#best tennis gear

[tennisshop-ae]

[starryhyuck]

pairing: challengers!johnjae x afab!reader

words: 3.5k+

summary: johnny suh and jeong jaehyun are determined to prove their worth to you in this year’s tennis competition. you all end up receiving more than you expected.

genre: smut

warnings: there is some mlm johnjae so please don’t read if you’re uncomfortable with that, double penetration, cunnilingus, oral sex, handjobs, talks of creampies, three way make out

thank you for 9.5k followers!!

“Your serve is fucking insane.”

You hum noncommittally, fingers tightening around your bottle to spray more water into your mouth. You wipe the sweat from your brow as Donghyuck continues to eye you with amazement.

“You do know that ball boys don’t usually get to talk to the players, right?” You comment, a little perturbed by how easy it is for the younger man to approach you.

His eyes continue to sparkle despite your demeaning remark. Unbeknownst to you, Donghyuck signed up to become the tennis team’s lackey just to be able to see you in action.

You were the crown jewel of the university’s tennis program, having been recruited from the early stages of your high school career. Much speculation occurred at your decision to go to college first instead of turning to a professional career. You insisted to your parents that your education was still important despite your only shining skill being the ability to hit a ball with a racket. You slaved away most of your hours on this court, practicing to become the next best tennis player South Korea has ever seen.

“I’m looking forward to your match on Saturday,” Donghyuck says, eagerly handing you another tennis ball when you outstretch your palm to him.

Your eyebrow quirks up at the mention. The Korea Open kicked off this weekend and the press was convinced you would gain another title under your belt. You normally don’t enjoy goading them on, but you have a good feeling about the tournament this year.

“Scatter, pea brain,” Suyeon hisses when she approaches you two, flicking Donghyuck’s ear. The boy grumbles before returning to his place near the wall. Once he’s out of earshot, Suyeon turns her attention back to you. She’s dressed in one of her tightest skirts, indicating she has plans set in motion for tonight. “Are you ready to go yet?”

You shake your head at her inquiry. “I’m not done. Go ahead without me.”

She whines pitifully, clutching your arm tightly. “I can’t! You know I get much more attention when I walk in with you.”

You sigh. Suyeon has been chattering nonstop to you about all of the players who have flown in for the games this week. Tonight was the first party hosted by your university to welcome them, and your roommate took that as a green light to snag one of the tennis players for herself.

“I still need to practice my backhand-“

“Do you want me to get on my knees and beg? Because I’ll do it.”

To prevent Suyeon from embarrassing herself even further, you hoist her arm and tug her away. She rejoices when you zip up your racket and bid your goodbyes to the remaining staff on the court. You do your best to ignore Donghyuck’s cheerful holler after you.

When you ask Suyeon if you can simply wear your practice gear, she throws you a disgusted look and quickly tugs you back to your shared dorm to change. You allow her to play dress up as she wants, wrapping your figure into a body hugging dress from the back of your closet. As soon as she deems you decent enough for the party, she hauls you over to the university’s lounge, where tonight’s events will be taking place.

Your first thought when you enter the party is that you would much rather be on the court. Just as Suyeon predicted, every eye turns to you when you step inside.

Whispers of tennis prodigy echo around the room and you try your best not to roll your eyes. Suyeon, on the other hand, basks in your popularity and bats her eyes towards the players that begin to approach the both of you. You decide to dodge the awkward conversation, excusing yourself to grab a refreshment.

It’s in the midst of downing a lemonade when you feel a presence linger behind you.

You turn to see none other than Johnny Suh and Jeong Jaehyun, the winners of last year’s doubles title. You heard that Jaehyun had enrolled into the same university as you while Johnny opted to go professional.

Despite the distance, the two seem closer than ever. And tonight, they stare at you like you’re their last meal.

“Hi,” you greet with an eyebrow raised.

Johnny speaks first, saying your name with a devilish grin. “We were wondering if we would see you here.”

He starts to introduce himself and Jaehyun, but you hold out a hand to stop him.

“I know who you are. I watched you two crush it at last year’s match,” you say, humming while you refill your glass. Jaehyun’s eyebrow ticks up at the revelation while Johnny’s smirk widens. “I’m guessing you’re both back to defend your title?”

“That, and to prove we’re just as good in the singles,” Johnny answers. You swallow a laugh at his unwavering confidence.

“I see you practice on the court sometimes,” Jaehyun says, diverting the topic of conversation back to you. “You’re incredible — I’ve never seen a backhand like yours.”

You smile at him, thanking him for the compliment. Jaehyun was definitely the more timid one of the pair, while you could tell Johnny led most of their conversations.

You feel like you’re in the lion’s den, with Johnny ready to pounce and Jaehyun waiting for permission to do the same.

Luckily, Suyeon rushes over and becomes your unknowing savior. Her hand wraps around your upper arm and she whines pitifully in your ear.

“SOS! SOS!”

“What is it?” You ask, eyes still remaining on the two men in front of you. Johnny’s fingers are slowly tightening around his glass and you wonder if he has the strength to break it. Jaehyun holds his a little more delicately, but you can see him clenching his fist behind his back.

You imagine one of them tangling their hands through your hair while the other wraps his around your neck.

“I don’t know anything about tennis,” Suyeon sighs, bringing you out from your lewd fantasy. “Come and help me, please?”

You smile at the two players, setting your glass down on a nearby table.

“Apologies, boys. Duty calls.”

You feel the weight of their stare follow you as you walk over to help Suyeon battle tennis talk.

You ponder if they’re desperate enough to stay behind for you.

—

You receive your answer later in the night.

As soon as Suyeon is all set for a lovely evening with a pretty player named Yuju, you start to make your way to the exit. You’ve had enough social interaction for one event, but two figures lingering by the door makes you second guess that decision.

Jaehyun adjusts his posture when he catches sight of you while Johnny leans casually against the wall, trying to make it seem as if he’s not affected by your appearance.

“You’re still here,” you hum, folding your arms across your chest. Both pairs of eyes quickly dart down to the swell of your breasts before moving upwards, acting like they weren’t just checking you out.

“Party’s too fun,” Johnny bites, sarcasm flooding his tone.

“I’m sure,” you chuckle dryly.

“Is your friend all good to go?” Jaehyun asks, and you can tell from the tone of his voice that he genuinely wants to know the answer.

You smile at him. “Yes, I was able to rescue her from the awful tennis small talk.”

Johnny kicks off from his position against the wall, approaching you with determination. Jaehyun eyes him carefully, and you realize from their body language that they have done this dance before. You think about how many other girls have fallen into their open trap.

“Well, maybe tennis talk isn’t all that bad. Especially in a quieter setting.”

Johnny reaches into his pocket, and pulls out his spare key set to one of the dorms the university is housing them in. He dangles them in front of your face, and you drink in his smug expression and Jaehyun’s anxious anticipation at your answer.

You tilt your head teasingly. “You don’t beat around the bush, do you?”

Johnny shrugs. “Nothing wrong with a few tennis players strategizing before the match, right?”

Against your better judgment, you follow the two back to their dorm. You ignore the way Johnny’s fingers brush against the back of your thigh as he walks behind you and how Jaehyun’s hand continuously knocks into yours, pinky fingers brushing by each other. They clearly have set motives for the night and you would be lying if you said your mouth isn’t foaming at the idea of taking them both at once.

Jaehyun unlocks the door for you both, and Johnny keeps a steady hand on your lower back as he guides you in. As you expected, the university set them up in a double room, with separate twin beds pressed against each wall.

Before you can comment on the size of the room, a hand snakes around your middle, pulling you against Johnny’s backside. His fingers brush your hair to the side, pressing kisses against your exposed neck. Jaehyun has fallen to his knees in front of you, pushing up the fabric of your dress so he can catch a glimpse of your panties.

You make no moves to stop either of them, hands intertwining with Johnny’s as he continues his assault on your throat. You faintly register that you’ll have to cover up his marks before your match tomorrow, but Jaehyun nipping you at your thighs brings you out of your thoughts.

“So you’ve done this before?” You confirm while Johnny’s hands harshly squeeze your hips.

“Maybe,” Johnny hums teasingly, drawing out the last syllable. “But no one as pretty as you.”

You scoff and roll your eyes at his cheesy retort. You look down to see Jaehyun staring up at you, eyes filled with unbridled lust. You stroke his cheek gently and giggle.

“Are you waiting for permission?”

Johnny chuckles from behind you. “He’s waiting for you to sit on his face, sweet girl.”

Your eyebrow quirks up in surprise. Multiple exclamation marks pop up in your head but you’re not one to hesitate if someone is willingly offering to provide you an orgasm, so you bunch up your dress to your waist and hover over Jaehyun’s mouth. Johnny helps you in the process, pulling your underwear to the side and guiding your hips until Jaehyun’s tongue brushes against your folds. You gasp at the feeling and Jaehyun wastes no time diving into you, eagerly eating your cunt like his life depends on it.

Johnny’s hands have wandered to the straps of your dress, pulling it down and fondling your breasts. His fingers roll over your nipples, hardened and peaked from the intense foreplay.

He whispers in your ear, playing the devil on your shoulder. “Feels good, doesn’t it? Jae loves it when it’s sloppy like this, loves to feel his mouth being used.” Your eyes roll to the back of your head, catching the implication in his tone that Johnny has been in your spot before. “He likes it better when you tug on his hair like this,” Johnny says as he guides your hand to Jaehyun’s head, allowing you to pull the strands. “It lets him know he’s doing a good job.”

Jaehyun’s lips swallow every drop of essence your pussy grants him. He seems to be thoroughly enjoying the experience, hands grabbing your ass and pulling you deeper onto him.

It’s not long before you’re completely riding Jaehyun’s face, desperately pushing yourself back and forth on his mouth in pursuit of your orgasm. You whimper when his tongue flicks over your clit, teasing the nub until you’re begging for him to make you cum.

“Please, please,” you whine, fingers tugging on his hair harshly. “Wanna cum, Jae, please.”

“Let the princess get what she wants,” Johnny says to Jaehyun. “Can’t have the tennis prodigy all wound up before her big match.”

Jaehyun follows Johnny’s orders, lips wrapping around your clit and sucking until your orgasm hits you. You cry and ride out your high until your thighs start shaking. Johnny’s arms hoist you up and before you know it, he’s throwing you onto one of the beds in your post-orgasm haze. You hear the clinking of belts and a hand wraps around your throat, squeezing gently.

“Sit up, pretty girl. Want to see my cock slide down your throat,” Jaehyun whispers to you. His mouth is still covered in the remnants of your orgasm, and he casually licks his lips to capture some of the taste.

Johnny slides in to your left as you sit up, feet dangling over the side of the twin bed. You pull your dress off, flinging it across the room. With Jaehyun on your right, you give him your attention first. Your hand trails down his stomach until you’re gently grasping his cock, pulling him from the confines of his briefs. Your mouth waters at the sight of him, long and pink with pre-cum gushing from the tip. You can’t believe he was this hard the entire time he ate you out.

Your head turns to Johnny, who is smirking down at you. His fingers are already wrapped around his base, pumping slowly while he watches you. He’s thicker than Jaehyun but equally as aroused. You replace his hand with yours, mimicking his previous motions.

You find a rhythm between the two, alternating between sucking one cock and stroking the other, and switching before one of them can complain about the lack of attention. Johnny’s hand possessively grips your hair while Jaehyun keeps a solid pinch at the nape of your neck, keeping you steady.

“What a nice picture this would make,” Johnny laughs sinisterly, observing as you lick him from his base to his tip. “Maybe we should commemorate this moment, Jae. They could put it up in the Hall of Fame.”

“What? Right over a plaque that says best cocksucker?” Jaehyun chuckles. “Add best pussy too while you’re at it. Never tasted a cunt so sweet.”

You ignore their degrading comments, too enraptured in taking their cocks down your throat as best as you can. Just the thought of having them both inside you is enough to make you clench your thighs, chasing friction as slick drips from your cunt.

“Hm, wonder what the little princess is thinking about,” Johnny murmurs. “Maybe what it would be like to take two cocks at once?”

You whimper around Jaehyun’s length, his tip hitting the back of your throat. Jaehyun clicks his tongue, giving two experimental thrusts that has you gagging.

“Selfish of her,” Jaehyun comments to Johnny. “Wants all the attention for herself, on and off the court.”

“Let’s not make her wait any longer then.”

You cough a little when Jaehyun pulls himself out of your mouth. Johnny tugs on your hair harshly until you’re facing him. He leans down to press his lips to yours, tongues fighting for dominance as he pushes you back down on the bed. You clutch the back of his neck, hungrily kissing him until you’re gasping for breath.

They adjust your body so Jaehyun lies underneath you, cock prodding at your waiting hole. Johnny hovers above you, spitting at your pussy and pushing two fingers into your waiting heat.

You mewl at the intrusion and Johnny grins. “Just as I predicted, Jae, still wet and ready for us.”

When he pulls his digits out, you release a croaky laugh.

“So which one of you plans on taking home the singles trophy tomorrow?”

You feel them eye each other at your question, both lining themselves up to sink into you.

“The best man will win,” Jaehyun mumbles in your ear, not sounding so confident in his answer.

You smile, sensing an open opportunity to encourage some harmless fun. You can already picture the two of them tomorrow — sweaty and desperate to prove themselves as the best. The thought of them being so competitive for the title causes more slick to gush from your pussy.

“How about this then — tonight, you both have to pull out. But tomorrow, whoever wins the title gets to cum deep inside me,” you drawl, watching as Johnny’s eyes cloud over and feeling Jaehyun’s hands tighten around your waist. “And I’ll wear your cum in my panties all day to show everyone who I belong to.”

The idea of them staking a claim on you drives them into a frenzy. You whine when they both push into your cunt, fighting for the tight space between their ridiculously large cocks. You collapse onto Jaehyun’s front, head falling against his shoulder.

“Slut,” Johnny growls at you. “That’s how it’s going to be, hm? Pretty princess wants cum dripping down her legs as she practices her backhand?”

Jaehyun groans in your ear. “Fuck, I want to see that so badly.”

Your mind is drawing a blank, heat filling your stomach as the both of them continue to press into you.

Jaehyun chuckles. “Maybe we didn’t think this through, John. Looks like her pussy can’t even fit the both of us.”

“Maybe you’re right, Jae.”

When they start to pull out, your head whips up with an unmatched fury.

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

“There she is,” Johnny smirks. “Princess wants us to break her pretty pussy, is that it?”

Your competitive nature flares up. “Trust me, I can take it.”

Johnny and Jaehyun exchange another round of looks and eyebrow raises. You feel utterly unprepared when Jaehyun plants his feet on the bed and Johnny situates his knees, his hands grabbing your thighs. They begin a furious pace, with Jaehyun roughly thrusting upwards and Johnny railing you until your head hits the wall.

You nearly scream, convinced that the neighboring dorms are going to file noise complaints by the end of the night.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you hiss at the feeling of two cocks driving into you.

You feel completely full as they stretch you out. Johnny’s hand comes down to your clit to try and ease some of the pain. You crumble when the pain ebbs into waves of pleasure, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“There you go,” Jaehyun coos in your ear. “Just let us take care of you, baby.”

Two fingers slide into your mouth and you clutch Jaehyun’s wrist, gagging on his digits.

“Can’t wait to cum inside this tight cunt tomorrow,” Johnny grunts.

You hear Jaehyun scoff and give another harsh thrust, almost knocking you against the wall again. You blubber on his fingers but he doesn’t seem to mind the drool slipping down his wrist.

“What makes you think you’ll be the sure winner?” Jaehyun asks between throaty groans.

Johnny chuckles at the question. “Come on, Jae. You can’t be serious.”

“And if I was?”

Your orgasm hits you without warning and you cry, back arching and thighs shaking from the intense pleasure. You have to blink a few times before regaining your senses, and you’re surprised by what you find when you can finally see clearly.

Johnny’s lips are locked with Jaehyun’s, their tongues fighting for dominance in a messy kiss. They’re both still pounding into you albeit at a slower pace, suddenly enraptured by one another as Johnny’s hand moves from your clit to tangle into Jaehyun’s hair. The latter moans underneath you, removing his fingers from your mouth to lazily grab a handful of your breast as you remain sandwiched between them.

You didn’t think it was possible, but you grow more aroused at the sight. Filthy squelching sounds fill the room and your body starts to overheat from the constant stimulation.

Johnny’s eyes drift over to lock with yours, and he smirks into Jaehyun’s mouth at the sight of you. He pulls away from Jaehyun, who eagerly chases after him. Johnny cups your cheek and attaches his lips to yours, tugging Jaehyun along in the process. The three of you engage in one of the sloppiest make out sessions you’ve ever experienced, combined with a mixture of tongues and breathy gasps.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” Jaehyun suddenly mumbles.

Johnny nods. “Me too. Let’s paint her body, shall we?”

You whine when they pull out of you, furiously stroking their cocks until they find release. You’re mesmerized at the sight of them climaxing, grunting harshly and coloring your stomach with ropes and ropes of their cum.

You collapse into a pile of bones and you feel them start to lick your neck, earnestly tasting the sweat dripping down from your face. You giggle at their unique form of aftercare.

“It seems like-“ you hiss when Johnny squeezes your breast again before continuing. “It seems like you two used up all of your energy. Do you think either one of you still has a chance tomorrow?”

Jaehyun laughs. “Don’t worry about us, baby.”

“Because we’re planning on cumming inside of this sweet cunt for the whole world to see, whether you like it or not,” Johnny finishes.

You swallow at their predatory gazes, shock traveling up your spine when you realize their cocks are already half-hard again.

You’re in big trouble.

[fruitjoos]

serving up suds!

parings: patrick zweig x fem!reader / art donaldson x tashi duncan

word count: 3.9k

summary: you and the rest of the girls on the tennis team need to figure out a way to earn money for new uniforms. your boyfriend suggests the best idea.

contains: SMUT 18+ with lots of cute boyfriend patrick plot, fluff, only contains art and tashi as side characters (sorry), suggestive language between art and tashi, oral (m receiving), inaccurate numbers probs, if you think anything else should be added, please let me know!

note: wrote this simply because i love and miss pookie patrick zweig so enjoy… i planned to post i choose you but wanted to post this instead! also, not edited – will be doing so shortly.

You stood in front of Coach Williams, arms crossed and brows furrowed, your frustration barely masked. “We don’t even have proper uniforms,” you said, voice tight. “They just told us to wear red tank tops and the shortest white shorts we could find. It’s ridiculous. No one takes us seriously.”

It had been a minor irritation at first, something you could almost shrug off as a small injustice. But when you found out that the boys' team, including your boyfriend Patrick, had crisp, matching uniforms—with collars and the school logo stitched on the chest—your irritation curdled into anger. They looked like a team. They looked respectable. And you? You and the other five girls on the team looked like a mismatched afterthought.

A few of you had approached Coach Williams, hoping she’d understand, hoping she’d do something. You told her how embarrassing it was to stand on the court, mismatched and disheveled, while the boys walked by in their pristine gear. She’d just sighed and said the school didn’t have the funds. “Those boys raised the money themselves,” she added, almost proud. “If you girls want uniforms that badly, you’ll have to do the same.”

You groaned. Right, like it was that simple. You had done the math in your head—the cost would be at least a thousand dollars to get anything decent, something that would make you all look polished and cohesive. You wanted sharp collars, the school name embroidered in neat white stitching over your hearts, maybe even matching skirts. But there were only six of you, and $200 each was a lot to ask from college girls already juggling tuition, textbooks, meals, and a list of other expenses that never seemed to end.

The thought gnawed at you for days, and finally, you did something you never would’ve considered before. You went to Patrick. The two of you were sprawled out on the campus quad, the grass prickling your skin, the sun warm on your back. Patrick was fiddling with a Rubik's Cube he’d picked up from god knows where, twisting it clumsily, his focus entirely absorbed. You were trying to study, your math textbook open in front of you, but the thought of those damn uniforms kept distracting you. You sighed, louder than usual, trying to get his attention. He didn’t look up.

Another sigh, this one practically a groan. Patrick smirked, eyes still fixed on the colored squares in his hands. “Something on your mind?” he asked, voice teasing, as if he was enjoying your distress.

