#and yeah he played tennis with me after i asked him if he wanted and he also always offers me his help

[mecachrome]

notes from nicole piastri's interview on red flags pod

oscar started playing monopoly and chess when he was 4-5 but he was too good at chess (relative to nicole) that she boycotted it

nicole opened her twitter account because oscar wasn't replying to her at boarding school and she needed a place to chastise him ("can you not answer... i KNOW you're on your phone") (it worked because he started replying to her there)

instead of unflappable she calls him "conservative"

even during christmas and birthdays he was never super excited, one time they went with a group of 5 mums and 5 kids to a hi-5 concert (popular australian kids' musical group) and while all the kids were "going nuts" oscar just sat there "focused the whole time" and didn't smile or move lmfao. they were like 3 years old

didn't know what she was doing with oscar as a baby because he was her first child and her mothers' group was her only reference and they went "isn't the best part of the day when you wake up and go to their crib and they smile at you?" and she was like ??? because oscar would wake up and just SCREAM every single day needing to be out of there immediately and she thought that was just normal... then she had the girls and went "ahhhh... so that's what they're talking about"

when he was younger than 2 he needed them to read car magazines to him and was already obsessed with all things automotive and while they were driving would just name off and point out car brands by their badges

for a long period of time he behaved like he was a car and would "spin" his wheels and pretend to accelerate and run like a car lol

did a big burnout the first time he was on a bike (it had training wheels but he still learned very early)

as a mum she wishes he'd chosen golf or tennis since it's much safer than f1 and sometimes people tell her that she technically had a say in that when he was a kid and she said "but i didn't! it was just in him!!!"

won an academic award when he was 13 and she was president of the parents' community so she presented it to him, normally these events are super formal and you simply shake hands but she gave him a big kiss and instead of acting embarrassed or spluttering he looked at the crowd, nodded silently, and walked off

came back for the summer a few years ago and they were biking on the beach together when she had to brake hard to avoid a kid and went over, when she recovered and got back on he went "are you all right?" very deadpan but after they got home they checked his heart rate monitor and saw that he was totally steady the whole time except for when she crashed and his heart rate went through the roof, told him "ah so you do have a heart... we just don't see it"

"there's no sibling that can piss him off?" "well he's a boy with three girls so he just doesn't go there because he's never going to win"

met lily in person for the first time when he came home for the melbourne grand prix (was still alpine reserve), at midnight oscar was like "hey mum you know the dts film crew are coming tomorrow morning right?" and she was like WHAT... and he was like yeah it'll be chill they just want to film us having breakfast like a normal family or whatever and she was like Mate you haven't lived here for 5 years now do you know what breakfast looks like. it looks like your sisters storming downstairs and grabbing an inappropriate breakfast and storming out the door giving me the finger!!! and then the next morning lily comes down and nicole is like "oh is oscar up?" and lily is like no... i think he's still in bed... (many such cases) and then mae refused to be in it so she got dressed and ran off to school 2 hours early to escape them. and then the mclaren fiasco happened and the whole thing got cut out of dts anyway

when she said "oh my god you met matt damon!" he was just like (shrugs) "yeah... yeah..."

they communicate by facetiming and he's Always lying in bed. one time in bahrain he was leaning back on an ornate tapestry and she asked what hotel he was staying at and he was like oh i'm at the royal palace i'm like a guest of the crown prince. she freaked out and was like "oh my god!!! get your head off the tapestry!!!" and he just looked back like ? no it's fine it looks pretty old lol

called her to tell her that he signed his f1 contract and when he said mclaren she Realized and was like oh no i love daniel!! and he straight up deadpanned "yeah everyone loves daniel. that's going to be a problem..." and said verbatim "of all the f1 drivers ever daniel is the worst one to be replacing"

one time in f4 chris couldn't go to a race and billy monger had just had his crash so she flew to the uk for the weekend to support him and when she was driving him back to boarding school she was happy because she had 2 hours to spend with him and she wasn't sure when she'd see him again but instead he slept the whole way through and the moment they got back to school he went "ahhhh... home sweet home" and she wanted to slap him lmfao

first day of primary school when he was 5 years old he said he didn't need her to walk him to school and she was like "well i actually do mate" so he forced her to walk behind him the whole way and the moment they got there he turned to her and went "all right i'm here you can go now" 😭

the chinese & italian & yugoslavian is on chris's side of the family while nicole's is scottish & irish ("that's where the pasty skin comes from")

red flags pod sent her a shirt with oscar's face composed of His Tweet and she showed it to him and he immediately said he wanted it

he gave her a small warning before he posted the tweet but it was just like "mum so this is going to happen just don't worry about it. it's all under control. it'll be fine" and was very calm the whole time

"we just had to trust that his personality would come through at some point, because the way he came across was not at all what he's like. people will work out who the real you is so just continue to do what you do" 🥺

all of the kids were obsessed with Cars (2006)

likes his mum's golden syrup dumplings and grandmother's rumballs

AT THE SINGAPORE GP IN 2023 HATTIE DISAPPEARED FOR HOURS TO GO SEE A K-POP CONCERT 😭😭😭😭 i think it was p1h lmfao (nicole was asked for her favorite group and went "i have no idea. five boys") ((it's txt)) meanwhile oscar is only into house music and she thinks everything he plays is the same song

did pilates when he went home but never with her and thinks it's a lot harder than it looks

takes him minimum 24 hours to respond to anything she sends

she had an exact conversation with oscar where she asked who he wanted to be teammates with and he said "well if i go up against lando i don't even have to get close the first year because everyone knows how good he is" 😭

oscar you are so you 🧡

[rafeacs]

Best Friend Rafe x Reader Boat Day

Warnings: None (yet), fluff, soft rafe, yearning

“AH! What are you doing here?!” You screamed in utter fright as you stepped into your room, only to see Rafe lying on your bed. You were fresh from the shower and not at all expecting a presence to be waiting for you. 

“You haven’t seen me in a week, and that’s how you greet me?” Rafe questioned as he sat up, resisting a smirk to rise on his lips as you were only covered by a skimpy white towel. You roll your eyes and sigh, a smile coming to your lips, moving to your vanity to do your after-shower rituals, not at all conscious of your lack of clothing because you and your best friend Rafe were used to such scenes. 

“Seriously, what are you doing here?” You questioned, eyes locking with ocean one through the mirror where Rafe studied you as you lathered your face with differing products. “I haven’t seen you in a week. What? You didn’t miss me at all?” He raised his brow, and you laughed at the pretend hurt on his face. “How were the Bahamas?” You asked and stood, disregarding his question, and instead went to your closet to find something to wear. “Fine. It’d be better if you came,” He shrugged and peaked as you tried to decide what to wear. Catching the way you bent down to wear your underwear and shorts, your body still covered by a towel. Any sense of boundaries in your friendship seemed to disappear after years of knowing one another. Rafe smirked as you stepped out of your closet wearing one of his shirts that you stole from him. 

You sat next to him in bed, “It was a family vacation; I didn’t want to impose.” You shrugged. “So what’d you do while I was away? Sniff my shirts because you just miss me that much?” You scoffed a laugh and rolled your eyes at the smirk on his lips. “Sure, yeah, I just stared into your picture, counting down the days until you came back.” You went along with his bit. Rafe bit his lip and hoped you were telling the truth, but alas, he could only dream. 

“No, I uh— I mostly just stayed home, baked a bit. And played tennis; there’s a new instructor at the club; he’s cute— really great at tennis, too.” Rafe was quick to grow tense at your words, jealousy quickly spiking in him. “But he’s gay, so…” You added, and that eased the green-eyed monster in him. “Hm, what you wanna do today?” Rafe asked, wanting to change the subject. 

“Mm… I dunno, I kinda want to go to the beach.” You say, and Rafe nodded, “Then let’s go,” he quickly said. “But I also kinda just wanna hang out here,” You said, indecisive. “Then let’s hang out here,” Rafe responded, willing to do anything just as long you were in his company. You sighed and pursed your lips. “I don’t know, you pick!” You exclaimed, Rafe amused by your inability to make even the most measliest of decisions. 

“Wanna go on the boat? We could sail around, get some food, and catch the sunset,” He proposed and smiled as you eagerly nodded. Going to your closet to change your attire once more, Rafe shuffled in your room to get one of your bags and pack some things he knew you would need. “What book do you want?” He asked as he placed some towels in your bag, already anticipating you’d want to bring a book for the day, as you always did. “The one by my nightstand!” You yelled from the closet, trying to decide what color bathing suit to wear. Rafe took the book into his hand and smiled as he saw that you used a photo booth picture of the two of you as your bookmark.

Rafe squired you around town, getting the necessary things for your day in the boat—a lunch from your favorite restaurant and a pint of your favorite ice cream. When you arrived at the marina, Rafe could practically feel your excitement. He was quick to disembark his truck and open the door for you, swinging your bag on his shoulder as he escorted you to his family’s boat. As the sun rose higher and higher and the view of the island drew further, you and Rafe decided to have your lunch, but before the two of you could eat, you stepped and appeared with a giant thing of sunscreen in your hands. 

“I wanna eat,” Rafe grumbled as you sat next to him, placing sunscreen on his face. Your soft hands sent chills down his spine no matter how blaring the island sun was. He kept on complaining, saying he didn’t need sunscreen, but it did nothing to hinder you from traveling your hands along his chest and back as you applied for protection from the sun. “Men don’t need sunscreen,” Rafe grumbled as he watched you apply more of the lotion on his forearms. “You say that, but even men are not immune to melanoma,” You chirped, “Okay, all done!” You said you applied sunscreen to yourself as well; Rafe was waiting for you to finish before he started to eat. 

“Can you get my back?” You innocently asked, handing Rafe the tube. Rafe swallowed as you turned your back to him. Trying not to succumb to his urges because it would surely be obvious from the swimming trunks he wore. Rafe messaged the sunscreen on your back and marveled at how soft your skin was, resisting his urges to ‘accidentally’ pull the string of your bikini top and let his fingers trail further your frame. “Al— All done,” Rafe struggled to say after a moment, taking his time to spread the lotion all over your back, savoring each moment you let him touch your skin. 

You nodded and settled to his side as they both started to have lunch, but first, you took out a baby wipe and cleaned your hands. Rafe smiled fondly as you held his hands to clean them. He just loved how you fussed over him, how you were the only one who genuinely cared about his well-being. 

The afternoon was spent with you and Rafe lounging on the deck of the boat. Rafe pointed your view to the setting sun, and your back was settled against his chest as you read him your book. Rafe had no idea about the words you uttered. All he focused upon was the feel of your frame flushed against his, your voice that soothed his mind, and the fantasy that perhaps one day, you two could be more than just mere best friends. 

[artdcnaldson]

You asked for blurb ideas & that thought here got stuck in my mind since this morning 🌞

Tennis Reader “thanking” Art after their training session in the locker rooms. ;)

Reader sneaks in men’s locker room after training together till evening, surprising (Stanford) Art under the shower + asking for some steamy extra cardio. 👀

And eventually Patrick walks in. Idk abt that but whatever you write is amazing, in every trope 🫶🏻

Rating: E (18+)

Warnings: SMUT (hj, fingering, p in v), throuple dynamics (+1)

A/N: Ok I���m sorry I know you said Stanford but 2019 era Art is ALLLL I can think about 🩷 forgive me for my transgressions pls

Tashi had set the whole thing up, holding his hand through it. Because Tashi and Patrick were off globetrotting for the tour— France, if he remembered correctly. Tashi just wanted to make sure he was taken care of, that his needs were being met. In his career… and otherwise.

You were a player out of… USC? He thought that sounded right. Recently graduated, doing well in the pros, already highly ranked with an excellent record. The perfect first player for Art Donaldson to coach.

She set up the entire thing, met with you to get things organized, and penciled training into his calendar with a tiny note.

Have fun without us -T

You were doing such a good job, even unwittingly— putting on the sweetest little show for him. When you’d miss a serve or a ball went out of bounds, you’d do a peppy little jog then bend over to grab it, completely unaware of the effect it might have had on him.

“I need to see how you play,” he had said as you dropped your bag on the side of the court. You smiled and nodded, and took to the opposite side of the net.

He beat you embarrassingly easily the first set. Sweat was beading on your forehead as you met him at the benches between courts and guzzled down water. When you finally came up for air, a little trail of water went from your plush bottom lip and down your chin.

He watched you lick the moisture from your lips, then wipe at the rest with the back of your hand. He swallowed hard.

“Do you want my advice?” He scratched at the back of his neck as you peered up at him expectantly. “You need to loosen up, you’re too tense.”

Your eyes widened at his direction, but you nodded. “Yeah, okay, Mr. Donaldson.” You drank down another gulp, then jogged back to the other side of the court, eager to please.

He watched you bend over, retrieving a couple of balls that you’d hit into the net, flashing tiny white spandex beneath your tennis skirt.

Jesus Christ, Tashi was evil.

By the afternoon, sweat dripped down your arms, along the line of your throat, dampened the baby hairs framing your face and the back of your neck, tacking them down to sticky skin.

“Why don’t we head to the locker rooms inside, then we can meet upstairs and go through a training plan.”

You smiled, looking so sweet and eager. “Okay.”

He was grateful for the shower— molten against aching, underused muscles. He hadn’t exactly just given up on everything after retiring, but his muscles weren’t being used the way they were used to— the constant strenuous training.

He closed his eyes, letting the spray hit his face and soak into his skin.

He heard a squeak and jumped, eyes flying open to the sight of you naked underneath one of the other shower heads, quickly adjusting the spray from ice cold to steaming hot.

“Turned it to cold on accident,” you said over your shoulder. “Women’s locker rooms are under maintenance. You don’t mind, right?”

He turned, cheeks burning pink as he tried his best to play it cool— act like he wasn’t checking you out. “No, uh, it’s fine.”

Were you in on it with Tashi? It certainly felt like it as he watched you lathering your body up with soap, maybe focusing too much attention to your tits.

You glanced over, caught him looking, and smiled. He turned away quickly with his pulse thrumming in his throat.

Fuck. He was already hard. It wasn’t exactly a surprise— he’d been half-hard just at the sight of you in that fucking outfit on the court.

He heard you laugh and looked back at you. You were looking right at him, amusement evident in your expression. “She said you’d be easy, but, Jesus, I thought you’d put up more of a fight.” 

You shut off the water of your shower and made your way over. Water dripped from your body, rolling down your skin in delicate rivulets. You stopped in front of him and ran a hand down his chest, making him shiver.

“Tashi told you?” His words trailed off into a groan as your hands moved between his legs, stroking the length of him in your delicate grasp.

“She told me to say thank you after every lesson,” you said. With each step forward you made, he took a step back, until you had him pinned against the cold tile. He moaned as your thumb ran over the tip of his cock, and you smile sweetly. “She showed me exactly how I should do it.”

“Showed you?”

You sped your hand up, twisting slightly with each tug upwards. “Mhmm. On Patrick. She went first, then I showed her what I learned.” You laughed softly, lips brushing along his jaw. “I’m a very fast learner. Patrick was very impressed.”

Fuck, he was going to get back at Tashi for not letting him be there for that. The mental image was enough to make his cock pulse in your grip. Maybe he’d just have you recreate it for him the second Tashi and Patrick came home.

Your lips brushed along the like of his jaw as you continued to jerk him off, your hand slick and tight and relentless. Just like Tashi’s would be. God, you really were a fast learner.

It would certainly make being your coach a lot easier.

“Art,” you hummed, breath hot against his ear. He nodded wordlessly, almost afraid that if he spoke, he’d wake up from a fugue state to find out that he’d just imagined it all and was mid-jerk off session.

Your lips moved against his throat, nipping gently at the expanse of soft skin. He tasted like sweat and tap water. Your words came out as a whisper, “You can fuck me now.”

He laughed shakily, flushed red down to his chest. “Now? You don’t want me to go down on you, or—“

He was cut off when you grabbed his hand and moved it between your legs. Dripping wet, silky soft, absolutely aching for him.

You moaned softly, leaning fully onto him for support as he rubbed at your clit. “T-Tashi—“ You stammered, losing that seductive bravado you’d walked in with. “Told me I should make you work for it. But, fuck—”

Art laughed softly. “You’re too needy.”

“Do you know how fucking sexy you sound when you play tennis?” You whined, breath going shaky as he pushed a finger inside of your aching cunt. “Halfway through the second set, I— god— I considered dropping the pretense and fucking you right on the— on the court.”

Tashi wouldn’t have that. When she came home, she’d clock that impatience train it out of you. She’d make you sit and watch, get so desperate you’d beg and cry for it. She had to do it to Patrick before— she would know just how to get you to the point she needed you at.

The tennis would be up to Art.

You were so wet, clenching around his finger, craving more. What the fuck would be the point in denying either of you any longer?

You whined when he moved his hand from you, but he wasn’t going to keep you waiting. He pinned you against the cold tile wall, lifting you up to where he needed. You smiled at him,wrapping your legs around his waist, coaxing him closer.

A shiver ran through you as his cock brushed over your folds— so close to where you needed him. His tip notched against your entrance and he pressed into you slowly, relishing in the way you held your breath, in the way your body opened up for him so eagerly.

He pressed his forehead against yours when he bottomed out, and you panted as you adjusted to him.

You were impatient. So fucking impatient. You rocked your hips against him, begging wordlessly for more. He leaned in, kissing you slowly.

“Art,” you gasped, pulling away from the kiss as he fucked into you, slow and deep. “Patrick told me that I should tell you that you’re supposed to fuck me, not make love to me.”

Of fucking course he did. “Is that what you want?”

You nodded, somehow looking so sweet split open on his cock. His hips met yours in a particularly harsh thrust and you cried out in surprise. You moaned so seeetly, your lips turned up in a smug grin. It was exactly what you wanted.

Your back slid against the slick tile wall as he drove into you again and again and again. Your cunt was so warm, and tight, and so fucking wet if squelched obscenely with each thrust.

Wet kisses were peppered along his jaw and throat along with soft murmured thank yous and praise.

“You’re so deep, Art,” you moaned into his ear. “Feels so good. Thank you, thank you.”

It had been a week since Tashi and Patrick were home. A week of having to find satisfaction with Patrick’s fucking lewd Snapchat videos and his hand.

And here you were— a sweet, tight, Tashi-approved plaything. Your manicured nails rubbing at your clit, your pussy clamping around his cock as you drew closer and closer to the edge.

What better foreplay was there than tennis?

You came first, which was a fucking Godsend. He had no doubt Tashi would’ve flayed him if she found out that he couldn’t even manage to get his new toy off before he did. Loud— not caring if anyone heard.

Tashi would train that out of you too, lest you get them banned from every fucking country club in the state. Or a TMZ article whispering about a tawdry affair.

He shut you up with a hungry, searing kiss. Tongue moving against yours, muffling your cries. He came buried as deep as he could possibly get, with his tongue shoved down your throat and his grip bruising your soft thighs.

The water had gone icy when you both detached from each other, finally taking the actual shower you needed. You happily shared a shower head since you’d wasted enough water as is.

You redressed, tied up your wet hair, and sat on a bench, tapping away at your phone while he did his best to look presentable, and not like he’d just fucked the athlete he was supposed to be coaching.

“Tashi and Patrick say hi,” you said casually, offering a killer smile.

Maybe retirement wasn’t that bad.

NEED to be the toxic triplets’ little plaything im clawing at the padded walls of my enclosure

Anywayssss feel free to send more blurb reqs 🩷

[amorisxx]

Snickerdoodle pt. iv

pairing: Art Donaldson x reader, Patrick Zweig x reader, Tashi Duncan x reader summary: Art comes out of retirement to test out his coaching skills. Your relationship with him continues to spiral. warnings: smut 18+, cheating, divorce, rough sex, piv, marijuana use, slight angst, hastily proofread word count: 7.7K divider by @cafekitsune <3 prev part | next part

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃

Kaleb decides he wants to play tennis. Or that he wants to “get serious” about it. He’d done tennis camp every summer along with soccer camp, and he’d enjoyed it enough. But for some reason, he’s determined to be a tennis player now. You blame it on how much time he’s been spending around the Donaldson’s. Between the various play dates and carpooling, he and Lily have been attached at the hip.

The two of you are enjoying a quiet evening  on a weeknight when he brings it up. 

“Lily doesn’t really like tennis,” he tells you in between bites of mashed potatoes. 

“Well that’s okay. Sometimes our friends end up having different hobbies,” you say.

“Hm,” he puts his finger to his chin, “kinda like you and Mr. Art?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well he’s like the greatest tennis player ever,” he says, spreading his arms out wide. “But you’re terrible at tennis. And you guys are friends right?”

