navigate it together.
AT THE HOTEL
After a two-hour drive, Art and Katrina King arrived at the hotel where they would be staying during the tournament in San Diego. The hotel was upscale, with modern decor and spacious rooms. They'd been given a suite with two separate bedrooms connected by a shared living area. It was the perfect setup for coach and player.
Art had just finished unpacking when he decided to knock on Katrina's door. It was only 7 p.m., and he thought it might be nice to have dinner together. A little bonding before the tournament might help ease some of the tension they have been feeling lately. There is no harm in a friendly dinner.
Right?
Katrina opened the door, her eyes widening in surprise when she saw Art standing there. "Hey," she said, her voice softer than usual. "What's up?"
"Want to grab dinner?" Art asked, keeping his tone casual. "There's a nice restaurant downtown I've been meaning to check out every time I come down here."
Katrina hesitated for a moment, then nodded with a hint of a smile. "Sure, why not?" she replied. She felt a slight flutter in her stomach—this wasn't just a quick meal at the hotel lobby; it was a proper dinner out.
"Great," Art said, checking his designer watch. "Meet you back here in 40."
Katrina agreed, closing the door to get ready. She picked out a simple black dress, something a little fancier than she normally wears. Her brown hair, usually tied back in a ponytail, cascaded down in curls. When she checked her reflection in the mirror, she felt a mix of excitement and nerves. This was just dinner, right?
When she stepped out of her room, Art was already waiting in the living area. He glanced up and immediately did a double take. Katrina looked stunning, the soft curls of her hair framing her face perfectly. Her dress hugged her figure in a way that made it hard to look away. Art felt like a high school boy going out on his first date. He could already feel himself stiffen.
Blinking, he gives up a smirk. "You look great."
Katrina blushed slightly. "Thanks," she replied, feeling her cheeks grow warm. "You don't look too bad yourself. Nice seeing you outside of tennis attire."
The place was dimly lit with candlelight, adding to the intimate atmosphere. As they sat down, Art felt a sense of ease with Katrina that he hadn't felt in a long time. It was nice to know that for once, something in her life wasn't just about tennis; it was about getting to know each other on a personal level.
As time passed, they got into a comfortable conversation, talking about anything and everything.
"So," Katrina began, looking across the table at him, "you mentioned your daughter earlier. Tell me about her."
Art smiled at the mention of Lily. "She's great," he said. "She's 10 and a total fire cracker; she’s starting boarding school next year. She’s got this energy that lights up a room. She loves tennis, too, but I'm trying not to push her too hard. I want her to find her own path."
Katrina nodded, appreciating his perspective. "Sounds like you're a good dad."
Art chuckled softly, then his expression turned a bit somber. "I try to be. Things have been complicated at home. Tashi and I are technically still together, but it's more for Lily's sake than anything else." He paused, glancing at Katrina to gauge her reaction. "We're not really happy, but we're making it work—for now. Nothing has really been the same since I retired, you know."
Oh, that makes sense. She tensed.
Katrina felt a guilty glimmer of hope. If Art and Tashi were essentially separated, then maybe her fantasies weren't so impossible after all. The thought made her blush, and she took a sip of water to hide it.
As the dinner progressed, they subtly flirted with each other. Art ordered a bottle of wine to keep the conversation going, which prompted Katrina to raise an eyebrow. "Isn't this off-limits?" she teased. "My mother and my dietitian would be so disappointed."
Art smirked. "You have to live a little," he replied, pouring her a glass. "Besides, a glass of wine won't ruin your career. It's all about balance, right?"
Katrina laughed softly. "Isn't it ironic that a thirty-something-year-old man is telling a twenty-year-old to have fun?"
Art chuckled, the sound deep and warm. "Maybe I know a thing or two about loosening up," he said with a playful wink. "Life's too short to be serious all the time."
“You sure look like you know how to have fun,” she said in a teasing tone. It was clear her words had a double meaning.
Art smirked and quipped, “I do; you just have to pry it out of me, I guess.
As the evening went on, the tension between them grew more palpable. The candlelight, the soft music, the wine—all of it added to the atmosphere. There was an undercurrent of attraction, a pull that neither of them could ignore. By the end of the night, you could’ve cut the tension with a knife.
Art leaned in slightly, his voice lower. "We should probably head back," he said, his eyes locking with hers. "I don't want to overdo it before the tournament."
Katrina nodded, feeling her heart race. "Yeah, probably a good idea," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.
As they left the restaurant, the night air felt cooler against their skin, but the heat between them hadn't cooled at all. They walked back to the hotel in comfortable silence, each aware of the unspoken desire simmering just beneath the surface, steeling glances here and there.
The tension had been building throughout dinner. As they reached their suite, Art turned to Katrina, his expression neutral but his eyes holding a hint of warmth.
"Well, I guess we should call it a night," he said, reaching for his key card. He didn't want to cross any boundaries, especially with the multiple games she had tomorrow. But the way Katrina looked at him during dinner made it difficult to ignore the desire simmering just beneath the calm exterior.
Katrina held up a finger. "Okay...” she paused, feigning a thought. “But we didn't finish the bottle of wine," she said with a playful smile. "And my mom's going to be back for the second day of the tournament. This might be our only chance to… get to know each other; we’ll have to throw it out if we don’t finish it tonight, just sayin’."
The wine was definitely hitting.
Art hesitated, then nodded. "You're right. It'd be a shame to let it go to waste."
They moved into the shared living room, which had a small kitchenette and a comfortable seating area. Katrina grabbed the bottle of wine and two glasses while Art flipped through the channels on the television, settling on a random movie for background noise. It was an action film with a lot of explosions and fast-paced scenes, but neither of them paid much attention to it.
As they settled onto the couch, Katrina poured them each a glass of wine. The atmosphere was relaxed, but there was an underlying current of flirtation. They started talking about the tournament, about tennis, and then about life in general. The conversation flowed easily, punctuated by laughter and playful banter.
"You know," Art said, taking a sip of wine, "I didn't think I'd enjoy coaching, but I'm glad I came back for this."
Katrina raised an eyebrow. "Coaching? You're more like a mentor," she teased. "Plus, you're not that old to be called a coach."
Art chuckled. "Careful, or I'll make you run extra laps tomorrow," he replied, giving her a mock stern look. "I'm not that old, but I've seen a lot in my time."
"Sure, sure," Katrina said, rolling her eyes. "You're practically ancient."
They both laughed, the sound filling the room. As the conversation continued, they found themselves leaning closer to each other, the space between them shrinking with each passing minute. The flirting became more overt—the playful touches on the arm, the shared smiles, and the lingering glances.
Art felt the tension building and the pull growing stronger. He knew he should keep his distance, but the way Katrina looked at him, her eyes sparkling in the dim light, made it difficult to resist.
"You know," he said, his voice low and smooth, "you're more than just a talented player, Katrina.” He looked at her with a dark gaze. “There's something about you that makes it hard to stay away. Even when I know I should."
Katrina's eyes widened slightly, her heart racing at his words. The air between them felt electric and charged with anticipation. There were no words left to be said; they leaned in without even noticing, and there they were, on the hotel couch, lips smashed together. The wine glass in Katrina's hand tilted, spilling a few drops onto the couch, but neither of them seemed to notice or care.
