#patrick and tashi need art between them

[fawnnpaws]

thinking about sucking the gum art is always chewing out of his mouth. you’ve seen him spit it out into patrick’s hand before practices, into tashi’s before big games, but there’s a part of you that’s always nagging for more.

you and art have always been the most intense out of the four of you, like if you weren’t stopped you’d eat each other given the chance. you both have this deep seated need for possession and love that makes you insatiable. patrick and tashi keep up with you well, but have to set rules to corral the two of you and keep you from going too many rounds while they’re gone. sometimes they’re too late and they find you passed out in a heap of limbs on the bed, art still inside you, your bodies covered in a sheen of sweat, bodily fluids, and a smattering of bruises sucked into your skin. they complain as they pry you off each other and clean you up, but secretly find it adorable when you’re curled up together like exhausted puppies.

the gum habit is just another way you seek closeness. the first time it happens art doesn’t even realize what you’re doing. you lick the inside of his mouth and revel in the minty taste. he pushes his tongue against yours and whimpers, getting lost in the kiss. you suck on his tongue gently and with that motion his gum passes his lips and slides into your mouth. when you pull back, he sees you chewing on it and his eyes widen at the little smirk you give him. he has to adjust himself and will his dick to go down on his way out to the court. from then on, it becomes a natural ritual.

patrick jokes that eventually you’ll just crawl into art’s ribcage and live there. you tell him you’d do the same to him if he’d let you. he reminds you of that when he spits in your mouth later that night.

tashi is less into the sharing of spit and gum, but she understands that these are acts of devotion. she knows you well enough to know that when you take her fingers in your mouth and your eyes glaze over its the same as chewing arts gum and swallowing patrick’s spit. you need to feel close. to feel like they’re part of you in a physical way as well as emotional.

and who are any of them to deny you of that?

[artdcnaldson]

Polycule au Tashi leaving for a week???? I'm sorry that would destroy me. Patrick might be excited about the crazy sex that would happen but I feel like

I'd just be confused and hurt and :((((((( still feeling like I did something wrong.

ESPECIALLY because you’re Lily’s nanny like technically you should be on that trip :(((

So like you’re just kind of sad and not into it when Patrick and Art continue to kind of fight over you. It’s like :((( I miss Tashi :((( is Tashi mad at me?? Should I call Tashi and apologize for whatever I did?????

But Tashi’s sweet to you, she’ll send you pictures of clothes she’s going to buy you from a boutique where she and Lily are staying, or a picture that Lily drew you that she wants you to see. Signs all of her texts with an xx so you know she still cares.

But that leaves you at home, stuck between two hardheaded, possessive jerks. Maybe you’re on the couch watching whatever’s on cable. Art’s hand is on one thigh, Patrick’s is on the other. You finally just lean in and kiss Art, slow and searing and deep, relish in the way they both grab at your thighs. Pull from Art, lick into Patrick’s mouth.

And of course Art gets possessive first. “Who do you want first?”

And you realize exactly why Tashi left the three of you alone.

So you just lean in, brush your nose against his, pull Patrick in so they’re both so close to your mouth. “Both of you.” Art’s brow furrows, but you lean in, kissing them both, the way you’d seen Tashi kiss them. “Figure it out.”

[summer-oil]

watched challengers a second time with my bestie and had another severe case of brainrot this movie is soooo fucking good i wanna . puke

[darcyolsson]

we may not have a screen adaptation for the infernal devices but we have challengers (2024) and that's more or less the same thing

[mareestoermers]

i think we are all forgetting something when we talk about how toxic patrick, tashi, and art are — or when we decide one is “worse” than the other. they all have moments of seeing right through it, seeing each other’s toxic behavior for what it is, and STILL want and need each other in this possessive, envious, visceral way.

1. in the way beginning, tashi is clearly flirting more with art than patrick, and patrick is visibly annoyed. art sees right through it and even challenges him like “okay, let’s leave”, and has this little smirk on his face because he knows patrick won’t give up on tashi.

2. tashi immediately sees the visible tension and love between art and patrick, and literally orchestrates their first kiss. she sees right through their repression, and even calls herself a “home-wrecker” but still entangles herself with them, especially patrick because he’s clearly the better tennis player at that point and that is tash’s ONLY true love. tennis. that’s what she desires most in him, and patrick knows that. he even calls her out on it in the dorm room scene. but they have this mirroring fire in each other that neither of them can give up, not until patrick breaks the balance and bails — tashi’s injury is literally a metaphor for the balance shattering between all three of them when patrick leaves her.

3. before this, patrick sees right through art trying to break them up, and even admires that quality — maybe even feels smug and flattered because art is jealous and feels left out from both tashi and patrick. patrick has known this all along, we saw it in the “tick-serve” scene, where he even swears to tashi he won’t tell anyone but he still tells art, who is desperate to feel a part of them and patrick wants that, too — even keeps that close intimacy with art that we see in the churro scene (swoon swoon swoon).

4. haven’t you noticed that arts desire to be great is only ever tied up in patrick and tashi? how he needs to beat patrick to win tashis affection, how he needs to win in tennis so that tashi can live through him, how he lives up to his potential in the ending only because tashi and patrick push him to it, in their little fucked up ways? he knows this — he even admits that he’s playing for tashi, that he knows she’s living through him. he even admits he’s playing a fucked up little game with patrick when they’re in the sauna. yet he still does it. again, he knows what’s happening, sees right through them — still does it, still loves them.

5. when tashi calls patrick to come pick her up he knows it’s not just to tell him to throw the match — and despite how she battles him about it, they still have sex in the car, because he already knows. he’s so fully aware of her and her game and he’s so willing to be caught up in it, the same as art.

just some examples of how they all have moments of clarity and agency and yet they still choose to be entangled in one another because they’re all fucked up in their own, individual ways, and they’re all living through each other for their own specific needs. arts is to be seen as worthy, as great, but only through their gaze. tashis is to have the career that was stolen from her. patricks is truly to be in love and in lust with both of them, because we even see that from the beginning that tashis love alone will never satiate him; it has to be arts love, too. that scene in the sauna when he thinks he’s lost it from art is the most sad and fucked up we ever even see patrick. on top of tashi asking him to throw the game — he’s so defensive of arts feelings.

in short this is an actual love triangle (and i would go as far as to see it as a polyship). you can’t erase one without the whole thing unraveling, and you can’t say one character was the “worst” without picking apart the motivations and pointing to the fact that their bad behavior was never a secret or left unchecked.

even at the end, patrick signals to art that he slept with tashi — art knows and they still have that intimate completion at the end, all three of them. art living up to his potential and embracing patrick fully (id argue this could even be a metaphor for embracing his bisexuality), patrick having both tashi and arts affection again, and tashi playing a phenomenal tennis match through her little white boys — in such a visceral, emotional way that she cries out like she did in the beginning and the last frame is her smiling.

in a fucked up way, they all get what they wanted out of each other.

[ervotica]

you’re an angel, i’m a dog — a.donaldson

pairing; older!art donaldson x fem!reader

warnings; roughly written, badly edited, not beta’d (because when is it ever?), allusions to smut, implied age gap (reader is early 20s, art is early 30s), slight tashi x fem!reader if you squint, infidelity (but tashi is kinda cool with it), just some thoughts about older!art and his pretty girl

a/n; this concept has been eating at me for daysss so i had to write it at least roughly! should we make this a series? (maybe get patrick involved?🫢) let me know what you think! ART & CHALLENGERS (poly!art & patrick) REQUESTS ARE OPEN! any questions / conversation starters about this particular au are highly appreciated and encouraged!! please come to my inbox 📥 <3

older!art is fucking obsessed with you— you, who comes to every one of his matches, who sits next to his wife in those adorable little tennis skirts you sport just for him, who whoops and cheers from the stands whether he wins or loses.

you’re forbidden fruit. so, naturally, he adores you.

tashi knows, because of course she does. she never pries, never so much as spares you a second glance when he wraps his arms around you and buries his face in your neck and huffs hot air against the shell of your ear. she doesn’t care — you’ve made art better at tennis.

his confidence has skyrocketed since having a pretty thing like you cheering him on, his biggest and most enthusiastic supporter. he plays better, he second guesses himself less, he’s more relaxed.

you’re what’s been missing. the last piece of the puzzle.

an obedient little thing, glued to his side, wagging like a dog at his every command.

he fucking loves it. loves having someone relying on him for love and validation. loves the way you preen under his fervent gaze and flutter your lashes at the slightest touch.

when tashi asks you to join art’s team officially, you almost keel over.

“look, i don’t care that he’s fucking you… or that he’s in love with you. he has a shot at the us open this year, and he needs you by his side to do it.” she says. you’re quick to agree, ever obedient and desperate to please.

“he’s in love with me?”

she scoffs. “you’ve seen the way he looks at you. he almost creams his pants every time you’re in the same room as him.” she tilts your chin upwards with a crooked finger, giving your cheek an affectionate - albeit condescending - pat.

“you two can have your fun— but he has to win this year.”

art’s perched against the doorframe when you turn, corded forearms crossed over his chest. you scrunch your nose, pushing back a smile that crinkles at your eyes despite your efforts.

fucking smitten.

tashi rolls her eyes, a half smile tugging at the corner of her lips, and she nudges you towards him.