His assertion has you placing your fork down. “Okay, first of all, I’m not terrible at tennis. Secondly, it’s really not fair to compare me to a professional tennis player, K, he’s had years of practice.” Then, you reluctantly think of the last thing he said. About the two of you being friends. 

Images of Art kneeling above you in bed dance through your mind. You think of the last time you were with him. How he’d laid his cheek on your thigh while you threaded your fingers through his tufts of blonde hair. His gaze searing as he watched you in all your post-orgasmic bliss. Your chest was still heaving as you tried to recover.  

You clear your throat. 

“Yeah, um, I guess we are friends.” You avoid eye contact with Kaleb and pray he changes the subject. You don’t want to think about Art. 

Unfortunately, your son is too young to properly read the room. If he was, he’d see the way you’re clenching your fork in your fist. Or he would’ve realized by now that his mom is a harlot. Instead of calling you out on your immorality, he turns to you with express earnestness. “I wanna play tennis like Mr. Art,” he says definitively.

He then furrows his little eyebrows and asks you, “you think I can be as good as him one day?”

You smile, reach over to smooth your palm over his curls, and tug his ear. You say what every parent would. “I think you can do whatever you put your mind to, my little monkey.” 

He grins at you, dimple poking out.

After all, you’re almost certain this is just an eager phase prompted by Lily bringing Tashi to school for career day. Tashi mentioned to you that Kaleb was very eager to ask questions about her job. Apparently, he thought it was super cool that she “got to coach the best tennis players in the world.” You’re worried that before dinner is over he might ask you to put in a word with her about coaching him. 

Once you’ve finished eating, tucked Kaleb in, and tidied up the kitchen, you finally get to relax with a cup of lavender chamomile tea.

Before you settle into the refuge of your bed, you make a note to sign Kaleb up for club tennis. 

ᯓ

You’re at a gas station near Kaleb’s school when you realize your dumb credit card has a faulty chip. You grab your purse and lock the doors to your car, having been forced to go inside the store and pay for your gas the old fashioned way. 

The door shuts behind you with a ring of a bell. The unmistakable smell of fuel fills your nostrils as it mixes with stale coffee and the emblematic stench of small convenience stores. You grumble when you see there’s a short line. 

With a sigh, you take a detour down one of the narrow aisles to grab a pack of gum. You pick out a random pack of spearmint, but your inner child lingers on the yellow packaging of juicy fruit bubble gum sitting beside it. When you were little, your mom would’ve made you pick one or the other. Without a second thought, you pluck the yellow pack out from the shelf and head back towards the front. 

On your walk back, you glance out the windows, checking to make sure the pump you’re parked at is still number 5. 

The line is shorter now. There’s only two people. You think you recognize the dark head of the person standing at the counter. They’re digging through the back pocket of their jeans and pulling out a leather wallet when your cellphone dings. It’s an email notification from your boss. You read the subject header before dropping the phone back into your purse, hoping to avoid whatever stressor awaits you there for a couple more hours or so. When you look back up, you’re met with the face of the dark haired stranger. 

His eyes meet yours. Patrick Zweig sends you a mischievous smile of recognition as he saunters toward you. He snaps his fingers. “I know you.”

“Hi, Patrick,” you say through your tight smile. The last time you’d seen him, he tried to blackmail you into going out with him. If he wasn’t so attractive, you’d probably be repulsed by him. 

“Long time no see.” He pockets his package of Marlboros. “How you been?”

“Um just busy you know,” you hum. “You?” 

He nods. “Same, same.” He looks you over, smile growing wider when he meets your eyes after lingering on your cleavage. He doesn’t even attempt to be discreet. 

You scoff, rolling your eyes to the side.

Thankfully, the bald guy in front of you finishes up his transaction so you have an excuse to say “excuse me” to Patrick as you approach the register. You glance back when you hand your money to the bored cashier, catching one last glimpse of Patrick as he exits through the door. You nibble on the inside of your cheek, feeling the tiniest hint of disappointment. 

You accept your change and two packs of gum and make your way back to your car. Not wanting to waste any more time at this point, you toss the plastic bag into the passenger seat and hurry to pump your gas.  

You’re leaning against the trunk while the fuel fills your tank when you hear a small “hey.” 

You’re startled as Patrick approaches you again. You look around suspiciously. “Um are you stalking me?” 

“No.” He huffs out a laugh. “I was standing over there taking a smoke.” He points towards his beat up suv. You wonder why he doesn’t have a better car. You thought tennis players made money. “And I saw you. Didn’t get to say goodbye earlier.” 

You click your tongue. “Well, bye.” 

“Wait—I hope I didn’t rub you the wrong way last time.” He rubs his palm over the back of his neck. “I kind of have a fucked up sense of humor.” 

“It wasn’t the joke,” you supply. “It was more so you trying to blackmail me into going on a date with you.” 

He laughs. “Yeah, I don’t know why that didn’t work.” The grin he gives you sends a shiver down your spine. 

This time, you smirk, your gaze tracing the length of his body, from his Nikes to the curly wisps of hair flying in the wind. The gas pump clicks, signifying that your tank is full. You don’t remove it right away because you’re busy letting Patrick type his number into your phone. You wish you could say you played hard to get, but that would be a lie of monumental magnitude. 

You don’t actually intend to call him, content to let his number go forgotten in your phone. After all, what type of woman would get involved with the best friend of the man she’s having an affair with? 

Later on, when you’re having a glass of wine, mommy duties complete for the night, you pause on his number as you tap through your phone. You inhale, take a sip from your glass, and quickly save his contact before swiping out of the app. You can blame it on your being slightly tipsy when you notice that he’s saved as “for a rainy day.” 

ᯓ

It turns out that the tennis thing isn’t just a phase. You don’t mind of course. You’d always support your kid in whatever he pursued. The only issue is that Art fucking Donaldson thought it would be a good idea to train little Kaleb. As if you needed more reasons to be around the man. 

You’d told him that you didn’t think it was necessary because your son was only eight years old. Surely, he wouldn’t need a retired professional tennis player to train him. His tennis lessons at the local club would certainly suffice. Plus, you imagined he had more important things to attend to than give private lessons to a third grader. 

On a random weeknight, you’d gone to pick Kaleb up from a play date with Lily, hoping to grab him and get back home before the rain got any worse. Art had greeted you at the door, placing a hand on the small of your back. 

He decided to bring up the topic again. Even Tashi, who was usually busy with training of her own, chimed in, claiming it would be a good opportunity for Art to find real meaning in tennis again. Whatever that meant. Patrick, who you had been avoiding thinking about, once again inserted himself into a conversation, pointing out how young he and Art were when they first started playing tennis. According to him, it was never too early to learn how to properly hit a ball with a racket. 

ᯓ

The thought of Art spending time with Kaleb through tennis is an endearing one if you’re being honest with yourself. But you know you would have an intense fight on your hands should Chris find out. 

Ever since Art had stepped in with your ex at the fall festival, he’d harbored an attitude toward him. He’d gone as far as complaining about all the time Kaleb spent at his house, accusing you of trying to turn your son against him. If it weren’t for the court mandated visits, you’d have simply told Chris to go to hell. But in an attempt to maintain peace for your son’s sake, you reassured him that Kaleb only spent so much time around Art because Lily was his best friend. 

You asked him if it was worth destroying his son’s friendship. He conceded for the time being, but you’re sure if he found out about any extra tennis lessons, he’d blow a gasket. 

Ironically, you had never been offered the freedom to express such possessiveness. You had to be content each and every time your son stayed at his father’s new house with his new fiancée that you barely knew anything about. You handle some occasions better than others. 

This time, though, when you watch Kaleb go through the front door of their luxurious home, Spider-Man backpack affixed on his back, your stomach churns. Chris’ fiancée smiles and waves to you with her left hand. Bitterly, you think it’s a miracle she can even lift it with the large diamond wrapped around her finger. She places her hand on your son’s shoulder, pulling him into their home, as if she wasn’t the one that helped wreck yours. 

Maybe it’s the fact that this past week would’ve been your anniversary, but your shoulders shake with sobs throughout the entire drive home. You sniffle as you think about Kaleb building a life with his soon to be step-mom. You hope she treats him right, but, ultimately, you wish he didn’t have to know her at all. 

It doesn’t help that you aren’t able to bury your sorrows in Art’s chest or on his dick. He’d already told you about the gala he’d be attending that weekend for the Donaldson Foundation. You haven’t seen him since last weekend, and you ache to call him, but the thought makes you feel nauseous when you think about the wretched irony of seeking comfort in a married man. In a decision that’s almost homogeneously pathetic, you sit in your lonely driveway and send a “hey” to ‘for a rainy day.’

ᯓ

It doesn’t take long for Patrick to offer to come over. You send him your location as you pop open a bottle of wine. 

You reach for a glass, your eagerness causing you to apply too much force as you slam the glass down. It breaks under the pressure of your haste, immediately cracking at the stem. The inconvenience is too much for you. You curse before bringing the entire bottle up to your mouth. You take a swig, red liquid spilling out of the corner of your mouth. With a gasp, you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. Pitifully, your vision starts to blur again as your eyes swell up with hot tears. You resort to sitting on the kitchen floor, taking the occasional drink, and wallowing in your despair. 

You’re propped against the cabinet, knees to your chest as you cradle the green tinted bottle of red wine like a toddler holding a stuffed animal, when you hear your doorbell ring. You stumble to your feet, dragging them as you move toward the door. When you swing the door open, Patrick is standing there with his hands in his pockets. He looks you over once, mumbling that you “look like shit” before stepping into your home as if he’d been there a thousand times. 

He lifts his eyebrows when he sees the neglected pieces of glass on your counter. He looks back at the bottle in your fist before groaning. “Please don’t tell me you’re an alcoholic.” 

You roll your eyes. “No, I’m just having a pretty shitty day.” 

“No shit,” he snorts. 

You send him a glare. “I don’t even know why I called you,” you say and rub your temples. 

“Because I’m obviously easy and you know it.” He smirks. 

It makes you laugh, your red, puffy eyes squinting back at him. 

Patrick eventually convinces you to smoke the joint he’d brought with him. You haven’t gotten high in years, and you find yourself mindlessly rambling about your life as you pass the joint back and forth to him. You’d stopped crying a while ago, your eyes now red because of the weed. 

You and Patrick are lounging on the floor of your living room. You’re dragging your fingers through the shag rug underneath you and leaning your head back on the sofa when you hear him laugh. He sounds like he’s far away, down through a tunnel, but when you turn your head, his face is right beside you. 

“What’s funny?” You grunt. 

He shakes his head. “S’nothing.” 

You frown and shove his bicep. “Tell me,” you say, scooting closer to him. “I hate feeling left out.” 

His smile falters for a second like he’s remembering something, but when you blink he’s sporting a melancholic grin. “It’s just—you kind of remind me a lot of Art.” His head falls to the side to really look at you. “I mean not like completely, and not really how he is now, but when you’re upset—it reminds me of when we were teenagers.” 

“I can’t tell if that’s a good thing or not,” you say. It comes out as a whisper. Your faces are so close that you don’t want to startle him. 

“Hm.” His eyes flicker to your lips. “Not a good or bad thing. Just a thing.” 

“That’s why you like me?” You mumble teasingly. “Because I remind you of your boyfriend?” 

He smirks, lips so close to yours you feel his breath fan them. “Who said I liked you?” 

“You don’t have to.” You’re just the slightest movement away from kissing him. If you tilt your head just the tiniest bit—

He lets out an almost imperceptible moan when he finally presses his lips to yours. It’s so quiet, you think you might’ve imagined it. It all happens incredibly fast, but feels like slow motion. Your head is fuzzy and your body is tingling as Patrick grabs your waist, hoisting you onto his lap. It takes you a moment to build momentum, your sensory overload working against you.

When you’re finally able to match his energy, the kiss is searing. He’s sucking your lip into his mouth like you’re already his, hands roaming everywhere he can get them. When he bites your bottom lip, you suck in a breath, giving him room to thrust his tongue into your mouth. You mewl at the way your mouths seem to fit together like velcro. Your toes curl and you tighten your fists into his dark locks when you feel his hot tongue traveling down your throat, leaving white hot bites that feel like being branded. His teeth sting and your cunt throbs as you impulsively rut against his length. 

Patrick rubs his large palm over your ass before abruptly smacking it, making you release an embarrassingly airy moan. His teeth tug on your earlobe. “You like that?” 

You only nod, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. 

“Hmm?” He mumbles, continuing to lave over the skin behind your ear. His hand comes down on your ass again, harder this time. 

You let out a pathetic squeal and slam your hips down against him in search of some kind of friction to relieve the ache between your legs. “Oh god—please fuck me—“

His mouth meets yours again. You can barely kiss him properly, panting about needing him to fuck you right now. 

He really is easy, you think, but it’s not like you have room to talk.

ᯓ

The first time Patrick Zweig sinks his cock into you, you’re on your knees, face pressed against your rug. The slam of his hips threaten to take your breath away as tears cling to your eyelashes. He’s rough, possessively grabbing your flesh with no regard for potential damage. When he experimentally grips your hair in his hand, tugging your head back gently, you see stars behind your clamped eyelids.

Patrick nearly whimpers at the way it makes you arch your back into his thrusts with increasing intensity. He groans something about you being a slut and fists your hair with less restraint. Your walls clench around him when he wraps his hand around your throat, pulling you to his chest. 

He grunts into your ear. “I knew you liked it rough, could tell from the first time I saw you.” 

The tears have started to spill now. Whether it’s from the humiliation or the utter ecstasy, you aren’t sure. All you know is that you almost sob when Patrick drags his tongue alongside your face, collecting the salty tears.

ᯓ

He buries himself inside you for a second time no more than twenty minutes after you’ve both cum. You gasp and claw at his back as his body presses you into your couch cushions.

You have to admit that Patrick knows how to fuck. Knows how to read your body, tapping into just the right frequency to get you off. 

It’s obvious that you’ve been craving this type of treatment from the way you’re responding to him. But you’re sure that he must have a sexual sixth sense because in the midst of fucking you wildly, he grabs your ankle that’s dangling by his ear, turns his head, and plants a sweet kiss to the bone. It makes you melt into the sofa. 

He leans down to shove his tongue into your open mouth. Softly pats your cheek, relishing in your cock drunk state. 

“Does he fuck you like this?” He murmurs into your neck.

You don’t have to ask who he’s talking about. 

“Huh?” He prods. 

You choke down a moan. “Better. He—“ You cry out when you feel him start rubbing harsh circles into your clit. “He fucks me better.” 

He huffs out a laugh through his smile, but his hips slam down harder as if he’s determined to change your answer. In less than a minute, you’re biting down on his shoulder when you feel another orgasm rack through your body. 

ᯓ

You take a longer break this time. Stopping to pour yourself a real glass of wine. One with its stem intact. Patrick lazily inhales from a cigarette as he watches you, with hooded eyes, attempt to hold a throw blanket over your bare torso. In contrast, he nonchalantly spreads his thighs over your couch, body on full display. 

His eyes leisurely meet yours. They shine prettily in the dim lighting of your home. His dark lashes flutter on each drag of his cig and it makes the corner of your mouth curve up when you take a sip. The lamps have cast a cozy shade of amber over the room. It blankets Patrick’s skin in a golden aura reminiscent of something being baked in an oven. 

Patrick reminds you of the gingerbread man, you think. It makes you press the tips of your fingers to your lips to stifle a giggle. 

He tilts his head at your odd behavior, but he assumes the weed must still be affecting you. 

Once you’ve placed your glass on the coffee table, and he’s put out his cigarette, Patrick is pulling you by the ankle, tossing your blanket to the side and kissing his way down your abdomen. 

You yelp when he captures one of your hard nipples in his mouth but let him press his hot kisses into your skin nonetheless. 

You end up cumming for the third time that night with his head buried between your legs. 

ᯓ

Patrick leaves while you’re asleep. 

When you wake up around 3am to an empty house, you think it’s for the best. You check your phone. You have a missed call from “a.d.” and a text from Patrick that says “had fun” with a winking emoji. You don’t respond to either, instead, opting to pad your bare feet to the bathroom. You desperately need a shower.

In the morning, you tidy up your home from the events of the night before, cringing at what took place on the terracotta colored sofa.

When the buzzing in your head doesn’t stop after cleaning your entire living room from top to bottom, you find yourself in the kitchen, pulling out ingredients to make chocolate chip cookies. 

You’re frantically kneading dough when the doorbell rings. You frown, not expecting company, but clean your hands as best you can as you make your way to open the door. Sometimes, your talkative neighbor, Mrs. Taylor, likes to come knocking on your door early in the mornings. 

You’re surprised to find that Art is standing on the other side with a latte and a bag containing a chocolate croissant. You assume it’s for you. He places his things down on the table by the door, the one that holds your catch all tray, and scoops you up into a hug. 

He groans into it, making you smile. “Hi,” you mumble into his chest. 

“Hi, pretty girl,” his voice comes out equally mumbled. “Missed you.” You can hear the grin in his tone. It makes your heart clench. 

You allow yourself to hold onto him, despite the ever present worry that you should be reining yourself in when it comes to him. He moves to let you go, grabbing your face in his palm and kissing the side of your head. You whine and lock your arms around his waist in protest. You inhale his scent, all warm and familiar. You’ve missed him. 

“Baby,” he laughs into your hair. You grunt, squeezing him tighter. “Okay, c’mere.” He pulls you into him, securely engulfing you in his arms. “I got you, I got you.” 

You eventually release him long enough to walk into your home. 

You’re relieved that you’d been overtaken by a cleaning spell this morning because you fear that Art might take one glance at your couch and figure out who had been here. That he’d smell him in the air. 

You’re afraid he might’ve detected it anyway when he freezes in the walkway separating your kitchen from the living room. You nibble on your lip as you try to search his body for any signs that he’s onto you. 

To your relief, Art is actually focused on the copious amounts of cookie dough you have on the counter of your kitchen island. He turns to you with the all knowing look of a father, his eyes creased with concern. “Oh no, what happened?” 

ᯓ

After a therapy session in which you decide to stop letting your ex influence your decisions from afar, you finally relent, allowing Art to begin practicing with Kaleb on their private tennis court. It seems like since you got involved with their family, that’s all you ever do, give in to everyone’s requests. In any other context, it would be disturbing, but the sight of Kaleb racing to the court with an oversized tennis bag fills you with joy. The bag threatens to pull him down, but his excitement keeps him upright as he makes a beeline for Art. 

You don’t know who’s more excited to see Art between the two of you. Your son’s tennis instructor waves at you from across the court. And you have to fight the rush that flows through you, threatening to cut off your oxygen, and give a simple wave in return. It makes you feel like a kid with a fervent crush. You could gag.

You remind yourself that you’re here for Kaleb. Not you.

You think that as long as you get to see him happy like that, you’d agree to anything. It’s a scary notion, but becoming a mom has made you aware of a lot of terrifying realities. 

ᯓ

It’s this maternal need to preserve your son’s happiness that leads you to another prolonged encounter with Tashi Duncan. She’d caught you when you were dropping him off for tennis lessons one day. Apparently, she had a free day. Lily was spending the day with her grandparents, and Patrick is, thankfully, nowhere to be found. You try to hide your relief when she tells you that. You don’t think you can face him right now. 

She insists you join her in their sunroom while the boys practice. You try to think of an excuse to turn her down, but you decide your karma from sleeping with her husband has built up too much to take the chance of tacking on more. So, when she offers to make you a cup of tea, you oblige and sink down into the fabric of a warm sofa.

When Tashi reappears, she sits down with a cup of steaming hot tea for the both of you. You thank her with a smile, letting your eyes trail over her figure. She looks ethereal. The sunlight pouring through the glass forms a halo of light around her, illuminating her like a Madonna painting. She has her hair pulled back into a low ponytail that causes her to have to tuck the loose strands behind her ear every now and then. The motion makes you take notice of her slim neck and the way her collarbones dip into her loose-fitted button down. Even dressed casually, she looks like a goddess. 

You feel your heart start to beat a little faster and reach to take a sip of your tea. You wonder how she knew that lavender chamomile was one of your favorites.

It’s only awkward for a moment because the two of you quickly fall into a conversation about what she’s missed now that Art has taken over attending the PTA meetings. That’s how you’d initially met her. She had actually been the one who you exchanged communication with about carpool and play dates. Art’s retirement allowed her to focus on tennis and other aspects of raising Lily that she preferred. You giggle when she admits that she never really liked those meetings anyway. You don’t tell her that you always had that inkling. 

When you mention that Cynthia is still advertising her knitting business at every single meeting, she sucks in a laugh before leaning toward you. She presses her lips together, holding in her giggle. “Guess what?”