The kiss was intense, filled with the desire that had been building for weeks. It was risky, even dangerous, given their roles as coach and athlete. But in that moment, none of it mattered. The world seemed to melt away, leaving just the two of them caught in a whirlwind of emotion and longing.
Sprawled out like a couple of horny teenagers making out on their parent’s couch, it was almost comedic.
When they finally pulled apart, their breathing was ragged, and their eyes locked in a mix of surprise and exhilaration. The movie played on in the background, the noise a distant echo as they sat there, close together, knowing that everything had changed in a single moment.
“We shouldn’t do this.” Art broke the silence first.
“Yeah, we really shouldn't.” She pulled back for a moment. “But we already did.” She moved up to fix his nonexistent collar. “Unfortunately, I have this really good coach, and he’d hate to see me not finish something I started.” Sha gazed up at him as she finished giving him a cheeky smile.
She was giving him that look, a look that said nothing less than fuck me.
Art couldn’t do anything more than chuckle and give in. “Well, I’d hate to be the reason you disappoint him.“ He told her as he lifted her up into his lap.
“You’ve gotta live a little, you know.” She said it in-between kisses. His lips, his neck, and his jaw. There wasn’t an inch of him; she wasn’t going to kiss tonight.
“You’re right.” Their mouths dance together, their tongues fighting for dominance. Arts hands were taking all her in. Her dress pooled around her waist as he slipped his hands under it, grasping her tits. “You don’t know how much I’ve wanted this, Katrina.” He breathes out in a hushed manner, biting at her lip.
“Prove it to me, Art.” She says she is pulling her dress over her head. He stopped taking a moment to drink her in; she was beautiful.
“Holly fuck.” He rasps out, unclasping her bra, leaving it to be forgotten, much like the wine.
Katrina could feel the raging hardness beneath her. Grinding into it, she lets out a moan as he kisses and sucked on her exposed breast. “Every time I’d walk on the court, and I’d see you wearing your tight little tennis outfits, god,” he rasped while bighting his lip. “All I could think about was how I wanted to bed you over and fuck you right then and there.” He picked her up and started walking to her bedroom. “Now, I get to be a good coach and teach you a thing or two.” He threw her on the bed, peering over her with hungry eyes and breathing heavily. “Will you be a good student and let coach fuck some knowledge into you, huh, baby?”
“I’ve never let you down, have I?” She answered him, looking up at him from the bed, her big doe eyes saying everything for her. “Show me how it’s done, coach.” She wet her lips seductively.
“Well, first, pretty girl, it’s important to get warmed up. You need help warming up, babe.” Art drags his finger from her thigh to her stomach and back down to her panties. Slowly pulling them off. Kneeling at the foot of the bed, he gazes up at her with hooded eyes. He kisses along her thighs, sucking now and then, making his way up to her sopping cunt. When he does reach her, he begins lapping at her like a man who’s been deprived of water for forty days and forty nights.
“Oh my God, Art, it feels so good.” She could feel herself getting short of breath. It was so good, better than anything she had fantasized about while taking the shower head for a spin. Grasping his hair in her hand, she can’t help but grind her pussy in his face, making both him and her a sloppy mess.”
“You’re so good for me; you've always been a fast learner, you know.” He pulled up, leaving trails of kisses as he made his way up and onto the bed. “My pretty girl,” he says, looking down at her with a smirk, his chin wet with her juices. He gets off the bed and starts to strip. His shirt comes up first, giving her the opportunity to get up on her knees and run her hands over his toned abs as she continues to kiss his neck. He follows with his. Belt slipped off his pants, his cock springing up, strained by his boxers. Katrina can’t help but feel her mouth damn near water. Pulling his boxers down, she lets a glob of her saliva leak on his cock before taking him into her mouth with a moan. Art only grabs her hair in his fist before letting out a deep moan and letting his eyes roll back. “Really got a mouth on you, huh, pretty girl.” He caresses her cheek. “Taking me all in.”
He pulls out, a string of saliva following, only to drip down from her chin onto her chest as he motions for her to lay back down on the bed. “You ready to get that pretty pussy fucked?” he leans down, sucking on her nipples. “You’ve warmed up enough, don’t you think?”
"Yes.” Its barley is above a whisper.
“What was that? You’ve got to use your words, Kat." He says, slightly pulling away from her lips, waiting for a better response.
“Please fuck me, Art.” She moans out, “I need you now."” She pulls him back down for a kiss, lining her hips up with his. He’s teasing at her entrance for a moment before she grabs his lower back and pulls him in the whole way. They both let out a sigh of relief as she felt her walls stretch around his length and he felt her wetness embrace him.
He’s fully thrusting now, with his whole strength, his hips snapping into hers with purpose. Grunts and moans are coming out of both their mouths.
"Switch,” she says, suddenly pushing him back a bit, only for her to get on top, grinding her hips in circles while riding him. “You’re so good, Art; you make me feel so good,” she’s breathless, guiding his veiny hands onto her chest. “I’ve ouched myself so many times fantasizing about this, thinking about how I’d take your cock.” She slips his fingers into her mouth, sucking on them for a second. “Even better than I dreamed,” she smirked. She could feel the pit inside her tighten; she was close, and she could tell that he was too.
She looked down at her and motioned for Art to open his mouth, and when she did, she let her spit trickle down into his mouth with a satisfied grin. That was it for him; after she did that, he started hammering on her mercilessly.
“Oh my god, harder art.” She says this with her head tucked into the crook of his neck. He obliged his vice like a grip.. Her ass was so hard, she wouldn’t have been surprised if it bruised tomorrow. His pace was uneven with labored breaths; he let out one loud moan before pulling out and cumming all over her stomach, some even getting on himself. She didn’t even have the time to process what happened before she was pushed onto her stomach.
There he was again, nose deep in her aching pussy, only this time it was from behind, and he was going between her cunt and her asshole. Moaning into a pillow, it didn’t take long for her to finish all over his face, collapsing onto the bed, flat on her stomach.
After a long and hot shower, Art lay on his back, his arm around Katrina as they were in bed, enjoying the stillness of the night. The hotel room was dimly lit, casting a soft glow that created an intimate ambiance. Katrina's head rested on his shoulder, her hair cascading over his chest. It felt comfortable and natural, like they belonged there.
Art turned slightly to look down at Katrina, her face peaceful and relaxed. He traced his fingers gently along her arm, a simple, affectionate gesture that made her shiver slightly. It was a closeness that was rare for him, something he hadn't felt in years, and he cherished it.
"You're something else, you know that?" He said, his voice low and warm. "You've got this way of making me feel like I'm twenty again. I don't know what it is, but you bring out a side of me that I thought was long gone."
Katrina smiled, her eyes still closed as she nestled closer against him. "That's a good thing, right?" she asked, her voice a soft murmur.
Art chuckled, his hand gently stroking her hair. "Yeah, it's a good thing," he replied. "I really enjoyed tonight. It was... different from what I'm used to, but in the best possible way. I wasn't sure I wanted to get into coaching, but being your coach has been one of the best decisions I've made in a long time."
Katrina opened her eyes and looked up at him, her gaze warm and inviting. "I'm glad you did," she said. "I don't know where I'd be without you. It's not just about tennis—it's about everything else. You made me realize it’s not just hitting a ball with a stick."