“go on.”

he opens his arms in greeting and you’re quick to fall into them, your fingers knotting in the shorn hair at his nape. his chest expands beneath your own as he takes a long breath, and he presses his nose to your pulse point, shuddering.

“love you.” he murmurs into your skin.

“love you more.”

he could cry; he doesn’t remember the last time someone told him they loved him and meant it. you’re obsessed with him, almost as much as he is with you.

at his next match, you carry his rackets and send him off with a good luck kiss that has him breathless, grinning as you roll his wad of gum between your teeth that you sucked right from his waiting mouth.

he wins.

how could he not with his pretty girl watching?

and that night, he rewards you with a thorough fucking, whispered love confessions against your lips, and a breathy moan as he cums that you won’t be forgetting anytime soon.

so, yeah. maybe this life isn’t so bad, after all.

[musingsofheaven]

I’M DRUNK, I LOVE YOU.

art donaldson x afab!reader

sfw. angst. unrequited love. confession. pining. ♡

You barely remember whose idea it was. You don‘t even have time to protest. It just happened, because that‘s what normal things are between you and him. It, like all things with Art, does. A birthday slash graduation trip that turned into a weekend at the beach. No plans, no budget, just a spontaneous one. So fucking reckless and irresponsible. YOLO, what he always says to you when he asks you to do something spontaneous with him. Trip. Movies. Resto. Everything. That was enough. That was always enough when it came to him. You said yes before he even finished the sentence. You always do. Don‘t need to ask twice. If he asks you to jump, you‘ll say how high. If he calls for an emergency, you‘ll come, even if his emergency is just picking which clothes he will wear for the match. And now you‘re here, crammed into the back of his car, half-sober, half-numb, trying not to think about how this might be the last time you see him like this without consequence.

Art is driving. One hand on the wheel, the other slung lazily out the window, sun catching the bones in his wrist. The wind keeps blowing his curls into his eyes, but he doesn‘t fix them. You want to reach out and do it for him, but you don‘t. He has that curly blonde hair you always want to run your fingers through. But well, you‘ve done enough of that, it‘s nothing new the fixing things he doesn‘t ask you to fix, offering pieces of yourself he never asked to keep. He glances in the rearview mirror once. Not at you. At her. Tashi. She‘s sitting in the passenger seat like she‘s always belonged there, and maybe she has. Maybe that‘s the part that hurts most.

Patrick‘s next to you, headphones on, mouthing along to some sad gay song like he‘s in a different movie entirely. Like he‘s annoying the fuck out of you about this situation. You‘re grateful for him, really, for his silence, for the way he doesn‘t ask you what‘s wrong. He already knows. He‘s the one who knows you and Art too closely. You tell him things, but he doesn‘t rat you out to Art. Sometimes you think everyone knows it already. Like it‘s not a secret anymore, well except for Art. It‘s just a punchline. Seven years in love with your best friend, and he still introduces you as his “bro” when he‘s drunk. You laugh too hard at his jokes. You always have. It‘s easier than saying you‘re scared he‘ll leave and forget you entirely.

By the time you arrive, the sun‘s too bright and the sand‘s too hot and you already feel like you‘re a mess. The air smells like salt and cheap alcohol. Art‘s shirt is off before the car even finishes parking. He runs straight toward the water, laughing, yelling something you can‘t hear. Tashi follows. You sit on the hood and watch them, beside Patrick who‘s ready to tease you already. To give you a reality check. You don‘t take a photo. The view is so beautiful, too bad you‘re not in the mood. You don‘t move. You feel like the only person on earth who knows they‘re living inside a memory. Patrick opens a beer beside you and offers one without a word. You take it. Drink half in one go. It doesn‘t help. You ask him something stupid like, “Do you think we‘ll remember this?” and he says, “Only if it hurts enough.” And god, you think maybe that‘s the truest thing you‘ve ever heard.

Later, when the sky turns heavy and violet, someone suggests karaoke like it‘s a joke. Like they don‘t know the kind of night they‘re summoning. But Art lights up, yeah, of course he does, and you‘re already nodding before you think better of it. Because you know he will ask. That‘s how it always is. One look from him and you forget your boundaries. You forgot to take. You forgot what you really are to him. You forget you ever wanted to have any. And the place is a patchwork of bad lighting and worn leather booths, and the mic smells like every feeling that‘s ever touched it. Art picks something old and loud, something to shout with his whole body, and Patrick howls through every line like he‘s exorcising something. You‘re on your second beer. Your third. You lose count by the time you‘re singing with Art, shoulder to shoulder, yelling lyrics you don‘t know into the same mic. He looks at you like a memory. You look at him like a prayer.

Then he says, “I love you,” in the middle of the chorus, smiling at you, but it‘s followed by “bro,” and that‘s the part that lodges in your throat. You don‘t even like that- that fucking term. It‘s a punch in your face. That one fucking word. That one stupid syllable that flattens everything you thought maybe tonight could be. Everyone claps. You do too. You smile like it‘s funny, like it doesn‘t hurt. But you feel it. In the pit of your stomach. You feel it wants to be cut out and thrown in the ocean. In your jaw, clenched around the scream you won‘t let out. Like you want to scream at him if he‘s blind.

Bottle after bottle, you find yourself sitting outside with a cigarette you don‘t finish and a heart that won‘t shut up. Art plops down beside you, drunk and golden, knees bumping yours. “You good?” he asks, voice slurred just enough to make him seem soft. You nod. Of course you do. What would you even say? That you‘re not sure you can keep doing this? That being his friend feels like bleeding in public and hoping no you can just hit him in the head to the point he‘ll have an amnesia and tell him you‘re his girlfriend?

Yeah, no, that won‘t work, so you just sit beside him. Let him talk about nothing. About surfing tomorrow. About how Tashi‘s good at it, apparently. It‘s not like you have anything against the woman, you don‘t. You can‘t just help to feel envious that will maybe, maybe make you say shitty things if you are just in front of Patrick. But you just nod again. You keep nodding. And when you finally speak, it‘s just to say, “Let‘s go back.” Not because you want to. Because if you stay here one second longer, you‘ll say the wrong thing - or worse, the truth.

You love the place you guys picked. But right now it just feels different. The room feels like it‘s breathing without you. The windows rattle slightly from the ocean wind outside, the curtains flutter like someone else‘s heartbeat. And Art is perched at the edge of the bed with his guitar in his lap, bare feet on the floor, hair damp from the shower. He looks golden in the lamplight. Familiar. Comfortable. You‘ve spent years memorizing this version of him. The quiet one, the one that only shows up at 1 a.m. when no one else is looking. The version that looks so peaceful. The one who loves music besides tennis. The one who- who gets your heart. He plays something without a name, just a slow set of chords, barely holding shape. Maybe it‘s something he‘s composing. It should soothe you. Instead, it burns.

He doesn‘t notice you watching him. Or maybe he does and doesn‘t care. You always have the chance to look at him because... because he lets you. Or probably he‘s just that oblivious. You‘re sitting on the floor with your back to the wall, knees pulled tight to your chest like that could keep it all in. The want, the ache, the exhaustion of waiting. The pining. He hums under his breath. You swallow around the lump in your throat.

“Seven years,” you say suddenly. It startles even you. He pauses, one hand still on the frets. You don‘t know why you bring it up but the following words you‘ll say will fuck you up, you just know that.

“What?” he questions, your words made him stop playing his guitar and look up at you.

You let out a shaky breath. “I‘ve been in love with you for seven years.” You quickly press your lips together. Feeling the environment. Feeling him how he‘ll react. Observing him. Overthinking many things.

It hangs there, heavy and soft, too real to take back. You watch his face. First confused, then careful. He blinks like he‘s trying to remember something important. You keep going, because if you stop now, you‘ll never start again. You will never say shit again if you are sober.

“I don‘t know when it started. Maybe when we were I don‘t know... seventeen? Eighteen? And you asked if I wanted to walk home instead of calling a cab. Or when you shared your fries and said you didn‘t want to eat alone. Or maybe it was every time you told me something that felt small to you, but I carried it around for days. I don‘t know. I just know that I‘ve loved you. Quietly. Constantly. For seven fucking years.”

He doesn‘t speak. He just stares with his mouth half-open, hands still resting on the guitar like he forgot they were there. You don‘t look away. Not this time.

“I don‘t want anything from you,” you say. “I just didn‘t want to leave without telling you. I wanted you to know that someone loved you that long. That hard. Even if you never noticed.”

And that‘s when he kisses you.

He kisses you like he‘s doing you a favor. Like it‘s the polite thing to do. You feel it instantly. The shape of it, the temperature, the lack. His mouth on yours is nothing like you imagined. It‘s soft, yes, and it‘s careful, but it isn‘t full. It isn‘t real. He doesn‘t touch you like someone who‘s been waiting seven years to feel your mouth. Like... like someone who will think like fuck I want her too despite of the friendship. He touches you like someone trying to soften a blow. Like someone stalling. You don‘t even close your eyes. You just wait for the part where it starts to matter and it never comes.

You pull away, slow and stunned, like your body already knew before your brain caught up. Your face is warm, but not from the kiss. Not from anything good. You feel numb. Like a robot or something. He‘s still looking at you like he doesn‘t understand what just happened. Like you kissed him. Like this is something you started. You wait for something, anything. A breath. A question. A fucking name. Or maybe something like, Are you drunk? Or let‘s do it better, maybe call you bro? But there‘s nothing. Just his face, blank and open, like maybe you should say thank you.