You squint at her, your expression already anticipating a joke. “What?” You all but sputter out. 

“I’m probably responsible for like half the sales on her Etsy shop.” She says like she’s admitting to something top secret. It’s a lot like the expression Lily takes on when her and Kaleb are playing “secret agent.”

“Girl, what?” You didn’t think she’d be a fan of crocheted animal figures. 

“I ordered one for my mom for Mother’s Day,” she explains. “She fell in love with the thing I swear, thought it looked just like her little Yorkie, next thing you know she’s asking for the link to share with all her friends.” 

You’re snickering into your mug imagining Tashi unintentionally being Cynthia’s best saleswoman.

She smiles at you. “I’m serious. Apparently, amigurumi is the new thing. It’s gonna be flying off the shelves. That’s why I had to go ahead and put in my order.”

“Of course you know the official term.” You toss your head back. “What’s yours look like?” 

“It’s a little tabby cat,” she smiles wistfully. “Like the one I had growing up. Her name was Aphrodite.” 

It’s a fitting name.

You’re biting back a grin as you take a sip from your tea. You sigh at the taste. “How’d you know what type of tea I liked?” You ask absentmindedly. 

“Art mentioned it to me.” 

You freeze. “Art?” 

“Yeah he says you like to make it before bed. Now, he’s hooked on it.” 

All the blood in your body rushes to your head. You feel that unwelcome yet proverbial sinking in your gut. You think you might start projectile vomiting.

“Are you okay?”

You don’t respond. It’s hard to speak when you feel like you’re dangling upside down on a roller coaster.

“Wait… you didn’t think I knew did you?”

For some unintelligent reason, you decide to play stupid. Usually, in times of danger, humans resort to fight, flight, or freeze. You choose fucking idiot. “Knew what?”

“That you’re fucking my husband.” Tashi says quite unceremoniously.

“What—what do you mean?” You squeak out.

“Don’t.” She laughs. “I’ve known the whole time.” 

“How?” Your voice is shrinking smaller and smaller to your ears. The sound of Tashi’s voice, her pert laughter, drowning it out.

“Art tells me everything.”

“And you’re okay with it?” You attempt to ask though you can barely hear it.

You know your question reaches her ears because she shakes her head and tells you, “I suggested it.” 

Your eyes go wide. Her divulgence seems to propel you forward on your metaphorical roller coaster. In a snap, it brings you out of your stupor.

“I told Art that he should fuck you.” She says it like it’s nothing. Like it’s as simple as telling him to pick up some carry out on the way home. 

You’re confused, and your head is starting to hurt from the whiplash, and you wish this ride would end already. “I’m—I’m not sure I understand what’s going on here.”

“Okay, well, Art’s been attracted to you since the day he met you,” she says plainly. “But he’d never actually do anything about it because that’s just who he is. He needed that push—“

“That push?”

She nods. “He needed to know he could do it and everything would be fine. He’s still figuring out how to be open to stuff like this.” She explains, gestures vaguely in the air. “He’d never break up what seemed like a happy marriage, but when it was clear that your marriage was far from happy…well he started to warm up to the idea.”

“What do you mean far from happy?” The shock has you feeling unreasonably defensive.

“Clearly something was off. You never seemed happy with him. You’ve said it yourself that he was a dick.”

“Um—okay, well, I’d say something has to be off if you’re coaching your husband into sleeping with unsuspecting women.” You shoot back. Your gaze is sharp and accusatory.

She lets her eyes fall down to her lap, picking at little buds of lint being exposed by the sun’s glow. “You’re right, something was off between us,” she says like it’s something in the past. Like maybe they’re good now, but at one time they weren’t. “But Art knows how I feel about him.” Then, her gaze returns to you. “Something tells me your husband either didn’t know or didn’t care.”

Her comment strikes a nerve. Chris did know something was off, and she was right, he didn’t care. He made you feel like needing more from him made you selfish. As if the reminder of the vows he made to you was an affront to him. He knew you were unhappy. That you felt ignored. But he didn’t care. When you’d served him the divorce papers, you naively thought that he’d realize what he might lose, that he might beg for your forgiveness, promise to be better. Instead, you watched him sign the document in the same way he’d signed receipts for dinner before closing the tab and tucking the pen inside. 

You think you envy her. Because she has a husband that actually doesn’t want to leave her. 

“Hey.” She grabs your attention. Her voice softens when she sees your glassy eyes peering back at her. “I’m not judging you. I’m just trying to offer an explanation.” 

You work to swallow down the onslaught of emotions threatening to rise up like bile. You release a fractured noise from your throat, letting the revelation fully soak in. “So you really knew this whole time then? Or rather you orchestrated it?” 

“Okay, that’s a little extreme,” she says. “When we found out you were getting divorced, I mentioned to Art that he should pursue you. That’s all.” She shrugs. “I never knew if he’d actually do it or when he’d do it. All I know is that the first night he came home smelling like you, he fucked me like he did when I first agreed to be his tennis coach.” 

“Then, he was constantly meeting up with you or staying to talk after PTA meetings,” her fingers curl to form quotations around the word, talk. “But I knew what was up.” She bites her lip. “It was honestly kind of hot.” 

You frown. The thought of him sleeping with her immediately after being with you has your stomach in knots. The worst part is that you can’t stop wondering if he’d showered first. If he’d cleaned himself up or if he’d went straight to her, buried himself inside her, cock still sticky with your fluids. In a way, it’s like you had also been inside her. If you think about it long enough, you can imagine what it must feel like. So, you don’t think about it. Instead, you fix your gaze on the golden pothos plant sitting on top a table to your right. The tapping of your nail against the ceramic mug fills the silence. 

She gives you a questioning look. 

Ignoring the implications of what she just told you, you settle for the anger you’re feeling instead of dwelling on any confusing arousal. “Do you not realize how fucked up this is, Tashi?”

“Excuse me?” 

“Yeah! It’s fucked!” You throw your hands up. “I mean I’ve been running around feeling guilty, thinking I was a fucking homewrecker while the two of you get off on a cheating kink!”

She can tell you have more to say, so she leans back and lets you go on.

“I mean how could you do that? I was fucking depressed.”

She snorts. “Not so depressed that it ruined your libido. You two have been going at it like rabbits.” Her smirk makes your cheeks burn. 

You place your mug down onto the table. “Wow. You know what?” You’re on the edge of the couch now, body rigid. “You and Art can go fuck yourselves! This is seriously messed up.”

She raises her eyebrows. “As messed up as you fucking another woman’s husband?” 

Her words drip with mirth, and it pisses you off that the fiery look in her eyes is poking at a budding desire in your belly. “This is ridiculous,” you mumble to yourself. You’d rather focus all your energy on being outraged than interrogate why this is kind of turning you on. You’re about to stand up to leave when she places a hand on your arm.

“Are you seriously mad right now?” She asks you. 

An incredulous look takes over your face. “What do you think?” You spit out.

“Well, would you have preferred I not know?” She asks as if you’re the crazy one here.

“I—“ you squeeze your eyes shut, and try to gather your thoughts. “Obviously not, Tashi.” You glance up to the glass paned ceiling. “I just—it would’ve been nice to know what was really going on. I mean he never even told me that you knew.”

“Well, did you ask?” She asks simply. 

Did you? You think back to the past couple of months. The more you and Art hooked up, the more you avoided directly mentioning Tashi. He didn’t bring her up more than what was necessary, so you suspected he was actively trying to keep it from her. 

To be fair, he did mention a couple of times that he’d told Tashi you two were going to meet up for lunch, but you thought he must’ve been leaving out the activities that followed. And if she happened to call him while the two of you were together, he would casually tell her he was with you. You obviously assumed he was downplaying your friendship because there was no way Art would be so nonchalant about a mistress. But, apparently, the word mistress didn’t even apply to you. 

“I mean, I guess I didn’t.” You stammer. “But I feel like that was on him to bring it up to me.”

“Well that’s where you went wrong. Art can get in his own way sometimes.” A pensive expression works it’s way onto her face. “Or maybe part of him did kind of get off on feeling like he was sneaking around.” The thought seems to bring a small smile to her face. 

It still doesn’t make sense to you. You try to tamper down the sinking feeling that you’ve been nothing more than a pawn. “I just don’t understand why you two couldn’t proposition me like a normal couple looking for a third,” you say.

“Who said you were our third?” 

“Oh, so there’s other women you’ve sent Art to fuck?”

“No. I—I don’t just pimp out my husband, okay?”

You back down.

“We already have a…third I guess.”

You look at her with furrowed brows. 

“Patrick.” She answers.

“Patrick? Like Patrick Patrick?”

She nods.

You laugh cynically. You didn’t think this situation could get any worse.

“I know.” She sighs. “I know how it seems—”

“Was that part of the plan too?” You’re out of breath, chest heaving. 

She looks genuinely confused. “What are you talking about?” 

“Me and Patrick,” you blurt. 

“Wait a minute, you’re sleeping with Patrick?” She’s scooting closer to you. 

You shake your head. “It just happened once.” You think of how he’d shoved your face into the rug, fucking into you as he grunted out various obscenities. “I was high. I haven’t spoken to him since.”

She looks away for a moment, brows drawn together tightly. She’s piecing together what you’ve told her. 

“I—I didn’t know he was with you guys,” you try. 

She waves you off. “No, it’s not that.” She sits back. “I’m just not surprised that he wormed his way into your pants. He just couldn’t take that Art had something to himself.” She’s speaking to you, but her eyes are trained ahead. 

“So, you really didn’t set that up too?” You ask meekly. 

“God, no!” She says. “I had no idea.” 

You believe her. 

“Look I don’t care what type of weird shit you tennis players are into, if you guys have wild orgies or whatever. I just would’ve liked to have known that I wasn’t a hypocrite.”

“A hypocrite?”

You nod. “I mean I sit here and give my ex shit for cheating on me with that skinny ass whore from Modesto. Hell! That’s why I got so much fucking alimony.” You’re rambling now. “And, then, I go and let Art fucking Donaldson screw me and then send him back home to play loving father and husband like it’s nothing. God! And on top of it all, I also sleep with his best friend! I became the whore from Modesto.” 

Tashi’s watching you like you’re a kid experiencing big feelings.

“I felt like a home wrecker.” You sniff. “But apparently I’m actually not…because it was your idea, well only Art, not Patrick, and I—it’s all just fucking with my head.”

Tashi swallows. “I honestly thought you’d be relieved to find out.”

She looks at the frown on your face, takes in the way your plump bottom lip is jutting out. She reaches for your hand. “We’ve never really been the best at communicating. Me and Art. For the past year or so, we’ve gotten better at talking to each other, being honest about what we want, but we’re still working on doing that with other people I guess.” You let her thumb rub the back of your hand before you gently pull away. 

You grab your mug again. The handle is cold to the touch. 

“I promise we didn’t mean to fuck with you. Honestly, I think Art really likes you.” She offers you a small smile.

You look into your mug trying to still your reaction. You don’t care. 

Tashi’s gaze feels heavy on the side of your face as you feel her watching your expression. You start to fiddle with your watch. Checking for the time. Except your watch is too busy displaying your increased heart rate to offer the time. 

You sigh. 

She reaches out to you again, but this time she brings her hand up to your face, moving the curls falling down over your eyes. You let her nimble fingers caress your cheekbone before trailing down to your chin, guiding you to look at her. 

She gives you a steady, knowing smile. “You fell for him didn’t you?” 

Your cheeks go ablaze, and you try to look away from her. 

“Hey.” She grasps your chin in a firm, but gentle hold. “It’s okay.” She nods as if it’ll telepathically make you agree. 

You clear your throat. “I know you say that, but this is all new to me.” Your voice is slightly wobbly and you think you might cry. “I—I didn’t think it’d happen but it did. I thought I could get him out of my system but now,” you inhale and press two fingers against your neck, subconsciously trying to self-soothe. “Now, it’s like—it’s like I can’t stop.” Your voice comes out almost like a whisper. Like you’re afraid to admit the truth. 

And, really, you are afraid. You’re fucking terrified. 

You’re scared to fall in love with a man who already has one—two people in his life that he’s in love with. The last time you entrusted a man with your love, he was only meant to love you, and he couldn’t even give you that. 

What if you realize you’re absolutely enamored by Art Donaldson and he realizes the same thing Chris did? That there’s something about you that makes you unworthy of love. That the depth of you is as deep as your cunt goes and that’s it. 

What if he realizes that he already has what he needs in Tashi, even Patrick? What if they realize they actually aren’t willing to share?

You apparently voice the last bit aloud.

Tashi tilts her head, some of her strands have fallen loose again and she wears the prettiest pout on her lips. “Do you want me to prove it to you?” 

You gulp when her hand presses into your thigh, and she brings her face impossibly close to yours, forcing you to hold her gaze. “You want me to prove that I’m okay with it?” Her eyes flit between each one of yours with a level of seriousness you’d expect from someone like her. 

Her expression demands an answer, and so, you give a faint nod, transfixed on the woman in front of you. 

You gasp when you feel her mouth on yours. 

You learn that Tashi tastes sweet when she has her tongue in your mouth. You think you can taste the tartness of the lemon she’d sucked on earlier. It’s good, and you realize you’re fucked because you really like kissing her. 

Her tongue twirling around yours has you panting quietly, and you keen when you feel her manicured nails press into the nape of your neck. You haven’t kissed a woman since your last girlfriend in college, and you find you miss it. Something about it feels like drinking sweet tea on a hot summer day. Climbing into cool sheets at night when you’re bone tired. Or the feeling you get when you discover the song that you’re going to replay for the next week. 

It also makes you feel absurdly wet. 

The two of you work up a rhythm of pulling away for a breath before coming back together like magnets, letting your foreheads gently press together as you breathe deeply, thumbs caressing skin, eyelids fluttering. 

Your tongue is sweeping across Tashi’s lip, on a path to enter her mouth again, when you hear someone clear their throat. 

There’s an audible smack as you yank yourself from Tashi, eyes flying to the doorway of their sunroom. 

Art is standing there staring at you, gaze shifting from your face to the hand you still have placed on his wife’s neck. His jaw is clenched, and his bulge is painfully evident in his pants. 

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃

a/n: I've been waiting for this since the first post. Let me know how you feel about the reveal <3 as always, my asks are open!

[no-144444]

mi señora - f.colapinto

Day 7 of fic-tober! fic-tober masterlist

summary: you and franco barely know each other, yet he's obsessed with you. could this turn into a budding romance?

pairing: franco colapinto x fem!wolff!reader

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Franco was flirty. You’d been warned before he even joined the paddock that he was. Never did you think it would be so annoying. Day in, day out, he’s sitting there fucking with you, trying to make you laugh or swoon or, whatever. It never worked, obviously. It didn’t matter either way, you tried not to notice it. 

“He’s in love with you,” Alex chuckled as he leaned on your desk in the garage. 

“We met last week-”

“He’s in love with you!”

“We’ve barely spoken!” 

“You’re my race engineer,” he laughed. “You two speak all the time!” “Yeah, about racing. How could he even know what I’m like?”

“Y/n!” Franco’s voice rang out in the garage. It was late, you didn’t know why anyone would still be here except you and Alex to run some last minute checks, well, because Singapore was unforgiving at the best of times. “I was looking for you.”

He rested a hand on the back of your chair, smiling at you. “Hi,” he grinned, his eyes boring into yours. 

“Hi,” you smiled back. “Everything alright?”

Alex smirked as he watched your exchange. It was so clear that Franco had a crush on you, and you didn’t even notice. 

“When are you heading back to hospitality? I can walk with you, no?”

You rolled your eyes and laughed. “In a few minutes, just helping Alex with some last minute stuff. You can join us walking back if you want-”

“Count me out, I’m not listening to your third wheeling,” Alex smirked before leaving the garage. 

“Well, I guess it is just you and me then,” he smiled. 

“Just you and me,” you sighed, nodding. You shutdown your computer and grabbed your bag (only for him to take it off of you immediately and hold it for you), and the 3 minute walk to hospitality began. 

“So, what do you like to do outside of racing?” he asked. 

“Well, I like to read, I like to ride my dirtbike, I like playing tennis, I like mountain biking” you listed. “That’s kind of it,” you shrugged. 

“You have a dirtbike?” he asked. 

“Yeah,” you shrugged. “Danny got it for me when I was a teenager, I was always around the paddock with my dad so he just decided to get me one, and we usually go out together. It’s a nice way to de-stress after the season,” you explained. 

“Are you and Danny close?”

“Yeah, he’s like a dad to me,” you nodded. “What about you? What do you like to do outside of racing?”

“Well, I like to hike, I like to watch movies, and I like your company,” he smirked. You laughed. 

“You need to stop doing that,” you chuckled. “People will think we’re together or something.”

“And being with me would be so bad?” he feigned hurt as you laughed. 

“No, but it would ruin your chances of getting an actual girlfriend,” you teased. 

He scoffed. “The only ‘actual girlfriend’ I want is you.”  

You were quiet for a minute. Why had he said that? Why did he feel the need to say that? Why was he so pretty and perfect and smooth and charming? Why would he put you in this awful predicament?

He turned to you and you both stopped walking. 

“I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable, but it is true, I really like you. If you want me to stop I will stop,” he told you. 

“I don't want you to stop,” you answered, your eyes stuck to his like glue. 

He broke out into his perfect smile and nodded. “Alright,” he blushed. “So you’ll go out with me?”

“I’ll go out with you,” you chuckled. 

He stared at you for a moment longer, then pressed his lips to yours in a soft, comfortable kiss.

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francocolapinto

liked by pierregasly, landonorris, and 876,938 others

francocolapinto: mi señora

comments

merecedesamgf1team: Come to my office right now- toto. -> user35: HAHAAHAAH -> fernandoalonso: he just wants to talk I'm sure

user56: WHEN IS IT MY TURN TO BE HAPPY?

landonorris: SINCE WHEN? -> francocolapinto: last night? -> charlesleclerc: that was fast.

y/ny/l/n: ❤️

alexalbon: I FUCKING KNEW IT

lilymhe: cuties ❤️

danielriccardo: shit now i have to meet him!!!! -> y/ny/l/n: YAY DANNY COME TO THE WILLIAMS GARAGE PLEASE

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

fic-tober masterlist

taglist: @anotherapollokid @theseerbetweenus @simbaaas-stuff @5sospenguinqueen @yootvi

[chloeangelbaby]

“I’m not your caddy”

Bsf! Reader x Rafe Cameron

————————————˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊———————————

Rafe Cameron’s golf game had gone from bad to worse in the last half hour, though he didn’t entirely blame himself. It was hard to focus on his swing when you, his best friend, were sitting in the golf cart looking like you were about five seconds away from having a full-on meltdown.

It was hot—so hot the breeze felt like someone had just opened an oven. You sat in the shade of the cart, arms crossed, acrylic nails tapping against your skin as you huffed. You’d already finished your iced drink an hour ago, and Rafe’s reassurance that you’d be “done soon” had turned into a lie when “soon” stretched past two hours.

You had tried, you really had. Earlier, when Rafe offered to let you take a swing, you’d reluctantly stepped out of the cart, taken his oversized club in your perfectly manicured hands, and given it your best shot. When the ball rolled a grand total of three feet, you’d declared, “This is the stupidest game I’ve ever played,” and stomped back to the cart. That was your first—and last—attempt at joining in.

You’d agreed to come along because, in your words, “I just want to wear a cute outfit and vibe.” And cute you looked—tiny tennis skirt, snug polo, and matching visor to keep the sun out of your eyes. But vibes? Those were gone. Instead, you were bored out of your mind, the hum of golf carts and faint clinking of clubs grating on your nerves.

“Baby, hand me my wedge,” Rafe called from a few feet away, shielding his eyes from the sun as he looked at you expectantly.

With an overly dramatic sigh, you leaned over and grabbed a random club from his bag. You didn’t check to see if it was the right one before tossing it toward him with a bit too much force.

“That’s not my wedge, baby,” Rafe said, voice even but edged with amusement. He walked over, shaking his head when he saw the pout forming on your glossed lips.

“Then get it yourself,” you grumbled, your doe eyes glassy from a mix of heat, overstimulation, and frustration. “I’m not your caddy. And I’m hot. And bored. And my drink is gone. And this sucks.”

Rafe crouched down by the cart, resting one hand on the seat beside you and the other on the back of your neck to anchor you as you twisted your lips into a frown.

“You’re really in your feelings, huh?” he teased, his grin making your irritation flare.

“Don’t laugh at me, Rafe,” you snapped, your tone breaking slightly as a frustrated tear slipped down your cheek. “You said it’d be over soon, but it’s been forever. And your beer’s warm and gross.”

“You drank my beer?” he asked, amused.

