#the ex art thinks about when hes with tashi and shes turned away from him and he remembers how you always let him hold you

[poppy-metal]

realistically I'm so far removed in personality from tashi patrick and art would shatter my heart into a million little pieces for being a lovergirl. no chase in sight I fold like wet paper. no mind games because I literally can't help but explode with what I'm feeling at any given moment. the three of them would run me into the ground and wring me dry. a sweetheart would not survive the tumultuous back and forth.

would be great sex, though. mind blowing, even.

[gallavichsreddie1128]

Cheater (Art Donaldson/Patrick Zweig)

Description: Patrick cheats on Y/N and Tashi cheats on Art.

Warning: Cheating, Implied Smut

Word Count:908

“She’s into Art, and I’m into you. You have nothing to worry about.” 10 years ago, Patrick said those words to Y/N and she believed them. She believed them so much, she let him put a ring on her finger and marry her. That was a big mistake, a mistake that would cost her the next 10 years. She loved Patrick, oh how she loved him. But from the beginning there was something off. She couldn’t tell what it was but once she saw Tashi Duncan it all hit her. Patrick would tell her that he wasn’t into her and that Art was. Art was head over heels for Tashi but that didn’t mean that Patrick wasn’t. Patrick was a player, a womanizer that got away with a lot. He was good looking and he knew that so he used it to his advantage.

Him and Tashi had something that wasn’t love but truth be told Tashi didn’t love anyone. She loved Tennis. So when Patrick was playing in a challengers and saw that Art was there ,he knew Tashi was too. Art saw Y/N with Patrick and couldn’t believe that they were still together. Y/N was a smart woman, what the fuck was she doing with him? Tashi wanted no needed Art to win so she was going to do what she had to do to make it work. Y/N had this sick feeling in her stomach when she saw Tashi and Art. It had been so many years but yet it felt like it was just yesterday. In the steam room Patrick revealed to Art the one thing that he could use against him. Him fucking Tashi while being married to Y/N.

Art wanted to punch him and scream at him. “Yeah when we were teenagers, sure. Or Atlanta.” Art remembers that day that he saw Patrick and Tashi talking. He felt uneasy about it but Tashi told him that they just talked. Patrick just revealed that they fucked. “Y/N, You would do that to her?” Art asked him. “I didn’t want to. It was a mistake. I love Y/N.” Lies, he did want to. “Y/N doesn’t know, does she? Patrick shook his head. “I told myself I would never tell her. I can’t lose her man. I didn’t even expect to tell you but it just came out.” Art was mad, his wife fucked his ex best friend. Who wouldn’t be? He had to find Y/N and tell her. Get her away from Patrick just for a second. Y/N was always with Patrick and the one time she wasn’t he fucked Tashi. Art wasn’t aware of it and nor was Y/N. That was until he came home smelling like another woman.

She put two and two together and pretended to still be asleep. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes but she couldn’t. One day before the final Art had gotten Y/N alone. “I know Art. I know about him cheating with Tashi.” “You know about Atlanta?” Confusion took over her face. “What?” She whispered. “Atlanta, that's when he cheated on you.” She shook her head, “Art.” “What were you talking about?” He asked her. “Last night.” He thought back to when Tashi wasn’t there and he slept with their daughter. “How do you know this?” “He came home smelling like another woman and I've always speculated that he was into her and she’s here so…” He looked at the ground for a solid minute. Neither of them said anything. Atlanta and last night. Patrick cheated on her twice. Tashi cheated on him twice. She looked at Art. “I think we’ve both been played.” She said, he nodded and looked up at her. “For the past 12 years.” Y/N didn’t know how it started but when it ended she felt relief.

She stared up at Art as he stopped thrusting. Both of them breathing heavy and looked fucked out. She had never viewed Art like that until now. “Should we tell them?” Oh he did and only Patrick would get it. It was Patrick’s turn to serve and he kept taking too long. But with the 3 bounces of the tennis ball and him putting the ball up to the center of the racket, Art knew what he was talking about. Art faked being shocked and upset at that. The crowd was confused as was Tashi and Y/N. Patrick got a point and when it was Art’s turn to serve, he did the same thing.