“Actually, yeah,” you said, sitting up and crossing your legs. “The girls’ tennis team needs uniforms.” He finally glanced up, confusion flickering in his eyes. “And I was wondering…” you trailed off, giving him a mischievous grin before reaching out to tickle his side. He jerked away, laughing, and caught your wrist. “...if you could, you know, maybe donate a little to help out.”

“You’re cute,” he said, kissing your cheek. “But I’m broke. Spent my allowance for the month already.”

Your head slumped against his chest, and you whined, letting the sound drag out, like a child who didn’t want to go to bed. “C’mon, Patrick. We need this.”

He chuckled, but you could sense his patience thinning. “Why don’t you do a fundraiser or something?” he suggested. “I don’t know, a bake sale?”

It was a simple idea, but it sparked something. You sat up straight, eyes bright with sudden inspiration. “A car wash!” you said, the words tumbling out in a rush. “We could do a car wash! Who wouldn’t want to donate to a group of girls in bikinis?”

Patrick’s smile faded. “Wait, I meant like selling cookies or something, not—”

But you were already on your feet, packing your things, a plan forming in your mind. Oh you’ll be selling cookies all right. “Thanks, babe! I’ll call you later,” you said, barely looking back as you headed off to find the other girls.

Patrick’s voice trailed after you, a mix of amusement and resignation. “Great. This is going to end well, I’m sure.” But you didn’t care. For the first time in days, you felt a thrill of hope. If it took a little shamelessness to raise the money, so be it. At least the girls’ team would finally have the chance to be seen.

You stood outside Art Donaldson’s dorm room, tapping your foot impatiently, half-wishing you didn’t have to do this. You were almost certain Tashi was hooking up with him. Everyone on the courts could sense the weird tension between them, the way they eyed each other during practice. It wasn’t admiration for his technique, that was for sure. Art was talented, sure, but he played like a baby deer—deft, but awkwardly loose, stumbling into his own brilliance.

Your knuckles rapped softly against the door, and when it finally creaked open, you caught sight of Art’s glassy eyes and his half-buttoned shirt. You had to stifle a laugh. He looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, and not because he was taking a nap. “Uh, is Tashi around?” you asked, already guessing the answer. Art glanced over his shoulder, almost as if he was checking to see if she was still there.

“Yeah, but she’s busy,” he said, with a casual shrug that didn’t quite hide his irritation.

“I’m sure,” you replied, tilting your head with a knowing grin. You leaned past him, raising your voice. “Tashi, come out here! I’ve got an idea!” Art winced, his expression morphing into a tight-lipped smile, the kind you give when someone’s overstaying their welcome. “She’ll be out in a minute,” he muttered, stepping back to let you linger in the doorway.

You could hear the faint sounds of shuffling before Tashi appeared, her hair tousled and her expression caught somewhere between glee and annoyance. “What are you doing here?” she asked, eyes narrowing.

“Patrick gave me the best idea,” you said, ignoring the way she rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed. She didn’t even try to hide her skepticism—those words didn’t belong in the same sentence, and she knew it.

“No, really,” you insisted, giving her a playful shove. “We should do a fundraiser!”

Tashi’s face softened slightly, but her arms remained crossed, a single brow arching. “A fundraiser?”

“Yes! Think about it—tight bikinis, soapy cars, a bunch of frat boys with too much cash to spare. We’d make bank!” You bounced on your toes, grinning—your excitement spilling out uncontrollably.

She scoffed, but you caught the flicker of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Maybe she was amused, or maybe it was just the sheer absurdity of the situation. “I’m not selling my body to a bunch of frat boys,” she said, shaking her head firmly.

“You’re literally in there with Art Donaldson,” you shot back, your shoulders slumping with exasperation.

Tashi’s eyes narrowed, and she folded her arms, leaning against the doorframe. “So, what’s that supposed to mean?”

You let out an awkward laugh, waving your hands. “Oh, nothing. Just making an observation.” You could see her jaw tense, but you pressed on, undeterred. “Anyway, I’m telling the other girls. We’re doing this, with or without you.” You winked, trying to keep things light, but Tashi’s expression was unreadable as she watched you turn and leave.

A week later, you found yourself in your dorm room, sorting through an array of colorful bikini tops. The whole plan felt like a gamble, but you were determined to make it work. You wanted it to be fun, at least, if you were going to be out there scrubbing cars for spare change. Patrick was sprawled on the edge of your bed, watching with a bemused expression. “You’re seriously going through with this?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.

“You suggested it!” you argued, as you adjusted the lettering on a handmade sign with your glitter gel pens.

“I suggested you bake cookies and sell them on campus,” he corrected, waving his hand as if to swat away the absurdity of your plan. “This is not what I meant.”

“We’re just washing cars,” you said, shaking your head as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “And besides, it’s for a good cause.” You added a few more swirls and hearts to the sign, mockingly repeating his earlier words in a high-pitched voice before tossing a pink towel at him.

Patrick caught the towel and laughed, shaking his head. “You’re something else.”

Grabbing your keys and the finished signs, you turned to him, flashing a grin. “Walk me over there,” you said, already halfway out the door.

He groaned, dragging himself to his feet. “I better get a free car wash out of this,” he muttered, but there was a hint of a smile on his lips. The two of you headed down the hall, and as you passed by, you could almost imagine the scene—the sun beating down, water glistening, and a line of cars full of guys willing to fork over their cash just to see a group of girls make a splash. Maybe it was shameless, but you were desperate, and desperate times called for bold, glittery, bikini-clad measures.

The sun was barely up, but the day was already heating up as you and a few of the girls set up the buckets of sudsy water, sponges bobbing in the foam, and wrangled with the nearest hose. Patrick stood nearby, scanning the growing crowd like a bouncer at a club, his eyes narrowing at any guy who dared stare a little too long when you bent over to dip your sponge. He was protective like that, and maybe just a bit possessive, but you couldn’t deny it felt good having someone in your corner, even if he looked ready to body check anyone who ogled you.

You were just about to yell something smart at him when Tashi strolled up, the sound of her flip-flops soft on the concrete, and every head turned as she made her entrance. She was all long, tanned legs, glistening in the sunlight, a tiny bikini peeking out from under her daisy dukes, and she moved with a sort of effortless grace that made you want to both envy and applaud her. You let out a sharp whistle, catcalling her as she approached, unable to resist. She rolled her eyes.

“Careful, those eyes are gonna get stuck back there one day,” you said with a small smile on your lips, and you could tell she was enjoying the attention.

“You look so hot!” you squealed, bouncing on your toes. Tashi flicked her hair over her shoulder, pretending to be exasperated, but she knew she was killing it, and so did everyone else.

Hours passed, the sun climbing higher, scorching the asphalt, and the music thumped from the speakers you’d set up, loud enough to echo down the block. You and the girls took turns yelling at passersby, daring them to get their cars washed, and you couldn’t believe how fast the line grew. It felt like every guy within a five mile radius had suddenly remembered he needed a wash, and they queued up, engines idling, windows down, some leaning out just to get a better look.

Your bodies were practically spilling out of your clothes, skin glistening, slick with soap and sweat. You pressed up against car windows, sponges swirling over the glass, your laughter and chatter floating above the music. “Thank you!” you sang out, flashing bright smiles as you took crumpled bills from hands reaching out of car windows, a parade of faces you didn’t even recognize. You skipped over to where Patrick was standing, collecting the money, and tossed the latest stack of bills into the box he was holding.

The pink, glittery box which you wrote ‘Stick something in me!’ on. It was heavier than you’d expected; you were actually making bank.

Before you could turn back to the cars, Patrick caught your wrist and pulled you close, his hand warm and firm. He cupped your cheeks between his fingers, smushing them slightly, and before you could even register the movement, he kissed you hard, right there in front of everyone. It wasn’t gentle, wasn’t soft. It was a claim, a brand, like he was marking his territory for all to see.

“You’re mine,” he said, his voice low, but loud enough for everyone nearby to hear, a hint of a challenge in his eyes. He wanted to remind you.

You blushed, caught off guard, but then a grin spread across your face. “I’m yours,” you repeated, just as firmly, before pulling him down and planting another kiss on his lips, making sure the message was clear. As you pulled back, you saw a few guys in line avert their eyes, and you laughed to yourself, a mix of pride and relief swelling in your chest. You had Patrick, you had the girls, and if things kept going this well, you’d have those uniforms too.

"Six-fifty… seven-fifty," Patrick counted, his voice low and steady, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in soft pinks and purples. You were sprawled out across the lawn, grass tickling your bare arms, and you watched him with a warm, tired smile, the kind of smile you give when everything feels just right for once. It had been a long, sweaty day, but now the breeze was gentle, like a cool kiss against your skin, and you felt almost weightless. Your body thrumming with a sense of accomplishment.

“Okay, that’s great!” you said, grabbing his arm, a burst of giddy excitement surging through you. Around you, the girls broke into their own cheers, hugging and high-fiving each other, still buzzing from the success of the day.

“And $100 from me,” Patrick said, pulling out a crisp bill from his wallet and tossing it into the box with a casual flick. The girls swarmed him, shaking his shoulders and showering him with thank-yous, calling him sweet, generous, the best. Even Tashi, who’d been leaning coolly against Art, broke into a grin, and she nudged him with her elbow. Art, who’d been half-pretending not to care, rolled his eyes but couldn’t resist. With a reluctant sigh, he parted with another $100, mumbling under his breath as he handed it over.

“Fine,” he said, almost as if the word hurt, but he was grinning a little, too, when the girls shrieked and patted his back. Rich people, you thought, shaking your head with a smirk. They always made it seem like giving was a struggle when it barely scratched the surface of their wallets.

You took a breath, pushing yourself up to your feet and looking at the small circle of girls around you, their faces flushed and glowing under the dimming sky. "I just want to say… thank you," you started, your voice slightly hoarse from yelling all day but still earnest. "I know this wasn’t exactly easy, but we did it. And I’m really proud." You reached into your own wallet, pulling out a $50 bill, twirling it between your fingers, and held it up like a trophy. “Here’s to us. And new uniforms!”

The girls erupted, their cheers echoing across the lawn, loud and jubilant, as if they’d just won a championship. For a moment, it felt like they had. The line between a football team scoring a last minute touchdown and a group of college girls hustling for their dignity had blurred, and you all basked in the glow of it, even as the day faded into night.

Later, you stumbled back to your dorm, too exhausted to think but too exhilarated to sleep. You flopped down on your bed, sinking into the mattress, letting out a long, satisfied sigh. You barely had time to close your eyes before Patrick followed, landing on top of you with a playful thud, his chin digging uncomfortably into your stomach.

“Ow,” you laughed, swatting at his head as he tried to adjust, mumbling an absent apology. He shifted, then propped himself up, and you cradled his face in your hands, tilting it up so you could look into his eyes. They were the soft blue of summer berries, glinting with mischief and tenderness, and you felt a sudden rush of affection that made your chest ache a little.

“I have the best boyfriend in the world,” you said, the words coming out soft, almost like a secret you were finally ready to admit. Patrick’s cheeks flushed a faint pink, something he did so rarely it was almost a treat to see. He gave you a shy, crooked smile, and you could tell he was savoring the moment, letting it hang in the air between you.

Then he leaned in, pressing his lips to yours, slow and careful, his mouth tasting faintly of your pomegranate chapstick. It was gentle at first, then firmer, like he was memorizing every bit of sweetness. When he pulled back, his eyes were still half-lidded, and his lips curved into a teasing smile.

“So, what’s the reward for being the best boyfriend?” he murmured, his gaze flicking over your face, taking in every detail as if he hadn’t already committed them to memory. His eyelashes fluttered, casting a silhouette across his cheeks, and you felt a shiver of warmth spread through you.

His reward for enduring the humid, sticky air all day, the sun beating down relentlessly on his already sunkissed skin, was right here, pressed against him. He had been patient, sitting there with the box of crumpled bills, sweat glistening on his forehead, eyes darting protectively every time someone lingered a little too long on you. He deserved something for putting up with the heat, the endless chatter, and the occasional, awkward guy who looked like he wanted to challenge him just for standing there. And this was it. You, warm and pliant under his hands, your fingers tangled in his hair, lips brushing his, teasing, like you were savoring every second as much as he was.

You raised an eyebrow, tilting your head in mock contemplation. “Hmm, I guess I’ll have to think of something…” you said, running your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer until your noses touched. “Maybe a little more of this,” you whispered, your lips brushing his as you spoke, letting the promise linger in the space.

You rolled over, his back sinking into the worn mattress. You let your lips graze his jaw, then drifted down to his neck. He shifted under your touch, laughter mingling with a nervous squirm as your breath tickled his skin. “You’re so good to me,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to his earlobe. “So supportive,” another kiss at his temple. “And so, so handsome.” A faint smile broke across his face, eyes closed, lost in the moment.

You let your fingers glide over the cool, metallic buttons of his shorts, tracing each engraved design as if it were spelling out something only you knew. You helped him pull them off, giggling as you threw them across the room. Your hand dipped into the dark mouth of his boxers, rummaging past his trimmed bush of curls, until your fingers closed around the smooth, familiar shape.

His hard cock slid out, catching the light above, precum gleaming, almost tauntingly. You held it up to your mouth, breathing in the faint trace of scent that lingered, delicate but intoxicating.

You stared at it for a moment, feeling a slow, subtle warmth unfurl in your chest. It was a tiny, almost imperceptible smile that tugged at your lips, like the beginning of a secret, and you could feel the tension building under your skin, pooling low in your stomach. Something about holding it in your hand made you feel powerful, like you were in control.

The head was your favorite color—deep, cherry red and glistening like a polished gem when you pulled back his foreskin slowly. You slid it between your lips, supple and sweet. Your tongue circled over his tip, feeling the tiny slit. His sap dissolving against your taste buds. You closed your eyes, savoring the taste.

His arousal melted on your tongue, sweet and syrupy. A thin string of saliva stretched between your lips and the tip when you pulled it away, snapping when you moved it too far. It was deliciously wrong, like sneaking a piece of forbidden fruit.

"You’re so sweet," you murmured, almost to yourself, but loud enough for Patrick to hear. He glanced up, his expression lustful and high.

“Wanna taste it?” you asked, slightly lolling your head to the side. The way you said it was innocent, almost playful, but there was a glint in your eyes, a subtle edge to the offer. You leaned up to him, grazing your tongue over his lips. He moaned at the contact. You grabbed his jaw, letting the glob mixed of your saliva and himself fall onto the heart of his tongue. He groaned, letting it slide down his throat. “I love you.” he whimpered, sloppily inhaling your lips.

You furrowed your brows, mocking the desperate look in his eyes. You watched him, a slow smile curling on your lips. You hadn’t realized how much you’d loved being in control. It reminded you that, for once, you weren’t following the rules, and that felt more delicious than anything you’d tasted in a long, long time.

You pumped your hand up and down his shaft, practically begging him to release all over your pretty face. “You wanna come for me?” you asked with a sweet, honey tone. “I’m so close,” he panted, fingers tangling between your strands of hair. “Fu– please,” he cried, mouth gaping open while hips desperately bucked toward you.

Taking him in your mouth again, you slapped his stiff cock against your tongue, the familiar sensation flooding your mouth as saliva pooled in your cheeks. His fluids mixed with spit, oozing down your lips and pooling on your chin. It felt disgusting, the wetness creeping along your skin, but deep down, every drop was a small victory for making him feel good.

With each stroke, you watched the fizzy mixture drip, the mess clinging to your hand and wrist as you pumped vigorously. You squeezed him in your palms, watching him sputter. Come painting across your face. You bit your lip, trying to steady your hand, hoping you milked him empty. His slit deflating a little more with every squeeze. You could see the droplets peeking through, mocking you.

He threw his head back, catching his breath. “Feel good?” you teased, sucking your fingers. You slid your body up his, his bare cock still hard, brushing against the skin of your thigh. His body jolting at the touch.

"Thank you for your help today, baby," you murmured, letting your lips brush gently against the tip of his nose, a soft, affectionate kiss.

“Anytime,” he said, a playful glint in his eyes. “And don’t hesitate to bring me any other problems you’ve got,” he added, only half-joking, clearly savoring the reward you’d just given him. “I’m always glad to help.”

You laughed, the sound light and warm, as you slipped off the bed. “I’ll keep that in mind,” you teased, padding across the room toward the bathroom to shower. You glanced back at him once more, a smile still tugging at the corners of your mouth, “You coming?” you ask, disappearing into the bathroom.

He slid off the bed in a hurried, awkward motion, the springs letting out a sharp, staccato creak that echoed through the room. His feet barely touched the floor before he was shuffling off, making his way into the bathroom behind you.

[w4ndal0ver]

Members Only (Agatha x Reader) [Part 1]

[minors don't interact, 18+]

pairing: milf!tennis!agatha x student!lifeguard!reader

summary: When Agatha notices you've been watching her play tennis every day from your lifeguarding chair, she offers you tennis lessons, an offer which you can't refuse.

content warnings: nothing yet, just build up

word count: 4000

I also know nothing about tennis, I had no idea where this idea came from (I do, its the thought of Milf Agatha in a tennis skirt)

Members Only (Agatha x Reader) [Part 1]

The sun hung lazily in the sky, casting golden hues over the country club pool, the warm rays slipping through the trees and shimmering against the water as the few swimmers created ripples as they completed lengths of the pool. From your perch high on the lifeguard chair, you had a view of the entire pool, including the sunbathers basking in the glow. This job was always slightly more interesting when there were children to actually look out for, but at this time of morning no one brought them along. You’d only been a lifeguard at The Westview Country Club for two weeks, wanting to be able to save up some money while you were back from college for the summer. While it could be pretty boring, there were definitely some perks to the job.

From your chair you could just about see the tennis courts in the distance, something that you’d realised was way more interesting than watching the same few people swim up and down the length of the pool. The sounds of the ball ricocheting off rackets and the sharp, breathless calls of the players drifted across the air. You squinted into the sunlight and as you expected, Agatha was there in the same tiny tennis skirt that she always wore, the outfit that drove you up the wall. She was alone today, playing against another club member - a man who, despite his best efforts, couldn’t seem to keep up. You felt a familiar stir of admiration as you watched Agatha’s powerful, fluid movements, her every strike and pivot executed with a grace that made your thighs subconsciously squeeze together. 

Her white tennis skirt fluttered with each swing, her toned legs flexing in rhythm with the force of her game. Her sweat-dappled skin caught the sunlight in a way that made her glow, every movement commanding attention. You couldn’t help but notice how well she fit into this world, this world of country clubs, exclusive memberships, and pristine courts. She belonged here, she usually sauntered confidently throughout the grounds, and you couldn’t help but keep your eyes trained on her. 

You’d always admired Agatha. She’d been your Mother’s best friend for as long as you could remember - always around during family gatherings, always kind but so incredibly elegant, with that same playful smirk that she wore now, even on the tennis court. But over the years, something had shifted. The innocent crush you’d once harbored as a teenager had slowly morphed into something far more consuming, something that you couldn’t ignore. 

And now, with every day you spent lifeguarding at the pool, watching her from afar, that longing had blossomed into a full-fledged fantasy. You’d caught yourself more than once, eyes lingering on her as she walked past the lifeguard station in her tennis gear, or when she’d casually from by the poolside, always making the time to check up on you, and every time she did your cheeks flushed scarlet to the point that you think Agatha must be playing on your reactions now. 

As Agatha’s match came to an end, the string of tense, rapid exchanges turning into a graceful final point, you shifted in your chair, your gaze still locked on her. She took a moment to wipe the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand, her chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. Her brunette hair, usually so perfectly styled, was now tousled from the intensity of the game. But there was something about the way she looked, disheveled yet composed, that only made your own heart quicken at a pace that was yet unreached. She tossed her tennis racket into her bag, and you knew she was heading your way before she even looked up. 

It had been like this every day since the start of summer, you would watch her finish her early morning game and you’d sit back in your chair pretending that you’d not been watching her, brushing your own wisps of hair that had fallen from your updo back.

Agatha’s steps were slow but deliberate as she approached the poolside, her eyes flicking upward to meet yours, her hips swaying in that tiny skirt that you couldn’t help but glance at. A playful smile tugged at the corner of her lips, one you knew too well. It was the same smile she’d worn when she’d tease you as a kid. 

