#except tennis sometimes

[trickstarbrave]

i actually won 4 tickets to the diamondback's baseball game by catching a ball at a school event (i suck at catching) and everyone proceeded to dogpile on me swarming me and trying to rip it from me and then kicking me when i laid on the ground with it under me like i was being attacked by a bear. until the teachers pulled them off.

i was like in 5th grade and i was just like. not phased by the other children assaulting me for tickets. i didnt even like baseball i wanted them for my grandma (she took me to the game anyways. even though I Don't Like Baseball)

this is not the only time i have been swarmed by children trying to assault and/or kill me. but it was one of the funniest because i was just unphased by it. i thought about it every time we had to go to the gym where it happened (they took us to the hs gym for it. fsr. even though my middle school was like. across town. i guess bc we didnt rly have a gym? idk)

[janniksnr]

so accurate

[steelycunt]

tennis looks so fucking boring im sorry. cannot get on board with a sports event where there is no telling if it will end in one hour or five. and not only is there no telling but its also the most boring game to watch ever. so like you can rest assured that what you will be watching is just a ball travelling back and forth across a net but what you dont know is whether it will finish in time for you to get home for dinner or maybe your mother's birthday which is two and half weeks away

[muirneach]

hubi’s absolute utter lack of swag is part of his endearing charm but at the same time could we buy him some new pants. or literally anything. please

[mecachrome]

notes from nicole piastri's interview on red flags pod

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

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

instead of unflappable she calls him "conservative"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

all of the kids were obsessed with Cars (2006)

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

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

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

takes him minimum 24 hours to respond to anything she sends

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

oscar you are so you 🧡

[jesuistrestriste]

♡ Nice Guys Finish Last; Art Donaldson x Reader ♡

nsfw! (18+) cw: soft dom!art donaldson, sub!reader, afab/fem reader, porn w/ a little plot, penetrative sex, unsafe sex/pullout method, slight edging (reader!receiving), equal desperation, praise, general filth, art is a softie until he's not

wc: 4.2 k

*does not include challengers spoilers!*

prev. art donaldson fic : <3 here <3

It was currently 11 PM in the state of New York, and Art Donaldson was in your hotel room.

-

Earlier today, you had competed in a long singles tennis tournament for a cash prize, and had beat every other girl in the bracket. You walked away from it with five-hundred more dollars in your pocket than you had walked in with, and a smug grin on your glossy lips.

Art Donaldson had competed in a similar tournament at the same venue, except it involved doubles teams playing against one another. He had played with his typical partner, Patrick Zweig, and they, too, had beat everyone in their bracket.

Tomorrow, they would be playing against one another to determine the ultimate winner.

You had watched them play, and they had watched you play too.

After the venue had shut down for the night, you had begun to wander back to your hotel a few blocks away and coincidentally bumped into the two boys heading back to the same building.

You three talked--or rather, they had buttered you up with compliments as you all went up the elevator, and suddenly you were in their hotel room drinking cheap beer from cold metal cans.

They both flirted relentlessly with you for about an hour or two, before Patrick had called it a night (and had given up on trying to woo you) and told you and Art that he was going to sleep.

Art had given you a look and nodded towards their room's door with a small smile, silently suggesting something. Thirty seconds later the both of you were standing alone in the hotel hallway. He chatted you up and praised your tennis-playing for about ten more minutes, his blue eyes staring into yours with an earnest desire to hold your attention. You had laughed and flushed with a nervous heat while he sang your praises, and then a bout of silence came over the two of you. He looked down to his shoes, letting out a soft chuckle, and then back up to your eyes.. and then down to your lips. The buzz of the fluorescent lights above made the silence seem more tense than it already was.

After tossing the reality of this interaction around in your head, you had realized that his kind, sensitive, charming persona was effectively rendering you weak in the knees..

"You're really pretty, by the way.. i don't know if i've said that yet, but you are," he had spoken in the hallway, leaning his shoulder against the wall as a lock of his strawberry-blonde curls hung in the center of his forehead.

And that was it.

Five minutes later he was in your hotel room.

-

The both of you kicked your shoes off in the doorway, and then moved to sit on the edge of your hotel room bed. Your chest and hands felt strangely hot as the young, talented tennis player sat there next to you. After a few moments of shared bashful glances, you started to notice things about him that you hadn't before.

Sometimes when he smiled, only one corner of his lips would lift up. When that happened, it looked more like he was smirking than he was smiling, which made him seem either disingenuous or disinterested -- even though it seemed that neither of those things were true.

He smelled like generic aftershave, faint sweat, and warm skin, which was a pleasant contrast to the smell of the hotel room. While the hotel was clean, it was also old, which made the permeating scent of the carpet akin to something like the stale basement of a childhood home.

He fidgeted subtly with his hands, staring into your eyes before averting them to look around at your luggage and tennis bag on the floor.

"So.. you said you're going to Stanford this fall, right?" you say, leaning back on your palms.

"Yeah, yeah," he nods, turning his head to look back to you again with a sheepish smile, “and you’re going to Harvard?”

“Mhm,” you hum, smiling back at him, “is Patrick going with you?”

He laughs a little, his brows furrowing, “Patrick? Hell no.”

You shake your head, “why not?”

“Patrick isn’t the college type. He wants to go pro immediately.”

“Ohh.. right, i forgot he mentioned that.”

“Yeah,” Art shrugs, still giving you a soft look as he shifts a little in his spot on the end of the mattress.

“I think you’re better off at Stanford without him,” you tease slightly, a playful smirk on your face.

He smiles wider, “Why?”

“I think he’d just get you into trouble,” you chuckle.

Art laughs again, a tiny bit harder than he did before, and you’re not sure if it’s because he genuinely likes your playfulness or if it’s because he’s a little nervous.

"You don't think I can cause trouble?" he asks with a small smile.

You shake your head after letting a soft giggle bubble up and out of your chest in response.

"Nah, not really."

"Why's that?"

"You're just so.. so nice."

He scoffs lightly and gently rolls his eyes, reaching up to tuck some of his messy hair behind one of his ears. He chews a little on the inside of his cheek.

"What?" you laugh.

"Everyone me and Patrick meet thinks he's this cool 'bad-boy' and I'm just this.. meek little 'nice guy'," he chuckles, matching your body language now by also leaning back on his palms.

Your smile falters slightly when he does this, but only because now the sleeve of his gray tee shirt was brushing against your bare shoulder, and your faces were a short distance apart. If you tried, you could probably just lean in and kiss him..

"It's not a bad thing to be a nice guy," you smirk, continuing your guys' little back-and-forth.

"Yeah, but there's, like, connotations behind that idea of a guy."

"What 'connotations'?"

He lets out a stiff chuckle, averting his eyes down to his legs before he returns your eye contact once again as he speaks, "I don't know.. that I'm 'shy', or that i 'cant be assertive'.."

You smile, feeling another wave of warmth creep over your stomach just from the way he was looking at you. His eyes were soft but steadily looking into yours, and each second felt like three years.

"So you're saying that those assumptions aren't true?" you tease gently, subtly moving to lean your shoulder against his. He noticed this immediately.

"God!" he laughs, slightly offended but still playing along, "do they seem true?"

"No," you say a bit softer with a smile, your eyes unintentionally drifting down to his pink lips. He noticed this too.

"Okay, good," he leans in a little more, your lips only a handful of inches apart now ".. 'cause they're definitely not."

"Really?" you chuckle, still teasing him.

He nods, "Really, really."

You could feel your heart beating rapidly in your ribcage, and then you started to wonder if he could hear it. Your lips part, little breaths being let out as you lean in an extra two inches. He smirks, and then you feel him move his right hand off of the bed and over your thigh. Its gentle and almost hesitant; giving you the opportunity to say 'no' if you wanted to.. but you didn't. you definitely didn't want to say no.

Your breathing hitches a little and your thighs shift slightly to capture his fingers between your limbs, and he looks steadily into your eyes as his digits squeeze your flesh softly.

"I'm not that shy," he murmurs lowly.

And then his lips are on yours, hot and hungry and eager to please. Your brows furrow as you kiss him back with equal ferocity, and his other hand moves to gently cup your cheek.

His tongue lathes over your bottom lip, and you open your mouth wider so that he can slide it in and taste you better. He groans softly against your smooth, parted lips, his hand between your thighs sliding up to press his palm against your clothed heat. A shaky, barely audible moan escapes your lips as this happens, and he swallows it down as he kisses you harder.

Art's hands then move to slide under your athletic tank top, and he pulls away with lidded eyes to mumble lowly and warmly against your jaw, "can I take this off?"

You nod feverishly, breathing heavily, as you lift your arms above your head while he pulls your shirt up and over. He tosses it aside once it's off like it's trash to him, and then he's diving back in to kiss and suck and nip at your neck. You're sure that he'll leave marks, but you can't find the strength or willpower to deny how hot it would be to look in the mirror later and see all of the little red blotches that his pretty mouth left behind. A few soft "ahh"s and "oh"s slip from your parted lips as his tongue flicks over your pulse point like its a clit, and you can feel your cunt clench around nothing. Without further warning, both of his hands slide up to grope your breasts over your sports bra, and your back arches instantly.

"I want to see more of you," Art whispers against your neck, one of his hands moving back to gently grope your thigh right under the hem of your shorts, while his other starts to hook one of his fingers under the elastic band of your bra.

"Yeah, yes," you mumble and nod, your eyes fluttering shut as you feel his silky tongue lap gently over the sensitive spot on your lower neck again.

He pulls back, his lips shiny with his own saliva, and he lets out a small huff of air as he stands up from the bed and shifts to stand in front of where you're trembling on the edge of it.

Your eyes meet his, and you now fully realize that his whole "nice guy" thing was a facade.. maybe it was just a protective cloak he put on until he got comfortable..

Regardless, he looked different now as he stood in front of you, breathing heavily as his gaze drank in the sight of your body. He takes a step closer, his knees touching the end of the bed as his legs stood steadily between yours. He looks down, shifting his left knee to push your legs farther apart, and you have to bite down on your bottom lip to stifle a whine.

Not a moment later, he's reaching down to pull your tight sports bra over your head. It drops from his grasp onto the floor, his breathing hitches as he looks down at your exposed chest, and then his hands are moving to roughly knead and squeeze at your soft flesh underneath his palms. You shudder and bite your lip. He thumbs your nipples.

His eyes move back up to return your gaze, and he leans down and starts to crawl on top of you, his body gently coaxing yours to lay back flat over the patterned comforter. You don't need a verbal cue from him to know what he wants and what his goal is; his body did all the talking -- just like it did when he played tennis.

"Fuck," he breathes out, his erection straining against the inside of his boxers as it presses against your bare abdomen. A lift of your hips is all the indication he needs from you to tell him that you're as desperate for this as he is right now, and so he gingerly begins to slide one of his hands down the front of your shorts. His touch dips under the waistband, and then before you can process the sensation, you realize that he's moving down into your panties too. One thing that you are painfully aware of, though, is the fact that he never tries to break eye contact while he does all this..

"Ahh.." you moan, your brows pinching up as you feel his warm fingertips brush over your throbbing, sensitive nub. He was hardly touching you, but it was enough to get the fire roaring in your guts. It was more than enough. He knew all the right ways to touch you.. and all the right spots to squeeze and caress.. which seemed crazy considering you two had never spoken to one another until about three or so hours ago.

He smiles gently, his eyes now moving to gaze down at your lips. The pads of Art's fingers begin to play with your clit, rubbing soft and incessant circles over the ball of nerves as you start to squirm on the bed. His head leans back down to kiss your neck and your hands shakily grab onto his shoulders. A laugh escapes him, coating your flesh in a bath of warm air, while he feels your nails dig into him. Even over the fabric of his cotton tee shirt he can feel this, and he winces slightly before the sting of your grip dissolves into pleasure and he starts to moan along with you.

A few more minutes of this go on, and the band in your stomach is stretched more and more until it feels like it's about to snap, and then-

"I really want to fuck you right now," Art murmurs against your skin, his fingers coming to a pause as he pulls his face from the crook of your neck to look down into your dazed eyes.