So you just pulled back before the kiss could become anything. Before you convince yourself to pretend it feels like love. His hand is still on your face when you say it, quiet, tired, done. “Don‘t do that.” Your voice doesn‘t shake. It‘s steady in the way grief is steady. “Don‘t kiss me just because you don‘t know what else to do.” You wait for his face to shift. To see his reaction. To read him like you always do. For guilt, for panic, for anything human. Maybe today is the day you won‘t be able to read what the situation is because he just looks at you like you‘ve made things difficult. Like you‘ve embarrassed him.

He just sits there, watching you like he‘s hoping you‘ll backpedal. Like you‘ll laugh and say it was a joke. Like you‘ll make it easy again. But you‘re drunk enough to do that anymore. You are too aware despite the drinks. You‘re not young anymore. You‘re not stupid. You‘re just tired. Tired of loving him the way he‘s always let you quietly, invisibly, as long as you never asked for anything back.

And what gets you, what really fucking gets you is that he didn‘t even say no. He didn‘t reject you. He didn‘t turn away, or flinch, or apologize. You keep thinking and thinking that all the things you say, he‘ll be just speechless. Stunned? But he can just kiss you? Kissed you like a Band-Aid. Like pity. Like he was trying to keep you from crying, not because he cared, but because it would be inconvenient if you did. He kissed you to shut you up, and you almost let him.

You nod. Not because you understand, but because you‘ve finally decided to stop waiting. You stand. You don‘t slam the door. You don‘t say anything else. There‘s no last word. You don‘t say anything after that. You don‘t need to, anyway. Just you, leaving with your mouth still tasting like him, and your heart still convinced you should‘ve waited five more seconds, just in case. Just in case he would‘ve said it. Just... just maybe he came to his senses and said anything. Something.

You don‘t cry in the hallway. Not yet. You don‘t have the dignity for that. You just press your back to the wall, close your eyes, and try to remember what it felt like to still believe he could love you back. So stupid. So dumb for someone who‘s always receiving compliments about being smart. And when the tears come, they don‘t come loud. They come like shame. Slow. Quiet. Familiar. You feel like you just stabbed yourself in the stomach way up to your chest. That‘s how it feels. Seven years.

You think about what you said. I love you. Three words you spent seven years swallowing, and when they finally left your mouth, they didn‘t sound brave. They sounded desperate. Like you said, it‘s because you are too tired to feel it anymore. Desperate that he will love you back. It was easy to mean them in the moment, easier than you thought it would be. But now they sit in your mouth like something spoiled. Bitter. Embarrassing. You thought saying it would free you, like maybe the weight would lift once it was real. But it didn‘t. It just made you feel stupid. Like you misunderstood the assignment. Like you ruined something that was never yours to begin with. You weren‘t brave. You were just drunk. And stupid. And still in love with someone who looked you in the face and offered you silence.

𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓© 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍

𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝

[myladybelle]

𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐘 𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐍? | chapter four

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: art donaldson x female!reader x patrick zweig 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you’ve always been content being second place to your best friend tashi duncan, waiting for the day you can quit tennis. your world is upended when you meet art and patrick, and you’re forced to embrace a life in the sport you’ve been too afraid to claim for yourself. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4.8k 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬): challengers content warnings, reader wears shorts and a t-shirt, use of y/n 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: patrick girlies, this chapter is for you (sorry in advance for the angst) xx 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭

𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐎𝐑 𝐔𝐒 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐒’ 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 – 𝐒𝐄𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟏𝟎, 𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟔. 𝟏𝟐:𝟓𝟓𝐏𝐌.

It was the perfect day for a game of tennis, and you had never seen Tashi so excited to watch a match unfold. 

“Okay seriously, you’re starting to freak me out, Sally Sunshine,” you said as you took your seats, eyebrows furrowed as you stared incredulously at your best friend.

Tashi rolled her eyes, sipping from the straw in her blue Gatorade bottle. “I’m just thrilled to see two little white boys battle it out for your phone number,” she retorted with a cheeky grin. “I mean, Patrick’s probably going to win so I guess that’s unfortunate if you like Art best, but one of them is definitely getting your number.” Happily, Tashi set her drink down and leaned back on her arms. “This is going to be a great day!”

“Alright, I think you may be enjoying this a little too much,” you admitted, trying not to laugh.

“Well I think you’re not enjoying this enough,” Tashi retorted. “These two guys are going out there today, not to win the Junior US Open for their careers, but to get you to go out with them. How many girls can say that about themselves?” Your cheeks grew hot at the implication, but you tried to wave off Tashi’s assumption.

“Who says they’ll ask me? What if whoever wins asks you?” you argued.

Tashi stared at you, unimpressed. Her eyes narrowed slightly, a flat and unyielding stare that spoke volumes of her disapproval of your uncertainty. She remained silent, her unconvinced gaze conveying a clear message of criticism more effectively than words ever could. Still, she indulged you.

“That’s fucking insane, Y/I,” Tashi declared. “After everything that happened last night, I don’t know how you could ever think I’m the one they’re interested in.” She smirked. “But don’t take my word for it, let them show you on the court today. I doubt you’ll need any further convincing after that.”

Sitting at the edge of your seat, your fingers tapped restlessly against your thigh, the tension in your body reflected the tension between Art and Patrick as they came out onto the court. You were too nervous and rigid to applaud them, and each heartbeat felt like a drum in your chest as your eyes flickered between the boys. The electric anticipation in the air mingled with your personal stakes, making your breath catch with every second ticking closer to the start of the match.

It was a gorgeous day, just as Tashi had happily declared earlier; clear, blue skies with a blistering sun in the early afternoon. In the heat, you were dressed in a pair of denim shorts, a fitted red Stanford t-shirt, and your favourite white sneakers that Nike sent you for free when you attended the Junior Australian Open. You anxiously picked at the beads of the friendship bracelets on your wrist while you waited for the match to begin. 

When it did, it was your turn to be stunned by their performance.

Patrick was playing like a man possessed. 

From the first set, the match between him and Art was electric. Every stroke was more powerful and precise than any you had ever seen Patrick play in the past. The thud of the ball against the racket echoed like thunder throughout the court, and his grunts of effort punctuated the relentless rhythm of the game. His volleys snapped with a precision that left the crowd breathless, and even Tashi’s eyes darted to follow the blur of the ball with heightened interest. 

Art, drenched in sweat, scrambled helplessly across the court, barely managing to return each powerful shot. You knew he was a pretty conservative player – especially compared to Patrick’s intense, emotional playing style – but this time, he was forced into a desperate defensive stance. Patrick was quick, accurate, and relentless. Across the net, Art nearly fell over as he sprinted from one corner to the next, barely keeping up with the gruelling pace his best friend set.

“Okay, this is kind of hot,” Tashi admitted, grinning widely at you. 

“Two good-looking guys playing tennis? Yes, I see the appeal,” you joked, keeping your eyes trained on the match. “Hence the Nadal favouritism.”

Tashi snorted. “Right, but that’s not what I meant.”

“What then?”

“Don’t you get it? The real game of tennis isn’t even happening on the court,” Tashi explained to you. At that moment, Art mishit the ball and sent it soaring high in the air, giving Patrick ample time to deceive his best friend and hit a gentle between-the-legs shot, winning the point as the crowd cheered. “It’s happening right here…” she trailed off, applauding when Patrick turned to bow at you while Art stared at you dejectedly, trying to catch his breath.

Patrick took the match in straight sets.

It was the best game of tennis he had ever played, and it had the spectators begging him for more when he was finished. With the crowd, you applauded his victory, laughing when he instantly turned to find you and sent you a satisfied boyish grin. Even though Patrick had described going pro as a way to avoid having a normal job, it felt like this match meant more than that. 

Feeling overwhelmed by the crowd and the growing realisation that you had entered a game of mental tennis with these boys, you told Tashi you were going to the bathroom to excuse yourself. The nervous exhilaration of watching them play mirrored the rush you felt when you played tennis, your heart pounding and your palms sweaty. Burdened by the tension and emotional rally, you needed a moment to catch your breath and gather your thoughts.

“Hey,” Patrick called after you, running into the hallway with flushed cheeks and his racket in hand before you could disappear. 

You sucked in a breath, heart hammering nervously. No. He couldn’t be… could he? 

Plastering a false smile on your lips, you turned to meet his eyes. Out of breath and drenched in sweat, Patrick’s chest heaved with exhaustion. Despite his tired muscles, his eyes were alight with the fire of victory, radiating pure exhilaration and triumph. Your Stanford t-shirt – which cut off above your shorts to display a sliver of skin – revealed a hint of your bare abdomen. That was enough for Patrick to feel something stirring in his stomach, thinking of how his hands and lips had touched you the previous night.

“Hey,” you echoed, letting him hug you despite how sweaty he was. It felt oddly casual, considering how well you knew the inside of his mouth, but you tried not to dwell on it. “Congratulations on winning the Junior US Open! That was quite a match,” you complimented.

He smiled proudly. “You think so?” Knowing your attention had been on him for the last two hours had made him smug and confident. He was glad he’d played so well while you were in the audience and hoped you were impressed.

“Of course I do. I wouldn’t lie to you,” you dutifully replied. Patrick believed you; you were so earnest and generous last night that he didn’t think you had it in you to placate him. “You were electric, Patrick. It was really a special game to watch. You should be proud of yourself. You were doing far more than avoiding a real job,” you added.

