#tennis court netting fencing

[teddy-bear-naps-and-random-snaps]

[yesimwriting]

you write art and patrick so well im literally foaming at the mouth for more

yes yes everyone pls ask me about my boyfriends that are also boyfriends to each other 🩷 (i have two extra drafts for them already)

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breath in. the pad of your thumb presses into the side of the ball. you give yourself a beat to feel the weight of it, to embrace the familiar feeling of felt against your palm. breath out.

you bounce the ball once. breath in. you squeeze the ball, knuckles briefly straining beneath your skin before letting it hit the concrete again. breath out.

finally, you raise the arm holding your racket. every joint in your body is locked into place. there's a science to a sharp serve. the ball will land where you will it to.

you release the ball, arm stretching forward. a total follow through. the ball hits the center of your racket. the force of your hit propels the ball through the air until it hits the center of the other side of the court.

ugh. the night before your qualifying match and suddenly the precise serve you spent years perfecting loses its edge. what happened to the serve that media outlets have been calling 'the ultimate point guaranteer'? why is today the day that you can only manage a perfectly average serve?

you groan, letting the disappointment's weight settle against your chest. you suck. with a sigh, you start walking towards the extra tennis balls you left near the net. your dad is so never going to get over you not qualifying for the us open.

"there she is." the voice surprises you enough to force you to still. patrick...and a few steps behind him, his doubles partner, art. "the princess of modern tennis."

you turn your head enough to glare in patrick's direction. he's referencing a title some journalist used in one article that your dad decided would be perfect for marketing materials. "don't."

normally, you like seeing patrick and art more than you can justify. you don't know if you can consider yourself their friend, it's not like you guys see each other outside of coincidental run ins at tennis events. the three of you have been to more and more of the same tournaments these days. they're familiar in a way that settles you, like the feel of tennis ball in your hand.

you try to tap into that usual warmth, but you can't quite get there. it's not their fault you're frustrated.

art gives you a look that feels like an apology. he walks forward, opening the gate to the fence and stepping onto the court. "i told him not to."

you bend down to pick up a spare ball. "i appreciate the effort."

"what?" patrick follows art onto the court. "it's on billboards."

he's seen your billboard? you don't know why you feel the need to dwell on that. you weren't the biggest fan of having a picture of yourself blown up and pasted everywhere, especially with a caption that makes potential losses extra embarrassing, but you've never been truly self conscious about it. now, you're trying to picture it in your mind, trying to remember the details of your expression, the way your hair was styled, what you were wearing.

you let go of the ball in your hand, bouncing it against the ground so that you have something to look at. "it was a charity thing."

"i know." you let yourself glance up at patrick. he's closer than you thought he'd be. you catch the ball before releasing it again. "for the youth outreach program thing, right?" before you can answer, he extends an arm, catching the ball before you can reach it. "you looked cute in it."

art looks at you again, something a little more distinct than apology behind his eyes. he reaches for the tennis ball still in patrick's hand. "patrick."

he twists his arm away before his friend can steal the ball from him. art follows him, leaning forward and grabbing his arm. "what?" their play fight grows in physicality, with each of them pushing and pulling at the other. you'd worry about the game losing its lightheartedness if both of them weren't smiling. "you stared at it for more than five minutes before getting out of the car."

"really?"

art freezes, his hand squeezing the only part of the ball patrick's left exposed. "it was a good billboard, you look pretty--looked pretty." the implication of his correction hits him a second too late. "not that you don't look pretty now, you always look pretty, but you looked really--" he cuts himself off with a sharp breath, "but that wasn't the point, you also looked like a strong role model for underprivileged young women."

the compliments paired with his uncertainty make it difficult not to melt. you beam at him. "thank you, art." you adjust your hold on your racket, both hands resting on the grip. "i think you're pretty, too."

he smiles, head briefly angling itself downwards. art manages to steal the tennis ball from his friend. you can't tell if he pulled it out of patrick's grasp or if patrick chose to let go.

"you know what the best thing to do is the night before a big match?" patrick's question feel rhetorical until you look at him. he's watching you like he's waiting for something.

despite knowing what you should be doing, you also know that you're incapable of not playing along. "what?"

"doing anything that keeps you from getting in your head." you stand a little straighter, chin angling itself a fraction of an inch upwards. as nice as the local doubles duo is, advice offered from other tennis players comes with its own sort of tension. saying that you know best implies that you see yourself as the best. "that's what's wrong with your serve."

your eyebrows briefly pinch together. "you think i'm in my head?"

he takes a slight step forward, body angling itself to make the distance between you feel even smaller than it truly is. "i think your serve is technically perfect." patrick takes a moment to press his lips together. "but you're tense."

patrick's going about this the nice way. he's focusing on what you're doing right. you technique is objectively precise, your dad made sure of that. he's coached you since you were old enough to securely hold a racket for a reason. but tennis isn't just routine and muscle memory.

there's an art to the sport, and you know the difference it makes when you're playing. you can feel when your heart is in it, and right now, all you can think about is that your retired tennis champion dad watching you in the stands.

the feeling of something warm on your shoulder pulls you out of your train of thought. you blink. patrick's hand is on your shoulder. "you need to relax."

"i'm..." it's instinct to argue, to insist that you're fine and that you'll push through, but something tells you that that'd be pointless. he'd know. "i'll work it out."

his fingers briefly press into your shoulder, the squeeze assuring and gentle. "that's your problem--work." you look at him skeptically. "you're overworking yourself, and it's putting you in your head."

art angles himself a little closer. he extends an arm, placing his fingers on the edge of your racket. "that's why you're supposed to rest the night before a match."

the thought of not being in motion isn't appealing. if anything, you feel like you have too much energy in your system. but objectively, you know they're generally right.

art gently tugs on your racket. "you should come hang out with us."

"yeah," patrick agrees with a slight hum, "you're in the hotel down the street, right?"

okay--you know the right answer. your dad would be mad if he found out you snuck out the night before a match to practice, but if he found out you ended up in a hotel room with some guys--he'd die and then come back to life just to kill you.

"um..." your eyes briefly fall to your racket. "yeah, i am." okay, you need to think of an excuse that doesn't make you sound like a little kid with a curfew. you twist your wrist slightly, a halfhearted attempt to free your racket. "but it's kind of late...and i have to be up early tomorrow."

art pulls on your tennis racket again. there's nothing overly forceful about it, but it's enough to make you look at him. "yeah, but you were going to stay out here for a awhile, right?"

"and it's good to take your mind off of things." patrick tacks on his point. "i mean--we always do something fun before our matches."

patrick stretches out an arm, the back of his hand softly hitting art's shoulder. "yeah, yeah, we do."

you press the nail of your thumb against the side of your racket's handle. "really?" you're mumbling to yourself more than anything else, "something fun."

it's risky. if anything goes wrong, you'll never hear the end of it. and if you mess up tomorrow because you're tired or distracted, you're not sure you'll be able to forgive yourself. you've already taken some risks tonight. you should quit while you're ahead.

then again, you like being around them, and they're in the same hotel as you. it can't be that bad of an idea.

you let out a reluctant sigh before finally looking up. you glance between them, too aware that it's too late for you. "okay," you breathe out, "i guess going up for a little bit can't hurt."

patrick grins. "can't hurt at all."

art lets go of your racket before taking a few steps forward. he stops once he's at your side before throwing an arm around your shoulder. "you know us." art's hand settles over patrick's. "we'd never do anything to hurt you."

warmth crawls up your chest. you're comfortable with them--maybe too comfortable. "yeah," you hum in an attempt to dismiss the feelings bubbling in your chest, "let's just go."

——

im thinking of writing a part 2 to this so if you’d be interested in that and/or would want to be tagged pls lmk :)

[fashionteahouse]

out of your league - paul lahote x reader

>>next

People kind of feared him. People knew of his hot headed ways. But you, minded your own business. Sure you’ve seen him around school, whenever he did decide to come. But you would be lying if you said you didn’t have a small crush on him.

The first time he spoke to you, he came into school late. You only shared one class together, history. He asked you for the answers for a worksheet that the class had to do. You let him copy. You just didn’t want any problems. Plus, he never really bothered you.

You would see him around the neighborhood sometimes too. Mostly playing basketball in the court by the park.

One day, you decided to take your freshly bought book, Scott Pilgrim, with you to the park. You liked to sit on the swings or the benches to feel the refreshing air.

Next to the park was the court, and there he was, playing basketball with his friends. You also recognized your friend’s, Kim, crush, Jared, on the opposition team playing against Paul.

They were already sweating and the tension was thick. The game was a was good game. The grunts and scuffle of the tennis shoes hitting the black pavement filled the air.

You decided the swing and opened your book to what you left off on. You loved this book because of the adventure aspect. You sometimes would playfully think about how it would be like if your boyfriend fought seven of your ex boyfriends to win your love. You liked how you didn’t have any ex boyfriend to begin with. That’s what made the story fun.

You hear a grunt that snaps you out of fantasy land. It was faint, which made you turn your head to its direction.

A faint view of Paul grabbing the ball that went over the fence. The ball rolled and Paul was fuming because his team was starting to fuck up. He ran back and him seeing you made you realize you were staring at him the entire time, watching him. He looks away and enters in resuming his game with such determination.

You didn’t know how you felt about that interaction but you liked how you didn’t know just yet. You got up and talk towards the benches instead. You open your book and forgot which page to resume from since you didn’t notice to save the page when you closed it.

You lazily read through trying to pay attention to what’s going on in the book but your mind wanted to know whether or not Paul wins his game.

“Who cares about his stupid game.” you thought to yourself.

With such shame, you pull out your phone and began surfing the net since you’ve gotten a bit bored. You didn’t want to just skim through a book you knew you wanted to appreciate.

Sounds of guys shouting made you look over and see a group of guys jump up and bump each other. But it was in a celebratory fashion. A bunch of “let’s gooo” and “yeahs” were uttered from their throats.

You only saw Paul shake his head with disproval but the guys were trying to pass it off as he’s being overreactive. Even trying to cheer him up but he already made distance between the group. They go another way with the game forgotten and you didn’t know Paul was close until he sat at another bench. Looking completely exhausted.

You tried your best to pretend like he wasn’t there. Maybe if you stayed still, he wouldn’t look your way. You didn’t know why you felt nervous.

“What’s the point in bringing a book to a park if you’re not gonna use it.” he spoke.

Your head pops up and he’s just sitting there staring at you, expecting your answer.

You just shrug and furrow your eyebrows just a bit. He snorts, “Could’ve just went to the library. How were you gonna get peace here?”

“I don’t know. It was peaceful. And then it wasn’t.” You said blankly.

“The game definitely wasn’t. You should know that.”

So he did notice you watching him. You kinda felt embarrassed but you didn’t want to sweat in front of his presence deciding to keep your cool.

A nervous chuckle helps you think of an answer ,”Yeah. You were pretty mad that you were losing. Did you win?”

He shrugs and stares plainly. “What do you think?”

You look at the sky, deciding what to do next.

You just pick up your book and go to the swings. You came here to read a book. Those plans weren’t going to change just because someone interrupted.

You retry your mission of getting sucked into the book’s plot and the swing’s chains are now being twisted from your purposeful turning.

“Scott Pilgrim? My cousin showed me that movie.” Paul announced and flops on the other swing.

“Oh yeah?” you reply politely and he nods once to confirm. You nod in thought and go back to your book while the storyline of the book is still fresh in your brain.

You turned the swing into a direction to where you now face your back towards him. The wind swirls, drifting your hair a bit but not overwhelming.

“Where are you going to college?” he asks you.

“Not going to one.”

“Why?” he asks.

“I have everything I need here.” It was true. You didn’t like to brag about yourself, but you had an online job that let you work, while you focused on your art. College will always be there. Right now, you were focused on having fun with your craft without the academic cloud hovering.

“The hell could be here in Washington?” he asks perplexed.

You burst out a chuckle. “You would be surprised.”

“If I could get out, I could.” He says in a playful tone.

“You should if that’s what you want.” You suggest. You were a strong believer of freewill.

“If only it were easy.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. So you opted to saying nothing. You decided to slowly unwind the chains and decide to go. The atmosphere changed. It wasn’t as fresh as it was when you first came. The scenery started to get old for that day.

You stand up and walk in confidence, with your destination in mind, to the beach. There was still hours to the day. Maybe the walk will help you get into the groove of reading again.

“Where you going?” He asked.

“Just… heading out.” You tell him.

“Alright, let me walk with you.”

You awkwardly continue to walk but he’s walking without hesitation as if he knows where you’re going.

That’s how you two sat on a log. You two just watched the waves as if you two were trying to figure something out.

“You want to know what’s crazy?” He asks softly.

“What?” you continue.

“I’ve never talked to you before but you’re nice to be around.” he meant.

You just blink. “Thank..you?” You didn’t mean to make it sound like a question and look at him.

He tears his eyes away from the waves in front of him and meet you halfway with sight.

“No, I’m serious.”

You nod and look at the waves some more.

“It is getting dark soon. I walked further than I was supposed to so I’m going to head back.” You announce.

He is standing instantly and narrows in on you. “We can hang at my place. Plus, I’ll drive you home.”

You look up with a quizzical smile and say, “Hang out? What would we do? We have nothing in common.”

He just shrugs and starts walking in the direction that would be his house. Not looking back to see if you’re coming or not.

You decide to join him. You get to get a ride home.

The walk is surprisingly quick. You try to have a uninterested look on your face. You never judged someone’s house, even if it looked different than your own.

“You want me to take my shoes off?” you ask.

He flicks him arm, letting you know to don’t worry about it.

You follow to his room and you were surprised. He had an interesting room to look at.

“You play chess?” you ask surprised.

“I play a lot of games. You trying to play?”

You sit on the edge of his bed and he sets up the pieces where they’re supposed to go.