You blink a few times, feeling the numbing pressure in your pussy start to fade as he unintentionally edges you.

"yes, please.. I want you to.." you softly whimper, your hands reaching up to needily tug at his shirt.

"I don't have a condom," he whispers breathlessly, shaking his head softly as his gaze falls onto your lips now.

"I.." you pause, taking a second to breathe as you attempt to think over the predicament you're now in, "uhm.. I- well, I don't really care.. as long as you pull out.."

It's almost as if just the idea of him being able to be inside of you-- skin to skin; raw--sets him off, because the moment the words leave your mouth, he's letting out soft breathy moans and grinding his clothed pelvis against your thigh. You can feel him throbbing through the fabric, and now you're certain you can't wait much longer. Neither can he.

Your hands pull on his shirt again, forcing his face back down close to yours, "I want you inside of me.."

A groan and a grunt later, he's scrambling to pull his shirt off, and then his shorts, and then his strong calloused hands are gently tugging yours down as well. Art doesn't want to waste time on the act of undressing. Sure, he liked being tender and going slow most times, but this occasion was different. The more that he felt himself leaking into his underwear, the more he needed to feel your silky cunt grip around his cock. Maybe if he got your number after all this, he could go slow next time, but not now. Not when he's like this and you're like that.

When your panties are pulled down with your shorts, Art lets out a groan as he sees the fabric connecting with your delicate flesh via a glistening string of arousal from your heat.

"Jesus Christ," he huffs, his tongue moving to dip out over his bottom lip involuntarily. He pushes your shorts and panties down the rest of the way, and you urgently kick them off onto the room's carpet.

After he moves back up, one of his hands reaches down once again to your cunt. His fingers gently brush over your slicked-up folds, causing your body to jolt and shudder as you struggle to remain quiet. In the next instant, you feel his touch leave your body and you watch in awe as he brings his digits up to his lips and sucks your juices off of them. He rolls your wetness around over his tongue and his eyes roll back a little. He can't help it -- you just taste so fuckin' good.

"Art," you whisper, your voice dissolving into a soft whine, "c'mon.. just- I want you to-"

You're cut off when the man hovering over your form moves his fingers from his mouth and down to yours, effectively shutting you up.

"Suck," he whispers.

You do as you're told instantly, parting your lips to engulf his middle and ring finger in wet heat; your drool pools over his fingertips as your tongue swirls around them and tastes the mix of his saliva and the remnants of your arousal.

He watches with bated breath as you do this, his eyes never leaving your face, and he cant stop himself from pushing his hard, clothed dick against your bare cunt. Your eyes flutter. A string of whimpers echo out into the room from your chest, and you can feel more of your wetness slide down from your entrance.

Art keeps his fingers in your mouth as he uses his other hand to pull his hard-on out of his black boxer briefs, groaning as he taps your clit with the tip of it a few times. Each time his leaking cockhead touches your sensitive parts, your hips buck up. He didn't think it was physically possible to get as turned on as he was right then.

He shifts his pelvis back so that he can slide his dick over your sticky body, not pushing in quite yet, but just teasing your greedy hole. The feeling of your heady moans around his fingers cause them to vibrate, and he leans down close to your face on instinct.

Your breath catches in your throat. Your eyes blink open and you whimper as he uses his digits to gently force your lips to part so that he can shove his tongue past them. Art licks at the inside of your mouth, groaning while he subtly removes his fingers and brings them down to your clit once more. He slots your bundle of nerves between his index and middle finger, sliding them up and down to effectively stroke over your most sensitive area as you feel his cock prodding at your hole.

While his tongue laps over yours, his mouth eagerly swallowing the obscenely loud moans you're letting out as your climax approaches once again, he begins to slide his tip into you. Your eyes instantly open wide before your face scrunches up in pleasure and your hands desperately paw at his shoulders.

He slides in another inch.

And another.

And then two more.

And then he bottoms out completely, filling you wholly with his twitching length as he pulls his face back from your lips to gasp softly.

You look up at him as his brows furrow, and you wriggle underneath him as he lets out a soft growl.

"You're so tight.. shit, you feel so good," he murmurs lowly, his eyes on yours as he starts to slide himself slowly back out before thrusting back in. You can feel him hit your cervix. You'd let him bruise it if he wanted to.

And he wants to.

"Fuck me harder," you moan softly.

"Yeah?" he smirks, breathing heavily.

"Yeah."

He leans up so that his back is straight, and he gazes down at you while he slides his hands under your form to gingerly cup your lower back.. and then he's pounding into you without further warning.

Your back arches up from his hold, and every thrust of his thick cock into your cunt is sending explosions of numbing heat throughout your lower half.

Each movement of his hips results in a lewd squelch as his pelvis slaps into the underside of your ass, and every movement sends you closer and closer to the edge. He's groaning and moaning above you, watching your every move as you squirm around and take him properly. You want to be good for him; he can tell.

Whimpers and needy whines are forced out of you as he fucks you with abandon into the mattress, and your mind is forced back into reality once you feel his hands move from your back to your sensitive tits.

"Are you gonna cum? You're squeezing down on me," he breathes out, a loud groan cutting his words off as he tips his head back. His thrusts grow sloppier, "oh god, oh fff-u-uck.."

"Ye-- Uhh- Ahh-!" you hoarsely and brokenly moan out, unable to fully give him an answer. Your hands fist the cool sheets under you as your legs start to involuntarily squeeze together with the onslaught of your impending orgasm.

Art brings his head back up to look down at you, and he shakes his head, sliding his hands down from your breasts to your legs to lift them up and spread them apart gently but forcefully.

"Keep them spread.. I know you're close," he says softly to you, "I promise I'll let you come.. just keep being good for me.. I'm almost there.."

Once his words fill your fuzzy head, you can't help but let out an obscenely loud---borderline-pornographic---moan as your thighs shake in his hold. His cock slams into you faster, but with less and less precision. He bites his lip before his jaw slacks and he lets out an equally loud moan to accompany your filthy noises.

"You're so fucking pretty... you're so-- you feel so damn good," he babbles gruffly, his touch digging into your legs as his hips rashly thrust his throbbing length in and out of your sopping pussy.

You nod, unsure of what to say or how to even respond in the state that your body is in. You're somehow limp and tense at the same time, your body shivering as your back arches up again.

"I-- I'm gonna--!" you gasp out in a shaky whimper.

He moans at your words, fucking you deeper and messier, before he leans down over you and you can feel his broad toned chest press against yours.

"Say it.." he breathes out against your ear in a soft groan.

You moan, shuddering under him as your cunt starts to rhythmically tighten around him.

"I'm gonna cum," you whine, nearly sobbing.

"Fuck," he groans, "yeah? Say it again for me."

"I'm gonna cummm-!"

"You wanna cum on my cock?"

You nod helplessly, your arms wrapped around his flushed upper back as his cock slides in and out of you; his tip constantly brushing up against that special spot in your velvety walls hidden just a couple inches inside.

"Yess-s-!" you moan, your body absolutely writhing on the bed under his heavy form.

"Okay.. alright," he breathes out hotly into your neck, "go on and cum for me."

Before you can process what's going on, your body is overwhelmed with an overpowering heat as the last thing you distinctly feel is one of Art's hands moving down your lower abdomen to then rub circles over your swollen bud with his thumb. And that's all it takes -- You’re thrown over the edge.

"Fuck! OH MY GOD, OH--!" you cry out, your nails digging into his back as he fucks you through your climax.

He groans harshly and loudly against your warm skin before his hips stutter with the feeling of your hole pulsing around him. He keeps his digit rubbing incessant, soft circles over your clit to prolong your orgasm as he forces himself to pull out with a gasp.

His balls draw up and he reaches down quickly with his other hand to stroke over his length just as he feels his release start to rise up.

As you moan tremblingly and bask in your afterglow, you try to catch your breath as you shakily push yourself up onto your elbows just in time to watch Art squirt out a thick load over your torso. Rope after rope of sticky white fluid drips and gushes from his cock and between his fingers as he jerks himself off; shuddering deeply over you and letting out little "fuck"s and "oh my god"s and "yes"s.

After a few more shaky moments tick by, his thumb comes to a halt over your clit as he watches the last drops of his cum fall onto your stomach.

He breathes heavily, biting his lip as he watches your body shake. He loves the way his cum looks on your beautiful body.. it's like liquid pearl splattered all over you. He takes several mental pictures of the scene in front of him before he collapses on top of you with a soft grin.

You chuckle breathily, wrapping your arms around him as your warm bodies stick together in the aftermath, and he presses two soft kisses to your neck. One of your hands slides up from between his shoulder blades to run some of your fingers through his messy curls. He shivers and sighs, sliding his hands under your body to hold you closer to him.

A small period of comfortable silence is held between you two as you both work to catch your breaths, before Art is the one to break the quiet with a soft murmur into your shoulder.

"So.. can I get your number?"

"After round two," you whisper with a smile.

"Deal."

note; this is for everyone who voted for soft dom!art donaldson in that poll + the anons in my inbox asking for this sort of dynamic w/ art <3 much much much love !

divider credit: @benkeibear <3

[rafesgfs]

just a friend

he’s just a friend … but.

He’s just a friend, but he sleeps over almost every night. Whether you’re begging him to stay the night because you need a pillow or angry with him for insulting your friends, he’s there on your bed, substituting as a body pillow. No matter what position you fall asleep in, you always wake up draped across his chest, face nuzzled against the crook of his neck.

He’s just a friend, but he spoils you constantly. He gifts you a diamond tennis bracelet when your cat dies, hoping to cheer you up. He buys a convertible when you finally get your driver’s license, grinning when he sees your gleeful face. He showers you with your favorite flowers when get into your dream college. He buys whatever you look at when you take him shopping, repaying him with a kiss on the cheek, and it’s enough for him.

He’s just a friend, but you’re his only soft spot. Everyone else walks on eggshells around him, worried about being in his warpath. Even his own family wasn’t an exception to his hostility, especially after he stopped trying to win his dad’s approval. He does everything you want him to because why wouldn’t he? Hold your bag? No problem. Pick you up from a party? His pleasure. Stop being a rich, egotistical asshole? For you and you only.

He’s just a friend, but he’s your date to every formal and informal function. It’s just easier that way, you both explain to your friends. Midsummer’s preparation goes smoother when you already have a date, someone who will dance with you without complaint, someone who’ll make fun of whatever headpiece Rose is wearing, and someone who’ll sneak out early to drive their dad’s boat to another island.

He’s just a friend, but he knows everything about you. He comes with you to the doctor, dentist, and gyno visits for moral support, sometimes going in the room when needed. You had brought up being codependent but he quickly waves it off. He’s stocked a drawer in his bathroom with tampons and pads, and a few bottles of Tylenol in case you get your period on the nights you stay at Tanneyhill. He carries a cooler filled with water in his car because he knows you hate the intense heat. He wears an extra pair of sunglasses tucked in his shirt for you when you both go to the beach because you always manage to forget yours.

He’s just a friend, but his family thinks you’re dating. Sarah keeps asking you if you are, hoping to drag the truth out. You tell your friend no, laughing at the thought. Ward sits him down to talk after catching him admiring you during breakfast. He stays silent. Rose questions you about what she should give Rafe for his birthday, thinking the same as her husband. You laugh again at the thought, not noticing the way his jaw clenches when you make fun of the idea.

He’s just a friend, but he hates it when guys flirt with you. You’re too pretty to be entertaining guys who are far below you. He strains a muscle from resisting the temptation to punch the man standing too close to you, bicep veins popping out from the resistance. He drags you away when the guy tries to cage you against the wall, making up an excuse, needing help with containing a drunk Wheezie.

He’s just a friend, but he can’t go a minute without thinking about you. When life separates you, despite Rafe’s plans to be at your side twenty-four-seven, he texts you. He ignores Topper and Kelce’s snickers as he pulls his phone out during a round of golf, taking a picture of the sunset to send to you. His friends’ teasing is worth it when you text him back, telling him how much you like his improving photography skills.