“Yeah, because I finished mine an hour ago,” you shot back, sticking your tongue out like you could still taste the bitterness. “You owe me a Starbucks after this. Actually, two.”

Rafe chuckled softly, leaning in closer. He pressed a kiss to your cheek, then another to the corner of your lips, ignoring the way you tried to pull back just enough to stay mad.

“Relax, baby,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing as his thumb traced gentle circles on your neck. “Just a few more holes, and we’ll leave. I’ll get you whatever you want after. Promise.”

Your sniffle broke into a begrudging laugh, and you finally looked at him, narrowing your eyes. “You’re lucky you’re cute, Cameron.”

“And you’re lucky I like your little attitude,” he shot back with a smirk.

His teasing made you roll your eyes, but you didn’t fight him when he pulled you into another kiss, this one quick but sweet enough to melt some of your frustration.

“Fine,” you muttered, sitting back in your seat and crossing your arms. “But if it’s not done in twenty minutes, I’m driving this cart straight into the lake.”

Rafe just laughed, grabbing the right club himself before heading back to the green, knowing full well you meant it.

———————————-˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊————————————

[gallavichsreddie1128]

Leave My Wife Alone (Art Donaldson)

Description: Y/N wants to Retire but Tashi isn’t okay with that.

Word Count: 753

Request: If you’re still taking requests could you write a fic for Art Donaldson pls: where he’s married to the reader who is a retired tennis player who Tashi became a huge fan of during college, when YN retires Tashi becomes bitter that she did and tries to pressure her into coming out of it, and it makes Art so upset that he confronts her about her about bothering his wife and her obsession with her life

Y/N Donaldson was a famous name through Tennis. Well Y/N Y/L/N was but when her and Art got married she changed her last name to his. The Donaldsons. They both were big tennis players, loved throughout the community. Tashi Duncan was Y/N’s biggest fan. They met in College and Y/N was surprised that when she faced off against Tashi she was a good sport about it.

Tashi was known for not being a good sport but since she was a huge Y/N fan she was honored. Thus began the friendship that they have now. Tashi and Y/N always talked about Tennis. It was their favorite Topic. When Y/N and Art got married Tashi was her maid of honor. “I want to retire.” She told Art as they ate dinner. Art was playing a challenger so they were at a luxury Hotel. “Are you sure?” He asked. She nodded.

“Yup. I’m 32 years old. I think this is it for me and I want to start a family.” The last part made him smile. Art always wanted kids but figured it would be best to wait for the right time. “Whatever you do I’ll support. I just don’t know about Tashi.” Tashi was gonna be heartbroken. “Well I’m sure she’ll understand.” Y/N said not believing her own words. “Will she though?” Art asked unsure. “I mean you’re still playing.” “Yeah but she doesn’t care about Art Donaldson, she cares about Y/N Donaldson.”

She smiles at the use of his last name after her first. She loved it. “I will tell her when the time is right.” Y/N said and got up with her plate. No time was right. They both knew that. As she was washing her plate she felt Art behind her. His breath was hitting her neck, “So is it too early to start thinking about a baby?” He asked. She giggled and turned around to face him, “Never.” She said and kissed him. He lifted her up onto the table and smiled against her lips. 

“So I’ve been thinking a lot about this and I want to retire.” She shut her eyes tight after she Tashi. Tashi felt the world stop. This was her biggest fear. Since she couldn’t play Tennis anymore, Y/N was her way in. “No. You can’t.” She said. “Tashi, I’m 32 now and I want a family.” “You have a family. You don’t need to quit Tennis for that.” Y/N looked at her as she ranted. “I mean you’re the best Tennis player right now, why stop now?”

“Tashi I understand but-” “If I could still play I would. I would have never thrown it away.” “Tashi I’m not throwing it away. Wait, is that what this is about? You can’t play Tennis so I should?” “No, I just think you still have a lot of years left in you.” “Art is still playing.” Y/N said. “Art is nowhere near as good as you are. I care about Y/N Donaldson not Art Donaldson.” 

Art was pissed. He knew that Tashi was going to be this way but he still had a little hope that she would be a good friend. “I mean she said that you shouldn’t quit because she never got the chance to play like this?” He asked. “It was implied.” Art was so mad at Tashi for implying that. It was sickening. He was wide awake when Y/N went to sleep. He stared at the ceiling as he thought about what Tashi said to his wife. How could she? Y/N was a great player but she deserved to be happy and not have Tennis be her life forever.

He got up quietly and took his phone with him. He went to Tashi’s contact and hit call. He waited as it rang. “Hello?” She answered. “Listen, I understand that you didn’t get your big dreams of Tennis but that does not mean Y/N has to suffer for it. What you said today was so uncool and you aren’t a very good friend.

You only care about Tennis and you are so obsessed with her career that it’s gonna kill you when she retires because you’ll have nothing left. You only care about one thing and it’s Tennis not her well being or anything like that. Just Tennis. It’s Pathetic Tashi.” He said and hung up the phone. He sighed and went back to the bedroom. He got in bed and could actually fall asleep. Though he wasn’t ready for what Tashi was gonna say tomorrow.

[xneens]

golf lesson

you distract rafe during a golf lesson.

"How important is winning this bet with your brother for you?" Rafe asked, watching as you hit the ball right into the lake, the ball nearly hitting a duck.

You glance at him, biting your lip. "Am I that bad?"

He turned to look back at the holes on the grass where you had hit your club, the iron kicking up the freshly mown grass rather than the ball on the tee. The blond bites back his smile, turning back at you, shrugging. "No, you're doing great, baby."

Groaning, you lean against your golf club, annoyed and frustrated. "Ugh, how am I so bad at a game old men play? This is humiliating."

Rafe had spent the whole afternoon trying to teach you how to golf after making a bet with your brother you could win a round with him. The prize: a few weeks in Greece that your parents would fully fund. And you wanted to play your Mamma Mia fantasies this summer, even if you had to listen to your boyfriend teach you all the mechanics of the most boring sport ever.

However, it did have some pros, one of them watching how Rafe's arms flexed when he swung the club, the way his white polo shirt fit him, the way he drove the golf club. It was a wonder how you were able to focus on his presence so close to you.

Rafe chuckles, wrapping his arms around your waist. He presses a kiss on your shoulder, his chin resting on it. "It's a stupid sport, don't get discouraged. And with me as a coach, you'll be the best."

You turn to glare at him, annoyed at how he babied you, knowing full well there was little to no hope with your golf skills. "You're mocking me."

"No, no, I would never." he smiles softly, a smile tugging at his lips. "We just need to practice a little more. You're good at everything, I'm sure you'll be good at this, too."

Rolling your eyes, you huff, thinking about all the balls you had lost in the past hour alone. Rafe had to go back to the country club multiple times to grab another pack of golf balls, a smirk slapped on his face every time he came back with a new pack.

"This is hopeless." you groaned dramatically, throwing Rafe another glare as he laughed.

He wraps his arms around you, setting you up for another swing. "Here, let me teach you the proper technique and posture so you hit the ball where you want it to go, yeah?"

"Fine," you grumbled, biting back a smirk as Rafe's hands traveled down your body, hands gripping your waist.

"Make sure your body is turned to face the ball." Rafe murmurs in your ear, positioning your hips. His fingers trail softly up your body, your tennis dress riding up slightly at the movement. "Yeah, just like that."

You giggle softly as arch your back, shifting your legs slightly to grind your ass up against Rafe's crotch, smug at how quickly he froze. "Am I doing it right, Rafey?"

Despite how you hated the stupid nickname, you'd use it whenever you wanted something from him, something he couldn't help give you every time you asked. You'd also use it when you teased him with it, almost like a secret word to hint you wanted him without others knowing.

"Yeah, yeah. Doing great, baby. Grip the club here and here." Rafe cleared his throat. He positions your hands on the club, fingers brushing briefly against the Darry ring he had gotten you for your first week anniversary.

"Hmm, this feels right." you grin smugly, feeling his cock hardening against your ass. Gripping the club, you do a little swing, twisting your hips. "Does that look good?"

"Fuck." Rafe groans, hands tightening against your hips, pulling you up against him, his cock pressed up against your cock. His fingers play with the hem of your dress, his chin resting on your shoulder. "You always look so goddamn good."

You giggle, eyes drifting towards the group of old men a hole away from you, near enough for them to see you and Rafe, but far enough to not see how you were grinding against him. "Help me hit the ball?"

"Of course," replied Rafe, hands engulfing your own. He leads you through the motion of a swing before guiding you to hit the golf ball. With a straight swing, the club hit the ball, flying in the air for a few seconds before rolling towards the flagged hole. "Good job, baby."

With a victorious smile, you turn to look at him, dropping the club on the ground. You wrap your arms around his neck, giving him a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you so much, Rafey. You're such a good coach."

"If I was a good coach, I wouldn't have spent half an hour searching the lake for the balls you hit in there." he teased, an arm encircling your waist. He tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear. "But I'll take the compliment."

You give him a pout, puckering up your glossed lips. "You're so mean to me, always teasing me."

"I'm sorry, baby." Rafe smirks, not sorry at all. Blue yes filled with mirth, he tilts your chin up with a finger. "Let me make up for it."

He brings his lips to yours, tongue-seeking entrance as you kiss him back. Teasingly, you bit his bottom lip gently, drawing out a soft gasp from the blond. Smiling against his lips, your hand drifts down his chest, down towards his hardening cock.

"Someone's excited." you kiss along his jaw, drawing out another small gasp from your boyfriend. Despite dating for a year, he still had the same reaction to your kisses, almost as if he was surprised you wanted to kiss him.

You squeeze his cock through his shorts, pressing your body against his, hiding the action from every golfer near you. Fingers trailing up and down the length of his cock, in a stroking motion, you bring your lips back to his, allowing Rafe's hand to grab your ass.

Rafe's hands wandered up beneath your dress and you pulled away, laughing as he dramatically groaned. You give him a quick kiss on the cheek. "No more kisses for you. I know you bet against me, fucker."

[irisintheafterglow]

thoughts are thonkin' about summer camp counselor!gojo

"hmm, let's go with truth."

"do you like any of the other counselors?" ooohhhh. the children in the circle around you lean forward in anticipation. you can practically see the excitement in their eyes and you coyly dodge the question, well aware their reactions would be less than satisfied.

"oh, yeah! i like all the counselors!" you chirp happily and the kids groan, protesting 'not like that!' or 'you know what we mean!' you ignore them and push on, continuing, "shoko's basically my best friend, and i actually met her through this camp a long time ago; geto always lets me borrow his hairties; nanami...i guess i appreciate him for trying his best and coming back year after year." a few of the older campers from the cabin nanami always took charge of (because "they were more mature," in his eyes) snicker at your commentary on their favorite grumpy counselor, but one little girl in a purple tie-dyed shirt persists. you recognize her as one of geto's immediately; he always called dibs on playing 'mother' for the littlest ones in camp.

"what about counselor gojo?" her eyes are big and curious, still intrigued by your answers even when the rest of the group has moved on.

"remember, you can only ask one question per turn," nanami announces blandly from across the circle, though you do notice that the edge to his voice is gentler than usual. as much as he complains about the energy of the younger campers, he always seemed to be softer with them; though, you've never commented on it for fear of him becoming self-aware.

"he's right. that's two questions, my friend," you reply kindly, quickly moving the hot seat to the next camper, one of shoko's wearing a brown camp shirt. "alright, looks like it's your turn. truth or dare?"

"i hope you rascals are behaving. it's laps around the tennis courts if you're not." the front door to the main house opens and shuts, shoko entering with a train of middle schoolers at her heels. they'd embarked into the summer night to retrieve a camper's water bottle that was left at the edge of the lake. now that she's returned, her group eagerly makes room for her and the rest of their cabin until the circle nearly covers the entire living room. "they have behaved, right?"

"of course," you confirm. "they've been nothing but angels since you left." shoko hums and raises her eyebrows once, unamused. "what, you don't believe me?"

"nah, just that gojo's kids must not be here yet." you fight down the smirk that wants to appear on your face when, at the exact moment shoko comments on their absence, the loudest and rowdiest cabin arrives at the house. "speak of the devil-"

"i literally just got relaxed," mumbles suguru while he sits down with a disposable cup of warm tea from the kitchen. his girls lean over to see what he's drinking, asking if they can try some too. "later, later. let's all make room for counselor gojo's cabin, my friends."

"oi, wipe the dirt from your shoes or i throw you in the lake!" his cabin drawls out a half-hearted response, stamping on the welcome mat before filing into the living room. gojo's voice was still outside on the front porch. over the years, you learned he always took up the rear when his cabin was on the move, letting the most energetic of the bunch lead from the front and herding any stragglers at the back. according to your girls, he was the notorious 'hot camp counselor' that all the cabins fawned over. they called him charming, blushing over how carefree he was and how handsome he was when he smiled. you tried not to feed into any rumors about you and gojo having a thing for each other...

but he made it pretty difficult when he shimmied into the seat next to you and stared at you like there weren't several dozen children watching your every move.

"hi. you come here often?" he greets with a blinding smile before turning to the rest of the group. "so, what are we playing?" he sits with his legs crossed and one arm propped up behind you, the arm closest to you so that it occasionally brushes your shoulder. you shoot him a look of warning and he winks at you, going back to camp counselor mode in a split second. "this looks like a great truth or dare circle."

"it was, but there might be too many friends to play that game now. plus, we were only playing it to kill time," suguru says. the current number of campers made it hard to entertain everyone with a simple game like truth or dare, so it was up to the counselors to figure out a different game.

"i think kamo and todo's groups are still at the pool," shoko reminds everyone. "nanami and i can take a group over if you wanna go." a camper from nanami's cabin raises his hand.

"but aren't we still waiting for counselor haibara?" nanami shakes his head, the keys attached to his yellow leopard print lanyard jangling around his neck.

"counselor haibara's cabin is on dishes duty tonight. they're probably gonna go straight to bed when they're done."

"which will be soon for all of you, especially you little ones," you point out, glancing at the girls falling asleep on either side of suguru. all of the conscious campers grumble and you smile. they had so much fun every day of camp that they never wanted to go to sleep. "c'mon, you have to sleep if you still wanna do s'mores at the bonfire tomorrow." this raises their spirits a little bit and they come to the consensus that they need to play one more game before they go to sleep.

"alright kids, whatcha wanna play?" satoru folds his sunglasses and sticks them on the collar of his camp shirt. you ignore the way his bicep flexes under the rainbow tie-dyed fabric, willing the heat in your cheeks to dissipate. "there's heads up seven up, mafia, assassin-"

"can you tell us one of your stories, counselor gojo?"

"yeah, tell us a story from when you guys were campers." you can hear the gears turning in satoru's head and you lay a hand on his shoulder before he can launch into his tale.

"hold on, just so we're clear: you get a story instead of a game, is that okay with everyone? if we're not done by," you glance at the clock, "9:30, we'll save the rest of the story for tomorrow night, good?" the entire group nods their agreement, aside from the littlest ones who were dozing in suguru's arms. the kids get comfortable, leaning on each other and wrapping sweaters around their bodies like blankets. "take it away, then," you say to satoru.

"cool! i think i'm gonna tell you all about how i confessed to my camp crush," he states and you catch every other counselor in the room roll their eyes. somewhere across camp, a shiver probably ran up haibara's spine. evidently, satoru notices too, as he points at the rest of the counselors accusingly and says, "hey, just because you've heard this before doesn't mean i don't get to tell it again!"

"we didn't just hear it before, gojo," shoko says, rolling her eyes. "we were literally there." their beloved counselors becoming like characters in a fairy tale entice the kids even more to listen.

"so, a long, long time ago-"

"like when the dinosaurs were alive?"

"hey, i'm not that old," he frowns and the kids break into giggles. "anyways, a really long time ago, i had the biggest crush on another camper. the first time i saw them was at the lake. i was so shocked by them that i fell off my paddleboard."

"no way!"

"aww, that's so cute!"

"it's true," comments suguru after a sip from his tea. "i was in a kayak right next to him and he was so distracted, he ran into a rock and flew forward." more laughter echoes around the room and you even see nanami trying to hide a small smile.

"so, how'd you start talking to them?" you ask with a sparkle in your eyes.

"that's the thing," satoru continues, waving his arms around in dramatic gestures for emphasis. "for a while, i didn't even talk to them. i was so nervous and they were so pretty, like they were totally out of my league!"

"i don't think anyone's out of your league, counselor gojo," swoons one of the little ones from suguru's cabin. "i bet that person had a crush on you too, but you didn't know it!"

"that's very nice of you to say," satoru replies, briefly meeting suguru's eyes. suguru shrugs over the lid of his cup, his face an expression along the lines of 'i didn't teach them to be that friendly to you.'

"when did you actually start talking to them, counselor gojo?"

"yeah, and what did you talk about?"

"did you kiss them-"

"or did they kiss you first?"

"ew, kissing! gross!" the group teeters on the edge of falling into chaos, but it's exactly where satoru thrives.

"wait, wait, wait. too many questions, friends." all attention in the room snaps back to him. "and for the record, i did not kiss them the first time i talked to them," satoru reiterates with a nervous chuckle.

"then what did you talk about?"

"the easiest thing to talk about when you're here at camp," he replies. "i asked them if they wanted to see the stars with me." the lightbulbs blink to life in each camper's head and they grin in understanding. the area's constellations and views of space were always a fan-favorite, no matter the year. it was the one event every single camper and counselor looked forward to, and each person had a designated 'space buddy' to look at the stars with (and to also ensure no one wandered off in the dark woods alone). "i asked if they wanted to be my space buddy and, thankfully, they said yes."

"who was usually your space buddy, counselor gojo?" suguru wordlessly raises his hand on the other side of the circle. "wait, then who was counselor geto's space buddy?"

"it's how we became friends, actually," answers shoko. "counselor gojo stole my usual space buddy, so i had to partner with someone else."

"aww, that's so cute! wait..." the dots start to connect in the campers' minds and you stiffen, praying they didn't see the connection between the earlier truth-or-dare question and shoko's explanation. one of the older kids narrows his eyes at you, flicking between you and satoru with great suspicion.

"didn't you say earlier that shoko was your-" one of the littles can't hold their question and interjects before the big kid can finish their sudden inquiry.

"counselor shoko, who was your usual space buddy?"

"oh, it was always my best friend," she says without hesitation, looking over at you innocently. "and, if you didn't already know, my best friend is-"

"it's 9:30, big kids pack it up," nanami cuts in and you exhale, wiping your clammy palms on your shorts. a glance at satoru reveals him as suave as ever, but you do notice the single bead of sweat running down the side of his temple. "don't complain. you're already out later than i usually let you."

"that goes for you too, my littles," suguru says, ushering the sleepy children out the door after the bigs. "night, guys," he waves before stepping outside.

"we should probably get going, too. we'll tell the rest of this story tomorrow." as shoko's cabin leaves, satoru catches your eye.

"you wanna head out first or should we?"

"we can head out together, no? our cabins are right next to each other." the tiniest smirk appears on satoru's face.

"sounds good, you lead the way."

as both your group and satoru's walk out of the main house, you linger behind and let your kids navigate back to the cabin. when you're sure none of the kids are watching, you casually brush your hand against satoru's. he reacts immediately, lacing his fingers in yours and giving your hand a squeeze.

"hi, boyfriend," you say low enough that only he can hear.

"two more days," he mutters mostly to himself. "two more days and then i have you back to myself."

"c'mon, shouldn't we give back to the camp that brought us together in the first place?" you keep your voice as quiet as possible to not draw attention from the kids, your conversation blending with the sounds of the swaying forest and calling birds. "it's good karma, don't you think?"

"sure. doesn't mean i don't get mad when i can't love on you." you can hear satoru pouting even when you can't completely see his face. "are we ever gonna tell them about us? it's been a few years; most of the little ones we knew first are with nanami now."

"maybe we can tell them tomorrow. give them a little brain exercise trying to figure out who was your space buddy on that fateful night," you tease. he bumps his shoulder against yours, daring to sneak a kiss on your cheek. "satoru-"

"i know, i know. i just need reassurance that you're still mine, sometimes." the light of the cabins come into view and you reluctantly pull away from satoru. "ouch," he winces like he has a rock in his shoe. "i don't like that at all."

"what, me not holding your hand anymore?"

"mhmm, so don't be surprised if i tell the campers tomorrow," he says with an air of finality. "i'll take the teasing and the pestering as long as you're okay with it. i just can't take not being able to kiss you."

"of course i'm fine with it," you nod, finally catching up to your groups. you give them the signal to go inside and get ready for bed, stalling outside with satoru until you run out of time. "i'll see you in the morning, counselor gojo." he makes a gagging face that forces you to cover up a snort with a fake cough.