He was in charge of the white pieces on the board.

Playing against him was different the people you’ve played. Usually, people slipped up or would sloppily sacrifice their piece just for the sake of winning, but not Paul. It was almost as if he knew which move you were going to make. Even making you on the edge of your seat trying not to let your important pieces get taken.

After he won by checkmate twice in a row and cackled your sore loser attitude.

“Okay, are you still taking me home?” You ask to get him to stop teasing.

“Now you’re ready to go home. Please!”

You just roll your eyes, “I’ve been ready ages ago.”

“Let me use the bathroom.” he says and you gather your belongings and outside of his room was like night and day. Literally. It was so dark out you checked the time to make sure it wasn’t too late.

The car ride was filled with music shuffling.

“You want to pick a song?” He asks.

“Pass. My music taste is all over the place.”

“Just put something on, will ya?” and makes the phone land in your lap.

You play a song called, Out of Your League, cringing a bit because it’s totally random but it was just the song you thought to put on.

As soon as the song was over, your house was now on Paul’s side.

“I appreciate you for the ride.” you politely tell him.

“Yup.”

“Um. Bye.”

“Mm. I don’t like the word bye. Tell me you’ll see me later.”

[yuwuta]

tennis/fencing player yuuta what if i kms he wouldnt be getting any practice done if i was around

so real…. whenever tennis is involved, it has his attention, almost completely undivided. so even though you’re flirting with him, and keep pretending to flip your skirt up, and keep pouting, the only thing on his mind on the court is helping you LOLLL he’s in coach mode fr and it’s cute because even when you’re whining, “yuutaaaaa it’s hard when they’re coming this fast! why don’t you come show me again how you do it,” in such an obvious attempt to get him close to you, but yuuta just shakes his head from across the court and tells you, “i’m sorry, i’ll go easier. you can do it, honey, i believe in you.” he’s so genuine—you’re trying to get in his pants, and here he is putting his full faith in you :((

it doesn’t stop you, though. momentarily, maybe, he tugs on your heart strings, so put some actual effort into practicing, but there’s always a tipping point when the court is littered with loose tennis balls, and you’re frustrated because this is way harder than it looks and because yuuta looks way too good in his practice clothes, and it doesn’t help that he finds any excuse to praise you, no matter how small your progress might be, and now it’s getting hotter outside and he’s sweating a little bit and you need this to be over now, but yuuta’s already going on about whatever exercise you two can try next. you need to take matters into your own hands, because clearly your flirting isn’t getting you what you want from this far, so you sigh, and skip your way over to half-court, reach over the net, and pull him by his collar for a kiss.

you can literally hear him squeak and then get himself together, put a hand on your waist and kiss you back. he’s red in the face now, and it’s not from practice, and you always find it endearing that no matter how long you’ve been together, yuuta hardly ever seems to know when you’re coming on to him; and when you he does get it, he’s still as flustered as when you first met. you find his blush so cute, you have to kiss him again, and again, and again until he’s pulling back, and stuttering, “okay, okay—we just, let me pick up the balls real quick—” to which you groan and grab him by the collar again, arching your foot to step on a rolling ball, squishing it with more force than necessary, and warning him, “that will be you if we don’t go now,” which makes him squeak in a completely different way, nervously nodding his head, “r-right, yeah, okay—i’m sorry, come on let’s—” he pauses to jumping over the net to your side, bends down to secure one arm under your knees and lift you up bridal style, “we can clean up later.” 

[bitchiswild]

On The Court

GP Huh Yunjin x F! Reader

Warnings: Smut, Exhibitionism, Creampie, and others things probs 🤷‍♀️

Word Count: 1.5k

A/n: Sorry if it’s bad 💃🏼 but enjoYyY

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"Got the hang of it now?" Yunjin inquired, leaning against the fence surrounding her private tennis court. She had just finished an extensive session. As the girlfriend of a well-respected champion, she was teaching you what you needed to know when it comes to tennis.

"Yeah, I think I've got it. Let's try a game, shall we?" I replied, eager to challenge my skills and elevate them to the next level. I got into position, ready for the ball to come right at me.

"Love!" Yunjin's voice echoed across the court, a playful twinkle in her eye as she tossed the tennis ball into the air. With graceful precision, she brought her racket down, sending the ball gliding over the net, its trajectory aimed squarely at my side of the court.

As the ball landed within my court, I ensured it bounced once before my swing. "Keep it inside the lines," I coached myself, recalling every rule and fundamentals Yunjin had taught me. Mindful to avoid the net, I prepared to strike. With precise timing and just the right force, I sent the ball soaring over the net, a blend of power and control behind my shot. It zoomed past Yunjin after a single bounce on her side, earning me 15 points.

Excitement bubbled up within me,Yes!" I yelled out in sheer glee. "Ha! In your fucking face!" My triumphant outburst echoed across the court, a mix of elation and competitive spirit driving my words.

"Pretty good, babe," Yunjin said, initially shocked, but the surprise quickly faded, replaced by a smirk.

"Game on."

As the game went back and forth, the scores kept climbing until we reached this critical moment where every point mattered. The tension thickened around Yunjin and I as the final round loomed, signaled by the ball tossed into the air. I focused hard, determined to win. I wanted to prove a point—to show Yunjin that Y/n L/n did indeed grasp tennis, despite just learning it.

I was convinced I could pull off a win. Crushing Yunjin's ego seemed like a golden opportunity, and I was totally up for grabbing it.

Surveying her position at the far-right corner of the court, I seized the chance to smash the ball towards her opposite side. The ball raced across the court at a blistering pace, catching Yunjin off guard. She dashed toward the ball on the other side, attempting to keep up, but by the time she reached it, it was too late for her to make a hit.

A surge of realization flooded my face as I witnessed the ball whiz past Yunjin. I had won the game—yes, I had actually won! My body erupted with excitement, and I couldn't contain myself. "Yes! Hell fucking yeah! In your face! Did you see that, Jen!? "I beat you!" I exclaimed in pure triumph, relishing the victorious moment.

Yunjin's faint smile revealed a hit to her usually unshakable ego. It was clear that losing had hit her hard, especially since she's usually the one who dominates in tennis. "Congrats, babe," she conceded gracefully. "That was a good game."

I rushed up to her, unable to contain my excitement about the win. "Did you see that? The ball just sailed past you! Oh my goodness, that was too good! I wish we had cameras for a slow-motion replay!"

"Alright, Y/n, we got it, you won," Yunjin said, her tone beginning to carry a hint of irritation.

I pouted teasingly at her. "Aww, is Yunny Hunny Bunny’s ego feeling a little busted because she lost to her girlfriend?"

“It is not. My ego is fine.” She huffed,trying to maintain her composure.

"Hmm, sure, whatever you say... my little loser," I teased, a playful smirk on my face.

“Can you please stop calling me a loser? I get it already” She said looking even more annoyed.

"Is Jennifer Huh mad now?" I exclaimed, feigning shock with a playful grin.

“No… I'm not now, please shut up.” She said with an embarrassed, frustrated look on her face.

You leaned up to her ear and whispered “Make me.”

Once you leaned back you stared at her face. Lust clouded her eyes instantly. Immediately she grabbed your neck and pushed you over to the fence roughly. You stared at her, knees buckling, while she looked at you up and down knowing that you will always be on your knees for her. She leaned down to your ear and whispered “Look at you, always weak for me. Always willing to be on my knees sucking my cock like the slut you are.”

You started breathing heavily as she kissed down my neck. One hand on your neck while the other slowly itches down to your skirt. You lifted your head up to make room for her. Yunjin finally reached down to your covered pussy, rubbing it slightly. Tightening her grip on your neck. You held in a moan.

“I want to hear you scream while I fuck you senseless. Let the whole neighborhood hear you, got that baby?” She husked. Too turned on to utter a word Yunjin gripped my neck harder

“I said do you get it” She said once again .

“I will,” You whimpered.

“Good”

She spun you around roughly making sure you were facing the fence, pulling your skirt down to your legs, she started rubbing herself against you, making you even more wet. “Fuck, baby” she moans. You were holding on to the fence, looking back at her dry humping you. She then pulls her own skirt down to her legs whipping her cock out. You reached behind, and stroked her cock in your hands. Her hands slide along the outside of your thighs, then in between them, sliding against your slit. Fucking you with her fingers.

“Mmm fuck Jen.” You moaned out.

She coated her fingers with your juices, sucking them clean. Her cock slid through your dripping pussy. “Please no teasing” You whined.

She chuckled, gripping your hips tightly “Anything for you baby.” She then pushed her entire length into your pussy. “Fuck baby, you’re so fucking tight every single time” She moaned out and started to thrust hard and deeply inside you.

“Oh my fucking god” You screamed.

“Yes that's it baby, scream for me. Scream so the whole neighborhood can hear how good I fuck you. How I can reach deep inside you and fuck you so hard, so you can feel me for days.” She husked. Thrusting into you hard, making your body and the fence move with each thrust.

“You feel so good, I'm so close.” You moaned out loudly.

“No. Hold it. Don't you dare cum yet” She said, slowing down her thrust .

“Please, Jen..” You whimpered.

Her hand goes back up to your neck and slightly grips it. “Who’s pussy is this?” Her thrust is still agonizingly slow making me ache to cum. “Yours! Fuck! It's Yours!” You whined tears threatening to run down your face.

“Please let me cum!” You cry out.

Yunjin smirked “That's my girl,” Her thrust quickens once again making you moan out loudly as you get closer to the edge. Yunjin felt your walls flutter around her, she knew you were very close to the edge. Her other hand reached over to your front to rub your clit. That is all it took to send you over the edge.

“Shit Jen I'm cumming,” You screamed out.

She kept up her thrusts “ That's it baby cum for me. Cum all over my cock, soak it.”

Euphoria washes over your body as you came. Gripping tightly onto the fence so you don’t fall down. Yunjin is still thrusting into you as you came over-stimulating your whole body. “Please no more,” You told her weakly.

Coming back to my senses she now pulled out of you and spun you around, you weakly faced her after being overstimulated. She rests her forehead against mine, breathing heavily, gripping one of my thighs and lifting it.

“One more baby I know you can do one more,” she says to you.

The head of her cock enters you again then her whole length causing both of you to moan. Her thrust starts slow then slowly increases. “Fuck baby I love you” She moans out. You felt her cock twitch inside you signaling that she is cumming soon.

“I love you too, I’m almost there” You moaned.

You bounced on her cock while she thrust in you. Our moans getting louder. You clenched around her cock as you came hard, making your whole body shake with pleasure. Yunjin's thrust quickens but it gets harder to thrust since your pussy is like a vice around her cock. Her hips stilled as she cums. Her warm thick cum fills your pussy and you moan at the feeling.

Holding on to each other as your highs came down, breathing heavily. Yunjin pulled out, making you moan now feeling empty. Her cum starts leaking out of you. She reaches down to swipe it up and shoving back inside your pussy. You moan at the contact.

She leans down to my ear “Just so you know baby, I let you win” she grins pulling up her skirt and walking back to the court, she turns around and stares at you while you were still leaning against the fence, catching your breath. “Now get dressed, we are playing another game.” she smirks.

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[lemmetreatya]

tennis player!nanami whos so fucking determined to win his local majors, but even more grateful that he has a friendly opponent who's always willing to allow themselves to be what he matches himself up to.

but one thing tennis player!nanami knows about himself was that he was a man of great will but one of little resistance. when he thinks about it, tennis player!nanami believes your only flaw is that you were always so willing to use a person's weakness to your advantage — even if it meant losing at the extent of yourself.

how you'd bend a certain way when picking up stray balls, or the way you'd lean over the tennis net to taunt him to do better, or even how you refuse to wear the usual skorts, and always opted for wearing shortless tennis skirts when playing doubles against him. tennis player!nanami knew it was all a ploy but he struggles to deny it.

but one day, tennis player!nanami realises that he's had enough.

dusk had long gone and the usual park audience had trickled home. it left only you and tennis player!nanami underneath the darkening evening sun — the court only seeable via the lamps that dotted the pathwalks. the two of you had been playing sets all day but tennis player!nanami just hasnt been able to win. lose after lose after lose, so much so that tennis player!nanami aggressively slams his tennis racket against the tarmac with a loud ���fuck’, the blonde man instantly walking away from the pitch just so you knew that his outburst wasn’t directly aimed at you.

but with a sweaty yet excited grin, you try and catch your breath as you place one hand on your hips and spin your racket in the other.

"come on, ken! you giving up already?"

and tennis player!nanami groans into his hand because he knows you're taunting him. he knows you're trying to gauge an exemplary reaction out of him but he’s savvy, he’s cunning, he thinks he’s better.

“i’m not giving up.” he says before beckoning you to his position off court. and stupidly you follow through because you’re so unaware of the darkening cloud that grows over his face.

“well, it kinda looks like you are to me!” you gleam.

but the smirk is quickly wiped off your face once tennis player!nanami lightly wraps his hand around your neck and pins you to the court cage as he hungrily captures your lips between his.

and its all so hot, very hot, because you can feel tennis player!nanami’s dick print press against your thigh and hiked skirt whilst his other hand fondles its way up your tennis vest. but as he subjects you to a lack of his resistance, all you can think to yourself is ‘finally’.

tennis player!nanami ends up viciously fucking you against the court cage, the unoiled cricketing against the pressure of the high fence no match for the loud slaps and moans that the two of you shared during sex. his core strength allowed him to hold you up against the cage as he pistoned his cock in and out of your easy-access cunt.

and it’s animalistic how tennis player!nanami almost growls upwards at the appearing moon, his stamina keeping him going way longer for someone who’s just been playing tennis for the past hour or two. the both of you moan into the others mouth, spit slicked lips and wet sexes — you’re sure you’ve never felt this full whilst this moist.