“Busy up there?” She asked, her voice light and teasing, like she already knew the answer. She tilted her head back slightly, looking up at you as if she was taking her time to study you. Her gaze lingered on you in a way that made the corners of your lips twitch and the look she gave you made you understand that she found something amusing in the way you shifted uncomfortably in your seat. 

You swallowed hard, caught off guard by the sudden attention, and forced a smile. “Oh you know, the usual,” You said, trying to sound casual, but failing miserably, “Just keeping an eye on things.” You gestured to the calm pool, the stillness that filled the space between the two of you. 

She hummed in acknowledgement, her gaze flicking over the pool for a moment before returning to you, “Mm, must be pretty dull up there all day,” She said, her words dripping with playful mockery. “Just sitting up there, I bet you get so bored,” She raised an eyebrow, the slight curve of her mouth betraying the way she was enjoying the effect she had on you.

You fidgeted with the whistle around your neck, suddenly self-conscious, wishing you could hide behind the safety of the high chair that had always been a buffer between you and everyone else. “I don’t mind,” you mumbled, your voice coming out softer than you’d intended. “It’s peaceful, I guess.”

Agatha let out a soft laugh, the sound making your pulse spike. “Peaceful, huh?” she said, her tone laced with amusement. “Seems like the kind of thing someone would say when they’re just waiting for something to happen. But then again,” she paused, eyeing you up and down, “maybe you don’t mind the stillness. You get to watch everything, don’t you?” Her voice dipped a little lower at the end, as if the words were meant only for you.

You swallowed, the heat creeping into your cheeks once more. You were certain that Agatha knew exactly what she was doing - playing this game with you, reading your reactions like an open book. The way she lingered, just close enough for you to smell the faint scent of her sweat mixed with her perfume, it was all just too much. 

“Anyway,” She continued, stepping back just a little, her hands resting on her hips as she glanced at the tennis courts in the distance, “Your mum was supposed to meet me this evening for a play around, but she cancelled on me.” Agatha explained, “So what do you say? Care to take a break from watching me play all day and actually play against me instead?” 

You heart skipped, you, on the court with Agatha. It felt like a fantasy, something completely out of your reach. You opened your mouth to protest the idea, knowing that being opposite her in that outfit would be way too much for you to handle, but the words get caught in your throat. “I don’t think so,” You say quickly, almost apologetically, “I’ve never played tennis before, not really.” 

A smirk tugged at her lips, “Oh you’ve never played?” Her tone was almost too sweet, as if the idea of teaching you was the plan all along, “Well that’s a shame, but I suppose I could teach you if you wanted.” Her eyes flicked back to you, her mouth dragging the words out, drawing attention to each one, as if she was savoring the thought of showing you something new.

You swallowed again, your mouth dry. “I’m not sure I’d be any good at it”

“I’ll go easy on you. But you have to promise me that you’ll come play. It’ll be fun I promise.” Her eyes twinkled with something dangerous and exciting, and you couldn't help but feel like you were on the verge of something you had no control over. 

You hesitated for a moment, your thoughts swirling with uncertainty and the sudden thrill of her offer. Finally, you nodded, your voice small but firm. “Fine, I’ll be there.” 

Agatha’s smile deepened, and she straightened up, letting the silence hang between you for a moment longer. “Good,” she said softly. “I’ll be waiting.”

And with that, she turned and started walking toward the courts, her hips swaying effortlessly with each step, her tennis skirt fluttering in the light breeze. You watched her go, your pulse still racing, and realized you might’ve just made a promise you weren’t quite ready to keep.

The rest of the day felt like a blur. Agatha had disappeared into the club’s main building not long after her invitation, leaving you to sit in the high lifeguard chair, mind spinning. The sound of her voice, her teasing smile, the way her body moved when she turned to walk away, every detail replayed in your mind over and over. You couldn’t stop thinking about the offer she’d made, the warmth in her eyes when she’d mentioned teaching you tennis.

It was ridiculous, right? You, playing tennis with Agatha. You didn’t even know the first thing about tennis. But something about the way she had said it made it seem almost inevitable, like she knew you'd come around. Her words lingered in the air, vibrating against your skin, making it feel like everything else had faded into the background. The only thing that mattered was her, and the way she made you feel.

You tried to focus on the pool, the few swimmers in the water now lazily stretching out their laps. But the thought of Agatha, flushed from her match, walking away with that knowing smirk made it impossible to concentrate. How had she done it? How had she managed to turn your entire world upside down with a few words, a couple of steps, and that teasing look? You’d never been so unsettled in your life.

Finally, your shift ended. You had a brief moment of respite before you had to face the inevitable. The thought of changing and heading over to the tennis courts made your stomach twist with nerves. You grabbed your bag and headed to the locker room. The sounds of muffled conversations and the hum of the air conditioning made you feel oddly detached as you changed into the only clothes you had brought with you—a pair of shorts and a baggy top that barely fit over your damp swimsuit. You knew you probably looked ridiculous, but there was no turning back now.

You didn’t want to admit it, but you were nervous. Terribly nervous. Your fingers fumbled with the hem of your shirt as you glanced at yourself in the mirror. It wasn’t exactly tennis attire, and you could already picture Agatha’s teasing comment about how out of place you looked, but something deep inside you urged you to go anyway. You didn’t want to disappoint her, not after everything she’d said, not after that look she’d given you. Besides, you weren’t backing down now. You were going to play tennis with Agatha, even if you had no clue how to.

You took a deep breath, grabbed your water bottle, and made your way out the locker room door and towards the courts.

When you got to the tennis courts, there was no sign of Agatha yet. You stood awkwardly by the fence, clutching your water bottle, feeling every inch the outsider in your mismatched outfit. You could hear the faint thwack of tennis balls being hit in the distance, and when you rounded the corner, there she was, standing at the edge of the court, pulling a ball from her bag, her tennis skirt fluttering gently in the breeze.

The sight of her made your heart skip a beat. She looked even more effortlessly stunning up close, her hair pulled back into a neat ponytail that framed her face perfectly, her posture confident as she adjusted the strings on her racket.

You swallowed hard, your stomach doing flips as she turned toward you, catching sight of you standing there.

“Well, well,” Agatha said, her eyes scanning you briefly, her lips curling into a smile. “You actually came.” There was a twinkle in her eyes, the same playful glint that always seemed to be there whenever she looked at you. “Not bad, considering this,” she motioned to your outfit, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips. “But I suppose it’ll do for now.”

You flushed but didn’t say anything, suddenly feeling very self-conscious as she walked over to you, tennis racket in hand.

“Ready to learn?” Agatha asked, her voice low and teasing, almost like a dare. You nodded, trying to keep your cool, but your mind was racing. There was something about the way she looked at you that made everything feel so much more intense.

“Let’s start with the basics.” She placed her hand lightly on your shoulder to guide you to the other side of the court, her fingers lingering just a moment too long. The touch sent a jolt through you that made your skin tingle. You barely managed to steady yourself as she positioned you correctly, stepping close enough that her breath brushed your ear.

Her hands hovered over your arms, adjusting your grip on the racket, her fingers brushing the skin of your wrist just a little longer than necessary. You couldn’t help but notice how warm her touch was, how the slight pressure of her hands on your body sent waves of heat through your chest. Her fingers slid down your arm, adjusting your posture just a little more. It felt almost like an intimate dance, the closeness making everything else fade into the background.

“You’ll need to get the ball over the net first,” Agatha said, her voice smooth and steady, but with that same teasing edge. “You don’t want to hit it into the net, or you’ll look like a real amateur.”

Her eyes locked with yours as she handed you the tennis ball. You could feel the weight of her gaze, the subtle pressure it created in the air between you. “Ready?” she asked softly, her lips curling at the edges.

You nodded, your throat dry. You tossed the ball in the air, trying to focus on her instructions, but when you swung your racket, it went completely off-target. You missed by a mile.

Agatha let out a soft laugh, and you felt your face flush. “Not quite,” she said, stepping closer, her body warm and solid beside yours as she moved behind you. “You need to angle your racket like this" Her breath was warm against your neck as her hands came to rest on your waist, guiding you into position. Her fingers lingered just a moment longer than necessary on your skin, and you stiffened, your heart pounding.

Her body was so close now, and the pressure of her hands on you made everything feel different. Intimate. You could feel her chest lightly brushing against your back, the heat of her body so palpable you felt like you were drowning in it.

“That’s better,” Agatha said, her voice low, her breath sending a shiver down your spine. “But now, you need to follow through with your arms.” She stepped even closer, if that was even possible, her body practically flush against yours. You could feel every inch of her as she moved, the soft fabric of her skirt brushing against your legs. Her hands moved from your waist to your hips, positioning you perfectly. “Let me show you,” she whispered, her voice like a velvet caress.

She placed her hands on the sides of your hips, guiding you as she demonstrated the motion, her body pressing into yours as she bent over your shoulder, her fingers brushing against your skin, lingering for just a second too long before she pulled back. You could feel the heat radiating from her, her closeness sending an electric current through you.

You couldn’t concentrate on the tennis lesson at all anymore. Every touch, every movement she made, was burning itself into your memory, making it impossible to focus on anything else but her. The way her hands lingered on you, the soft teasing in her voice—it was too much. You tried to clear your mind, but it felt like the air itself was thick with unspoken tension, with everything left unsaid between the two of you.

"Ready to try again sweetheart?" Agatha asked, pulling back just enough to give you space but still staying close enough that her presence was overwhelming. Her gaze never left yours as she handed you the ball again, her smile slow and suggestive.

“Alright,” you murmured, trying to push past the haze of nerves and desire swirling in your chest. “I’m ready.”

Agatha’s smile softened, that same teasing glint still in her eyes, but there was something else there now, something more intense. She took a step back, just enough to give you some space to swing the racket, but not far enough to lose that magnetic pull between you. “Good,” she said, her voice smooth, but with an edge that sent a thrill down your spine. “Now, show me what you’ve got honey.”

You tossed the ball into the air, trying to focus on the instructions she’d given you, but the whole world seemed to narrow down to just her, the scent of her perfume mixing with the fresh air, the soft rustle of her skirt as she moved. You swung the racket again, this time making contact, but the ball barely skimmed the top of the net and fell to the ground with a soft thud.

Agatha’s soft laugh rang out, and your face flushed. You couldn’t help but feel embarrassed, even though you knew she was just being playful. She took a few steps toward you, her heels clicking against the court, her eyes glinting with amusement.

“You’ve got a nice swing,” she said, her voice low and teasing. “But you’re not quite putting enough into it. Here let me help.”

Before you could protest, she was behind you again, her presence overwhelming as her hands moved to adjust your stance. She placed her hands on your hips, guiding you into position, her fingers grazing against your skin, sending a shockwave through your body. The closeness, the heat of her touch, made it nearly impossible to think straight. You could feel the rapid beat of your heart, the warmth spreading from her hands to the rest of you, the way your body seemed to react to her presence without your permission.

Her body brushed against yours as she leaned in, just enough for you to feel the soft pressure of her chest against your back. “Relax,” she murmured, her voice soft but commanding, as her fingers lightly traced the curve of your waist. “Just let go. It’s all about feeling the motion, not forcing it.”

Her breath was warm against your ear, and the scent of her—a mix of fresh linen and something floral—invaded your senses, making your pulse spike. You were hyper-aware of every part of her, her hands lingering on your skin for just a moment longer than necessary, like she was savoring the contact. You could feel the way her fingertips barely brushed the waistband of your shorts, a touch so light, but it was enough to make your body hum with awareness.

She shifted slightly, guiding your body into the right position, her fingers dancing across your skin like she was memorizing every inch of you. Her grip tightened just a little on your waist, and you felt a sharp jolt shoot through you. “There,” she whispered, her voice like silk, sending shivers down your spine. “That’s it. Now, try again.”

Your body was on autopilot as you tossed the ball into the air once more, trying to focus on her instructions, but all you could think about was her hands on you, the way they moved with such precision and care, the way her body was pressed so close to yours. The world seemed to fade away, and all you could hear was her soft, encouraging voice and the rhythmic sound of your own breath, fast and shallow.

You swung again, and this time, the ball soared over the net, landing neatly on the other side. You couldn’t help but let out a relieved breath, a small smile tugging at your lips as you looked back at her. “I did it.”

Agatha’s smile was slow and knowing, her eyes flashing with something unreadable. “See? I told you I’d teach you,” she said, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “You’re a quick learner.”

Before you could respond, she was moving again, closing the space between you with that same fluid grace that made your heart race. “You know,” she said casually, her voice light, but there was an undercurrent of something more in it, something deeper, “it’s not just about hitting the ball. Tennis is about control, about using your body, your movements, to keep things in balance.”

Her hands rested gently on your shoulders, her fingers pressing into the soft flesh of your collarbone, the sensation of her touch making your breath catch. She was so close now, her body practically flush against yours. You could feel the heat from her, the steady rhythm of her breathing as she moved behind you once more. She wasn’t just guiding you anymore. She was positioning you, shifting your hips, your shoulders, all while her hands moved with such delicate precision that it was almost impossible to focus on anything but her.

The tension between you both was undeniable now. The air was thick, heavy with the weight of her presence, her touch, and her soft, teasing words. “Don’t tense up honey,” Agatha murmured as she positioned you to swing once more. “Let the movement come naturally.”

Her hands glided down your arms, her fingers lingering on your skin, tracing the muscles in your forearm with careful attention. Her touch was slow, deliberate, each contact sending a shockwave through your body. She wasn’t just teaching you tennis anymore. She was holding you, guiding you in ways that felt far more intimate than any lesson could.

You swung again, the ball landing in bounds, and Agatha smiled, her lips curling at the edges. “You’re doing so much better sweetheart,” she said, her voice smooth, but there was something more in it now, something that made your pulse quicken.

Agatha stepped back for a moment, her eyes never leaving you as she ran a hand through her hair, fixing her ponytail. “I think you’re ready,” She said, a playful glint in her eyes, “How about I book you in for some more lessons hon?” 

“I’d like that,” You say, your voice quieter than usual. 

Agatha’s smile widened, and she stepped closer again, her body coming into your personal space with the same casual grace that made your breath hitch. “I knew you would.” Her fingers brushed over your arm once more as she retrieved her racket from the ground, and for a moment, her touch lingered. “You’re a quick learner, I like that. But we’ll need to work on your form a bit more.”

Her hands slid over your shoulder, a warm, firm pressure that left a lingering warmth in its wake. “But don’t worry,” she continued, her voice low and almost seductive, “I’ll be here to guide you every step of the way.” Agatha moved back slightly, just enough to give you space to breathe. “I’ll make sure to go easy on you for your first real lesson. Just remember, I’m a patient teacher. But I don’t take too kindly to bad form, darling.” She grinned as she swiped her racket from the ground, the smooth movement making her look effortless, almost untouchable.

You nodded, still dazed, your heart hammering in your chest. You couldn’t decide whether to collapse from the tension or leap into the next lesson with her. It wasn’t just tennis anymore. It was something else entirely, something far more thrilling and dangerous than you’d ever expected.

“You can’t get better if you don’t keep trying,” she added with a wink, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of challenge and something far deeper.

Your gaze dropped to her lips, her teasing grin still there, and you felt the pull again. This wasn’t just about tennis, and you both knew it.

Agatha was playing a game, and you were already too far in to back out now. You nodded again, feeling a rush of excitement mixed with nerves. “I’ll be ready,” you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

“Good,” she replied with a soft, satisfied hum. “Right I could use a drink after that, the bar’s open for another hour, you coming?” 

You nodded quickly, the words coming easily. “Yeah, sure.”

You couldn't help but smile. Yeah, you thought to yourself with a little internal smirk. I’m sure I’ll be coming real soon.

[gotta-winwin]

(🎞️) ... hit the road docu.<> speed isn't all that matters

masterlist | cyana's masterlist

word count: 1.6k TW: slightlycold!wonwoo, tiny sliver of angst (we're getting there!), overworking, passing out, FLUFF, comfort italics are interview moments cut between other scenes a/n: second htr! we're starting that landslide into the angst (ദ്ദി ˙ᗜ˙ ) they are so cute in this omgomgomg

Wonwoo sat awkwardly on the pedestal, doing his best to balance while still posing for the camera.

"We had a lot of photoshoots and interviews while touring in Japan." Wonwoo explained to the camera. "Feels like we were posing for photos everywhere."

Wonwoo stood up once the photographer had finished his series of shots. He was tired and couldn't wait to get back to the hotel.

"Wait a moment, Wonwoo." Their manager called out to stop him. "They want a couple shots of you and Cyana."

Wonwoo sighed, nodding as he reluctantly returned to his seat. Cyana walked over, bowing politely to the staff. She stood awkwardly next to Wonwoo, a clear gap between them as she waited for instructions.

"Cyana-yah, can you stand behind Wonwoo?" Their translator smiled kindly as she directed the girl. "Wrap your arms around his shoulders, yes- that's good."

Wonwoo glanced up at the girl, looking away when their eyes met. He couldn't help but stiffen up as they both turned towards the camera. "I thought you went home with the others." He mumbled out of the corner of his mouth, smiling as the photographer clicked away. Most of the members had already finished their photoshoots and gone home.

Cyana's lips quirked down into a suppressed frown. "I stayed back. The car could only take four of us and Seungkwan looked dead on his feet."

"Look this way!" The photographer yelled, cutting off whatever had been Wonwoo's reply.

"Schedules forced Wonwoo to actually talk to me." Cyana couldn't help but grin despite the topic. "It was fun, I guess."

"I've always been a very introverted person." Wonwoo said to the camera, wringing his hands nervously. "I enjoy having time to myself."

Cyana smiled when the interviewer finished talking. "Yeah.. Wonwoo's always been a bit of an enigma to me. Like a mystery I just can't figure out."

Cyana's sitting with Dino in their hotel room, busy eating the lunch they had grabbed from the staff room. They're both mid-bite when the door opens.

"Nana~" Seungkwan walked in, fixing his hat. He was dressed and ready to go out. "Are you sure you don't want to come with us?" Spotting the camera, he waves. "Oh- Hi~ We're going to Super Junior's concert."

Cyana shook her head, still chewing. "It's okay." She managed to say once swallowing. "I think I'm going to stay in today."

Seungkwan nodded, ruffling both her and Dino's hair before leaving. Neither maknae gave any indication they had even noticed the action, continuing to enjoy their meal.

"I'm gonna go to the sauna with Vernon later." Dino told Cyana through muffled chewing. "Do you want to come?"

Cyana made a face. "To the sauna?" She mimed gagging. "No thanks, Chan."

Dino made a face back. "I keep forgetting there are things you can't do that other members can." He smiled when she frowned. "I guess going to the sauna would be a little weird."

"I guess??" Cyana questioned, amazed at his lack of modesty. "A little??"

Dino shrugged. "You're a bro, bro."

"Where on earth did you learn that-" Cyana asked, though she already knew the answer. Vernon. Duh.

Jun and Cyana lazed in bed, Cyana watching Jun's phone from next to him. The girl was half-asleep, eyelids drooping and head lulling against the wall.

Wonwoo walked in, fresh from a shower, double taking when he saw Cyana. Gears turning in his head, he reluctantly slid into his own bed, throwing his blanket over himself.

"What did you do today, Wonwoo?" Jun asked, eyes still focused on the phone. He looked over at Wonwoo before checking on Cyana, smiling to himself when he saw her tired expression.

"I played tennis." Wonwoo answered. "Worked out, went swimming, then ate with the others- what did you guys eat?" He subconsciously said guys, including Cyana into the question. She perked up from Jun's side, suddenly awake.

"I ate with Donghae and Eunhyuk hyung after their concert." Jun replied, nudging Cyana. "What about you?"

"I ate with Dino."

Both boys frowned. "I thought that was your lunch." Jun said, both confused and worried. "You didn't have anything for dinner?"

Cyana paused. "I had some snacks. Not that hungry, since I didn't do much today." She shrugged. "I ate a lot for lunch anyways." Redirecting the topic, she turned to Jun. "Was the concert fun?"

Jun nodded. "It was so much fun." Sitting up straighter, he placed down his phone, fully engaged now. "They speak Japanese so well."

Wonwoo hummed. "We should learn to do that."

"Jeonghan and Hoshi are both great." Cyana sighed. "I think if I have one more language in my head I might combust."