He leaned down and kissed the top of her head, a simple, tender gesture that spoke volumes. "You've got a lot of talent, Katrina," he said.
Katrina blushed, feeling a sense of warmth that had nothing to do with the physical closeness. "Thanks," she said, her voice soft. "That means a lot coming from you. I feel the same way, you know. You make everything seem a little easier, like it's all going to be okay."
Art nodded, his heart swelling with a feeling he hadn't experienced in a long time. It was more than just affection—it was a sense of connection, a bond that he knew was special.
Katrina sighed contentedly, her head resting against his chest. The rhythm of his heartbeat was soothing, grounding her in the moment. She felt safe, secure, and genuinely happy. It was a feeling she hadn't had in a long time, and she wasn't ready to let it go.
Art tightened his arm around her, holding her a little closer. It was a simple gesture, but it spoke volumes about the depth of their connection. He knew the road ahead wouldn't be easy, but with Katrina by his side, he felt like he could take on anything.
THE TOURNEMENT
Katrina woke up to an empty bed. The warm spot where Art had lain the night before had cooled, and there was no sign of him in the hotel room. She rubbed her eyes, feeling a twinge of disappointment. It was early, but she figured he had probably gone to start prepping for the tournament—they had a busy day ahead. It had been a long night.
She sat up, stretched, and looked around the room. Everything was in its usual place; nothing seemed out of order. Art's clothes were gone, and her things were neatly put away, almost as if he had never stayed there.
Strange
Katrina didn’t dwell on it. It made sense that he might have moved his things back to his room to get ready for the day. After all, he was her coach, and today was important.
She got dressed in her tennis gear, taking her time in the bathroom to brush her hair and freshen up. The uncertainty about where Art had gone was starting to creep in, but she pushed it aside. There was no need to get worked up—he'd turn up soon enough.
Katrina made her way to the living room and kitchen, expecting to find Art there, but he was nowhere to be seen. She checked her phone, but there were no messages from him. It was odd; usually, he'd leave some sort of note or text. She grabbed one of her pre-prepared meals from the fridge and ate it while waiting for him to return, her mind running through the drills they’d be doing later that day.
After what felt like an eternity, Art finally walked in, holding a cup of coffee from the café downstairs. Katrina felt a rush of relief. "Hey," she said, trying to sound casual. "You went out for coffee?"
Art nodded, but his demeanor was noticeably colder than usual. His eyes were distant, and his responses were curt. "Yeah," he replied, taking a sip of his coffee. His tone was flat, lacking the warmth she had come to expect from him.
Katrina felt a flicker of anxiety. "Is everything okay?" she asked, trying to engage him in conversation. "You seem a little off."
Art shrugged, barely looking at her. "Just focused on the tournament," he said, his voice detached. "We've got a lot to do today."
Katrina felt a pang of confusion. This was a complete 180 from the night before. They had shared something special, something she thought was meaningful. She wasn’t expecting a proposal. But now he was acting as if it had never happened. So she pressed the issue.
"Art, why are you acting like this?" she asked, her tone edged with concern. "Last night was... well, it was nice. What changed."
Art set his coffee cup down, his expression hardening. "I'm being a responsible coach," he said, his voice cold. "You have important matches today. We can't afford distractions."
Katrina was taken aback by his abruptness. "Distractions? Is that what last night was to you?" she asked, her voice rising slightly.
Art sighed, rubbing his temples. "Katrina, we can't do this. You need to be focused. What happened last night." He stopped, choosing his words carefully. "It was a mistake, and I need you to be serious about this tournament."
Katrina felt a surge of anger and hurt. "A mistake?" she said, her voice sharp. "So that's it? We just pretend it never happened. You can't just switch like that!"
Art's expression was stern. "You need to act like you've got an important game today, because you do. And I have to be the coach you need, not something else."
Katrina felt her heart sink. This wasn't the Art she knew. The warmth and connection from the night before were gone, replaced by a wall of professionalism and distance. But there wasn't time to press further—they had to get to the court and start their warm-up drills.
The argument left Katrina feeling disoriented and hurt, but there was no time to dwell on it. She had to focus on the tournament, even if her coach seemed to have turned into a different person overnight. As they headed out the door, she tried to shake off the feeling, knowing that the game ahead demanded her full attention.
FIRST MATCH
The stadium was buzzing with anticipation as the announcer's voice boomed over the loudspeakers, introducing the players for the Challenger tournament. The crowd applauded as Katrina King and Alexis Grace stepped onto the court, each acknowledging the fans with a wave. Art Donaldson watched from the sidelines, his eyes focused on Katrina as she moved to her position.
"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the first match of the US Open," the announcer said, continuing on.
Art knew it would be a challenging game. Alexis was a good opponent who could hold her own, but based on states alone, this should be an easy win, for lack of better words. Art felt a pang of guilt for how he'd acted that morning. He'd been cold and distant, trying to maintain professionalism, but it wasn't what he wanted. He wished he could go back and handle things differently, but now wasn't the time for regrets—Katrina needed his support.
The first set began with Katrina serving. She delivered a somewhat strong shot, but Alexis returned it with ease, sending the ball back with a blistering forehand. Katrina scrambled to keep up, her movements swift but slightly off-balance. She managed to return the shot, but Alexis was already at the net, volleying the ball with precision.
Art watched, his heart racing. Katrina had the talent, but he could tell she was getting into her own head. The missed points seemed to weigh heavily on her, and she was starting to lose her composure. He couldn't blame her—his behavior hadn't helped.
Katrina's next serve was strong, but Alexis anticipated it, returning the ball with a slice that landed just out of Katrina's reach. The crowd murmured, sensing the momentum shift in Alexis's favor. Art clenched his fists, trying to stay calm. He needed to be there for Katrina, even if she didn't want to hear it right now. Her errors were becoming more frequent. A double fault here, a missed volley there—it was starting to add up.
Art's internal thoughts were filled with frustration and guilt. He knew he had to do something to help her, but he also knew her head wasn’t focused on the game. As the set progressed, the tension in the stadium grew. Katrina's shots were becoming more erratic, and Alexis capitalized on every mistake.
Finally, the set ended with a decisive point from Alexis, securing her the first set. The crowd erupted in applause, but Art felt a sinking feeling in his chest.
Katrina King sat on the bench, her racket resting between her knees, and tried to catch her breath. The set break was supposed to be a chance to reset, to gather her thoughts, and to prepare for the next game, but she couldn’t stop her mind from racing. Her body felt tense, and her heart was heavy with doubt.
This match was supposed to be a warmup, and I’m making a complete fool of myself. She thought, scrunching her brows as she looked up at the sky.
Her hand gripped the racket tighter, the familiar texture offering a semblance of comfort.
A mistake
This morning kept replaying in her mind, each word like a weight pressing down on her. It had thrown her off and shaken her confidence. She couldn't understand why he'd suddenly turned so cold.
What the fuck did I get myself into? She wondered, feeling a mix of anger and confusion.
She glanced at the sidelines, where Art sat, his arms crossed, watching the court with a distant expression. He was focused, but not on her. He seemed lost in his own thoughts, and his detachment made her stomach twist. It felt like a betrayal, and she couldn't shake the feeling that she was alone out there.
He's just a coach. I don't need him to win. I've been doing this on my own for years.