Patrick’s face dropped when he realized that Art meant he slept with Y/N and not Tashi. Patrick looked over at Y/N who looked at him. He looked back at Art and Art hit the ball, in shock Patrick didn’t hit the ball back. The crowd went wild as Art Donaldson won the match. Tashi was so happy but Art didn’t care. He stared at Patrick as Patrick froze. Y/N left the court without looking at Patrick, leaving him there. She got back to the hotel in time to gather her stuff to leave. She placed her wedding ring on the table next to the bed. No note or anything. It appears that whatever the signal was from the racket and ball they did gave away what happened. As she was leaving the hotel room she saw Art. She smiled at him and he smiled at her. Maybe this would bring them closer, maybe they were meant to be all along. 

[zweiginator]

Spoiler: Patrick's ex wife is Tashi and she falls in love with you just from that video. She arranges a meeting with Patrick where she literally begs him to let her fuck you

your mind. like patrick and tashi's relationship was doomed from the start because it was solely based on sexual chemistry and literally nothing else. tashi is hotheaded and knows what she wants. she'll get it no matter what. and she wants to mold the men she's in a relationship with into the man she needs him to be. she tries with patrick but he's far too stubborn; he grew up rich and spoiled, she should've known.

their relationship is obsessive in the rawest form. making the other jealous just for the sake of it, filthy degrading sex and every time the pendulum swings in a different direction and the other person is in charge.

it's not a sustainable relationship and patrick doesn't know what to do with himself when tashi tells him she's pregnant on a cold december night.

tashi is livid; how can patrick be so fucking reckless and simultaneously unwilling to deal with any consequence? she's turned off by his behavior and his approach to being a father. of course, he loves their daughter but he's just distant with her. doesn't want to step up in the way she expects. the pregnancy was a surprise for tashi too, but patrick doesn't seem to understand that.

they argue and tashi throws a wine glass at patrick. says she's filing for divorce and patrick says good. he moves out before she even does it. and he's still highly involved in their lives, tashi's and his daughter's that is. he loves his daughter.

every pick up is tinged in the sour taste of annoyance for the other. tashi is mad when their daughter's hair isn't combed, patrick says she wouldn't let me--tashi rolls her eyes.

"be a fucking man."

tashi says that a lot to patrick. said it a lot during their marriage too. she knows where to poke and prod and knows that that irks patrick more than she could even begin to fathom. patrick prides himself in his ego, his masculinity, his strength.

so tashi bites the inside of her cheek as she receives a text from patrick. she assumes it will be a snarky text about custody or something petty. but it's a video. she goes into the bathroom; her new boyfriend is asleep in her california king. snoring softly and ignorant to the fact that tashi's cheeks flush with a persistent annoyance of her ex-husband that transforms into ivy green jealousy when she sees the video.

a pretty girl--you--being fucked by her ex husband. the father of her child. hands all over you and you're begging for more but jesus, you're greedy--there's nothing more he can give you. every inch of him sheathed inside of you, stretching you out. it's wet and sweaty and patrick's breathing makes the veins in tashi's neck pulse as she chews the inside of her cheek until it's raw and bleeding.

you're so pathetic beneath him. she was never like that with him; in fact most of the time she was in charge. in this position. but you beg patrick to fuck you, to take you, to slap you, spit on you, cum in you.

and he does all those things. the whole thing is deranged and odd and perverted.

why did you send me this? tashi texts patrick.

patrick doesn't answer right away and tashi can't deny how wet she is. he's always been able to do that, even if the main source of her arousal are your pretty mewls, how you'll do anything to cum.

isn't she pretty?

it's redundant; he said that in the video.

tashi types for awhile.

i think i'd fuck her better.

is that a bet?

tashi hears rustling in her bed; the light of her phone is waking up her boyfriend and he turns towards her, muttering unintelligible nothings.