Her quip brought both boys to laughter. "It's okay." Wonwoo said quietly, once the laughter died down. "You can just speak a lot for our North American tours."

"I always had a kind of weak presence, and I never fit in well as a kid." Wonwoo told the camera. "But with Seventeen I didn't get that feeling. They made me feel welcomed, always made me shine without needing to." He paused for a moment, thinking. "They're very important to me- because of that."

"Mingyu once told me Wonwoo cared deeply about his place in the group - he said it might sound selfish but I don't think so." Cyana's eyes were a little sad as she looked at the interviewer. "Mingyu said Wonwoo only has Seventeen. I guess he was just trying to tell me Wonwoo's very protective over the people he loves - and that was the only reason why it felt like he didn't like me." Cyana shrugged. "It made me hate him less."

"Ah. Mingyu told her that?" Wonwoo grimaced once hearing what the interviewer told him about Cyana's interview before him. "I guess he's right. I didn't want Seventeen to break apart because of her." He looked away, embarrassed. "They were my first friends. I only have them."

"What do you mean Dino's ill?"

Cyana stared at a worried Hoshi. "Is it serious?" She asked, verging on panic. It felt like the boys were dropping like flies around her - what with Jeonghan's body decay, DK's sore throat, Seungkwan's ankle, Seungcheol's unstable mind and now Dino.

"He's getting it checked." Hoshi told her, not wanting to worry her further with the details. "You won't do anything - panicking like that."

Cyana took a few breaths, knowing he was right. "You're right. Okay." She let out a deep breath. "He'll be okay."

"On in 3 minutes!" A staff member called from the door.

She stood up, following everyone as they shuffled out towards the stage. Wonwoo stumbled a few paces in front of her, making her look his way.

"You good?" She whispered, speeding up to stand beside him.

He only gave her a curt nod, refusing to look at her and instead focusing on the lift in front of them. They could both hear the cheers from here.

"Go, go!" A staff rushes them both onto the lift before either of them could break the silence. Cyana could only glance at him again as they were lifted up onstage.

She thought she was mistaken when she saw him go down. The area behind the stage was dimly lit, and there was a commotion as the Hiphop Unit finished their stage and came down to switch with the Performance Unit. Cyana thought maybe her eyes were acting up, when she saw Wonwoo run down the stairs, take a few steps and drop.

Staff members were on him in an instant. Cyana was shoved aside as they rushed to lift him, moving him out the walkway and onto a table- it's sole purpose was to serve as a bed in case this very thing happened.

She felt like her limbs were falling her, leaving her frozen in place.

"Go." Mingyu mouthed the words at her, pointing at Wonwoo. He pointed next at the tent, gesturing that he needed to get his mic checked. "Stay with him." He pointed again at Wonwoo.

Cyana willed her legs to move, shuffling over to Wonwoo's side. The crowd of staff had dispersed, leaving him alone with two staff members- one with a fan and one with an oxygen tank.

She took the oxygen tank from one of them and told them she could do it instead.

"Wonwoo." She muttered, lifting the oxygen tank and placing it gently in front of his mouth. His chest rose dangerously fast as he tried to catch his breath. "Breathe." She found only English in her mind as she tried not to panic. "Please breathe."

His eyes darted around until they landed on her face. Eyebrows furrowing slightly, he raised a hand and pushed the oxygen tank weakly away from his face, trying to speak. "What- what's going on." He panted out, his speech slightly slurred.

Cyana felt her heart crack. "Don't try to talk." She reprimanded him, gently pushing him back down to rest. "You passed out."

If Wonwoo could breathe, he would've snapped at her to leave him alone, that he could take care of himself. He couldn't. Instead, he closed his eyes, allowing her to take care of him. Just this once.

"She was gentle with me." Wonwoo recalled. "Even though I hadn't been kind to her."

"Breathe." She mumbled again, mindlessly repeating it as her brain turned numb from everything going on. She stayed next to him, raising the oxygen tank to his lips whenever his lungs failed to do the job. "It's okay."

"She stayed throughout the whole thing." Wonwoo looked sheepishly at the camera. "I don't think I even said 'thank you.' We just returned on stage."

Cyana shrugged at the interviewer's question. "He didn't need to say anything. Sometimes words fail us - his eyes said enough."

[bae4faist]

ALL I NEED

desc: dilf!art has just had an argument with female! reader and suddenly he's back in college, fighting then crying in her lap.

a/n: this is my first short lil story so tell me how it is!

ALL I NEED

- radiohead

The row had stemmed from Art's poor play during a doubles match earlier that day. As a former college tennis champion, you knew all too well how the pressure could get to someone. But it was hard to remain calm when you felt compelled to critique his performance in the spotlight. He watched you, his eyes darkening with frustration as you expressed your disappointment, and the conversation had quickly spiraled into something familiar—words sharp enough to cut, voices rising like the crescendo of a dramatic symphony.

Now, as you picked up a brush to smooth your hair, you couldn’t help but remember the late-night debates you shared during your college days. Those nights were filled with laughter and tears, joy and sorrow, each emotion woven through the fabric of your bond. You could still picture the scene—the cramped dorm room filled with the scent of popcorn and your favorite takeout, the tiny desk cluttered with books and tennis gear.

In a moment, the flashback hit him. Art’s mind slipped back into a busy college campus, wild thrill and youthful defiance pulsating in the air. You were sitting on his bed, eyes blazing as you argued fiercely about a match he had lost, his uncharacteristic mistakes due to overthinking. “If you just trusted yourself!” you had exclaimed, hands gesturing animatedly. “You play best when you’re not afraid to lose!”

And your words had struck a nerve. Art had folded his arms, staring at the floor, the silence laden with unsaid feelings. Moments later he had burst into frustration, “You think it’s that simple, don’t you? You’re perfect, and I’m just trying to keep up!”

The argument had escalated, voices growing louder as the tape of your history replayed itself—passions clashing, the competition between you fueling each fight. Eventually, it had ended with him sitting on the floor, knees drawn to his chest, tears spilling over as he uttered a heartfelt apology. You had rushed to comfort him, your arms wrapping around him as he cried out his frustrations, and the love that lingered between you both felt so real in those vulnerable moments.

Now, standing in your bedroom, Art’s recent mistakes echoed in your ears. You didn’t mean to get so upset. As you finished brushing your hair, the door creaked open, breaking you from your thoughts. Art stood there, his posture sagging, eyes glistening like polished agates.

“I... I’m sorry,” he started, voice small yet heavy, as if carrying the weight of a million apologies. “I couldn’t think about anything else.” The shimmer of vulnerability in his gaze mirrored the Art from college, reminding you how he struggled even then with managing expectations and his own inner critic.

You set down your brush and crossed the room. His eyes fell, avoiding yours, a flicker of shame evident in his features. “You don’t have to forgive me,” he mumbled, his hands trembling slightly as he toyed with the edge of his shirt. But you could see it—the turmoil roiling inside him, the remnants of the argument still fresh.

You reached out, gently cupping his face, forcing him to meet your gaze. “Art, look at me,” you coaxed softly, your voice a balm to the heated moment. “It’s okay to mess up. We all do.”

His breath hitched, a tear escaping down the side of his cheek. “It just feels like I let you down.” It was a soft confession layered with frustration and self-doubt, reminiscent of those college nights where emotions unfolded under the weight of expectation.

Without saying another word, you enfolded him in your arms, holding him tightly against your chest, as if you could shield him from all doubt. You both sank to the edge of the bed, the world outside fading into mere whispers. You could feel his heartbeat against your ribcage, each pulse a reminder of the love that had weathered storms even stronger than this.

“Remember the nights in college?” you whispered into his hair, fingers threading through his hair that eveyone loved so dearly before he cut his curls off. “We always made it through those arguments.” The warmth of your voice coaxed Art’s head to lift, his eyes searching yours like a sailor navigating by starlight.

“I remember,” he admitted, voice muffled against your shoulder. “It was always so... intense.” His hands clutched the hem of your shirt, drawing you closer, as if attempting to bridge the distance the argument had forged.

You both reminisced about those fiery debates, where passion fueled your verbal sparring—the way you fought, not just with words, but with love, forging a bond deeper than the court’s surface. Each memory drew you closer, rekindling the warmth that had dimmed during the chaos of your argument.

As minutes unfurled into a soft embrace, Art finally broke down fully. The tears flowed freely now, a release, and you held him tighter as he cried out all the frustrations he had bottled up inside. “I’m scared,” he whispered in between sobs. “I’m scared I’ll never be good enough.”

You pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, your heart aching for him, knowing that he was more than enough for you. You whispered reassurances into his ear, cradling his head against your chest, physically grounding him as he battled his insecurities.

Eventually, you felt his breathing steady, the evening calming around you both. As you shifted slightly, his eyes fluttered shut, eyelids heavy with exhaustion. You lingered there, basking in the tranquility, the closeness—an intimate reminder that through turmoil and arguments, love thrived still, resilient as ever.

Your fingers brushed softly through his hair, tracing the familiar contours of his head, until, eventually, he fell asleep—exhausted but comforted, cradled in the arms of a love that had survived countless storms, still entwined in a life shared both on and off the court. The world outside faded, leaving only the sounds of his breathing, the heartbeat of a home built on passion, patience, and an enduring bond.

[alnair-jpg]

Olympics AU Info dump!

First, I am blown away by how much love the series is getting, thank you all so much! I do really enjoy all the comments and reactions in the tags. Know that they all delight me and the only reason I don’t reply to everything is because there are so many! But I read them all 💕

General questions:

Can you draw the designs or concepts? Write fanfic in this AU?

Yes of course! I’d love for you to tag me if you post them so I can see

Do they all know each other?

At first, I would say no- with the exception of Nico and Will (they’re developing a whole backstory in my head that I cannot and will not stop.). But they all meet in the Olympic Village after the opening ceremonies and quickly become friends. They all try their best to attend each other’s events. (Someone please tell me how Percabeth becomes a thing. Please. 🙏 )

Why didn’t Percy win gold?

Percy was an Olympic medalist in swimming before moving to diving. After competing in several swimming events and feeling like they were all just small variations of the same thing, he wanted more of a challenge. He chose diving to stay rooted in to the water, but to add a new dimension to his bodily awareness and control.

What’s Annabeth and Luke’s rivalry?

They most definitely trained together, and it was Luke’s skill that motivated Annabeth to aim for the Olympics. But, she wanted to compete for her home country, Greece, which Luke thought was just a shortcut since there was a clearer path to an Olympic team in a smaller country. Annabeth is constantly trying to prove to him that she would have made it to the top of the sport either way.

Also, apologies to the IRL fencers out there for the inconsistency. I know fencing is a gendered sport, and Annabeth’s gear/style are inconsistent, please forgive the oversight ☺️🫶

Volleyball?

The whole Hunters of Artemis are a volleyball team (that apparently has no country 😅). Thalia ends up the captain. When Reyna moves on from tennis they welcome her with open arms.

Rejected sports

Will as a runner. Canonically, he’s super fast, but just having him as a sprinter didn’t fit with his personality.

Will as a pole vaulter. Specifically the guy that lost because he was ‘blessed a little too much’ and knocked down the bar. I will not explain further.

Will as a gymnast. He was this || close to being a gymnast essentially modeled after Steven Nedoroscik, I had the sketch and everything. (I shared it here!) But when an anyonomous ask clued me into the sick medical team uniforms it all fell into place from there. (Thank you no-longer-anon @helyeahmangocheese !)

Percy in anything equestrian related. I see him not having the patience for all the formality of it all, but he definitely crashes Hazel’s shows and chats up all the competition (the horses.)

Annabeth on a sailing team. Also, related to that, Reyna on a sailing team. It was a fun idea, especially for Reyna and her history with pirates but ultimately it was really hard to capture in a few illustrations.

Nico in several winter sports. For consistency mostly. He could fit for a lot of winter sports - ice skating and snowboarding are my personal favorites.

Leo as a shooter. He would most definitely build his own gear and make tweaks to his weapon. Which would get him immediately disqualified.

Jason in discus. Jason as a basketball player. Golf is just… fitting. 😂

Other Characters I’ve been thinking about

(that may have art in the works… and may not actually be athletes!)

Clarisse

Meg

Grover

Rachel

Lester / Apollo

Mr. D

Chiron

[theitgirlnetwork]

Earn It

Ch. 2 : Esmerelda Variation

Heaven's outfit at the match:

Note: Thank you for the insane amount of love you guys are showing this. This is still a ground work laying chapter so still a little short but with a bit of drama. I should warn that just like the characters from the movie, Heaven is going to be ambiguous. Sometimes she'll be great, sometimes she'll be toxic (you have to remember she's best friends with Tashi for a reason). Anyways, you will get to know her as the story goes on. Thank you for all of the likes, follows, reblogs and notes, I really love hearing from you all and will be responding to them today. I hope you enjoy this chapter, I wrote it in the middle of the night lol. (P.s. I have a bad track record with tag lists but I'm going to try, let me know if it works.)

Taglist: @spookystitchery @anehkael @fkaams

“You remember when you said you’d let me win this one?”

“That was a lifetime ago.”

Art whips his head to look at Patrick who’s staring out onto the currently empty court, leaning back on the bench with his elbows. “But what about my grandmother?”

“You better hope she has a stroke.” the brown haired man shrugs, patting his friend’s shoulder. “I mean Tashi Duncan is gonna be watching. Tennis princess. And her hot friend. Can’t fuck up, sorry man.”

Art just shakes his head and takes a swig of water. Two hours had passed since this morning’s run-in and he still hadn’t been able to force himself to tell Patrick about the fact that Heaven’s number was on the line too. It’d only be fair, he knows that. But…Art really didn’t want Patrick to have it.

He should’ve just asked her for it directly instead of hiding behind this performance in interest in getting it from her. But he’d been thrown off. He’d truthfully thought he wouldn’t be able to see her again after she announced she had a boyfriend to the group. When he saw her on the beach that morning he found himself jogging down to catch her, and struggling to keep pure thoughts as she talked to him in her skimpy workout gear, telling him she’s single now. 

She was just so pretty. The sweat and the morning sun made her skin glisten. Her smile on her face made her cheeks dimple cutely and drew his attention to her soft lips. And she had this look in her eye. She and Tashi are so different yet so alike. She was asking him if competing was how he wanted to get her number. He was asked to make the choice. But it was the challenge he found swimming in her gaze. Like, there was only one right answer, that she expected him to be able to make the decision himself. Like if he shied away now, the little fire he saw in her eyes would die. 

Heaven was just as into this as Tashi was. 

The thought of her giving that look to Patrick too, it was something he couldn’t handle.

“Shame about that boyfriend though…wonder if it’s serious…Art. Art?” 

Art jolts out of his inner thoughts and focuses on his friend opening his breakfast sandwich next to him. “D’you think Heaven’s relationship is serious? I feel like she was flirting a little. Poor bastard. Sending his girl on the road without him when she looks like that? Fuckin’ idiot. And she’s a dancer, do you know what that means?” Patrick asks, holding the sandwich out for Art to take a bite, smiling when he does and swiping his thumb across his mouth to rid him of some crumbs.

“I’m sure you’ll tell me.”

“She’s fuckin’ flexible, Arthur.” He growls, a smirk on his face. “She’s bendy and shit.”

Art’s lip curls in disgust as he shoves his friend, huffing out an irritated laugh when he’s shoved back. “Don’t fuckin’ talk about her like that. Either of them, they’re people, jesus, Patrick.”

“Yes, exactly. Beautiful people. That I would like to fuck.”

“You’re a great guy, man, really.” he sighs sarcastically, tossing his arm around Patrick’s shoulder.

“Thanks man, I really appreciate that.”

Heaven is quiet as she lets Tashi guide her to their seats in the center for the Donaldson v. Zweig match. Her friend had been excited all morning, ready to finally see some “real fuckin’ tennis’. Heaven was excited too. She’s always enjoyed watching people she knows do what they’re passionate about. 

That’s why she’s always loved watching Tashi play tennis. Tashi plays tennis like she’s making love and going to war all at the same time. She leaves everything on the court, like each match is the last thing she’ll ever do. She goes somewhere, and Heaven likes going with her. Passion is what moves her. She’s passionate about dance. A life without it is meaningless.

“You good?” Tashi asks, nudging her knee with her own, grabbing Heaven’s attention.

“Yeah, I’m fine, why?”

The taller girl shrugs, flipping her ponytail over her shoulder with pursed lips. “Just making sure you’re not letting that dickhead Trevor get to you. He’s a waste of time and space in your brain. Can’t play basketball for shit and doesn’t know when to stop.” Tashi nudges Heaven again when she rolls her eyes, facing the court. “I mean, you obviously don’t have to listen to me, babe, I just know you’re too good for that shit. Don’t want you to waste your energy.”

That shit. That’s the shit she doesn’t like about Tashi. When she can’t tell if she genuinely is being her best friend, or is jealous that she’s been sharing Heaven’s attention. The condescending demand that Heaven show no weakness regarding someone other than her. Heaven knows Tashi wants what’s best for her. But she doesn’t own her emotions. 

“Said I’m fine, T.” Heaven huffs, ignoring Tashi’s stare out of the corner of her eye and opting to watch the announcer climb the ladder and take position. “By the way, I saw Art this morning. I told him that we could double the stakes. Winner gets your number and mine.” When Tashi’s reaction doesn’t come, Heaven looks at her to see that she’s now facing forward, smiling almost evilly at the court.

“God, this is gonna be so good. Do you know how horny those guys are? They think the winner is gonna end up fucking us together, this is gonna be a real match.”

Heaven goes to respond but pauses as the men begin making their way onto the court, their names echoing in the microphone as they begin placing their bags down. Tashi finishes signing an autograph for a fan sitting behind them and settles back into her seat. 

Both men immediately seek them out in the crowd, two sets of eyes finding the girls sitting in the center. Patrick points his racket in their direction with a cocky smile before turning to take to the court. Art gages their reactions to his friend, watching both women offer smiles to him and offering them his own wave. A bright grin lights his face when they return it. 

“Boys are so easy.” Tashi laughs through her teeth. 

“Very.” Heaven agrees, crossing her legs as she watches the match begin. Both men are working their asses off out of the gate. The ball sails back and forth across the net. Their grunts ring out into the air. Their eyes tense, sweat dripping, breathing heavy. At first, they were being showmen. Both of them stopping, looking to the stands for the girls' approval only working harder when the most they are offered back is a small nod. 

But they got focused. They moved faster. Worked harder. They forgot them and just played some fucking tennis. And it was sexy as hell. For the first time ever, Heaven was experiencing the feeling she gets watching Tashi play. And she was experiencing it watching someone else.

Tashi was enjoying the game immensely. She loves this shit. This is the game she lives for, and she and her best friend had made it more interesting. She grins as she watches the ball go to Patrick, then Art, then back again. Her head swiveled with everyone else’s and she felt happy. Impressed. 

Until she saw Heaven out of the corner of her eye. 

Heaven sitting on the edge of her seat, looking at Patrick then Art then Patrick then Art. She hadn’t looked at Tashi since they started. It’s normal. They’ve watched matches together before, but this look on her face. That was supposed to be Tashi’s look. 

Biting her lip in focus, breathing slightly elevated in the excitement, one hand toying with her name chain on her otherwise bare collar bone as the other clutched the arm of the chair, arched forward, leaning towards them. 

Tashi shakes her head briefly and focuses back on the match, placing one hand on Heaven’s knee. 

Just in case she slipped from her seat. 

When Patrick took his bow, looking through his dark lashes to see Heaven and Tashi’s reactions. Both of them look pleased. Offering him applause as he stands before going to grab his things. 

Art watches in defeat. The muscle in his jaw jumps as he clenches it in irritation. He walks off his adrenaline, pacing between clearing his things from the bench. He feels a heavy hand clap on his back. “Good game, man. I’ll meet you out front, yeah? I’ve got a number to collect.”

“Yeah. Good game.” he says quietly. 

Two. Two numbers. Both. He’s getting both. He deserves neither, and he’s getting Tashi Duncan and Heaven Whitlock. 

Art sits on the competitor’s chair, pulling his shirt off and tossing it over his head to shield himself from the sun as he puts his head back. He doesn’t know how long he’s sitting there. But he can’t bring himself to get up. To meet Patrick. To watch Tashi know he’s better than him as she gives him her number. To watch Heaven decide that he hadn’t earned the right to want her.

