#even stuff like ‘patrick loved art; art loved tashi; and tashi loved tennis’

[riickgrimes]

to see someone call challengers a “girl boss” movie and all the team art/team patrick stuff is sooooo like what a gross simplification of this complicated dynamic between the three of them so filled with obsession, codependency, jealousy, adoration, submission and domination, and love and hatred

[gabgabwrites]

LOVE ON THE LINE | Art Donaldson [part 2]

summary ⇝ your and Art’s relationship progresses in college where you two find yourself in love with one another, with many promises on the line and a ring on your finger, what is there to lose? One word: everything.

warnings ⇝ swearing, kissing, cheating/affair, children, smut! p in v, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, gagging, blindfold, oral (F), cum eating, marking, clothed sex, allusion to car sex, mentions of Patrick x reader.

read part 1 here

note: this is messy relationship

You and Art Donaldson were finally official. The transition from friends to something more had been surprisingly smooth, marked by a moment of sweet vulnerability on your third date at the cinema.

It was there, amidst the flickering lights and the hushed whispers of other moviegoers, that Art shyly asked you to be his girlfriend. You had smiled warmly, feeling your own heart skip a beat as you agreed, watching the relief and joy wash over Art's face, turning him into a lovesick puppy right before your eyes.

Art couldn't seem to take his eyes off you after that. His blue eyes, speckled with hints of brown, became a constant presence, following your every move. Whether it was during lunch breaks on campus at Stanford or late-night study sessions in the library, his gaze was always on you. It was both thrilling and comforting to be the center of his attention, knowing that you had become someone incredibly special to him.

During those lunch breaks, Art would sit so close to you that you could feel the warmth radiating from his body, sending gentle tingles across your skin. His presence was reassuring, anchoring you in a world that sometimes felt chaotic and uncertain. You cherished those quiet moments together, sharing sandwiches and conversations that ranged from silly jokes to deep dreams about the future.

Art wasn't just attentive; he was also surprisingly thoughtful. He remembered the little details about you—your favorite coffee order, the way you liked to organize your notes, and even your secret fondness for cheesy romantic comedies. He would surprise you with small gestures, like leaving a handwritten note in your textbook or bringing you a hot drink on chilly mornings before class. Each gesture made your heart swell with affection for him, knowing that he was investing time and effort into nurturing your relationship.

He'd sneak out from his dorm to go to yours, where you'd often find yourself with your lips locked together. Spit dribbling down your chin while you both pathetically ground your hips together in a feeble attempt to relinquish pleasure. Dark purple marks would litter his skin by the time you were done, and your thighs would stick together from your recent endeavours.

Of course there was Tashi, who had broken up with Patrick after finding out that he was unfaithful to her, the last they spoke was when she injured her knee. You remember being there, in the nurse's ward, fingers intertwined with Tashi's to comfort her after her knee had seriously sprained. Her quiet sniffles filled the room before Patrick Zweig had come barrelling in, pleading for Tashi's attention only to be shown the cold shoulder.

Tashi had changed, not only physically, her hair a little shorter and her face was more mature, but she lost her spark after the injury, one that guaranteed her to never touch a single racket no matter how hard she tried—in her eyes, her future was over.

She had always talked about tennis, but now she hyper fixated on it, she's constantly talk about your form and how you could approve, you always listened and took her advice, but that was it. You'd try to talk about other stuff, like how you were excited to meet Art's parents, or how you hated your physics professor, but alas, the main focus was tennis.

You had a game that afternoon, and of course, both Art and Tashi were there. Before, Art had snuck into the locker room, after making sure it was just you in there, before his arms were around you and his nose nudged yours. "Good luck," He told you, big smile etched on his face.

"I won't need it if you're here," You said back, grabbing the collar of his polo shirt and bringing his lips down onto yours. The kiss had to break when another girl walked in and shrieked, leaving Art flushed from embarrassment while you had to hide your smile.

The match itself was a blur of adrenaline and determination. As you stepped onto the court, you felt the weight of Art and Tashi's encouragement spurring you on. Their presence in the stands, cheering and clapping, fueled your determination to perform your best. You could see Art's animated gestures of support, his eyes never leaving you as you played.

Despite a few tense moments and fierce competition from your opponent, you emerged victorious. The rush of adrenaline was matched only by the pride in Art's eyes as he pulled you into a tight hug after the match. Tashi's smile, though more subdued, conveyed a deep sense of satisfaction and pride in your achievement.

Then one day, everything changed. It was probably one of the moments in your life where you felt the most hurt. There was a dramatic shift between you and Art in your relationship, he became distant and you became quiet. You had both agreed to end things, you remember the night you did, you sat in your room, sobbing. Tashi was put in a different dorm, so you had to drag yourself off your bed, cheeks wet with tears, and walk a few passages until you faced her dorm's door.

You knocked against it once, then twice, but no answer. You looked down to where light shone from the crack underneath the door, you could even see shadows dancing so there had to be someone in there. You knocked again, harder, yet still got ignored. You waded back to your dorm, face buried in your pillow as you cried some more.

Two months since that incident passed, things had improved. Tashi became more talkative to you, you hadn't told her about that night, and if she knew, she didn't bring it up.

Then there was Art, who one day came crawling back, begging for you to let him into your heart again. You knew you had to deny him. You knew it was what was right. You didn't believe in second chances, but for Art, you made an exception.

Things were still patchy between the two of you, you weren't back to square one but you weren't exactly back to how they used to be. You decided to ask him why he went distant and what he did during your time apart.

"School and tennis got the better of me," He said. "I was so so stupid to let that get in the way between us. It won't happen again," And he was right, he somehow managed to get everything sorted and execute his plans accordingly. He also told you that while on your 'break', he had practiced more tennis and studied. He told you he had to ask Tashi for advice.

Fast forward three years later, and life had taken a remarkable turn for both you and Art Donaldson. Graduating from college marked the beginning of a promising journey towards becoming world-renowned tennis players. The countless hours of practice, the sacrifices made, and the unwavering support for each other had culminated in you both achieving your dreams.

Art, with his infectious enthusiasm and competitive spirit, was your perfect match both on and off the court. His sense of humor and spontaneity kept life exciting, whether you were training together or exploring new cities during tournaments. As your careers soared, so did your relationship, growing stronger with each shared victory and overcoming every setback together.

Then, one magical evening at a lakeside restaurant, Art surprised you with a proposal that took your breath away. It was classic Art—cheesy yet endearing, thoughtful yet spontaneous. After a delightful dinner overlooking the serene lake, he suggested a walk and led you to a secluded dock adorned with candles and rose petals. With a heart full of love and nerves, he knelt down, producing the most stunning ring you had ever seen. The words spilled out earnestly, and you couldn't help but say yes, tears of joy glistening in your eyes.

From that moment on, everything seemed even more perfect. You ascended to become the women's champion in tennis, while Art mirrored your success on the men's side. Together, you became the U.S.'s elite power couple, celebrated not only for your athletic prowess but also for your genuine love and support for each other.

However, the pinnacle of your joy came on your wedding day—a day that felt surreal, like a dream wrapped in hues of love and anticipation. The venue was adorned with flowers, the air filled with music that resonated with your hearts. Walking down the aisle, emotions surged through you—a mix of excitement, nerves, and overwhelming happiness.

Art stood at the altar, his trademark grin stretching from ear to ear, his curly hair slightly tousled by the gentle breeze. His eyes, reflecting his deep affection for you, met yours as you approached him, and for a moment, the world seemed to pause. The exchange of vows was heartfelt and tender, promising a future filled with love, laughter, and unwavering support. As the ring slid onto your finger, sealing your union as Mr. and Mrs. Donaldson, you felt a rush of emotions—gratitude for finding your soulmate, excitement for the adventures ahead, and a profound sense of belonging in his arms.

The reception was a celebration of your love story, with friends and family cheering as you danced the night away. Each glance exchanged, each touch shared, spoke volumes of the bond you had forged through dedication, trust, and mutual admiration.

And the consummation of your marriage was on a whole new level.

You still wore your wedding dress, sitting on the small foot stool while Art's head ducked under the white skirt of your dress, his tongue trailing up the length of your thigh before meeting your lacy underwear. His tongue soaked your panties more than what they were, sucking on your clit that hardened with want.

His eyes rolled right back when your thighs closed around his skull, suffocating him. He used his strength and pried your legs apart. He worked skilfully to slip your panties off, now face to face with your arousal. Art thought how ethereal the scene in front of him looked. Your dewy pussy, dripping and throbbing, crowned by the one of a kind wedding dress.

You couldn't see Art, except for the mound where his head was. You watched as it dropped when Art connected his lips back to your pussy, making you grab the sides of your dress and bunch it up in your palms with pleasure. "You make me feel so good, Art."

That spurred him on. His fingers dug into the plush of your thighs while his tongue lapped at your folds, spit and arousal coated the whole of his face from the tip of his nose down. He was on his knees, hips thrusting into nothingness, he got high off your pleasure.

Between your moans and grunts, you could hear the wet sounds of his spit and your pussy, and his whimpers and whines. His tongue would go from your needy hole to your throbbing clit. His suckled and lick, spit and slurp you up until his name fell from your lips, cumming on his tongue.

When he came out from under your skirt, his cheeks were flushed, his lips were saturated and bruised, his hair was messy and his face was shiny with slick. "Come here, my baby," You cooed, grabbing him by the tie and kissing his lips. There was nothing short of delicate. It was full of desire, passion and love.

Your makeup was already ruined by the time he started kissing you, so you didn't mind when it got messier. Mouths open, hot kisses and shared saliva. Art used his strength and picked you up, carrying you over to the bed where he placed you down, immediately pushing you backwards onto your back so he could cage you in.

Your fingers worked to undo his tie, placing that to the side of the bed before popping his shirt's buttons open, exposing his pale torso. His blazer had come off, and his belt was loose. Your hands went to his shoulders and pushed him to the side, forcing him to roll onto his back.

You wasted to time to straddle him, leaning forward to connect your lips once again. You gently took ahold of his hands, breaking the kiss, and leaning to the side to retreat his tie. "What are you doing?" He asked, voice rough with arousal. He watched you bring his two wrists together before looping the tie around. He got a sense of an idea, making his throat bob.