He’s just a friend, but he can’t fight the urge to attack the guy kissing you. He blacks out, rage consuming every cell in his body as he breaks the man’s nose and grasps his throat until his hands leave bruises. His brain doesn’t focus until you’re back in his line of sight, blue eyes meeting yours. Despite the man coughing on the ground, surrounded by concerned partygoers, you pay no attention to the injured, instead, pulling Rafe away before yelling at him in his room.

He’s just a friend, but he’s at your door with flowers, apologizing. He stammers out an apology because he was never good at them, and never had the maturity to admit he was wrong and beg for forgiveness. When you stare at him with a blank look, he gets desperate, taking your hands in his and slowly dropping to his knees, eyes pleading with you. He promises to never get that violent again, and you believe him because Rafe Cameron could never lie to you.

He’s just a friend, but he kisses your forehead every night after you fall asleep, waiting for you to doze off before doing so. He presses his lips to your head, warmth in his heart as it yearns for yours.

He’s just a friend, but he wants to be more.

[cutielando]

i’m not clingy | c.l.

synopsis: in which Charles dreams of you cheating on him and is not okay with that

a/n: i accidentally deleted the request for this fic, so i’m making up for it 😭😭

my masterlist

Charles was very confident when it came down to your relationship.

He was a confident person overall, and he was very confident about the strength of your relationship. He truly believed he had found the one for him when he met you.

He knew he had nothing to worry about, that you were 100% devoted to him and your relationship.

But something at the back of his head said just the opposite.

She’s too good for you.

She’s going to leave you.

You’re way out of her league.

She deserves someone better than you.

The thoughts just wouldn’t leave his mind, especially when you would be out to a club with your friends.

Just like tonight.

You had been clubbing with some of your closest friends until the early hours of the morning, celebrating all of you finally being in Monaco at the same time.

During the night, you and Charles danced the time away, wrapped up in each other’s arms and completely blissfully ignoring anyone else who tried to talk to you guys except for your little crowd.

But when you announced that you had to go to the bathroom and had to separate from him, something in the pit of his stomach told him he shouldn’t have left you go alone.

You were very attractive, Charles was very aware, and he knew men would always do anything to get your attention.

And when he said anything, he meant anything.

And that night was no different.

After a couple of minutes had passed and you still hadn’t returned, he got worried and went looking for you, trying not to let himself show the distress he was feeling.

That’s how he found you speaking with an unknown man, your forced smile clearly an indicator for him that you really didn’t want to be stuck in the conversation.

The stranger didn’t seem to notice the uncomfortable look on your face, or simply chose to ignore it. Either way, none of it sat right with Charles, who didn’t want to let you spend a second more talking with that man.

“Are we all good here?” Charles immediately stepped in, wrapping an arm around your waist as he felt you instantly relax at his presence and touch.

The man glared at him when he butted in, his fake smile hiding the rage bubbling under the surface.

“We were having a conversation” the man pointed out, his chin pointing towards you.

He hadn’t even noticed the hold Charles had on your waist, instead settling on glaring at him until he would back off.

Which Charles had no intention of doing.

“I don’t see what kind of conversation you would be having with my girlfriend. I suggest you leave before I have you escorted out, and don’t ever talk to my girlfriend again” Charles demanded, glaring at the man with superiority in his stance.

You were watching the exchange like a tennis ball, thankful that Charles appeared when he did and interrupted the uncomfortable conversation the man had pulled you in.

You bit your lip and expectantly waited for the stranger to finally get the courage to leave, which he eventually did after a staring contest with your boyfriend.

“Thank God, I didn’t know how to get away from him without being a total bitch” you said and pouted, making Charles internally smile.

You were too sweet for your own good sometimes, always polite to people even when they didn’t deserve it. It was one of the things he loved most about you.

“I’ll always save you from creepy men trying to talk you up” he joked, making you laugh and lean into his body.

You quickly kissed him on the lips before taking his hand and dragging him away, back to your friends and the beloved dance floor, eager to forget the situation you had just escaped from.

All while Charles’ chest was tight at the thought and sight of you with another man that was not him.

It hurt more than he cared to admit.

♡♡♡♡♡

It was very late into the night, and Charles was twisting and turning in your shared bed. You were sleeping deeply next to him, his shuffling not even remotely bothering your sleep.

Charles' face was scrunched up as if in pain, his mind plagued by the worst nightmare he could have ever imagined having.

You, his dear and most precious girlfriend, kissing and hugging the man from the bar, the both of you laughing in his face. Charles could only stand there, his body paralyzed as he watched you living in happiness with someone else, someone who wasn't him.

He thrashed and turned the entire night, up until the early hours of the morning, when you rose from your deep sleep and felt the bed and sheets under you constantly shuffling.

"Charles?" you asked confusedly, turning your head to see Charles with a scrunched up face, his forehead sweaty and creased with worry lines.

He continued to twist around, his breathing heavy. You sat up and gently shook his shoulder, trying to gently coax him out of his clearly troubled sleep.

"Charles, amour, wake up" you said as you shook his shoulder slightly harder, jumping back once Charles opened his eyes and aggressively got up, panting and frantically looking around the room for you.

The moments his gaze fell upon you, he body-slammed you into the mattress, wrapping his arms as tightly as he could around your waist.

“Oh, thank God you’re still here” he mumbled, his voice muffled by the hem of your T-shirt.

Your eyebrows furrowed, keeping a tight grip around his shoulders in comfort.

“What happened, Charles?” you silently asked, not wanting to spook him even more than he already was.

He sighed, shaking his head into your neck and burying his face even further into your skin, like he was trying to get inside of your skin and stay there forever.

Neither of you spoke for a couple of minutes, the only sound in the room was Leo's breathing next to your bed and Charles' shuddering breath against your skin. The sun was getting ready to rise, the world was ready to wake up and start the day, but you two weren't.

“I dreamed that you cheated on me” Charles mumbled, his voice muffled into your neck.

“What was that, honey?” you asked, your fingers scratching the back of his head.

He sighed, slowly pulling his face away from your neck to rest it on your chest, still not meeting your eye.

“I had a dream that you cheated on me with that guy from the club” he explained, his voice still quiet but more understandable now.

Your shoulders relaxed a little, your frown softening and being replaced with a gentle look.

You gently played with the hair at the back of his head, your lips pressing light kisses against the top of his head.

"Mon amour, you know I would never do that to you with another man, no matter who he is" you explained, which made Charles quickly nod against your chest.

He shifted and got back up, making you sit up with him as well. He leaned against the headboard, his eyes closed and his cheeks still damp from his tears.

"I know. I'm just scared that you will leave me for someone better, someone who has a normal job and isn't gone halfway around the world almost every week" he said, his voice wavering.

This had always been a topic between the two of you. Charles was always worried about the time he spent traveling and being away from you because of his job. It sparked a lot of long conversations between the two of you, which mainly consisted in you trying to reassure him that it didn't bother you and you understood it was his job and dream.

You were nothing short of supportive, attending every single race that you could, but the doubt was still there in Charles' mind.

The doubt that told him that you deserved someone who was there for you every single day, not halfway around the world risking his life every single week.

"Charles, please look at me" you said and cupped his cheek, turning his head to the side until he was looking straight into your eyes. "I know you think I deserve someone else and that you feel like a failure because of your lifestyle. But baby, I love our life the way it is. You are following your dreams every single time you go away to race, you do what you love and then you come back to me in one piece. Knowing you are doing what you love makes up for the distance and the weeks spent away from you. Nobody will ever measure up to you, mon amour. You are the only one for me and that is never going to change. I love you and only you"

Charles bit his lip, a fresh set of tears brimming his eyes. He had never had someone understand him on the level that you do.

The love between the two of you knew no bounds, and he was now more convinced than ever than you were both made for each other.

"I love you too" he said before crashing his lips on yours, his hands wrapping around your waist and squeezing you tightly.

And with that, even though you had a long road ahead of you, you would tackle everything together.

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[wyniepooh]

Know

art knows you like no one else. he knows you better than you know yourself.

standford!art x reader. mentions of alcohol. cheating on reader’s part but it’s valid bc her bf is an ass. art knows he can treat u better than ur shitty bf, and proves it.

“You have to know, right?”

“what?”

your words came out slurry and slow, and it took all your might to not let your squinted eyes close. through the sliver of what you could see, art sat opposite you, back against the side of his bed and beer bottle in hand.

you chuckled, “I don’t know what you-“

“That he treats you like shit.”

you stop in your sentence, choosing instead to fill your mouth with another sip of your beer. You gulp down the prickly liquid, wiping your mouth as you say, “you don’t know anything about us.”

He shrugs. “I know you’re spending a Friday night getting drunk with his roommate, rather than accompanying him to that fancy tennis gala he was invited to.”

you shook your head casually, taking another full sip before speaking.

“I’m wasn’t interested. You know I don’t play, right? i didn’t want to-“

“Did he ask?”

you laugh, running a swift hand over your face. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he sat up slightly, scooting a little closer to where you were. you had your legs crossed, and you were drowsily leaning on the side of your boyfriend’s bed. he propped his elbow on a raised knee. “did he even ask you to go?”

you smile slowly faded as you looked down, sucking on the inside of your cheek as you tried to focus instead on the harsh, brown carpet of the room. Faded music could be heard from the other rooms, and usually, you’d be in one of those dorms, partying it down, but tonight, you much prefer the silence.

“No,” you whispered.

He cleared his throat and took another swig. “you know, with the way he talks about you and the way he acts around you, you would think everyone knows exactly how he feels about you. everyone except yourself.”

He chugged what was left in his bottle, tossing it to the side where a pile was beginning to accumulate. He stared straight at you with half-closed eyes and pressed his lips together. “honestly, sometimes, I think you know too. deep down. I think you know exactly what he’s thinking, exactly what he’s going to do to you, and yet you choose to ignore it.”

“Why?” He asks. there was a look of genuine concern and confusion of his face. his expression was pained, as if the idea of you suffering hurt him more than you.

You nibble at the bottom of your lip, hoping that the pain of the peeling skin would stop the tears from running. your actions were done in vain, as your tears had already begun to form and fall. Suddenly, you feel a warm finger on your face, gently swiping away at your dampened cheeks.

The pad of his thumb stayed on your cheek while the rest of his hand uncurled around your jaw. “You have to know, right?”

“Yes,” you sniffled, “of course I know he treats me like another one of his fan girls that he tosses away after-“

“No, not that,” he mutters.

“look at me.”

He guides your chin up until your eyes are parallel with his, and for the first time that night, you get a good view of his face. His overgrown blonde hair scattered all over his face, some across the front of his blue eyes. They seemed to not be able to concentrate in one place, flickering from your hair to your nose to your chin. You were sure that your cheeks were as flushed as him from the alcohol and the embarrassment, so much so that heat was practically radiating off of the two of you.

“what are you talking about, then?”

he sighed, dropping his hand from your face and slumping his head down at the same time. you could feel his warm breaths escaping his nose and hitting your cold knees.

Finally, he looks up, brows creasing as he responds, “how I feel about you.”

he parts his lips, struggling to find the words. “You have to have already known, right? I mean, all the times I’ve wiped away your tears and and comforted you because that asshole did something stupid again.” A beat passed.

“I know I can treat you so much better,” he breathes, “if you would just let me.”

Somewhere between his first question and his last, the proximity between of the two of you had closed. His arm suddenly wraps around your neck as he pulls you into him, digging his nose into the space where your shoulder and neck connects.

“Please,” he mutters.

chills spill down your body from his words, and you simply pause in all of your thoughts for a moment. Finally, you close your eyes and hug him tight around his waist as he tenderly rocks you back and forth.

you’re the one to pull back, and at first, you see a glimmer of disappointment in art’s eyes. but then you lean close, and closer, and, for the first time tonight, he smiles. He further guides your actions by placing a hand on the back of your head, not letting go even once your lips have connected with his.

your own fingers scratch at the back of his curls, and you swear he laughs against your mouth. You bask in the sounds of your mixed pants and the electric buzz generated from the delicate connection of skin in the otherwise quiet room, and it brought upon a lightness in the air, something you hadn’t felt since earlier that day when you first saw art in the dining hall.