"i'll walk you home." tennis player!nanami says as he pulls his tennis shorts over his cock. you were well spent, still out of breath, but definitely in the mood to keep going — you’re not even sure where your knickers went.

"you don't even know where i live."

tennis player!nanami only huffs as he goes to pick up his, and your duffel bags, by the racket net. he slings them both over his shoulders with little to no care of your objection.

"don't need to, you're coming to mine." tennis player!nanami makes an effort to turn round and give you a look that signalled to hurry up. "we've still to finish what we've started."

[backtothefanfiction]

Drunk Tennis

Summary: drunk shinanigans result in Felix living up to his nickname

Warnings: drinking, hurt/comfort

“Okay! My turn!” You called out to the group as you kicked off your heels and made your way over to the net where they had all gathered to pass round a fresh bottle of bubbly between them.

“Yes!!!” Venetia cried, “Now we can do boys versus girls!”

“Yeah but then it’ll be three against two, that’s hardly fair.” Felix interjected.

“It’s fine.” Farliegh piped up, “I much prefer being umpire anyway.” He said taking one of the mostly full champagne bottles, lifting it to his mouth to take a swig, only to quickly hold it at arms length as it frothed and he almost choked on it.

You felt Venetia smash into your side as you all chuckled.

“Come on you lot! Rackets up!” Farleigh called as he climbed up onto the umpires seat at the side of the court.

Felix smiled at you, holding out the bottle in his hand for you to take a drink before the game began.

“Watch that smirk Catton.” You said with a sly smile as you lowered the bottle from your lips again to hold it back out to him.

He scoffed, dipping his gaze to the floor with a shake of his head, “Yes because those tennis lessons I paid for you to take last summer were so successful.”

You shoved the bottle back into his chest and both he and Ollie laughed as you pouted.

“Oh it’s on brother.” Venetia rallied beside you, holding out her tennis racket in front of her like a sword with which to challenge him with.

“Very well.” Felix mused, flashing his cocky smirk and you and your sister again as you all slowly began to step backwards into position to start.

“Right, everybody! I want a clean match!” Farliegh said between dramatic swigs of his own bottle.

“Wait, who’s got the ball?” Venetia shrieked.

Felix gave a quick cheeky wave of luminous green between his fingers before he began to toss it in the air, forcing everyone to snap to attention.

He hit a perfect serve towards his sister who jumped to the left with a shriek as the powerful serve almost hit her in the arm.

“Hey!” She shrieked again, “I wasn’t ready.”

“Farleigh?” Felix turned towards the umpire for his decision.

“Huh?” He said lowering the bottle from his lips again, “It stays in.” He quickly decided instead of letting on he wasn’t fully paying attention.

“What!??” Both you and Venetia cried as Oliver and Felix cheered and high fived each other and took another drink.

“Fine.” You huffed, hoisting up your skirt and marching towards the ball that had rolled to the edge of the court, nestled into the surrounding fence.

They were still laughing, joking and drinking when you got back into position and took your own rapid serve, hoping to catch them equally off guard. Apparently you had no such luck as Felix sent the ball straight back. It hit the ground right in front of your feet and you stumbled back as you avoided it hitting you in the face. As you stumbled back, your feet got caught on one another and you fell hard on your bum and when you relaxed into the embarrassing moment, letting your whole body just flop on the floor, your head hit the ground a little more harder than you’d intended. Everyone hissed and cringed as you allowed yourself to play victim to the floor.

“You alright?” Felix said, rushing to your side.

You lifted your hands to cover your eyes, worried you’d cry and not wanting them to see or accuse you of being silly. It was just a silly tumble after all. But it was the shock and bruise to your pride that had you feeling teary.

You grunted as you felt Felix’s arm move carefully around your back to try and lift you up into a sitting position and you reluctantly let him. When his hands reached for your hands to pull them away from your face, you let him do that too.

He raised his hand, “How many fingers am I holding up.”

You scowled, it had been a little tumble and bump to the head, was he really going to check you for concussion. “Are you serious?!” You snapped, even more embarrassed as the others gathered around the two of you, the game and their drinking firmly on hold until they knew you were okay.

“Yes, I’m serious.” Felix said, waving his fingers in your face again.

“Fix.” You tried to argue.

“Just answer the question.”

“Three. Fucking Jesus. Three.”

“Yeah, she’s fine.” Farliegh joked. Felix just shot him a glare.

“Maybe we should call it a break for the evening?” Felix suggested.

“What and let you guys win before we’ve even had a chance?” You said, pushing Felix away, feeling for your racket on the floor and getting to your feet. “Nice try fix. But it’s gonna take more than just a bump on my ass to stop me from beating you boys.”

“Yeah!” Venetia agreed, stepping to you and offering you a high five.

“Fine, on your head be it.” Felix said, “but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

[toxicanonymity]

Late Night Dip 💦

2300 words, night walks!Joel x f!reader

thank you for the mood board @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog

SUMMARY: Not much plot as usual. You go to the neighborhood pool after hours. Joel joins you for a late night dip and more of what you can't get enough of. A/N: CAN READ ALONE, but it’s in night walks (AU) with their dynamic established. Maybe a good chance to dip your feet. WARNINGS: I8+ mdni public, outdoor, oral f receiving, unsafe P in V in the pool, creampie / coming inside, kinda aggressive joel (to your delight), drugs (weed), references to stalking. PWP

Late one night, you text Joel to let him know you're going to take a dip. He had suggested a swim before but you hadn't taken him up on it yet. You don't exactly invite him, but his house is close to the pool and you imagine he'll show up.  He texts back, “bet you’re gonna get real wet.”

It’s after closing so the whole property is dark except for one dim, flickering light by the tennis courts, and the moonlight.  When you get to the pool, you reach over the fence to unlock it from the inside.  Some leaves are congregating in the water at the shallow end. You carefully grab the net off the fence and fish them out. It's gratifying seeing the water clear. You dump the leaves over the fence without banging it on the fence, then hang the net back up. You dip your toe and the water is a little more chilly than you expect, but not awful.  You sit down on a lounge chair, not ready to get in. You check your phone and Joel hasn't said anything else. 

Before taking your cover-up off. You unwedge your swimsuit and your hand lingers in the crotch of your bottoms. Are you as wet as you feel? You dip your finger into the pool between your legs. Yeah.

Joel's disembodied voice says, "Mm. Already?" You turn around as he emerges from the woods. "Save some for me."

"Jesus. What are you doing back there?"

"like seein' ya get all horny for me." He probably cut through from his house.  But he’s so . . . .stealthy.  He just has that air about him.  He’s like a cat, prowling around. 

"Joel," you sigh and roll your eyes. 

He lowers his voice, "say it again, baby" as he scales the fence. 

He sits down on the pool chair next to you.  He faces you and leans forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped. “waitin’ for me to get in?” He has a joint behind his ear.

You think out loud, "how many times have you spied on me?"

He smiles to himself and reaches for your thigh.  You get butterflies at the contact.  He slowly caresses your leg, shakes his head and says, "however many gets you off, pumpkin’.” Then he teases, “Don’t bother ya, huh?” He winks and gives your thigh a squeeze.  “Gets ya hot and bothered.” 

Your face burns and he looks pleased with himself when you change the subject. “Water’s chilly.”

Joel takes off his shirt, revealing the long necklace he was wearing when you saw him out before with the blazer and low cut shirt.  You wonder if he went out tonight. 

“C’mon.  I’ll keep ya warm.”

He stands up and his crotch is at eye level.  His swimsuit is mint green, mid-thigh.  It looks good on him.  He’s barely hard if at all.  Why are you insulted? He’s been there all of five seconds.  He reaches in his pocket and takes out his phone and a lighter.  He puts the phone down on his shirt, along with his chain. He sits on the side of the pool and puts down the lighter and joint.  Dozens of back and shoulder muscles all engage as he eases himself into the pool, and god his back looks nice. You have to imagine it looks even nicer when he’s fucking you.  

—--

Once he’s standing, he turns around and rests his forearms on the edge. He sticks the joint in his mouth and blocks it from any light breeze as he lights it. You take your cover-up off, but still don’t make a move to get in.  He tilts his head and checks you out, then exhales. He nods his head back toward the pool invitingly. “C’mon, sugar. Ain't that cold.” It's not, really. The profile of his messy hair and strong shoulders does something to you.  

You stand up and adjust your top. 

He raises his eyebrows at you, then mutters with a straight face, “Why bother.” 

“Why bother. . .” you repeat contemplatively as you sit down at the edge of the pool.  You wince as you put your feet in.  Joel immediately nudges your knees open and puts himself between them, still holding the joint. Your feet graze his swimsuit.  He takes a small puff and puts it aside on the cement. He reaches one hand up to touch your neck, running his fingers over the halter tie of your bikini top as he holds the smoke in his mouth. Then he slides his hand up to your head, looks at you darkly, and gets on his toes.  You dip your head toward him as he exhales into your open mouth. 

As you accept his breath, he pulls the string to untie your top. Your hands reflexively go to catch your swimsuit against both breasts and you narrowly avoid choking. Meanwhile, he pulls the string on your back.

You’re too busy finishing your inhale to say anything.  Your hands hold the dangling swimsuit to your chest.

Joel pulls back and looks you in the eye.  He reaches for your cleavage and forcefully yanks the strap between the cups, taking the swimsuit out from under your hands and tossing it aside. You turn your head and cough, then say, “What are you–” 

“Shhhh.” Your hands are still over your breasts. His hands rest atop your thighs.  You look down and watch his strong, masculine hands run up your thighs to your hips. He grabs your ass and nudges you closer to the edge. “C’mon.” 

“It’s too cold.” 

“not to get in.” He eyes your swimsuit bottoms.  You scoot forward a little, and his broad torso keeps your thighs spread wide as you get closer.  “Good girl,” he murmurs to your crotch. You feel exposed with your legs open outdoors, but it’s not like he hasn’t been between them plenty of times. 

He doesn’t waste any time. He sinks down into the pool so his head is at cunt-level and plants his mouth right above the crotch of your swimsuit. He kneads your ass and presses his lips into your clothed mound, moving his lips slow but hard. There’s something really hot about him from this angle.  His head between your legs, shoulder muscles flexing in the moonlight. He pushes his tongue against the fabric and devours you through the swimsuit. His head moves between your legs.   Suddenly the cool air is on your ass. He’s untied your suit. 

You finally let go of your breasts, resting your hands behind you. He moans into the front of your swimsuit, and his tongue pushes it aside.  Then pulls it down gently with his teeth as his hands grab your ass.  His lips latch onto your clit and he gives it a kiss, looking up at you.  Then he pulls his head back and thumbs your folds.  He gives a low whistle at how wet you are. “God damn.” He returns his head to your cunt.  He licks between your entrance and your clit, then sucks.  You finger his fluffy hair and he moans into you as he sucks and laps, then pries his head away and looks at you darkly. 

—-

You sit up straighter and his mouth goes to your bare breast.  He sucks your nipple and thumbs your clit. Then he releases your breast with a, “fuuck.”  He looks back and forth between your breasts and sighs with a pained look on his face.  Then one of his hands goes between his legs and that arm is slowly moving as he sucks your other tit.  When he pulls his head back again, his voice is low and hungry. “Get in.”  The look on his face makes you wonder how urgently he needs you and what he’ll do if you drag your feet. 

“It’s too cold,” you say. It's not really--your feet are warm now that you've adjusted. You can feel how warm he is, too.

One corner of his mouth curls up, then his face darkens. “C’mon, baby.” He palms himself. “Know you want this cock.” 

You sigh. “So why don’t you get out and give it to me?” 

He wraps his arms around you and buries his face in your chest. His scruff scratches your breast as he commands into your skin, “get the fuck in here.” His arms tighten around you and he pulls you into the pool, leaving your swimsuit behind. Your legs wrap around his waist as he falls back with you. He holds you by the ass and helps gravity pull you down against him so you feel him rock-hard through his swimsuit.  He sighs "yeah," and you whimper at the contact.  He moves you by your ass and grinds your front against his hardness and you take a deep breath. Your nipples are hard. He’s keeping you warm, just like he said. You don’t even care that you’re completely nude in the neighborhood pool. 

You’re in the middle of the 4’ section, aching for him to be in you.  Your arms are resting on his shoulders with your wrists crossed behind his neck.  He reaches between you and urgently tugs down his waistband. You look down into the water as he holds his cock straight and guides you by the ass, covering his tip with your cunt, nestling himself for entry.  He pushes his tip inside, and pulls you down hard on his cock, parting your walls in one go and bottoming out with a grunt.  He sighs “fuck yeah,” tilts his pelvis back, removing half his length, then closes his eyes with a twitch of his perfect nose.  He meets you with a sharp thrust as he pulls you down even harder and sighs. 

His voice is hushed.  “Been wantin’ it all week, right?” His mouth hangs open as he wraps his arms around you and manhandles you on his cock.  He snarls and sighs.  He breathes heavily, moving you up and down. “Yeahh.  He takes a deep breath and reads your face, sheathing himself inside you as he wets his lips.  Then his lips latch onto yours. He feeds you his tongue in rhythm with his cock.  He moans into your mouth and slowly moves his lips with yours as he fucks himself with your body.  You help with your legs pulling you onto his cock in his rhythm. You break the kiss with a moan. As many times as you’ve had it now, it still gives you butterflies all over, the way he fills you up. 

Still sheathed in your warmth, begins to slowly make his way back toward the wall.  When he gets there, he puts his arm behind you, protecting you from the ledge. He bounces you on his cock as he picks up the joint and takes a drag. You latch onto his neck and he exhales “ohhh, baby.”  Then he puts the joint down and backs a foot away from the wall.   He grabs your ass with both hands and breathes “fuck”  as he ups the intensity again. You sigh. 

 “So” He pulls you down, “damn,” thrusting hard, “hot, baby.” He’s hitting your g-spot. “God damn,” he whispers. “God, this ass.” He squeezes the cheeks.