"I want to try something new, is that okay?" You asked, he eagerly nodded making you smile. This moment reminded you a lot of when you two first had sex, you reminisced about the moment as you gazed upon your lover. White collared shirt open, showing his muscular body, hands wrapped up in his tie, hair askew and the common blush on his cheeks.

Bending forward at the waist, you kissed him once again, except this time, confusion clouded Art's mind when he felt something material brush his cheek. In a split second, your lips left his before something was shoved into his mouth.

Art had no hands to take it out and struggled with his tongue to spit it out, blonde eyebrows drawn together in confusion while you sat up to look at him. "It's my underwear, Art."

'Oh,' He thought, it surprised him, yet the idea of having your panties that he previously ate you out through in his mouth turned him on even more. His saliva soaked the underwear, his teeth clamped down on the lace.

You moved down slightly, going to properly undo his belt before sliding his pants down, Art raising his hips to help you. You didn't bother with foreplay, freeing his hard cock, pink tip leaking already, twitching once exposed. It took a hot minute to move your dress up your waist, now bunched at your hips, using one hand, you positioned his cock at your entrance before looking up at Art.

"You ready for me to fuck you? For Mrs Donaldson to fuck her husband?" You asked, Art nodded, a muffled plea escaped his lips, turning into a moan when you sunk down on his length. He watched you bite your lip, your hands on his ribs before he felt you slip off, then sink on him again.

Art choked on your panties when he moaned, so he opted to close his mouth around them and suck on the fabric, trying to taste you. Heavy pants and whimpers came from breaths our his nose. Your painted lips, smudged and blotchy fell open.

Art felt a desire, he raised his tied hands and managed to stick out a finger, bringing it to your lips. He watched your lips close around his fingertip before softly sucking away.

You snaked a hand to where you two met, and pressed your finger on your clit. Your wrist jerker from side to side, making you feel like hot lava was boiling in your tummy, this pleasure had you biting down on Art's finger, making him softly whine out in pain.

You don't know why you came as quickly as you did, gushing around Art's cock as you orgasmed for the second time. The feeling of you unravel had Art cumming just as fast, spilling his hot seed deep inside you.

Your hips slowed, taking a minute to lift your hips, his soft cock falling out. With a heavy sigh, you lay next to him, brushing his sweaty curls away, his eyes trained on yours, chest heaving. With a soft chuckle, you brought your fingers to his lips and pulled your panties out, coated in his saliva. "A little help here, please?" He raised his hands to you, allowing for you to undo his tie.

It caught you by surprise when you felt him grip the tie, now hands free, before snatching it out of your grasp. He scraped up some strength, on wobbly legs and got off the bed. He moved to stand at the foot of the bed, his strong hands found your ankles and yanked them, pulling your hips against his.

He climbed on top of the bed again, tie in hand. "You do a lot for me, so I want to do this for you," He told you softly, face hovering over yours. There was a pause, Art staring deep into your eyes, before he swallowed. "I've been think about you, about us, and I want to start a family."

"Yeah?" Your heart swelled in your chest, you felt your cheeks burn at the thought, that Art did not only see you as a wife, but a mother to his future children. "I'd really like that too."

Art smiled down at you. He didn't say anything, instead just maintaining eye contact. You could see the emotions behind his blue eyes, he had a much love and admiration for you, that it was overflowing. "So you trust me, right?"

"More than anything," You watched Art nod, before your vision went black. Art was tying his tie around your eyes, taking away your vision.

You felt him lift your one leg, his lips on your ankle as he placed soft kisses on the skin there before it was placed on his shoulder. Your dress was moved up again, exposing you to him.

Art could feel himself harden again. He took his cock into his hand and pumped it until it was fully erect. His pink tip nudged at your folds before he spoke up. "I love you," he said, holding his breath as he waited for a response.

He watched your lips part, exposing your teeth in a smile. "I love you too, Art."

Art waited for any hesitation before releasing his breath, pushing himself into you. He watched your pussy swallow him again before he began to thrust his hips. The both of you were already so sensitive, Art gripped your leg for support, his eyes caught sight of his ring that reflected the light.

His teeth grazed your calf, goosebumps rose in its path. Having one sense taken away had increased the others. Not being able to see Art made this ever the more arousing. "Mm, you're so good to me," Art moaned.

"You're the one that's...fucking me," You said with a choked chuckle, words being swallowed by your moans. "Oh g-god, you fuck me so good," Art bit his lip, already on the verge of another orgasm. He let his one hand find yours, holding the hand that had your ring on it, diamond shining brightly.

His thumb rubbed the shiny stone, a truckload of unspoken promises guaranteed by the small diamond. Art couldn't wait for you two to move into a luxurious apartment and have a family, have a creation of both your undying love for each other run around and call you 'mommy' and 'daddy'. He couldn't wait to grow old with you, watch your child grow up and start a family of their own.

He'd wait lifetimes for you in the heavens and stars if it meant your souls could spend every waking moment together. You were his, and he was yours.

"Ah, fuck Art! 'm cumming!" You mewled. Cum flooding from you like a broken dam wall. Art wasn't far behind, his arousal mingling with yours for the nth time. Your name fell from his lips.

He slipped out to help clean you up, undoing the tie around your eyes, carrying you to the bathroom—albeit on wobbly legs, and run you a bath.

That was six years ago. Now the two of you lived in a fancy apartment. Your wedding ring sparkled under the bright chandelier as you stirred your cup of coffee. You had four mugs lined together. Once all drinks were made, you set them on the table.

You walked around to your room to find your husband sitting on the bed, book open. "Your coffee's ready," You told him, he looked up from the book and gave you a curt smile and nod.

Art had changed over the years, his youth had faded and how replaced with mature features. His hair was shorter now, not having his luscious curls you loved. Scars littered his body where he had to have stitches from tennis related injuries.

You walked out of Art's room and down the passage, stepping into another bedroom. "Your hot chocolates are ready," you told the two five-year-olds. They both turned to you with happiness before bouncing past you.

"Thank you, Mommy," your little girl, Mila, said, bringing the pink mug to her lips and slurping away. She then slammed the mug down and whipped her head toward her brother, pigtails flying as she did. "Say thank you."

"I was gonna!" Zachary, your son and twin brother to Mila, retorted. His eyes found yours, his heterochromia always catching you off guard: his left eye brown, and his right blue. "Thank you, Momma."

"It's only a pleasure," you smiled at the twins, watching them drink away. You felt a warm arm wrap around your shoulders before a pair of lips were placed on your temple.

"Thank you, my love," Art mumbled against your hair before he too picked up his mug of coffee and took a sip. You picked yours up and brought it to your lips, savoring the warmth and the rare quiet moment in your bustling household.

"I'm going to meet up with Tashi later for lunch, m'kay?" you told your husband, who nodded.

"When can we see Auntie Tashi again?" Mila asked, her eyes wide with curiosity and excitement.

"Maybe on Sunday, remember Daddy has a match on Saturday," you replied, glancing at Art, who smiled back at you.

"We'll make time for a visit soon, sweetheart," Art reassured Mila, ruffling her hair affectionately. "I know you both love spending time with Auntie Tashi," The kids finished their hot chocolates, and you helped them clean up before they dashed off to play with their toys. You and Art stood in the kitchen, enjoying the rare moment of peace and sipping your drinks.

Three days had passed, it was not nearing evening. Art had a fan meet-and-greet to attend, which would only end in an hour and a half's time.

You had just dropped off the twins at your mom's for Friday night like you always did. You stood in the lobby of your apartment, waiting for the lift when a voice called your name.

Your eyes widened in surprise once you turned to see who called you. "Patrick?" You hadn't seen them man in years. Last you saw him was when you were still in school. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here for dinner," He smiled sheepishly, pointing to some brunette woman who was staring at the two of you, when making eye contact, she was quick to look the other way. "Uh, congratulations by the way," He pointed towards your wedding band, making you cross your arms.

"Thank you, Zweig. If this is all, goodnight," You spun on your heel, only to have your arm grabbed and yourself pulled back. "Hey!"

"Wait, can we talk. Please?"

"There's nothing to talk about Patrick. Last I heard from you was me telling you to 'fuck off' after breaking Tashi's heart," You snapped.

"I know, I know, and I'm sorry for how things turned out. It's just... there's something you have to know." Patrick's eyebrows furrowed, and his eyes held a sincerity that made your heart pound. You raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue. "Where's Art?"

"At a fan meet-up," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

"He's not," Patrick said firmly, making you scoff and shake your head. "I promise you, he's not. And I can tell you exactly where he is."

"Oh yeah? Then where is he, Patrick? If you know my husband so well," you challenged, crossing your arms defensively.

Patrick chewed on his bottom lip, choosing his next words very carefully. "He's cheating on you, right now, with Tashi."

“And you expect me to believe you?” You scoffed. “I mean, I knew you were an asshole, but I didn’t think you’d stop this low and—.”

“I swear I’m not lying,” He interjected. “I heard about this fan meet-up and it’s not until Sunday.” He told you, making you shake your head. “Remember that time when the two of you broke up? And he told you he was getting training from Tashi? That was bullshit, Art’s tennis playing is goddamn near perfect, instead be went to her and found his way between her legs.”

“Y-You’re making this all up,” You denied, you didn’t want to believe your fairytale ending was all receipt. “I’ll call him right now even.”

“Fine, but if he doesn’t answer, he’s probably too busy sucking off Tashi’s face. The two haven’t said anything because they felt bad. Things were awkward between the three of you, am I right? Art realised how much he messed up and went back to you, only to do the same thing.”

You rolled your eyes, fishing your phone from your purse before punching in Art’s number. You pressed the metal device to your ear and waited. It rung, and rung, and rung, before a beep was heard. ‘You have reached the voice mail of Art Donaldson, please leave a—.’

You sucked your teeth before slamming the phone shut. “He’s probably busy.”

“Yeah, making out with your best friend.”

“And how do you expect to be actually believe you?”

“I’ve known Art since we were 12, he may seem all cute and cuddly, but trust me, he’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing,” Patrick watched as your bottom lip wobbled a smidge before you took it between your teeth. “You have to believe me.”

“Where’s the evidence?” You asked him. Patrick sighed before shaking his head. You watched as he retrieved a small piece of paper and a broken pencil from his pocket before scribbling on it.