“I know,” you mumble against his lips, stopping for a minute to catch your breath. You rest your forehead on his, eyes still closed as you caress his glowing face with both hands. he laughs again, harder this time, and you join him, repeating the same two words over, and over again.

-

a/n: hey google play the historically significant song treat u better by shawn mendes

[222col]

girl you're so fucking talented 😩 i don't know if you write sub!Art but i seriously can't stop thinking about the idea of meeting Art's friends and intentionally making boyfriend sub!Art jealous by laughing at Art's best friend Patrick's jokes and Art getting so jealous and he looks like he's on the verge of crying because he's so obsessed with you and he gets so jealous when you give your attention to some other guy and when you go back to your shared apartment he starts acting very needy and desperate and all he wants to do is to please you so you won't look at any other guy except him. He's literally begging and all desperate for your validation

thank u sm <3!!!! bestie 100% sub!art is my little baby i luv him (u may enjoy this that i posted yday too if ur a fan of sub!art🫣) 18+

you and art had been dating for a while, recently having moved in together. he relishes the fact that he gets to wake up to your pretty little face every morning. you had met most of art's friends, in passing usually as you meet him after his tennis practise or a quick hello when they pass you in the stands at his matches. he's met all of your girlfriends, joining in on girls night occasionally, sitting in a face mask on the floor in front of where you're sitting on the couch. braiding his hair as you gossip with your girls. "we should go for drinks with your friends sometime this week," you suggest one morning, sitting up in bed, sipping the coffee art made for you. he nuzzles his face into your side, he's been avoiding this from the day he set eyes on you. he just can't stand the thought of you giving any attention to another man that isn't him. "hmm, maybe," he attempts to hide his jealousy, kissing your waist, snaking an arm around you. "i actually already dm'ed patrick and asked him, told him to bring your other friends too," your words are sheepish, you know what you're doing to the poor boy beside you.

he looks up at you, pouting. "you messaged patrick?" he trusts you completely, patrick on the other hand, not so much. your hand strokes his cheek. "baby, it's not like that, i just told him i wanted to meet him and your other friends properly." art's head leans into your hand. still pouting, why did you want to meet patrick? art grumbles, still sulking as he mumbles a 'fine'. the night for drinks comes around quicker than art hoped. you're pulling a pair of jeans over your hips, and placing a white crop top over your body. art doesn't object, as much as he wants to, instead just peppers kisses onto your shoulder. "my beautiful girl," he whispers in between kisses. art does up the buttons to his shirt as you slide your feet into your heels. kissing his lips as you make your way to meet his friends.

art's friends have already claimed a table, the six boys all stand up as you both arrive. art doesn't let go of your hand as you hug and introduce yourself to them all. patrick is last, lifting you up as he hugs you hello, forcing your hand from art's grip. "so so good to finally meet you, can't believe art kept your pretty face from us for so long." patrick winks to his friend as he places you back on the ground. you laugh and sit down in between the two of them. "nice to finally meet you too, patrick." art's already seething, hugging you is one thing, picking you up is another, but calling you pretty right in front of his eyes is a completely different story. "be a good boy and go get your girlfriend a drink, art," patrick teases art. what art wouldn't do to be back at home, between your thighs as you call him a good boy. patrick's arm is resting on the top of the booth behind your head, art can't stand it. "no," art returns, his friends all gain questioning looks. art physically cannot leave you alone with them all, he'd be sick. "fine, weirdo, i'll go get a round in."

patrick knows just how obsessive art can get, yet he's never seen him this bad. scooting out of the booth, patrick states your name, "come tell me what you want to drink, help me carry them back to the table?" you smile and stand up to join patrick at the bar. fuck, this is even worse, art thinks. his friends are trying their best to engage art in conversation, but his eyes are focused purely on you, and patrick. your head swinging back, laughing profusely at whatever patrick just said to you. art's leg is bouncing up and down, his teeth grinding together. it's not until your hand touches patrick's arm that he can feel the tears welling up in his eyes. "art, you good?" one of his friends asks, waving them off and fighting off the tears. you return to the table, helping patrick carry everyone's drinks over. "what was so funny?" he's pouting at you now, an oh so familiar face. "nothing," you take a swig of your drink. "just a story patrick was telling me." you're playing with him now, you can see clearly what you're doing to him. you should feel bad, should, but you love seeing him so desperate for your attention.

the night progresses, more alcohol drank together, a more worked up art. his hand rests on your thigh, reminding you he's there and reminding his friends you're his. you shuffle your body further under the table, art's hand creeping further up your thigh. you look to him, he's desperate. his eyes are dark, still glossy, watching you pay so much attention to patrick. you finally cave. "c'mon then you, take me home." you state to your boyfriend, patrick wolf whistles. you roll your eyes and laugh at him again, art only gritting his teeth and glaring at his friend. art's friends all hug you both goodbye, art can swear he sees patrick's hand start to move towards your ass before you escape his grip. patrick hugs art last, whispering in his ear, "don't fuck this up artie, or i'll take her from you," patrick's smiling, kissing his best friend on the cheek. art knows he's joking, but he knows patrick so well to know that he would, given the chance.

you land on the edge of the bed, removing your shoes with a sigh of relief. art sinks to his knees on the floor in front of you. "your friends are nice, patrick's so funny," you tease him further, throwing your shoes across the room. he holds your feet, pressing kisses to the soles. you continue discussing the night, and your positive opinions of his friends. "please, baby, i need you," art whimpers, peppering your ankles in sloppy kisses. "you need me, huh? how badly, baby boy?" he groans at your words, as you undo your jeans, shimmying them down your body. once they reach your thighs, art pulls them off and throws them behind him. "mmm, so so badly, my cock is sore just thinking about tasting you," he sits up more, his eyes level with your pussy. shuffling closer to him, your knees on either side of his head. slipping your top over your head and throwing it in the direction of your jeans. the lace of your bra and panties is almost see through, your pussy so close to his face, he's almost drooling at the sight. he breathes in deeply. "you smell delicious baby, please let me taste, i wanna show you how good i can be,"

"you've been a jealous little boy, all night art, i'm not sure you deserve it." you grab him by the hair, forcing him to look into your eyes, they're welling up again. "i can't help it," you lean down to him and kiss his pouting lips. "please, let me make it up to you, i need you." he's begging you, you've never seen him this desperate. you let go of his hair, spreading your legs. he immediately moves to push your underwear to the side, your thighs squeezing his head, stopping him in motion. "i never said you could touch." he groans so loudly, "please, i'll do anything, anything you want, just please, please let me taste you." you unclench your thighs, tears are pouring from his eyes now. "you want me so bad you're crying, pathetic little baby." you place your hand on the back of his head, swiftly pushing his face into your pussy. he mumbles, "thank you, thank you, thank you" into your cunt as he moves your underwear aside again.

his tongue plunges straight into you, his nose pressing against your clit. he's moving his head side to side, letting his nose grind against your sweet spot. his laps up every inch of your pussy that he can, moving to focus his tongue on your clit. he knows exactly how to please you, he's spent hours eating you out. his hands grip around your thighs, you lean back on your hands, head flung back as his name escapes your lips. he's looking up at you through his lashes. "such a good boy you are baby" your breath his shaky, one hand moving to his hair. "you taste so good, thank you baby." art mumbles, slipping two of his fingers inside you. you gasp, his moans louder than yours as his hips buck up into the air.

"my pretty little boy, you're so fucking good at that," you can barely contain yourself, he knows your body inside and out. he loves hearing you compliment him, giggling into your pussy. his fingers speed up, placing your feet on his shoulders, deepening the angle his fingers are fucking you. your hand can't keep you sat up anymore as your body falls onto the bed, back arched as art works you closer and closer to orgasm. "fuck- baby boy, i'm so close." your moans growing louder, art only removing his lips to whisper, "i know, princess," his fingers curl up, pushing you over the edge. pulling his hair as you come all over his face. he doesn't stop, not even for a second. "fuck, art, baby i can't," you attempt to pull him away, he won't let you. only smiling up at you, his chin covered in your juices and he places his tongue back on your clit. your head flings back onto the bed, screaming his name now as feel him smiling against you. "oh, fuck- my perfect boy, shit, fuck," you’re screaming profanities as art works you to another orgasm.

the hand he's not using to fuck you with his fingers reaches up your body, groping your boobs as his cock twitches in his pants. "come for your boy again, please baby, i need to feel you come on my face again." your body is shaking, nearly screaming out as you finish over your boyfriend's tongue once more. he pulls his fingers out, licking up your pussy and placing one final kiss on your clit, licking up any remaining taste of you from his fingers. his forehead is slick with sweat, his chin dripping with your wetness as he joins you on the bed. leaning down to kiss your mouth. "you're such a good boy artie," you mumble against his lips. you reach down his body, palming his boner through his pants before he removes your hand. "no no, princess, tonight was all about you." you sigh and kiss him again. "you're my perfect boy, art." all he can do is smile at you, undressing himself and lulling you to sleep, any thoughts of jealousy disappearing as long as you never spend any more time with his friends.

[zweiginator]

always think about inexperienced reader not realizing patrick’s falling in love with her. they are hooking up and he is always with her and breaks it off with everyone else and does subtle things to show his loyalty to her without actually saying it. when her friends ask her about it she’s like patrick???? in love with me???? no way??? this is what he does with everyone??? he dosnt know how to communicate and she dosnt pick up the signs

yes <33 it fucking scares him how little interest he has in other girls. and then he thinks about it more and it's not even a little. it's none. all he cares about is you. all he thinks about is you too.

patrick is infamous for having at least five or six situationships at a time--if you could even call them that. he is good at shutting his feelings off. hooking up with girls and not caring if anything happens after that. in fact, he prefers that nothing happens. but girls, their feelings get hurt and they want more. they want dates, a text, calls after class.

and then patrick meets up with you. a pretty, smart girl from his class. he loves how in your own world you are. the first day of class you sat there, listening to music and doodling in your notebook as you waited for class to start. you softly hummed the tune of your music, probably because you thought you were the only one in the lecture hall.

but there patrick was, and he noticed you and didn't stop noticing you. and then he started sitting right next to you. didn't even leave a seat in between. got you to share your earbuds with him and you even let him play some of his music sometimes.

but you'd always just--leave. you never asked for patrick's number, but one day he asked for yours and you looked surprised. you gave it to him.

he texted you and you kept texting because he kept answering you faster and faster. and then he started to call you and you'd answer.

your friends started asking you who you were always on the phone with.

"patrick. a guy in one of my classes."

"is it patrick zweig?" your friend looked flabbergasted.

"yeah, why?"

"he's known for being quite the--slut."

you told her that you didn't believe that. you'd never even kissed him yet.

but then your friends told you the stories. none of them had hooked up with him, but it seemed like everyone was one or two degrees away from a girl who had. and every story had the same ending--and then he never spoke to her again.

after hearing this, you separate yourself. you still call and text but you tell yourself it isn't a big deal. you can just have fun and call it quits. except you've barely lost your virginity. you're not equipped for this.

patrick begs you to come out with him one night. you do your makeup and don't wear your glasses for once and you wear a nice top.

you don't even make it to the club; patrick tackles you into his backseat and one thing leads to another and you're scratching your nails down his back and thinking--fuck. this is how they get so attached.

at this point patrick has stopped talking to every other girl. mostly without even realizing it. he just--forgot about them.

and you start distancing yourself. one day you don't even sit by patrick. it almost makes him tear up.

he texts you that night and asks

Are you mad at me?

No, why?