"if that sleeping bag isn't warm enough, you know where to find me," he says with a smirk as you begin to walk away. his body moves before his mind knows it, catching you by the wrist before you're too far. "hey. i love you." his gaze flickers between your eyes and your lips. he was so desperately trying not to kiss you.

"i love you too," you murmur, seeing more sparkle in his eyes than in all of the campground. "sweet dreams, my love."

"sweet dreams, space buddy."

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[stanart4clearskin]

stalker! art x reader

art had NO intention in stalking you because that would just so creepy and so wrong

his intentions started completely innocent when he found out the local cafe you go to every morning and sat in a back booth so he could catch a glimpse of you

all he wanted to do was stare at you because you were just so pretty and it wasn’t with malicious intent so he didn’t see anything wrong in his actions

eventually he ended up getting a job at the cafe you frequent because he needed something to do during offseason (or atleast that’s what he told himself)

the first day you came up to the register to order your drink he almost died. god you were gorgeous and you were right there. he wasn’t even listening when you ordered your drink—too busy staring at your lips—but it’s okay. he already knew your order anyways

he almost stopped breathing until you asked him if he was okay because he had gone a little pale

at night he’ll follow you as you walk back to your dorm after your shift at the library because he just wants to make sure you’re safe!

he goes to watch all your matches because he just likes to watch tennis (it totally has nothing to do with your cute tennis outfit that you prance around the court in. and has nothing to do with your backhand that nearly gives him a boner for some odd reason)

sometimes he’ll stand outside your dorm watching you from your window as he study because he likes the face you make when you’re concentrating. it’s all so innocent really

besides you coming into the cafe, art never really had a chance to talk to you in a regular conversation so he finds out what halloween party you’re going to and even finds out what costume you’re wearing so he can wear a similar one

he stands there with his teammates as they play beer pong but his eyes scan the party for you. he finds you standing in the living room talking with a few of your friends when you excuse yourself to go grab another drink in the kitchen

art leaves his friends and head to the kitchen as-well, ditching his full bottle of beer along the way

the kitchen is empty so it’s just you two and art manages to strike up conversation

“hey aren’t you that girl that orders the lavender matcha every day at the cafe?” he’ll ask, walking over to you as you rummage the fridge

“oh yeah, you’re the hot barista!” you say, a little drunk and lips loose. “shit sorry i didn’t mean to say that” you apologize profusely, the apples of your cheeks flushing pink and your hands fidgeting awkwardly with the beer bottle in your hand

“hot barista?” he teases, feeling his confidence strengthen and he allows himself to be bolder

“um yeah my friends and i go there so we kinda just dubbed you hot barista because we didn’t know your name” you say lamely, hoping he won’t think you’re a massive weirdo

instead he grins his signature smirk and you feel your knees give out a little so you subtly grab the counter behind you to steady yourself

“you could’ve just asked me my name y’know” he points out, his tone teasing

after introducing yourselves and 10 minutes of small talk, you find yourself sloppily making out with art in a random bedroom in the frat house

eventually you two leave the party and head back to his dorm

as art goes down on you you can’t help but think how amazing it is that he knows everything that you like. little do you know, art has been watching you every time you’re making out with some dude at a party to see what makes you moan or if you would’ve looked out your window when you invited a guy over to your dorm, you would’ve seen art standing outside watching

[cowboylikefaith]

with great power...

art donaldson spiderman! au x reader

summary: stanford has a masked superhero on the loose, and you're trying to crack down on his identity. little do you know, it's your boyfriend art.

warnings: cursing, injuries, reader highkey gets mugged, art is being mysterious af, reader is incredibly oblivious, sappy at the end sorry, not proofread

author's note: HI so this is actually my first time writing a fic ever... but this au idea has been absolutely rotting in my brain for the past week or so and i need to get it out. enjoy!!!!!!

╰🕸️ ₊✧ ﾟ❤️⚬𓂂➢

"dude!" you say barging into art's dorm (not realizing that your poor boyfriend was in the middle of a nap) "look at the topic the newspaper just assigned me. some shithead on campus is doing parkour in a scuba suit, people are calling him 'spiderman'."

art is pulled out of his trance-like state when he hears the name fall out of your mouth. you feel bad after realizing you woke him up, seeing him wipe his tired eyes with a pout on his lips. "hey pretty" he says with a lopsided smirk on his face "what were you talking about? some spider-idiot?" you hop into bed next to him "yeah it's nothing...sorry for waking you up, just go back to bed, 'kay?"

you don't know what's been up with art recently. he rarely returns your calls, he's always tired, and when he's awake, he's either in a rush or incredibly sluggish. you asked patrick about it and he said that the beginning of a new tennis season is wearing both of them down. seems reasonable, right?

now, it's been a few weeks since you were assigned this story, and jess (your senior editor) wants you to photograph and interview this spiderman guy, because apparently he's some kind of campus superhero (returning stolen laptops, helping drunk sorority girls avoid getting hit by cars, the usual) however you have no leads so far.

until one day, tashi tells you a story about how he saved a freshman from the tennis team from being hazed, and you decide to ask your boyfriend about it.

"you don't know anything about a kid named steven mcdonald, do you?" you ask art as you settle down to watch some gossip girl.

"that freshman who survived a hazing incident? yeah, i know of him" he replies as he pulls you into his arms and kisses your forehead.

you pull away with furrowed eyebrows "well did he...say...anything about that night?"

"uh no. no, not really" he says (a little distantly) "anyway! i seriously don't understand why serena loves dan so much, nate is obviously the better choice for her."

you roll your eyes sarcastically "wow donaldson...really smooth transition! way to change the subject there honey."

"i'm sorry.." he replies as he plays with your hair "it's just that...i don't want you getting mixed up in that kind of stuff. if you got hurt.." he sighs "i don't know what i'd do with myself"

and so you promise art that you'll stop working on the article...until jess says she'll kick you out of the stanford star if you do.

one night, as you're walking back to your dorm after dinner with tashi and patrick (third wheel much?), a man in a black ski mask suddenly approaches you and orders you to put your hands up.

"give me your fucking heels lady...and your purse!" he demands.

"oh god no" you shut your eyes and groan "please sir, these are really expensive and- and these are manolo blahniks!! my mom bought-"

before you can finish your rambling, you can hear a thud, and when open your eyes, you can see that he's been wrapped up in some web-like substance.

"don't worry, he's not dead" a figure says as he walks out from behind the criminal. you feel like you know him, you can't even see his face but something about him is just so familiar, and you can't put your finger on it. until..

oh my god

"oh my god! you're spiderman! thank you so much, seriously. that guy could've killed me" you say excitedly, forgetting about your past opinions about him.

art- i mean spiderman, chuckles and says that it's no problem, and asks if he could take you back to your dorm.

"yeah! i would love that, thank you." you reply "actually, could i take your photo? i'm doing an article about you for the stanford star." oh and art eats it UP. he's doing stupid poses and acting silly and goofy (just to hear you laugh of course).

you get back to your dorm safely, and spiderart bids you farewell. just before he leaps out your window, he pulls a red stanford cap (one that you've never noticed, and one that looks suspiciously like art's) out of his pocket.

"hey, maybe i'll see you around" he says as he puts the cap on...backwards. something that only art would do. lucky enough for him, you're too tired to notice.

"...and those are the differences between meiosis and mitosis." you're trying to study for another biology exam when all of a sudden you hear a tapping noise on your window.

at first you think it's a bird, or some frat boy trying to piss you off by throwing empty beer cans at your window, but the tapping turns into banging and you start to hear sounds of pain through the glass.

you run to the window and see a boy in a familiar red and blue suit sitting on the windowsill. this time with a huge gash in his side.

"spiderman? oh my god, get inside, what happened?" you ask while scrambling for a first aid kit. art falls onto your bed, unknowingly bleeding all over your new floral sheets. he groans and holds his side, mumbling something about...well god knows what.

art protests as you try to patch up the very open wound by his waist. "you're just like my boyfriend art," you say with a grin "he gets all fucked up during his tennis matches and doesn't let me help him out." you can hear him through the mask but you can't tell if it's a laugh or a whimper.

"jesus- how long is this going to take? i have an econ final to study for" he says with a wince. "not very long if you sit still, spiderboy" you retort "why don't you take off your mask? you must be dying with that thing on."

you feel his face, and it feels...familiar. you slowly take off the mask, and reveal art's lips, sculpted nose, blue and brown eyes, and tousled blonde hair.

suddenly you realize. you realize the reasons for the missed calls, hurried kisses, and rain-checked dates. all this time you've been thinking that it was tennis kicking his ass, when really art was kicking other people's.

"hi honey" art mumbles, same lopsided, boyish smile that you fell in love with gracing his face "i'm sorry. i should have told you." before you can say anything, he kisses you and sneaks his hands to the small of your back. you can feel him smiling into the kiss as he pulls you into his lap.

"i missed you" you say, pulling away with a pout. you card your hands through his blonde curls. "i know, i know, i'm sorry pretty girl, it's just that...i don't want you to worry about me." art replies, pushing your hair away from your face.

you flick his forehead. "you dumbass. of course i'm going to worry about you, whether you like it or not...because i like you. a lot. no matter what kind of freaky superpowers you have." art lets out a weak chuckle, then he kisses you like a man stuck in the desert for 40 days. you can feel him drawing small circles along your hips and caressing your thumb.

you pull away one last time. "now tell me spiderboy...how did you go from tennis team captain to stanford superhero?"

[awakenedevildays]

「quarrels and sofas」 Art Donaldson x F!reader

TW: angst, smut (minors DNI), fighting, jealousy, insecurities

you can read the other parts here!

━━━•❃°•°❀°•°❃•━━━

Art knew it was a terrible idea to properly introduce you to Patrick right away, from the moment he saw how his best friend looked at you up and down he knew he was in for troubles. Even more when Patrick "kindly" offered to teach you how to play tennis while "your boyfriend was busy". 

You agreed happily almost immediately: with Tashi busy with her professional tennis career, and you with yours, you didn't have much time to see each other, and when you did you tried to disconnect from your jobs by doing other things and that resulted in not playing that much anymore, expect with Art sometimes.

"your girlfriend is really cute by the way, how come I didn't realize it when we met her years ago" he teased Art after you excused yourself to go to the bathroom of the restaurant. 

Art knew where the conversation was going, but decided not to respond to his best friend's taunts "you didn't realize she was cute? It's your bad I guess" he replied in a snarky way, his fingers playing with his glass "besides, she's been cute since forever, what are you even talking about?" Art asked.

Patrick snickered a little at Art's response, taking a sip of his glass while he kept his eyes on him.

"Oh don't play dumb with me. She's always been on the cute side, but come on... she's seriously gorgeous now. You're so lucky and you don't even realize it" he replied back, a mischievous grin on his face growing as he continued to tease Art.

Art felt anger rise in his body, why did he always feel like he had to compete against Patrick? 

Patrick could feel the tension between them and continued to push further "You should be glad she's still loyal to you. She could easily leave your ass if she wanted to, bet she has tons of men after her" he kept going with a smug smile, knowing fully well he was pushing Art to his limit.

"Yeah well, unlike you I know how to treat my girlfriend right" he bit back, his smile growing. 

Patrick's smile faded a little at the reference to his past relationship with Tashi, but he quickly regained his composure and a smirk formed on his lips "Oh please, I know how to treat women just fine. Tashi simply just couldn't handle me" he said with a laugh, trying to brush off the topic.

Art's frowned his eyebrows in fake confusion, his smile turning into a thin line "Oh... my bad, I heard it went differently, from what I know.. it was you who couldn't keep up with her". 

Patrick raised an eyebrow at Art's response, his smirk faltering slightly as he tried to keep his cool.

"You've heard wrong then. It was Tashi who couldn't handle my life as a successful businessman." he retorted with a hint of defensiveness in his voice, trying to deflect the truth with arrogance.

Art was going to answer but a voice interrupted him "excuse me, I'll leave you the bill" the waitress said leaving the small receipt holder on the table, both men smiled as she walked away. 

Art took his wallet to pay and Patrick didn't bother to stop the blond as he slid the money inside of the card holder before leaving it on the table for the waitress to take. 

Then, Art takes a sip of his beer, his eyes never leaving Patrick's "stay away from her Patrick, I mean it" he warned. 

Patrick rolled his eyes at Art's warning "Oh, come on Art. I'm just being friendly. What's the harm in that?" he replied with a smirk, clearly not taking him seriously. 

"I know what you're trying to do, I know you". 

Patrick leaned back in his seat, his smirk widening at Art's accusation. "And what exactly do you know, Art?" he asked with feigned innocence, though his eyes gleamed with mischievous intent.

"I know you can't stand seeing me happy while you're not" he replied immediately and Patrick couldn't help but scoff at Art's words. 

"Oh please, I'm perfectly happy in my single life. I don't need a relationship to make me happy" he replied with a dismissive wave of his hand, though there's a hint of bitterness in his tone.

Art leans on his chair "sure you don't, but don't try to ruin mine too" his smile didn't reach his eyes. 

"Ruin your relationship? Who said anything about ruining your relationship?" Patrick asked with a hint of sarcasm, feigning innocence once again. "I'm just being friendly, Art. I don't have any ulterior motives" he added, maintaining his smile but his eyes betrayed his true intentions.

Before Art could answer you are next to him again "sorry, what did I miss?" you asked innocently, Art's arm wrapped around your shoulder while his other hand takes your fingers in his to play with them. 

Patrick's gaze flickered from you to Art, observing the two of you with a subtle feeling of irritation before he plastered a charming smile on his face. "Ah, nothing much. We were just catching up, talking about old times" he replied smoothly, though his gaze lingered on your hand enclosed in Art's, a flicker of envy in his eyes. Art looked at you and smiled, "nothing important" he said, brushing off the conversation to shift his focus back to you. 

"we should go baby, we have to wake up early tomorrow" Art stood up, you mimic his action. 

"Oh yeah, that's right" you said, slightly puzzled but you quickly brushed it off and leaned into Art's side, giving him a soft smile. Patrick watched the two of you raise from your seats, his smile still on his face "alright then, it was nice catching up" he said standing up as well, giving Art a nod before his gaze went back to you. "It was really nice to see you again" he added, his voice carrying a hint of flirtation you didn’t seem to notice, but Art did. 

"It was nice seeing you too Patrick, I'll text you for that tennis lesson, ok?" Patrick briefly looked at Art and smiled "can't wait, good night". 

Art's grip on you tightened momentarily, his expression tense but he quickly regained his composure to give Patrick a curt nod in return. "Good night" he replied shortly before leading you out of the restaurant, his arm remained protectively around your shoulders. 

Now, a few weeks later, Art leans with crossed arms at the doorframe and watches you getting ready for bed. He can't stop thinking how Patrick looked at you during that dinner and he can't imagine what his eyes saw while you played together, how he probably glanced at your legs and checked you out.

"So how was your match with Patrick?" He hopes you don't hear the jealousy out of his voice. 

"it was good, how was your day baby?" you decide to ignore his jealous tone, you kiss his lips when you pass by him to go to the bathroom.

He kisses you back, smiling when your lips touched his but he can't help thinking of Patrick right now. 

"My day was good," he says "what did you and Patrick do after your practice?" He asks while he changes from his jeans to a jogging pants.

"he gave me a ride here" you shrug.

He tries to hold a neutral mimic by hearing that but his jealousy is too much to not say anything about it. 

"I could've picked you up, baby" he tells you while he sits down on your bed waiting for you to finish brushing your teeth.

"I didn't want to bother you, and we were already together" you explain to calm him down but it's not working as you hoped it would.

You can see his knuckles turning white "it's not about bothering me. It's about you and Patrick together, alone. I don't like him". 

You look at him shocked "what do you mean? he is your best friend Art" you exclaim incredulous. 

"he just has a thing for you and it's obvious and I don't like it" It's like you can touch his anger, it's filling the whole room.

He can't stop imagining how Patrick might have touched you when he wasn't there, how he looked at you... just thinking that he might have looked at you the same way he did during the dinner is making him crazy. 

"I don't want you to see him anymore" he states and his arms cross in front of his chest and you scoff. 

"you're being ridiculous Art, he didn't try to do anything" you say and finally look at him from the bathroom. 

He starts to raise his voice and you can see the veins on his forehead throbbing "don't you see he has a thing for you?! You think he's such a good friend helping you play better? He doesn't give a damn about that, and you're just too naive to see that. He's just waiting for a chance to be with you" he snaps and stands from the bed. 

"I'm sorry are you trying to say I'm cheating on you?" you ask and you really hope he's going to deny it. 

 "I'm saying I'm tired of seeing you give attention to every single male that flirts with you, I mean how much attention do you need, are you really that desperate?" he snaps and immediately regrets what he just said, your hurt expression makes him shut his mouth.

He sighs and walks towards you, but just as he arrives in front of  you take a step back, tears swelling in your eyes and Art's heart clenches in his chest.

How can he explain to you that there is a voice in his head that tells him, every time you look at him, that he doesn't deserve you? that you could find someone better than him? that what Patrick had told him had affected him more than he wants to admit and that he is as terrified of losing you as he is terrified of few other things in the world?

"you're being unfair Art, you know I didn't cheat on you" you defend yourself but your voice tremble and it's difficult for Art to hear you. 

"I know, I'm sor-" but you don't listen to him.  

"I never, ever, gave you a reason not to trust me," your voice raises, you feel so hurt by him right now, you thought his trust in you was stronger than this. 

"I know, I'm sorry you're right, it's just that... Patrick told me some thing last time at dinner and insecurities got the best of me! I'm sorry, I really am baby, its just that..." he tries to explain what he is feeling "every time I look at you I always think you are too much for me, that you could find someone better than me and that you could leave me at any given moment, I love you so much it makes me crazy... Please forgive me" he takes your face in his hands but you don't look at him,  you can't bring yourself to feel sorry for him right now, you're way more hurt than he is. 

"but this is not the right way to show me Art, what you are saying it's unfair, I never, ever gave you a reason to doubt my loyalty towards you and our relationship" you take his hands off of your face. 

You are right, he knows you are, but his thoughts just won him over this time. He gently pulls you closer by wrapping his arms around your waist, he starts kissing you on your jawline and down your neck but you don't hug him back. 

"I..am so sorry baby. You have every right to feel hurt by what I just said and did. Please forgive me, I really am sorry, look we're both tired, can we go to sleep? we'll talk about this tomorrow morning, how does that sound?" he gives you a small smile in hope to soothe you but you avoid his gaze and he realizes he had said too much this time, he swallows the lump forming in his throat.

"I'm sorry, I truly mean it" he whispers with a gentle voice. All he wants to do now is to kiss your pain away, but he know you won't let him this time.

"I think I'll sleep on the couch tonight" you say and slip past him out of the bathroom and the bedroom.

 He watches you leave the bathroom and the bedroom with his heart racing like crazy. You are going to sleep on the couch? No. No way. It hurt knowing that he made you feel bad enough that you would sleep on the couch instead of in your bed with him. His legs moves on his own and he follows you out of the bedroom before grabbing your wrists and pulling you close to him. "Baby please, don't sleep on the couch" he pleads and tries to press you against his body.

"Art I don't want to be close to you right now, I really need space to think" you pull your wrist back and Art feels his heart sink at your words as his head starts spinning. 

He tries to blink away the tears that were in the corner of his eyes, but he can't. So his hands slowly lets go of your wrists and he takes a step back. "Okay. If you want space then I will give you the space you need", he says with a cracked voice and looks down at his empty hands.

You smile weakly "thank you, night Art" but before you can turn again he surpasses you to sit on the couch before you can reach it "I'll sleep here baby, you take the bed" he says and lays there, his eyes never leaving your figure and the way he is looking at you makes you feel so damn guilty even though he is the one at fault.

You open your mouth to speak but nothing you think seems appropriate, you reclutantly nod and turn around to go back to the bedroom.

He watches you disappear in the dark bedroom. His thoughts are racing. The guilt that was already so heavy on his soul is getting heavier every second. But he knows that you need space now after what he said to you. The only thing that he can do now is to pray that in the morning everything will go back to being alright. So that's what he did before falling asleep after a long time of just simply staring at the ceiling.

You hand caressing his cheek softly stirs Art awake the next morning.

You can feel the you man’s body tensing up at first at the soft touch of your hand on his cheek, but he quickly melts into it. The warm feeling of your hand on his skin makes his heart flutter and he slowly opens his eyes to look at you. "Baby?" he whispers still sleepy from what you assumed was a bad night on the couch.

"Hi" you murmur and his hand come to rest on yours still on his cheek "I made breakfast, would you like to join me?" if it wasn't for the fact that Art slept on the couch and his burning eyes he would've thought that what happened yesterday was just a bad dream.