“My number, if you ever want to talk,” He sighed, passing you the paper. “Goodnight,” with that, he turned around and walked back to his date, leaving you alone and confused.

That night, you lay in bed while Art was coming out from the bathroom. You wanted to ask him if he was actually at a fan meet-and-greet, or if he was out, having an affair. You laughed quietly to yourself, imagine how embarrassing it would be if you accused him of cheating and it all being fake, how bad you’d look, how you’d raise suspicion.

Art climbed in the bed next to you, leaning over and pressing a kiss to your cheek, arm pulling you into him. “I love you,” He said, moving back to stare at you with twinkling blue eyes before smiling and leaning back to rest his head on the pillow.

You could not bring yourself to echo his words, heart breaking in your chest as your eyes bore into the purple and red mark on his neck, it looked fresh and raw. It definitely wasn’t you, you and Art hadn’t bad sex in over two months.

You just nodded to yourself, turning your head to blink back tears. “I know.”

Art went silent at your choice of words, letting out a sigh before turning around, switching off his bedside lamp and falling asleep.

You did the same, except you could not fall asleep. There was no way, no fucking way. Where had it gone wrong? Why did it go wrong? Were you not good enough? How long had this been going on for? All these questions swarmed your mind.

You lay restlessly before sighing, sitting up and grabbing your phone. Quietly you got out of bed and out the room where you grabbed a long coat and slippers, putting them on. You found the small piece of paper and dialled the number on there.

So that’s how you found yourself in Patrick’s car by some cheap gas station. Tears staining your cheeks while Patrick watched you solemnly. “Tell me how you found out about all this, and I didn’t?” You asked him.

“Tashi told me, we had met up after the first time they… and she confessed. She told me how bad she felt, but also told me she couldn’t bear to tell you. Um, Tashi and I have been meeting up, if you know what I mean, she told me how she planned to meet Art this evening, when I asked why, she kept quiet.”

You let out a broken sigh. “Okay Patrick, now what?” You turned to him. “I mean, why didn’t you tell me before?”

“I’m sorry, I wanted to, it’s just…you two seemed so happy—.”

“So you didn’t want to ruin it? Thanks, Patrick. No really. But I think I better get going,” You shook your head, going to undo your seatbelt before a hand on yours stopped you.

“I know you’re hurting, and I know how to help,” Suddenly his breath of on your ear. You dare not move to look. “This won’t hurt him as much as he’s hurt you.”

“I’m not a cheater, Patrick,” You whispered out.

“No, but you’re petty,” His words caused you to let out a breathy laugh. “You like to get even, it feels right,” His hand found its way on your thigh, a grin spreading on his lips when you didn’t stop him. “I’ll help you get even.”

Call yourself a monster and a heartless bitch for turning to face Patrick, smashing your lips on his. His hand unbuckling your seat belt, allowing for you to slide onto his lap, hands groping you everywhere. “Help me forget, Patrick,” You moaned against his lips.

“I will, baby. I will,” And he did. Any thoughts of Art and Tashi melted away faster and faster as you lost more items of clothing.

The sun beat down on your shoulders the following day, your head would love to and fro, eyes trained on the green ball that whizzed between Patrick and Art in the final match of the whole tournament. Patrick was winning, some on his own and some penalty points.

Sweat dripped down your husband’s face, he licked his lips to ridden the salty liquid. Patrick was much the same. When he felt you looked, he smirked, making you scoff and look away. You watched the clock tick by before it was half time, Art dipping his shirt off as he sat down, taking out his bottle while Patrick ate on a banana.

When the game resumed, Patrick was first to serve. His racket swung above his head, he adjusted his grip before he stalled.

You watched his brown eyes flicker to you, the corner of his lips rose, before his eyes went back to Art. He dropped his hand, kicking his left leg out a little before holding his racket and waist height, other hand holding the ball, placed the ball by the throat of the racket.

You turned to look at Art, after noticing that’s how he holds a racket. You watched his eyes move to you and his expression fall. A distant look in his eye. Patrick served the ball and it went straight past Art, who didn’t bother to hit it.

You seemed puzzled by this, watching Art’s head drop before he got a ball from the ball-boy. Like a switch, Art was playing ferociously, now winning every serve he had.

You watched with amazement as Art let out a roar, jumping high into the air, foot touching the net as he won an ace before he came tumbling into Patrick’s arms, both males bursting into smiles.

What had just happened?

[artydonsgf]

Could you do headcanons of what clothes each would let you borrow/borrow from you?

hi anon!! thank you so much for your request. i won’t even lie, this one is short as fuck because i wasn’t really sure what direction to go with it… enjoy regardless<3

Art Donaldson

- steals stuff that you don’t notice

- your belt this time, socks another time

- as things progress in the relationship, so does his habit of wearing your clothes

- yall share shirts, hoodies, jackets, he would wear your shoes if he could

- he just likes how comforting it is wearing your clothes

- if he can’t wear something of yours, he’ll buy it so you guys can match

- you steal his clothes just as much, but you really like his tennis hoodies that say donaldson on the back

- prepping for when you’re mrs art donaldson🤭

- bonus for my black girls: art donaldson wears your bright pink bonnet to bed because “my curls need the help”

Tashi Duncan

- she doesn’t borrow your clothes that much actually

- she’ll wear your shirt if she can’t find hers but she doesn’t seek out your stuff much

- you seek out hers and she loves it though

- nothing is off limits in her eyes, you could wear literally anything of hers

- her not stealing your clothes isn’t about not feeling comfortable, it just doesn’t really occur to her to do so

- buys clothes and thinks to herself that you’ll probably borrow it

- a section of her closet is all your favorite things of hers so you don’t need to dig through it looking for it

Patrick Zweig

- nothing is off limits to this man

- honestly, you could walk out of the house in an outfit that solely belongs to patrick

- he’s the exact same way, he’d wear your underwear if he could

- buys new clothes with you in mind

- “hm i wonder if she’d wear this too”

- spoiler you would and you will

- thinks of it as a couples bonding experience

- cause really, how mad can you be at him when you’re wearing his boxers?

sorry this is kinda shitty, i appreciate the request either way<3

[grimsonandclover]

hi j came across ur blogs and FINALLY. someone who doesn’t write about puppy art or stepcest. i tbh would read anhtbjng abt patrick but i love childhood best freind patrick fics or enemies to lovers fics the most!!

All I Want For Christmas

Childhood Bestfriend!Patrick Zweig x classical singer!reader

Song of the post 'WHAT'S IT TO HIM? - Quadeca'

Yes! I don't yuck other people's yum but I noticed how it's everywhere in this fandom, which is fine, it's just not for me! There are some versions of puppy!characters that I can enjoy, but not when it gets really into the puppy stuff, ykwim? Stepcest and any other incest things are a hard no from me, though. Anyways, fuck, I love these two tropes so much, I could eat them for breakfast lunch and dinner and still have them as snacks and still never tire. but childhood friends to lovers >>> im such a softy for it. I wrote this the moment I saw your message, so it's semi-proofread, more so just me writing the little story I thought of as it came to me. if you want a smutty part two lmk and ill write it in a flash

I have no clue where the Christmas theme came from, it just kinda happened. I don't even celebrate Christmas lmao.

This was meant to be a blurb. Now it's a 5k word slow burn blurb. Hope you enjoy!

also the song linked has nothing to do w the story lmao, it's just what's playing. <3 quadeca

SFW

5.3k words

childhood bestfriend!Patrick Zweig, Never dates Tashi/Loses Art!AU, slow burn, timeskips, no content warnings

--(x)-- 1998 - 2006 --(x)--

You both grew up quite rich, you and Patrick Zweig. Going to the same charity events and galas and birthday dinners as kids because your parents would drag you both along to brag about your accomplishments. Patrick's parents would brag about how he's a tennis prodigy that's gonna go pro one day, have you seen him play? And your parents brag about your voice and your grades, how youre gonna get into any school you want (which you would be able to anyways since theyd just pay the school board). You've got the voice of an angel and since you were four they'd make you get up at parties and events and sing something by the piano. You were groomed to love the spotlight just like Patrick was groomed to love the rush of tennis.

Patrick loved hearing you sing. When you'd be ushered over to your spot by the piano player and ask the adults what they'd like to hear, Patrick would sit up from his slump at the dinner table or sofa, perking up like a dog being told its time for treats. He didn't really know anything about music, he just knew your voice did something in his chest.

You loved seeing him play. Your family had plenty of casual tennis players of its own, tennis being quite a popular sport amongst the wealthy. You understood the gist of it, but that wasn't why you asked your parents to go every time Patrick got to play. You wanted to go because it felt like the closest thing to seeing a shooting star up close. He was like a fireball on the court, even from a young age. His couches kept trying to train the unique serve out of him, you could see their cringing from the sidelines whenever he'd do it, but eventually they stopped when they realized how much he won with it. Because he did. A lot. It was mesmerizing to watch.

One Christmas the two of you finally properly spoke to eachother. You were both ten. Your parents had all gotten wine drunk in the other room, leaving the kids to try and get along in the Zweig's living room. The Christmas parties were always held at the Zweig house, it was the biggest. Didn't matter that they were Jewish. Never even crossed their mind, too big of an oppertunity to schmooze and secure business deals. Patrick never gave it a second thought, just happy he got gifts.

You two had just sat down by the fireplace as the other older kids convened on how to sneak some liquor without anyone noticing. You were too young to care about things like that, instead talking to eachother about school and your respective passions. It was the first proper conversation you'd had even though you had practically been in each other's lives since birth. Patrick liked hearing about the unserious gossip from your all-girls private school, how once again you were on the deans list and top of the class. He found it the funniest thing in the world when you confessed that you'd cheated on a math exam, your weakest subject. How you'd done that quite often actually. Patrick liked knowing you weren't as perfect as your parents boasted you to be, because that made you actually perfect in his eyes.

You liked hearing about the rowdy boys at his school and at tennis practice, and the stupid fights that would break out. Patrick would tell you about the famous tennis players his parents would get him to meet, some even practice with. How they'd comment on his serve, too, and when Patrick would imitate their voice and mannerisms, youd laugh till your stomach and cheeks hurt. Patrick decided then, at ten years old, to commit your laugh to memory. It was a sound as beautiful as your singing.