“Fuck, Joel-”

“Turn around for me,” he lifts you off him and turns you around. You grab the ledge of the pool and it’s not even a split-second before he shoves into you from the back with a grunt and thank God you're so wet with your own slick. His arm snakes in front of you and he grabs your breast as he stuffs you with his cock.  His lips latch onto the side of your neck and he moans “Mmm” as he kisses then nibbles at your neck. Your core feels dizzy with mounting pleasure, and pressure builds with every thrust. His teeth bear down on your neck and then he sucks gently, then hard.  You wince at the thought of the mark. 

Joel’s mouth breaks away. “Relax,” he murmurs as he buries his length inside you. “God damn.”  He reaches for the joint.  He gropes your breast and fucks you a little slower, pressing his chest all the way up against you as he takes a drag.  He looks at the joint as he exhales, then he reaches around you and brings the joint in front of your lips.  You take a puff. He sets it back down and ups his intensity again. You sigh as you exhale.  He whispers, “hell yeah.” 

He brings one hand to your clit and another to your breast and fondles you as he fucks you harder. You begin to whimper on the edge of bliss and he says, “Yeah, come on this cock, baby.” He works your clit and bottoms out with each harsh thrust. “Fuck yeah, c’mon.” Your whole abdomen tightens, then your head falls back as you see stars.  You moan and he palms your breast.  He fucks you through it as you flutter around him. “God, yeah,” he pants, “Oh yeah, fuck—nngg” He groans and slams his cock into you. He begins to pulse, releasing his warm seed.  He hums, “mmm” as he slowly plunges to the hilt a few more times, emptying his balls. Your cunt spasms lighter and you sigh. 

Joel bends his knees and noses your ear.  He wraps you in a hug, still inside you. When he begins to pull out, You tighten your legs on him, trying to keep him. 

Something rustles in the dark.  It’s just a raccoon at the treeline, but you’re suddenly very aware of your full nudity.  You stand upright, letting his cock slide out of you as you push yourself up out of the water.

“Ok,” he whispers. He pulls you back onto him, pivots to the side and holds onto the ledge with one hand, letting you lay back on his chest as you both come down from your high. You lay like that for a minute or two, feeling his breathing against your back as his cock softens. 

“Up for a dip any time, pumpkin,” he says in a hushed voice as he hands you your bikini top.

----

Night Walks AU for more of this menace starting when you meet him.

Thank you so much for reading! Please consider commenting and/or reblogging if you enjoyed it.

----

All Joel:@ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @xdaddysprincessxx @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @jasminespringtime @romanarose @fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore @blackvelveteen1339 @manazo @wolvesandvampires @taeslarityy @str84pedro @lokanda  @kyloispunk @filthfairy @fieryglutenfreechickennoodles @harriedandharassed @moonlightdivine @worhols @fan-fiction-floozy @cutesyscreenname   @weddingfairy @pedropascal-whore @spideysimpossiblegirl @feministfanboi @gracieispunk @prettypartyfavor @am-3-thyst @babeincolor @milla-frenchy @switchbladedreamz @within-the-depths @am-3-thyst @may-machin @pedromania91 @sloanexx @paleidiot

nw tags on @toxicfics reblog

[jazziejax]

Queen Treatment for

The King

Pairings- Tashi Duncan x black!OC, Art Donaldson x black!OC, Patrick x black!OC

Summary- cute, sexy, and heated moments between Dion King and her best friends who adore her

Warnings- anxiety attack??, jealousy, crying?, confessing if feeling, girls kissing ;)

Jazzie’s Notes!- sorry for any typos or mistakes, it is yet again, 1AM…I guess this is when I thrive??? It’s also not proofread because I don’t enjoy reading my own work :)

Word Count- 3,239

Part I, Part II

The only that Dion could hear was the sound of her small grunts that sounded through the empty tennis court as she hit the ball back and forth. She was currently practicing with one of her teammates. She had asked the girl to match her in the cafeteria earlier, catching her with some of her friends. The table had gotten quiet when she walked over but she didn’t care. Daphne agreed and Dion walked away, but she could hear the hushed cheer between them. She was a good player but nowhere as good as Dion. Although said skills weren’t anywhere on display at the moment. She was struggling to play against some regular who could barely keep up with her.

She was in her head after what Patrick had told her. She knew she told the boy to let the whole situation go and she’d talk to the girl but it’s been two days and both of them have been MIA with the other. She and Tashi never had something like this happen between them and it was throwing Dion off her game.

Instead of focusing on her opponent, watching their moves to see their weaknesses and strengths, whether they were better at a backhand or forehand, she was listening to the sound of her heartbeat. She could hear the sound of her feet hitting the ground in an irregular pattern. She could hear the sound of other people practicing tennis beyond the fence. All those things distracted her from thinking, trying to make her mind blank.

Trying to erase the thoughts about what Tashi was doing right now. Trying to not think about what Patrick said about Tashi. Trying to think of something other than the fact she still had feelings for her best friend. Trying to stop the feeling she got in her heart and her stomach whenever she thought about her. Felt that she was near. Trying to rid the thoughts of the girl who’s been plaguing her mind since they were thirteen.

She swung with all her force when the ball came her way, causing the bright beam to soar across the net. Daphne ducked as the ball passed her, barely skimming her shoulder. Dion slammed her racket down in frustration, letting out a loud groan. She was out of breath as she racked her fingers along the surface of her tight bun. Her back faced the girl on the other side of the net as she tried to collect her thoughts and calm her heart. Her fingers clasped at the nape of her neck, Daphne could see her shoulders rise and fall quickly, sweat glistening in the sun off her back.

Quicker than usual.

Concerned, the girl hopped over the net and jogged over to Dion.

“Hey, D, you okay?” She asked, stopping a few feet away from the girl. But Dion didn’t answer her, she couldn’t hear her. Her mind and heart were racing as she took in deep breaths. Her head started to spin, so she bent her knees and rested her hands on them to keep her up. She could feel her throat closing up in her. Worried, Daphne eased closer to the girl. She placed her hand on the girl’s back, not minding the sweat she could feel beneath her fingers.

“Hey, you’re okay. You’re alright.” She tried to soothe. Seeing that it wasn’t helping the girl, she looked around to see if there was anything to help her. Catching the sight of her water bottle sitting near her bag, the girl ran over and grabbed the large bottle before running back. She squatted down to the girl's height, handing the bottle to her. “Here, drink this.” She said, grabbing Dion’s wrist and placing the bottle in her hand.

Dion immediately twisted the cap off the bottle. She stood up and threw her back bag, starting to chug the cold water in the metal can. Daphne just stood there, watching as the girl put her mouth on her water bottle. She could see some water spill past the mouth and make its way down the girl's sweat-covered skin. Dion then brought the bottle down once she was down, causing Daphne to gulp and snap back into reality.

“You good?” The pale girl asked her long brown hair in a high ponytail. Dion looked over at her, hard brown eyes making contact with her green ones. She was a little taller than Daphne, who found it and her general aura to be a bit intimidating. Especially now.

“Yeah.” Was all Dion said, still trying to catch her breath, although it was better than earlier? She looked down at the bottle in her hands, the unfamiliar feeling of the metal cup in her hand. “Uh, sorry about your water.” She said, looking back up at her teammate and pointing at the bottle. “I drink it all.” She then held it out for the girl to take.

Daphne, who was a little more nervous than before, awkwardly chuckled as she took the bottle back. “It’s no problem at all.” She said. There was an awkward pause between them, both girls looking anywhere beside each other with their minds clouded.

“What was that, just now?” Daphne suddenly asked, causing Dion to look back over at her. The darker girl furrowed her brows, which made Daphne start to panic. “I mean, like, are you okay? Because that looked like it could have gotten worse. Intense, I mean.” She rambled, not wanting to sound rude and step on any toes, especially those of the Dion King, aka King Dion.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Dion said, offering the girl the smallest smile which made Daphne feel things she wasn’t ready to admit. “It’s just…life.” She continued with a shrug. “It’s getting a little rough.” She joked, using her fingers to accentuate the word little with a small smirk on her face. It was almost like someone flipped a switch somewhere with how fast she chugged. She went from this girl who looked utterly helpless a few moments ago, back to regular charming Dion King.

“I know what you mean, schools kicking my ass right now in more ways than just class work,” Daphne said, a slight smile on her lips. “But, I’m always here if you need to talk, ya know? I’ve been told I’m a very good listener by…friends?” She said, more of a question to herself than to Dion. Dion furrowed her brows again in confusion, something she finds herself doing a lot of lately.

“I don’t have many friends,” Daphne answered her unspoken question. “Or any, honestly.” She shrugged.

“What about those girls you were eating lunch with earlier?”

“Sports groupies. Regular Stanford students that liked the idea of me being here on the tennis team and I was, kinda the only one that gave them the time of day.” Daphne stated with a simple shrug. Dion nodded at her with her arms crossed. “So that’s why I heard their giggles when I walked away?” She asked, even though she already knew the answer. Daphne silently winced at her words, almost tucking her head into her shoulders.

“You heard that?” She asked. Dion just chuckled and softly nodded her head. “Yeah, but it’s no big deal.” She shrugged. The girls shared soft giggles, unbeknownst to the lurking figure near the gates.

“Um, but yeah. I might take you up on that offer.” Dion said before walking over to her bags. Daphne was stunned into silence a little. “Oh. Cool. Cool, cool, cool.” She said, nodding her head as her eyes followed the girl’s form when she caught another figure in the corner of her eye. She looked over to see a familiar face.

“Oh, hey, Tashi.” She said casually.

Daphne almost froze at the girl’s words but she just tensed up as she continued to gather her things. Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she turned to see Daphne look over at the tall and slender figure of her best friend. Tashi didn’t say anything, arms folded over her chest as her eyes darted between the two. Before the atmosphere could get awkward, Dion started walking to the exit gate.

“See ya, Daph.” She called out over her shoulder. Daphne smiled, waving at the girl before she realized that Dion couldn’t see her. “Oh. See ya.” She called out. Dion passed Tashi without a word, feeling the girl's eyes follow her but not her body. Tashi stood at the gate for a moment, as she watched Dion walk away before looking back over at Daphne. Said girl just awkwardly smiled and waved at her, intimidated and uncomfortable under the tennis player's harsh gaze. Tashi gave her a once over before offering a sliver of a smile and a two-finger wave and jogging off to catch up with Dion. Daphne stood there, watching as she ran away.

“What the fuck just happened?” She whispered to herself.

“What the fuck is your problem?” Tashi hissed as she caught Dion. The girl in black didn’t turn around to answer her, keeping her eyes forward as she walked quickly to her dorm. “Don’t speak to me that way, you know I won’t answer you.” Was all she said, never once stopping. Tashi sighed as she trident father herself, too caught up in her emotions to think straight. She knew Dion was right, the girl never responded to such language, no matter how much she used it herself. After a few seconds of silence, the only sound being the sound of their fit hitting the ground, Tashi spoke again.

“What has been up with you these past few days?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“I already know that you know.”

“Okay, but I want to hear you say it.”

There was nothing said after that, causing Dion to let out a bitter chuckle. “That’s what I thought.” She said as she adjusted her bag on her shoulders and sped up her walking. Tashi said, following the girl hit on her trials. “Dion, it’s not like that.” The light-skinned girl pleaded.

“I don’t know what you mean, I can’t read your mind, Tash.” She said, still focused on her destination, never meeting the eyes that had been flushed on the side of her face their whole walk.

“What? So you want me to admit that I was jealous of how close you and Patrick were becoming? How I felt that you were replacing me with my boyfriend. The sexual tension between you two? Is that what you want?” She hissed. “As if you didn’t fuck Art when you came back from shopping, knowing we could hear you two in the next room.”

“I would never fuck Art to make you jealous, Tashi.” Dion said, her tone softening for just a few moments. “Not to make anyone jealous. I love Art.”

“You love him?” Tashi asked, almost stopping her walking at what Dion said. But Dion continued. But she couldn’t tell if whether it was because her mind was too busy to realize what she said or she was trying to avoid conversation. “Yes. Just how I love you and Patrick.” Was all the girl said.

“That’s not the same.” Tashi said, catching back up to her once she shook back from her shock.

“It is that same.” Dion said, stopping right outside the door of the dorm building and staring Tashi dead in the eyes for the first time during their whole conversation, back to her cold exterior. Both of them could hear the sound of Tashi’s heart breaking. But Dion was sticking up for herself. And Tashi was hearing the exact words she didn’t want to. She never wanted her love for Dion to amount to anything else in the world. She wanted what they had to special l. Something that almost existed outside of time, in a pocket just for them to access.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Dion asked, looking innocently into Tashi’s eyes. She knew her words dug a knife into the girls heart but she was tried of Tashi playing with everyone’s feelings. Especially her, when she’s been there since the beginning.

“So, don’t even try to spin it like that. Like it’s on me. As if you and I don’t have sex when he or Patrick isn’t here.” Dion spat back quietly, going back to the what they were previously talking about and getting pissed all over again. “You were the one that agreed we could sleep together, but I never did for the sake of you. You were the one who still wanted me to be available so we could have what we had going on. I don’t know what you have going on in that head of yours besides tennis but you need to be honest with yourself before trying to put the blame on me.” She hissed before slamming open the glass door to the girl’s dormitory area. Tashi couldn’t say anything, knowing Dion was telling the truth. She felt her heart clench at the girl's words, Dion’s stress evident in her tone. It hurt her to even think about what she could have been going through these past few days.

She continued to follow the girl. To be fair, her dorm was directly next to hers. Nothing was said between them after that, but the air was tense wherever they stepped, so tense that it could suffocate those who were just in their rooms studying. Dion walked a step ahead of Tashi all the way to her dorm, and when she was about to opened the door, Tashi’s voice stopped her.