Art is confused, he is afraid to speak and ruin this moment, to push you away once and for all and lose you forever "Yeah I would love to".

You gave him a small smile before making your way to the kitchen and Art follows behind you. He still seems exhausted as if he barely got any sleep last night. His heart sinks once his eyes lands on the table. You made his favourite pancakes with maple syrup, but in contrast to all the other days you didn't made coffee this time, only milk.

You sit on your place but Art stands awkwardly at the doorframe as if he needs your permission to approach you. So you give it to him.

The both of you eat the food in silence. Art doesn't dare to say a word the whole time, the only thing that he can't stop doing is stealing a look at you every now and then when he believes that you won't notice it. He can't get over the fact that you were so kind and cooked him his favourite meal after what happened last night. But his heart stops when you suddenly put down your fork and clear your throat. He was so nervous that he can already feel the lump in his throat building up.

"I think we should talk about yesterday Art"

 His heart is beating out of his chest the second he hears that dreaded sentence. The dreaded talk. The talk that would surely decide how everything is going to be between you two from this point. He swallows loudly before nodding his head. "Okay. Baby, listen I-" his voice cracks and he feels pathetic, if only his voice stopped him from speaking yesterday he wouldn't find himself in this position now. 

The second he sees your hand going up to stop his rambling, he immediately shuts up and swallows hard again. The tension in the room is so thick it could be cut trough with a knife. He has no idea what to do or how to start this conversation, so he looks at you with his thoughts racing in his head and fear building up more and more.

"I'll talk first"

He felt the lump in his throat growing thicker, but he nods once to show you that he is listening. "Go ahead," and you nod.

"what happened yesterday was not okay Art, I'm sorry that you feel so insecure of our relationship but you have to talk to me about these things and not accuse me of things I never did and never will"

 Art takes a shaky breath at your words. Everything that you said makes sense and he knows it. He should have talked about his insecurities and doubts, but instead he lashed his pain out on you. He feels so stupid right know.

"You're right. You're right. I'm sorry for what I said and did yesterday", he mumbles while he reaches for your hand to hold it. "I just..I don't know what got into me, but I promise I will never do this ever again".

"I'm not done" you say but take his hands in yours to reassure him. 

He swallows hard as you tell him that you aren't done. So he sits there still, not moving a muscle but also not letting go off your hands while he waits for you to continue. His heart is beating in his chest so fast it feels like it could explode any second.

"If you really think that Patrick is flirting with me, I'll keep him away from me... from us. I don't want to know what he told you that night, I don't care, but I need you to know that I love you, I'll always love you and only you, nothing will change that and I will never cheat on you, and I won't tolerate you behaving or accusing me like you did yesterday". 

Your words hit Art in the heart. He squeezes your hand a bit to show his affection and he nods "I know, I know that you love me and only me and that I'm an idiot for ever doubting that. And I love you too. More than anything. I'll try and work on my self doubt and my stupid insecurities. I'm sorry." He can't believe that you are still sitting in the same room with him.

You get up from your chair and sit on his legs, your hands go to his cheeks and you can feel his breath hitch as he hurriedly wraps one arm around you. Slowly he starts to press his cheek into your hand, he loves feeling your touch on him and he lets his eyes slowly close.

"is Patrick really the only thing that is bothering you?".

Art hums softly as he gives your question a real thought. Is it really the only thing that is bothering him?

He slowly opens his eyes and looks at you when he realizes that there is one more thing that made him jealous when he thought about it. "It isn't only Patrick..." he mumbled.

"what is it then?" 

"It's you" he says truthfully "It's you and how many people find you attractive. Everywhere you go there are so many guys checking you out. I know that they're no threat to our relationship, but everytime I see them looking at you I can't help but wish sometimes to have you all for myself".

"it's your fault for choosing a hot girl as your partner" you joke to lighten the mood. 

Art chuckles softly at your joke. He can feel the corner of his lips slowly twitching upwards to a smirk at your words. It's just like you to try and lighten up the mood and he loved that about you. 

"That's not fair" he mumbled against your palm before he leaned in to press a soft kiss onto it.

"you think I don't feel the same about you? everywhere we go there is always some girls making heart eyes at you and it makes me crazy, have you ever noticed them?" he shakes his head, he never sees them, he only has eyes for you, "and in the exact same way I don't see any other guys that is not you." he blushes and you kiss the corner of his mouth "the fact that I am insecure as you are about other people finding you attractive doesn't mean I get insecure of your love for me or of our relationship, and you shouldn't either" you flick his forehead 

At this point he is simply stunned by what you said and you could literally see on his face, so you are jealous of him too?

Art doesn't know what to say at first so the only thing that he does is to tighten his grip on your waist while his cheeks slowly turns red. "I..I thought you didn't feel the same about..you know..." He trails off when he realized that there aren't any words that can express what is on his mind.

"about other girls finding you pretty?"

Art slowly nods his head. "Yeah..I guess so" he mumbles and looks down at his lap, embarrassed that he has those thoughts and doubts. "I just thought that it didn't bother you cause you never said anything. I thought I was being crazy" he mumbled and looked up at you with guilty eyes.

"I should've express my feeling about it sooner, maybe you wouldn't have felt this way about Patrick" 

"Maybe..." he mumbles while he slides his arm from your waist and gently brushes some loose hair behind your ear "I'm sorry for what I said about you and Patrick baby...I'm so sorry"

"I know you are... I'm sorry too" you murmur 

His eyes widens slightly and his head snaps up so that he can look at you. "What are you sorry about, sweetheart. You didn't do anything wrong" his thumb gently brushes over the skin on your cheek.

"about not expressing my insecurity sooner, for making you feel alone in this, we both could have handled this situation better" his heart starts racing in his chest when you lean into his hand and softly press your lips onto it. A small sigh escapes his lips while he keeps his eyes on you "I guess we both have to work on sharing our insecurities baby. Let's not keep anything from each other, alright?"

"sounds like a great deal to me" you whisper and kiss him softly on the lips and he comes alive under you.

He immediately leans into the kiss and presses his lips back onto yours. He feels like all the tension between you is slowly fading out and he cups your face with his hands to pull you closer.

He can't get enough of the taste of your lips. The way you are sitting on his lap kissing him passionately feels so right. It takes all his willpower to slow down the kiss and pull away from you to breath for a moment. His thumb gently caress your cheeks, while he watches you, flushed and looking absolutely wrecked.

You climb off his lap just to straddle him and rejoin your lips together, his hands fly to your hip to pull you closer. The feeling of your body pressed against his makes him groan and his eyes flutters for a moment, before he deepens the kiss again. His tongue licks across your bottom lip and he gently nips on it with his teeth.

you moan and grind your hips on his, the only things keeping your body separate are your short nightgown and his jogging pants. 

A breathy moan escapes his lips at the feeling of your hips grinding on him in such a sweet torture. He pulls you even closer if that's even possible and his fingers digs into the skin on your sides to hold you in place while his hips starts to move on their own. "Baby.." he gasps against your lips at the delicious friction of your bodies, he can't handle how hot you look on his lap.

"I need you Art, please"

-------

The second those needy words leave your lips something inside him snaps. The way you beg him makes him feel like he could explode in any second. "God, I love you" He gasps and pulls his lips from yours just to shower kisses along your jaw. "I need you too, baby." He moans against your skin and his hips rocks upwards to meet your movements.

you grind your hips on his again and again in circolar motions, his lips goes to your neck and lightly suck on it and his hands on your ass to help your movements. Your hands instead goes to raise his shirt to take it off and Art leans back against the chair to help you before going back to the same position as before.

Art groans in anticipation when you start to pull off his shirt that reveals his pale chest and abs to you. He shivers slightly when your hands roams over his bare skin and he buries his face in the crook of your neck. He leaves wet kisses on your skin while he let his fingers sneak under the hemline of your nightgown to feel your skin. 

you take off your nightgown and throw it on the floor with his shirt before raising your hips to slide off his pants and boxer 

While you take the rest of your clothes off he can't stop himself from watching you. You look so divine and beautiful while undressing in front of him that he has to swallow hard and bite his lips at the sight of your body. After all this time you can still make his mind blank and speechless with your beauty. Slowly his hands roams up your thighs and over the skin on your hips while his eyes looks up at you, completely mesmerised.

"you look so beautiful baby" he says while you slid your panties to the side and sink down on his member, you let out a moan.

He keeps his eyes on you while you slowly let yourself sink down on him, his fingers gently grabbing at your hips to help you, while he feels himself becoming consumed in the feeling of you. "You're the prettiest girl I've ever seen" he manages to gasp before slowly kissing your lips. It felt like his mind was blank as he could only focus on every single sensation that you make him feel.

His breath hitches at the feeling of your insides wrapped around him and a moan escapes his lips in between the kisses. Art can't even concentrate on anything in this moment apart from you. He starts to move his hips in a steady rhythm with you in his lap.

"fuck, you feel so good baby, I love you" he moans and picks you up, a yelp come out of your mouth and your body trembles in his arms as his member slides deeper than before.

He picks up the pace when he hears you moan out loud, his mind completely blissed out at the feeling of himself buried inside of you while he continues to kiss you everywhere he can reach. 

His idea was to take you in your bedroom but you feel too good and his legs tremble from the pleasure, so he has no choice but to sit you on the table, him between your legs as he pick up his pace.

A surprised gasp escapes your mouth at the change of positions. He spreads your thighs further apart and his hips snaps against you and a groan escapes his lips.

You bring his face to yours and kiss him deeply, your tongues intertwined and your hands slide to his shoulders to dig your nails there and Art moans at the pain mixed with pleasure, one of his supports his weight off of you by resting on the table and the other finds your clit to rub it in circular motions to stimulate you further.

He moans into your mouth the second your tongue finds its way to his and his body presses against you while he does so. That action alone causes him to be deeper inside you and his eyes flutters close despite his best efforts to keep them open to look at you.

"Art- fuck" you moan and tremble against him, your chests pressed together before you let yourself lay against the table completely 

He stands back to look at your spread out body, you look so beautiful that it almost physically hurts him, he gets out of you to turn you around, you whine in response but lay against the table again without much struggle, he slips inside of you again

His pace now is slow and he stops your hips as they try to meet his, you whine in protest 

"Art please... go faster" you look back at him, your eyes pleading while your elbows support your weight, he lowers himself until his chest is pressed against your back and his mouth is close to you left ear "tell me you are mine" he orders while he bottoms out inside of you. 

The way he says that in your ear combined with how deep he is inside of you makes you whimper and shiver runs down your back. "I'm yours" you breathe and your eyes flutter by the feeling of him pressed so close against you. You feel like you're being wrapped up in Art and that feeling alone makes you feel so loved "I'm all yours, please..."

"I swear I'm only yours Art" you say again and his right arm goes around your neck while he brings you up with him in a straight position.

His hand tightens around your neck, making sure the pressure is light as his other hand slips around your stomach to hold you up against him. He then starts to move inside you with slow even strokes. "That's right you're mine..." he groans into your ear, "I love you so much..."

The new position makes his cock hit your cervix and you eyes gets watery from tears of pleasure, he picks up his pace "I'm going to cum Art" 

"me too baby" his hands goes to your clit again and your walls spams around his shaft "can I cum inside of you?" you nod furiously and turn your head to kiss him, when you cum your mouths are still joined and he slides as deep as he can as he reaches his climax too, his mouth now on your left shoulder and your hands wraps around both of his wrists. 

You stay still for a moment, your bodies joined together as your mouths lets out shaky laughs and breaths, he slide out of you delicately and turns you to sit you properly on the table again, his Hans on your thighs as they tremble.

Even in this moment you look the perfect combination of beautiful and wrecked to him. "I still can't believe how prefect you look all the time" he mumbles as he brushes some loose hair behind your ears softly.

You smile and pepper his face with sweet kisses that makes Art close his eyes in content, you slide off of the woodened forniture and take his hands in yours, "how about we take this to the bedroom, my love?"

He immediately nods in response and his eyes flutters when he feels your lips on his face. He feels like in this moment he could stand here and let you shower him with kisses forever. "Lead the way" he mumbles with a lazy tired smile on his face, his eyes follows you while you make your way to the bedroom.

━━━•❃°•°❀°•°❃•━━━

do not copy or repost.

[rubytuby]

winner winner

college!art donaldson x fem!reader

word count: 1.5k

warnings: none lol, just short and sweet :)

note: stanford art my beloved wow… that’s boyfriend, pookie even. also i have to say that i am a patrick girl and i'm cooking up something there for yall. let me know if you liked pleak!

As the sun beat down relentlessly on the Stanford practice court, every movement felt more grueling, the exhaustion seeping into your bones. After picking up stray balls for what seemed like the hundredth time, abandoning your racket and never looking back sounded more than enticing. Bending down to retrieve another ball, you could feel the pounding in your head, a dull throb forcing you to close your eyes. Your scalp was wet from sweat, and you could see your damp hair hanging in the corner of your eyes, clinging to your forehead as you moved. Stuffing the balls into your shorts pockets, you trudged back to the center of the court, wiping the sweat from your forehead with a sigh. 

Through half-lidded eyes, you blankly stared at hitting partner, Art Donaldson, who was looking right back at you with a big grin on his face. You cocked an eyebrow at him and shook your head impressed by his ability to look absolutely unphased by exertion. You felt another throb in your head and winced and placed your thumb and pointer finger over your eyes.

Art's grin faded, replaced by a look of concern. “Hey, you good?” he asked, stepping closer, genuinely worried for you.

You dropped your hand and waved him off, forcing a tired smile. “Yeah, yeah, just give me a sec,” you replied, though the pounding in your head was reminiscent of that one time at tennis camp when you almost got heat stroke.

Art eyed you skeptically, doubting your words. "Are you sure? You look like you might—"

"No, I can play," you interrupted him mid-sentence, your voice firm despite your fatigue. Art tilted his head to the side. "I swear I'm fine." You flashed him an exaggerated smile to prove your point.

Art’s eyebrows lifted slightly, lips curling into a subtle, amused smile. He knew you’d never call it quits, regardless of how tired you were. He then removed a ball from his pocket and held it out, shooting you a knowing look. You simply met his gaze with a blank expression. As you positioned yourself to receive the serve, he spoke with a hint of amusement in his voice, "Alright, this one's gonna be 130. Ready?"

"If you keep taunting me, I might just forget we're here to play tennis and accidentally walk back to my dorm," you joked.

"Well, you know I wouldn't mind going back to your dorm," he said with a wink.

You rolled your eyes and gave him a tight-lipped smile, bucking your head in an effort to get him to stop talking and actually serve the ball. You shifted your weight from one foot to the other and squinted against the beaming sun, silently cursing yourself for telling Art he could take whatever side of the court he wanted.

Art tossed the ball into the air and smacked the ball with his racket, you braced yourself, eyes locked on the ball's descent. With a swift motion, you swung your racket, the satisfying thwack of ball meeting strings reverberating through the air. Art effortlessly returned your hit and let out a soft grunt, initiating another rally. At this point in your practice, you had resigned yourself to serving each hit directly to Art, too tired to bother with tricking him. Art, though, seemingly wanted you to put the work in before you could call it a day. Hitting the ball just inside the front of the service box when you were way back by the center mark.

"If you wanted to win so badly, you could’ve just asked me to play nice," you remarked, words heavy with exasperation as you let the ball bounce off into the distance.

Art watched the ball roll away, silently celebrating. "Where's the fun in taking it easy?" he teased. "Maybe I wanted the challenge."

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at the corner of your lips. "Yeah, yeah," you replied. "I'm sure those distracting grunts are just part of your master plan to win, right?"

Art shrugged and walked over to you, leaning against the net. "Well, they're not meant to be distracting," he retorted, a smirk on his face. "But if they're taking you out of the game, maybe you're not cut out for this."

"Oh, please, last time I checked, the WTA and ATP didn't have any categories for grunts and groans," you said, turning your back to Art as you walked back to the baseline.

Art laughed, smile widening as he prepared to serve up another ball. "Maybe they should consider adding it," he quipped as he tossed the ball into the air. 

Art served the ball with a slice. You returned it with a swift backhand, and the rally began again. Each of you fell into a rhythm, the ball bouncing back and forth across the net.

"This is match point," you called out.

"If you say so," he replied, a confident grin spreading across his face.

The rally eventually grew more intense, each exchange faster and more furious than the last. Art’s eyes glinted as he positioned himself for the next shot. Suddenly, with a fluid and powerful motion, he sent the ball rocketing toward the far corner of the court. Your eyes followed its trajectory, a split second of realization dawning on you as you scrambled to reach it. But it was too late. The ball landed just beyond your outstretched racket, bouncing twice before coming to a stop. You halted and let out a frustrated groan, a pout forming on your lips.

Art watched as you dropped your racket and flopped down onto the court, frustration evident on your face. Laughing softly to himself, he sauntered over, picking up your racket along the way.

He leaned down next to you and patted your cheek, holding your racket out with a playful grin. "Tough break, champ," he teased.

You playfully tugged the racket from his hand and stood up, sticking out your tongue. "You live for these moments, don't you?"

Art grinned mischievously and nodded. "Oh, absolutely," he replied with a laugh. As the two of you strolled toward a nearby bench, he playfully snagged your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours.

"I swear to god I almost had it," you mused, shaking your head.

Art responded with mock dread, “Oh no, you lost for once, your reputation may never recover.” 

You both plopped onto the bench with a thud, limbs splayed out as you leaned back, panting heavily. The exhaustion from the intense rally was apparent in every breath you took, your chest rising and falling rapidly.

As you settled onto the bench, you placed your oversized bag on your lap and began rummaging for your water bottle. Art scooted closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. Then, after some serious searching, you unearthed your water bottle with a triumphant expression. Art feigned surprise, raising his eyebrows in mock astonishment before gently lifting your legs to rest across his lap, tracing his free hand against one of your knees. 

You brought the bottle to your lips and promptly you chugged down half of it in a couple of big gulps. Art stifled a laugh, watching you with amusement. "Thirsty?" he teased, nudging you playfully with his elbow.

You shot him a playful glare, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. "Shut up," you retorted, but the smile on your face betrayed your annoyance. He removed his hand from your shin and reached for your water bottle, but before he could grab it, you snaked it away from him, furrowing your brows and shaking your head.

"Nuh uh, what's the magic word?" You said, wagging your finger in his face.

Art raised an eyebrow. "Are you going to make me beg?" he teased, leaning closer to you, his face mere inches from yours.

“Maybe later,” you said, closing the gap between you two, smiling as you pressed a chaste kiss to his lips before handing him the water bottle.

Art grinned, taking the bottle from your hands. "Ok, now, can I please have a sip of water?"

You faked pondering for a moment. "Well, since you asked so nicely."

After taking a long drink, Art handed the bottle back to you with a smirk.

You giggled, rolling your eyes. "So, a rematch tomorrow?" you asked. "Coach says I need to work on my ‘’sloppy forehand’—whatever that means."

Art scoffed. "You? A ‘sloppy forehand’? Sounds like something he made up to get you to play harder," he teased.

"His words, not mine," you replied with a shrug.

Art leaned back against the bench, narrowing his eyes as he looked at you. "What if the loser buys dinner tomorrow?" he suggested.

You raised an eyebrow. "Is this your way of saying you’re tired of paying for me on every date?”

Art's expression softened, and he reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "It's not that, you know I don't care," he said, voice tender. "I just thought it would be a fun incentive."

You looked off to the side and faked pondered before saying, "Alright, deal."

Art leaned in, his lips brushing against your cheek in a gentle kiss. "Just so you know," he whispered into your ear, "I'm not planning on losing."

[sebscore]

PUT IT INTO SPEED DRIVE

pairings: charles leclerc x driver!reader // lando norris x driver!reader // george russell x driver!reader // alex albon x driver!reader

warnings: theft. swearing. talks about sexuality and a sexual reference. cops.

author’s note: the idea comes from this ask that someone send my lovely wife! 🥹 I changed it from a car to a camera, because I don’t want my poor baby to have her car stolen :((

masterlist

•••••••

“Now that you’ve won Monaco two times in a row, you’re too good to play with us?” Alex teased the younger one as she stood on the side of the public padel court.

Y/N stuck out her tongue at him. “Not the guy in a Williams trying to come for me.”

“Auwch.” Lando said to Alex, impressed by his friend’s comeback.

“We can only play with 4 people, and I’m sure Miss Monaco would love to be umpire.” George argued, giving the young woman an expectant look.

She quickly nodded at the tall Brit, holding her hand up to her head as if she were a soldier. “Yes, sir!”