He doesn’t remove the shirt until he hears shoes clacking on the court. He’s expecting to see an employee of the tournament but is shocked to see Heaven standing in front of him with an unenthused look. 

“Oh, good, I thought you were crying.”

“Um, nope.” Art huffs, a wry smile on his face. “That would be a little pathetic, even for me.”

Heaven’s head tilts, her dark, silky hair falling to the side as she does. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other and Art hops out of the chair, offering it to her. “How is almost winning pathetic?”

“I didn’t almost win-”

“He didn’t sweep you. You could’ve won. He’s just better today. When Tashi wins, the other person usually doesn’t even get more than one point.” Heaven pushes up into the seat, crossing one leg over the other. Art can’t help but reminisce. Her legs are now covered by her light washed jeans, but her bare shoulders remind him of the expanse of glowing skin he’d seen earlier this morning. “The score was close.” 

Art smiles slightly at that. He’s still annoyed he was unable to beat his friend, but her words, while based solely in logic, still managed to be comforting. “So, uh, I bet Patrick was pretty fuckin’ happy to get you and Tashi’s numbers.”

“Oh, he was pretty damn excited.” Heaven laughs. “It was cute.”

Ouch. “Yeah, I’m sure I won’t hear the end of it.”

Heaven nods, lips rolling inward as she uses her arms to push herself forward, kicking him lightly with her leg, smiling flirtily when he catches her foot, his large hand encasing her ankle. He rights her gold anklet, turning it so that the cross on it is facing upward before bringing her foot back to the ground. “What about you?”

“What about me? I lost. Fair and square.”

“You did.” she grins, resting her chin in her hand. “But the wager changed this morning didn’t it? I agreed that the winner would get my and Tashi’s numbers, but you had an added requirement, right?”

Art’s brows furrowed in confusion briefly before the realization hits him. “I had to earn it.”

“If you’d won, but didn’t earn the win, I wouldn’t give it to you. I have my opinion. What’s yours? Do you feel like you earned my number today?” 

“You want to give it to me anyway?” 

Heaven shakes her head and hops down from the seat, moving closer to Art and fully expecting him to back up, pleasantly surprised when he just tilts his head down to accommodate her height. “I want you to tell me if today was your best.”

Art breathes out heavily. There’s a part of him that wants to just say ‘fuck it, yes’. He wants to say that's the best he can do, and he did earn her number already. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t look her in the face and say he couldn’t do better. He couldn’t have her look at him like he didn’t have potential. “No.”

That’s apparently the right answer, because Heaven offers him a quiet, “Good.” before brushing past him, her arm narrowly missing his, causing the hairs on his skin to stand. 

As he watches the girl prance away from him gracefully, Art bites back his own smirk, looking to the ground and nodding to himself. 

He has some work to do.

“Just tell me. I just wanna know.” Art chews his gum, trying to look nonchalant as possible as he and Patrick make their way onto the courts.

He’d been haunted by the way his friend is seemingly getting joy from being very secretive about what he’s been doing with Tashi and Heaven. He knows he’s been talking to them. He can tell. It’s in the smug looks. The fucking half stories without names. He’s fucking keeping them to himself. Won’t even share their names with him. And in response to Art’s irritation, Patrick smirks. The same stupid fucking crooked smirk that always hides his snide remarks and secrets. Usually, Art has a twin one to match, now, the joke is on him.

“I can’t believe you, of all people, are telling me to kiss and tell. You used to be a gentleman, Art.”  Patrick chuckles, grabbing a ball and preparing to serve.

“Just tell me if you slept with either of them.” Art pushes, moving to the opposite side of the net and getting into position. “C’mon, it doesn’t matter. If you’ve slept with Tashi, do a normal serve. Serve like me.” 

Patrick hesitates a bit, shaking his head as he looks at his friend’s determined face. He knows Art is not gonna stop asking. But he’s gonna be so butthurt about the answer. He rolls his choices around in his head, briefly considering if it would piss off the girls for him to talk about it and deciding they wouldn’t care about Art knowing. And, he couldn’t help himself from bragging. 

Setting up the serve and sending the ball sailing over the net, Patrick gives Art the confirmation he was seeking. Art offers him a smile in an attempt to appear nonchalant, and goes to hit the ball, only to see a second one flying past him on his other side.

“Wh-”

Patrick grins again, watching the two balls bounce and roll on the opposite sides of Art. He shrugs, strolling over to the net. “I figured you’d ask about Heaven too.” Holding his hand out in front of Art’s mouth he catches the gum he spits into it. “They…uh fancy themselves a package deal.”

“Really?” Art breathes through the smile he has painted on his face. 

“Yeah.” Patrick squirts water into his mouth. “S’fuckin’ awesome.”

Art just chuckles politely until Patrick turns around to get another ball, using his friend’s distraction to let his smile drop into an aggravated frown.

The next time the whole group is all together is move in week. Heaven and Tashi had somehow convinced the men that even though Patrick was packing up for his tour and Art was also moving in, they needed to help them move into their dorms. They were starting with Stanford today and planned to make their way to UCLA tomorrow to get Heaven’s stuff together. While Art now naturally had Tashi's number because they were going to school together, he and Heaven had stuck to their deal. He hadn't decided what he was going to do to get it. Maybe win a match while she was here visiting in a couple weeks. Or maybe he had to beat Patrick specifically. He didn't know, but he as much as he wants her respect, he was getting sick of waiting.

Both men had removed their shirts in the California heat, carrying Tashi’s tennis equipment, replacement mattress, mini fridge and all ten tons of luggage she brought. 

The women were being helpful too. Heaven was apparently resting her legs in anticipation of her audition tomorrow, and rode comfortably on Patrick’s back up the steps during the first trip from the van. After that the girls had made Tashi’s bed before both climbing onto it and sharing a lollipop as they watched the boys work. 

“No, I want my printer over there.” Tashi calls, popping the candy out her mouth and passing it to Heaven, who is absently scrolling on her phone when she drags it into hers.

“Next time, I want green apple.”

Patrick drops the printer on the desk and turns to them. “You know, people hire movers for stuff like this. Where’s your dad?”

Tashi just ignores him, leaning her head over to look at whatever Heaven is staring at on her phone.

“Men used to build houses, you know.” Heaven says, tilting the device so Tashi can see better. The latter nodding at whatever she’s being shown.

“Mm, and go to war.” Tashi sighs boredly, “You guys can’t carry mini furniture?”

Patrick huffs irritably and looks to Art to back him up. “We’re almost done.” The blond shrugs, wiping the sweat from his brow. 

“You just like kissing their asses.”

“And you don’t?” Tashi calls from the bed. 

Patrick huffs and lifts the printer again, moving it to where Tashi indicated it should go. Meanwhile, Art moves over to the bed finally done emptying the trolley they borrowed from the university. “What’re you two looking at?”

“I’m helping Heaven decide what piece she should do for her audition in a couple days.” Tashi rolls off of the bed and stretches her muscles, “she’s being stubborn.”

Art’s brows furrow as he looks down at Heaven, her eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, not reacting to Tashi’s criticism at all. She’d known about that audition since before they met them. He’s shocked to hear she still hasn’t decided on a piece. 

“It’s not being stubborn, Tashi-” the girl pauses her movements at the use of her real name, brow raising. “It’s my audition.”

“Okay. Yeah, I just don’t wanna hear you whine for the next two weeks about how you should’ve done Odile from Swan Lake but pussied out because it’s hard and you know you’d complain.”

“I’ve done it before.”

“Exactly, babe, exactly. That’s why I don’t get why you don’t just go set the tone.” Tashi chirps. Her voice does that thing. That thing she does when she's pretending she's being casual about something. Going up an octave to show just how much she doesn't care.

Heaven sits up then, a stern look on her face that can rival the one Tashi gives, both hands planted in the bed as she stares the other girl down. “You don’t think I’ll get the lead with whatever I pick.” 

It’s not a question. It’s a statement. A dare. The look she gives dares Tashi to say the wrong thing. 

Patrick and Art don’t know what to do. They’d never seen the girls disagree before. They’re always tag-teaming everyone. Tagging in and out of conversations, finishing each other’s quick remarks, cutting people down with sharp looks together. They’d never seen them face off before.

“I know you’d better get the lead.” Tashi shrugs, flipping her hair over and tying it up with a hair tie.

“I’m gonna. Have I ever not?” Heaven sends back. 

Tashi gives her a noncommittal look before snatching up Patrick’s shirt, tossing it into his hands. “Come hit the ball with me.” 

She offers Art one glance. It’s an invitation, very clearly for everyone except Heaven, who was already turned away on the bed, scrolling on her phone again. 

Patrick and Art have their own wide-eyed, silent conversation, finally settling through gestures. ‘You go with that one, I’ll stay with this one, hopefully no one pitches a fit.’

The dorm room door slips shut and the room is quiet aside from the clock ticking on Tashi’s dresser. A few moments pass before Heaven lets out a loud sigh and rolls over, gasping when she sees Art sitting at the desk on his own phone. “What the fuck?”

His eyes widen as he looks at her. “What?”

“I thought you left with Tashi and Patrick.”

He softens as that, offering her a smile. “And leave you by yourself? Nah. Anyway, we’re gonna be playing tennis everyday for the rest of this semester. Let’s go tour my college campus.”

Heaven looks up at the blond man outstretching his hand to her. Part of it is because she’s pissed at Tashi and didn’t wanna be laying here when she got back, but another part of her thought it might be fun to use this as an opportunity to get to know Art more. 

Since she, Patrick and Tashi started hooking up, she’d decided she was satisfied with keeping the set up she had. She had some fun, they dated, and ultimately, there weren’t many requirements. Her focus was just dance now, she wasn’t looking to waste her time on another boyfriend who wouldn’t work out, and going down the exclusive route with Tashi would get…complicated.

But sometimes she thought about Art. She thought about his cute smile and blond hair. She thought about his voice and muscles. And since the match, she thinks about how he played tennis. She could’ve came from watching him play tennis.

A secret she’ll take to the grave, mind you.

But one that led her to walking around campus with him, despite the fact that she and Tashi had agreed she needed to rest her legs before her audition.

Art told her all about the stuff the guide book talked about, showing her the historic buildings, the dorm he now calls home and the dining hall. And somehow, they ended up in the small theater that’s located on the campus.

He smiles, glancing at her, rocking on his feet as they stand outside the building. 

Heaven rolls her eyes playfully, nudging his shoulder. “Huh. I wonder how we ended up here.

“Couldn’t tell you. Definitely didn’t walk you to this…very small theater on purpose.” Art shrugs. “Probably should go in though.” He says breezily, pushing the door open for Heaven to walk through.

As she steps over the threshold, Heaven’s bad mood nearly dissolves. Her tense shoulders relax and her eyes slip closed. Art watches her all but melt into the environment, her pretty features smooth out as she breathes in deeply. “A theater is a theater. I missed this, traveling with Tashi.”

“I’d bet. I’m sure you don’t get much time to dance when you do that.” He says softly, watching her run her hands along the stage.

“Just drills so I don’t get rusty.” She hums. “I’m gonna end up doing Odile. She’s right, it’s a show stopper, guaranteed lead.”

Art sits in the front, center seat, watching as Heaven pushes her way up onto the stage, sitting on the edge. “I’m sure you’d get it no matter what you did. You’re a beautiful dancer.”

Heaven sweeps her hair over her shoulder. “You’ve never seen me dance, Arthur.”

He looks at her with an earnest, almost pleading expression that makes her stomach flip. “Could I? Please?”

“Okay.”

Art hasn’t experienced that much of life yet. He’s young, he’s had the same best friend forever. He went to a boarding school for tennis. He hasn’t traveled the world yet or anything.

But he’s pretty sure he would like to watch Heaven Whitlock dance. 

She was in sweats. Unprepared, with no shoes. Though she denied it, she was clearly nervous that her friend would bust in, see her, and it would start round two of their squabble. But she stretches for a moment before crouching to set up her phone. “Do you know what you wanna see or…”

Art blushes at that, he doesn’t exactly know any ballets. He just wanted to see Heaven in her element. “How about you show me the dance you wanna do.”

There it is. The truth. They both know she’s gonna do the dance Tashi is recommending. But right now she’s not here. And Art wants to see what Heaven would enjoy doing.

“It’s the Esmeralda Variation.” She says, untying her shoelaces before pulling her shoes off altogether. “I need something to kick.”

Art immediately pulls his hat off, tossing it up to her and chuckling as she giggles catching it. One tap on her phone and the muffled music is echoing in the empty theater. 

And she’s moving.

And Art can’t breathe. 

He’s never seen anything like it, like her. The grace. The control she has over her body. He didn’t know people could look like that. He didn’t know balance could be so beautiful. It was like, he didn’t even want to blink. He didn’t want to miss a minute of it.

His eyes tracked her body’s movements with precision, but what they really focused on was her face. He’d never seen perfection like that. Peace like that. This was what Tashi was talking about. This is what she feels with tennis, Heaven has dance. She was in a relationship. With the song. With her body. The floor. The audience. Him. 

Watching Heaven dance felt like witnessing love.

She’s amazing.

The dance was fun, playful, and looked difficult as hell. And she did it with ease.

He didn’t realize he was holding his breath until she stopped, sliding down into a final split with a bright smile on her face. “That’s…you’re beautiful. That’s amazing, what you just did.”

Heaven gives him a pleased look that has him feeling warm. She moves to sit on the edge of the stage, letting her legs dangle as she looks at him. Her hands rest on her knees. “Thanks, Art, that means a lot.”

He shifts in his own seat, leaning forward. He pushes up out of the red theater chair and makes his way over to stand in front of her. “I mean it. I’ve never seen anything like that.”

“You’re really good at that, you know.” Heaven says, her voice dropping to a whisper as she looks at him. This is the first time they’ve been face to face before. He’s tall, and imposing despite his accommodating demeanor. She bites her lip and watches his eyes immediately drop before he forces them back to her eyes. “Making people feel good about themselves.”

Art’s startled by the compliment, and immediately starts to laugh it off. Betrayed by the redness of his ears. “You have a gift.” He shrugs. “You should be told you have a gift, all the time.”

He doesn’t know what comes over him. The wave of boldness. It might’ve been that they were alone. Or he was still worked up from what he just witnessed. Or the way Heaven was looking at him, with intensity. Like she saw something. He rests one hand on her leg, feeling smooth skin. And pushes into her space, bringing their faces impossibly closer. Heaven’s big eyes flutter shut as he gets closer, and he smiles.

She wants him to kiss her.

Grabbing his hat from behind her and placing it on his head.

Her eyes open after a beat and she gasps out a laugh, their faces still just a breath apart. “Ha. You’re funny-”

He presses his lips to hers in a brief but deep kiss, pulling away just as she pressed her lips back. “I’m sorry.”

Heaven balls her fist in the front of his shirt, dragging him back to her and making their lips meet again. Their mouths move together in a new dance. Suddenly the room is filled with the sounds of their heavy breathing and hums of contentment. Heaven’s hands find their way into Art’s hair as he anchors her waist, pulling her to the very edge of the stage so he can stand between her thighs.

When they pull away their lips cause a loud smack in the dimly lit room. Art’s thumb sweeps over the soft skin of Heaven’s cheek as they both desperately try to catch their breath. Her own hand moves about his curls, smoothing them before sliding to his jaw. Art turns his head to press a kiss to her palm before he speaks.

“Heaven-”

His eyes widen as he sees the girl’s eyes watering, her rose petal lips trembling as she looks at him. Chest rising and falling with her rapid breaths. She runs her hands through her hair with a stressed look that Art thinks he would do anything to remove.

“Please don’t tell Tashi.”

[foreingersgod]

Ur so right about cc content being non existent 😭. I was wondering if I could request a cc fic or hc with Pro Tennis player!reader 🫡

Of course my love!! hope you like it :)

A/N: i’m not a huge athlete so apologies if this has slight inaccuracies

Battered and Bruised . CC

pairing: caitlin clark x reader

synopsis: typically caitlin is the one that comes home with the injuries, but when you take a nasty fall during your big tennis match, she’s the one to take care of you.

you love caitlin, but god did she get hurt a lot. you’d be lying if you said that you weren’t tired of the late nights stood between caitlin legs as she sat on the seat of the toilet, tending to countless bruises and scrapes.

but there were a fair share of sweet moments when she’d come home from an intense game. regardless of the pain she was in, her eyes would never leave your face. she was entranced by how beautiful you looked: hair messy from your evening practices on the court, mascara slightly smudged under your eyes, the way your tongue poked out of the corner of your mouth while you tried to open the bottle of hydrogen peroxide.

“please stop staring, i look like shit” you’d say.

“you’re the most beautiful woman i’ve ever seen in my life” she’d reply, fingers fiddling with your skirt “i’m so insanely lucky”.

and she really meant it, she’s so grateful to have someone like you. someone who was willing to ‘nurse her back to health’, as you put it, no matter how late in the night it was or how little the cut might be. she wished you could understand how much something so little could mean the most.

so when you came home from a pretty nasty game, skin drenched in sweat, knees sore and covered purple, and your feet blistered, she knew this was her moment to return the favor.

“holy shit, YN, you look terrible” caitlin said, shocked to see you so beaten up.

“gee, thanks babe” you dropped your duffel bag and racket at the door, collapsing on the couch. you did your best to give her a sarcastic smile, but everything hurt and you could barely feel your face.

“stop that’s not what i meant,” she wasted no time rushing to your side to sit next to you. pulling up both of your legs to rest across her lap, she gently removed your socks and shoes to rub your aching feet. “what the fuck happened today?”

you honestly don’t really even know what happened, the match started off so well. but the entire time you couldn’t stop thinking about how caitlin wouldn’t be there this time due to conflicting schedules and it really threw you off your game.

“everything happened” you sighed, rubbing your head “first, you weren’t there today, so all i could think about was how badly i wanted to come home to you. then i kept messing up all my drills before we started…and the girl i was against today was so fucking bitchy and such a dirty player! i just couldn’t keep up like i normally do and i just…” you rambled mindlessly as pain shot through your entire body.

she reached over to push the hair out of your face, softly rubbing her thumb over your cheekbone. “YN…”

“and i just kept tripping and i skinned my leg, i think at some point the ball hit me square in the head so now my whole fucking head hurts” you cried.

“baby, it’s ok, shhh, you’re ok” she cooed, forcing you to sit up next to her and she enveloped you into a hug. you just wanted to cuddle up into the side of her hoodie and stay there forever.

caitlin held you for a few minutes while you tried to catch your breath and give your body a break. her hand found its way to your hair once again, pulling out your pony tail and headband to massage your scalp.

“i think it’s my turn to take care of you this time” she finally whispered into your ear. she could practically feel your smile against her shoulder.

“i think that’d be nice”

“alright stay put for me, don’t move a muscle”

your girlfriend grabbed your gear as she headed up the stairs so she could put everything away for you. then she headed into the bathroom, dimming the lights and starting the bath. she made to sure to add your favorite bubble bath (the one your sister got you for Christmas last year) and some epsom salts to ease your sore muscles. on top of all this, she made an extra effort to set out some fresh clothes for you and hang up a new towel on your designated hook.

you perked up when she finally game down the stairs, eager to see what took her so long.

“ok, up you go” she urged, helping you off the couch and up the stairs. her hand rested at the small of your back, fingers lightly toying with the band of your skirt as she guided you towards the bathroom.

once she opened the door to reveal the elegant bath she had prepared for you, you had to bite your lip to suppress a moan of relief. the bubbles, the steam, the smell of the room could just about make you cry.

“i hope it’s ok, i made to sure to add in the stuff you like to help you relax a little bit, but tell me if it’s too much or too hot or anything and i’ll-” your lips found hers before she could finish her sentence. your fingers desperately grabbed at her hoodie, trying to pull her as close to you as you could. lips molding into one another’s with ease.