But the more she tried to convince herself, the more her emotions swirled. Last night felt like a turning point, like they were connecting on a deeper level. And now, all that warmth and all that understanding were gone. It left her feeling hollow and unsure of her next move.
Forget about this morning. Forget about last night. Forget about Art. Just play the game. That’s all you're good at anyway.
She couldn't forget, not when it felt like her world was shifting beneath her feet. The pressure of the tournament, the expectations from everyone, and now the unexpected 180—it was all too much. She needed to find her focus, but it felt like she was battling more than just an opponent on the court. She was battling her own doubts and her own insecurities, and it was starting to show.
The umpire's call signaled the end of the break, and Katrina stood up, her legs feeling heavier than usual. She couldn't afford to let this slip away. She had to find a way to center herself and regain the focus and determination that had brought her this far. But as she walked back onto the court, she knew it wouldn't be easy. The shadows of doubt were growing, and she wasn't sure if she had the strength to push them back.
The final set was about to begin, and the energy in the stadium was electric. Kat had lost the first set to Alexis, barely clawed her way back to win the second, and now faced the challenge of closing out the match.
A whirlpool of frustration was consuming her. She knew she should be playing better than this. Alexis was a competent player, but she shouldn't have been able to pressure Katrina like she was doing now. The missteps, the errant serves, the missed volleys—it was all spiraling out of control. She knew she had to get her head back in the game.
"Come on, Katrina," Art muttered under his breath, his frustration growing. He knew he should’ve never said what he had this morning, and God did he regret it. Not even because it threw her off her game, but simply because it wasn’t true.
I didn’t mean it, Kat.
Alexis returned Katrina's second serve with a deep forehand, forcing Katrina to run to the back of the court. She managed to get the ball back, but it was a weak return, and Alexis took advantage, hitting a powerful backhand down the line. Katrina struggled to reach it, her footwork sloppy.
The crowd murmured, sensing the shift in momentum. Katrina felt her frustration bubbling to the surface. "Get it together," she told herself, trying to drown out the negativity in her mind. She took a deep breath and prepared for the next point, knowing she couldn't afford to lose her composure.
Art clenched his fists, watching Katrina's struggle. He wanted to shout words of encouragement; right now, he needed Katrina to find her focus and to play like he knew she could.
The next few points were a back-and-forth battle. Katrina managed to win a couple of rallies, showing glimpses of her usual skill, but Alexis was relentless. Katrina's errors were piling up, and Alexis capitalized on every mistake. A missed serve here, a poorly timed volley there—it was all adding up, and Katrina felt like she was falling apart.
He knew he had to do something to help her, but he wasn't sure what. She was slipping, and he could see it in her eyes—the doubt, the frustration. He wished he could just rewind the morning and start over.
Katrina's frustration boiled over as she missed yet another shot, sending the ball wide of the sideline. She clenched her racket, her anger turning inward.
What the actual fuck kat? She felt herself slipping.
Art watched as Katrina's confidence seemed to crumble. Every point felt like a battle, and she was struggling to keep her emotions in check. The crowd's cheers seemed distant, drowned out by her own inner turmoil. She needed to find her focus and remember why she loved the game in the first place.
Katrina King stood at the baseline, bouncing the tennis ball as she prepared to serve. The pressure was immense. The score was tied, but this was match point for Alexis.
"Just get this right," she told herself, bouncing the ball one more time. "Keep it simple, focus on your form, and breathe."
She threw the ball up and swung, her serve powerful but lacking the usual precision.
The umpire's call was clear: "In!"
Alexis immediately raised her hand, signaling her challenge.
Katrina tensed, holding her breath. Fuck. She had already accepted defeat.
The electronic system, designed to track the ball's trajectory, sprang into action. The large screen above the court displayed the replay, with the lines highlighted in bold white against the blue surface.
The slow-motion replay showed the ball’s descent, curving slightly in its flight. It landed, from this perspective, millimeters inside the line, causing the crowd to murmur in anticipation. The pause felt longer than it actually was, with everyone waiting for the official verdict.
Alexis stood with her racket resting on her shoulder, her expression tense and unimpressed. She glanced at Katrina, who remained at the baseline, her stance rigid.
The electronic system confirmed the umpire's call: "In!" The word flashed across the screen, accompanied by a graphic showing the ball's exact position—just inside the line. The crowd erupted in applause, and Katrina allowed herself a small smile. She was relieved that the serve was good, but she knew she couldn't let her focus slip.
Alexis nodded curtly; her challenge was unsuccessful. She adjusted her grip on her racket, preparing for the next point. The moment of doubt had passed, and the game resumed its intensity.
Art saw Katrina's moments of ease, but he also saw the hesitation in her footwork and the slight tremors in her hands.
Alexis's return was a deep shot to Katrina's backhand, forcing her to pivot quickly. Katrina reached for it, but her timing was slightly off. The ball clipped the net, but it went over. Katrina breathed a sigh of relief as Alexis scrambled to reach it. and get her racket under the ball just in time.
The volley was clumsy, but it kept the rally going. Katrina's heart raced as she tried to regain her rhythm. She could feel the momentum slipping away, and she knew she couldn't afford another mistake. Alexis, however, was relentless, keeping the pressure on with precise shots to the corners of the court.
Art clenched his fists, chewing his gum while watching Katrina's struggle. He felt the intensity of the moment, knowing that this point could determine the outcome of the match. He wanted to find a way to ease her nerves, but all he could do was watch and hope she could pull through.
The rally continued, with Katrina barely managing to keep up. Alexis played a drop shot, and Katrina lunged to reach it. She got there just in time, but her return was weak, giving Alexis the upper hand. Alexis moved in for the kill, smashing the ball toward the baseline.
Katrina dove to reach it, her body hitting the ground as her racket connected with the ball. It went over the net, but it was a high lob, an easy shot for Alexis. Alexis jumped, delivering a powerful overhead smash that Katrina couldn't hope to reach. The ball hit the court with a decisive thud, and the umpire called the point.
Art felt a pang of disappointment as the crowd erupted in applause. He knew Katrina had fought hard, but the internal turmoil had cost her the match. He saw the frustration on her face as she stood up, brushing off the dirt from her fall. She glanced toward him, her eyes filled with a mix of anger, defeat, and tears.
Katrina knew she had given it her all, but it hadn't been enough. She felt the weight of the loss, knowing that her own doubts and the fight with Art had played a part in her performance. As she walked off the court, she felt a mix of disappointment and a lingering sense of confusion about what had gone wrong—both on and off the court.
Art made his way down to talk to Katrina. She was sitting on the bench, her head down, a towel draped over her shoulders. Art approached, trying to keep his voice steady. "Hey, it's okay," he said, his tone gentle. "It's just one game; you’ve got three more today. You can still turn this around. Just focus on your game, okay? Don't let this get in your head." He finished and tried to embrace her in his arms for some sort of comfort, but his efforts proved futile because before he could fully hug her, she pushed him off.
Katrina looked back at him, her eyes watery, cold, and distant. "Oh, now you're being supportive?" She shot back, her voice laced with sarcasm. "What happened to the coach who was so concerned about being professional this morning?"
Art winced, feeling the sting of her words. He knew he deserved it, but it still hurt. "I know, I messed up," he said, trying to keep his voice calm.