“No! She can’t be umpire! She’s gonna call all my shots out.” Lando complained, pointing at her.

“She’s not, Lando.” Charles defended her, although there was a doubtful tone to his voice.

Y/N smirked at the McLaren driver. “Well, now I will.”

“See, Charles? We’re gonna lose now.” He told his doubles partner.

“I mean- you were gonna lose anyway.” George started the healthy competitive trash talk.

“OH!” Charles and Lando loudly chorused, pretending to be hurt by his words.

“Warm-up first, or do we just get straight into it?” Alex asked the three guys after everyone calmed down.

Charles, George and Lando glanced at one another. “Just get straight into it? It’s not like we’re gonna take this too seriously anyway.” George suggested, already knowing it would turn into a shit show soon.

Everyone agreed with a small chuckle, and started taking their own respective places on the court.

“Alright, who’s gonna serve?” Charles loudly asked.

“Wait! We should do it like they do in tennis! Deciding with a coin toss!” Y/N suggested.

“You have a coin?”

“I think I have one in my bag! Oh, I also have my camera with me, should we do like a before and after picture?” She snickered.

“That sounds good.” Alex stemmed in, the others nodding as well. “Yeah, I like it when I’m all sweaty and people take pictures of me.” Lando sarcastically joked.

“Basically our job.” Charles grinned.

“They should calm down on all the can-“

“HEY! THAT’S MY CAMERA!” Y/N’s shouting interrupted their small talk, their heads swiftly turning to where she was standing.

They were just about to ask for a clarification when they saw the young woman run after, what seemed, an unrecognizable man that was holding her camera.

“Y/N don’t do that!” George yelled to no avail, not wanting her to get hurt by the thief.

The quartet didn’t hesitate in grabbing their own stuff before running after their unhinged colleague- Lando also quickly took Y/N’s bag in his hands, figuring none of her other stuff should be stolen too.

The five of them watched in frustration as the mysterious man climbed into a car that drove away at high speed.

“We have to go after him!” Y/N yelled, agony on her face at the potential loss of the device. “Did someone come by car?”

Alex, Charles and George shook their heads, while Lando nervously glanced at his friend. “Uh, I did.”

“Norris, please?” She begged, growing more impatient by the second.

“Can’t you just by a new one? It’s really dang-“

“It’s the camera that you bought for me!” Y/N admitted, hoping it would convince the Brit to chase them down.

Fortunately, it worked. “Alright, let’s go.”

“Do all of us go or…?” Alex hesitated following the two youngest ones.

“Yes, Albono! The more, the better! We can ambush them!” Y/N loudly answered, resulting in the whole group following Lando to his car.

There was a collective disappointment as they made it to his car, not expecting his blue Jolly Fiat to be parked there.

Lando spoke up before anyone else could. “Look, if I had known we would be doing a Fast & The Furious, I would have come with another car. Get the fuck in.”

Lando got in the driver’s seat with Y/N taking taking the seat next to him as she knew where they had sped off to.

The three others were about to step in, but quickly found out that there were only 2 seats in the back. “Uh, someone is gonna have to stay behind.” George noted.

“Oh, no, someone can just sit on someone else, it’s fine, I’ve done it before.” Lando assured them.

Alex, Charles and George gave each other a nervous glance. “Uh, so who-“

“Come on, ladies! Get it before those assholes see all the ugly pictures I’ve taken of you guys.” Y/N’s words shut them up and they cramped into the backseats, Alex somehow ending on George’s lap.

“Let’s catch some thieves!” Lando shouted out, although the speed of his Jolly made the moment anti-climactic.

Meanwhile Y/N instructed Lando on where to go, Alex suggested someone call the police- which Charles decided to do since he had the best knowledge of the French language amongst the three of them.

“Why does this thing go so slow?” George criticized the car, a judging look on his face.

“They took inspiration from the Mercedes.” Lando bit back, not appreciating the slander of his car.

Alex, and Y/N snickered at the comment. “More like from Williams.” The youngest corrected.

“Hey, that’s enough!” Alex defended his team.

The attention went from Alex to Charles as he hung up the phone. “They’re gonna dispatch a team, and advised us to respect the rules of the road.”

“Fuck the rules, I want my camera back.” Y/N said, yelling at Lando as he almost went the wrong way.

“You’re not being a good navigator right now!” He screamed back.

She groaned at him. “I’m literally pointing at where you’re supposed to go!”

“You’re not pointing good enough!” The two 23 year-olds start bickering back-and-forth with one another, much to the dismay of the other three men in the small car.

“Why are they always like this?” Alex whispered to George and Charles.

The both of them shrugged their shoulders. “Unresolved sexual frustrations is my guess,” he mumbled, “at least on Lando’s part, I’m still not sure what Y/N is.”

The Williams and Ferrari driver snickered at George’s answer, somehow understanding what he was referring to.

“Are you gossiping about me, Russell?” Y/N suddenly turned around in her seat, catching the Brit off-guard.

He merely shook his head, his eyes widened.

“Good, you wouldn’t want the others to know what you’ve been up to.” Despite the sweet smile on her face, the threatening tone to her words made the Mercedes driver feel uneasy.

“THERE!” Y/N’s loud voice made the entire car flinch, Lando momentarily letting go of his steering wheel.

“Y/N ARE YOU CRAZY? WE COULD HAVE CRASHED!” Alex scolded the young woman, almost falling out of the car as he was still seated on George’s lap.

“I’m sorry, Albono,” she smiled sheepishly, “but look, the police stopped them.”

The four men in the car let out a collective sigh of relief, glad their adventure was over.

Lando parked the car on the side of the road, behind the thieves’ getaway car. They could see a cop walking over to them.

“You called?” He asked in French, glancing at the five of them.

The drivers shamelessly looked at Charles, the man internally rolled his eyes at them, but he answered his questions.

After some questions back-and-forth, Charles pointed at the woman in the passenger’s seat.

“Y-your camera?” The cop asked in a heavy French accent.

Y/N nodded her head, a polite smile present. “Yes.”

“Would you, uh, mind filling out a little paperwork in the combi? You’ll get your camera back as well and can check if there’s any damage.”

“Sure, no problem.” She gave her colleagues a smile, and made her way towards the large cop car.

The four drivers remained quiet as the cop didn’t follow Y/N, instead lingering around Lando’s car. “It’s a Jolly?” He asked.

“Yes!” Lando answered, cringing at his over-polite voice.

“Aren’t those for just four people…” The man gave the four of them a stern glance, raising an eyebrow.

They awkwardly chuckled, not knowing what to properly answer. “Uh, well, you know, our friend, she, uh-“

“I’ll let it slide, this one time only!” The cop raised his index finger, indicating this would be the one and only time he’ll let them get away with it. “And don’t speed around. I know you guys are Formula One drivers, but you also have to respect the rules.”

“Yeah, we will. Thank you so much.” George thanked him in name of everyone.

Y/N came walking back to the car, a happy look on her face as she had her camera back. “It’s not damaged!” She excitedly told them.

“That’s great, Y/N.” Lando was relieved his present for her hadn’t been broken.

“You guys are free to leave, but next time I’ll have to give you a fine, alright?” The cop reminded them one more time.

“It won’t happen again, thank you so much.” The group of five chorused several sayings of gratitude, before driving back to the sports center.

“Well, that’s going to be a fun story.” Charles snickered, dimples on display.

The others laughed, only then realizing how bizarre this whole situation was. “I don’t think people are even going to believe this.” George noted.

“Oh my god…” Y/N mumbled.

The heads of her four friends turned towards her. “What is it? Is something wrong with the camera?” Lando asked, concerned about the device.

“Those fuckers took a selfie with it!” She exclaimed, disbelief written all over her face.

“What?!”

“Look at this,” she handed it to the three guys in the back, the small screen showing the two men in their getaway car, “who fucking does that?”

“Well, at least we have proof now…”

[narrycherries]

call it what you want ✨ pt6

And so, the battle between guilt and jealousy continues…

masterlist

word count: 4.1k

warnings/tags: harry x reader, best friends to lovers, secret relationship, angst, fluff

As you were waking up, you could feel the cover rubbing against your bare skin. You completely forgot you went to sleep naked last night, even after Harry took initiative to clean you up, you didn’t get dressed. Neither did he. His body was molded into yours, his strong arms wrapped around you.

Your eyes opened and you groaned softly, not sure of the time but the sun was peeping through the blinds. Harry felt you move a little and it caught his attention. He had been awake for a few minutes already, and he was just waiting for you. He shifted his head back to look at your pretty face. Your cheeks were flushed and your eyes were barely opened.

“G’morning.” He uttered softly, a smile shaping to his lips as your eyelids lifted open more.

You licked your lips and sweetly smiled back. “Morning.”

“How do you feel?” His brows furrowed slightly as you snuck your hand up to his face.

Your fingertips softly touched his skin before sliding up his jaw. There had been a fascination with touching him building up in you over the past few weeks and last night’s events only made it stronger. He didn’t mind, though. He quite enjoyed it.

“Pretty good.”

“Not sore or anything?”

You shook your head as your eyes shifted to his neck. You silently began to admire the veins hiding beneath his skin. The little things about him were easily becoming your favorite things.

“I can’t.. believe we actually.. did that last night.” You gently laughed as the thoughts began replaying in your mind.

“Me either.. but everything’s okay, though, right? You’re okay with it?” As usual, Harry was trying to get your total reassurance that everything was fine.

“Well.. I have to be. We can’t undo it.”

He licked his lips and swallowed the lump in this throat. “I mean.. um, you liked it?”

“Yeah..” You nervously nodded. “It was.. amazing.”

Harry gave you a sigh of relief. “Yeah? It was so amazing.”

You grinned back and let out a squeal as his mouth started to attack your face, leaving sloppy kisses across your skin.

Sometime around lunch, a couple of your friends came up with an idea of going to play tennis at the recreational courts, and although you weren’t keen on the idea.. Harry thought it would be fun. He mentioned something about missing a few days at the gym and needing the exercise. You were not thrilled about him leaving you, so you lied and said you wanted to tag along. Harry believed you when you told him it would be a fun idea.. he didn’t realize you were lying.

Even though your day didn’t go as planned, you still were able to be with him. Your plan of relaxing on the couch or in bed all day with him rotting away while watching movies would have to happen another time. It was a hard pill to swallow, but no matter what happened between you two last night.. you had no choice but to move on.

So there you were at the tennis court sitting on a bench with one of your closest girl friends, Stephanie. A few of the guys showed up but it was just the two of you girls there. You opted to sit on the bench with her and leave the rough housing for the boys. They were way more competitive anyway. Harry and your brother were on a team so they were being extra obnoxious together.

Your eyes were glued to Harry’s duffle bag sitting on the ground next to the bench. It contained his water bottle and a change of clothes. You wanted to snatch his keys up, grab him, and run for the car to escape.. but you couldn’t. Your day with him would end after this.. You came in your own car to not raise any suspicions.

“I have a confession.” Stephanie sighed heavily next to you, her sudden words pulled you from your mindless trance.

“What is it?” You asked, adjusting yourself so you were now facing her.

She grinned, then rolled her eyes to herself. “It’s so stupid. Promise you won’t tell anyone?”

You laughed, then nodding. “I promise.”

“Harry’s kind of cute.”

Her words instantly made your heart jolt. You looked to her eyes and realized that she was staring at a him. All you wanted to do was scream at her and tell her off, but you stayed still and played it cool.

“What?”

“I mean, yeah. He isn’t ugly. He’s always been cute, what do you think?”

You shifted your eyes to Harry, who was currently laughing with celebratory joy after winning the first match. Austin was mocking the other guys and waiting for them to start the new match. Harry was covered in a layer of sweat. His sleeveless shirt didn’t leave much to the imagination with its low cut sides. The hem raised every time he swung his arm up, exposing his lower abdomen. You weren’t aware of how jealous you were until just now. You licked your lips and let out a fake laugh.

“That’s weird. I’ve known him forever.”

“God knows I have no chance and I don’t actually want one.. I was just admitting my observation to you. I feel like some of our other friends would mock me and tell him.” She shrugged as her eyes dropped down to her phone. She was reading a text she received.

“Yeah.. I wouldn’t say anything to him. It’s just weird to hear.”

Stephanie smiled, then looked over at you. “So you don’t think he’s cute?”

For a moment, you had a feeling of paranoia. Was Stephanie trying to get you to say something that would lead to a confession? Was she trying to get you to admit that you and Harry had more going on than just a friendship? Was there some sort of plan or scheme your friends came up with and put her in charge of? Was something happening.. or were you just very guilty? You hated lying to the people you care about - including your family. Lying about the situation with Harry was difficult and you made you feel horrible at times, but it was your life and no one else's…

You shook off the thoughts and sighed. “No.. not really. He’s not my type.”

The following ten minutes were absolute torture for you. There was a raging fire in your gut and you knew it was pure jealously. Stephanie had never admitted anything like that to you before, regarding Harry. You wondered if she was just lying about not having a thing for him to save herself some embarrasment. There was nothing else you could think of, not even Harry could distract you. You were watching him but your brain wasn’t registering him at all.

After a while, he glanced your way and noticed you were practically pouting on the bench. He made a mental note to call for a break after this match so he could check on you. Stephanie, on the other hand, wasn’t aware of your mood. She was spending most of her time watching the guys and laughing as they missed the ball.

“I’m going to run to the bathroom, do you need to go?” She asked as she nudged your knee with hers.

“No, I’m good.”

She mumbled something you didn’t care to hear as she stood up and grabbed her small purse. She disappeared from the court and you felt a bit of relief lift off your shoulders. Harry took the opportunity to call for a break. Austin and the other guys ran off towards the bathrooms, too, leaving you two alone.

“Hey, peach.” Harry jogged over to you, smiling as you looked up at him.

“Hi.” You whispered back, huffing as he sat down next to you.

“What’s wrong? Are you getting hot?” He asked, resting his hand on your thigh.

The intimate feeling of his sweaty palm against your skin made you swallow harshly. The realization of how this would look from another’s perspective took over your thoughts. You grabbed his wrist and tried to nicely push his hand back. The intent wasn’t to be mean to him, just to silently tell him it wasn’t appropriate now.

You shook your head. “No.. I’m fine.”

Harry frowned, easily noticing that you weren’t okay. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

“Don’t call me that here.” You snapped, crossing your arms on your chest.

He had only called you that a handful of times last night, and as much as you liked it, you didn’t want to hear it. Liked would be an understatement though, each time the word slipped from his mouth your body received a wave of euphoric energy - it was like the word itself could give you an orgasm. It was a new term he started to use, and it was obviously meaningful to you both already.

“Okay, m’sorry.” He wasn’t sure why you were being this way towards him, and he didn’t want to make it worse. “Anything I can do?”

You rolled your eyes and looked at him, instantly feeling your stomach drop. You were being rude to him when he hadn’t even done anything. This was going to be the last time you saw him for a few days and you didn’t want to end it on a sour note. You let your angry pout fade away and your eyes fall back to your lap.

“I can’t tell you what’s wrong.”

“Who said you couldn’t tell me?” He asked, slipping his hand onto your lower back. He knew that showing affection would be risky, but he didn’t care anymore. You weren’t okay and it was worrying him.

“I said.”

He moved his hand under your shirt and that made you anxious. Your brother could easily come back from the bathroom within seconds and witness this.

“Peach.. don’t be upset, okay? Whatever it is.. just ignore it.”

“I can’t ignore it.” You huffed back, still slightly annoyed.

Harry leaned into you and pressed a kiss to your temple. “You let things worry you too easily, love.”

“Just forget it.” You mumbled back, pushing him away from you.

He stood up, deciding to leave you alone. The last thing he wanted to do was upset you any more than you already were. If he had something wrong, he figured you’d tell him. So maybe it wasn’t him.. maybe something else had happened and you were being stubborn. That was exactly what was happening..

When Stephanie returned, you had hoped she wouldn’t bring Harry back up. Unfortunately, she did. You were focused on Harry as he swung his arm back to hit the tennis ball. Her sudden talking interrupted you.

“You know.. I got to thinking.. Harry’s never really had a relationship, at least not since I met him.”

You clenched your jaw and tried to think about something else as you replied. “A lot of our group haven’t been successful with those.”

“Hm, he must be.. like bad in bed or something. He’s too attractive to be single.”

You were somewhat repulsed by her comment. Even if you had no feelings for Harry at all, you wouldn’t say something like that. His sex life was definitely none of her business and making statements on it was weird.

“Or maybe he’s so good that he doesn’t want to be tied down.” She added.

“I mean.. I don’t really think about that when it comes to any of my friends. He probably just can’t find anyone decent around here.” You said with a shrug, pretending not to care.

“Well, Heidi found someone. You’re in the wedding, right?”

You were glad she moved past Harry again. “Yeah.”

“It’s in what, like, four weeks?”

“Something like that.”

Stephanie started to mumble about the wedding but you didn’t care to listen. Harry let out a heavy groan that caught your attention and reminded you of what occurred last night. You bit down on your cheek and watched closely as he struggled to hit the ball again. He was straining himself and you were concerned with him pulling a muscle. The exact same thing happened to you during the last baseball game, and that cramp was not fun to endure.

“Have you been talking to anyone recently? I remember you telling me about that one guy a few weeks back.” Stephanie stepped in the way of your fixation yet again.

“Um, not really. He was nice, but he was weird.”

She laughed a little. “Too weird for our friends? Have you met us?”

The truth was that you were talking to a guy recently but things ended abruptly on your end. You blocked his number and decided to not say anything about ending the situation to him. You had only met him once and there were no plans for a date. Besides, Harry completely took over that area of your life and he was worth way more than some guy you met at a bar. He wasn’t weird or unattractive or anything along those lines, but you simply weren’t interested. The day Harry kissed you, everything changed.

“Ah, fuck!” Harry yelled out.

You jumped up, terrified to know what had gone wrong. You were becoming more angry with Stephanie because she kept distracting you from Harry. Despite being concerned, you refrained from rushing to his side.

“Time for a break!” Austin said through a laugh.

“I’ll take his spot!” Stephanie said excitedly as she grabbed her own racket and joined your brother on the court.

Harry plopped down on the bench next to you, but not as close as before, with his hand gripping his upper arm tight. You swallowed the lump in your throat and scooted closer.

“Are you okay?”

He huffed. “Caught a cramp.”

“Do you want some water? You’re all.. sweaty.”

He nodded, his eyes still hadn't met yours. You reached into his bag and grabbed his water bottle. You popped open the cap and handed it to him.

Your stomach filled with butterflies as you watched the water run down his chin and drip onto his thighs. He was messily throwing the bottle up, sloshing water all over the place.

“If you weren’t so competitive.. you wouldn’t try so hard and hurt yourself.”

“M’not hurt. It’s just a cramp.” He made a weird face that rubbed you the wrong way. It reminded you of one of your brother's annoying sarcastic faces..

“I’m just saying..”

He didn’t reply, which sort of hurt your feelings a bit more. You were rude to him earlier but you didn’t think it would cause him to be the same way towards you. Normally, he does whatever he can to make you smile or laugh or feel better. Right now, he was giving you exactly what you gave him.

“Do you want me to massage it?”

He let out a breath that seemed more like a sigh. “You don’t want us to touch here, so.. no.”

For some reason - one you weren’t ready to admit to, your emotions were on edge and you felt your heart crack. Harry was never mean to you, he hardly ever said anything negative to you. He’s never really raised his voice or stayed mad at you before. You didn’t like this.

“Okay.”

He sat the bottle down on the ground and leaned his back against the bench. You didn’t know what to say, so you just kept your eyes on him. He was staring off, mindlessly watching the new match. Part of you was worried that he was hurt and he was just lying about being okay, while the other half was nervous that you were annoying him.

Harry’s roaming eyes caught your stare and he furrowed his brows, unsure of why you were looking at him the way you were.”Why are you staring at me?”

The coldness of his words made your stomach fall. You looked down to your lap and instantly everything shifted. You could feel your face reacting as the emotions rushed through your body. All you wanted to do was cry.

“You don’t have to be so mean..” Your voice was gentle, and you got his full attention when you stood up from the bench and walked towards the gate.

You heard footsteps behind you, but you didn’t stop. The destination was the women’s bathroom where you could get some alone time. Harry was hot on your trail though and just as you reached the door, he grabbed your waist and spun you around.

Instantly, he frowned. Tears were swelling in your eyes and your cheeks were red. He knew they weren’t just red from the sun..

“Hey, why are you getting upset?” He asked in a calm voice, one much more pleasing than what he spat out moments ago.

“You’re being mean.” You tried to push his hands down but you weren’t strong enough.

“I wasn’t trying to be. I’m just tired.”