“this is perfect, caitlin. i don’t even know what to say”

“don’t say anything, just get in” she smiled at you.

like the sweet woman she is, caitlin helped you undress. assisting you with your sports bra and taking off your wristbands for you too. as you stepped in the warm water, you instantly felt alleviated and sunk into the comfort. while you closed your eyes, caitlin sat next to the tub on the toilet, soaking a rag in some cleanser to take off the days makeup and wipe away the sweat and grime.

when it was time to wash up, she forced your hand away from your shampoo bottles and body wash, begging you to let her do it for you. you had to admit, it felt good to let her do all the work for you and pamper you tonight.

after soaking in the tub for nearly an hour and caitlin allowing you to vent about the match, you finally forced yourself out and let caitlin dress you for bed. she had set out your “women’s tennis” college t-shirt and matching shorts for you and helped you into bed.

“so what you’re saying is i’ve got to start getting hurt out there more often?” you teased as cait settled behind you and pulled you against her chest so she could help you brush out your hair.

“god please don’t do that,” she laughed “not that i still wouldn’t do this for you regardless, but you just always take such good care of me when i come home battered and bruised.”

she stopped combing to kiss the side of you head and snake her arms around your waist. “you’re so good to me, baby. i love you, you deserve this and so much more”

though almost falling asleep from pure exhaustion, you managed to turn your head to catch her in one last kiss and a soft “i love you”. you were so blessed to have her in this life and the next.

*ೃ༄

A/N: sorry if this is a little vague for “tennis player!reader”, but i hope you enjoyed it nonetheless, thank you for the request <3

[richarlotte]

Hobbies you have?

I golf. I’ve golfed with my dad since I was 13. It’s the thing we do together and when we’re apart, and I’m quite good at it now. I think it’s important to have at least one form of physical sport that you do, and golfing is mine. I follow the LPGA and PGA tours, and it’s one of my favorite activities to do on the weekends and when I have time to leave the library and swing.

 

I sail as well, not as much now that I’m on the ocean, but I did it a lot when I had access to the lakes. I personally love it; I think it’s really fun and a great way to learn your way around the water. Sailing was one of the best ways for me to become at ease with the water, and I’m a very good swimmer from years of practice. 

 

I’m a major fan of ceramics; I’m a member of a private ceramics shop here in LA, and I create my own creations. It’s the ultimate form of self-care for me; it relaxes me, and I love the things I’ve been able to create. I think a lot of people think that ceramics studios are incredibly pricey, but the ones I’ve been to have been affordable, had lessons for beginners, and been geared towards a younger (mid twenties) crowd.

 

I play tennis. I know it’s another sport, but I think it’s important to list because it’s a major part of my life. I try to play singles on Mondays and Fridays, and I usually play doubles on Tuesdays and Thursdays now that I’m on campus. I think it’s a great form of exercise; it’s easy to learn and get into, and I grew up being obsessed with Althea Gibson and how she was truly a pioneer, and that fascination has never left me. 

 

I cook and love cooking. I hosted a Monday night supper club when I was living in NYC, and exploring with food has really helped heal me. I love planning menus, working with new strange and new ingredients, going to markets that stock foreign food, and trying things from new cultures. I’m the type of girl who could look at a fridge with three things in it and make something out of nothing. Cooking is one of my favorite ways to indulge my sense of adventure. 

[theguywithaplan]

List of Video Games turning ten (10) years old in 2025

Alone in the Dark: Illumination (if you thought the AitD game from last year was bad, check this shit out).

Angry Birds 2 (yes, there was a 2).

Animal Crossing: Happy Home Designer

Animal Crossing: Amiibo Festival (two AC games from 2015 and neither of them were what people wanted).

Assassin's Creed Syndicate (the Bri'ish one).

Atelier Shallie

Axiom Verge

Batman: Arkham Knight

Battlefield: Hardline (the last game from Visceral Games, the guys who made the Dead Space series).

The Beginner's Guide (the second game from the creator of The Stanley Parable).

Bloodborne (anything for the 10th anniver-- no. Never gonna happen).

Broken Age

Call of Duty: Black Ops III

Chibi-Robo! Zip Lash

Cities: Skylines

Crypt of the NecroDancer

Devil's Third (one of the rarest Wii U games ever).

Disgaea 5: Alliance of Vengeance

Disney Infinity 3.0

Dragon Ball XenoVerse (the first one. not the second).

Dying Light

Evolve (these guys would go on to make Back 4 Blood).

Fallout 4

Fatal Frame: Maiden of Black Water

Final Fantasy Type-0 HD

Game of Thrones (the Telltale game)

Guitar Hero Live

Halo 5: Guardians

Hatred (a game so edgy and terrible that it got itself kicked off of Steam).

Helldivers (the first one).

Heroes of the Storm (the Blizzard MOBA).

Hotline Miami 2: Wrong Number

HuniePop (for all you pervs out there).

I Am Bread

Just Cause 3

Keep Talking and Nobody Explodes (the quintessential VR game)

Kerbal Space Program

Kirby and the Rainbow Curse (one of the few Wii U games that hasn't been ported to the Switch. And probably never will be).

The Legend of Heroes: Trails of Cold Steel

The Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask 3D

The Legend of Zelda: Tri Force Heroes

Lego Dimensions (a crossover game with about a billion different franchises).

Lego Jurassic World

Life is Strange (controversial opinion: I sacrificed Chloe and felt nothing).

Mario Party 10 (the only MP on the Wii U)

Mario Tennis: Ultra Smash

Metal Gear Solid V: The Phantom Pain

Monster Hunter 4 Ultimate (back when the 3DS was single-handedly keeping MH alive)

Mortal Kombat X

Need for Speed (the reboot)

The Order: 1886

Ori and the Blind Forest

Pillars of Eternity

Pokemon Super Mystery Dungeon

Prison Architect

Rainbow Six: Siege

Rare Replay

Resident Evil: Revelations 2

Rise of the Tomb Raider

Rock Band 4

Rocket League

Saints Row: Gat Out of Hell (RIP Volition. You were too good for the modern day).

Shadowrun: Hong Kong

Skylanders: SuperChargers

Soma (the best horror game ever made. Play it if you haven't yet).

Splatoon

Star Wars: Battlefront (the EA reboot).

StarCraft II: Legacy of the Void (RIP StarCraft. You were too good for modern day Blizzard).

Steven Universe: Attack the Light!

Story of Seasons (the very fight one)

Super Mario Maker

Tales from the Borderlands (the best thing that Telltale EVER made).

Tales of Zestiria

Tembo the Badass Elephant (published by Sega and developed by Game Freak... the Pokemon guys).

Tony Hawk's Pro Skater 5

Total War: Attila

Transformers: Devastation (RIP PlatinumGames. You... kinda started sucking after Astral Chain).

Undertale (yep, it's happening).

Until Dawn

Warhammer: End Times - Vermintide

The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt (just in time for the 4th game)

Wolfenstein: The Old Blood (remember, kids: Nazi lives don't matter).

Xenoblade Chronicles X (finally escaping the Wii U this year).

Yakuza 5

Yo-Kai Watch

Yoshi's Woolly World

[roses-for-rosalyn]

what if abby's father and the reader's father were friends and the like to hangout and play tennis a lot ; one day jerry anderson tries to convince his daughter to play a game with him, his friend and his daughter (reader) who has just returned home after two years of travelling ;

both girls accept their father's invitation! then the big day arrives and abby finds herself in front of reader in her pretty tennis set (and maybe something could happen in the locker room, after a heated match 👀)

I'm baaaack!

Sorry this took me so incredibly long it's been a weird few weeks. I hope I did your idea justice, she's a long one.

word count: 3.3k

content warnings: enemies to lovers, mean, competitive Abby, thigh riding, fem! reader, oral (r! receiving), fingering (r! receiving), overstimulation, dirty talk, modern au where Abby's dad isn't dead obvi, no use of y/n

--------------------------------------------------------

You were sitting at your kitchen counter sipping on a glass of ice water and gazing out the window, watching the summer breeze rattle the trees. It had been a few weeks since you’d gotten back from Europe, but ice still felt like a luxury. Europe was so beautiful and you wouldn’t trade it for anything, but after a few years you started to yearn for air conditioning, cold water and disgusting greasy fried food. Your first bite of a McChicken back in the states was orgasmic. 

You also missed your family, your dad would call you every other day and talk about his day in incredible detail. He joined a country club and got into tennis while you were gone, he even made a few friends. You were especially happy about that because you were worried about him getting lonely while you were gone. You didn’t want him rotting in an empty house while you went out and traveled the world. Even though your dad’s days were mundane and repetitive you just liked listening to him talk. His voice was the only thing that could dull the feeling of homesickness. 

The front door opening pulls you out of your thoughts. Your dad walks in clearly having just got back from the country club, he was dressed head to toe in tennis gear including a visor. You can’t help but giggle at how stupid and preppy he looks. You didn’t exactly grow up going to country clubs, and dressing in brand name clothes. Luckily your dad had gotten a new job so he could splurge on himself. It made you happy to watch him treat himself for the first time in his life. 

“What? Why are you laughing at me?” He looks up and down checking his clothes for stains or any wardrobe malfunctions. 

“Nothing, you just look a little funny dressed in your tennis uniform. Not exactly used to you in country club attire.” You smile as he acts mock offended. 

“I think it suits me, thank you very much.” He dramatically marches over to the fridge to fill up his water bottle. He’s really not gonna let go of this.

“You’re right, you were born to wear exclusively Vineyard Vines and sip wine on the balcony of your third beach house.” You say with a smirk. 

“Sounds pretty nice to me.” He smiles and leans on the counter across from you. 

He hesitates before saying “I’ve been meaning to invite you to play with me and Jerry, I think you’d have fun, it’ll be like the good old days on your high school tennis team. You’d probably deeply humble both of us.” Jerry was your dad’s best friend right now, one of the first people that welcomed him into the country club. 

“Dad, I haven’t played tennis in three years I don’t kn-” 

“Jerry said he’d bring his daughter too. She also used to play a lot of sports in high school. We could do father daughter teams or daughters vs fathers. It’ll be fun.” He sounds so excited, you would feel way too guilty turning him down at this point. 

“Ok, ok. Have you met his daughter? Is she like.. Nice?” You didn’t want to have to fake getting along with her for your dad’s sake, if you were being honest you would probably end up doing that anyway. Your dad wasn’t exactly good at finding you friends. 

“Yes, she’s incredibly nice, and respectful. She’s a few years older than you, about 25 I think, and she works for a construction company.” He pauses trying to recollect the little information he knows about his friend’s daughter. “She’s so strong I’m pretty sure she could pick me up bridal style.” Your dad laughs at his own joke, but now you are a little nervous. It’s starting to sink in that your dad essentially set up a playdate for you with an incredibly buff woman. You just hope you don’t end up noticeably ogling at her, maybe you’ll get lucky and she’ll be incredibly mean.   

You woke up bright and early the next morning, your dad bribed you with a fancy breakfast before the match. The food was delicious, but you couldn’t stop your nervous movements, constantly tapping your fingers or feet. Your dad noticed and reassured you there was no reason to be nervous, and that there’s no pressure. To be honest your nerves weren’t completely because you were out of practice. Meeting new people always made you anxious, especially when it was arranged like this. There was an unspoken expectation for everyone to get along and enjoy themselves and you liked to keep your expectations low. 

Before you knew it you and your dad were walking to the tennis courts. Your dad noticed you were starting to get all up in your head.

“Hey, loosen up kiddo this will be fun, if it’s not you let me know and we can leave. I’ll just tell them I’m not feeling well and we can get ice cream. Jerry will understand.” He messes with your hair a bit and you feel mildly relieved. 

Once you get to the tennis court all of the relief you felt drained from your body, immediately replaced with pure anxiety. As you walk onto the smooth green court you see a middle aged brunette man, no doubt that was Jerry, and a tall strong blonde standing next to him. She towered over him, every muscle chiseled to perfection by what must have been some higher power. As you got closer you could see her biceps straining against her blue t-shirt, her thighs were barely visible, but from what you could see they were just as muscular as her arms. You were beginning to ogle when you’re snapped out of it from the sound of your dad greeting Jerry. Your dad shakes hands with Jerry and Abby and you begin to do the same. Abby’s blue eyes pierced right through you, a neutral expression adorning her face. She was incredibly intimidating considering she could clearly snap you in two. You shake Jerry’s hand “I’ve heard so much about you, hope you still remember your stuff from high school. Your dad and I have gotten pretty good.” 

You smile and reply “It’s been a while, but I’m sure I’ll warm up in no time!” You liked to stay humble, but honestly you were pretty good at tennis. You had won a lot of games and you were one of the best on the team. You didn’t talk about it much though because you were self aware enough to know literally no one cares about tennis. You were also as a result extremely competitive so you were hoping you would be able to tone it down in order to not scare your dad’s friend away. 

You move to shake Abby’s hand “I’m Abby, nice to finally meet you.” From her tone you would have assumed she thought it was indeed not very nice to meet you. But you nod and smile as her calloused hand engulfs yours. You can’t help but notice how warm her skin is to the touch and how large her hands are. 

She was incredibly attractive. 

“Alrighty you guys ready for an ass whoopin?” Jerry jests. 

“You bet.” Your dad replies. 

You and your dad make your way to the other side of the net and get into your ready positions. Abby serves the ball first and her swing was strong, but it was no match for your speed. You quickly learned the harder Abby hit the ball the louder she would grunt, so naturally you attempted to rile her up further. You would smirk arrogantly at her every time you and your dad gained a point, and take an extra long time getting ready to serve on the rare occasion she and Jerry would score a point. You and your dad rack up points quickly and the blonde was growing visibly frustrated. She was starting to hit the ball even harder, her jaw was clenched and her expression was so serious. It was adorable. 

Eventually Jerry calls for a break and sits on one of the benches with you dad, leaving you to sit with Abby. Alone. 

You sit down next to her on the wooden bench and start sipping from your water bottle. She does the same and you sit in silence for a bit. You notice the sweat on her brow and how her shirt is starting to stick to her skin. You can almost make out her abdominal muscles through the thin blue fabric. 

“I’m not usually this bad at sports, not used to losing.” Abby says, looking straight ahead. You can’t help but smile at her discontent, she seems just as competitive as you.

“I’m sure your strong muscles get you pretty far in most sports, but apparently tennis is not one of them, especially when you're up against an expert like me.” You say trying to joke around to lighten her mood.

“I wouldn’t classify a varsity tennis player as an expert, but okay.” She says with a smug look, still not facing you. She definitely did not understand your humor. 

“Clearly enough of an expert to beat you.” You shoot back. Abby grows silent and continues to sip her water. 

You sit in silence while your dad chats with Jerry, giving up on trying to make conversation with Abby. Eventually Jerry and your father stand up ready to finish the game. You and your dad beat them miserably. The game only ended because the sun started to go down, the country club quickly emptying out for the day. 

Your dad and Jerry suggest you all get washed up in the locker rooms before leaving. They walk away from the tennis court side by side talking and laughing while you and Abby walk behind them in almost total silence. Once the group reaches the locker rooms the two dads turn to you and Abby. 

“Would it be ok if me and Jerry grab a drink together? Abby can take you home in Jerry’s car.” The absolute last thing you wanted was to be stuck in a small car with this mean blonde, but you smiled and nodded. 

“See you later kiddo.” Your dad smiles and tussles your hair before walking into the locker room. 

You walk into the locker room as well, planning to just keep your distance from Abby for as long as you could until you were stuck with her in a tiny car. You can hear her heavy footsteps follow behind you and you quickly put your bag down, grab a towel and walk towards the showers to avoid facing her. You walk into one of the stalls and turn on the shower. The warm water helps to calm you down and soothes you. You lather on the soap massaging your muscles to relieve any soreness or tension, making sure you washed all the sweat away from the match. Unfortunately you have to be quick because you don’t want to make Abby any more annoyed than she was. 

As you step out and begin to dry yourself off you realized you forgot your change of clothes. 

Fuck.

You wrap the towel around you tightly and make your way to the lockers. Abby is sitting on the bench in the middle lacing up her shoes. Thank god she was looking down. You scramble over to your bag and grab your clothes out. You turn to head back to the showers to change in peace but Abby’s voice stops you.

“You took fucking forever.” She’s not looking at you, which you have observed to be a habit of hers. 

“Didn’t want to stink up your car. Is that ok with you?” Abby scoffs, but says nothing in response. 

“Seriously what the fuck did I do to you?” You blurt out, exasperated. You’re not usually this confrontational, but you felt like you deserved an answer. “I have barely had a conversation with you and for some reason you seem to have a problem with me or something.” 

Abby stands up angrily to face you and you had almost forgotten you were wearing a towel until she looked at you up and down with wide eyes. “You weren’t even gonna get dressed before asking me that question?” She sounds genuinely pissed off. Was everything you did an inconvenience? 

“Doesn’t matter, just answer it.” You look her straight in the eyes, challenging her. 

“Fine. You really wanna know?” You nod “I barely had a conversation with you and I could tell you were a brat.” As she’s talking she starts walking towards you, you didn’t even realize you were backing away until you felt the cool metal lockers against your skin. “You have an attitude problem, you know that? You don’t know when to shut the fuck up” She’s close, too close, she’s looking directly down at you daring you to respond. 

“Are you fucking kidding me? You were the one who started being rude to me.” You refuse to break eye contact with her, trying to intimidate her from your height was ineffective, she wasn’t backing down. “What are you gonna do?” You ask boldly, tilting your head inviting her to answer. “Teach me a lesson? We both know you’re not gonna do anything, so just let me get dressed so I can get home and never see you again.” She doesn’t respond, the only sound was you and Abby’s synchronized breaths as she stared at you with a fire in her eyes. Her stare somehow made you feel more naked than you already were, making you overly aware of the fact that you were wearing a towel that was starting to slip down. 

“You have no idea what you’re asking for sweetheart.” She says almost breathlessly. The anger in her eyes quickly turns into a hunger when she looks down at your towel slowly slipping off your body. You’re holding on to the towel for dear life. 

“Fuck.” Abby says breathlessly before doing the absolute last thing you could have expected. She kisses you. Hard. 

You let out a surprised squeak and quickly back away, both of your chests heaving. You look in her eyes and see a desperation and hunger that’s almost scary, but for some reason you kiss her back. Abby melts into you and threads her fingers into your hair. You place your hands gently against her chest as she pushes you further against the lockers with her strong body. Her hands slowly travel down to the towel barely maintaining your dignity. She gently pries your hands from the soft material and rips it off throwing it across the room, keeping her lips on yours the entire time. You barely notice the cool air against your bare skin, she is so close to you you can feel her body heat radiate through her clothing. 

Abby uses her foot to move yours outward, spreading your legs enough for her to slot her thigh between them. You moan into her mouth the moment her strong thigh makes contact with your bare cunt. You start slowly writhing against her, trying to relive the ache that was growing in your center. Abby breaks away and looks down at you desperately grinding on her thigh. “You’re already so wet for me sweetheart. Barely had to do anything.” She smiles smugly as she watches you become a moaning mess, her thigh creating a perfect pressure against your clit. 

Abby starts kissing you down your neck, occasionally sucking on the sensitive skin, the feeling of her rough tongue causing you to whimper. She begins circling her fingers around your nipples, teasing them, before pinching them and rolling them between her fingers. You begin to move faster against her thigh and the pleasure in your belly begins to build. Your moaning starts to become louder as you begin to reach your high. Abby notices and moves her thigh further against you, putting even more pressure on your sensitive bud. “You close baby?” You nod and whine, desperate for any kind of release. You start moving faster against Abby’s thigh and your pleasure quickly hits its peak. It comes crashing against you in overwhelming waves, forcing loud moans from your lips. Abby eventually puts her leg down and backs away slightly, before kneeling in front of you. Before you can ask any questions she grabs one of your legs, hooks it around her shoulder and licks a stripe up your soaking cunt. You hiss through your teeth, sensitive from your first orgasm. She begins teasing your clit with her tongue and you have to thread your fingers into her hair for something to hold on to. 

You barely manage to whimper out, “Abs-fuck- I-I’m too sen-senitive.” 

She stops for a second and looks up at you. The sight of her kneeling between your legs is nearly enough to have you coming again. “You can take it baby, gonna make you come until you can’t give me that attitude anymore.” And with that she starts lapping at your cunt once again. She sucks your clit into her mouth, her tongue circling your sensitive bud. You let out a surprised whine, your chest heaving from the intense sensation. Abby’s hands grab hold of your hips, bring you closer to her mouth. 