Katrina shook her head, her expression hardening. "I don't need your fake support, Art," she said, standing up. "Just let me play my game."
“Kat, don’t be like that.” He said he was stepping forward, trying to get a hold of her.
“Be like what, Art?” she said, feeling her anger rise. “I shouldn’t act like you treated me as if I were a late-night tinder hookup.” She paused, her lips trembling. “I wouldn’t be like this if you would have had the human decency to treat me with a little respect, even if you regrated it!” She took a breath. “You know what the worst part is; you could have waited for the tournament to be over to shit on me, on us, like that. At least I would’ve left this stupid fucking weekend with a champion title and cup.” She started walking away from the locker rooms. “Guess once your balls are empty, you come to your senses, huh?” She hadn’t even bothered to turn around for the last bit.
"Kat, wait!" he said, grabbing her arm gently but firmly. "Please, just give me a minute."
Katrina turned, her eyes blazing with anger. "What do you want?" she snapped. "Haven't you done enough today? Did you finally decide to be a good coach?"
Art knew he deserved that, but he needed her to hear him out. "Just let me explain," he said, his voice desperate. "Not here. Let's go outside, away from everyone."
She hesitated, clearly still furious, but she didn't pull away. Art led her through a side door and out into the area behind the arena, where it was quiet and they could talk in private. He released her arm, taking a deep breath to calm himself.
"Katrina, I'm sorry," he began, his voice soft but urgent. "I'm sorry for everything I said this morning and for telling you it was a mistake. I didn't mean it. I was just... scared."
"Scared?" Katrina's eyes narrowed. "Scared of what? Scared of actually caring about someone? Scared to give up the overdone, nonchalant act you’ve got going for you?"
Art shook his head, struggling to find the right words. "I was scared that I was crossing a line," he said. "I was scared that I was too old for you and that being your coach and being with you would mess up your career. I was worried that we'd end up like... like me and Tashi."
Katrina's anger flared. "I'm not Tashi!" she shouted, stepping closer to him. "So stop comparing me to her; I'm my own person, and I'm nothing like her!"
"I know," Art replied, his voice gentle but firm. "I know you're not her. But that's what scared me. I don't want what happened to me and Tashi to happen to us. I didn't want to mess up your game, your career, or... anything."
Katrina huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Well, you sure did a good job of that," she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Look at what happened today! I lost because you couldn't make up your mind about what you wanted!"
Art felt a pang of guilt, knowing she was right. "I know," he said, his voice low. "I was selfish. I shouldn’t have acted like I did. I just didn’t want you to get hurt because of me. But now I see that I hurt you anyway, and that’s the last thing I wanted." He is groveling.
Katrina looked at him, her eyes still blazing. "So, what do you want now?" she asked. "Are you just going to apologize and then go back to being cold and distant?"
Art stepped forward, taking her cheek gently in his hand. "I don't know what we are, Katrina," he said, his thumb tracing her cheekbone. "But I know I don't want to stop whatever this is. It's special. You make me feel things I haven't felt in a long time, and I can't keep ignoring that."
Katrina's anger softened, her eyes searching for any sign of insincerity. Art felt the connection between them, the tension that had been building for weeks, and he knew he couldn't let it end like this.
"I was wrong this morning," he continued. "I was scared, and I acted like an idiot. But you... you're amazing. You didn't deserve the way I treated you, and I know the game today was my fault. You were distracted because of me, and I'm sorry. But I know you're going to win this. I believe in you. I always have, and that hasn’t changed."
Katrina's expression softened, her anger giving way to something else—something that felt like forgiveness. Art leaned in, pressing his lips to hers in a passionate kiss, his hand still gently cupping her cheek. She responded with equal intensity, her arms wrapping around his neck as they pressed against the concrete wall.
The kiss was long and intense, filled with the emotions they’d both been suppressing. When they finally pulled back, their breathing was heavy, and their eyes locked in a shared moment of understanding. Art pressed a soft kiss to her forehead before laying his against hers.
“Are you ready to bring another title home, pretty girl?” He says, gazing into her eyes.
She looked up, her eyes glistening with a familiar spark. “You wouldn’t have agreed to coach me if I wasn’t.” She held a soft smile, bringing him in for another kiss.
#art donaldson x reader#art donaldson fic#challengers#challengers fic#challengers x reader#mike faist#mike faist x reader#challengers universe#x reader#smut#Art donaldson x oc
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Disappointed in the Vander backstory
I fully expected that it was coming, but I'm disappointed in the timeline all the same.
The "Vander got upset because a fight against Piltover Silco instigated killed the woman he loved" was literally my first draft for my longfic Fathers and Daughters, and I ended up scrapping it because I felt it was too cheap and wouldn't justify the violence of his actions against Silco.
"When she died I lost my head" he says in the letter.
But when she died you actually dropped your gauntlets and picked up the girls and everyone has been assuming this was the moment you swore off violence...
The fact she goes on to let Vander name her kid, and seems to be thick as thieves with them, and ALSO tells them of the pregnancy before she builds up the courage to tell her partner... Tells me that surely... SURELY by the time Vi is 10-11, whatever she is on the bridge in season 1, she would KNOW SILCO as her mom's bestie, no??? Not just Vander.
It feels like this entire angle is pulled under the rug to simplify the conflict in act 1.
I do appreciate being right on the money with Silco knowing and being friends with the mom, and having known Vi as a baby. I think it makes sense, especially if he was an important community leader.
I just hate her death being the catalyst of Vander's actions against Silco. It means that the timeline actually like this:
Mom-Silco-Vander are best friends. Silco is "Bozo 1" and has been leading the transformation of the Lanes with Vander's help. He's already planning his nation of Zaun. His notebook is literally saying "NZ" for Nation of Zaun.
At an ONGOING confrontation with enforcers, Silco throws a molotov cocktails that doesn't seem to even kill an enforcer (Powder and her innefectual bombs parallel? The entire scene is intercut with the monkey bomb clapping so... The scene leading to a friend's death also parallels the events of Jinx's birth.)
As the smoke clears/the POV looks down, we have the reveal that the girls' Mom is dead.
Vander admits the blood was on his hands as well, meaning he either started this confrontation with Silco, or fought just as badly/increased the violence (and we see him murder enforcers later on). Anyway he admits to carrying the blame, and apologized in person to Silco for the dubbed "betrayal".
Then he went home, shaved, dragged Silco into the Pilt, and tried to drown him *because their common friend died at the failed uprising*.
He's then haunted, seemingly, by visions of Silco being dead:
To me it's sort of weaker and sadder, as it establishes Vander as someone more flawed and less ruthless. It's not that he wanted the Lanes, it's not that Silco was getting in the way of what he wanted.
Vander was out there happy with everything they were dishing out, right until their actions cost the life of a friend, and he broke, emotionally, and BLAMED it on Silco, going so far as to kill him (or try).
He surrendered his gauntlets, picked the children up, tucked them in at home, shaved (I cannot stress this enough), then took Silco into the fucking river and brutally attempted to murder him.
Then he massively regretted it and left little breadcrumbs of apologies in case Silco found them and returned to him.
So, canon couple, first off lol
Fellas, is it gay to hang your jackets inside each other's in your secret hideout? Is it gay that all your core hidden memories begin with your mate smiling at you?
Yes, yes it is. Zaundad is canon and I'm not taking commentary.