That became your routine at every dinner and every party your parents would take you to. You'd find solace and company with eachother, a rare, true friend in your world. You both never told your parents about the friendship because even then you knew they'd try and take advantage of it. Turn it into some political relationship, breed you two to marry or something for their benefits.

When Patrick's parents sent him off to the Mark Rebellato Tennis Academy when you were twelve, you cried into your pillow for hours. You'd promised to write eachother, but there's only so much writing a twelve year old can do before they get distracted. Your meetings went from twice a month to once a year. The Zweig family Christmas party.

Just like when you were ten, the two of you would meet up by the crackling fireplace and swap stories, updating each other on your lives. You performed with a real live orchestra last week a version of Silent Night and your mother cried from the crowd. Patrick was sorry he couldn't be there but you handed him a CD with a recording of the night, knowing he'd want to see it, and he said it was the best Christmas gift he'd ever gotten. He hadn't even watched it yet, but he knew. The tennis racket once owned by Bjorn Borg was a pretty great gift too, though (he'd keep it hung on his dorm wall for his entire time at the academy, then later in a case in the trunk of his car to keep it safe).

He had met a kid named Art at the academy, and he talked about how they became fast friends. Best friends. You didn't really have much time for friends, too busy with school and all the extracurriculars your parents had signed you up for since birth. It was kind of like that for Patrick before he left, and you were happy he got the chance to meet someone at the academy. Art sounded great, and you wished you could meet him.

The next year you did it again, but at 15 Patrick got pneumonia on Christmas eve and couldn't come. You sat by the fireplace alone, picking lint off your sweater. Not much had changed apart from his absence. The older kids, now nearing college, were still thinking of ways to get alcohol. Some messed around with eachother in the various rooms of the house while the parents were off doing whatever parents did, not having much else to do. You stayed by yourself, watching the fire and praying to God that Patrick would be okay.

The year after, Patrick was back. He was older now, and so were you, of course. You were both 16 now, puberty catching up with the both of you in the year you hadn't seen each other.

Patrick had started properly shaving now, and when you first laid eyes on him, waiting for you by the fireplace, the slight shadow of hair on his chin and jaw was the first thing you noticed. Your eyes trailed up the stubble to his cheeks, which had lost the baby fat and now made the apples of his cheeks much more visible, especially as he smiled up at you. He called your name excitedly, standing up to meet you in a hug. You had hugged before, but he never wore cologne before. He had clearly gone through a growth spurt, too, and easily could rest his chin on your head. When you pulled back from the hug, you grabbed his shoulders and held him at arms length, just looking at him. He did the same for you, taking in the slight increase of height yourself, the more mature glow in your skin, and, since he was still only a teenage boy and still Patrick Zweig, your new boobs. His eyebrows raised, a slow and impressed whistle blew from his lips as he gave you alook. "You've grow." He smiled, and you swatted his arms while you blushed. "Look who's talking." You said, poking his biceps. Tennis academy did him good.

You had never thought about it before, but that one year apart and your reunion woke something in you up. Patrick Zweig was hot. You didn't know, but that same part of his own brain ignited. The whole night you two still talked as normal, still giggled over stories and swapped gifts. He got you a necklace made from your favorite metal, a tiny but intricate tennis racket charm hanging on the bottom. It was simple, but it was so precious.

"So I can be with you more than once a year." He explained, and you couldn't help yourself when you pulled him into the biggest hug you could manage. It was the most heartwarming gift you had ever gotten. And it made you laugh too, especially when you reached over to give him his gift.

When he opened it, his eyes widened and laughed, picking up the simple silver chain bracelet with a tiny charm of your initial on it. You were a little nervous to give it to him, worried it seemed too couple-y of a gift instead of something you'd give a friend, but now that anxiety had gone. He put it on immediately, and you were so grateful that he didn't think it was too girly or soft for him to wear. Patrick Zweig could be crude and perverted (something you realized when he let slip the way he looked at some girls back at the academy), but he wasn't insecure. Not in that way, at least.

You sat a little closer together that year, knees brushing as you caught up. Art was still his best friend and you two made plans for how you could meet. You were still singing, the Christmas time performance of yours now a yearly tradition. He was still never able to come, but he promised one day he would. The other kids were now too old to come to his house, off at college dorm parties, some even old enough to be already married and having Christmas parties of their own. The living room was much more quiet for the two of you but it's not like you ever noticed them much before. The one true new addition was the cigarette that now dangled from his lips. You had initally scolded him for the new habit but it didn't take long for it to be passed between the two of you as you spoke. You did your best to not think about how it had touched his lips and then would touch yours.

When graduation came around and it was finally time to go off to college yourself, your heart sank a little. College meant you two would be too busy with your own lives to come back, and your parents already weren't too committed to dragging you along with them to their events anymore. When you sat by the fireplace for that final year, you found you had less to talk about. Life felt pretty slow for you, especially with your lack of real friends. It was the same deal every year. School, choir, then independent vocal lessons, then horseback riding, then the youth advisory board, then tutoring. Your days were all a countdown to Christmas, the one day of the year you weren't some busy prodigal daughter with too many responsibilities on your shoulders, but Patrick Zweig's best friend. That was the only thing expected of you.

Maybe not in the way Art Donaldson was, but you were his best friend. He was the love of your life, you were sure of it.

He asked about your plans for school, and you said you'd probably go to Julliard if you got accepted. You were being humble, of course. You got your acceptance letter months ago. Patrick, not knowing that, assured you that you would. "They'd be stupid to not let you in." He smiled, cigarette balancing between his teeth and his bottom lip. You nudged your shoulder against his, thanking him for the vote of confidence. When it was your turn to ask him, he shrugged.

"Ah, I dunno." He blew smoke from the corner of his mouth, away from you. Patrick sat, thinking to himself for a moment before turning to face you. "I've been thinking about it, and... I don't think I'm gonna go." He shrugged again, and your eyebrows pulled back in surprise. "Do your parents know that?" You asked, knowing they'd never allow him. The Zweigs loved boasting about how Patrick was going to continue the family name. Tennis might be his gift, but they expected him to finally grow up and be an adult, not a tennis player.

He shook his head, turning back to the fire crackling before you. "Fuck them," he whispered with a smirk. "I'm gonna go pro. Play at challengers and shit until I rank for the bigger stuff. Play at Wimbledon or the Olympics or something. Don't wanna risk an injury at some school before I can even do anything real, you know?"

You nod your head, understanding. It made sense for him, you just were worried about how his parents would react.

"Art's gonna go to Stanford." He said, lips a little downturned at the mention. "He wants a safety net, I guess. I don't really know." He blows another puff of smoke, handing the cigarette over to you. Then he turns to you again, chuckling a little humorlessly. "Gas is gonna be a bitch, going from California to New York."

"What do you mean?"

"Going back and forth to see you and Art." He said like it was the most obvious thing in the world, shocked you even asked. "Guess I could fly," Patrick thought to himself, thinking over the logistics of it, then seemingly deciding it would work. "Worth it."

Your chest constricted a little at the thought of him going through all of that just to see you. You insisted that he didn't have to, that you'd gladly fly over to see him instead of the other way around, but he persisted. "You'll have school and friends and shit. I'll have plenty of time to come over. Plus, you know, phones exist." He teased.

Patrick was right. They did, of course. For some reason, though, you two never called. Never even thought about it. It was a little nonsensical and you laughed, and he joined. You promised that you'd start calling him, and he promised you the same thing.

When you hugged him before you had to leave, you pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"Merry Christmas, Patrick."

He grinned, cheeks warming and turning pink. "I'm Jewish." He laughed, giving you a final hug. "Merry Christmas."

--(x)-- 2010 --(x)--

Graduation night at Alice Tully Hall was intense.

Four years had gone by in a flash and it was already the last week of May-- actually, it was already the end of graduation itself. Your cap was on your head and diploma in hand, the other one busy shaking the hands of the few late family and family friends that had come over to congratulate you. You were exhausted, both from the four years and from the night. All you wanted was to go to your apartment, flop onto your bed face first, and sleep the night away.

You had spent almost the entire celebration biting your nails and scanning the hall for the two pairs of eyes and smiles you wanted to see the most. When your name got called and you walked up on the stage, and your mother cried in the crowd like the night of your first concert, and your father gave you the same, unattached nod that was the closest he could get to saying he was proud of you. Patrick had told you he was gonna be late, just having finished a challenger in Philidelphia the same day. You just didn't think late meant missing the ceramony entirely.

Patrick was sitting in thick New York City traffic, banging his fist on his steering wheel, yelling at the car next to him. Art was in the passenger's seat, sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose.

"You fucking moron! Dumb fucking cunt! You know how much this is gonna cost!?" Patrick yelled, pointing to the driver's door that now had a dent in it. The traffic was so heavy he couldn't move, and he didn't want to get out in case it budged. He knew he was late, and now some guy in a truck, in a fucking truck in New York City, had just bumped into the side of Patrick's car. The dent wasn't anything that would permanently damage the car, but it was pretty nasty. "Who taught your to drive?" He yelled, almost leaning fully out of the window now. Art reached over to pull at the back of his shirt, trying to get him back in. "Are you blind!? We're in the middle of traffic and you still managed to hit me?"

"Christ, Patrick, get back in the fucking car!"

Patrick swatted his hand away. "My best friend is graduating and now I gotta pick her up with this shit on my car. What's your insurance!? I'm gonna sue the shit out of you!"

Cars started beeping at him and the driver in the truck was yelling back just as colorfully. "That piece of dog shit almost looks better with it! You should be fucking thanking me, asshole. Maybe your insurance will give you a better car!"

"A better car!?" Patrick was red in the face. "Why don't you let me return the favor then!"

"Oh, shit." Art was scrambling over the center console to really pull him back, knowing it was seconds away from getting violent.

--(x)--

You were leaning against the front doors playing with the tennis racket necklace you had never taken off when you got a call from Art. You had gotten it from him the first time you met him freshman year, it being the one connection you had to each other for the whole school year. He had become a really close friend of yours, even through he grainy speakers of your phone. You picked it up eagerly, the first thing you could hear being angry beeping in the background and a voice that sounded like Patrick yelling.

"Art? Where are you guys? What's going on?"