You can feel another orgasm building as Abby rubs her thumbs in circles against your skin. You begin uncontrollably writhing against her tongue, but Abby quickly uses her grip on your hips to pin you firmly against the lockers forcing you to remain still. The action caused your pleasure to bubble over. “Abby-”, you whine out “-ffuck-fuck.” 

She keeps assaulting your clit through your orgasm, not slowing down. As you begin to come down, you become sensitive again and try to wriggle away from her. She pins your hips against the lockers and looks up at you with a stern look in her eyes. She wasn’t going to stop until you couldn’t even hold yourself up. 

She shoves two fingers inside of you causing you to gasp at the sudden intrusion. Her digits slid in easily, your arousal now dripping down your thighs. She curls her fingers forward causing you to have to bite your lip to keep from screaming. 

“Don’t you fucking dare bite your lip I want everyone to be able to hear you screaming for me sweetheart.” You clench around her thick fingers at her words and Abby takes that as a sign to keep talking. “You’re taking me so well princess. Think I can add another finger?” You nod eagerly at her in response. “Use your words baby.”

“Y-yes pl-please yes.” With your pathetic reply she adds another finger, filling you to the brim. She fucks you at a steady pace occasionally looking up at you to watch your face scrunch up in pleasure. She begins sucking hard on your clit causing you to let out a pornographic moan. She speeds up her fingers, hitting your g-spot with each thrust. Little moans and whimpers were escaping your lips every time her fingers hit that spongy spot. Your walls began clenching around Abby’s fingers and she knew you were close. Your orgasm hit you quickly and caught you by surprise, your whole body feeling the most intense pleasure you’ve ever felt. You’re not even sure what noises you were making or what you were saying, the pleasure was so blinding all you could do was buck your hips into Abby’s mouth. You were being held up exclusively by Abby’s grip on your hips. She stands up and quickly scoops you up bridal style to sit you down on the bench. She helps you get dressed and you could barely protest, she reduced you to jello. Abby stands up and offers her hand to help you up. You oblige and as you stand up she says “Need you to teach me your tennis skills sometime.” Weirdly she’s smiling. 

You can’t help but smirk, “Yeah? Well it’s gonna cost you and I don’t take sexual favors as payment.” 

[k1sse-s]

TASHI DUNCAN

I’m going to strangle you.

› summary: she makes you hate her a little less after accidentally meeting you on the court.

! warnings: fem!reader, smut, no use of y/n, sex on the court/public place, fingering, obsessive!tashi, cursing, dirty talk.

Please let me know if I forgot something! ˎˊ˗

› wc: 1.5k

Your Wilson racket almost slipped away from your hand when you heard that weirdly familiar whistle behind your back. You didn’t turn your head around out of pure curiosity, no, there was also sense of irritation that made you do it. Because you knew that whistle damn well, and you knew from who it was from.

Tashi Duncan. And her cocky, irritating, arrogant twist of her lips.

“You should wear that skirt more often.” She said shamelessly. Eyes narrowing to get better view of your shiny, tanned legs and the way the muscles of your calves were flexing, making flawless collaboration with the sun that hit your skin. Tashi wasn’t even trying to pretend she’s not attracted to you.

But you had your pride, didn’t you? You had to ignore her just because how insufferable she was in your eyes.

Literal imagine of narcissism.

And you couldn’t stand her nor the way she was mercilessly scanning you from behind. Letting out a soft groan of disappointment when the wind didn’t blow your tennis skirt high enough to give her a good look at your ass.

“Solo practice?” She said sarcastically, pushing her tennis bag off her shoulder, letting it hit hard surface of the court.

She just had to put her gear next to yours, otherwise it wouldn’t be Tashi.

“Yeah.” You gave her unbothered scoff, your fingers intently following the strings of your racket as you walked forward onto the court.

“Should’ve known you’re here to play with yourself.” Her bottom lip going between her teeth while she teased further, riling you up.

Oh how she loved doing that.

“Fuck off.” You mumbled to yourself as Tashi’s lips slowly twitched into a smirk that grew only wider as you positioned yourself to serve. She watched you focused on the game, clueless of her gaze lazily moving along your slim legs, clearly enjoying how your little skirt lifted with your movement.

“Your footwork is a joke.” Playful sarcasm in her voice as her eyes dropped to her own racket. Both of you knew there’s nothing wrong with your footwork. It was amazing. Fabulous even.

“Try this.” She positioned herself next to you, her thumb moving with the fur on the green ball that was in her fingers. You took a look at her racket. There’s no doubt about it, Tashi only accepts the very best when it comes to her equipment.

And it fills you with pure envy. The only thing that goes in your mind while watching her serve is how you want to whip the racket from her hands and smash it against the court.

“I know how to serve.” You almost snapped at her. Why she was still trying to prove she’s better than you? She played more matches, had way more awards than you. Everyone knew no one can compare to her.

Everyone except you. Because you knew you can be better.

“I never said you don’t.” She has to stop herself from letting out a scoff at your exasperated tone. Instead, she let’s her dark eyes glance at your flexing thighs, toned arms, then back to your face. Still annoyed that your damn skirt was in the way.

It was always in the way.

It was almost unfair how hot you are, how effortlessly you make her bite the inside of her cheek to prevent herself from licking the sweat from your abs away. But oh God, she wants to have a taste. “You just suck at it compared to me.”

“Fuck you, Duncan.”

“You wish.” Irritation appearing in her voice as she grabbed your arm and forced you to face her. The pressure of her fingers digging into your muscles felt amazing. “Watch your mouth, princess, because it will get you in trouble.”

Tashi was clearly pissed by your attitude now, which caused a lot of confusion, some of frustration and shock in you. She never acted like this. Usually you could curse at her and she’ll give you even more vulgar response. And this? This made you speechless. Not even a word could leave your dry throat.

“Are you gonna do this every time I try something, huh? Pushing me away like you can’t stand me looking at you?”

“You think you’re better than me?” You argued further, despite the obvious dominance she had over you because of the tight grip on your arm. “You think I’m not?” Tashi chuckled, leaning forwards a little to close the remaining space between you two. Her front brushing against yours.

“I’m going to strangle you—“ That’s all you managed to whisper through your gritted teeth before she pushed you onto her body. Her full lips immediately found yours and the lack of your protest revealed about what you were thinking at night while trying to sleep.

She’s completely and utterly melting against you, her hand shakes as it comes to cup the back of your head and pull it towards her, tugging you closer as she deepens the kiss, lips hungrily seeking for more. Her tongue moves against yours in heated and such intimate way, she feels unable to stop the low whine slowly leaving her throat.

She’s showing how desperate she is for you, how she craves you. And no matter how many things she wants to do to you right now she still can’t resist the thought of being ruined by you.

She takes the advantage to press you to the fence of the court, trapping your body between the cold surface and her heated body.

“You greedy bitch.” You pushed her face away from yours, only to get a better access to her neck. Your swollen from the kiss lips carefully following her sharp jaw as her hand skillfully slipped under the hem of your skirt that she wanted to take off so bad since she first saw you in it.

Her fingers moving inwards, to your sensitive lips without a warning, forcing a soft moan out of you. “Greedy?” She repeated after you, panting. “Huh, princess?” Tashi whispers into your ear, her finger circles your hard nub, making your body shudder.

Your lips parted, ready to give her another answer, full of attitude, but the only thing that left your mouth was a sharp groan that was muted by her skin, the sound vibrating in Tashi’s shoulder.

She was more than grateful it’s her fingers, that it’s her making you feel like this, and not anyone else. She loves it. She lives for it.

She fights with herself to not let out a sound of pleasure herself as she feels how wet she has got you. Her free arm wrapping around your waist to steady your shivering body as her middle finger circles your hole, not entering. “See? You can be good.” Hot breath met your ear once more, the feeling sending shivers down your spine. “That’s it, just like that.”

The fact you let her have you like this, take care of you, touch you like this and make you feel good — it’s more than she have ever wanted. She can’t resist the urge to push her fingers inside you, she feels almost obligated to remind you that it’s her, it’s Tashi Duncan that is touching you like this right now. And you moan when you think of that.

“Take it, take it all.” She whispers as her fingers dip inside you, the feeling of your slick walls clenching around her fingers, trying to get used to the stretch she just gave you is making her groan out loud. It’s like you’re perfect for her. Only her.

Your noises caused by the pleasure she was giving you are like honey to her ears. It almost makes her regret that she doesn’t see your expression now — eyes squeezed shut, lips slightly parted, because there’s no point in closing them — she’ll make them open again in a second. Subtle, pink blush spread perfectly across your cheeks. She could only imagine how lovely you looked.

Her fingers were busy with going in and out of your hole, meanwhile her thumb moves to brush against your clit, just to give you a little sensation. Her smirk widened in satisfaction when she heard your moans growing louder, fingers pushing all the way in only to leave in another second. “Look at you, taking me so well.” She praised, wanting to draw out more of those beautiful noises from your lips. She haven’t noticed with what pressure she’s pressing you onto that cold fence, the sides of the wires digging into your back, but the euphoria is not letting you feel any kind of pain right now.

Oh you’re going to be sore tomorrow.

Her lips met your neck, her tongue licking the sweat on your body while her fingers were still busy with your needy hole. Before you could beg her to let you cum you already reached the edge, and she guided you perfectly through the sudden feeling of relief that hit your shivering body. “Good girl.” She murmured against the nape of your neck, her own breath heavy and uneven.

“I’m going to strangle you.” Your lungs seeking for oxygen with desperate need, tongue wetting your lips while your own hand moved towards the hem of her shorts.

“Go ahead, pretty girl.”

[lifeofpriya]

Silent Sparks - Lukáš Dostál

[gif credit goes to @pyotrkochetkov]

a/n: wow, my first nhl fic in a while! i really should write more nhl fics, but the tennis [and jack] brain rot has a fierce grip on me.

summary: you're best friends, but there's more to the eye...

You've known Lukáš for what seems like an eternity, even though it's only been a year or so since you both moved into the same apartment complex in Anaheim. His bright blue eyes and shy smile had you hooked from the first moment you saw him unloading his gear from the car. You had to know your neighbor, the one with the unpronounceable name and the gentle demeanor that seemed to shrink him next to his towering hockey sticks.

It was an unspoken friendship that grew from shared nods in the hallway to casual greetings at the mailbox. Then, one fateful evening, you found yourselves both stuck with a broken elevator. The awkwardness of the confined space grew thicker than the tension on the ice during a playoff game, your heart thumping against your ribcage like a puck smacked by a slapshot.

"You alright?" Lukáš's voice pierced the tension, his accent wrapping around the words like a warm embrace.

You nodded, trying to ignore the way your palms were sweating. "Yeah, just hate these elevators."

Lukáš chuckled, a sound that was as comforting as the warmth from a freshly brewed cup of coffee. "They are not so bad, just old."

You couldn't help but smile back at him, his charm disarming as ever. "I guess you're used to worse, huh?"

Lukáš leaned against the elevator wall, his shoulders relaxing. "Ah, you know, I have seen many tight spots in my life."

You blushed, the heat rising in your cheeks. You had heard about his career, the way he guarded the net with the fierce grace of a ballet dancer. "Yeah, I bet you have."

Lukáš cocked his head to the side, his curiosity piqued. "You follow hockey?"

You shrugged, trying to play it cool. "A bit, yeah."

Lukáš's smile widened, revealing a dimple you hadn't noticed before. "You should come to one of my games."

Your heart skipped a beat. "Really?"

Lukáš nodded, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Yes, I would love that. Next home game is on Friday. I can get you a ticket."

The elevator chose that moment to lurch back to life, the sudden movement making your heart race even more than his invitation had. You stepped out into the hallway, trying to gather your composure. "That would be… amazing," you managed to croak out.

Lukáš's eyes lit up. "Perfect. I'll leave a ticket for you at the will-call." He scribbled his number onto a piece of paper, handing it to you with a hopeful smile. "Call me after the game, let's grab a drink and talk?"

You nodded, clutching the paper like a talisman. The rest of the week dragged on, each hour feeling like an eternity until Friday finally arrived. You picked out your favorite sweater, the one that made you feel both cozy and confident, a comfortable pair of jeans, and your black sneakers, before you headed to the Honda Center. The energy in the arena was palpable, a heady mix of excitement and anticipation that had you buzzing with nerves.

You found your seat, which was surprisingly close to the ice, and watched as the players warmed up. Lukáš's form was a study in precision, his movements a dance of power and grace that left you in awe. When he glanced up and spotted you, his smile was like the sun breaking through the clouds. You felt it down to your toes, a warmth that spread through your body like a comforting blanket.

The game began with a roar from the crowd, and you were immediately sucked into the fast-paced, chaotic world of professional hockey. You had never felt so alive. Every time Lukáš made a save, the arena erupted in cheers, and your heart soared with him. You found yourself leaning forward, biting your lip, willing him to keep the puck out of the net.

When the buzzer sounded for the first intermission, you took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Your nails were bitten down to the quick, and your knuckles were white from gripping the edge of your seat. You had no idea watching a game live could be so exhilarating.

Lukáš spotted you in the stands during the break, his eyes lighting up with a smile that could melt the coldest of rinks. He skated over to the glass, tapped his gloved hand against it, and gave you a wink. The gesture was small, but it sent a jolt of excitement through you.

The game resumed, and so did the rollercoaster of emotions. The tension was palpable, the kind that made you feel like you were playing alongside them, every muscle in your body taut and ready to spring into action. The roar of the crowd became the background track to the symphony of slapshots and body checks. Lukáš was a wall, unyielding and unflappable, his eyes never leaving the puck as it flew towards him.

With each passing minute, your admiration for him grew. It wasn't just his skills on the ice, but the way he communicated with his teammates, the respect he earned from the opposing players, and the quiet confidence that radiated from him. It was impossible not to be drawn in by his passion.

The game was a nail-biter, and by the time the buzzer for the end of overtime rang, the score was still tied. Your heart raced in your chest, mirroring the speed of the players on the ice. You watched as Lukáš's team lined up for the shootout, the pressure on him thick enough to cut with a knife.

He took his place in the crease, his eyes locked on the opposing player. You held your breath as the puck was shot, his glove snatching it out of the air with a swiftness that seemed almost supernatural. The crowd erupted in a roar that vibrated through your bones. You couldn't help but stand, cheering along with the rest of the stadium.

As the shootout continued, your heart was in your throat, and every save Lukáš made felt like a victory for both of you. Each time the Ducks scored, you found yourself jumping up and down, your fists clenched in excitement. And when Lukáš blocked the final shot, securing the win, you felt your chest swell with pride.

The arena erupted in a symphony of cheers and applause as the players skated over to each other for a group hug, their grins as wide as the nets they had just battled over. The scoreboard flashed in a kaleidoscope of colors, announcing the victory in a display that seemed to mirror the fireworks going off in your chest.

You watched as Lukáš skated off the ice, his helmet coming off to reveal sweat-drenched hair sticking to his forehead. The camaraderie between him and his teammates was as mesmerizing as the game itself. They were a well-oiled machine, each victory a testament to their bond.

After the game, you waited nervously outside the arena, the cool night air a stark contrast to the heat of the arena. The anticipation was a living creature, pulsing in your veins as you clutched your phone, rehearsing what you would say. The crowd began to thin, and you spotted Lukáš emerging from the player's exit, his eyes scanning the sea of faces.

When he saw you, his smile was as bright as the stadium lights had been, and he made his way over, his stride purposeful and sure. You felt your knees wobble, but you held your ground, trying to match his confidence with your own.

"You came!" he exclaimed, pulling you into a bear hug. The smell of sweat and ice clung to him, but it was strangely intoxicating. "I didn't think you'd actually come."

You mumbled something into his shoulder, too overwhelmed to form coherent words. The warmth of his embrace was like a shot of adrenaline, setting your heart racing again.

"Come on," Lukáš said, pulling away gently, "let's get out of here."

You followed him, his hand a warm presence on your lower back as you navigated through the throngs of fans. He led you to a small, dimly lit bar not far from the arena, a place where the locals went to unwind. The coolness of the air inside was a stark contrast to the electricity of the game, and you felt your nerves begin to settle.

Lukáš slid onto the barstool next to you, his eyes still sparkling with the excitement of the win. He ordered a couple of beers, his accent making even the simplest words sound like poetry. The TV above the bar played highlights of the game, and every time his face flashed on the screen, you felt a little jolt of pride.

You took a sip of your drink, the cold liquid sliding down your throat, and turned to him. "That was… incredible."

Lukáš's cheeks flushed a bit under the bar's soft lighting. "Thank you," he said, his smile shy. "You know, I don't usually get nervous before games, but knowing you were there…" He trailed off, his eyes searching yours.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm the butterflies in your stomach. "You looked like you had it all under control."

Lukáš's laugh was as smooth as the ice he skated on. "Looks can be deceiving."

You couldn't help but chuckle, feeling the weight of the unspoken words hanging in the air between you. You took a gulp of your drink, the bubbles tickling your nose. "Well, you had me fooled."

Lukáš leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "It's not easy to keep calm with the fate of the game in your hands."

You nodded, your heart racing from the closeness of his presence. "I can't even imagine."

Lukáš took a swig of his beer, his eyes never leaving yours. "It's a rush, but nothing compares to the feeling of playing in front of a crowd that's really into it."

You nodded, understanding the sentiment all too well. "I can see that."

Lukáš took a moment to study you, his eyes flickering over your face like he was trying to read an unwritten story. "You know, I've noticed something about you."

"Oh?" You felt your cheeks warm.

Lukáš took a deep breath, his gaze dropping to the counter before returning to you. "You have a way of making me feel seen," he said, his voice barely above a murmur. "Like I can be my true self around you."

You felt your heart flutter, the warmth in his words resonating deep within. "What do you mean?"

Lukáš leaned even closer, his breath tickling your ear. "You make me feel like…I can tell you anything," he murmured, his eyes searching yours for understanding.

You felt the air thicken around you, the weight of his words pressing down like the gravity of a thousand planets. You'd had crushes before, but none had ever felt this intense, this real. It was as if the universe had conspired to bring you two together in this very moment.

"What do you mean, Lukáš?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

He took a deep breath, his eyes searching yours. "You make me feel seen," he repeated, his voice a gentle rumble. "I don't know how to explain it."

You felt your own heart thumping in response, a symphony of hope and fear playing out in your chest. You had never felt this way about a friend before, but something about Lukáš had always felt different. "I feel the same way," you confessed, the words spilling out before you could think better of it.

Lukáš's eyes widened for a brief moment before his smile grew even bigger. "You do?"

You nodded, feeling as though you were standing on the edge of a cliff, about to jump into an unknown abyss. "Yeah, I do."

Lukáš leaned in even closer, his hand brushing against yours on the sticky bar counter. "I've had feelings for you," he admitted, his voice a low rumble. "But I didn't know if it was just me."

You felt your heart pound in your chest, the rhythm matching the pulse of the neon lights outside the window. "No, Lukáš, it's not just you." You swallowed hard, the confession feeling like a weight lifted from your shoulders. "I've had a crush on you for a while."

Lukáš's eyes searched yours, a hint of surprise and a whole lot of hope. "Really?" His hand slid over yours, sending shivers up your spine.

You nodded, feeling both terrified and exhilarated. "Yeah."

Lukáš's thumb began to trace lazy circles on the back of your hand, sending waves of warmth through your body. "I've noticed," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "The way you look at me, the way you laugh at my terrible jokes."

You couldn't help but laugh, the tension between you dissolving into something softer, sweeter. "Your jokes aren't that bad," you protested, though you knew they often were.

Lukáš's smile grew. "They are terrible," he said, his eyes sparkling. "But you laugh anyway."

You couldn't argue with that. You had always found his terrible jokes endearing, a quirky aspect of his personality that made you feel even closer to him.

"So, what now?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. The din of the bar faded into the background, and the only thing that mattered was the warmth of his hand on yours.

Lukáš's thumb continued to trace circles, his gaze never leaving yours. "Well, I was thinking…" He paused, taking a deep breath. "Maybe we could explore this, see where it goes?"

You felt your heart stutter in your chest, the words hanging in the air like mist on a frosty morning. "I'd like that," you whispered, the confession as delicate as the first snowflake of winter.

Lukáš leaned in closer, his eyes shining with a warmth that could melt the coldest ice. "Me too," he murmured, his hand tightening slightly around yours. The air between you was charged, a silent conversation of unspoken desires and hopeful glances.