“Well, thanks.” Patrick eyed you, trying to figure out your expression. Your words were genuine and kind, but the thin smile on your face didn’t reflect that. You hated that he could tell you were acting weird. After knowing Patrick for exactly one night, it wasn’t fair that you were an open book to him. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

You tilted your head, eyes widening in a way you hoped was innocent. “What do you mean?” you said in an airy voice.

“You have this look on your face that I can’t figure out,” Patrick explained. 

“Oh, that? I’m just channelling my inner Mona Lisa – always keeps people guessing,” you joked, hoping he’d brush it off and move on. It was unfortunate that you slipped into old habits when you were nervous, but Art and Patrick had rattled you the previous night, and now you didn’t know how to behave around them. “Nothing to worry about!”

His face fell. As you watched the joyful glow of victory drain from his eyes, your heart ached for him. “You’re making jokes to deflect me,” Patrick realised. “I thought we got past that last night?”

You simultaneously hated and loved that Patrick knew you were resorting to your go-to method of distracting people from your true feelings. 

“We did,” you promised, feeling guilty for trying to deceive him. “I’m sorry. I’m just a little tired, that’s all. What’s up, Pat?” The nickname flew from your lips without a second thought, allowing his mouth to curve into a grin.

“Well, I’m not sure if you remember the terms of our agreement, but it stipulates that I get to have the number of my choosing if I win. Which I did,” Patrick mused joyfully. “So, here I am, hoping to cash in my prize…”

You were hoping he wasn’t going to ask you.

Your stomach twisted into knots, and your hand reached for the friendship bracelets on your other wrist. The weight of having to reject a genuinely great guy settled over you uncomfortably, increasing your anxiety. Your heart raced with dread as you searched for the right words.

Patrick stood there with a hopeful smile, his lake-blue eyes shining with anticipation. Rather unlike the cocky Patrick you met last night, his fingers fidgeted nervously with his racket, utterly unaware of the impending rejection. His earnest expression and boyish excitement replaced his usual suave smirk, and you noticed how attractive he was with his sweaty tousled curls and prominent arm muscles.

“I think you should ask Tashi for her number,” you blurted out. Immediately, your eyes squeezed shut, and you realised how blunt that was. When you opened your eyes, you saw the startled expression on Patrick’s face. “That was awful, I’m so sorry–”

Clearing his throat, Patrick rubbed the back of his head and waved you off. “No, no, it’s okay–”

“No, it’s not,” you denied. “It’s just that I’m sort of going through a break up right now.”

Patrick opened his mouth to respond, closed it, and stared. “I didn’t realise you had a boyfriend.”

You chuckled awkwardly. “I don’t. It’s not that kind of break up,” you amended your earlier statement. “God, this is going to sound so stupid, I’m breaking up with tennis, Patrick.” 

“Oh.”

“I know that’s dumb but it’s the only way I can describe it.” You reached out, touching Patrick’s elbow and hoping the gesture comforted him. “This whole thing with giving up tournaments is really messing with me, and I just don’t think I can be with a guy whose whole life is the professional tennis world right now,” you admitted. “It’s going to be hard enough playing at Stanford. I don’t think I can put myself through that. It’s just too painful.”

Patrick nodded. “I get it.”

“I think you’re going to do great things when you go pro, Pat,” you encouraged, grinning at him and dropping your hand. “I truly mean that. But I’m not going to be able to pick up the phone and talk through the match with you. Not when I’m–”

“–Breaking up with tennis, I know what you mean,” Patrick filled the gap for you. He tried not to, but he looked crestfallen. His eyes lost their characteristic heat as he smiled sadly. “It’s okay. I understand.” It was like a shield went up, and his eyes suddenly seemed empty. “Are you sure you can’t give me your number? Just to piss off your mom?”

A surprised laugh escaped you. “What?!”

“Didn’t you say I was on her blacklist for my serve?” Patrick recalled. “I bet she’d hate it if you dated me.”

“As much as I’d love to see the look of absolute horror on her face when I tell her I’m going out with the guy with the disastrous serve, I’m still going to have to say no,” you replied. “I’m sorry.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “That’s a pity.”

“I think I’m just too sweet for you,” you revealed what you had been thinking since last night in the hotel room. “I’m not going to get in the way of whatever you and your kind-of-girlfriend have going on. Besides, you need someone strong by your side to amplify the best parts of you. And there are so many amazing parts. Tashi can be that person for you, I know she can.”

“Okay, yeah,” Patrick agreed reluctantly. He didn’t know what to say to you, especially after you had indeed been so sweet to him in your rejection. You didn’t realise Patrick liked that you were so lovely. He craved your honeyed words of affection and encouragement. But Patrick also wanted to please you, and the last thing he wanted was to be the reason for your discomfort, especially during your ‘break up’ with tennis. “I’ll go find Tashi, then,” Patrick decided.

You nodded, sighing in relief when he didn’t seem too upset. “You won’t regret it,” you maintained, and your smile was so beautiful it hurt him. “I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah, sure,” Patrick agreed. He searched your eyes intently, hoping to discover you changing your mind and giving him your number. A beat of silent contemplation later, he let it go, trying not to let the crushing disappointment hang visibly between you. “I’ll see you, Y/N.”

When Patrick turned around and left you in the hallway, you slumped against the wall, exhaling shakily. You put your hand on your chest, feeling your racing heartbeat beneath your fingertips. You didn’t know if you had done the right thing, but you hadn’t lied to Patrick. Even though you liked him, you didn’t think you could have a professional tennis player boyfriend right now.

Around the corner, Art was pressed against the same wall, frozen in shock at what he just overheard.

𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐙-𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐓𝐎𝐍. 𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐄, 𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐘𝐎𝐑𝐊 – 𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟐𝟗, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟗. 𝟎𝟖:𝟎𝟎𝐏𝐌.

One of the many things you and Tashi always had in common was your penchant for being on time. 

You were always punctual, a habit ingrained from countless times of being let down by your mother, who never showed up for anything but tennis matches. Your awareness of the time and dedication it took to build a tennis career made you value everyone else’s time more, ensuring you never wasted a minute.

It was a shock to the system when you walked into the Ritz-Carlton and saw Tashi waiting for you by the reception desk. 

You were awestruck by how much she had changed and yet how much remained the same. With an aching heart, you tried not to list all the major life events you had missed. There was a bittersweet pang of regret for not being there to share in those moments but also a profound relief in knowing you had carved out a life for yourself that you genuinely loved. 

As you and Tashi stood face to face, the years melted away, blending past sorrows with the awkward unfamiliarity of your present selves.

She broke the silence like she always did when you were younger. “Thank you for coming,” Tashi acknowledged. Her voice was deep and firmer than you remembered.

You nodded. “You said you needed to see me. I knew it had to be important,” you replied. “I like your hair.” It was shorter and blonder than the last time you saw her, around three years ago at the French Open. 

Tashi smiled. “Thank you. You look great, by the way. I always knew we’d get older and you’d just keep getting prettier.” 

She brushed her hair behind her ear, and shiny beads caught your eyes. They widened a fraction when you realised Tashi was wearing a homemade friendship bracelet. You couldn’t tell what was spelt out on the white beads from your distance from her, but you couldn’t help the twinge in your stomach at the sight of her wearing something that used to tie you together for so many years. 

Seeing your ex-best friend wear a friendship bracelet made by someone else was like noticing the delicate thread that once tied your hearts together had been cut and replaced, leaving you with a hole where your bond used to be.

Eyes sliding down to see what you were staring at, Tashi awkwardly moved her hand behind her back. You blinked, trying to focus. 

“Oh, um, my daughter made that for me,” Tashi admitted.

That surprised you. “Really?” you said, wonder clear in your tone. “You were always too impatient to make them when we were younger. I can’t believe you taught your daughter how to make them.”

Biting her cheek, Tashi shook her head, a potently nostalgic glint shining in her eyes. “I didn’t,” she confessed. “She learned from Art.”

“Oh.” 

Talking about Art – your first love and her husband – felt surreal to both of you. It was a topic that remained unspoken for so many years, especially after your friendship ended. Now, as Tashi finally broached the subject, it felt like too much time had passed to address it. 

“It’s one of their favourite things to do together,” Tashi explained. “It’s one of the few things she does without needing a cartoon or musical playing in the background. She really enjoys it, especially when Art joins her.”

You sighed and rubbed your forehead. “I don’t want to talk about Art, Tashi.” She relented, nodding and averting her eyes. “What’s her name?” you asked. 

Tashi lifted her arm, readjusting the bracelet and letting you see the letters printed there: LILY ❤️. 

A lump formed in your throat, and your eyes stung as you tried to hold back the tears threatening to spill. Your chest tightened with the effort to maintain composure, exhaling slowly to calm your nerves. Lilies were always one of your invisible strings as friends, a sign from the universe that you were put on this earth to be Tashi Duncan’s best friend. Now, they were a reminder of your broken friendship and Art, the boy who always bought you lilies to brighten your dorm at Stanford.

Even though the thought of a little girl who was half Tashi and half Art warmed your heart, you kept your guard up. You had been stung by your ex-best friend too badly to forgive and forget over one kind gesture.

“Why am I here, Tashi?” you wondered. Even after all these years, it was odd not calling her T, the affectionate nickname you had used since you were fourteen. 

“I need your help.”