"Oh my god," Art said your name, a little frantic. "Okay, so, uh, we're running late, I know-" there's some shuffling you can hear, and you cut in. "The ceremony is already over." You tell them, a little disappointed. Art frowns but his attention is pulled back to the situation at hand.

"Congrats on graduating! Um, anyways, I called cause Patrick's kinda losing his shit right now. Some guy hit his car--"

"Oh my god! Are you guys alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, we're fine. It's just a dent. But now the two are in the middle of the street and Patrick's getting his ass kicked." He sounds nervous, because of course he is. His best friend is catching fists to the face. "I tried to help..." Art continues, and his hand goes back up to touch the future black eye he's now sporting. "But, um, I just wanted to let you know that I don't think we'll make it over-"

In the background, Patrick interrupts, managing to gather the strength to push the giant man from on top of him. "Oh, we're making it!" He yells out loud enough that you can just hear it over the speaker, then throws another punch at the guy's jaw. Patrick's nose was bleeding and his eyebrow was cut, and the other guy wasn't looking all that great either. He spat at the guy, adding "You made me miss her graduation." with another punch.

The cars around them suddenly started move, and the two friends froze. Traffic was moving again. The guy got another good punch onto Patrick before he was able to scramble up and run back to his car, yelling at Art to start driving before the guy caught up.

They finally got to Lincoln Center looking like a pair of hot messes and you spent the weekend in your apartment with them sleeping over, caring for their cuts and bruises and catching up, smoking out your apartment window. It was the best weekend you'd had in years.

--(x)-- 2019 --(x)--

The crowd cheering was deafening, and the spotlight was blinding. Nonetheless, you took a bow, thanking the audience for the night. Your hand reached out to the orchestra and another round of applause boomed. Nobody could smile bigger than your were. No one could beat the butterflies in your stomach.

It was the week before Christmas, and just like you had since you were 12, you were performing a concert. This time however it wasn't on a small stage at a theater in your hometown, but at Alice Tully Hall in New York City, the same hall you had graduated in nine years ago.

The lights dimmed and that was your cue to leave, first excitingly hugging the musicians who played so beautifully that night. You thanked them all, wished them a happy holiday, and walked off stage. Waiting for you, as always, stood Patrick Zweig.

The years had done him well. Tennis kept him built like a marble statue, age refined his features, and his own laziness left the slightly auburn stubble on his cheeks to grow out. He was wearing the one tux he still owned, slightly tight around the arms and legs as he outgrew it.

Patrick had long cut contact with his parents, becoming financially independent (much to the dismay of his bank account), and no longer had to deal with the constant phone calls about how he was letting down the Zweig name with his tennis career. The days of them bragging about his talent were long gone, it was meant to be a hobby, not a career. Who was going to take over the Zweig family business now? He couldn't give less of a fuck. His designer wardrobe slowly sold off to pay for all the gas he consumed driving from matches to his best friends throughout the years, shedding his past with every article of clothing.

Patrick made sure to never repeat the same mistake as your graduation. At every event, he was there. Early, if possible. Never joining tournaments or challengers held on the same day as important events like tonight, not that there really were any on Christmas Eve. He made sure to make up for all the time you weren't together growing up.

Patrick held a bunch of roses in his hands for you as you approached, enveloping him in a hug. "Flowers are from the three of us." He spoke into your hair, referring to him, Art, and Art's wife Tashi. Free hand wrapping around your shoulder to squeeze you back with equal amounts of love. "Lily even made you a card. You were incredible, like always. Incredible."

You smiled up at him, kissing his cheek before hugging again. When you pull back, you look around him for the aforementioned Donaldsons. "They're waiting for Art to finish pissing. Whole night he kept complaining, drank too much water on the ride here but idiot didn't want to get up in the middle of your show and go." He chuckled, handing you the bouquet. You loop your arm into his, the feeling of him grounding you after the intense rush of adrenaline and emotions that came with performing to such a large audience or such a special night. Walking out into the main hall together, a couple people greet and shake your hand, some asking for pictures. A person even recognized Patrick, which was quite uncommon with his career now dwindling down an unfortunate and unsuccessful path (You were sure any day now he was gonna pick back up and climb the ranking again. You made sure to tell him after every match).

The two of you leaned against a wall as the attention died down and people began going home. In your heels, you were tall enough to rest your head comfortable on Patrick's shoulder. He smiled at the gesture, leaning his head on yours. Closing your eyes, you took in the whole night. The fading adrenaline, the sweat that gathered on your forehead drying, the sound of the crowd getting quieter by the second. The material of Patrick's tux on your cheek and ear, his steady and relaxed breathing, the warmth of his embrace, the musky cologne he had been using since he was a teenager.

Patrick enjoyed the moments alone he had with you. He wasn't Patrick Zweig the failed heir to the Zweig throne just like how he was a failed tennis player. He was Patrick Zweig, your best friend. That was the only thing expected of him.

Longer than Art Donaldson ever was. You were the love of his life, he was sure of it.

He inhaled the scent of your hair and your perfume, arm wrapped around your shoulder as his thumb rubbed comforting circles on it. When he closed his eyes, he replayed how you looked on the stage while you sang. You were as beautiful as your voice. Always had been, always will be. Every performance of yours took him back to when things were much simpler, when he'd watch you by their otherwise untouched piano at formal dinners and you'd sing a Sinatra song for the parents. He could almost taste the roasted chicken, almost feel the silverware in his hands.

Your hand reached up to your chest and your fingers played with the little tennis racket charm, a habit you'd had for years. Patrick loved knowing you kept the necklace on after all this time, even on nights like this where you could've replaced it with something much more grand and expensive.

He had never taken his bracelet off. Even in the brief relationships or hookups he'd have and partners would question what the initial stood for. He'd never answer, just tell them it was important to him.

You opened your eyes again when the sound of little feet in little shoes click-clacked on the tile floor towards you, your name exclaimed from eager lips. Lily bounded up to you, her honerary aunt, and wrapped her arms around your waist. Art and Tashi followed behind her.

Lily pulled back from the hug, looking up at you. "You were like a superstar!" She beamed, one of her front teeth missing. You hug Art and Tashi who compliment your dress and your performance before leaving with them to the dinner reservation you all had, Patrick's arm still around your shoulder as you walked.

At dinner, through mouthfulls of spaghetti, Lily asked you constant questions about what it's like to sing and be on stage. You answered every single one, and at the end of her little interview she made an announcement. "When I grow up I wanna be a tennis player like mommy and daddy," she started, Tashi scolding her to stop talking while she's eating as she wiped with a napkin at the corners of her daughter's mouth. Art's bottom lip jutted out in a little pout, melting in the hands of his daughter. "But, I wanna be a singer-tennis player. So I can wear pretty dresses like you."

You laugh, coming to Tashi's defense. "Your mom wears gorgeous dresses, Lily."

"Yeah, but she doesn't wear them on a stage. I wanna do that."

Point proved, you shrug. Patrick turns to look at you as he's sitting directly beside you. He doesn't say anything, just admires you under the dim and moody lighting of the resteraunt as you talk with Lily, resting his chin in his hand and smiling into his palm. Art and Tashi share a knowing look.

The night decidingly comes to an end when the couple announces they need to put Lily to bed.

"I'm not twenty anymore," Tashi says, handing the bill to the waiting server. "I knock out at ten P.M."

Patrick drove you home like you agreed, and it was assumed he'd stay the night like he often did on your couch. As you changed into more comfortable clothes in your room, he grabbed his own clothes from the trunk of his car and changed in your bathroom. Afterward, he silently observed as you washed off your makeup and took down your hair from its simple updo. It felt domestic. It felt like something a boyfriend does with his girlfriend after a long day. Patrick let himself pretend for a moment that that's exactly what was happening.

When you were done the two of you sat on the couch and cuddled, debating on what movie to wind down to as you settled into his arms as he laid his head against the arm rest.

"Home Alone?" You ask, grabbing the remote and flicking through the options. He shook his head.

"Watched that with Art and Lily just last week. What about Elf?"

You agree, and the movie begins to play. The volume's low and you spend more time talking to each other than actually watching, one of your hands on the arm wrapped around your chest scratching up and down and the other resting on your stomach. Patrick's hand on your chest toyed with your necklace while the other arm rested on your head, lazily scratching as you watched and talked. Neither of you realized when you both fell asleep there.

The sun rising through your window wakes you up, the light bright against your eyelids. You shifted a little, lifting your head but keeping your eyes closed. The first thing your senses picked up on was the warm body of Patrick underneath you, steady rising and falling breaths and the lignering scent of the cologne he applied yesterday still faintly on his skin. His hands were still on your chest and head when you woke up, sliding off when you moved to look at him.

The stresses of adulthood were almost undetectable on his face. Patrick had the same freckles littering his skin that he had as a kid, and you used to tell him that in a crowd of identical people you'd be able to pick him out just by the freckles on his waterline. Did that make sense? Probably not, but it did when you were fourteen. You didn't really care, to be honest, just wanting him to open his eyes so you could see the freckles there again.

As if he could hear your thoughts, his eyelashed fluttered before opening. The first thing he saw was you.

Like an angel. His tired brain though for a moment he died and went to heaven.

"Goodmorning." He rasped, morning voice deep and scratchy. You smiled, looking out the window at the falling snow. "Merry Christmas." You say instead. "I'm Jewish," He chuckled, a hand raising to brush a strand of hair from your face before whispering "Merry Christmas" back. He said the same thing every year.

You stayed silent like that, laying on his chest and just staring at him as he played with your hair. There was some sort of unsaid agreement between the two of you, something your souls communicated with each other without your knowlage as you slept. Patrick felt like his heart could stop at any moment with how etheral you felt.

"What do you want for Christmas?" He asked, breaking the quiet in the room and whispering it like a secret.

Your eyes moved from his to his lips, and at the action his tongue darted out to lick them. It felt like the 21 years you had been best friends slipped away from your fingers and had gone. Time was gone. Reason was gone. The only thing left in the entire world was you, him, and the couch. You knew what you wanted. You had wanted it since you were sixteen. He's sure he's wanted it since the creation of his soul.

His hand moved from your hair to your jaw, both of you slightly breathless, eyes on the other's lips. His calloused hands told you, you weren't dreaming despire how hazy reality felt. His breath on your lips told you, you were still alive despite how heaven-like reality felt.