Secondly, that means Vander was an emotional ticking time bomb who wasn't ready for the price to sacrifice in order to gain their freedom. I really wonder what the alternative reality would have been like, were Silco the one dying on that bridge.
Anyway, it brings some twisted sadness to the situation, because the mom wanted Zaun "no matter what" for Vi's sake, her child's future. But Vander decided that lives weren't worth spilling over that dream and tried to kill Silco over it, before teaming up with Grayson to continue enforcing a status quo.
So that means that Silco, even as he raises Jinx, is continuing her mother's dream, of building Zaun, a country that's safe for her children, "no matter what".
But very sadly the show also acts like Silco doesn't know the kids, and like the kids don't know him. Powder, sure, but Vi not knowing Silco is just downright stupid. Not even knowing him by name? When her mom was out fighting alongside him??? The mom is ALSO a miner, very clearly working with Silco and Vander, alongside the nameless poor husband.
I feel like this doesn't really solve the issues that were already raised when we speculated about act 1. It just clarifies that Vander was truly, willfully a force of oppression inside the fissures, working against the revolution necessary for Zaun becoming possible.
But it implies Silco didn't recognise Powder and Vi, and that Vi didn't recognise him or understand how he knew Vander. It's a disservice to the story, because that tie, that old bond, could really have worked to dramatize the sacrifices Silco is ready to make, as well as the depth of Vi's hatred for him.
But the show acts like they're strangers and that Vander's death is the core beef between them until Jinx enters the picture.
And then there's the Benzo scene, when Vander holds his wound from Silco's knife, and says "we both know there's worse than enforcers out there" WHO ARE YOU FUCKING TALKING ABOUT??? Yourself? You seem to be the worst thing around here! It seems clear he knew Silco was alive but had nothing to blame him for by then.
I'm left with holes that take the shape of "shock value" and "plot twist".
"Ooooh Silco knew the mom, twiiiist, but please don't think about the implications, because we wrote season 1 without taking this in consideration."
Feels like another job for fic writers, but IDK if I have the strength for it. I just like my own version better.
At least now we know that Silco did not IN FACT DO anything to "deserve" what he got. I'm sorry, but throwing a molotov at enforcers when fighting for your freedom is based and Vander was dishing death right there next to him.
The base violence necessary for change, eh? Vander just delayed the price being paid for Zaun's creation.
#arcane#arcane meta#arcane 2#arcane 2 meta#zaundads#vanco#silco#vander#arcane silco#arcane vander#arcane spoilers#arcane 2 spoilers
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💐🌸 𝓣𝓪𝓾𝓻𝓾𝓼 𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓸𝓾𝓰𝓱 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓗𝓸𝓾𝓼𝓮𝓼 🧸🌱
♉︎ - Happy Taurus Season Everyone!!! In honor of Taurus season, I am continuing the signs through the houses series. I hope y’all enjoy my findings & this post serves you well. Thanks so much for all of the support! Happy Spring & Upcoming Beltane to the Pagan Community <3
🌸 Taurus in the First House ~ Taurus on the ascendant is the embodiment of peace, calm and pleasure. These natives aren’t the most outgoing but leave such a comfortable and cozy first impression. They don’t say more than needs to be said, however they are unlikely to turn down a conversation. They have a soft and natural beauty about them and strong familial values. They enjoy the finer things, have a clean aesthetic and a “rich” aura. Many of them are shorter or more petitie in size, have a pleasing and smooth voice and kind eyes. However, if you mess with the bull, you’ll get the horns! Being on the opposing end of Scorpio, when they cut you off, it is completely. Good luck getting back into their lives because they are a closed book. Why y’all always smell good? Fr tho
🐂 Taurus in the Second House ~ Here the sign is in its ruling house, they do very well in saving their money, are picky about what they eat and indulge in the material pleasures of life. They value loyalty, commitment, stability and security - not to mention their love fashion & the arts. They will tell you they have the most exquisite taste, you would find it very difficult to change their mind. They hold up strong values and morales, what they know to be right and wrong is the truth. This is a very secure personality, they are very comfortable with their bodies, and have a healthy sense of worth and self love. Honestly such a healthy placement - as someone with NO earth in their chart - muhbenaaaace
💰 Taurus in the Third House ~ These natives find security and peace in their childhood homes, where they grew up, the memories of their cousins and siblings. They could be the most stable or the least stable out of their siblings. The way they think, learn and communicate is slow and methodical. They take their time in studying new topics, preferring to stay on the surface of a topic. They may have an artistic and beautiful singing voice, or maybe the way they speak is just very polite and sweet. They were raised with manners and this makes them very charming. They can have a liking for music that moves at a slower pace, classical music, or just a more elegant taste in art.
🥘 Taurus in the Fourth House ~ Their family could be a source of stability and security for them. The mom, mother figure or more feminine role model can be the bread winner in the family, her love language could be gifts, an amazing cook, and give a lot of hugs 🫂 They have stable emotions, it takes a lot to emotionally sway them. It may end up bothering people who try to get an emotional reaction from them because of this. They can be the most grounded one in their family. Their family may view them as realistic, practical and reliable. Family is what gives them sanction from the world.
💝 Taurus in the Fifth House ~ They express them selves in a very material type of way, their flex is their finances. These natives take a lot of pride in what they have...this usually comes from a place of having to work really hard for their things. They love the natural look, minimalist, they like long lasting, high quality, practical fashion. To them that is the best statement to make. They don’t like that trash to treasure look their tastes are refined. They will shower their kids with the finer things and really enjoy providing for them - this will be their love language. They aren’t huge adrenaline junkies and enjoy more grounded, chill hobbies. They definitely don’t mind being alone and love their down time at home…on the couch…snacks…naps…repeat.
🐻 Taurus in the 6th ~ These natives prefer a slow start to their daily routine, and enjoy a slow paced job, with chill yet organized coworkers. The workplace must be something that they don’t hate… because if they hate it and it stresses them out just thinking of going, they won’t work there. Period. They need low maintenance pets as these individuals are very independent in nature. It’s important for their day job to be a place of peace and pleasure for them, and once they are comfortable, it’s gonna be hard to get them to leave. Their job can provide them with sooooo much stability if they have a good one.
🍨 Taurus in the 7th ~ Wining and Dining with your loved ones! Shopping sprees, luxurious and high quality partners. With the ones they love the most, they spoil, eat and they just want to be lazy with them honestly. They want their relationships to be a place of peace for them. It’s important that their partner can support themselves and is stable on their own. It will just cause them stress if they are constantly worrying about having to take care or mommy their partner. It’s possible that they can stay with someone out of fear of the unknown/change, even tho they don’t like them or it’s not working anymore.
🌷 Taurus in the Eighth House ~ Cycles related to self esteem, self worth, and supporting themselves. Honestly, this is a really hard placement to have- they may have times where they stay in ab*sive relationships because they can’t support themselves financially or they are too uncomfortable alone. However, the eighth house is notorious for taking your greatest fear/weakness and turning it into their super power. You just have to get through those lessons and take those leaps of faith to unlock that power and hidden potential! They like to engage in their senses when they’re intimate with their partners and prefer slow love making rather than the raw primal stuff.