“Why me?”

“Because you’re the only person who can fix this.”

“What are you talking about? You’re being so cryptic,” you complained. “Just tell me the truth. You owe me that much.”

Tashi inched closer. “Okay, I’m sorry. Look, why don’t we get a drink and then talk?”

“I don’t drink.” The pointed manner in which you said this wasn’t lost on Tashi, who cringed a little.

“I know. We could get tea?” Tashi offered. 

You raised an eyebrow and studied her expression. Scrutinising your ex-best friend’s desperate – yet seemingly genuine – eyes, you wondered if there was any hidden motive behind her words. After so many years apart, you were painfully aware that you would never truly know if Tashi was being honest or deceptive. It had been too long since you could tell her every thought and emotion from one glance. 

All you could do now was trust your gut and hope you weren’t walking into a trap. 

“Tea sounds fine.”

Together, you walked through the lounge and approached the bartender to ask for boiled water and tea bags. As Tashi ordered, your eyes swept the room, and your heart dropped to your stomach when you made contact with a familiar pair of lake-blue eyes. 

Patrick.

He was equally stunned to see you, doing a double take as his flirtatious smile gave way to a yearning expression. His eyes widened, and his lips parted like he couldn’t school his face and hide his true feelings.

You hadn’t seen him in a while, a very long, painful while, and you had missed him despite everything. 

A wave of panic surged through you, your heart aching with a force you hadn’t anticipated. Your pulse quickened, and your breath caught in your throat, unprepared for the flood of old emotions rushing back with such intensity. It was a confusing mix of fondness and anger, both longing for what once was and resenting the pain Patrick had caused you.

“Is everything okay? What–” Tashi caught sight of Patrick and frowned instantly. She rolled her eyes, infuriated that he had to appear now, the night you finally agreed to speak with her. “Unbelievable,” she muttered angrily. “Do you want to go up to my room?”

“W-What?” you stammered, meeting her eyes. It hurt more than you thought to wrench your gaze away from Patrick; it left you feeling empty. 

“We can take our tea up and talk there, away from prying eyes,” Tashi explained, looking at you with meaningful sympathy.

She was giving you an escape.

Well, sort of. 

“Will we be alone?” you asked anxiously.

It was like choosing between two evils; being stuck with Patrick or Art. You didn’t know which would be more eventful or painful.

“He’s with my mom and our daughter,” Tashi assured you. “It’ll just be us.”

“Yes,” you agreed, nodding. “Let’s go to your room.“

Once the thermoses filled with boiled water came, you followed Tashi to the elevators. She pressed the button, waiting impatiently for the elevator to arrive so you could avoid Patrick.

Of course, he wasn’t going to let the opportunity to speak to you slip by him. “Y/N–”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Tashi interrupted Patrick, crossing her arms and glaring at him. 

You and Patrick stared at each other. It hurt how good he looked after all this time. You actually liked the beard and shorter, styled hair on him. He looked more mature, and the reminder of all the time that had passed since you last saw him made your heart ache. 

Blue-green eyes flickered from you to Tashi. “I’m playing at the Challenger,” Patrick explained, trying to mask his irritation. He didn’t appreciate her interruption, and his image of her changed drastically when he found out why you stopped being friends at Stanford.

“Yeah, I know that. But you’re not staying here, are you?”

Patrick shook his head. “No. Why are you staying here? I assumed you guys would rent a villa or something.”

Tashi sighed. “Lily likes hotels.” Patrick stared at her, not recognising the name. “Our daughter.”

“Oh,” Patrick mumbled, disinterested. He couldn’t keep his eyes off you, hands clenched into fists to stop himself from wrapping his arms around you like he used to. “As lovely as it is to see you again, Tashi, do you think you could give us a minute?” he wondered.

Tashi frowned, looking over Patrick’s shoulder and spotted the brunette at the bar watching him in confusion. “Are you on a fucking date?”

You shut your eyes, frustrated and overstimulated. The two of you hadn’t been together in years, but it was gut-wrenching to hear that Patrick had happily moved on after everything you went through together.

“No. Well, yeah, but it’s not–” Patrick paused to rearrange his thoughts. “I just need a place to sleep,” he confessed dejectedly.

“What? Wow.” Tashi tried not to laugh.

“Can’t all stay at the Ritz,” Patrick retorted.

“Actually, you could if you wanted to,” you snapped, finally having enough of Patrick and Tashi’s verbal acrobatics. “Your meagre financial situation is entirely self-inflicted.”

Hurt painted Patrick’s features, and it was both painful and satisfying that you were the cause of it.

“Okay, well, can you seal the deal and leave?” Tashi complained. “You’re on opposite sides of the draw. You’re not gonna play each other unless you’re both in the final.”

“I don’t think we have to worry about that.”

“No, you typically fall apart in the second round,” Tashi snarked.

You were done listening to their petty fighting. “Hey, Tashi, I’ll be there in a second,” you interjected. Even though you hadn’t seen Patrick in years, it hurt to hear Tashi berating him. He’d meant so much to you for so long, and you couldn’t listen to it any longer.

Tashi eyed you carefully, pursing her lips and nodding. “Do me a favour. Stay the fuck away from us,” she told Patrick before she walked down the hallway to give you some privacy.

You didn’t know what was worse, hearing Tashi yell at Patrick or standing alone with him.

“So, uh, how are you?” Patrick asked nervously. 

You couldn’t think of any time he’d been nervous around you, not even the day you broke up. Maybe the day he asked for your number at the Junior US Open, but that felt like a lifetime ago.

“I’m okay,” you replied. “Getting ready for the US Open and, uh, reconnecting with old friends, I guess.”

“Wow. So that’s back on then? You and Tashi?” He didn’t even try to hide his distaste.

“No, not at all. She just texted and I thought I’d see why she reached out,” you explained. “Listen, Patrick, I should let you get back to your date–”

“I know I don’t deserve your time after what I did but I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry,” Patrick blurted out. You paused, watching him with big eyes and waiting for him to go on. “That night? It’s the biggest regret of my life.”

“You don’t have to–”

He looked at you knowingly. “Yes I do. I shouldn’t have done it, I should never have given you that ultimatum. I was an idiot, Y/N.”

“Patrick–”

“I should never have said that you had to say yes or we had to break up. Letting you go is the biggest mistake I ever made.” Patrick glanced at the shiny floor of the hotel and shook his head in disappointment. “I should never have told you to walk away.”

You smiled sadly, trying not to cry. Your lower lip wobbled, and your hands trembled. “We weren’t ready, Pat,” you whispered.

“I think we were.”

“No, we weren’t,” you insisted. The memories of that heartbreaking day crashed over your mind like relentless waves, devastating you in an unforgiving flood of sorrow. “If the only options are to marry you or break up, then we weren’t ready.”

“I never wanted anything more,” Patrick insisted desperately. You believed him. The anguish shone in his eyes today like it did all those years ago, the longing and devotion. “And I’ve never wanted it with anyone else.” 

“I know, Pat. I know you did. But relationships can’t be all or nothing, not for me.”

With red eyes, Patrick stared at you sadly. His bottom lip quivered like he was fighting off tears. You had never seen him like this, not even the night you broke up. “I needed to be your everything, anything less hurt, Y/N,” he confessed. “It still does.”

“And that’s how I know we weren’t ready,” you declared. 

Patrick was always a paradox. 

He was complex and inspired emotions in you at a heightened level you’d never experienced before loving him. But with that came a blurred line between fantasy and reality; he was inconsistent and contradictory, and the struggle between love and torment was exhilarating and heartbreaking.

“I just wanted to say that I’m sorry,” Patrick said when you were lost for words. He tucked his hands into his jeans pockets and took a few steps back, not wanting to crowd or pressure you. Nodding awkwardly, he bowed his head in farewell and turned to leave the hotel.

“Pat?” you called after him, voice cracking with emotion. He stopped to listen. You had replayed that night so many times over the last eight years, fantasising about how things might have gone if you and Patrick stayed together. “If we had waited and figured things out, really talked through everything and made sure we were ready… I would have said yes if you asked me again,” you revealed.

Patrick didn’t turn around to look at you until he heard your footsteps grow quiet. You joined Tashi and stepped into the elevator with her, so Patrick risked one last look at you. When the doors shut, he reached under his shirt and pulled out the gold chain that hung from his neck, fiddling with the engagement ring he bought you nine years ago.

He hadn’t taken it off since the night he proposed to you in Atlanta, the same night you broke up.

[hyperballart]

perv!art thoughts…

it began the moment he saw you around campus for the first time; you’re one of tashi’s closest friends and roommate so he knows he’ll be spotting you more often. his heart is still sore from the loss of tashi’s number, so he figured you’d be a good temporary distraction, but the second you talk to him he knows that ‘temporary’ won’t be the case.

all interactions with you are somewhat fleeting; greeting exchanges and some small talk, but it hooks him in more and more. he starts cutting up pictures of you he finds from the school’s newspaper from the sports section you’re in and keeping them in a small box under his bed. in one instance, he’d taken a picture frame from your desk when he went over to lend tashi his phone charger when she lost her own — it was a picture of you with a friend back home at the beach. he studied the way that tiny bikini clung to your wet skin, the small arch in your back, and your sweet smile every night before bed.

he gets so unbelievably hard when his mind wanders to you — which is all the time. when patrick comes to visit tashi, the four of you gather in you and tashi’s dorm to hang out. he always sneaks off with one of your belongings, small enough that you thankfully don’t get too alarmed of — his recent acquisition had been one of your used athletic shorts. he knows he should’ve thought this through when he knocks on your door and you open wearing some of the tiniest jean shorts he’d ever seen.