Patrick leaned in, his nose rubbing on yours and your foreheads touching, lips mere centimeters apart, eyes barely open. His best friend. His soulmate. He was never whole when he wasn't around you.

He kissed you on Christmas morning, the charm of your inital on his bracelet tickling your shoulder, the tennis racket on your necklace resting on his chest.

[blckbarbiedoll]

Million Dollar Baby

Chapter 4-Advantage, Zweig

CONTAINS NSFW CONTENT (fingering, p in v sex, kissing, etc.)

September 12, 2007-Stanford, California

"I missed you." Tashi said as she took a bite of her food.

"I missed you too. I'm gonna try to come visit more."

"So, what've you been up to?" Art asked. "Ya know, besides being the best tennis player in the world?"

"Definitely not the best. Maybe second best." You joked.

"Oh, come on. You're fucking phenomenal. You've won two grand slams and you're going to the Olympics at 19. You have an Adidas brand deal."

Tashi's demeanor changed. She looked a mix between annoyed and sad. You rolled your eyes and laughed.

"Guess what." You asked.

"What?"

"I ran into Patrick at the U.S. open."

They both paused their actions for a moment and looked at each other.

"Cool." Tashi responded.

"You can't avoid him forever. I know he misses you guys."

"Come on. We're gonna be late for the movie." Art stood up, changing the subject.

🎾

"We should do something over the summer." You suggested.

Art's arm was wrapped around your waist as the three of you walked into the campus.

"What about Florida?"

"Babe, you can go to Florida anytime. Let's go somewhere tropical."

"Well, when you win the Olympics next year, we can go somewhere to celebrate."

"I'm definitely not gonna win. I'm just happy I qualified."

"You're definitely gonna win. And I'm gonna be watching on tv cheering you on."

You rolled your eyes and kissed him softly. Once you got into the school and into the elevator, you parted ways with him.

"I'll meet up with you later. I'm gonna hang out with Tashi for a bit."

"I'll miss you."

"I'll send you a post card from the other side of the campus." You both walked into her room and you flopped onto the bed. "You okay?" You asked her. "You've barely said a word since we walked out the theater."

"What's your goal here?"

"What do you mean?"

"Are you tryna get back at me for something?"

"Tashi, what're you talking about?"

"It seems like lately all you've been doing is bragging about your perfect little boyfriend, and your perfect little career, and your perfect little life."

"Are you jealous?" You stood up.

"Yeah. I guess I'm fucking jealous. Jealous of the life that should've been mine."

"What?"

"I spent my entire life trying to get where you are. I worked, and I sacrificed, and I busted my ass for what I have. You didn't even want this!" Tears fell down her face as she walked closer to you. 

"Look, I'm sorry you got hurt. I really am. But that's not my fault and you don't have to take it out on me."

"It should be me going to the Olympics! It should be me with Art!"

"Art? So now this is about you wanting my boyfriend?"

"You're traveling most of the year! He doesn't need someone like that! He needs someone who can be there for him!"

"You intolerable bitch." You scoffed. "When you're done projecting your insecurities onto me, let me know."

"Sometimes I wish you got hurt instead of me."

Your jaw clenched and you felt your eyes begin to water.

"Patrick was right about you." You opened the door and hesitated a minute before opening it. "The worst part is even after all this, I'll probably still love you." You walked out and made your way to Art's dorm. You wiped your tears away before you knocked, not wanting him to worry.

"Hey. That was quick."

"Hey, I'm gonna leave a few days early, okay?" You walked in and set your suitcase on the bed.

"What? You just got here last night."

"I know. I just think I should go now." You shoved your stuff into the bag, avoiding eye contact with him.

He grabbed your hand to stop you from packing. 

"Slow down. Are you crying? Did something happen?"

You wiped your face again and pulled your hand away.

"Tashi and I had a fight."

"But you guys'll be okay, right?"

"I don't think so." You took a deep breath. "I also think we should take a break."

"A break? Did I do something?"

"No, Art." You grabbed his hands. "You didn't do anything. I just need a little time. Between just coming from the U.S. open, organizing the brand deal, training for the Olympics, and now this fight, it's just too much. But I love you so much. I just need some time."

"How much time?"

"I don't know. But I'm always gonna love you. Okay?"

"Yeah. Okay."

You gathered the rest of your belongings and hugged him goodbye. You kissed his cheek and headed towards the door.

"I love you, Art."

"I love you too."

🎾FOUR YEARS LATER🎾

You waited anxiously by the door, waiting for a knock. After pacing back and forth for twenty minutes, you heard the sound you had been waiting for.

"Hey, Pat." You smiled as you pulled him into a hug.

"Hey, beautiful. Nice room. I mean, The Ritz? The Adidas money came in, I see."

"Thanks." You laughed and led him inside. "Do you want a drink? I made the dinner reservation for 8:00."

"Sure."

You grabbed two beers and sat on the sofa. You patted the spot next to you, signaling for him to sit.

"So, tell me what you've been up to." You took a sip.

"Uh, well, I still haven't won a slam."

"You'll get there. It's almost a new year."

"What about you? Gonna be a two time olympic gold medalist."

"I might not win."

"You will."

"Maybe."

"For sure."

You laughed and set your beer on the coffee table before scooting closer to him.

"You seeing anyone?" You asked him.

"Nah. Ya know how it goes. They always wanna come, but they never wanna stay."

"They're idiots then. Any girl or guy would be lucky to have you."

"You got a boyfriend?"

"No."

"Girlfriend?"

"I've just been keeping to myself since Art and I broke up."

"What happened?"

"I just needed a break." You sighed. "But, c'est la vie." You shrugged.

"Ayesha?"

"Hm?"

"Why'd you invite me to your hotel?"

"I heard you were in town, and I had the night off."

"We haven't talked in four years. Why now?"

"I missed you, Patrick."

"You missed me?"

"Am I not allowed to miss my friend?"

"Is that what we were?"

"We were both taken, so yeah. That's what we were."

"And what about now?"

"I think...the night is still young. Who knows what could happen."

"Huh." He smirked as his arm draped over the back of the couch. "You wanna know something?"

"Sure."

"Sometimes I wish that I had gotten your number instead of Tashi's."

"Well, you have my number now."

"I do."

You smiled and leaned in to press your lips against his. He held onto your waist to pull you closer to him. You grabbed Patrick's hand and led him to the bedroom.

"I missed you so much." He whispered while he was urgently taking your clothes off. He kicked his shoes off and lifted his shirt over his head. "I think about that night at the hotel a lot." He said while unzipping your romper. "I regretted not fucking you that night for years."

"Well, now's your chance." You kissed him roughly as your hands made work of his pants buttons. 

You pulled your romper down and tossed it onto the floor. He did the same with his jeans before picking you up and carrying you to your bed. He set you down and started to kiss your neck. Your hand went down to rub his dick through his boxers.

"Fuck." He groaned as his fingers slipped under your panties. "You're so wet for me already." 

"Patrick." You sighed as two of his fingers entered you, his thumb circling your clit.

His fingers continuously pumped in and out while he marked up your neck and chest. Your hand grabbed his bicep and squeezed it as the pleasure became too much to handle. 

"That feels good, doesn't it?"

"Oh my god, yes."

"I've been waiting for years to touch you." He kissed the spot right under your ear. "To make you cum."

"Oh, fuck." You groaned.

"You gonna cum for me?" He whispered into your neck.

"Yeah." Your nails dug into his skin as he moved his thumb faster. "Shit!" You cried out as you came around his fingers. 

He slowly pulled them out and brought them to his lips. "You taste so good."

You flipped him over so that you were on top of him. He helped you pull your panties down and you threw your bra onto the floor. You hovered so that he could get his boxers off. He kissed you while your hand went down to slowly stroke him. You lined your hips up with his and sank down onto him.

"Shit." He groaned. He held onto your hips while you rocked back and forth.

"You feel so good." You moaned against his lips.

The room was filled with the sound of skin against skin and heavy breathing. You knew neither of you would last much longer. He moved his hand down to rub your clit.

"Art said you were good, but fuck, I didn't know you'd be this good."

"You talked about me?" You asked as you continued to move your hips.

"Yeah. He used to call me and I'd ask about you. He didn't tell me everything, but the little he did had me hard as a fucking rock."

"Did you jerk off while thinking about me?"

"Fuck." He sighed. "Yeah."

"That's so fucking hot."

He took the opportunity to copy you and flipped you over. He started thrusting into you while looking into your eyes.

"You're close again, aren't you?" He asked. You nodded, which made him smirk. "Words, baby. Lemme hear you."

"Yeah. I'm close."

"Me too. Where do you want it?"

"Inside."

"You sure?"

"I have an IUD. Please, Patrick, I want you to cum inside me."

He cursed under his breath and rubbed your clit faster as he felt himself letting go. You threw your head back against the bed as you finished with him. He rested his head in the crook of your neck while you both caught your breaths.

"Tashi was right." You spoke.

"Huh?"

"You do have a big dick."

You both laughed and laid together, basking in the afterglow.

[confused-disaster32]

Okay so this is kinda mildly related to the post I made a while back about people making a crossover between diff Mike Faist characters but also slightly unrelated.