You shook your head. “I was mean to you and you have every right to dish it back out.. but I hate it.”

“Hey, I’m not being mean to you. I’m sorry if it sounded that way.”

Harry didn’t care where you were at, he wanted to comfort you. His hand moved to press against your jaw and you let out a sad whimper. He felt a wave of guilt flood his body. Maybe he spoke with a tone he didn’t realize he had used..

“Peach, don’t cry. I promise I’m not mad at you or being mean, okay? You can be mean to me all you want. But I’ll never be mean to you, baby.”

You whined, frustration building up. “Don’t say that, Harry.. someone could hear you.”

“There’s nobody around us. Relax.”

“I don’t want people to know right now.”

He put his other hand in the small of your back, guiding you closer to him. “I know, I know.”

“Then stop.. being this way right now.” You scratched at his wrist but he still didn’t move his hand.

“I’ll stop if you tell me you understand that I wasn’t trying to be mean to you.” His eyes were pleading with you.

As much as you thought he was being that way, you knew he would never intentionally do anything like that. You could treat him like the worst human on the planet and he’d still worship the ground you walked on - even before he ever kissed you..

“I know, Harry.”

“Promise?”

“Yes.” You nodded, and sighed in relief as his hands left your body and he took a step back.

“Thank you for offering to take care of me, peach.” He said with a smile that made your heart skip a beat. “But I’m okay right now.”

“Just don’t want you to be hurting.”

He chuckled and licked his lips. “I know. You’re too sweet, hm?”

“Shh.”

“Sorry, sorry.” He knew none of your friends were around, but he opted to make you happy.

“I should’ve stayed at home.” Your words made him furrow his brows and slightly frown.

“What happened earlier, hm?”

You groaned and bolted your eyes shut. It felt like steam was rolling from your ears and you were about to explode. Harry could tell that whatever occurred had really made you upset.

“Stephanie said something stupid.”

“Stupid?” He lifted a brow, not believing that was the whole story.

“Yes. Stupid and it pissed me off.”

Usually you were very vocal and stood your ground when someone said something you didn’t like, even if it was one of your friends. But Harry didn’t notice any kind of confrontation earlier. Was it not stupid enough to warrant a verbal protest from you?

“What did she say?”

“It was.. just something rude.”

He lifted his brows as your eyes found his again. “About you?”

He knew that you and Stephanie were close, so the thought of her saying anything mean towards you or about you was hard for him to imagine. You let out a deep sigh and shook your head.

“No.. about you.”

He chuckled, sort of shocked. “Me?”

Harry expected you to give him a short answer, maybe even avoid saying what was actually said. But you surprised him again by rambling out the situation to him. He listened and watched your expressions switch from annoyance to anger to disbelief..

“Just.. she just said she thought you were attractive and she asked me if I thought you were cute.” You rolled your eyes and clenched your jaw for a second. “I kept telling her that I don’t see my friends that way. Then, she kept going. She said something about.. being surprised that you were single and maybe it was because you were bad in bed, or maybe too good, and I kept cringing and telling her it was weird to think about that.”

Harry licked his lips and slowly exhaled as the story unfolded before him. He noticed how irritated you were, how red your face had turned and how hard you were tapping your foot on the concrete. It was sort of amusing to him, but he refrained from laughing. You were being serious, and he didn’t want to make you think you were over reacting.

You turned away from him and threw your hands in the air, your attention was now on your own thoughts as they fell from your mouth.

“What kind of person says that about their friend? I mean, it’s nobody’s business what any of us do or don’t do or whatever, it’s so stupid. She really, really pissed me off.”

“I-“

You cut him off, not even realizing he was trying to speak. “This is why I don’t want to tell anyone about this shit because they’re so judgmental. Just because she thinks you’re cute doesn’t give her the right to say creepy things about you. And then have the nerve to ask me what I thought.”

Harry reached for your hand as your arm fell down, but you moved too quickly for him. You were facing him again, that same irritated pout on your face. He figured since you were quiet now, he’d take the opportunity to speak.

“You’re just a little jealous.” He grinned.

“Harry.” You huffed, not pleased with his amused expression.

“You’ve always been a bit jealous when it comes to me, yeah? Even before.. everything happened. And I’m the same with you.. it’s okay.”

Even though you knew he was right, you didn’t want to hear him say it out loud.

“I.. I’m not jealous.”

He scoffed and shook his head. “Yes you are.. and I would be if one of the guys said that about you.”

You groaned and balled your hands into tight fists. “I almost.. exploded. I wanted to tell her to shut the fuck up.”

He chuckled back. “Well I’m glad you didn’t, peach.”

Telling him how you felt sort of made the frustration fade away. You were still annoyed and rubbed the wrong way by the things that were said, but other thoughts were taking over. What if you didn’t control yourself earlier and you lashed out? Would Stephanie think you were just taking up for Harry and calling out her rude behavior or would she read into it more? Would she suspect you had feelings for him? The anxiety was building up immensely.

A sigh slipped from your mouth as your eyes fell to the ground. “This is.. hard, Harry.”

He wanted to wrap his arms around you and assure you everything was fine, but he was respecting your wishes of not showing affection publicly. So, he just gave you a gentle smile instead and kept his voice low.

“I know.. just remember that you’re the one in control.. Whoever you want to tell, whenever you want to tell them.. it doesn’t matter to me.”

You shook your head. “No, I’m not telling anyone right now. I’m not ready.”

“I know, and that’s fine.”

You figured it was time to return to the court. “She better not ever say anything like that to me again.”

Harry laughed louder this time. “You’re cute when you’re jealous.”

He laughed even more as you rolled your eyes and walked past him, ignoring his comment. He followed you back to the court, a smile stuck on his lips as he thought about your jealousy. It was sort of attractive in an odd way. The thought of you being protective over him was intriguing. No matter what though, he knew that if he were in your shoes.. he would’ve been just as jealous.

.

[a/n: sorry I’ve been away for a while.. had a lot of personal things happen back to back that wrecked me.. anyway, here’s a little update :) I know it’s not very long or filled with smut but pls remember this is a series that will have multiple part that aren’t smut. thanks for coming back for this one! More to come soon ❤️]

taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @victoriasigaard @ariiscringe @harlowsgirl @lomllover @haniaaa04 @sideboobrry11 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @fangirl509east @fruity-harry @storyschanging @tpwk-kiley

[ghostgirl-22]

Somehow the conversation coming up that art doesnt know what he likes or knowing his own body because he always did what he was supposed to and no girl has felt the need or want to touch him because "hes the man and shouldnt need all that" "guys take care of the girl not the other way around" iykwim so patrick decides to help him figure it all out

How much pressure he likes, how wet he likes it, if he like gentle or nipping, gripping or biting.. where his erogenous zones are... kissing the sensitive parts of his inner thighs, what roles he likes to take, how he likes to be spoken to...?

U can ignore this part but Maybe pat asks "You never even tried doing it yourself? Like taken your time and see where your hands go?"

art says how would i be able to figure it out when i dont know where to start or what to do. Pat understands there probably a repression aspect to it aswell aand so they discover art together with pat guiding him through this new world/exploration

Omg! Your ask is literally ten times better than what I wrote but I love you for letting me try it dear nonnie <3

CW: 18+ !NSFW! Explicit

Basically this is just yearning and longing and porn with the thinnest of plots. So Artrick core.

——

It all comes out over holiday break. Art is staying with Patrick, it’s a few days after Christmas and Art’s parents are already busy with fundraisers and meetings. To them it doesn’t matter how Art gets back to Stanford, as long as he gets back so they could care less that Patrick keeps him for a few days.

They’re up too late. Patrick is lying on the floor with his laptop, looking up the scheduled matches for this season and who he’ll likely be playing. Art has taken over his bed, flipping channels on the television, going back and forth between American Pie on TBS and ESPN. Patrick is certain the sex conversation starts because they’re watching American Pie but what starts out as Art trying to get more information about Patrick’s sex life with Tashi leads to Art admitting he’s never really explored what he likes in bed.

“What do you even mean, explore?” Art asks, suddenly self conscious. He’s such a little perfectionist, checked off all the boxes, straight As, Ivy League college, division one tennis player, first girlfriend at the “right” age, lost it (many times) before high school finished. Patrick can tell it’s frustrating him to feel like he missed something. “Do you mean… touching myself?”

That’s really all it takes to divert Patrick’s attention. He shuts his laptop and sits up, gazing at Art. “Yeah jerking off is one part,” Patrick says, “But I meant what do you like?”

“I like having sex,” Art shrugs, “it’s simple. What else is there to explore?”

“Oh come on,” Patrick smirks. “It’s anything but simple. Do you even know your favorite position?”

Art rubs his arm, its so obvious he’s never even thought about it. “I don’t really… I mean um… I like… you know… the usual way.”

“Yeah that checks out,” Patrick says teasingly and Art’s gaze darkens.

”Why? How do you fuck Tashi?”

Patrick grins because he knew it was coming. “Nice try.”

Art huffs an irritated sigh. “Whatever man. Just because I’m not trying every position or whatever. I mean what difference does it make? She still…everybody still leaves happy.” Art picks up the remote and switches channels again like he’s done with the conversation but his skin is starting to flush.

He’s so easy. Patrick decides to push a little more. He shoves Art’s legs over and settles next to him on the full sized bed. Art just sits up, crossing his legs, he rests back on his palms.

Maybe it’s because Patrick helped him with his first sexual experience or maybe it’s because he has some kind of corruption kink but he loves whenever their relationship shifts back around to this show-me-how dynamic.

Art is so good at walking this line of self delusion that he’s this perfectly good straight boy… but when he needs something from Patrick. Usually experience. That’s when the lines start to blur. It’s a fucking mess but that’s exactly where Patrick lives.

“Look dude it’s not even about that.” Patrick continues. “It’s about… you remember when we were kids. You were so scared you’d suck at kissing so I—”

“Yeah I was a dumb kid,” Art interrupts quickly.

“Sure but you practiced…” Patrick points out. “And you’re a really good kisser now,” he says, smirking. Art looks away.

Patrick sighs. “I’m just saying if you play around… and learn what you really like. Sex can be really, really fucking good. Besides that’s half the fun of it anyway, right?”

Art chews his bottom lip and then he sighs. “It’s just… I mean I’m a guy… I thought I was supposed to look things up. I didn’t want to look like I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“What did you look up?”

“I don’t know, how to put on a condom? Only the first time. And like there was this article about unhooking different types of bra straps. Shut up,” he adds, shoving Patrick gently because he can’t help laughing at that.

“Okay how about this?” Patrick says, the ghost of a smile still on his lips. He leans back against the headboard, “Do you like it slow? Or do you prefer going fast?”

”Both,” Art says. “I like whatever she likes to do.”

“You don’t have a preference? What about when you’re touching yourself?”

Art plays with his tongue, rolls it back and forth in his mouth as he’s thinking. “Slower.” He says after a while. “Like… when I get the chance I like it…” He glances at Patrick and then looks determinedly back at the tv. “Slower.”

Patrick takes a breath and tries to slow himself down too but he can already feel his cock starting to fill up. “Okay what about touch? What makes you feel good? What gets you up?”

Art frowns. “I um… I don’t—- what about you? Where do you—” he sighs and then shakes his head. “Patrick, this is ridiculous.”

“No it isn’t, what’s ridiculous is you really don’t know what you like.”

Art is gripping the remote too tightly. “I know what I like,” he says.

“What?” Patrick gazes at him.

“Lots of stuff,” Art says.

“Like?”

Art rubs his thighs, Patrick looks down, following the anxious movement.

“I know something you like,” Patrick says after Art doesn’t say anything for a minute. “You want me to show you?”

Art starts playing with his tongue again, he takes a deep breath and nods and Patrick sits up so he’s close.

“You like it when someone kisses you here,” he brushes his knuckles along the junction between Art’s neck and collar bone and he shivers, pulling his shoulder up towards his ear. Patrick considers going in for the kiss but getting Art in a headspace is a delicate thing. It can lead everywhere and nowhere depending on how Patrick handles him.

And he knows Art… fuck… apparently he knows things about Art’s body that he’s not even aware of. This messy little “friendship” is gonna drive him crazy.

“Can I—“ Patrick lets his fingertips settle along the nape of Art’s neck where his curly hair is fine and baby soft. Art closes his eyes momentarily and takes a little breath.

”You like that too,” Patrick says.

“Yeah,” Art says softly.

Patrick licks his bottom lip to keep himself from licking at the flush on Art’s throat. “Do you like being on top? Or on the bottom?” Patrick asks, carefully.

Art opens his eyes and bites his lip again before taking a deep breath. “I think I prefer it when she… when she’s on top.”

“What do you like about it?”

“I don’t know… it’s hot. I mean…” he looks at Patrick. “I like looking at her tits when she….” He looks down shyly. Such a stupidly, pretty boy.

Patrick smirks. “So you're a boob guy.”

“So are you,” Art says, like he’s been caught doing something bad and doesn’t want to be the only one to get in trouble.

Patrick shrugs. “I love everything. I’m more of an ass man. But if you want to kill me show me a great pair of legs… I mean… fuck.”

Art rubs his thighs again. “I really like Tashi’s legs.”

“I bet you do,” Patrick smirks, leaning in. “What about you? You ever let her touch your chest?” He teases his fingers over Art’s t-shirt where his pecs are. Art gasps lightly as Patrick pinches just the right spot and the nipple starts to harden immediately. Patrick circles it lightly and Art shifts on the bed, pressing one hand into his lap and pushing Patrick away with the other. “Fuck no. That’s weird right?” Art asks, his voice a little pitchy.

God he fucking loves it. Patrick wants to push him down on the bed. But he sits on his hands to make himself behave. “What’s weird about it?” Patrick asks.

“I mean… I’m a guy. Why would she want to touch my… my nipples.” Art huffs a nervous little laugh.

“To make you feel good,” Patrick says softly.

Art licks his lips idly and lets out another breath.

“What about grip… do you like it soft?” Patrick asks.

Art nods. “Yeah.”

“This?” Patrick grips his wrist gently. “Or this?” He asks gripping a little tighter. “Or?” He grips tighter still, until Art squeezes his eyes shut.

“The… the middle… the second one.”

“Just right,” Patrick lets up on his grip. “What about here?” Patrick trails his fingertips…slowly… down Arts tummy.

“Stop,” Art breathes as Patrick’s fingers reach the elastic of his boxers.

Patrick shrugs, letting go of the elastic and smirking. He could do this all night. Touch and poke and prod and feel. He knows it’s turning Art on. He’s flushed so fucking beautifully, worrying his lips all red, squirming on the mattress.

“What about…” Patrick sits up on his knees and plays his fingers into Art's hair. Art looks up at him eagerly. Eyes fully dilated, lips parted, breathing shallow.

God.

Such a fucking pretty, pretty boy.

All Patrick wants now is whatever the fuck he can get away with. “Can I kiss you soft?” He asks as he presses his lips to Art’s mouth. Art nods and opens up, sliding his tongue into Patrick’s mouth right away, wanting it. Even though they’d only ever kissed a handful of times, ever since the first time their lips touched Patrick could tell that for Art kissing would be a Thing with a capital T. Patrick caresses the side of Art’s throat and feels it as he shivers. He listens to the way Art’s breathing. So aware of how Art’s body is moving. He’s opening up, he’s uncrossed his legs, knees pulled up, he’s grabbing at Patrick’s t-shirt trying to pull him closer as Patrick starts to deepen the kiss. Pressing his tongue more firmly into Art’s mouth. Art really likes that. He starts gasping, nibbling on Patrick’s lip before pushing his own tongue back in. When he starts moaning Patrick pulls back. His heart is railing against his ribcage and he’s losing himself. His hips are pressed in between Art’s legs feeling everything. Certain Art is feeling everything.

”Fuuckk,” Patrick breathes. He flops onto the bed resting his head on his pillow. If he were with Tashi right now he’d probably be halfway inside her already. Everything with her is impatient, horny and desperate. Everything with Art is pleading, anxious and pretending he doesn’t want it as badly as he fucking does.

Art is breathless, lips kiss swollen, he scoots back to get distance. “This is… so…”

“You like dirty talk?” Patrick interrupts.

Art smiles a bit and shrugs. “Kinda.”

“What’s kinda?” Patrick asks.

Art kicks his legs, lightly. “I like… I like when she tells me how she can’t wait for me to fuck her…”

Patrick sits up on his elbows. “Like I’m so wet for you baby, can’t wait to feel that big dick inside me?” Patrick says softly.

”Jesus Patrick,” Art says, covering his face.

“What?” Patrick says, smiling slightly at the reaction.

“You don’t have to say it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you're wet,” Art whispers.

“So what do you want me to say?” Patrick says, he gets up again, abruptly crawling back into Art’s personal space. Art reacts at the sudden movement by opening his mouth… Patrick can see his little pink tongue, desperate for another kiss.

Art is gazing at him, pupils so large the rings of blue are barely visible. They’re so close, their lips are almost touching when Art licks his mouth. A horny little mess, if Patrick tried it now he thinks Art might let him fuck.

Patrick smiles and then leans against Art’s ear. “Can’t wait till you fill me up and fuck me good baby…” he murmurs softly.

“Yeah,” Art says quietly. “I can fuck you good.”

Patrick thinks he’s gonna go insane.

Art’s breathing starts to pick up again.

“Can you fill me up and stretch me… fuck me so hard I can feel you for days…” Patrick whispers.

“Mmhm,” Art hums eagerly, he starts lapping and sucking along Patrick’s throat, it’s so fucking yummy.

Patrick rubs his hand lightly along the inside of Arts thigh, trying to graze his knuckles along Arts cock. Art hitches another breath.

“That feel good?” Patrick asks gently.

“Yeah,” Art says breathlessly.

“You like it when she goes down on you before you fuck her?” Patrick asks.

“Yes, mm, yes,” Art says eagerly, shifting on the bed so Patrick can get between his legs. It’s so slutty the way he opens up so quickly, knowing what Patrick wants to do. Patrick presses a kiss along the inside of his upper thigh.

“Mm,” Art whines, and Patrick’s sure he’s just found another sensitive spot. He kisses it again, this time sucking at the skin there and Art moans properly. Patrick grins and starts palming him through his shorts. His own cock feels so fucking heavy. He’s thought about fucking Art since the first time he watched him nut all over himself but right now he feels like he’ll die if he doesn’t get this.

“You gotta tell me how you want it to feel,” Patrick says looking up at him. “Can you talk me through it?”

“What if your… what if we get caught?” Art whispers.

“Everyone is asleep by now I promise,” Patrick says.

”Are you sure?”

“Fucking yes.” Patrick says impatiently, though if he’s honest he wouldn’t give a fuck at this point if they were all right outside his bedroom door. He can’t help himself, he tugs Art’s shorts down to see it.

He’s still barely got any hair there and he’s definitely still blonde everywhere. He’s so hard, his cock is so pretty and pink and full to the tip, pearls of cum dripping. Patrick laps it up and Art hisses.

“Talk to me,” Patrick whispers. “You like it wet?”

“Fuck,” Art breathes. “I mean yes. Yeah I want it wet. Oh god.”

Patrick fills his mouth.

“Oh— oh— fuck—-“ Art groans, he’s so loud. His hips stutter but Patrick holds him down, swirls his tongue around, doesn’t swallow anything, just drools all over it. Arts toeing the bed, trying to push up. “Mm fuck your tongue can you… can you do it faster…” Art moans. So Patrick moves his tongue faster.

He doesn’t ask, maybe because he’s too far gone but he teases his fingertips up along Art’s entrance and the sounds that Art makes in response, make Patrick shiver.

“Patrick,” Art gasps, his body is practically vibrating. Patrick presses his fingers in a little deeper and he moans like the boys do when Patrick’s on those websites in the middle of the night with the volume down low. But Art can’t be quiet… and Patrick doesn’t want him to stop.

“Patrick! Patrick I can’t—- I think I’m gonna—I’m gonna fucking cum— holy shit—“ Art wasn’t even done saying Patrick’s name when Patrick’s mouth started filling up. And boy does it fucking fill up. Patrick’s swallowing, and swallowing and swallowing. He’s so greedy he doesn’t want to waste a single drop of it. Art is whining breathlessly when Patrick finally lets it drop from his mouth, still so shiny and red and wet, twitching helplessly. Patrick just stares at it, dizzy for a minute before he drops onto the bed next to Art and reaches between his legs and starts touching himself.

Art sighs and pulls his shorts up properly before rolling over. He puts his hand where Patrick’s is and starts helping. “What about you? Art asks softly. “What do you like?”

A/N: Sorry this took hundreds of years my love. I wanted to do better but unfortunately got lots to catch up on so it shall be good enough <3