“hi art!”

he snaps out of it and greets you with a flustered hey before making himself comfortable. patrick, tashi, art, and you sit on the floor sipping on cold beers from the mini fridge and making conversation. art keeps zoning out throughout the night — he stares at your bare legs and thighs. he stares between them more specifically, at the way the denim is tightening with every subtle move around your thighs, he wants to rip the fabric off and kiss the red marks left behind better. as if on cue, you start to speak.

“—i don’t know where all my shorts keep disappearing,” you giggle as you adjust the hem on the ones you’re wearing, “i think they have to add cameras in the laundry room, i haven’t worn this pair since high school — god.”

art gulps as tashi replies, “maybe it’s just you at this point, this is like the 20th time you’ve misplaced something.”

the night carries on, art chimes into the conversation every once in a while and he struggles to hide his boner in his pants. he feels himself twitch when you get up and bend over to retrieve another beer. his head turns fuzzy and he replies with a stiff nod when patrick asks if he’s good.

he needs to touch his dick soon, he knows he won’t last but it kills him to be this close to you without his hands on your skin. he muffles a whimper when you get on your hands and knees and reach across between patrick and tashi to change the radio station.

you’re almost flush against his chest, he sees the way your tank top lifts up and reveals your midriff and waist, the dip in your lower back when your back naturally arches. he casts his eyes lower and notices the way your tiny jean shorts slide down a bit and tease a hot pink lacy thong — this one must be new, he hasn’t seen it in your drawer before — and he feels sweat building at his temple.

“there,” you sit back down next to him again as a rock song comes on, “oh god i’m sorry art, i didn’t realize i was gonna be in your space like that.”

“it— it’s okay, don’t worry about it,” he needs to leave now, “i actually have practice early tomorrow, i’m gonna go to bed.”

he says his goodbyes and you offer to walk him out, when you hug him he hopes you didn’t feel his erection. he quickly runs to his room.

he locks the door before plopping on his bed and immediately strips down. he spits on his tip and groans when he remembers the way you pouted when he announced his departure. he grips himself nice and hard — he bets you’ll be even tighter. he strokes himself upwards, base to head, and watches as more cum oozes from his slit. he sighs out your name as his eyes flutter shut and goes back to the way your thighs were bulging out of your shorts earlier.

“mmm, fuck,” he searches around under his pillow until he feels the stretchy fabric — your missing garment. he brings the crotch to his nose while his other hand frantically fucks his throbbing cock. he’s whining into it, the smell of you slightly lingering is enough to have him panting and really, really fucking close.

in his state of delirium he barely recognizes that he’s started licking and lapping at them, “tastes so fucking good, oh god, nnghh —“ he reaches down to his balls and squeezes them, wheezing out your name yet again as he glances to his bedside table where the picture of you in your bikini rests. he cums instantly in ropes that paint his chest.

[artdcnaldson]

tashi in the mix to this "teach me" verse hold on because..... tashi teaching you how to move your hips on a mans cock to make him crazy, on art because patrick would try to slip his tip in 😒,,,, hands on your hips, guiding you, you can feel her nipples on your back as she helps you rock back and forth over his dick.... art slipping and sliding through your slick folds, moaning when tashi turns your head to lick into your mou- i have another idea for patrick ill be back

hiiiii 🫶🩷

Rating: E (18+)

Warnings: SMUT (f!recieving oral, grinding, orgasm denial)

A/N: Your mind amazes me so bad it’s crazy. Patrick’s part is gonna be so 🤭🫶 I’m excited. Anyways. Need Artashi so bad it’s clinical

When you tell Tashi, her face contorts in a mix of annoyance and confusion. At you, for you, at them— it was hard to tell.

“Jesus, you’ve just been jerking and sucking them off for weeks now?” She asks, her lips turned into a frown

“I didn’t think you’d be upset about it,” you said shyly, feeling an uncomfortable knot form in your stomach. “It’s nothing serious between us, just—“

She stops you, laughing wryly. “No, I don’t give a fuck if they’re your boyfriends or not. I just can’t fucking believe that you’ve been getting them off and they haven’t even offered to make you cum.”

You feel heat in your cheeks. “Oh, I don’t… I don’t ever ask. It’s too embarrassing.”

Tashi rolls her eyes. “Jesus, if you can suck their dicks, they can make you cum. It’s not hard.” And she’s right. It’s not like you haven’t wondered what it would feel like for their hands to fit between your thighs, how different it might feel for their fingers to be buried inside of you— long and thick, different than yours. Or their mouths— even though thinking about it makes your stomach twist with embarrassment. “Whatever. I’ll fix it for you.”

Tashi will fix it. And that’s that.

It’s not even a day later that Tashi texts you, inviting you over to her dorm. “They’re fucking chauvinists,” she explains, knees brushing yours as you face each other on her bed. “They’re treating you like a fucking fleshlight because you’re naive. But you’re not going to be naive anymore. You’re going to get exactly what you want. What you need.”

“But I like it,” you admit nervously, afraid to let her down. “Being wanted like that.”

She smiles, brushes her hand along your cheek. “We’re not quitting. We’re leveling the playing field. They’ve given you some lessons, it’s my turn.”

Art Donaldson is a weak link— needy, sweet, eager. He’d follow Patrick or Tashi off a fucking cliff if they wanted him to. Art’s so easy that it’s no surprise when he’s at Tashi’s door fifteen minutes after she texts him.

Between you and Tashi, it’s easy to get him where you want him— desperate, wanting. All it takes are a few kisses and rubbing his dick through his jeans.

He watches, almost dazed as you kiss Tashi deeply, putting all those lessons from him and Patrick to work. And she’s like a mix of the two in a way— like she’d taken the care and hunger Art kissed with and tangled it up in all of Patrick’s intensity and need.

“That’s nice. At least they’re good for something,” Tashi murmurs against your lips. You nod, mouth open, leaning back in to kiss her again. She smiles, leans back. “C’mere.”

Tashi sits against the headboard, pulls you so your back is against her chest. Art slots in between your thighs with no instruction. He tugs down your shorts and panties at once, and your face burns as your pussy is exposed to both of them.

“Look how pretty she is, Art,” Tashi says. She’s holding your thighs apart, keeping you spread open for them. Her lips brush against your jaw and you sigh contentedly. “Give her a kiss.”

Art obeys easily, and his mouth meets your cunt like he’s making out with it. Slow laps of his tongue through your slit, tasting how wet you’d gotten from kissing them. He moans softly, nuzzles closer.

Your eyes flutter, rolling back as your body melts into the new sensation— lips and tongue, the warmth and wetness and pressure. It’s better than your own fingers, or the cheap vibrator you’d gotten at the mall.

You squeeze Tashi’s hand when his lips seal around your clit, nails digging into her palm, forming tiny crescents. “See?” Tashi says. “He’ll do whatever you want, you just have to make him.”

Art’s tongue dips inside of your entrance, making you moan. Tashi relishes in it— in seeing you experience all of it for the first time. It wasn’t fair, she decided, that she’d been left out from the beginning.

“Use your fingers,” Tashi instructs. “I shouldn’t have to tell you this, Art, you should just do it right the first time.”

He moans pathetically against your cunt as she tangles her fingers in his blond curls. You’re so wet that your body accepts his finger easily, like it belongs. He thrusts it slowly, curled just enough to brush against your sweet spot.

He’s grinding against the bed— desperate, needy. His brow is furrowed in concentration, desperate to make you cum so he can be rewarded and praised. He slips a second finger alongside the first, alternates between suckling on your clit and teasing it with soft licks.

You’re so easy to get worked up, especially when you’re sandwiched between Tashi and Art. Neither of them are surprised when you cum, hard and fast, clenching around Art’s fingers, grinding against his face.

Embarrassment and arousal mingle warm in your belly at the sight of Art’s face— all slick and wet. He leans in, kisses Tashi, then kisses you. He undresses while you’re coming down from it, wanting the two of you to lave him with attention, to take care of the aching need between his legs.

That’s not what he’s there for.

Tashi pushes him down onto his back, pins him there with nothing more than a look. He lays there trying to be patient, with his cock hard and resting against his stomach. You see it twitch as she peels off your shirt and your bra, throws her own shirt across the room.

Art watches in eager anticipation as Tashi guides you to straddle him, your wet cunt hovering right over where he wants it. His head falls back against Tashi’s pillows.

“Patrick’s going to fucking kill me,” Art groans.

“Why? She’s not fucking you,” Tashi said firmly. “You’re just going to lay there and be a prop. Be a good boy and lay still.”

His chest heaves as Tashi settles behind you, pressing her body against yours. “Alright, just move with my hands, okay? I’ll show you what boys like.”

You off wordlessly as she starts guiding your hips in slow, grinding motions. Art whines beneath you, as each slow pass of your hips makes your pussy slide along the line of his cock. His head falls back, and he tries and fails to buck up against you with his hips pinned under your and Tashi’s weight.

She guides your hips in slow circles and you whine at the same time as Art. “See?” She asks. You nod, head falling back against her shoulder. “All you need to turn his brain into mush is right here.”