Anyways - here are some of my HCs that Art Donaldson can sing (Pls don't hate if you don't like/think it's OOC and stuff - this is pretty much completely self indulgent)

He's always been able to sing, and he actually really likes it

In terms of natural talent this is probably the thing that he's best at - like yeah he's good at tennis but he's always had to train super hard - when it comes to singing it's like how Patrick is just naturally great at tennis

He also happens to like musical theatre - when they're kids Patrick teases him for it and Art tries to say smth about how there are plenty of straight male theatre kids out there (Patrick always scoffs, but he lets it be)

When he's younger he even joins a choir and in school he checks out if they have a musical theatre club - when they do he joins

When he starts to get very into tennis he stops any extracurriculars that include singing, he's got to work extremely hard to be as good (or one day maybe even better) then Patrick

He still likes it he just doesn't have time, by the time they're in college it's something he really only occasionally does in the shower or if they're at karaoke or something (and occasionally just when he's really drunk)

Additionally with all the exercises and practice (and pining over one (both really - though he doesn't know it) of his friends) he doesn't really even have time to consume musical media like he used to

In fact the first time Tashi hears him sing it's cause he's drunk and he just happens to like the song on the radio

He doesn't sound as good as if he was sober but Tashi makes a little comment about him not sounding too bad later

When Tashi gets injured (and when they start dating) he pretty much stops all together - he has to work hard to be great, because he wants to be great (and because he wants Tashi to be proud of him, because he knows that she was the one who should've become a great tennis player and he figures maybe if he can be good enough for her she'll be able to live through him just a little bit and she'll stop looking so sad and maybe that little bit of hatred in her eyes will finally disappear)

When his daughter is born he doesn't stay home for long - no matter how much he wants to - but when he does he offers to sing her lullabies and sometimes Tashi will watch

In those moments their home feels genuinely filled with love and warmth

Then he goes back to tennis

When he gets injured he's at home for a while and he lets himself go back to some of the things he enjoyed

He watches movies with his daughter and catches up on musicals that he hadn't seen yet

More then once Tashi comes home and Art and their daughter (srry I don't actually know/remember her name) are both cuddled up together, maybe they're asleep, maybe they're awake but there's always the sound of a Disney movie playing softly in the background - like if they did fall asleep it midway through the movie

Art's not entirely sure when he started to want to retire but moments like that sure did help the decision

He stops singing again when he gets back on the court - he's lost his confidence from being away for so long and now he has to face Patrick - he feels kinda like shit

When he finally retires he finds a lot of time to do things whilst Patrick and Tashi are out of the house

He catches up on even more musicals and goes back to learning the songs that are his favourites

He dances around with his daughter and almost every time that Tashi and/or Patrick comes back late he's either on that couch by himself or with his daughter

When his daughter talks about wanting to sing he supports her fully and even teaches her how to not hurt her throat when she sings

He also offers to let her join a junior choir

He never quite pushes her - not like some parents push their children to become stars

He wants her to still be able to enjoy it as a past time - because sometimes making things into a challenge can suck the light and fun and happiness out of something (and boy does he know it)

For the first time in years (or maybe ever) the Donaldson (and Zweig because Patrick is pretty much always there) household is filled with music and singing and laughter

Tashi still gets to live with her life including tennis and Patrick gets a great coach and Art just gets to enjoy himself, spend time as a father and maybe get back into a hobby that he thought he's have to drop for a career

[liesmyth]

do you see any RJK / artashipatrick parallels? ive been thinking about it a lot lately and wanted to get ur viewpoint

hi hi hi! I actually saw this opinion a couple of times in Ted Lasso fandom, but personally I don't share it. I AM very curious about your reasoning for it because I love looking at ships from different angles and seeing what people take from them.

my tldr is that I don't think RKJ has anything in common with the Challengers trio, beyond the fact that they're about two men ostensively fighting over a girl while also engaging in the kind of simmering homoeroticism that permeates elite men's sport. (this Marylin Frie quote says it better) I get why this can seem a parallel by itself but, to me, it's just a function of both ships being set in a Sports Media canon. When it comes to characters and their dynamics, these ships are built very differently IMO.

relative to each other:

the Challengers trio all start out as peers, both in age and in relative success level of their careers. They're all finalists in the Junior US Open when they meet. RKJ as a dynamic is absolutely hierarchical in comparison: you have Roy being a Legacy kind of Big Name in the sport, Jamie as the talented up-and-comer who idolised him growing up, and while he has promise, there's non guarantee he can come even close to the kind of career Roy's implied to have had. And then there's Keeley, who's absolutely an outsider in their world, and on a systemic level is much lower down the pecking order. I think Ted Lasso, especially in S1 and S2 does a great job giving an overview of, like, how transactional footballers/wags relationships inherently ARE, even to people who aren't already familiar with the context — not just the financial asymmetry and stark difference in career and life prospects but just, like. She's the girl peeking into the changing room and saying, Hi Boys. Jamie makes a joke about oogling her ass because they are both in on the joke that they fulfil a very specific stereotypical relationship dynamic.

Even if on a personal level both Roy and Jamie really respect and admire Keeley, she Does Not Belong in their hyperfocused sport-as-sexually-charged-rivarly world. Art and Patrick want to fuck Tashi first and foremost because she's a tennis phenomenon, they value her athletic abilities and coaching insight. That's a whole completely different dynamic from what's going on between RKJ. Compare Art and Patrick complimenting Tashi's performance at the US Open to Roy and Jamie "fighting over her" in 3x12 where it's all about who she likes more. As someone who actually liked the bar fight because I think it shows a very realistic ugly side to these characters (*) it's just. two men fighting over a girl. vs two athletes being so impressed by someone who is a girl and also a star athlete in her own right.

(*) asterisk because I absolutely loathed so many writing choices in S3, like, even if I like some seeds of plots I hate how they were executed. Oh my god typing this out is making me want to completely AU S3 of TL. anyway; I have beef with the pacing and stuff around that scene but I like the existence of the scene itself.

Keeley and Tashi couldn't be more different

Tashi is just. Her personality is most similar to Roy's, imo. She lives and breathes tennis. She needs to be around that world to live; she struggles to fill the void left with coaching (and living vicariously through Art to an extent). Keeley, meanwhile, makes fun of Roy feeling like the world is ending when he finally admits to himself that he can't go on any longer. Mind, I think that lighthearted "it's not the end of the world" attitude was precisely what Roy needed to hear at that point, because he takes himself too seriously and needed someone to tell him that he can live without football, actually — but the fact that Keeley just Doesn't Get It on a fundamental level, again, marks her as an outsider to the kind of all-encompassing elite athlete attitude Roy and Jamie share. She doesn't even like football! She's occasionally flighty (good for her). She's turning 30 and doesn't know where her life is going (SO valid). She's a completely different personality than the kind of single-minded all-or-nothing attitude you NEED to make it as a pro athlete. Again: her dynamic with the two men who are into her couldn't be any different than Art/Tashi/Patrick, BECAUSE she's a completely different personality. If she was in Challengers, she'd be one of the normie Stamford kids Patrick and Tashi make fun of.

IDK. I think any similarity between Tashi and Keeley starts and ends at "they're both women". Maybe I'm being uncharitable here! I'm someone who thinks that Keeley's portrayal in fanon flattens her a bit (in the way female characters in the periphery of a m/m ship are often put on a pedestal and shoved off the way) so I'm definitely bringing some of my own baggage here; that's why I'd love to know what parallels others see. But I think she and Tashi have very different neuroses. THAT SAID. If I was writing a crossover Ted Lasso / Challengers fic, I really think Tashi/Keeley would be my ship of choice

[coldblooded-angel]

Another incoming long ask about Challengers! Really digging how this love triangle shows the nuances of all three's needs/wants/jealousies/passions.

Like Art wouldn't feel left out if he knew Patrick and Tashi talked about him while having sex or that they are deeply concerned with him quitting the sport altogether. Art doesn't acknowledge that Patrick pulled the chair closer or visited him before Tashi at Stanford. He doesn't see from our eyes how Tashi might sleep with Patrick but chooses to stay with Art and only threatens to leave Art cuz without their shared love of tennis then the relationship is truly dead (tennis is how they met after all and what made them happy). It's twisted but Patrick and Tashi do care for Art despite the cheating stuff bc Art was always supposed to be included. College Art is surprised Tashi is still dating Patrick, meanwhile Tashi and Patrick are rooting for Art because as much as all three are lovers they were admirers of each other's skills.

With Tashi she has a love/hate with both boys. She loves what they can do for her, loves watching good fucking tennis, enjoys the makeout in the room where she leads them to kiss for her entertainment (also cuz she peeped the boy bestie attraction). She also hates that their drive can't match hers even when she's out for the count while they're still in the game. Can only imagine how big of a star Tashi would've been if not for her injury or even if she was a guy therefore having more chances at playing against Patrick and Art in true competitive form. For Art, losing isn't that big of a deal cuz in the end he still married Tashi despite not winning the initial game for her. For Patrick, losing isn't that big of a deal if it's Art who is his opponent playing for keeps. For Tashi, though, losing is a big tragic deal cuz she was a game changer and now it's probably the racist bitch or others like her that she beat out standing in the spot Tashi should've been in. Tashi loves the innocence of Patrick and Art when it comes to playing tennis in its purest form but hates that they don't see the importance of making this sport as big as Michael Jordan did basketball or Serena Williams for tennis, they are supposed to raise the bar and set a new standard and instead Tashi's boys are having a pity party rather than sticking to the plan Tashi was planting seeds to harvest.

Then we have Patrick who wants to keep both Tashi and Art, but both are separate from him as they chose college and it's the same college both are attending. Patrick teases Art and never says how much he loves Art but he shows in his actions. He coaches Art and that's why he can clash with Tashi who technically replaces coaching Art, which is why they butt heads in the car about "letting Art win" and how to do it. Patrick sees himself, worst and best traits, in Tashi and Art. Tashi is the more competitive side while Art is the fun side. Tashi challenges Patrick, seducing him only for him to seduce her later down the line, again a power struggle that's more like a game for them. Art reminds Patrick of being silly, he can't be mad or frowned up at Art, even when calling out Art actively trying to breakup Tashi and Patrick. To Patrick, Tashi crossed the line of cheating Art out of a win, but Patrick never thinks Art crossed the line by - as Tashi put it - "being a bad friend". Patrick likes when Art is sneaky and playing unfair, he tolerates and gets excited about it.

And it's interesting to me that Tashi and Patrick are so headstrong but rely on Art to be there. Patrick misses playing with Art. Tashi recovered with Art by her side. They know Art can be just as manipulative as them, is not as competitive as them, yet Art is the one living their dreams of playing good tennis since Patrick is broke and Tashi is forever injured. Art never had the heart they did but somehow he is considered the best, but tennis isn't fun if he doesn't have both Tashi and Patrick watching him/playing against him cuz they're the only ones that mattered.

Listen friend idk what else you want me to say except your brain is so big and this take is literally 10/10. You’re so right !!! This is exactly why the throuple works because they all need each other and the couples (for example, Art and Tashi’s marriage) doesn’t work if the third isn’t there. It falls flat because it’s incomplete.

[adonaldson]

ooc:

so some brief thoughts on challengers for now (i'll write more later)

The person who described their relationship as dom, sub, and switch for Tashi, Art and Patrick respectively nailed it.