“I admit it.” She started. Dion paused, her back still facing her. “I admit that I was jealous because I thought I was losing you.” When she saw that Dion had no intention of turning around, she placed her hand on her shoulder and moved her. Now face to face, Dion spoke.

“Is that all?” She asked, her harsh tone from earlier now gone, replaced with a softer one. One that showed sadness. And her eyes wound meet the girl across from her, pulling on Tashi’s heartstrings.

“No.” Tashi said timidly.

Dion glanced up to meet her eyes, signaling the girl to continue.

“I can’t lose you, Dion.” She started, dropping her constant tough girl act. She always became vulnerable around Dion. And now here she was being vulnerable in the middle of the hall. “It was already tough watching you basically live the married life with Art around campus. He practically lives in your dorm room. I was jealous then because I didn’t have my boyfriend around and it felt like Art knew more about you than I did at some point. I didn’t say anything because…I felt like I had no right to. Not after what we agreed on. And then Patrick came and I saw how close you guys were, always laughing and jumping around. And whoever that chick was you were practicing with.” She ranted, her breaths becoming short as her heart rate picked up. Dion took a step forward, looking Tashi in her eyes that looked like they were about to water. “I could almost feel you slipping away from me. And I can’t have that because you’re all I know. You’re all I have, Dee.” She confessed.

Dion shook her head at the girls words, eyes mirroring Tashi’s. “That not true because I’ll never slip away from you.” She started, taking another step and clasping Tashi’s hands within hers. “Tash, you’ll always be my number one. No one could ever replace you.” She said. She looked down at their intertwined hands, the contracts between their skin tones almost symbolic of their opposite personalities. Yin & Yang.

“But you have to realize that I need other people in my life too.” She gulped, looking back up into her eyes. “You decided that you wanted to be with Patrick. You decided that you wanted to still sleep with me even though you don’t want anything exclusive. You make all the decisions, Tashi. I want to make some of my own.” She said softly, bringing her hands up to the girl's waist and pulling her close. Tashi unconsciously did the same, placing her hands on Dion 's back. They were practically breathing each other's air at this point. Telling every breath the other let out against their skin. “And just because I love them doesn’t mean I love you any less. You will always be important to me.” She said before cupping the girls cheek and connecting their lips. Tashi lunged into the kiss, missing the feeling of Dion entirely.

In the middle of the hall, the two girls kiss in each other's embrace, currently not caring if anyone saw them. To catch their breath,they pulled away from one another and connected their foreheads. Tashi closed her eyes as she raised her head to rub her nose against Dion’s face, basking in her scent and the feel of her skin on hers.

“You love them?” She asked, her words so soft that even their proximity didn’t do anything for it. But Dion heard her, and she nodded her head.

“I do.” She said, taking a moment to continue. As if saying it out loud made her finally accept what she was feeling. “But you will always be my first love.” She said.

“And you will always be mine. And I will always love you.” Tashi said.

Dion had the urge to kiss her again at her words, but she could feel her tiredness getting to her. So she grabbed hold of Tashi’s hand and opened the door to her room. She didn’t even turn around to look at the girl as she spoke. “I have something for you.”

Closing the door behind her, she dropped her tennis bag and made her way to the same nightstand she grabbed Patrick’s gift from. She pulled out two long dark red boxes. She handed one to Tashi, who filled her across the room, and kept the other one.

Opening it, Tashi could see that it was a silver tennis bracelet with large diamonds in it. They were all different cuts, giving the bracelet a more unique feeling than just the average tennis bracelet. “I have a matching one. And I know you’re more of a good girl but this was all they had. Maybe in the future I could get some custom ones made for us.” She said. Tashi just smiled down at the gift. “I love it.” She said, before looking up at the girl. “I love that we have matching ones.” She said, taking it out of the box and letting Dion clasp it in her wrist before doing the same for her.

She looked down at the beautiful bracelet with a soft look in her eyes before looking back up at Dion. “I love you.” She said, her tone egging for reassurance. Almost scared that Dion didn’t feel the same, no matter their previous conversation. Dion smiled at her. “I love you too.” She said before grabbing a hold of her hand that held the bracelet in her wrist. “Stay the night.” She demanded more than asked.

After taking a shower, the girls laid within her bed while light kisses were shared between the two. And then they drifted off to sleep, within each other's arms.

Thabk you guys for reading!!!! Let me know if you want more of this little series. I’m currently writing another full length Chakkengers fic that will go off the movies plot a little, with my own things to add and tweak. That will be out soon!

@lottiematthewsceo @djoenthusiast @summerssover @tsukishimawhore @miximora @jackierose902109 @rueblackst @douceurrrr

[pepi1989]

Don't mind me, just crying over this. Meds got me all emotional lol

Game, Set, Love - Ben Shelton

The racket squeaks against the ground as you adjust your grip, watching from the sidelines while Ben gathers the kids around for some sort of impromptu tennis lesson. It was supposed to be a private training session for the two of you, but the moment a group of kids wandered onto the court, Ben's focus shifted entirely.

"Alright, who's up first?" Ben calls, his voice light and easy, as one of the little boys proudly steps forward, gripping a racket almost too big for him.

You can’t help but laugh quietly, leaning against the fence as Ben crouches down to meet the kid at eye level. He's careful as he shows the boy how to hold the racket correctly, his hands guiding the small ones with such tenderness that it makes your heart flutter. Ben looks over his shoulder at you, flashing a wink that sends warmth rushing to your cheeks.

For the next half hour, Ben is in full coach mode, giving out compliments, high-fiving every little accomplishment, and being so damn patient when the balls are flying everywhere but over the net. You just watch, entranced by how natural it is for him to be around these kids, smiling every time one of them shouts his name or shows off a new trick.

"Ben, did you see that?!" one of the boys exclaims after managing to make a decent hit, and Ben’s laugh fills the air, his pride obvious.

"I saw it! You're a pro, buddy."

And that’s when it hits you, right there in the middle of this chaotic tennis court: this man is going to be the most amazing dad one day. The way he’s so gentle with them, so encouraging, so Ben… It's almost too much.

You bite your lip, heart swelling at the thought. When one of the little girls runs straight into Ben’s arms, wrapping her tiny arms around his legs, you know you’re a goner.

Once the kids finally head off the court, still chattering excitedly about their new 'coach,' Ben walks over to you, a bright smile on his face. His hair is messy, cheeks flushed from all the running around, and he's absolutely glowing.

"So," he says, reaching for your hand and intertwining your fingers. "What'd you think of my coaching skills?"

You smirk, leaning in close. "I think… you’re gonna make one hell of a dad someday."

Ben’s eyes widen just slightly, and you can see the way the words hit him, the way they warm his whole expression. He’s speechless for a second, blinking like he’s not sure he heard you right.

"Yeah?" he murmurs, pulling you just a little closer.

"Yeah," you repeat softly, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "We're definitely having babies one day."

And just like that, his face breaks into the softest smile you've ever seen, a mixture of love and joy and pure excitement. He squeezes your hand, his voice low and gentle as he says, "You have no idea how much I love hearing that."

Your heart races, and for a moment, it's like the world narrows down to just the two of you. Ben leans down, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips, and you know, deep down, that this moment? It’s just the beginning.

[idciminlove]

Take a Slice

Part Six- Practice

f!reader x Tashi Duncan x Art Donaldson x Patrick Zweig

Cinnamonacid on AO3

Warnings- age gap, anxiety/performance anxiety, slight touchiness etc.

You have your first training session with Tashi.

𝙹𝚞𝚗𝚎 𝟸𝚗𝚍

𝟸 𝙿𝙼

“Are you sure you don’t want to come? I could introduce you, have you watch or maybe she’ll even let you hit with me.” You said to Annelise, even though your eyes never left the mirror. You gazed at your figure in your outfit, tugging at your tennis skirt nervously. You hoped it wasn’t too much.

“You know I can’t come to your first practice. It would be unprofessional.”

“I know. But, I’m nervous.” You were terrified, actually. More scared than the last time you met with her. Maybe even more scared than when you played at the NCAA finals.You didn’t know Tashi was watching you then. But you know she’s watching you now. Your idol, studying your every move, coaching you and critiquing all your mistakes. It’s a lot.

She sighed softly and gazed up at you from where she was sitting, on your bed. “It’s okay to be nervous, remember? And you already met with her before, and that wasn’t so bad, right?”

“It was awful. I was shaking the whole time and rambling and it was so embarrassing. What if I mess up really badly today and she won’t want to train me anymore?” You catastrophized. Anneliese got to her feet, fixing your visor and cupping your cheek, making you look at her.

“That won’t happen. It doesn’t matter if you make a mistake today, in fact, you need that to learn and grow. You already did the hard part. Now, she’s going to help you.”

You let yourself relax in her touch while she caressed your cheek softly. She always knew what to say, always knew what to do, and always knew just how to touch you. How could you ever leave her?

She pressed a peck to your lips, before checking the time on her phone. “You better get going. The car will be here in five minutes.”

“Okay.” You sighed as she pulled away. “Walk me out there?”

“Sure.”

–

The tennis courts for the Tashi Duncan foundation were beautiful. Dark green and blue, surrounded by trimmed bushes and white picket fence. They were big and well cared for, even better quality than the ones at your college, not that it was surprising. Young girls trained on the courts beside you, coached by different officials. Tashi paid them no mind as she led you over to the empty court.

She sauntered over to the opposite side of the net, dragging a cart of tennis balls behind. You unzipped your bag and pulled out your racket, stretching your legs and arms. She picked up her own racket, and this all seemed so natural for her, so easy. Like she had been doing this her whole life. Like she was meant to be doing this. Like she was meant for tennis. You couldn’t help but wonder if she thought the same about you.

“I’ve already seen how you played at the past matches, but you haven’t trained with me before, so I just want to watch your mechanics up close. It’ll be simple. Just return my serves.” She plucked a ball from the cart.

“Simple.” You repeated under your breath. You tried to calm your shaking hands, loosening them around the racket. “It’s simple.”

You took two steps, hitting it back hard, a little too eager. You practically launched the ball with your backhand. It didn’t even hit the court, bouncing off the wall instead and rolling away.

You felt humiliated. You’ve been playing tennis for basically your whole life and when you really need to do something so simple, you have to mess up. She seemed surprised, but then let out a little laugh. “Relax.”

“It’s not that easy, Tash.” Someone chimed in.

You looked over your shoulder, seeing Art Donaldson standing by the court. Of fucking course. Yet another person you idolize witnessed you fumble something so basic. You wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole. You wanted to die.

The blonde gazed over at your coach intently, as if he was seeking permission. When she nodded in response, he entered the court, walking over to you. He was much taller in person. But he wasn’t as intimidating? It was weird, considering his career and everything he’s accomplished, everything he’s done. You should be shaking like how you were shaking when you met Tashi. But you weren’t. You couldn’t. Not when he smiled at you so kindly.

“Mr.Donaldson, I-”

He shook his head, waving you off. “Call me Art. Trust me, I know how intense coaching from Tashi can be. Here, is it okay if I touch you?”

“Uhm, yes.”

“Relax your hands.” He reached over and touched your fingers, rubbing your knuckles. His touch felt like fire against your skin. He moved away and gently brushed his hand over your shoulder. “And your shoulders. Just take three deep breaths, okay? Breathe in for five, hold for five, and breathe out for five.”

You tried to focus on your breathing and not how your idol/coaches’ ex-tennis star husband had touched you, and especially not how it made your stomach feel all fluttery inside. Surprisingly, it helped. It was nice to have a distraction, you supposed.

“There you go, good.” He spoke softly, watching as you took your third breath. “Now, try again.”

Tashi hit the ball to you and when you hit it back it was much smoother. It felt like you were back in control. Like you were yourself again.

“Thank you.”

“No problem. Have a good rest of your session.” He exited the court, waving goodbye.

–

Besides that little hiccup at the start, the rest of the session went by smoothly. Tashi went over your basic mechanics, how you hit the ball, how you served and when you went to return. She already started to give you some tips and adjustments to improve your game.

When you didn’t understand something she told you, or when you needed help visualizing, she would come over and help you herself, resting her hand over yours and moving your arms. Sometimes she would be so close that you could smell her expensive perfume and flowery shampoo and her hands were so soft it would make your heart race. You prayed that she couldn’t hear it, and couldn’t feel your pulse thumping on your wrist.

You beamed at all the praise she gave you, every “good job” or “yeah, you’re getting it” or even a “perfect.” It made you smile so hard that your cheeks hurt.

It’s normal for you to feel like this. She’s a devastatingly gorgeous woman, and you really admired her, and you were totally obsessed with her in the past. And maybe her husband made you a little nervous too, but it was the same with him. A very attractive man with an admirable career.

It wasn’t like you were going to act on it, or anything. It’s just a harmless crush, and you know nothing will come from it.

Nothing at all.

[teddy-bear-naps-and-random-snaps]

[newtonsheffield]

Do we ever see Kate face off against any of Anthony's old tennis partners? Possibly a previous tennis flame? I was just imagining an incredibly dramatic Olympic heat/QF/SF, a hard fought battle, but not for athletic reasons?

Oh it’s a well known fact that once upon a time Anthony Bridgerton wasn’t just a player on the ATP tour. He was a player. And most of the time, that doesn’t really bother Kate. Anthony’s 13 years older than her, he obviously dated before her: Whatever. It is what it is. Anthony has to put up with Kate doing sponsor shoots with Tom Dorset all the time. It’s fine.

Except sometimes it’s really… fucking annoying. Especially when the women feel duty bound to remind her constantly coupled with the fact that Anthony’s enjoying a (well deserved in Kate’s opinion) surge in popularity and notoriety after his Wimbledon win and their doubles bid for the Olympics now.

“I’m surprised you got Anthony out of bed this early.”