Soon, the pressure of her hands on you is second to instinct— she lets her hands move up your body to squeeze and cup your tits. You turn, letting her lick into your mouth, relishing in the drag of her tongue against yours.

“Can you cum like this?” She breathes into your mouth. “Just using him like a plaything?”

You shake your head. “I don’t know,” you admit.

She just smiles against your lips, leans in for another hungry kiss. “Try.”

She guides your hand to the middle of his chest, giving you more purchase. The new angle makes you moan, eyes squeezing shut as your sensitive clit rubs against him.

“Good, keep going like that.” You almost whine at the loss of her warm behind you as she moves to sit against the wall. The perfect view of you and Art, both submitting to her whims. The sight of her with a hand between her thighs, watching you with a hungry, unabashed desire makes heat pool in your belly. Her fingers circle her clit with the skill of someone who knows exactly how to get what she needs in all things. “Look at him, not me.”

Art’s a fucking mess— red down to his chest, panting and whining beneath you. Without Tashi pinning his legs, he’s able to grind up against you, to seek that friction. Moans tumble past his full lips, and god, he looks so pretty when he’s pinned beneath you for once.

When you cum, it’s with panting moans and trembling thighs. Tashi finishes at the sight, of you— grinding down against the blond, who’s just lying there and taking it. Tashi rubs your back as you come down, smiling like she’d just coached you to victory.

You move off of Art and he’s still hard, still wanting. Pouting at the loss of the warm, slick pressure on his lap.

“Okay, you can go,” Tashi tells Art, with a soft pat against his cheek. He groans, chest still heaving, pouting. Tashi sighs. “You did your job, Art. Thank you.”

You watch him redress, obviously hard in his athletic shorts. He looks back, like he’s checking if Tashi’s going to change her mind (she doesn’t).

When he’s gone, she kisses you again, easing you onto your back, straddling your lap as she grinds her wet pussy against your thigh. “You’re such a good little student,” she praises against your lips. “No wonder they like you so much.”

tashi/patrick vignette next and they will match each others freak trust 🫶

[gladiatorcunt]

🪺 - # WINTERGREEN CANDY CANE !!

cw: canon typical mind games, baby trapping/pregnancy, manipulation, reader’s emotionally constipated, tashi’s injury, cunnilingus, cockwarming, tit fucking, established tashi & patrick (there’s no feelings between them but they stay together for reader in the beginning), lactation, not rlly smut focused despite the tags, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, ambiguous baby daddy (even though the ending can be read a certain way), one mention of patrick x art, afab reader, there’s a thought about you being injured but it’s not serious, small time skip (?) type thing and implied future pregnancies, purposefully vague/unreliable narrator vibes

patrick and art’s descriptions are heavily insp. by these posts

consider commissioning me or leaving me a tip if you enjoyed!

They never tell you that Tashi got injured on purpose. She’s too good to fall victim to what plagues so many athletes, but you don’t know that. You, her assumed rival and yet also the poster child of sportsmanship. Rivalry can bring out affection in people, it can highlight the need for someone who can understand you better than anyone else possibly could. You’ve never been anything but soft and sweet, but you can still summon the lightning streaking across the sky in your eyes when the game begins. There’s a glow around you that Tashi craves like a moth craves the shadow behind the light they fly into.

Tashi’s fall from her pedestal was painful and the hardest decision she’s ever made, but for the first time she made it for love. The set up was the easiest part, but now she has to actually make the serve. And she can’t do it alone, she’d be stupid to be blind to how her boyfriend and his best friend’s stares linger. What she and Patrick shared fizzled out a while ago, but if she lets him go, then that signs her up for a battle she’d rather avoid. Sometimes pleasure can be derived from depriving an animal of the chance to kill rather than setting it free and giving it an opportunity to go after you first.

Who knows, maybe someday you and her can share matching injuries.

Luckily, Patrick shares the same sentiment, quickly agreeing to the arrangement and plan when he visited prior to the injury. Art’s good at downplaying his toxicity, so Tashi wasn’t concerned about if he could play the part of a “worried friend”. You’ll bust into the office while she’s getting checked out to see Art there, and the infatuation you've been harboring for him will keep you in place. The queen on the chessboard who can’t really move however they please at all. Patrick will return in a “rush to see his girlfriend”, and you’ll be too intrinscingly intertwined in their web to cut yourself loose.

You weren’t the one she was playing against, but because of your “friendship” you’re there in the audience when it all goes down. The shock of something career ending happening to someone who had the most potential of anyone you’d ever seen is staggering.

You practically run to see if Tashi’s okay, and the disappointment that you might never play with her again is palpable. But she’ll be fine, you tell yourself, she has to be.

Art has already left by the time you get to the room she’s in, doing one of his parts of the plan and allowing Tashi to put everything into motion. He’s waiting nearby, running his hands through his hair as he imagines all the ways he can comfort you. Because you will need comforting later, and your future husband knows the best remedies for your incoming sadness.

You’re standing gobsmacked in front of her bandaged knee, a confirmation that this is really it. You shrug off your bag and let it slide down your arm to the cold floor. Your mouth opens but the words don’t come out. You struggle to know what to say as Tashi’s eyes meet yours.

“What am I supposed to do now, huh? My top competitors gone up and left me hanging.” You sigh, trying to keep the kicked puppy look out of your eyes.

She’s in pain and you’re making this about you. But if you and Tashi aren’t bound by Tennis, then what are you bound by. Your friendship doesn’t go beyond the court, so what do you even share now?

There’s no big declarations, no babbling where you word vomit about glad you are that she’s okay. Neither of you are those kinds of people. The energy in the air is dead, but the situation is too serious for awkward small talk. All you two can focus on is what’s ruined, but only one of you can also acknowledge what stands to be gained.

“Take a break, then.” She says plainly, a touch too proud to beg. “For me, I mean who else am I gonna let see me like this?”

That last is an attempt to lighten the mood, to use humor to point out how you’re truly the only person she’d let see her in tatters. Your eyes widen and you freeze, but then you take a seat next to the cot and take her hand. Your smile could destroy the sun, she thinks, and even if the earth was plunged into darkness you’d make it feel like there was nothing to be worried about at all.

“Okay, just for a little bit.” You chuckle and rub her shoulder delicately.

You don’t know what on earth possesses you to say it, but you realize that the absence of a challenge would drive you insane. There’s other reasons for it, ones you’re aware and ones you’re not. But you and Tashi have a way of saying just enough without ever needing to be raw and reveal what you really mean. If there’s a coherent meaning to be found.

“A little bit” ends up being forever, your pregnancies see to that.

Tashi makes Patrick and Art hinge a match solely on who’d get first crack at it; they play so savagely that you’d think they were stray dogs fighting over moldy scraps of food. She’s there when you get morning sickness and she sends the boys out with a list of what you’re currently craving at that moment. She’ll brush your hair and do your skincare for you, rubbing your belly while everyone’s asleep and telling you’re baby that she’d better be their favorite (after you of course).

Tashi takes pride in how she pleases your pussy when you’re too swollen to put in any of the work. She licks broad stripes up your soaked cunt, nipping at your clit and getting you to cream into her mouth in no time at all. She presses sweet little kisses up and down your folds, wishing you could see her love on your pussy properly. They’ve had competitions on who can make you squirt the fastest, and Tashi will never fail to mention that she’s never lost once.

Patrick gets really into cockwarming, getting you nice and settled in his lap. He has to take deep breaths so he doesn’t immediately start thrusting, he knows he has to think about the baby. But the pregnancy has made you impossibly tight, and your hormones make you go crazy for his sweat and natural musk. You’ll whine at him to hover over your head so you suck on his heavy balls. You nag about how he needs to take better care of himself, but you’ve grown to love swallowing his tangy load while you’re suffocating in his pubes.

When that happens depends on how long either of you can hold out, Patrick will tease you about how slutty you’ve been lately and squeeze your face with one hand. His cock will twitch inside of you, snug and strangled. He'll suck Art off till both of their lips are bleeding and you’ll motorboat Tashi’s tits to pass the time. You’ll start swiveling your hips somewhere along the way and his resolve will crumble like it never existed in the first place.

That’s for later though. He fastens the ugly neon cartoonish headphones over your belly and turns on the attached mic, doing storytime with the softest grin on his face.

Art on other hand likes fucking your leaking tits, he loves when drops of milk lube up the slide of his dick in the valley between them. He’ll thumb at your sensitive nipples and flick them, cooing at you when you moan and lap at his cockhead during the split second it reaches your mouths. He’ll look after your breasts outside of the bedroom. He’ll massage them and drain them for you if they’re feeling particularly sore, two of them will be latching on either tit while the third will be sucking on your tongue. His pecs bounce with every languid roll of his hips through the pocket his hands create, and he brings your hands up to them so you’ll grab on and leave scratches.

Art gives you more cum, his literal breeder balls are too big and full, and he’ll bet that he’ll give you more children. His thrusts have a certain punchy rhyme and rhythm to them while Patrick’s are sloppily enthusiastic and feral.

Art picks out supplies for the nursery with you, supporting your vision wholeheartedly and agreeing with every color and stuffed animal you choose. He and Patrick continue with their careers, and Tashi finds a way to coach them both, they need to support you and the new member of their slightly dysfunctional family. Tashi writes up the speech you give when you announce your early and extremely unexpected retirement, and she massages your feet when you collapse on the couch from the sheer emotional exhaustion. Art pecks each of your toes as she does so. Patrick plays tic tac toe against himself in the hollow of your throat.