Art despite what Z was saying did not cause the argument tashi and patrick's responses to his comments are. Especially since they both recognized art for what he was doing which was trying to get in their heads they both acknowledged it and couldn't let it rest.

Art seemed unaware of his love for patrick cause it was so natural to him, but was wholly aware of his love for tashi not because it wasn't natural but because he was aware of how she always kept him at arm's length.

Art always let tashi make the first move, it was her pace he was following.

I don't care if lily is actually patrick's (a popular theory) but that girl is art's daughter and he cares about her. he mutes the tv when she complains about tennis, he wakes up during that one night, likely because of her having a nightmare if anything is to go by with tashi not being able to get her to sleep on her own, and he goes to comfort her

Art suspected that tashi and patrick did something the night before the final. he asked tashi to hold him til he fell asleep, and when he woke up she was gone. patrick just solidiefied it. his little cursing bit is definitely at both of them cause he knew about atlanta

despite him being at boarding school then stanford i do not think art comes from money. his demeanor and clothes do not indicate wealth (coming from a person who was not rich but parents did everything in their power to keep me in a private school he has that air about him)

Art won the final match

That final service was finally art and patrick turning the messing around back on tashi, she had been fucking with the both of them the entire movie, including that kiss... this was their time to consensually do that again to fuck with her those smirks (that wasn't in the initial script neither was that hug and stuff soooo)

Art messing with Tashi and Patrick at the beginning I think he was spot on with his observatons

I think both take advantage of Art, and assume he is stupid or something, but no one is more observant than Art as he does his best to mold to what both need. Also boy got into Stanford likely on a scholarship but to get those you still need the grades.

Both Art and Patrick were better as a doubles team than on their own as singles players

I do think the three would have been better as a true poly relationship... OR even better I think Tashi should have stuck with her gut and tried to get her two boys actually in an official relationship

that's all for now

[destinyc1020]

I think that Tashi hated Patrick when they met again during their 30s because he was the one that could crack the hard shell that she had developed to protect herself. She cracked when she saw him when she was newly engaged at 23. The whole artifice that she had built as a tennis power couple with top of the line endorsement deals was already shaken by Art losing the passion for the sport and she knew that having Patrick back in her life could completely destroy it. And Patrick was not innocent: he wanted to be back in her life and saw that Art was close to retirement and that Tashi would need a new challenge to feel alive so he suggested that she become his coach. Tashi knew that his intentions were not innocent and she hated herself for still loving and desiring him

Also another thing that made Tashi hate Patrick is that she had seen as he had wasted his potential just for being too hardheaded and not recognizing the problems in his game, just like she had pointed out back in Stanford. She hated that he had wasted his talent while she was not even able to show hers due to the injury that prematurely ended her career. A similar reason that she has started to resent Art because he had lost interest in the sport and wanted to retire even though he was still physically able to do it

A solution that none of them thought about is for Tashi to transition to becoming a coach of other hungry players while Art and Patrick eventually retire from the sport. That way she could keep her link to the sport that nourished her soul

Thanks Anon for this take! You might be on to something here... I did find it sus that Patrick was asking her to be his coach smh. Definitely shady lol. I literally cracked up out LOUD in the theater when I saw Tashi's facial expression to that crazy request lol. 😅

She hated that he had wasted his talent while she was not even able to show hers due to the injury that prematurely ended her career.

I can see why she might have felt that Patrick was wasting his potential, but I can't imagine HATING someone over that. What someone chooses to do with their life is their business?? I can understand being frustrated, but HATING on someone cuz of that?? For over a decade?? 🥴 Idk girl lol...

Even that fight they had in her dorm room was ages ago. Couples sometimes say harsh stuff when in an argument w/each other. And it's not like she was saying nice things towards him while they were arguing either. I would have just let that mess go lol.

A solution that none of them thought about is for Tashi to transition to becoming a coach of other hungry players while Art and Patrick eventually retire from the sport. That way she could keep her link to the sport that nourished her soul

Now see, THIS right here would have been a perfect solution imo. Cuz I kept thinking to myself all throughout the movie that it's not really the best idea for couples to coach each other in a sport/any type of competitive deal. I especially don't think that things go too well in a relationship or a marriage when it's the wife coaching the husband. 👀 It usually tends to create this very weird, awkward, power dynamic, and the man usually ends up feeling emasculated, and the woman in turn doesn't respect the man.

Idk... I can just foresee a LOT of bad problems in a marriage when it's based on this type of "work" dynamic....😅 The marriage also tends to become about "work" and less about romance, and that (imo) is a HUGE recipe for a disaster marriage if you ask me lol. It's okay if both husband and wife work in the same industry and do the same type of work, but when it's the wife coaching the husband, or even the husband coaching the wife, it can get to be a really weird dynamic that doesn't end up well in the marriage dept. The relationship sometimes turns into more of a "work relationship" and a "roommate" living situation than an actual separation of work life and home life. I can't explain it. But I agree w/you...I think Tashi would have done better to coach other people who are NOT her husband (or Patrick), or maybe even started teaching her little daughter to be a tennis champion at a young age. I think that would have been a much better dynamic honestly.

[disappointingyet]

Challengers

Director Luca Guadagnino Stars Zendaya, Josh O’Connor, Mike Faist USA/Italy 2024 Language English 2hrs 11mins Colour

More tennis, less bedroom stuff than the buzz suggests

[Minor spoilers for the early part of the film – and if you’ve seen the trailer, that gives away much more than I will]

I wasn’t expecting Challengers to be so much of a sports movie. I mean, I knew it was about tennis, but I was not anticipating, for example, the classic sports pic framing device of most of the plot happening as flashbacks between the action from a crucial match. (To mention just one very un-Luca Guadagnino-like film, For the Love of the Game, the least-loved of Kevin Costner’s baseball movies, does that). 

So there’s plenty of tennis in this film and the production team put in a lot of effort to make that action feel visceral and immediate, some of which works and some of which is very annoying. Towards the end, it’a almost Guy Ritchie-like, that lack of faith that what you are showing is interesting to the audience so you have to gimmick it up.

That match is a final, but it’s the final of a third-rate tournament taking place at a suburban tennis club for which the winner’s cheque is $7,200. The film admirably withholds information about who these people are for a while, but eventually we learn that Art Donaldson (Mike Faist) is big-name player in decline, being pushed towards one final shot at glory by his wife/coach/manager Tashi (Zendaya). His opponent is a down-on-his luck yet still cocky player called Patrick Zweig (Josh O’Connor).

Flashback 13 years and super-tight best buds Art and Patrick are winning the doubles at the Junior US Open and will then play each other in the boys’ singles final. The big star of the tournament, though, is Tashi Duncan, who strolls to victory in the girls’ final. Art and Patrick are aware that junior wins often don’t lead to great adult careers but no one doubts Tashi is destined for greatness. Both Art and Patrick are instantly obsessed with her and she’s at least amused by them…

The hype around this film suggested maybe these three would be a throuple. It’s actually more of a traditional love triangle, although often quite a grumpy one, played out over those 13 years. Oh, there’s something going on between the guys but it’s largely unspoken. In terms of what you see, the film is surprisingly chaste – it’s been widely described as a (ahem) sexy movie but that’s about the vibe between the three leads rather than what they actually do.

But what it is – to a surprising degree – is a three-hander. There are no secondary characters with any plot of their own. I’d guess the person with the most screen time after the leads is the umpire (Darnell Appling*) in the framing match – who is just umpiring and doesn’t even have a character name. There’s a tournament administrator who gets one good scene (Burgess Byrd), an awkward Tinder date, a couple of other players get lines and that’s really it. 

So the film rests entirely on the trio and whether the dynamic between them is convincing. I think it is. I was (maybe unfairly) surprised by how good Josh O’Connor is in this film. I think the only thing I’ve seen him in Emma. and he didn’t make a big impression in that – I instinctively dismissed him as more of the plague of privately educated British actors infesting Hollywood. But his American accent is (as far as I noticed) flawless and somehow the fact that he looks a bit like Jonathan Richman makes the fact that he’s playing this swaggering, spoilt waster a bit more interesting. He's excellent here.

Faist’s role is the less active one – he has to be a bit wet but also a passive schemer, a guy waiting patiently for things to fall his way and giving them a sneaky nudge (probably both as a tennis player and as a person.) 

And Zendaya as Tashi? Firstly, she has to project a ‘this woman walks into the room, everything else stops’ aura. That she can do. She also has to be the tennis obsessive – we’re meant to understand that Tashi is both much more attuned to the business of the sport than the blokes while also being capable of being swept away by the transcendent nature of the game.

And Zendaya’s got maybe the trickiest task of the three because her character – for reasons the film does make clear – has to be the most different between the present-day and flashback portions of the movie. Her best moments certainly come in the flashback. 

When director Luca Guadagnino gives the characters space to talk, Challengers is good verging on really good. The stuff in between I’m less keen on – there’s quite a bit of really tacky slow-mo, for instance. 

And I hated the ending. Not in a ‘I wish there was a different outcome for the one of the characters’ kind of way, just in a ‘this is a really unsatisfactory storytelling option’ way. I had a long discussion with the friend I saw the film with afterwards, and we felt we understood the resolution the film-makers wanted and why it would be tough to achieve it in a different way, but still: to me it falls very flat. 

But up to the final couple of minutes? Challengers is good, definitely something you should see. 

*Not an actor – one of Zendaya’s team 

[adonaldson]

Basic breakdown of my verses (will be added to my blog later), different from what is on my verse page because the movie spans a few years I realized I can't just do pre movie, movie, and post movie.

Love - Tennis academy days and before, up until the Jr Open that Art comes in second at and wins mens doubles.

15 - Stanford era, the four years that Art is at college.

30 - Post Stanford and pre Tashi coaching him. This is where most things will happen in threads because it opens up Art for relationships and such. It is also the time he is still a rising star, and it is what we know least about.

40 - Tashi is his coach, and up until the New Rochelle Challenger. This includes things like Atlanta, and his marriage to Tashi.

Game - Anything after the New Rochelle Challenger.

Deuce - An AU for anything that differs from the movie. Such as Art leaving Tashi because of Atlanta or even New Rochelle. Art not fucking with Patrick and Tashi in college, or if we discuss and write it may even go for altering movie stuff.