Kate’s head jolted to the left to the practice court next door, missing the ball Anthony lobbed across the net to her. “I’m sorry?”

The other woman’s lips curved in a slow smile. “From what I remember he was such a grumpy boy in the mornings.”

Irritation flickered through Kate’s chest. “Well, maybe he has more reason to get out of bed now.”

Anthony jogged over, stopping a little short and shifting nervously on the spot. “oh! Hey Jess.”

“Anthony.” She smiled falsely at Kate. “Kate.”

She strode away and Kate pushed down the strong desire to throw a tennis ball at the back of her head.

“Everything okay?”

“Just peachy!” Kate cleared her throat, “Get back over there.”

It didn’t bother her. Kate reminded herself constantly. It shouldn’t matter. She and Anthony were happy and in a good place and it shouldn’t matter. But every time she stood across the court from one of the women who’d taken it upon themselves to wink and smile at Anthony it made her boiling mad. Not because he ever noticed, in fact, Kate was fairly sure he never did. But in a way that made it even more annoying. That he couldn’t be less interested as they fluttered her eyelids at him while he carried her kit bags to the car.

“It actually bothers you doesn’t it?” Edwina laughed, as Kate smacked the tennis ball at the fence where yet another player turned pundit was sat beside Anthony, flirting and laughing her way through an interview.

“Sorry!” Mary called out to the woman with not a trace of apology, dropping her voice. “At least try to make it less obvious, Darling.”

“It doesn’t bother me.” Kate bit back.

“Really?” Edwina chuckled, “Because you know you’re not actually supposed to treat that thing like a blade right?”

Kate rolled her eyes, “Does it bother you when people flirt with Josie?”

Edwina’s face flickered with irritation. “That’s different.”

“Is it?”

“Yes! Everyone wants to date a football player! That’s the pinnacle for people attracted to athletes!”

“I think a lot of people would disagree with you.” Kate mused, grunting as she sent the ball sailing back over the net.

“Stop changing the subject!”

“No!”

[fashionteahouse]

tennis court - paul x reader

AN: request from @chrisxlifeline : Are you able to make a story based off Alex' story of him playing tennis with his imprint but she doesn't know she's his imprint?

of course of course ! hope you enjoy :)

You went to the tennis court, but you didn’t play. The racket was tight in your hand, but there was no motivation.

A deep sigh was made as you looked at the net. You remember that just earlier that year, you were a powerhouse.

A sprain ankle made you sit out for the rest of the season, but you were healed now. But, your confidence wasn’t.

All that kept forming in your brain was what would happen if you had gotten hurt again. Your coach encouraged you to practice so you can be ready just in time when the new season starts.

You decide to walk out, taking your racket with you. You just couldn’t do it. At least not today. Your brain made loads of excuses on why not today.

In the morning, you had plans to sleep in, do laundry, do whatever it was to stall from going back.

A vibrating sensation of your phone makes you take a look.

Paul.

He sent you a video, you open it. A small grin appeared on your face.

He’s at the tennis court, he then sends you a text.

“Wya?”

“Not playing today :/ “

“Why not ???”

You don’t answer, you instead choose the route of turning off your phone and set it down.

You should’ve known better, that Paul wouldn’t take no answer. He blew your phone up, nagging you to come. His persistence was great. He was your best friend. You were his best friend.

Paul knew that you were going to come. It seemed like that’s when you didn’t skip a day at the court. It was when he was there.

You came with your racket and he smiled as he tossed the lime green ball in your direction.

You didn’t catch it, it instead bounced crazily before you could grab it.

“You’re supposed to catch it.” he teases.

“Shush.” you say and you both laugh.

“You thought you were going to miss a day? So not happening.”

You sigh as you let your fingers clutch the holes in the fence beside you, “What’s the point? I’m just gonna get hurt again. Plus, what if my injury gets worse?”

“You’re talking about an injury that didn’t happen. I’m so confused.”

You roll your eyes a bit as he then says, “It was a sprained ankle. You’re healed now. Quit worrying.”

You both start to play, hitting the ball back and forth. You win the first round and he retrieved the ball.

He saw the glimpse of happiness that came from your taste of victory.

Soon, it was getting dark. You didn’t realize that you had spent the entire day at the court. Paul realized the happiness that seeped out of his imprint. He knew that this was the sport that made you happy and it made him happy.

You were thankful in a way, for his persistence. Without it, you wouldn’t have found a newfound motivation.

He didn’t even like tennis before meeting you, but you made it fun for him.

“Paul.” you call to him.

He snapped out of his thoughts, “Yeah?”

“You suck.” you say, poking your tongue a bit at him.

“Yeah, whatever.” he says but couldn’t help but laugh along right with you.

[lifeofpriya]

Jannik teaching reader to play tennis and reader getting hurt

you got it! 🫡

Your Biggest Supporter

wc: 3.6k

"You'll go easy on me, right?" you ask, a hopeful smile playing on your lips as you grip the tennis racket for the first time.

Jannik laughs gently. "Of course," he says, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "But I won't let you win just because you're a beginner."

The sun is setting, casting a warm glow on the clay court. You feel the roughness of the surface under your sneakers as you shuffle to the baseline. Jannik stands on the opposite side, the net between you like a bridge to a new experience. His forehand is swift and precise, the ball shooting towards you with surprising speed. You flinch, and the racket makes a clumsy swipe at the air. The ball sails past you and thuds against the fence.

"Good try," Jannik calls out, retrieving the ball. "Keep your eye on it, and don't be afraid to swing."

You nod, determination setting in as he tosses the ball back to you. This time, you manage to make contact with a satisfying 'thwack'. The ball arcs over the net and lands just inside the service box. Jannik's smile widens as he trots to the ball, his footwork as elegant as a dancer's. His return is a challenge, a backhand slice that makes the ball dip and skid across the court. You lunge for it, your heart racing as your body stretches to its limits. The impact vibrates through the racket and into your arm, but you're grinning.

For the next hour, the rhythm of the game settles into a comfortable back-and-forth. The occasional thud of the ball against the racket strings, the soft scuffle of your sneakers on the clay, and the rustle of leaves in the nearby trees create a symphony that mingles with your laughter and Jannik's patient instructions. You're learning to anticipate his moves, to watch the ball's trajectory, and to trust your instincts.

"Oh, shoot, errant ball," Jannik says, his eyes darting towards the ball that was in the air before it nosedived to the ground. "Get out of the way!"

You tried to run, but you could hear something in your ankle pop as you twisted to avoid the wayward shot. Pain shoots up your leg, and you crumble to the ground, gasping.

Jannik is beside you in an instant, his eyes filled with concern. "Are you okay?" he asks, gently taking the racket from your hand and setting it aside.

You wince, trying to sit up. "I… I think I twisted my ankle," you reply, your voice tight with pain.

Jannik's expression morphs from concern to guilt. "Let me see," he says, carefully taking your leg in his hands. His touch is gentle, but the pressure makes you wince even more. "It's definitely swelling." He looks around for help, but the court is deserted. "We need to get some ice on this. Stay put, I'll grab some from the clubhouse."

While you wait, the pain in your ankle throbs in time with your heartbeat. The setting sun casts long shadows across the court, and the air cools, carrying the scent of clay. You lean back on your elbows, watching the clouds turn shades of pink and purple. The serenity of the moment is a stark contrast to the turmoil in your body.

Jannik returns, out of breath, holding a bag of ice wrapped in a towel. He kneels beside you, his eyes scanning your face for signs of distress. "Here," he says, gently pressing the cold compress to your swollen ankle. "This should help."

The chill bites at your skin, but the pain slowly recedes. You sigh with relief, looking up at him. "Thanks," you murmur.

Jannik nods, his gaze lingering on the injury. "We should get you home," he says, his voice tight. "Do you think you can stand?"

You bite your lip, trying to ignore the pain. "I'll try." With his arm around your waist, you attempt to stand. Your ankle wobbles, and a sharp pain shoots up your leg. You gasp, leaning heavily on Jannik.

"Easy," he whispers, his hand steadying you. "Let's sit for a moment." He helps you back down, his grip on you firm but gentle. The ice feels good against your ankle, the cold numbing the ache.

As you sit there, the setting sun painting the sky with streaks of gold, you can't help but feel a twinge of sadness. Your first tennis lesson with Jannik, and it had to end like this. You'd been looking forward to this for weeks, ever since he mentioned he could teach you. You'd imagined the joy of finally understanding the sport he loves so much, the thrill of a well-placed shot, the satisfaction of improving under his tutelage. Instead, you're nursing an injury.

Jannik's eyes are filled with a mix of worry and regret. He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again, as if unsure of what to say. "I'm sorry," he finally manages, his voice thick with genuine concern. "I didn't mean for this to happen."

You shake your head, trying to lighten the mood. "It's not your fault," you reply, wincing as you attempt a smile. "I should have been more careful."

Jannik sighs, his grip on your shoulder tightening. "I should have been more observant, made sure you weren't overdoing it."

You look into his eyes, seeing the truth behind his words. He cares about you, and the guilt etched on his face is clear. "It's alright," you repeat, trying to reassure him. "It's just a sprain."

He nods, though you can tell he's not entirely convinced. "Let's get you to the doctor's," he says firmly, helping you to your feet again. This time, you manage to stand with less pain, though your ankle still throbs with each step. Jannik supports you as you hobble towards the edge of the court, his arm around your waist like a warm embrace.

The walk to the car feels like an eternity, the gravel path digging into your good foot with each step. You lean heavily on Jannik; his solid presence is a comfort. His car is parked in the shade of a large oak tree, the leaves casting dappled shadows on the hood. You lower yourself into the passenger seat with a sigh of relief, the cool leather a stark contrast to the warmth of your flushed skin.

Jannik starts the engine, and the car hums to life. He glances at you, his eyes full of apology. "I'll take you to the nearest clinic," he says, his voice tinged with regret. "They'll know what to do."

The drive is silent except for the soft murmur of the radio playing low in the background. You can feel the tension coiled in his muscles as he grips the steering wheel, his knuckles white. The scenery outside the window is a blur of green and brown, the world moving too fast for the pain in your ankle. The air in the car is thick with the scent of your combined sweat and the lingering smell of freshly cut grass from the court.

When you arrive at the clinic, Jannik helps you out of the car and into the cool, sterile waiting room. You're grateful for his support, his arm around your waist as you limp to the reception desk.

The nurse's eyes widen when she sees your ankle. "Let's get you right in," she says, her voice filled with empathy.

Jannik insists on staying with you, his hand squeezing yours tightly as the doctor examines your ankle. The doctor's face remains neutral as he palpates the swollen area, but you can't help but notice the furrow in his brow. "We'll need to do an MRI to rule out any serious damage," he says, his voice calm but authoritative.

Jannik's grip tightens. "I'll stay with you," he murmurs, his eyes never leaving yours.

You nod, trying to keep the fear at bay. The thought of being alone in this unfamiliar place is almost as daunting as the pain. The nurse wheels in a chair, and you sink into it gratefully, the plastic cold against the back of your legs. Jannik follows, his eyes never leaving your face, his hand still wrapped around yours.

The MRI machine is a white, monolithic beast that hums to life as you're wheeled closer. The nurse gives you a reassuring smile and helps you onto the narrow bed. "Just try to relax," she says, placing a pillow under your head. The coldness of the metal sends a shiver down your spine as you lay your ankle on the soft cushion.

Jannik is standing on the other side of the glass, watching as you're slid into the MRI machine. His eyes are fixed on you, a silent promise of support. The nurse gives you a pair of earplugs to muffle the loud noise that's about to fill the room. You nod to him, trying to convey your thanks and bravery in a single look.

The world outside the MRI tube fades away as the machine starts its rhythmic clanging. You close your eyes and focus on the sound of Jannik's voice, the steady beat of his footsteps as he paces outside. The noise is overwhelming, a cacophony that fills your head, but you cling to the knowledge that he's there, that you're not alone in this.

When the MRI is over, the nurse helps you out of the tube with a gentle smile. "You did great," she says, as if you've just conquered a fearsome beast. You manage a small laugh, the pain in your ankle a dull throb now.

Jannik is there, waiting, his eyes scanning you for any sign of distress. "How was it?" he asks, his voice filled with genuine concern.

You offer a weak smile, trying to shrug off the discomfort. "Loud," you reply. "But I've had worse."

The doctor returns with the results, his expression unreadable. Jannik's grip on your hand tightens as the doctor speaks, his words a blur of medical jargon that you struggle to process. You catch phrases like "ruptured ankle ligament" and "surgery may be required." The room feels like it's closing in, the air thick with the weight of the news.

Jannik's eyes widen, the color draining from his face. "Surgery?" he echoes, his voice hitching. The doctor nods solemnly, explaining that it's not a simple sprain, but a more severe injury that could potentially keep you off your feet for months. Your stomach drops, the reality of the situation setting in.

You try to pull your hand away to wipe the tears that have started to form, but Jannik holds on tight, his thumb tracing circles on the back of your hand. "It's okay," he whispers, his voice soothing despite the panic in his eyes. "We'll get through this together."

The doctor continues to speak, his voice a gentle drone in the background. You nod, trying to focus on his words, but the pain and the fear are too overwhelming. Jannik steps in, asking questions you can't form, his voice calm and composed. He scribbles notes on a pad of paper, nodding intently at the doctor's instructions.

Once you're back in the car, the reality of the situation starts to sink in. "Surgery," you murmur, the word feeling heavy on your tongue.

Jannik's eyes meet yours in the rearview mirror, a mix of sympathy and determination. "We'll figure it out," he says, his voice firm. "You're not alone in this."

The drive home is quiet, the gravity of the situation weighing heavy in the air. You lean your head against the cool window, watching the scenery pass by in a blur. The sun has fully set now, leaving only the twinkling streetlights to guide the way. The world outside feels distant, as if you're trapped in a bubble of pain and uncertainty.