🪴 Taurus in the Ninth House ~ These people can be a little fixed in their beliefs, their spiritual beliefs/religion can be a source stability and sanction for them. If they aren’t necessarily spiritual- they could just have a specific philosophy or lifestyle that they stick to. What I admire about these individuals, is they know exactly what they want. When they travel, it has to be somewhere where they know exactly what to expect, somewhere that won’t give them anxiety, and probably a more luxurious staycation type of experience. They could also enjoy a nice nature walk with their loved ones.
👛 Taurus in the Tenth House ~ Every single person I have met with this placement neeeeeed a stable job, they will not leave a job if it provides them with the type of lifestyle they desire. It doesn’t really matter what they are doing for their career as long as it aligns with their values. Their dad/father figure could have been the sole provider and could have made a huge impact on their reputation. This is definitely a daddies money placement 💀 - sorry if that’s triggering for anyone lol. The father figure could be super down to earth and chill, enjoy cooking or just be way too overly indulgent in a negative manifestation.
👒 Taurus in the Eleventh House ~ Is the stay at home friend, doesn’t like to get out of their comfort zone to meet new people. Much likely to want to stay inside and bond with their community in a space that is familiar and inviting to them. Their community could be their sanction and be the most stable part of their lives. They enjoy cooking and creating art for their friends. Anything to bring peace to their homies senses! For their friends, the Taurus eleventh house native’s place is a home away from home. How special 🥹
👄 Taurus in the Twelfth House ~ When it comes to matters of the twelfth house, spirituality, isolation, ect. - these individuals may like to keep things light and on the surface. They are comfortable being alone, in fact they consider it to be comfortable and safe. Their spirituality isn’t something they spend time questioning, and they could be very comfortable with the unknown, they enjoy their own curious nature. They are endearing to their own selves, however sometimes their sense of worth could be confusing. They may have a hard time understanding their own values and morals, preferring to just go with the flow, everyday they are a new person trying on different personalities, hobbies and styles! The possibilities are endless! It’s quite an interesting placement. One more thing….secret indulgences…the silent snacker
Smell ya later!
#astro community#astrology#astrology signs#zodiac#spirituality#taurus#taurus rising#astrology observations#Taurus in the Houses
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Could you possibly write fluff alphabet prompts for the lovely girl Jinx :3
Fluff Alphabet Jinx ❣️
Tags: NO spoilers for season 2 (if you haven't watched it yet), mention of violent acts, psychological problems.
My heart is broken, so I hope this helps heal yours.. Perhaps I misunderstood the request and/or points.
Affection: How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?
Touch, touch, touch.
Does this all the time and expects the same from you. Jinx can never help it, she won't even try. Every time you're lost in thought, she'll take your hand and play with your fingers. Gently, lightly, and casually. You won't even notice, but she can do it for hours.
Jinx is very attached to you and never leaves you for more than an hour unless absolutely necessary.
Just let her do it.
Best friend: What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?
Spontaneous. She often said something strange, and after looking at your face, she laughed awkwardly and quickly changed the subject. She came up with strange, sometimes too childish games to have fun and too dangerous to strengthen your relationship.
Like your first meeting. Don't be surprised if you bumped into her or she suddenly tried to steal something from you and then you became friends. This is Jinx.
You quickly got used to it.
Cuddles: Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?
Hug, hug, hug.
Jinx has received many hugs in her life, but never one that was so meaningful and necessary to her. Vi and Silco were important to her, but you have a deeper connection with her. Every hug reminds her that she is not just existing. It gives her strength and faith in her better side.
If she could, she would do it forever. It doesn't matter how, gently or harshly, with love or joy. The main thing is that it's you.
Domestic: Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?
Surprisingly, Jinx is good at cooking. But only because she is picky. Yes, Zaun is not a buffet, but she knows exactly what she wants and how she will get it. She will not let you eat something garbage.
And yet, she just doesn't see the point in cleaning. Haven't you seen her lair?
"If it's dusty, you don't need it; what's the problem, toots?"
Ending: If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?
No way.
It would be the end of the world. Break up with you after everything she's been through? Forget it. She'll do anything, from murder to rebuilding her personality. Yes, Jinx will resist and say that she won't do it. But she will. She's too scared. You've done so much for her, and she lives and breathes with you.
If you leave her, she will not leave you alone. Jinx will follow you in the shadows. It is unlikely that you will ever know that she is there, unless Jinx herself wants you to know. She will definitely find a way to come back to you, and believe me, you simply will not have a choice.
In case of an unforeseen situation... she definitely won't survive without someone's support.
Fiance(e): How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?
Never really thought about it. There's too much going on in her life to think about something as simple and mundane as a wedding.
But that doesn't mean she'll never think about it.
It will be like a sudden walk in Zaun when she suddenly sees a married couple and it dawns on her. Most likely, she will propose to you almost immediately after he thinks about it.
Say yes, and she will throw you the most lavish wedding. In her style, of course.
Say no, and she'll just wait before trying again.
Gentle: How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?
Jinx gives you all the tenderness that is left in her. Every time she tries to be more careful with you, especially when she tries to make it pleasant for you. Hugs, kisses, and games, in most cases, will take place in playful and caring touches.
But emotions are too much. Jinx can't control them, even though she tries. She has a hard time talking about her feelings, especially when they don't match yours. This only makes things worse and makes her feel misunderstand. So in her vulnerable moments, Jinx tries to move away from you, just to avoid scaring you and driving you both into a corner of fear and mistrust.
She's trying; give her a chance and time. You are a good influence on her.
Hugs: Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?
Jinx hugs you often, and yes, it's the best way to say, "I'm here, and I love you." In most cases, it will do it too tightly; it is quite strong.
I love you: How fast do they say the L-word?
It's complicated. Even when Jinx confessed to you, she couldn't say it without stumbling and biting her lips.
It didn't get any easier with time. It's easier for her to show with actions than to say. She'll make, listen, steal, sew, cook, and anything but say? Oh... And yet, Jinx knows better than anyone how sometimes it is important to hear confirmation that you are loved.
And she will say it, definitely.
Jealousy: How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?
It's so bad that she saw the enemy even in her sister. Just once, it was awkward, but still.
Jinx will definitely know if someone likes you. It must be her magic ability. Then she will be even closer, more aggressive, and talkative. She will lose her shyness even if you don't like it. Jinx might show you off her new gadgets with a hint of "Oh, I have no one to test this on." If the person doesn't understand... well, I think he did.
It's not you; no, she's absolutely certain of your loyalty. The problem is in this world and... in her. She's still Jinx, isn't she?
Kisses: What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?
She kisses wherever and whenever she wants. Why should she choose or be shy?
Most of the time, these are innocent and quick pecks on the cheek, lips, and neck. Sometimes, you'll get a barrage of quick kisses, so attack back!
The rest of the time, Jinx does not skimp on long and intense kisses. She will always make the first "trial" kiss as if inviting you to continue and giving you the opportunity to say no. She won't object the rest of the time either, but then you will definitely not get rid of her teasing and sad face for the rest of the day.
Everything she does to you, Jinx expects to get in return.
Little ones: How are they around children?
Doesn't notice them most of the time. It's understandable; most of the children here are doomed.
And yet, if the child becomes a little closer to her than a stranger and Jinx sees the child's sincere affection, it will mean that now this is your child. It does not matter whether he has parents or some problems with anything; now this is your child, and Jinx loves him.