You didn't sit by me in class

Oh, I'm sorry

Can i come over?

you say yes.

and your roommates yell that patrick is here and he brought you a present. a bouquet of roses with baby's breath. you blush and thank him. he eats you out on your baby pink sheets and begs you to cum for him. he wants you to just fucking let go. but it's hard for you to trust him.

weeks of him inviting you out, meeting his friends. him asking to meet yours. more flowers, he buys your favorite snacks. he drives you to class and holds your hand on the way to tennis practice.

your friends ask if you're dating him.

"no, no. we aren't. he's not into that."

they look at you, confused.

"did he say that to you?"

"no, but it's implied. with his past."

one of them sits down across from you. "it's pretty clear he loves you. this isn't apart of a scheme--like im telling you--"

your other friend interjects. "it's always him hitting a girl up at a party or something and then they fuck maybe once or twice and then he just stops talking to them. never flowers and hand holding."

"oh--i mean. we'll see."

and patrick thinks you're his girlfriend. that's what he tells art, anyway. and art congratulates him. asks patrick when he asked you to be official.

"what do you mean?"

"patrick you have to fucking ask her."

[moviecritc]

easiest conversation ⋆ carlos sainz

pairing: carlos sainz x fem!oc (named Angelique)

tropes: strangers to lovers

summary: carlos and angelique sat next to each other in a tennis match in monaco, leading to an endless conversation.

a/n: english is not my first language, sorry for the mistakes and poor storytelling. maybe a part 2 if you like it?

masterlist

Everybody was focused on Carlos' future in Formula 1, he tried so hard to not be worried about it, but every thing he does, the media somehow made it about his career as a driver. So, at the end, he couldn't do anything except being worried too. Many what ifs were in his mind anytime he thought about it.

The past weekend wete the Masters of Montecarlo, a tennis match, and taking advantage of the fact that he was in the city and most of he's teammates were also watching it, he attended as well.

Carlos didn't have the opportunity to talk to any of them, they were seated in different places in the public. Either way, seeing George, Charles and even Lando with their partners made him feel a little bit more miserable than he already felt. No seat and no girlfriend, that's not a very cool situation to be involved.

And there's even more, he doesn't even know a shit about tennis. He played paddel a few times with Lando, but tennis? He had no idea. So he just sat there, gasping when other people gasp and checking his phone once in a while.

"You seem lost," someone said.

Carlos lifts his head that exact moment, connecting looks with a light brunette that was looking at him above her sunglasses.

"Are you talking to me?" he asked, totally confused. Since when that woman was sitting by his side?.

"Yes. You look bored, maybe you just need someone to explain tennis in a cool way," she smiled. A beautiful smile.

Carlos also smiled a bit, in a weird way. Sometimes he forgots that there's people who can effortlesly talk to strangers in a cool and mysterious way. This woman was one of them.

"Yeah, sure. If you can,"

"If I can?" she seemed dramaticly offended. "You don't think a woman can explain tennis to you, man?"

"Oh, no, no, no. I didn't mean it in that way," he said quickly. "Please, go ahead."

She smiled and started explaining all about tennis in the most interesting and funny way possible.

"How do you know so much about tennis?" he asked.

"Well, I'm a tennis player," she explain. "I thought it was obvious."

Carlos noded a bit, noticing a few mobile phones and cameras pointing at them. He didn't realised it until now, and now he was wondering how many pictures and videos of him and that woman would be around the media.

"Uh, well... I mean, I have no idea about tennis," he said, nervously.

"Yeah, I could tell that," she laughed and she infected Carlos with the laughter. "I'm Angelique, by the way."

"Beautiful name. I'm Carlos," they shaked hands with smiles in their faces. He saw some redness on Angelique face after he complimented her. "So you are a tennis player?"

"Yeah." she simply answered.

"Are you good?" Carlos didn't want the conversation to die.

"I try to be," she said. "I'm fifth in the Women's Tennis Association, I don't know if that's enough for you."

Angelique pursed her lips, making a funny face that made Carlos smiled.

"That sounds really good," he said, truly impressed. They were both athletes, maybe that's why it feels so easy to talk to her.

"What about you?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.

"I'm a race driver,"

Angelique raised even more her eyebrows and wide-opened her eyes "Ok, that is so fucking cool!" she remarked. "Which team do you drive for?"

"Ferrari, but..."

"No way! That's even cooler!" she boasted. "I mean, I have no idea about Formula 1. But Ferrari? That is cool guy material, undoubtedly"

Carlos was too invested in Angelique's voice and eyebrow game that wasn't able to tell her that he isn't staying in Ferrari for too long. But they've just met, and being unemployed isn't something to say to someone right off the bat.

He realised that it was the first conversation in a while that he didn't have to mention anything about his future in Formula 1, another reason of him being this comfortable around Angelique.

"And, how did you became a tennis player?" Carlos asked, leaning a little bit to her.

Now, she was focusing on the ball and the movements of the players.

"My brother used to use me as a ball picker when he played tennis, then he broke his arm and I kept his racket," she explained without divert her eyes from the field.

"He stopped playing tennis after that?"

"Well, yes. When he could come back, he was too old and unexperience to achieve something," she said. "But he wasn't very good anyways."

They both laughed and Angelique take off her sunglasses so she could see Carlos better.

"Have you won something in tennis?" he curiously asked.

"Yeah, of course. Matchs and all those things,"

"Have you beaten Serena Williams?" he wondered, with a smirk.

"Not yet," she admited. "But I've won against people who beat Serena."

She smiled proudly. The match was about to end, and none of them were paying attention to it.

"Okey, that's pretty awesome," he said.

She crossed her legs and accomodated her long brown hair to one side, which left Carlos eyeing her in a romantic way.

"And you? How someone decides that he wants to drive really fast cars?"

"My father has been involved in motorsports for a long time,"

"It's always a family thing, don't you think?" she said. "It is hard to find someone who started in sports by themselves."

"It is!" Carlos agreed with her.

He was going to say something else, but they announce the end of the match, everybody standed up to give an applause. Both of them copied the rest of the people.

"Wait, who won?" Carlos asked, totally confused.

Angelique lean into him, whispering "I've no idea,"

They laughed and kept applausing. That was the end of the match and the end of their conversation. Angelique's agent rapidly came to her to take some pictures with the winner.

"Wait, wait," she insisted to her agent and then walked close to Carlos. "It was lovely talking to you, Carlos,"

"Same, Angelique. You seem an interesting person," he complimented. Carlos was willing to ask her for her number, or something.

"Are you coming to the finals tomorrow?" she asked, praying for a yes.

"I don't think so... I have a race soon in China,"

"Oh," she seemed disappointed. "Well, good luck for your race and..."

"Can I asked you for your number?" he said unexpectedly.

"Yes!" she realised that maybe she was too effusive, so she lower her tone. "I mean, yeah, sure. If you want."

Carlos laughed and Angelique did it too, in a more ashamed way. He gave her his phone so she could write her number.

"There you go," she said and her agent was already near her to leave the match. "Text me!"

Carlos laughed and waved at her, when he looked at his phone, he could do anything but laughed again. Angelique saved her as "That cute girl from the tennis match".

He wondered what was about that girl that made her so unique and easy to talk to her. Carlos didn't think about it very much, instead, he texted her right after she left the field.

[poppy-metal]

inappropriate relationship with country club tennis instructor [2019] patrick?

you're rich. and you're pretty. and you're home for the summer from uni, and you cant wait for a few months with nothing to do but sip mimosas by your luxurious mansion pool. after all, neither of your parents ever pay any attention to you or what you're doing - why should they start now?

except they do. they hand you a few brand-new tennis rackets and tell you you've gotta start doing something with your time. sometimes productive. so you're forced to join about ten other well-to-do rich girls at the local country club in daily tennis lessons. and you hate it, but you're not bad. actually, you're quite okay at it. you're fluid, beautiful on the court, calculated. you understand. you're so good that, in your pressed white lacoste sets and your cute little pink sneakers, you remind your instructor of two people he used to love a very long time ago.

your instructor, btw, is hot. like, all the other girls in the class agree. hes sort of a dick, but hes HOT. and he takes a liking to you. likes thats you're a good girl - you wear your skirts longer than the others in his class, you blush easily. you address him, "yes sir," and "thank you, sir". you listen raptly to everything he says, because you might be a rich little prat, but you've been in etiquette classes since you could walk and you know how a little lady is supposed to behave in public.

so he dotes on you a little. and that's all you wanted, right? a handsome older man to pay you attention, to coddle you and compliment you and tell you how good you're doing. and it's completely, totally innocent.

until you end up in his backseat with your head between his thighs. or the club bathrooms with his hand in your panties. or hiding in a closet with his tongue in your ass. or, on one particularly daring afternoon when your parents arent home, taking him to your sweet, soft pink bedroom with the lace curtains and the frilly duvet cover, so he can finally take your virginity on your bed.

-kit ♡♡♡

@gamesetart

gonna go bananas

you're kind of excel past the other girls laughably well. and you're ostracized for it - they dont like you. think you're trying to fuck patrick - like they aren't.

and you're not, at first. you genuinely just want to be good. you didn't expect to like tennis this much - you expected to hate it - some stupid exercise your parents were forcing on you to feel good about themselves, and while it is that, you find excitement in it. the discipline it requires - it quiets your mind and gives you something to focus on. hitting the ball over the net.

you're the only one in the class that shows real potential.

and yeah, your tennis instructor is hot. patrick zweig. yeah - you'd looked him up immediately after that first day and spent the rest of the night watching him play. yeah, you got kinda sucked into it - watching him play. it fascinated you. he fascinated you.

you hadn't thought of tennis much before then but what you did know about it - but you'd thought it must be boring.

nothing was boring about how patrick played, though. he played with a kind of intensity that surprised you. he dominated the court. ran his opponents on the other side to dust. wiped the floor with them. the precise movements of his arm - the way he seemed to smash the ball across the court instead of just hit it.

it'd been a long time since you felt that motivation. but suddenly you wanted to be good at something. something that wasn't just handed to you. something you had to work to get good at.

the first time you played against patrick and managed to volley back and forth with him for more than ten seconds and he'd grinned at you over the net, said "that wasn't complete shit." you felt like you were high.

and patrick..... it's just for the money at first. some extra cash just to teach some spoiled brats how to hit a ball with a racket - he didn't even have to do that much. he could just lounge around while you played - mooch off the snacks and drinks at the country club.

he didn't expect anyone to actually be good at it.

you suprised him. got his attention. he wondered if this is what tashi felt with art, that kind of spark of satisfaction when you instructed someone and then watched them use that instruction to flourish.

he never considered himself being a good coach but he found himself actually getting more serious about it. and that felt good.

finding you hot was a problem.

god, why did you have to look at him with worship? and you were so polite - standing straigher when he approached. saying "yes sir!" in that eager tone. he'd never had someone respect him this much. idolize him. did terrible things to his head, which was big enough.

he didn't trust himself not to abuse it. knew he definitely would if he was alone with you long enough - which is why he responded with a resounding "no." when you asked for private lessons.

winced at how you crumpled like wet paper. scratched the back of his neck because how could he explain that he couldn't be alone with you and your big eyes and pouty lips and need for validation and not sink his big cock into your pussy. he didn't have that kind of strength.

but you didn't let up. you just tried harder. everyday after practice you'd follow him like a puppy with your tail wagging and ask, "please, sir." and "i know i could be better if you just spent some time on me -" jesus fucking christ. and "my parents will pay you more-"

okay, his ears had perked at that one. even if your persistence irritated him.