The rest of the night passed in a blur of laughter and shared stories. You found yourself captivated by tales of his childhood in Brno, the small town rinks where he'd honed his craft, and the journey that had brought him to the NHL. His passion for the game was infectious, but it was his kindness and vulnerability that had truly stolen your heart.

You talked about your own life, the small moments that had shaped you, the dreams you held close to your chest. You felt seen in a way you hadn't in a long time, as if Lukáš had peeled back layers you didn't know you had. His gentle touch on your arm as you spoke about your fears was reassuring, his nods of understanding a balm to your soul.

The bar grew quieter as the night went on, the hum of conversations fading into a comforting background buzz. Lukáš's hand remained on yours, the warmth of his touch a constant reminder of the connection that had blossomed between you.

"So, what do you say?" he asked, his eyes searching yours. "To us giving this a shot?"

You took a deep breath, feeling like you were about to take the biggest leap of faith of your life. "I say, let's do it," you replied with a smile that felt like it could light up the entire bar.

Lukáš's eyes lit up, and he leaned over to kiss your cheek, his lips lingering for a moment longer than you expected. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down your spine, and you knew that this was the start of something incredible.

[glittercakes]

Which headcanons do you have about the Koopalings?

Let’s see…

The age order from oldest to youngest is Ludwig (18), Lemmy (17), Roy (16), Iggy (15), Wendy (14), Morton (13), and finally Larry (12).

The Koopalings are Bowser’s adopted children and you can pry that from my cold dead hands (I do not care what Miyamoto has to say about this). He was a little concerned when he kept finding random abandoned Dragon Koopa babies, but he still took them all in.

Lemmy and Iggy have the same parents, but Iggy was still an egg when they got adopted and didn’t hatch until after Roy came into the picture

For the most part, they have their personalities from the cartoons (except Ludwig is a musician/strategist and his mad scientist/inventor shtick goes to Iggy instead).

Whatever social media exists in the Mushroom Kingdom, you just know that Wendy is not only on it, but she also has tons of followers.

Morton’s caveman speak thing in Color Splash (I refuse to believe that the Paper Mario universe is separated from the main one, each post-Super game had a papery world due to magical means. I may explain this further in a future post) was a result of a concussion. Just like the cartoons, he’s a verbose guy with an inability to shut up.

A little sadder, but also in Color Splash, Black Bowser drained each Koopaling of color after their defeat, as a warning to the others to not fail. Obviously, Bowser would not have done such a thing if he was not possessed. Mario was able to restore them after the events of the game.

Funnily enough, Lemmy is the closest to Bowser Jr while Iggy is the least close.

Ludwig’s preferred instrument is the piano, but he also occasionally plays other elegant instruments like the violin or flute.

Morton is actually a really good poet, it’s just that his poems tend to go on forever.

Lemmy has a circus with some other members of the Koopa Troop.

Bowser gave the Chomp from Super Mario RPG to Iggy, as he absolutely loves Chain Chomps.

Wendy is one of the best swimmers and figure skaters in the Mushroom Kingdom (that’s why she normally takes the water and ice worlds in the main series games).

Whenever they aren’t in a game, it’s usually because they decide to take a vacation (typically somewhere that is coincidentally away from the main action).

Lemmy is really clumsy whenever he isn’t on top of one of his balls.

Larry is a really good tennis player.

Before Bowser’s Minions came out and disproved it, I liked the idea that the reason they helped Bowletta during the endgame of Superstar Saga was because Jr was being threatened.

Roy may not look like it, but he loves sappy rom-coms (bring it up and you’re dead, though).

Iggy is responsible for the upkeep of most of the Koopalings’ gear, such as their wands, clown cars, and even things like Wendy’s rings and Lemmy’s balls.

Larry has a massive sweet tooth, thus he will sometimes literally take candy from a baby.

Ludwig uses past defeats as inspiration for his symphonies.

Roy wears sunglasses due to light sensitivity.

Finally, they all love Bowser despite his many faults, and he loves them right back.

And that’s it! Feel free to add to this if you want!

[ssuperficialspacecadett]

Friday Fight Night

Chapter Four of the Through the Scope series | Chapter Five

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 3.4K

Chapter Overview: You help Benny and the guys get ready for FFN.

Notes: this chapter is just a bit shorter than what i usually like to post, but i didn't have a lot of time to write this week & i'm actually content with where i ended it ! sometimes u just have to stop a little short so u don't just start typing random shit to meet a bullshit word count u give urself u know? i updated the tag list so if i missed u PLZ LET ME KNOW & i will add u asap !! well as usual...my asks are always open & happy reading <3

*no use of y/n & female presenting reader*

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Why is this so difficult? It's just like every other day at work, except for the fact that it's not. You have been standing in front of your closet for a good 10 minutes now just looking at your clothes. Suddenly nothing seems good enough to wear. Maybe something would be good enough if you knew how to dress for a fight. Should you wear workout gear? No, you weren’t the one fighting. Should you wear a tank top and a tennis skirt? Probably not if it gets as rowdy as Benny says it will. 

“Just pick a fucking outfit, you idiot.” You chastise. 

After yet another once over of your closet you pick out a worn, white t-shirt with an image of Speed Racer on it. It had definitely seen its glory days years ago when you were still in college. If it worked then, it should work now. You take it off its hanger, along with some jeans, and put it all on. You’re tying your shoes when your phone chimes next to you. 

???: Hey, we will be getting to the gym around closing time. Are you staying to help Benny set up? 

???: Oh, this is Frankie BTW

Seeing his name on your screen makes your chest tighten with excitement. You obviously gave him your number so he could text you, but now it feels so real. Something about Frankie texting ‘BTW’ makes you giggle to yourself as you sit on the floor.

You: Yes, I figured I would make myself useful. No point in going home since the fights start at 10:00 P.M. and I might lose my parking spot.

You have to set your phone down before you overthink the most basic text you have ever sent in your life. Just for good measure, you leave it on your bed while you go into the bathroom. Despite your best efforts to remain nonchalant about the whole situation, you find yourself putting on a little more makeup than usual. By the time you have wrapped up and returned to your room an unread text is waiting for you. 

Frankie: Good thinking. See you tonight then.

The rest of your morning has a bit more pep in it than before.

***

Your day at the gym passes by as usual. The only two exceptions were a truck load of last minute Friday Fight Night tickets sales and then compliments on how the gym was smelling. You made a mental note to smack Benny upside the head for throwing such a temper tantrum about it. In between customers you found yourself checking your phone more than you regularly do. You told yourself that it was just because you were excited about the fights and were counting down the minutes and not because you were hoping to receive another text from Frankie. Unfortunately, lying to yourself never really works out. 

In an effort to keep yourself occupied, you answer emails from people that are applying for a gym membership, make laps around the gym to see if you need to replace any of the wipes used to clean the machines, and collect all of the dirty towels for a load of laundry. Much to your dismay, these tasks don’t take very long to complete. By 3:30 P.M. you reluctantly slink back to the front desk where the single most unwanted guest is waiting. 

“There she is! My favorite receptionist! I’m still interested in knowing your name, darlin’.” 

“Good afternoon, Brunson.” You plop yourself down in your chair and pull up the schedule on the computer. “Just working out today? I don’t see that you’re with Benny.”

“You caught me. I want to make sure that I’m in good shape when I fight in a few weeks time.” 

For a few blissful seconds you allow yourself to indulge in the idea of Brunson getting clocked, hard, right in the jaw. 

“Well, enjoy yourself.” You scan his card quickly in an attempt to move him on his way.

“I always do so when you’re here.” He clicks his tongue at you while he walks past your desk. 

“God, he’s insufferable.” You mumble to yourself.

It’s 4:00 P.M. when Benny finally ventures up to the front lobby with you.

“Where have you been? I feel like I haven’t seen you all day, man.”

“Because you haven’t,” He covers his face with his hands and whines into them before coming back up for air. “At first I couldn’t find where the white board I used to write out the fightin’ pairs was. Then there was somethin’ wrong with the beer delivery and they kept me out back for fuckin’ ever. That isn’t even coverin’ all the one on one sessions I've had today or the ones I’m still goin’ to have.”

It’s breaking your heart to see how stressed out he’s getting with all of the things he has to juggle today. You get out of your chair, walk over to him, and rub on his shoulder comfortingly. 

“It’s going to be alright, Benny. I’m staying after work to help you set up and Frankie told me that the guys are coming to help around closing too. You won't be in this alone for much longer.”

He places both of his hands on his hips and exhales deeply.

“Thank you,” You can see the earnestness in his eyes. “I really appreciate it.”

“Of course. That’s what friends are for, right?”

He smiles down at you from his 6’2 frame and before you can move he pulls you in for a deadly tight hug.

“Benny!” You can’t stop laughing. “Let me go this fucking instant!”

“Friends like hugs from other friends, right?” He yells over your incessant protesting. 

“I’m going to kill you, you know that?!” Your tone of voice doesn’t even sound remotely serious. 

Eventually you get him to unlatch himself from you so the two of you can finish up the work day in order to prepare for this evening.

***

You stand back proudly and admire all of your handiwork. Benny put you in charge of setting up the beer table, so set up the beer table you did. You designed a poster to hang on the wall above the table so people would be able to clearly see their options and their respective prices. You set a long, metal tub in the center of the table and filled it halfway with ice. Then you made a little arrangement out of the beer and poured the last half of the ice on it to keep it cold. The cash box was fully stocked and set to the side. All in all, you did a pretty good job. Thankfully, one of Benny’s regulars volunteered to work it this evening.

“All done over here!” You call over to Benny. “How’s the sign coming?”

You watch in horror as he stands up to reveal a barely legible fighting roster. He must have seen your face flounder when you looked at it because he just tosses the dry erase marker over to you and crosses his arms. 

“Oh, Benny I-”

“I know it looks bad. I’ve never had a knack for all this creative shit.”

You squeeze his hand as you pass him while heading to the white board. He slides over the roster that has been printed on paper for you to use as your guide. You’re so engrossed with your new task that you don’t notice when the guys come in around 8:30 P.M..

“You sure are givin’ Benny a run for his money this evenin’. The place hasn’t looked this put together in…well ever.” That sugary, sweet southern drawl could only belong to one man. 

“Thank you, Will!” You toss over your shoulder.

“Aw screw you, dude. Maybe it would have been if y’all had gotten here when y’all said you would.” Benny notes.

“Blame Fish.” Pope snickers. “He couldn’t find the perfect outfit.” 

That got your interest peaked. You turn around to look at what Frankie is wearing. Regular work boots, soft looking denim jeans, a black undershirt, a worn blue button up with the top few buttons left undone, and finally his cap- oh god he’s looking at you. If you had been a smarter woman, you would have noticed that two thirds of the group standing behind you were looking at your sign. That damned one third of the group was watching you trail your way up his whole body. He’s like an oak; completely unwavering as you take him in. 

“Well, I like it. ” You squeak out as you turn your attention back to the roster. “Now why don’t you guys go make yourselves useful and help Benny?”

You hear a unified ‘yes ma’am’ come from behind you followed by the scattering of three pairs of feet. There truly isn't anything more sexy than men who can follow orders.

All five of y’all work tirelessly for the next hour to get everything finished before the doors open to the public. When you cross off the last item on your to-do list, you decide that you have earned a drink. You sneak over to the beer table and open one of the coolers that you set up behind it that contains the excess bottles. Much to your dismay, the bottle caps don't twist off like you originally thought. You’re on your knees looking around in the extra bags and praying that Benny had the foresight to get a bottle opener when Frankie walks up next to you. 

“Lose something?”

“Just my dignity trying to locate the stupid fucking bottle opener.”

He laughs jovially as he extends his hand to help you up. You take it and sheepishly hand him your bottle when he motions for it. The two of you walk around to the front of the table and you watch as he easily takes out his keys and pops the cap open with a bottle opener he had attached to them. You notice that instead of tossing the cap in the trash he places it back in his pocket along with his keys. Right when he starts to hand the drink back to you he pulls it back towards him. 

“Hey! What gives?”

“I have to test it to make sure it isn’t poisonous or something.”

“Oh my god, you dick.” You lean back on the table behind you.

“You won’t be saying that when I save your life.” He takes a small sip and passes it over to you. “Nope. It’s not poison. You’re in the clear.”

Now it’s your turn. You turn to look out at the gym while you take a drink of your well deserved reward. 

“Wait,” You look over at Frankie. “What if it's a slow acting poison and now we are both infected? I guess you have to stay here and finish this with me so we can go out together.”

He leisurely reclines next to you on the table and takes the bottle in his hand when you offer it to him. “That's some pretty sound logic. I can’t argue with that.”

You try to stop yourself, but you watch as he brings the frosty glass to his pouty lips. They look more pink than usual against the dark color of the bottle. His hands make the beer bottle look so much smaller than it really is. Your eyes wander to that nose you’re so fond of. God, what would it feel like on your clit as he ate his fill of you? Now that you’re closer to him you’re able to see the gray that's intricately woven into his beard and hair. Would it tickle the inside of your thighs when he buried his face in your pussy? Feelings you haven’t had for a man in a long time rock through your body the further you sink into your fantasy. Drifting even further, his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows the chilled liquid. You want to decorate the sensitive skin with blossoming purple marks. 

“What?” He’s looking at you now. “Do I have something on my face?”

“No,” You say almost breathlessly. “I just wanted to make sure you didn’t hog it all.”

“I would never.” The low baritone of his voice reverberates through you. 

Benny, thankfully, yells from across the gym at the both of y’all before you do something questionable. 

“Hey, lazy asses! It’s showtime!”

You and Frankie both let out a breath neither of y’all realized you were holding. He looks down at his watch and then faces his friend with a mild look of annoyance.

“It’s 9:30, man. It’s just the boxers and the ring girls coming in right now.”

You notice that Frankie’s body immediately tenses up after he says this. Confused, you look over at Benny who has eyes as bright as the sun and is making a beeline towards you. 

“I’m sorry.” Frankie whispers down to you. “I’m so sorry.”

“Benny? What are you-?”

“I have a proposition for you.” He says while gripping both sides of your arms. “Do you wanna hear it?”

“I don’t think I have a choice by the look of things.”

“Please be my ring girl.” He gasps.

“Oh my god.” You let your head roll back. “Benny, are you serious right now?”

“Don’t say no yet. Just think about it before you decide.” 

You roll your head over to face Frankie and raise your eyebrows. You’re met with a shrug that is just as innocent as his grin.

“Does this offer have an expiration date?” You inquire shifting your focus back to the man that currently has you in a vice grip. 

“Just think about it.” He pleads.

“Fine, but I’m pretty sure I’m gonna say n-”

“La-la-la! I can’t hear you! La-la-la!”

“Don’t you have fighters to go hype up in the locker room?” Frankie cuts in.

“Nothin’ I hate more than when you’re right, Fish. Catch y’all in between the matches!”

With one final ‘think about it’, he bounds off into the locker rooms. All you can do is laugh hysterically at what just transpired. Frankie probably thinks you have lost your mind with the way you are doubled over right now. 

“Hey let us in on the joke, why don’t you?” Pope sits next to you on the table. 

“I could use a good laugh as well.” Will adds blithely.

“What you two could use is a reality check.” you walk around the table and grab a beer for each of them. “God, I can’t believe him.”

You hand Will and Pope their drinks completely forgetting about taking the tops off. Fortunately, that didn’t stop them. Will snatches Pope’s beer out of his hand and positions the bottles where one has its cap resting just barely on the edge of the other's cap. Then he slams them down on his knee and Pope’s opens with ease. After he hands the open one off, he pops his own with a thick ring he’s wearing. 

“I’m thoroughly impressed, Will. What the hell was that?”

“You just gotta learn to make due sometimes.” 

Frankie and Pope both mutter ‘show-off’ under their breaths as Will explains to you the physics behind his little trick. 

“Okay, now back to what Benny was talking about.” You adjust your stance so you can better face the group. “Are y’all in on this? This ‘ring girl’ shit?”

“Can’t say it wouldn’t be fun though.” Pope prods his finger at you. 

“Oh, yes I can.” You say swatting at him.

“You know, Benny. Once he sets his mind to somethin’ he’s pretty determined to see it through.”

“That doesn’t even begin to answer my question, Will.” You groan as you take the beer from Frankie’s hand. 

The movements between y’all are so natural, so fluid that it feels like something you have been doing for years. You see Pope, almost in shock, watch you as you take a drink.

“Can I get some of that?”

“No way, man.” You shelter the bottle against your body. “Three is a crowd and you literally have an open one in your hand.”

“Will’s right,” Frankie reasons with you. “Benny is as one track minded as they come.”

“Tell him to get on another track then.”

“How about this?” Pope counters. “You go into the locker room with Benny and see what it takes to be a ring girl. Then and only then will he accept your answer of ‘no’ if that’s still what you want.”

“If that will get him off my case then that's fine with me.” 

You start to turn towards the locker room doors when a blue sleeved arm reaches over your shoulder and plucks the beer from you. 

“Hey, give that back!”

“I just want to make sure you don’t hog it all.” Frankie’s tone is thick with sarcasm.

“I would never.” You grin.

Pope waits until you have cleared the locker room doors before he whacks Frankie in the shoulder. Unfortunately, Frankie doesn’t see it coming because he is too busy hoping to catch one more glimpse of you.

“If that's how you act around women you think are ‘just cool’ then I’m terrified to see how you act around women you actually like.”

“The fuck was that for? And the fuck are you talking about, man?” He massages the spot where Pope smacked him. 

“Will, please tell me you aren’t as blind as he is?”

“Sorry, Fish. I see it too.”

“See what?”

“That you look like a goddamn catfish whenever you look at her! Eyes all big and mouth agape.”

“I do not.” Frankie mutters. 

“Come on.” Pope folds his arms across his chest. “You think she’s cute.”

“What are we in middle school? You’re being ridiculous. Will?” 

“I’ll be honest, I wanna know too.” He flashes that signature boyish Miller smile.

All Frankie can do is laugh nervously while he removes his cap and runs his fingers through his hair. He knows that he’s in the middle of a losing battle and that he’ll have to concede. They are going to be ecstatic that a woman other than Rochelle has caught his eye. Especially when it's a woman that meshes so naturally with their group. No, what’s stopping him is that a part of himself wants to keep it a secret. To have something that is just his. No prying eyes, no unwanted advice, no consequences, and no one else has to get hurt but him. As soon as the acknowledgement of his affection for you falls from his lips, it's real. As selfish as it sounds, he wants to keep you at arms length. He feels like everything he touches breaks and he doesn’t want you to become the next casualty. You wouldn’t want him if you knew the truth about the things he has done. But then you smile or laugh and he can feel himself falling deeper and deeper into his delusions of grandeur. 

“Well, if you don’t like her then maybe I’ll ask her out.”

“No, you won't because,” Frankie puts his cap back on. “I think she’s cute. Are y’all happy? I like her.”

“Atta boy, Fish!” Will cheers. 

“I knew it!” Pope says as he pulls Frankie in for a hug. “She’s a good one, man.”

“I know she is. I just don’t know if I’m going to do anything about it right now.”

Will’s hand comes to rest on his shoulder. “Why’s that?” 

“I don’t want to fuck it up. To drag her into the shit show that is my life. I don’t even know if she feels the same way either!”

The two other men nod in understanding. Frankie takes a sip of the drink he stole from you and sighs as he looks up at the ceiling. 

“All I know is…is that I like her.”

“Shh!” 

“Pope, you were the one that wanted to talk about this!”

“Shut the fuck up! She's coming!”

“Y’all ready? I’m going to open the doors for everyone!”

The three of them use the time it takes you to unlock the doors and arrive back in order to regroup from their previous conversation.

“Did you,” Will clears his throat. “Did you like the view back there? See a future in being Benny’s ring girl?”

“I like the view from right here, thank you very much.” 

“So,” Pope rubs his hands together. “Who ready to see some dudes get the shit beat out of them?”

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{tag list: @cutesyscreenname @rsquared31 @smol-beb @bitchwitch1981 @avastrasposts @hoeslingz @saltybutteredtoast @javicstories @c-justhere @pimosworld @modernperplexity @beboldbebravethings @modernperplexity @mxtokko @moonliqhtszn @tanzthompson }