In most cases, she will act playfully with the child, playing out the older sister or "kind" parent. But that doesn't mean she won't eliminate any possible threat to the child. Don't underestimate her.
Morning: How are mornings spent with them?
When she wakes up before you, she lies still while you sleep. Maybe she's just thinking about something, or maybe she might be staring right at you. Maybe she's staring at you while she's thinking about something? As soon as she realizes you're about to wake up, she'll wake you up looking like she just got up and is bored.
When you wake up first, it's all up to you. Watch her, and Jinx will definitely be embarrassed about it after waking up. Wake her up, and Jinx will make a displeased face, only to relax you and attack you with a pillow from behind. Fall asleep again, and Jinx will beat you to it.
It won't be boring.
Night: How are nights spent with them?
Depends on Jinx's condition.
If she was even a little restless, the night would be the same. Jinx would wake up and unwittingly wake you. She's sorry; she didn't mean to.
If everything is fine, she sleeps like a hibernating bear. It seems as if even a nuclear explosion could not wake her up.
Open: When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?
Talking about your feelings is a real problem for Jinx, let alone her past. Most likely, you already know a lot thanks to rumors in the city. Jinx will not comment on this in any way.
However, time goes by, and you have already been there more than once in the shittiest moments, opened your soul to her in the most difficult moments, and saved her in the most dangerous. The truth about her is the least she owes you.
Jinx starts slowly, from afar, and as if it's not about her at all. And then the story will get deeper and deeper, and you'll see not Jinx but Powder. After that, you'll be truly close.
Patience: How easily angered are they?
Very easy. A few careless words, and she's furious. Don't worry, Jinx won't hurt you. But she and the others may well suffer. She knows that you didn't wish her any harm, but she can't restrain herself.
Quizzes: How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?
Jinx knows and remembers absolutely everything. For her, every little thing about you is important and valuable. She never knows where and why it might be useful to her, but she is sure that this is important knowledge. Secrets that she will not share.
Remember: What is their favorite moment in your relationship?
Every moment when she thinks, "I knew I was right about you."
One of those favorite moments was at the very beginning of your relationship. Some bastards were hunting her down and were damn close to catching her. When she was cornered, you showed up as their partner. You gloated and laughed, shook their hands, and even pointed a gun at Jinx. And all this in order to destroy these bastards. It was cruel, dirty, and instructive.
No more such gangs were formed.
She loves you so much.
Security: How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?
You won't find a more reliable partner. Jinx will save you at any cost; she is simply unstoppable. She has no fear and no limits when it comes to safety. Zaun does not forgive mistakes.
However, Jinx has never asked and will never ask you for protection. You have saved her many times, and yet she is still convinced that you are fragile and definitely cannot cope on your own.
When it comes to a real fight, Jinx will forget about all the nonsense.
Try: How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?
Jinx will pretend that all this is nonsense and that she doesn't care about such trivial things. And then she will invest herself in it as if it is the last thing she will do in her life.
Ugly: What would be some bad habits of theirs?
Blow up anything and anyone.
Vanity: How concerned are they with their looks?
She doesn't care.
Of course, she won’t let herself get to the point of becoming a lump of dirt, but she’s indifferent to anything that doesn’t concern hygiene.
Whole: Would they feel incomplete without you?
Yes, and this is actually tragic.
Jinx tends to get attached to someone and build a very strong bond with them. When you're not around, she's not complete; everything seems to fall out of her hands. Everything that was perfect before doesn't work, and things that Jinx was confident in before are called into question.
She just needs to know how you'll react to anything before making any decisions; Jinx feels empty.
Xtra: A random headcanon for them.
You will definitely get small matching tattoos on your wrists, neck, or stomach. Jinx will be in the most visible place of your bodies.
She lets you paint her bombs and guns. It's personal to her.
Yuck: What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?
Lies. In any form.
Jinx can't trust herself, so what's she supposed to do if she can't trust you? Even if it's a small thing, don't lie to her. It could become too big.
Zzz: What is a sleep habits of theirs?
Lie down on her, or Jinx will throw all her limbs at you. Don't even think about dodging or moving away; she will grab you tighter.
It helps her feel calmer.
Jinx loves you.
Thank you.
#arcane x reader#jinx x reader#arcane jinx#arcane jinx x reader#jinx arcane#jinx x fem!reader#arcane#arcane headcanon#arcane league of legends#arcane netflix#jinx league of legends#jinx alphabet
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News! ┃Charles Leclerc
The air in the paddock was filled with excitement as the news spread like wildfire. Charles and his girlfriend Y/N were expecting their first baby! For such a close community of drivers, this was more than just another announcement; It was cause for celebration.
Charles and Y/N had been together for years, and their relationship was known among drivers and their families. Y/N wasn't just Charles' girlfriend; She was a close friend to many in the paddock, and had been there through the ups and downs of the racing world as she had met Charles during his early days in racing, therefore, she also grew up with the other drivers such as max, pierre, alex or george.
When the news broke, congratulations came from all corners. Max, was one of the first to extend his best wishes to Charles. “Congratulations, mate! I can't wait to see the little leclerc at the races!" he exclaimed, clapping Charles on the back.
Lewis showed a wide smile as he approached the couple and hugged them emotionally. "This is incredible news, Charles! Parenthood is a completely new adventure. Y/N, you are going to be an incredible mother, I am so happy for you both and I wish you the best in this new era."
Even the older ones like Sebastian and Fernando couldn't contain their excitement. They offered their congratulations and exclaimed their best wishes to the couple.
But it wasn't just the drivers who were excited. The fans also exploded with joy. Social media was flooded with messages of congratulations and emotion. #BabyLeclerc soon trended around the world as fans awaited the new addition to their favorite driver's life.
The fans loved seeing Y/N in the paddock wearing her incredible outfits and her belly that was growing bigger and bigger. Motherhood suited her wonderfully and they loved seeing when Charles was attentive to everything at her side.
As the season progressed, the anticipation only grew. Each race became a countdown to the arrival of Charles and Y/N's baby. The fans didn't miss any opportunity every time Charles or Y/N approached, they gave them gifts for the future baby, such as little Ferrari suits, shoes or even drawings and they accepted them with huge smiles.
Finally the time came. In the middle of the season Charles and Y/N welcomed their baby girl into the world. Most people suspected it when in the beginning of a race, they saw Charles running as if his life depended on it towards the exit. The paddock erupted in cheers as news of the newest member of the leclerc family spread. From teams to passionate fans, everyone celebrated the happy occasion.
For Charles and Y/N, it was a moment of pure happiness. And as they cradled their newborn in their arms, surrounded by love and support, they knew their journey to parenthood was just beginning, with all the people they loved around them.
That day, emma jules leclerc came into the world.
#f1 fanfic#formula one fic#formula one fanfiction#formula 1 fic#formula 1 fanfic#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc imagines#charles leclerc imagine#charles leclerc x you#charles leclerc x female reader#charles leclerc#dad!charles leclerc#f1 fluff#f1#f1 fic#f1 fanfiction#f1 fandom#f1 instagram au#f1 imagine#f1 one shot#f1 x you#formula 1 x reader#formula one x reader#formula 1 imagine#formula 1 angst#formula 1 x you#formula 1 fluff#formula one#formula one x you#dad!charlesleclerc
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