"i said no."

one time you followed him all the way out to his car, and kept going on and on about how you'd watched his videos all of his videos and how you admired him so much and how good he looked playing tennis and how you wanted to be good and how cool he was and please mr. zweig I'll be so good I'll listen to whatever you say I'll be so good I'll make you so proud, i promise -

he dropped his bag in the backseat of his van. looked around the lot to make sure you were alone before he turned around after slamming the door shut and gripping you by the back of your neck like a kitten by its scruff and dragging you to his mouth.

you let you a little gasp. patrick didn't wait for you to adjust to him, he slipped his tongue right into your mouth, dominated the kiss, dragged moans from your chest and had you leaning into his broad chest with a whine - head spinning, you had to stand on your tippy toes to meet his violent kisses - his big hands gripping your body - your waist, your ass, your tits. you yelped when he squeezed one harshly, whining his name helplessly and he ate the sound from your lips.

by the time he pulled back your lips were swollen and spit slick and you were swaying on your feet, dazed.

you'd read about the term 'kissed senseless', but you didn't know how it could be real. you did now. you felt ravaged. your whole body buzzing.

patrick sighed. ran a hand through his sweat slicked hair, making it even more wild. had you ran your hands through it? you hadn't even been conscious of doing it, but you wanted to again.

patrick said, suddenly. "double it."

you blinked at him, owlish.

patrick was already opening the drivers side door. he plucked his sunglasses from the dash, plopped them on. "what your parents are paying for you now. for private lessons, i want it doubled."

oh. that.

you grinned - momentarily distracted from what that kiss meant by the glee that patrick was gonna be your private instructor. all yours!

"done! its so done - mr zweig, im -"

"patrick." he corrected.

you bit your lip. "oh! um - i was just trying to be polite - i didn't mean -"

"i know what you meant. I'm telling you to stop because if i hear you call me that again I'm going to think it means you want me to fuck you and I'm going to find the nearest empty room to do just that in."

"m - patrick -" you fumble. your whole body flushes. your nipples harden. your cunt pulses in your little panties and you feel something wet drip. "i - i - i mean, i didn't - i wasn't trying to -"

he flicks his sunglasses over his eyes. one hand on the steering wheel. "im a shitty man and a pervert - lets get that out of the way. if you want to keep this professional -" through his sunglasses you feel his eyes like a hot brand on your skin, looking you up and down. "- you'll stop treating me like a good girl treats her daddy. because I'll take advantage of that very thoroughly."

he closes his car door. leaves you alone in the parking lot to just. sit with that.

[roosterbruiser]

would you perhaps be able to do “please talk to me” from the angst list with bradley?🥺👉🏻👈🏻

when Rooster wakes up, he doesn't get even one moment of normalcy. usually when he wakes up beside your sprawled figure, he peppers your shoulders with lazy kisses. then slink out of bed, brushes his teeth, slips into his tennis shoes, and goes for a run down the shoreline. sometimes he even watches the sunrise there, panting, taking an earbud out to hear the gulls caw. sometimes he'll even grab smoothies for the both of you on his way home, and hop in the shower as you finally woke up, lips wrapped half-heartedly around a neon straw.

but you're not in bed when his eyes flicker open for the first time today. your side of the bed is crumpled, cold. you've been out of bed for a while.

the morning light is gray--not an early morning gray, but an endless slate. one that means rain, probably.

he glances at the clock, head muddled from his deep sleep, and sees that it's almost 11am. he sits up, brows furrowed, and feels that hollowness grow inside of him immediately. it's like a jolt--something that infects wholly and completely immediately.

oh. his body is reminding him.

today is November 7th.

how could he forget?

instead of jumping out of bed like he usually does, which is a habit he vaguely remembers his father having, he allows his shoulders to slump and his chest deflate. he sinks back into the covers, feels his eyes grow heavy, and pulls the blankets up beneath his chin.

there are two days of the year that Bradley lets himself stay in bed all day: July 29th and today. the anniversary of both of his parents deaths.

you're trying to balance this goddamn tray of food as you walk up the stairs in your monkey slippers, cursing yourself for settling so many beverages on here. does Bradley really need three choices?

whatever, you think. he'll have his pick of the litter at least.

the bedroom door is cracked just enough for you to carefully back your elbow into--just enough for you to step into the room in near-silence except for the shivering glass on the metal tray in your hands.

honestly, you're expecting Bradley to be asleep still. he slept in on that hot day in July, didn't say much at all, just pressed his face against your belly and let M*A*S*H reruns play all day. after, you'd felt guilty; you hadn't done much to make him feel better, stupefied from being this close to such palpable grief. your only prerogative was being there for him, which is how you ended up staying beneath the sheets despite the heat.

but you find Rooster's knit brows and glossy eyes immediately. in your spot in the doorway, you freeze, then grin.

"well, good morning, merry sunshine!" you say softly. "how'd you sleep?"

Bradley's just staring at you, eyes moving from the tray and back up to your wanton gaze as he slowly begins to sit up against the headboard.

"fine," he tells you.

"thought you'd still be asleep," you tell him, shuffling to the bedside carefully. "hope I didn't leave you waiting too long! and I hope you're hungry, 'cause I made a little bit of everything."

Rooster, stunned, just watches you with his hands in his lap. you're wearing his class t-shirt from high school and an old pair of cotton underwear, your eyes bleary and your hair untouched. but all the same, you're grinning at him, nodding for him to move his hands from his lap.

"for your drink selection, we've got coffee, orange juice, and a strawnana smoothie--if you're feeling frisky. for our meats we've got turkey bacon, Impossible Sausage, regular bacon, and--well, are eggs meat? no, right? okay, moving on," you say, shrugging as you point to all the foods as you list. "then we've got scrambled eggs--lots of cheddar cheese and no sage this time, okay? I won't do that ever again, baby, I promise!" you press a lewd and sweet kiss to his forehead before continuing. "and then we've got two pieces of French toast with maple syrup--like that healthy kind you like, the one that gets, like, milked from the trees or whatever. we've also got a short stack of buttermilk pancakes with the sprinkles I know you like but you won't admit it, so we'll say that I like sprinkles in my pancakes! and then the usual suspects--grapefruit, cinnamon oatmeal, sliced apples, grits. pick your poison!"

and that is when Bradley suddenly lets his head tip forward, tears spurring from his eyes suddenly as if a spice had been broken.

oh fuck. this isn't what you meant to happen.

"baby?" you ask tentatively, holding the back of his head with a frown planted on your lips. "I was just kidding about the sprinkles."

with his face angled down, he can see those stupid monkey slippers on your feet. he can see the eggs you made just right, leaving out the sage you sometimes like to sneak in. he can see the different beverages and the rainbow sprinkles. he can even see the sly nibble you took out of his French toast.

he is totally and completely overwhelmed--but it isn't by grief right now. it's love. love and affection and honey and everything else in the world that is sweet and perfect.

"talk to me, baby," you whisper, shuffling to move the tray from his lap and sitting on the bed. he immediately lets his face fall on your shoulder, choking on his sobs. "please."

November 7th was the worst day of his life--one of them, at least. it was when his mother let go, moved on, left him behind. he remembers how peaceful it was when she was gone: all the monitors turned off, the IV drips empty, her face slacked and serene. and he remembers being so angry about it all--why did she have to go to be okay again?

but now it's November 7th and he's eating breakfast in bed and you're in your monkey slippers and those old panties and stroking his hair. he feels entirely swollen with it--love.

"I love you so much," he tells you, unable to put it any differently. "and I really do like sprinkles in my pancakes."

the knot in your throat dissipates at his words. you never push him to talk about his grief--only nurture it when he trusts you enough to speak on it.

so, you kiss his head a few times, hold him against you.

"that was really brave of you to admit," you tell him, a smile tugging at your lips.

he laughs through his tears, sniffling, tracing your spine with his fingers delicately.

"I know," he sniffles. not so subtly, he wipes his nose on your tee. you don't mind it one bit. "you're my best friend."

"me?" you whisper, voice thin with emotion. but you know that you can't start crying, too. so, you clear your throat. "you must be a real loser then."

he laughs weakly, inhaling all that sleep on your skin.

"yeah," he agrees. "I must."

[wileys-russo]

Okay so I was thinking of a blurb with Mapi and Ingrid where reader takes a nap everyday after training or a game but she’s forced to go to team bonding at Alexias place by Mapi and Ingrid and is grumpy since she can’t take her nap and everyone is like what’s up with her when they see the grumpy look on her face and Mapi’s just like ‘oh she didn’t take her nap’ so the whole time reader is falling asleep on the couch either on someone’s shoulder or lap but she can’t because of the noise and when everyone’s finally gone and it’s just them and Alexia she finally falls asleep on Ingrid’s lap

as someone who absolutely thrives off naps, this was felt team bonding II m.león & i.engen

you could have said it was partially your fault, and maybe you would have had the situation been any different. however today you were much less willing to accept any sort of blame, rather pointing the finger at anyone and everyone else.

it had started as you'd all come back into the change rooms after a particularly brutal training session, the sun glaring down on you the entire time had meant your normally tanned and sun kissed skin was mildly burnt and coated with a thin sheen of sweat.

the first session of the day hitting the gym wasn't as bad, the team partially sheltered from the sweltering heat of the barcelona sun. thursdays were always a double session given it was the middle of the week and friday was a rest day, so the second session was of course out on the pitch and it would have been understated to say you struggled.

you'd lived in spain now for nearly three years however born and raised in dreary drizzly england had meant it had been nothing short of a huge adjustment to get used to the change in lifestyle, weather and climate.

especially when it came to running around, training and playing matches on days that sometimes peaked well above thirty degrees, you were often grateful for the drop in temperature when blessed with late afternoon and early evening games.

growing up you'd never been someone who could sit still, always itching to be running around, keeping your hands busy or kicking some sort of sports ball. you'd played almost every sport you could growing up, both of your siblings the same.

you'd felt sorry for your mother, a single mum trying to wrangle three incredibly active kids and dash them from school to practice and home with three different schedules. you would always be grateful to her, and to your grandparents who basically drove you every afternoon to some sort of extra curricular.

football had been what had stuck through the ages, your sister sticking with tennis and your brother abandoning everything to pursue law, though he played a friendly five a side with his colleagues of a monday night.

however despite your insanely high energy levels, work ethic and stamina, all of that exerted force had meant you'd crashed hard and very rarely had a healthy or consistent sleep schedule throughout your youth.

this had meant some days the best rest you got was naps. wether it be a quick twenty minute power nap on the way from school to football or a three hour doze on the sofa of a sunday afternoon after you'd played, you became incredibly dependent on the brief moments of rest and bliss that came with them.

so skipping ahead to present days, that hadn't changed. despite your professional career meaning you should have a consistent, healthy and reliable sleeping pattern, the majority of your rest and recharge came from your naps.

despite consistent scalding from the training staff about the importance of a solid eight hour minimum rest, most nights you were lucky if you slept five to six hours, which of course everyone reminded was due to the frequent naps you took throughout the day.

however old habits die hard and it wasn't anything that you felt affected your playing ability, so who was it really harming? or at least that was the case, most days.

today was no exception, if anything after such a tiresome day of running about in the heat you were extra exhausted and looked forward to nothing more than returning home. the safe little haven you'd created with your girlfriends would greet you with its sun soaked little loveseat you'd often curl up in to get a quick thirty minute power nap in.

or the end of your ever so cozy L shaped couch where you'd stretch out for a longer doze, often with your head in ingrids lap as she read a book and mapi would play video games beside you, headphones on as to not disturb you, both your girlfriends well equipped to your routine.

early on in the relationship they'd of course tried their hand to coax you into a much more stable sleeping routine. but rapidly learning all it would lead to was a night of you tossing and turning and fidgeting in between them, the constant movement and small huffs of frustration in turn keeping them awake as well, they quickly gave up on that battle.

but back to the locker room you'd busied yourself quickly showering and changing, too busied with your head in the clouds to overhear the team making plans for a bonding night at alexia's house. tomorrow being a rest day meant it was perfect to do something tonight, and had you tuned in and overheard you might have had some more time to plan.

however buried deep in your own thoughts and quickly sinking further and further into your bodies screaming demands for a nap you'd zoned out entirely. you'd snapped back to it at a jingle of keys by your ear, glancing up to find mapi staring down at you with an amused smile.

you were quick to your feet, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder, waving your goodbyes as the three of you headed out of the building down to the carpark.

again you zoned out, head a fuzzy mess and skin still crawling from the thick humidity which plagued the air around you. had you been paying attention you might have overheard ingrid and frido or patri and pina behind you, all discussing who was needing to take what to alexia's.

mapi sliding into the drivers seat you kissed ingrids cheek in appreciation as she offered you the front, dumping your bags in the boot and settling into the warm leather you grimaced slightly but sighed, glad to at least finally be off your feet.

you smiled for a few photos as fans hung by the front gate, all keening to get pictures with their favourite players, though all three of you exhausted from the heat you kept it brief. finally on the road and heading home you joined into the initial conversation, though quickly found your eyes growing heavy.