When you reach your apartment, Jannik insists on helping you inside. Each step up the stairs feels like climbing a mountain, but his presence beside you makes it bearable. He opens the door and the warm light spills out, welcoming you home. You manage to hobble to the couch, the weight of the day crashing down on you.

Jannik moves around the room, bringing you a pillow and a blanket, his movements swift and sure. He grabs an ice pack from the freezer and carefully wraps it around your ankle, securing it with an ace bandage. The coolness is a relief, but it does little to soothe the ache in your heart. You watch him, his every action filled with care, and wonder how you got so lucky to have someone like him in your life.

"Rest," he says, his hand brushing your cheek. "I'll be right here."

You nod, your eyes drooping with exhaustion. The pain has dulled into a constant throb, but the fear of what's to come is like a storm cloud hovering over you. Jannik sits on the arm of the couch, his gaze never leaving you. You can feel the warmth of his leg against yours, the steady beat of his heart.

He opens his mouth to say something, but the silence stretches out between you, filled with unspoken words. Instead, he takes your hand in his, the warmth of his palm seeping into your skin. His thumb traces a comforting pattern, grounding you in the present. You look up at him, and in the soft light of your living room, you see the concern etched on his face.

"Thank you," you murmur, your voice hoarse. "For everything."

Jannik's eyes searched yours, his thumb still tracing patterns on the back of your hand. "Of course," he said softly. "I'll always be here for you."

The days that followed were a blur of doctor's appointments, physical therapy, and endless hours on the couch with your ankle elevated. Jannik was a constant presence, fetching ice packs, making meals, and even helping you to the bathroom when the pain was at its peak. He never complained, never showed a hint of frustration, even when you snapped at him in pain. His patience was a balm to your soul, a gentle reminder that you weren't facing this alone.

One evening, after a particularly grueling session of therapy, you sit on the couch, your eyes glazed over with pain and fatigue. The TV drones on in the background, but neither of you are watching. Jannik sits next to you, his hand resting on your leg just above the cast. The weight of his touch is reassuring, a silent promise that he won't leave you to face the storm alone.

"Hey," he says gently, his voice cutting through the haze. "You okay?"

You nod, your eyes still fixed on the TV screen. "Yeah, I just… I'm tired."

Jannik's gaze is warm and understanding. "It's a lot to take in," he says. "But you're doing great. You're stronger than you think."

You look down at your cast, feeling a mix of anger and despair. "I just wanted to play tennis with you," you murmur.

Jannik squeezes your leg gently. "And you will," he says with conviction. "We'll get through this. Together."

You give a small, tired smile, feeling a flicker of hope. The days pass by, marked by the steady tick of the clock and the monotony of your routine. The pain begins to subside, replaced by a restless itch to move, to do something other than sit and watch the world go by.

Jannik senses your frustration and tries to distract you with stories of his matches, his travels, his dreams for the future. His tales are vivid, painted with a richness that transports you to far-off courts and grand arenas. You find yourself smiling, lost in his world of athletic prowess and passion for the sport.

As the weeks turn into months, your ankle slowly heals. The cast is replaced with a brace, and you begin to tentatively put weight on it again. Each step is a victory, a testament to your perseverance and the relentless care Jannik has provided. You start to regain your strength, doing simple exercises under the guidance of your physical therapist.

One sunny afternoon, you're sitting on the edge of the couch, the brace off for a few hours of freedom. Jannik comes in from a training session, his hair damp with sweat and his cheeks flushed from the exertion. He sees you and his smile falters for a moment, his eyes flicking to your bare ankle.

"How does it feel?" he asks, his voice a mix of hope and trepidation.

You test your ankle gently, rolling it from side to side. "It's… better," you admit. "I can actually wiggle my toes without wanting to scream."

Jannik's smile brightens, and he sits beside you, his eyes never leaving your ankle. "That's good," he says, his voice filled with relief. "Really good."

You look up at him, feeling a wave of gratitude. "I couldn't have done it without you," you say, your voice sincere.

Jannik's eyes meet yours, his expression a mix of pride and something more profound. "You've been so strong," he says, his voice gentle. "I'm just here to support you."

You nod, feeling the weight of his words. "But you've done more than that," you reply. "You've been my rock."

Jannik's cheeks color slightly, and he ducks his head. "It's nothing," he murmurs, but you know he's pleased.

The following days are a mix of excitement and nerves as you start to put more weight on your ankle. The brace feels like a part of you now, a constant reminder of the journey you've been on.

Jannik's training intensifies as the next Grand Slam approaches. You watch him from the sidelines, his focus and determination a stark contrast to the pain you're feeling. But every time he glances over, his eyes light up, and you know you're his source of strength too.

On the day of his quarterfinal match, you're dressed in your favorite outfit, the one that brings him luck, according to his superstitious beliefs. The stadium is a cacophony of cheers and applause, the energy palpable as he takes the court. You hold your breath with each serve, your heart racing with every volley. His opponent is formidable, a seasoned player with a reputation for his aggressive style.

Jannik glances at you, giving you a quick nod of acknowledgment before the game begins. You watch as the two men become a blur of motion, the white lines of the court disappearing beneath their sneakers. The thwack of the ball, the grunts of exertion, the squeak of shoes on the court - it's a symphony of power and precision. Each point is a battle, each set a war.

As the match progresses, you can see the strain on Jannik's face, the beads of sweat on his brow. He fights with everything he has, pushing through fatigue and pain. And with every victory, he looks at you, his eyes speaking volumes. You're his anchor, his reason to keep going. You cheer louder, willing him to win, feeling a strange kinship in your shared struggle to overcome your limitations.

The match is tight, each point a nail-biter. Jannik's opponent is relentless, but so is he. The crowd roars, their energy swirling around the court like a tornado. You grip the armrests of your chair, your knuckles white, your heart in your throat. This isn't just about tennis anymore; it's about the human spirit, about fighting for what you love despite the odds.

Jannik wins a particularly grueling point and the crowd erupts. He turns to you, his eyes alight with triumph. He raises his racket in a salute, a silent 'Thank you' that echoes through the stadium. In that moment, you know you've given him something more than just luck. You've given him the belief that you're both capable of overcoming adversity, together.

The final set is a nail-biter, each point more tense than the last. Jannik's opponent is formidable, but so is your resilience. With every grunt and swing, Jannik seems to be playing not just for the match but for you, for the bond that has grown between you through this trying time.

As the score reaches match point, the tension in the stadium is so thick it could be cut with a knife. Jannik serves, his eyes never leaving the ball as it arcs through the air. The opponent returns with a powerful forehand, but Jannik is ready, his backhand slicing through the air with surgical precision. The ball kisses the line and bounces back. The opponent scrambles, but it's too late.

Jannik wins the match, the crowd erupts into a cacophony of cheers. He drops his racket, his face a mask of disbelief and elation. You watch him, your heart swelling with pride. The pain in your ankle forgotten, you stand up, clapping and screaming his name. He looks over, his eyes finding yours in the sea of faces, and a grin spreads across his face. He jogs over to the sidelines, scooping you into a gentle embrace.

The press swarms around, flashbulbs popping like a storm of lightning. Jannik holds you close, his sweat-soaked shirt sticking to your skin. The questions come rapid-fire, but all you can do is cling to him, soaking in the moment. His heart beats against your chest, a steady rhythm that mirrors your own racing heart.

"How does it feel to win with your biggest supporter here?" a journalist shouts over the din.

Jannik pulls back, his eyes shining. "It means everything," he says, his gaze never leaving yours. "Having them here, watching me, it gives me strength."

You blush, feeling the weight of his words. He's been there for you through the pain and the healing, and now you've been able to return the favor in some small way. The journalist nods, scribbling notes in a frenzy. The noise of the stadium fades into the background as you stand there, caught in the bubble of Jannik's victory.

[tinytennisskirt]

Angel

Part Three: Red Wine

Summary: In continuation of part two, Patrick continues to give singlemom!reader’a son tennis lessons. They start to get closer… physically. She invites him to her birthday party, an adult event and in the presence of red wine, things are harder to deny… harder to stay away from.

Warnings: age gap!!! fluff to smut, smut!!! unedited from my notes app. mentions of alcohol, drinking, tipsy sex with multiple implied locations, no mentions of protection.

The next practice, Kit was swinging away, hitting 50% of the balls back to Patrick, even if they were a little lopsided or aimed wrong. You cheered for every one as per usual.

It wasn’t tennis without Kit bopping himself in the head with his racket and running right over to you, cradling his head. Patrick watched you give him a big hug and kiss him on the head.

“Do you want to try?” Patrick called over to you.

Kit immediately grinned, “Yes! You try mom.”

You shook your head and put your hands in front of you. “No chance, no chance.”

Patrick chuckled and walked over, “You sure? I think Kit could use a partner at his level.”

Kit jumped up and down excitedly and you looked at Patrick like this was his fault- with a smile pulling at your perfect lips. You were dressed for tennis, so why not play? “I don’t know… I’m bad, I’m really bad, I’m worse than Kit.”

“I’ll help, come on,” he extended his hand and you took it. Kit’s mood brightened as he ran back out onto the court. “You can’t be that bad compared to him.” He said quietly.

You turned and looked at him as you walked. “So much worse.” You grinned. Patrick handed you his racket.

“Okay, Kit, can you serve like I taught you? I just need to see how good your mom is.”

“Really bad!” Kit said from the other side of the net, making both you and Patrick laugh. Kit tossed the ball and served a little crooked but otherwise right to you and you stuck the racket out straight as if expecting to come right to the racket and the ball just passed you by, bouncing off the fence and rolling back.

Patrick picked it up, trying not to laugh. “Okay…” he said.

“I know,” you said, cringing just a bit out of embarrassment. “But I told you!”

“You did,” Patrick chuckled. He tossed Kit the ball again. “Here-“ he put his hands on your hips and he wished he fucking didn’t because this was all he’d thought about without the best part. Your hips were perfect, the way they sloped into your waist, Patrick made a mistake but he acted like he didn’t feel anything as he got closer to you, pulling your hips into a stance.

Your breath caught in your throat, feeling his hands on you. Big hands, strong hands, gentle all the same. You were acutely aware of just how close he was. He pulled your hips, then they slowly slid up your waist. No man had been like this with you in years. So many years. And it was stupid to think like that, so you just paid attention to his instruction like his hands weren’t on you like this, so perfect, so new and very rare. He guided your arms into a simple swing and his hands left you. He instructed your son to hit the ball and it took all the focus you could muster to keep remembering what his hands felt like as you did the swing Patrick told you and managed to get the ball to hit the edge of the racket.

The lesson went on, but it was all the both of you could think about. Your waist, your hips…

-

The next lesson was a drop off and pick up one. You knew Patrick well enough at this point. You dropped him off and Kit got out of the car and you explained you had an appointment. Patrick was fine with it, but he missed your cheering on the side.

The next one was also a drop off. All Patrick thought about was your scent as he pulled your body into place, the way you felt to hold. It was the one thing that occupied his mind the most. Nothing mattered in his life but that. You came for the next lesson.

It had ended and you and Patrick sat at the same picnic table. “I was wondering,” you started. “If you think of me as a friend.” You said. “I know how juvenile that sounds, but I do like to consider you one.”

Patrick smiled, rubbing his neck. “I mean, yeah. Yes.” He looked at you with so much in his eyes he was sure you could see it. Friends sucked, but it was better than strangers. “I’d say so.”

“Good,” you said, staring at his hands. You’d been doing that every time you’d seen him from that one particular tennis lesson. You couldn’t help it. You swallowed hard. “My birthday is coming up. Next week. I’m having a bit of a… party. I know you wouldn’t know anyone but I think I’d like to have you there. No pressure, but if you’d like to, you’re more than welcome to.”

Patrick beamed, “Sounds great. Just say where and when and I’ll be there.”

“Perfect,” you beamed right back. Patrick was kind of wondering how old you were turning but he knew better than to ask and had held off all this time. He figured the party would let him know. “You don’t need to bring anything, though. I have far too much wine in my house from my sister and her husband.”

He chuckled. “Noted. Sounds good to me.”

-

The party was today. You and your sister spent the day making appetizers and getting drink ingredients. She paid for the groceries thank god, her gift to you. Kit wanted to help, but he was too occupied with his cousins. Your brother in law had agreed to take Kit around 6 and he would sleep over at their house. You were excited for something for yourself for once, which was fun and new. Last birthdays had been so depressing but there was something subconscious about a guest that made things so exciting.

Your sister curled your hair while you did your makeup. You looked beautiful, youthful, glowing. Even you could admit it to yourself. Your sister did her own makeup as you curled her hair.

The first guests arrived, friends of yours and no surprise, they brought wine. As if you hadn’t had to turn the linen closet into a wine rack. You fixed up your lipstick when you passed the mirror, your date night lipstick. You carried things around, pulled things out of the oven.

Patrick was amongst the late-middle of guests to arrive. It was only a handful of your friends and some of them knew each other and some didn’t. Patrick rang the doorbell instead of knocking. Your sister rushed to open it and was greeted by a rather tall, nicely-dressed Patrick. He was in another sweater and jeans, comfortable.

“You must be the tennis coach,” Your sister said, extending her hand. “I’m Y/N’s big sister, it’s great to meet you.” You slid into the hallway, immediately brightening up when you saw Patrick at the door.

Patrick nodded, furrowing his brow. “Something like that.” Your sister turned and mouthed to you ‘he’s sexy!’ And you rolled your eyes and batted her away as you approached.

“Happy birthday,” Patrick said. He only had an envelope with him, you were so glad. “You don’t look a day over…” he wasn’t sure how to finish that.