And when the baby’s born and they can finally see who actually got you knocked up, Tashi says that maybe Patrick will get to be happy that he’s finally won something.

- faetreides 2024. do not repost, translate, or give my works to ai

[girliism]

patrick who recently got pegged by tashi and can’t stop raving about it to art. every time they’re together patrick just goes on and on about how good it felt, how you and him have to try it. art, who’s already shy about sex, feels his cheeks burn. patrick’s words rattle around in his head for days before he gets curious and does some research… three videos later and a sticky bedsheets, art starts to consider it. like patrick, tashi had already told all about it, you were just waiting for art to bring it up first. and when he did you had to bite back a smile. art, too embarrassed didn’t go inside the sex shop with you, he stayed in the car while you shopped for everything you needed. on the day it was supposed to happen art made sure to eat light and you where giddy the entire day. all cleaned out, art laid on his back with you in between his legs easing a lube slick finger into his hole. tashi told you to make sure he was nice an open before fucking him. art was whining and clenched around your three fingers as you fucked them in and out, you knocked into what he assumed was his prostate. you kissed up his chest, your tongue flicking against his nipples every so often. once he was a little bit looser, you slid your fingers out and stood up on you knees. art’s breath hitched at the sight of the pink silicone cock attached to the black harness around your hips. you made sure to use lots of lube and to slip a pillow under art’s hips before you pushed in. art thought that this must be what you feel every time as he grips the sheet. the pinching pain he felt quickly went away with every slow thrust and soon art was begging you to go faster. you already knew art could get a little sloppy when fucking, his head would bury in your neck and he’d slobber. but this was different, art was louder and whinier, tears spilled out his eyes, his head was thrown back and his leaking cock was bobbing with the movement of your hard thrust making crude smacking noises on his tummy. you pulled his knee to his chest, going deeper and art’s cock jumped, his back arching up into you. with a whoreish moan, long white roots shot out landing on your tits and his neck. you pulled out and unstrapped yourself, you held art’s head in your lap pressing kisses on his cheeks and lips. “how was that baby?” you asked, pushing his hair back, nails scratching behind his ear. “so fucking good.”

[jesuistrestriste]

I need to make Art and Patrick makeout the way tashi did but between my legs

you’re onto something

their mouths fighting for certain parts of you, licking at each other’s tongues and bumping shoulders as they moan into your core. you’ve got a hand in each head of hair, and you’re tugging and squeezing while they lap at your folds and over your most sensitive spot. they huff at one another like disgruntled dogs when one of them gets in the way of the other, but you fix this by guiding their faces to collide—urging them to kiss and make-up before they finish you off:3

[pettyprocrastination]

Art “oral fixation” Donaldson ya’ll. Type of kid who always got a pop upside the head from his momma because “quit chewing on your nails arthur! You’ll get pinworms.” A habit that was once curbed as a child but still rears it’s head in times of stress. You can always tell when he’s nervous about something because you’ll catch him absentmindedly chewing on a pen cap while working or studying. 

Art being the sloppiest and most selfish kisser on god’s green earth. It’s never one kiss (he always promises it will be though). One turns into two, then another to your cheek, then the other side and down your neck until he’s leaving hickies and humming against your skin and the funny thing is he doesn’t even have to want to have sex he just loves having his mouth on you that goddamn much. You start keeping a small travel bag of concealer in his dorm because of how often you need to hide the goddamn hickies he leaves on you everytime you visit him. 

“You might as well just not bother with covering them up.” 

“You’re not the one who looked like they got jumped by Dracula, dipshit.” 

You see the way he was waiting to kiss Tashi when she was kissing patrick? Eyes all glazed over and mouth open? Yeah that. Baby boy will gladly just suck and kiss and bite you all over- you dont even have to do anything! Just lay there and run your hands through his hair and maybe tell him he’s doing a good job now and then he’ll be in fucking nirvanna. 

The way he eats you out verges on being selfish tbh. He’s practically drooling over your cunt, moaning against your clit like it brings him more pleasure than it does for you. He won’t pull away until you’ve cum more than once and even then you’ll have to pull him away from his spot between your legs, where he’ll look at you with confusion wondering if he’s done something wrong before it melts into that grin and he’ll lay his head on your stomach, content to simply sit in this moment with you before the pair of you have to return to the normal hustle and bustle of your lives.

[d0litte]

HEADCANONS. Art Donaldson x Fem!reader

Tw: smut

₊˚⊹⋆ Can't help but get clingy with you even when you're around tashi

₊˚⊹⋆ Who already knows that Tashi noticed the way his pupils dilate whenever you appear in front of him and don't say anything

₊˚⊹⋆ Who spoils you and recognizes this, always being mocked by Patrick about how you commented about wanting a watch and the next day having it in perfect condition on your wrist

₊˚⊹⋆ He insists on having you in the front row, so you can see him win or lose, as long as you have the best view

₊˚⊹⋆ He started winning more games after you started watching him play, Tashi doesn't complain and doesn't even hesitate to invite you when she can to watch him

₊˚⊹⋆ That he can't help but be worried when you leave without warning, calling you, sending you messages and even thinking about the possibility of coming after you, wherever you are

₊˚⊹⋆ He's an idiot and every time he finishes playing he comes to hug you, no matter how sweaty and disgusting he is, he knows the difference in strength between you and him, and he knows that you would never be able to get out of his grip (he just doesn't hug Tashi because he knows she would punch him

₊˚⊹⋆ begs you to try playing tennis, which doesn't happen because even though he plays weakly with you, you can't catch the ball at all

₊˚⊹⋆ He loves to grab you, no matter if you're in public or alone, when he sees you he just runs to your small body in contrast to his, and hugs you, your face hitting his chest

₊˚⊹⋆ Can't even hide how he hit the tip of the racket against him crotch every time you leaned over to get something he needed

₊˚⊹⋆ Who started winning over and over again after you started rooting for him, always looking at you and looking for validation and a thread of pride in you, like a puppy wanting its owner's attention.

₊˚⊹⋆ Who spied Tashi telling you that if you were having sex, or he was in love with you, it didn't matter, as long as you supported him in whatever he was doing because only then would he be able to win

₊˚⊹⋆ Who gave subtle hints that he wanted you to wear shorts and tight skirts, making a point of buying from the best brands and giving them to you as gifts with some stupid excuses like "Tashi had seen them in a store and gave me the idea of buying them for you" you don't even bother to pretend that you believed it, how are you going to believe it when he is stuttering, while his fingertips turned white from squeezing the straps of the bags with different short clothes

₊˚⊹⋆ That every time he wins a very important match he runs to you and Tashi and casts glances in silent permission to hug you

₊˚⊹⋆ begged you to join his team, Damn, he had money left over to hire 10 helpers but he insisted on hiring you to do what? get him water, accompany him?

₊˚⊹⋆ Who is noisy, you've always known that, and he knows that, always whimpering when he kisses you, and it was worse when you had sex, feeling tears streaming from his eyes whenever he was close to cumming, as he grabbed your waist and put his face in your neck

₊˚⊹⋆ Who needs to hear or tell you every minute that he loves you while he fucks you so hard and squeezes your wrist so hard that you know it will leave ugly marks that are difficult to hide

₊˚⊹⋆ During the day, he calls you different pet names like darling, baby, candy, or something so outdated that you'd want to vomit if he wasn't the one saying it, but while you're fucking he gets worse, whines for hours about how you are so good to him, and how you are the love of his life

₊˚⊹⋆ he is the definition of "make love" he doesn't curse you, and he treats you so well that it hurts

₊˚⊹⋆ loves eating you out, he simply gets drunk on your pussy, pulling you to his face and eating you like he's been hungry all week

₊˚⊹⋆ Always comes up behind you and rubs the visible bulge in his shorts against your ass, he has no shame on his face

₊˚⊹⋆ He rolls his eyes and moans very loudly when he cums, he simply can't control it and his body has a life of its own

[happenssweet]

fine line bots .ᐟ

☀︎ golden | art donaldson

☀︎ watermelon sugar | art donaldson

☀︎ adore you | tashi duncan

☀︎ lights up | art, tashi, patrick

☀︎ cherry | sydney adamu

☀︎ falling | patrick zweig

☀︎ to be so lonely | dodge mason

☀︎ she | tashi duncan

☀︎ sunflower, vol. 6 | patrick zweig

☀︎ canyon moon | art donaldson

☀︎ treat people with kindness | carmen berzatto

☀︎ fine line | patrick zweig

heyyyyyyyyyy

did it take like three and a half months for this to be done? maybe!

did i also say fine line is very near and dear to my heart and i wanted these to be perfect? yes!

not usually one to list personal favorites, but... fine line patrick has been in my head a very long time and the lights up bot became a favorite during the time i spent making these

i did what like three releases in between the time i announced this and actually released it? oh well! she is here now.

shoutout to beachwood cafe just real quick because they do have the best raspberry iced coffee i've ever had in my entire life

also shoutout to harry styles for creating an album that sounds like california

i hope you guys think this was worth the wait! i've been slowly chipping away at these in secret and finally decided to just push through and finalize them tonight

if any of these greetings/backgrounds need clarification, send an ask in! promise i will tell you as much as i know!

have a request? send it to my form or drop it in my inbox!