"hey bebita no, we're almost home." mapi chuckled, hand moving to gently squeeze your thigh to stop you dozing off. both her and ingrid were more than capable of carrying your sleeping form inside as had been done plenty of times before, though exhausted from training if it was something that could be avoided then they would do their best to do so.

you busied yourself discussing training with the two of them, as well as the upcoming game against athletico on the weekend. your mother was coming to visit for a few days and you spent time going over what she wanted to do and see while she was here, the three of you grabbing your bags finally home.

in the elevator up to your shared apartment your struggle increased, eyes heavy once again as your head fell to mapi's shoulder, leaning a little more into her body making her smile and kiss the side of your head affectionately.

you heard her ask you something in spanish but half asleep you only hummed, agreeing to whatever she'd said as the doors opened on your floor. ingrid unlocking your front door you stumbled inside, scowling at the blonde haired spaniard beside you who'd stuck her foot out to trip you.

ingrid scolding her in norweigein you threw your bag at her and she chuckled, moving to put them away. you squatted down to fondly rub bagheera's head, picking him up and making a beeline for the sofa, your usual spot calling your name as you sighed grateful for the air con blasting around the apartment.

"siesta time handsome." you mumbled, collapsing tiredly onto the sofa and moving a cushion behind your head, bagheera curling up on your stomach. you sighed contendly, one hand stroking his warm fur as your eyes slammed shut and you started to drift off.

though your brief slumber was halted by something poking at your cheek. "go away!" you huffed, cracking one eye open to see mapi stretched out on the other end of the sofa, poking you with her toe as you shoved her legs away.

"what are you doing elskling?" once again you began to drift until a new voice spoke up, now opening both eyes you looked up to see a pair of green orbs looking down at you curiously.

"what does it look like i'm doing?" you mumbled back tiredly, flinching as the older girl pinched your leg for the comment. "takin a nap." you sighed, eyes closing again as you felt bagheera's weight move off of you, jumping to instead settle in between mapi's tattooed legs which still stretched along the sofa.

"why? we need to get ready to go to alexia's." at that your eyes shot wide open and a frown knitted deep into your eyebrows, pushing yourself up to rest on your elbows.

"why are we going to ale's?" you questioned, confused at the odd break in your usual post training routine. "see amor i told you she was not listening." mapi tutted, shaking her head at you as you shot her a tired glare.

"did you not hear anything we spoke about after training? or in the car? or in the elevator?" ingrid questioned, an annoyed frown settling into her features as she folded her arms and stared pointedly down at you. "no i did not. i'm tired and i need a nap." you grumbled, annoyance growing the longer you were forced to stay awake.

with that you rolled over onto your side, back showing to the tall norweigein who scoffed. "hey! wakey wakey." mapi's feet dug into your back as she cooed at you, shaking your body as you inhaled deeply.

a string of spanish curses dropping from your lips you turned and smacked her legs, a little harder than intended before getting to your feet, thumping off to the bedroom ignoring their calls after you.

"nope!" you groaned loudly as arms wrapped around your torso before you could throw back the covers and slip into bed. "i'm tired." you whined, head leaning back onto mapi's shoulder, pouting up at your girlfriend who smiled in amusement.

"too bad, we have team bonding cariño and we promised we'd go, all of us." mapi tilted your head back a little further, hand gently gripping your chin as she placed a somewhat apologetic kiss to your lips, thumb running over your bottom lip as she pulled away.

"i'm not going. suddenly im sick!" you fake coughed pushing away from her, feeling another pair of eyes burn into you as you flopped backwards onto the bed, covering your face with your hands.

"you are going. get up and changed!" you peeked through your fingers to see ingrid staring firmly down at you, mapi whisting knowingly and ducking out of the room not wanting to get involved.

"no." you replied just as firmly, face still buried in your hands. "you are twenty four stop acting like a child. get up, now." her tone shifted into one you knew all too well, and looking up the fire which simmered just behind her eyes you knew you had about two minutes to do as she asked or you'd pay for it later.

"can i nap for a half hour baby, please?" you switched approach, hands moving to fall at your sides as you looked up pleadingly, her features softening a little but her arms remained crossed.

"no kjære , we need to be there in an hour and it's a twenty minute drive."

at her words you groaned even louder than before, hauling your body up and storming off to the bathroom, making a point to slam the door after you. "pain in the ass every day." ingrid mumbled under her breath with a roll of her eyes.

"no amor you asked for that, you know how she gets when she's tired." mapi held her hands up in defense at the withering look shot at her, backing out of the room again mumbling under her breath in spanish, all too used to mediating between the two of you knowing just how stubborn you could both be when in disagreement over something.

"come on niña bonita, smile. stop being grumpy!" you shifted at mapi's words, the slightly taller girl hugging you from behind and kissing your cheek a few times.

"we'll stay for a few hours and then you can go home and sleep, okay?" ingrid spoke softly, running a hand through your hair as you sighed tiredly but nodded none the less as mapi pressed the buzzer. within seconds the door was opening and you winced at the sudden change of volume, most of the girls seemingly already having arrived.

"ay chica why do you look so down hm?" alexia smiled, bringing you into a hug as she closed the door, the older girl like a sister to you as you sighed and grumbled about being tired.

"you sleep more than a newborn amiga, how are you always so tired?" her body vibrated with laughed as she kissed your cheek teasingly and let you go. "she does not sleep, like a vampire!" patri teased pulling a face at you as pina joined in and you rolled your eyes pushing past them, ignoring their offended calls after you that you'd blanked their hug.

you made a beeline to collapse next to lucy, head immediately falling to your national teammates shoulder. "oh did the little baby not get its nap?" she cooed harshly pinching your cheeks, having known you for years she immediately recognized the signs of exhaustion present in your features.

"no!" you huffed, pushing her hands off as she grinned. "tough luck kid, hard life being an adult." she sighed, patting your cheek and moving so her arm stretched over the back of you and you could settle a little more into her side as mapi took the vacant seat next to you.

normally if you were curled into anyone elses sides both her and ingrid would be green with envy, but lucy having had a heavy hand in the three of you even getting together in the first place they knew she was just as fiercely protective of you as they were.

you felt your girlfriends tattooed hand rest on your leg, fingers tracing shapes absentmindedly on your thigh as she engaged in conversation with the team.

you remained quiet as an hour dragged by and alexia tried her best to organise a food delivery, struggling heavily to decipher orders as no one seemed to be able to answer her without speaking over the top of someone else.

you jolted up awake as alexia snapped, captain mode slipping in effortlessly as she shouted a loud and stern string of catalan, everyone pausing before quietly relaying their preferences one by one.

food ordered everyones focus switched to games, an assortment of different board and card games from all different nations littering the floor. you opted out of playing, shooting poor esmee a murderous look as she attempted to drag you to your feet to be her partner.

"england why are you so moody today?" you looked up to meet oshoala's amused grin as mapi stood from beside her to help alexia get the food delivery from downstairs, the warmth of her hand on your leg instantly missed.

"baby didn't get its nap!" you grunted as two bodies landed on top of you, patri wrangling you into a headlock as claudia sat on your chest, both girls poking and jabbing at you.

something not uncommon for the three of you, known to rough house around quite often given your close ages but today you were not in the mood. you swore and cursed at them in spanish, a few of the older girls in the room shooting you disapproving looks for your language as the games continued.

"i would leave her be unless you want to lose a finger patri, she is a biter." mapi warned with a suggestive grin, returning as most of the girls hurried to their feet at the promise of food. claudia gagged at the insinuation and punched you halfheartedly in the stomach, scurrying away as patri was quick to follow before you could retaliate.

"i want to go home." you huffed, sitting up and running a hand through your tousled hair, fixing your clothes with a glare over the spaniards shoulder at the culprits who were too busy stuffing their faces to care.

"well we aren't." mapi chuckled, hands on your knees as she leant down and moved in closer. "if you're a good girl bebita i promise to reward you when we do get home, in any way you want." the older girl murmured in your ear, teeth gently tugging on your earlobe leaving your cheeks flushed red.

"any way?" you clarified as the defender nodded with a smile. "but only if you behave and lighten up a little, we are here to bond with the team." your girlfriend warned as you nodded.

"otherwise i will just let ingrid have her way with you for the snappy comments earlier, and we both know she does not forget hermosa." mapi smiled knowingly as you sighed, your girlfriend leaning in and pecking your lips a few times until they curled into a smile.

speaking of, ingrid took lucys seat beside you, placing a plate of food in your lap as mapi disappeared to get her own, the rest of the girls settling themselves around the living room as chatter and laughter filled the air.

the taller girl smiled in surprise as you thanked her in norweigen, leaning up to kiss her softly before starting to eat. "don't need to be hand fed do we grumpy?" keira teased, gesturing for your girlfriend to feed you as you flipped her off, ingrid knocking your hand down as your english team mate grinned and took a seat on the floor beside aitana.

mapi settling in on your other side with her own food you tried to make more of an effort, not contributing much to conversation but actively listening. you grinned as you stole some of your girlfriends food, mapi flicking your ear affectionately before kissing your cheek, happy to see you were a little more engaged.

food finished and games back in commencement you found yourself still wedged between your girlfriends, your legs draped over mapi's lap as ingrid held you from behind, chin resting atop your head.

slowly as the night grew later the girls began to drop off, and as the chatter and laughter died down your exhaustion was quick to resurface, blinking drowsily as you tried to stay awake.

but eventually you could fight no more and sleep won, your body suddenly becoming a lot more heavy which didn't go unnoticed by your girlfriends. the last of your team mates leaving alexia returned to the living room to see ingrid hoist your dead asleep form into her lap properly, scoffing with an amused shake of her head.

alexia's girlfriend olga due home from work soon and you seemingly passed out cold your girlfriends agreed to stay and watch a movie, grateful both for your lack of complaining and that you were finally getting some much needed rest.

"you know we are going to get home and she will be wide awake again now, yes?" mapi sighed with a smile, moving your hair out of your face and leaning down to press a tender kiss to your forehead. "i'm counting on that." ingrid smiled though a little less sweetly as mapi caught on, knowing smirk curling into her lips as alexia shot to her feet hearing a knock at the door.

"well, i did promise her a reward." "you're too soft with her." "i am not, you are just too bossy." "neither of you seem to mind that." "you do not give us a choice amor." "is that so? well maybe i need to remind both of you-"

"too loud." you mumbled up tiredly, hands coming to rest over their mouths still half asleep, mapi pressing a kiss to your palm before they dropped limply back to your sides.

"well eskling, guess we'll see who is right when we get home then."

[ch4mpagnedrought]

scope out the competition

[full series]

mdni ! patrick zweig (warning: public sex)

summary: feeling out your opponents, the ins and outs, is always important when improving your game.

tashi duncan’s tennis games thrive from her being the most self she can be. her strengths entirely come from improving herself, wanting to be the very best player she can be leaves no room for her to blame losses on lack of technique. she puts in everything she has to get everything back. you, however, consider yourself a team player; you like to analyse your opponent and play to their style. why would you exhaust yourself trying your hardest when you can pray on your competition’s weaknesses? it makes for an overall more fluid experience—to see them slip out of concentration and into panic, you inhaling their exhaled breath, giving you a perfect opening to land a winning shot.

tashi’s stubbornness for greatness makes her a strict player, with regimes and schedules that nothing is worth skipping for. except maybe you sometimes.