“I’m 35,” you said. Which was a year younger than Patrick had guessed. He was still surprised. What was thirteen years? “Old, I know.” You chuckled, running a hand through your gorgeous hair. Patrick hadn’t even thought to stare you down the way he wanted to but you were… stunning. The black dress you were in, the way it hugged your body, the slit in the skirt. You sure as hell didn’t look 35.

“No, not old.” Patrick retorted, shutting the door behind him. “You look gorgeous tonight. -And this is for you.” He added. Your heart did a little backflip at his compliment. He handed you the envelope.

“Thank you, you as well,” you smiled a cute little smile and Patrick wanted to melt into a puddle on your floor, but there were people around. “And thank you for coming.”

“My pleasure,” he replied. He flicked the envelope- “There is something for you in there, just so you know I didn’t come with just an envelope.”

“Patrick, that’s so unnecessary,” you smiled and opened it. The card was generic, but in it was a gift card. It was one for the cafe you’d fully ran into each other again at. And it was balanced at the exact amount of all the money you’d paid Patrick for Kit’s lessons.

The card read: good for 20 salted caramel iced coffees with less ice than usual and caramel foam.

You pouted and put the envelope and card down on the table in the hallway and wrapped your arms around Patrick’s neck. He was surprised, but it was easy to hug you back, squeezing his large arms around your waist. Only a moment passed, but you took in his cologne as you hugged him and he smelled amazing. Had you smelled this before? It was familiar, but you had to admit he smelled really nice.

You slipped down as he let you go. He’d done all of this for that hug, that was for sure. You were so warm, so easy to hold, Patrick could have stayed like that forever but it was a party. And it was your party.

You both took to socializing, Patrick introducing himself as Kit’s coach. You were so gorgeous, standing there and laughing with your sister and one of your girlfriends, drinks in hand. You were the most perfect woman he’d ever known and it was for certain the most admirable and worthy one of the title.

Your sister was a gossip, “Y/N, you did not tell me he was a hunk!”

“Shhh,” you whispered. “He’s right there.”

Your best friend smiled, “He’s young, how young?”

“Twenty-two,” you replied. “But he’s lovely with teaching Kit tennis, even tried to get me to play which went terribly. He’s a great man and a good friend.”

“Is he a good fuck?” Your sister teased, poking you in the ribs. You stopped mid-sip of your sangria.

“He- I- I wouldn’t know. He’s a good friend and a good tennis player but it’s not like that.” You reasoned. “However gorgeous he may be.”

“You know he’s staring at you when you’re around,” your best friend said. “But it’s not like creepy-seeming. He has the softest eyes…”

You glanced over and Patrick was turned the other way. You had just missed his eyes. “I don’t think there’s a chance. He’s just nice. I’m much too old for him.”

“If only Jenny from three blocks over thought that way about her sixteen-year-old pool boy,” your sister guffawed. You shushed her again. “I’m not comparing you, I’m judging her for not having your thought pattern!”

You pressed your fingers to your temple, sighing. “He is much too young.”

Your best friend shook her head knowingly, observing Patrick. His eyes were set on you again as he drank his glass of wine. Your best friend nudged you gently and she looked at you, then looked at him. Your eyes met and he looked down, then back up, slightly raising his glass to you. He had been semi-engaged in conversation with one of your male professor friends. He had been caught. You felt a blush sweep over your face. Worse than the small ones he’d caused. You had to look away.

“He’s too young,” you said, marching into the kitchen and closing the shutter doors of entry. You had a moment to yourself in the kitchen. You inhaled, exhaled. It was probably the wine, you told yourself. There was so much wine you probably unknowingly had too much and now Patrick was making you blush just as deep as the red wine over absolutely nothing.

You ran your hands over your dress to smooth it and took to a chocolate strawberry from the counter. You breathed in, out.

“You okay?” Fuck, it was Patrick. He peeked in through the shutterboards. You paused mid-strawberry bite. You needed a moment from him but god, he cared so much. So much more than anyone else.

“Parties,” you said. “I think I’ve outgrown them.”

“You’re too young for that,” Patrick said, stepping into the kitchen. “But I’m a bit overwhelmed too with the amount of scholars there are here. I’m talking to your professor friend and he asked me where I went to college and I didn’t, so-“

You laughed, it still sounded like wind chimes, like heaven. “Ooh, that’s not fun.” You chuckled, finishing your chocolate strawberry. You held the plate out toward Patrick, offering him one. He politely declined. You finished your sangria. “I didn’t know that. Did you pursue tennis instead?”

“Yes. My friends went to school, though. I’m thinking of going in a year or two but for now I’d rather just put it out of my mind.” He said, you nodded, pouring yourself some red wine, you offered him more, he held out his glass. “You weren’t joking when you said you have too much wine.” He said.

“No. You turn 30 and it’s all you get and I’ve been collecting it for five years now.” You chuckled, downing the glass you poured for yourself. “I don’t ever drink this much, sorry, I do really look like an alcoholic.”

“I’m not judging, it’s your birthday,” Patrick said. “Your home is really nice, did I mention?”

“You didn’t,”

“I’ve never seen someone make such good use of such a small kitchen,” he said, looking around.

Your friend walked in, looking to top off her wine. “We wondered where you disappeared to.” She said. “Come help, Lyle and George are getting into politics!” You laughed and wordlessly, as you passed Patrick to leave the kitchen, you trailed your hand across his back and over his arm. It was the alcohol for sure.

The party was entertaining enough and there were desserts and more wine and talking and wine. Patrick found himself a little wine-drunk like someone’s aunt. You yourself were also pretty loose from the red. Patrick sat next to you on the couch in conversation and even in your talking gestures, your hand came to rest on his knee. Something about it sent chills up his entire body. And you both had more wine.

Talking and engaging and laughing with a bunch of wine-drunk friends made it easy to lean into Patrick when you laughed. It made it easy for Patrick in turn to put his hand on your leg, slightly higher than your knee.

You felt it, despite how hard you fought not to show it. His hand, those hands you’d been hyper-focused on since they held your waist, your hips… large hands, strong hands… it spread fire through your body when he touched you.

People started leaving. Bidding you goodbye, telling you not to leave the couch. The night was coming to an end. Even your sister was tired and she funnelled out with your best friend after helping tidy just a little. You got up to hug them goodbye and Patrick said goodbye from the couch. It didn’t even occur to you that they were the last to leave as you walked around tidying things.

“It’s less overwhelming the more wine you have,” you said. He chuckled, a smirk on his face. “I’m sorry nobody here is your age, I don’t typically have friends in their early twenties anymore.” You said.

“I had fun either way,” Patrick said. He picked up some plates and brought them to the kitchen. “Thank you for the invite.”

“Always,” you smiled. Patrick put the plates down and walked behind you at the sink, both hands gently on your waist as he squeezed past. Fuck, he thought, as his body lightly grazed yours. The wine spoke in the form of actions. His whole body went hot. So did yours. His hands on your waist brought back that very same sense. You fought your blush again. “Thank- thank you for helping tidy up. I’ll send you home with a bottle or two if you’d like.”

“I wouldn’t mind it,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. He was trying desperately not to want you right now. The wine was cruel, fuelling his intentions, changing his view on his restraint.

You whispered under your breath, “Too young, he’s too young…” on repeat, squeezing your eyes shut hard. He was a friend, he was Kit’s coach. God, he was so good with Kit. And he was so good at tennis and god, he was so good to you. Better than any man had ever been. Kinder. Sweeter. Stronger.

You turned the sink off and dried the dishes, leaving the rest for another day. You finished that one glass of wine that you’d left untouched. You didn’t need it, but at the same time you did. And it was a mistake.

Patrick rubbed his eyes, fighting himself desperately. “I think I’ll head out,” he said. You thanked god that he was leaving because you were drunk and this was crazy, the way you were thinking, the way that you knew clearly, through the haze of red wine, that you wanted him. He was too young. He was much too young. It was better that he was leaving, no matter how grateful you were that he was here. “It’s been really great. Thank you again for inviting me.”

“Of course. You’re always welcome,” you smiled. He backed over to the door, his eyes trained on you. He was fighting so hard. He wanted you, but for once in his life it wasn’t precisely sexual. He wanted you, you as a person, you as a whole. You were perfect, gorgeous, everything. “Thank you for the gift card, it was very sweet.”

“You’re welcome.” He swallowed hard. “I’ll see you soon for Kit’s lesson, hm?”

“Yes, Tuesday,” you confirmed. “You’ve been such an angel, Patrick. I’m very glad we met.”

“I could say the same,” he said. You made him grin. “I’ll be in touch.”

You hugged him again, the same way, arms around his neck, tight. You smelled sweet and strong and it was a scent more intoxicating than the wine. His arms wrapped around your waist, holding you tight against him. This time he wanted to let go less and it was apparent because you let go less. The hug slowly undid itself, hands loose, but not letting go, not leaving their positions.

“Patrick…” you said, hushed.

You knew. He knew.

This was insanity, your face just inches from his. You noticed how long his eyelashes were, you noticed his freckles. His eyes fluttered from your mouth to your eyes and you both knew.

“Patrick, I’m too old for you,” you stayed hushed.

“I don’t care.” He mumbled back.

“You will,” you replied.

“That doesn’t matter,” Patrick replied. His eyes held decision, so did yours. But your scale focused on the morals, the way things were meant to be. “I’m an adult just the same.” He added. His cologne was your atmosphere.

You shook your head just slightly, arms still wrapped around his neck. His hands still loosely on your waist. “Patrick, I am too old for you.” You repeated.

“Can I kiss you?” Is all he replied with this time. And you had only began to nod when he used his hands on your waist to pull you in the rest of the way. His lips met yours with force, with wine-driven hunger. You were his weakness, his everything, and he had wanted this much too long to be proud of.

Your arms around his neck tightened and it kept you close. His hand flat against your back kept you pressed against him and it was perfect, though your head kept telling you he was too young. Too young.

He grinned as he kissed you, knowing how long he’d waited. You, a goddess, tasting like chocolate and strawberries from the last one you’d popped in your mouth. You, perfect, the embodiment of light, pressed against him in the dark of your front hallway.

There was nothing he wanted more than you in this moment. Nothing you wanted more than him even when your brain battered at your actions. Kissing, he walked backwards as you pushed him toward the living room. The intention was the couch but the kissing was so hungry, so intense, so ravenous that you couldn’t make it that far. It had been ages since you’d been touched, ages and ages since a man had been so rough with you, kissing you like he was starved.

The shoulder of your dress slipped but it was okay, Patrick pressed you to the wall and started to bunch the skirt of your dress up. You sighed into the kiss, fast paced, heavy, as you undid the fly of his jeans. He took his own sweater off as to not overheat. It was seconds before your underwear was on the ground, dress still on, skirt covering anything.

Every wish Patrick had made since meeting you was coming true. He would have been fine with one kiss but how would he say this wasn’t better? He kissed down your neck, pressing you to the wall. You smiled, biting your lip, forgetting there was no one else at home. Patrick’s hand reached down as he did, sliding down your stomach until he reached the point he needed. You were so wet, Patrick wondered how long since you’d been touched there.

You gasped a sharp intake of breath, letting out a small moan as his finger found a pace, gently rubbing in the perfect places. You breathed heavily as he picked up pace a bit and lifted your leg to rest against his lip. One hand carrying your thigh, the other hand beginning to dip inside of you, just slowly… it was so easy to get you to make sounds. Your hands clung onto him as he began to pump his fingers in and out of you.

His hands, the ones you’d been thinking about so much, were finally inside of you. Big hands, you remarked, as one finger felt like two and two felt like god had truly sent you an angel. An angel who would fingerfuck you to death, apparently.

If his name in your mouth didn’t already sound like pure bliss, perfection, imagine Patrick when his name rolled off your parted lips in the form of a whispered moan. It set him absolutely ablaze and there was nothing he could do but rid himself of his pants and boxers. You kissed him again, sweet, perfect. And he spun you around, laying you down on the couch.

“Is this okay?” He asked as he positioned himself hastily.

“Please. Yes.” You nodded, eager to have him. Patrick lined himself up and began to slowly enter you, letting out a groan as you moaned out. Nothing had been this deep in you in years. Patrick wasn’t able to tell aside from the fact you were so tight, but so wet. He moved slowly, in and out, it was slower than the pace of which you’d been kissing but it felt right.

You held his back as your legs wrapped around him. It felt so good, him filling you entirely. Thrusting in and out slow, easy. But you needed him. “Faster.” You whispered, and Patrick had no problem with going faster. Slow turned to fast and strong and fuck it was absolutely everything he’d wanted. He was overtaken with lust like you were a drug.

Being inside of you was dizzying, perfect, everything and it was intimate and sweet and so fucking good.

It turned into being on the couch, the floor, the wall up the staircase and eventually your bed where you and Patrick laid, absolutely fucked out. Not only had Patrick been able to go so many rounds, but for you that was more sex than you’d ever had in your life. The wine died down a while ago and you both stared at the ceiling, breathless, covered in just a sheet.

“What the fuck,” Patrick heaved. You turned your head, laughing softly at his mess of curls. “You’re so perfect.”

“So far from it,” you sighed, rolling over into him. His arm wrapped around you, keeping you close. He kissed your forehead. “That was amazing.”

“Still think you’re too old for me?”

You tsked, “Yes, but… no. I’ve never had anyone do what you just did and as guilty as I feel, I don’t feel too guilty.” You joked, mumbling through your tiredness. Patrick’s hand ran through your hair gently, softly. “You are an angel.” You whispered, wrapping your arms around him tight. “If you truly don’t mind, neither do I.”

“I couldn’t mind,” Patrick said. He knew you were falling asleep. “You’re you either way.”

“Then it’s settled,” you sighed. You fell asleep after that, so perfect, so pretty. Patrick got to hold you all night, which to him meant more than the sex did. And that was unlike him. You’d changed him into someone more considerate and there was nobody he would rather be than his considerate self as he drifted off next to you that night.

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