“where are you going?” she asks, stepping behind you to check herself out in the mirror in your dorm, cramping to fit into the reflection while you strip yourself of your shorts to put on a pair of grey sweats. “i told you, ITF tournament today.” you switch between a black cami and white tee in the mirror, then tie the drawstring of your pants. “i think you should come.” you add and tashi meets the eyes of your reflection, her brows lowering, “i have training.”

you sigh out, nodding and turning to your desk to grab a perfume bottle, giving it a couple spritzes. “patrick is playing today.” you say but tashi doesn’t seem to care, continuing to tie the laces of her shoes, soles scuffed black from the sheer amount of play they get, “i told you i have training.” it doesn’t even seem to register in her head that maybe she should be there, or that he might want her there, “he’s you’re boyfriend.”

it’s hard not to feel some sympathy for patrick who has no clue that putting him above tennis in tashi’s head is equivalent to trying to find some space in a room where an open flame is sucking up all the oxygen. “im training.” she says again and her carelessness begins to bother you, relaxed expression on her face as she runs a hand through her hair before tying it back. “why do you even care whether i go see patrick or not?” tashi turns around for a moment to read your expression whilst she pulls a black hair tie from around her wrist and to her hair. there’s a playful smile on her lips, a gentle calmness that makes it seem like you’re the crazy one for even suggesting seeing her boyfriend may be nice.

“i dont.”

“seems like you’re excited to see him.” she hums to you, a glint in her eyes. it’s not a warning sign or a threat, but more amusement. she wants you to be eager and she doesn’t care that it’s her boyfriend you’re eager about. you hadn’t even thought of patrick that way since they started dating, but your cheeks run hot at the feeling that she’s seen right through you.

you walk out without saying goodbye to her, it’s belittling to think that she can see you as another one of the pawns in her game too. after nearly fourteen years of friendship you’ve learnt to read her well, and there isn’t a doubt in your mind that she’s waiting for a competition to unfold. to have you both try and win patrick over to see who the better seducer is, because if tashi can’t beat you in tennis she’s going to try and give everything else a shot. you may play for the team, but you still play to win and tashi’s stupid ways of entertainment aren’t any different.

sitting at the side of the court in the stands like patrick did once for you, and meeting his eyes from your seat, watching him stretching his limbs, you wonder whether he had expected to see tashi, and not you. a smile spreads across his face, a pleasantly surprised one that shows no underlying desire to see her. you raise your hand to wave to him and he waves back, the sun hitting his face until he’s forced to squint.

his opponent didn’t actually stand a chance, even the way that he walked out with a meek hold on his bag told you and patrick everything that you needed to know. his serves were shy, barely making it past the net and his returns were even worse. the whole thing was unruly, like a battlefield where patrick has a sword and gun and his opponent lost all his armour. patrick was ferocious, the swing of his racket making a shrilling sound at every contact and his glistening arms straightening out to reach it, pulsating the veins in his hands. his biceps throbbed beneath the shirt sleeves that were blown upwards from the light breeze and your eyes seemed to burn into them. his dark hair swept away from his forehead every time he launched for the ball then falling back down to his face perfectly. and between the sets when he’d sit down at near the baseline and glance up at you with a smirk, hoping to get a small nod of approval, it felt like he knew exactly to what extent he’d been stirring up the feelings inside your stomach.

he leaned back into his seat after sucking up an energy gel and let the sun cast on his skin arrogantly while his opponent tried not to have a panic attack, seeing any chances of a professional career slip away from his calloused fingertips. patrick played it cool, he didn’t have to know his opponent to feel that he looked up to you, and every time you cheered for patrick, an endearing clap, it would take all his might not to throw his racket across the court at him.

the game was a blow out, of course, and patrick looked up at you once more before exiting the court, leaving his opponent to writhe in the loss.

you knew that after his game patrick would be out somewhere, lighting up a victory cigarette, and you purposefully glanced to every fire exit of the sports club and dark alleyway hoping you’d see him there until you found the one. he leans against the bricked wall cooly and his hair is still slightly damp, being dried by the gusts of wind when he takes a drag of the cigarette you knew he’d have.

“you did good today.” you call out to him, approaching his frame that pushes itself off the wall to take in your presence fully. you smile kindly and he scoffs, you knew that was what patrick wanted to hear, and you gave it to him. the one thing that tashi can’t bring herself to do—support someone else’s game other her own. he breaks the eye contact you’ve been holding, glancing away abashedly, “coming from ‘ESPN Tennis number one upcoming female tennis star?’ im flattered.” he quotes an article written about you that he’s read more times than he’d admit to anyone.

your arms fold across across your chest and he hums a teasing note. “okay fuck you. i was being nice.” you say and he chuckles, his fingers grazing the skin of your arm when he leans forward. he looks down at you, trying to piece together your presence and why he’s never felt that kind of appreciation from tashi. “what are you even doing here?” he questions and you shrug your shoulders that he can’t stop himself from looking at, loathing the straps of your tank top that keep him from indulging into a further fantasy, “research. have to see how my competition is doing before my game at the open.”

he nods, taking another inhale of his cigarette and intentionally blowing the smoke away from your face. he continues to look away for a moment, seemingly lost in thought about what you’d presume was his game that in reality is nothing short of the ways that sleeping with you may be different than with tashi. it had been overwhelming his head since he had been with her, and he has been trying to stop himself from asking art every single minute detail of whatever exactly went down between you two. even in the dead of night when he’d jerk himself off and think of his girlfriend, it would often slip into the few moments that he’s had with you; the softness of your lips in the hotel room and the embarrassed look on your face when he’d caught you out with art.

“yeah whatever. or maybe you just missed me.”

you laugh but his face keeps the serious expression, lips that hold the cigarette between them turning up into a smirk. you look away from him, suddenly feeling shy as he remains looking at you from above, a heat circulating beneath your skin, reddening your cheeks and a heaviness in your chest.

he waits silently for the moment that you flick your eyes back to him, and from the glimmer within them he knows that you want him just as bad as he wants you. his two fingers take the butt of his cigarette and throw it to the ground to free up his lips that lean down to yours. he kisses you hard like he hasn’t felt the touch of a woman for a while, and you kiss him back.

there’s a smokiness to his lips that move passionately with yours, pushing themselves into you and immediately making them swell with a lustful redness. he hums into the kiss, vibrating against your lips and taking a handful of your hair into his hand to pull at it gently. however the guilt catches up to you quickly and you pull away from him, “what about tashi—your girlfriend?” he presses his lips together briefly at the absence of you, then chuckles, “you mean the one that isn’t here?” he doesn’t give you the time to respond before pressing his lips back to yours, his tongue pressing gently into your mouth. softly, his fingertips skim across the sun kissed surface of your arms, to feel the softness of your skin against his that he’s been having wet dreams about.

you let slip a soft whine, your hands that are cupped around his cheeks suddenly travelling to his chest to push him away again, “you know she has her own matches to train for.” his lips have a reddish tint from your desperate aggressiveness to have as much of him as possible and he sticks his tongue out to his bottom lip to taste the flavour of you while you defend tashi.

patrick has to lean backward, breathing heavily in your direction with a disbelieving look. his eyes scan your face to see if you’re being serious and his brows twitch upwards, hand already wrapping around your jaw delicately, “and you don’t?” he pulls your face towards him, leaning down to meet you in the middle.

he moves his firm grasp around your hips, each hand outlined with a paleness from the pressure, steadily drawing you into him until his stiff crotch is pressed against your front. the exchange of heat hazes his mind and the alleyway environment no longer becomes a concern as he twists you until you’re leant against the cold wall.

his fingers tediously untie the drawstring of your sweats, the real gift that he won the tournament for, eyes peering up at you for a green light. he had known since spotting you in the audience that he wanted to find out the way your eyes squint together in anticipation and your bottom lip is pierced by your teeth to beg more of him. to get the full experience art did and to give you what he may have missed out on. fingertips dancing around the hem of your trousers, and curling around it to give him the bit of space he needs to fully slip his hand into them, the heat inside leaking the precum out of him.

one of his fingers slides down between your folds over the top of your panties, sending the sensation to spread across your whole lower half. momentarily, he circles his index finger around the area of your clit to alert you of his presence and listen to your breath hitch.

you press your mouth shut, squeaking out high whines into the alleyway, patrick’s whole body positioned close enough to you that you can feel the expanding of his lungs. he shimmies your trousers a little further down until he can see the bareness of your legs and your fingers reach into his dark locks when he lowers himself down onto his knees. “what are you doing?” you ask, the cold cobblestone sends a shiver down his spine and his hands push you into the wall. he looks up at you, a reassuring smile on his face, cheeks rosy with excitement and brows lowered, “im thanking you for turning up to watch my game.” he says matter-of-factly, you can feel the hotness of his breath against your legs and it makes the rest of them feel numb. you want to tell him to stand back up, to not risk the both of you being kicked out of the court for the rest of your lives and ruining your careers, but the closer patrick inches to your soaking wet panties the less the thought is present in your head.

he presses his lips onto your core over the fabric, only for you to jerk your hips upwards into his face at the sensation, sighing out loudly. he’s wanted to watch the way you react to his every touch, imagining this very moment when the tip of his finger pulls to get rid of the barrier between him and your entrance, where he can spread your own slick across your slit. he finds a pleasure that sends blood pumping into his cock knowing he’s the one to do this to you, and nobody else.

his tongue presses flat against your centre, lapping around the area only for a moment before you grasp onto his shoulders, spreading your legs open a little wider to adhere to his touch. his every single movement is calculated and deliberate, circling his tongue around your clit then pulling away to have you gasp for air; kneading the flesh of your thighs with his hands to soothe.

when you cup his cheek with your hand he moans into your pussy, feeling the warmth of your fingertips and his own cum that dribbles out prematurely into the shorts he changed into only half an hour earlier. although he’s the one to slide his index finger into you while his chin is dripping with your juices and his saliva, your slight touches enrapture him until every cell in his body is hypnotised and he knows nothing other than to keep ushering whimpers out of you. he glances up to your face, taking a mental image of your breath-taking frame that he has all to himself to devour.

the more his mouth works, nose deep into wetly sucking on your clit, the more intense the lustful fluttering in your bottom half grows, his tongue shamefully savouring you the faster he glides it across your slit and the finger that pumps into you turning into two.

patrick’s hair curls loosely across his forehead, eyes twinkling up at you with a drunk arousal that he’s only just discovered, taking the involuntary bucking of your hips into his face with a content smile of which the sensation is felt across your whole core. he notices how close you’re getting, hearing your heaving and sobs, and thoughts of art seem to frequent his mind, about how quickly he was able to make you come and if it was faster than him. it works him up until he holds you still against the wall, circling his tongue around your clit and plunging his fingers into you in a frenzied state, curling against every ridge of your g-spot until all the air out of your lungs in blown out.

you inhale back again to spread the feeling of climax across your whole body, hips twitching under his grip and eyes squeezing shut. patrick presses short pecks to your inner thigh, and stands up to watch the last few moments of your lips being parted open and hands reaching out to use him to balance before you come back down from your high. he looks down at your lips that are red from the way you’ve bit them, and the tears that well up at the corners of your eyes with a small smile, bringing himself down to kiss you with the remnants of your own orgasm. his lips are slow and meaningful, to share the flavour and let you remember it was his doing, while his hands gently pull your panties up your thighs, then your sweats.

“thanks again.” he says, pulling away to tie your drawstring again like it had never been undone, and you nod.

he smirks down at you again, the lingering taste of you in his mouth; chuckling out and bringing the strap of your top back over your shoulder innocently,

“you’re a terrible friend.” he says.

“you’re a worse boyfriend.”

he watches the way your legs move parallel to each other when you leave him in the alleyway, his mind not being able to get rid of this image of him being between them. he had taken in your expression at every moment, and he would do the same thing over a thousand times more to watch it again. and later that evening when he promised to call tashi, he instead stares at the ceiling of his room and replays the whole ordeal in his head; while tashi lets herself into your dorm room out of boredom and slips under the covers.