"art, baby, go to sleep." she kisses his forehead and he sighs contentedly. ignorance is bliss.

[girliism]

in which you and tashi go through the trials of ivf.

you and tashi were both career driven women adding a baby in the mix wasn’t something the two of you wanted to do right away, but being married for three years now every time you watched her interact with kids something in you yearned to have one of your own.

pregnancy consumes your mind. it seems like everyone you meet is pregnant or trying and you’re weirdly jealous. “tashi?” she hums at you. “what do think about having a baby?” tashi freezes in the middle of the aisle. now probably wasn’t the best time for this conversation, in the grocery store shopping to restock for the week. “um, i think having a baby would be a lot of work.” tashi stands up straighter and begins pushing the cart again. “yes, but i basically work from home already and we’d have our mothers to help us.” you could see in tashi’s face how hard she was thinking about this. “ok, and how would we get this baby?” you guys were stopped in the pasta aisle. “so glad you asked.” tashi liked when you got excited about things. “there’s of course always adoption but while reading i found this thing called reciprocal ivf. we’d take your egg and put it in my womb so the baby has a biological connection to both of us. tashi i’d be carrying your baby.” you grabbed her hands to hold them in yours getting a little emotional. the look you gave tashi made it easy for her to decide. “ok.” your eyebrows shot up. “ok? ok as in ok we’re going have a baby?” tashi’s nod was all you needed to start bouncing up and down squealing before tashi started to shush you.

you and tashi were at the clinic the following week, having done both your individual check ups it was time to meet with the doctor together. it felt like you had been sitting in that office waiting for the doctor for an eternity. tashi feeling you fidgeting next to her grabs your hand placing a kiss on the back of it then kissing the side of mouth. “i’m nervous.” you mumbled. the doctor walked in causing the two of you to sit up. “good morning ladies how are we today?” good mornings were echoed back to her. “so i’ve taken a look at both of you labs and you’re both very healthy women we should have no problem extracting eggs.” sighs of relief fall from you and tashi as you give each other happy smiles. “you’ve already decided to take the eggs from tashi all you need to do is find a donor our website has a list of all of the registered donor here at the clinic just browse through a give us a call.

later that night you sat on your side of the bed computer in lap as you scrolled through the different men. “oh tash, look what about him?” tashi crawled next to you looking over your shoulder at the computer. “no.” she was quick to deny slipping under the covers next to you. you sigh closing the laptop. “you’ve said that to all the guys i’ve shown.” you turned to face her. “we have to pick someone you know.” tashi just shrugged “i know that but it’s not like we’re ordering a pizza love the man we pick will be fertilizing the egg that will make our baby. it’s already scary enough that he’ll be a complete stranger.” you understood where tashi’s pickiness was coming from you too wanted the best of the best. you ran your fingers through tashi’s hair while she placed kisses on neck inching lower and lower when you gasps sitting upright. “what if we used your friend the cute blonde one.” tashi stopped her kisses. “art? you wanna use my ex boyfriend’s now boyfriend as our sperm donor?” the look tashi gave you was comical. you pushed her onto her back moving your body to straddle hers. “don’t look at me like that i’m serious.” you pouted. “we know art he’s funny, he’s tall, he’s athletic and even if he tries to deny it he’s a great singer come on tashi it never hurts to ask.” you whispered the last part against the skin of her neck sliding your hand up her shirt ghosting over her nipple. “fine i’ll call patrick tomorrow have them over for dinner.” tashi sighs out your mouth meeting hers.

at breakfast you could hear her on the phone with patrick before she hung up. “they’ll be over tonight, don’t forget to ice the good red.” she kissed your forehead then was off to tennis practice. you loved hanging out with art and patrick they were a fun couple despite the weird history between the two of them and your wife you all got along great. “did you guys get a new jacuzzi?” art questioned looking over your backyard that you had recently paid a lot of money to have renovated. you stood next to him “yes! i can’t believe you noticed that.” you and art talked more about the renovation while tashi and patrick fought at the grill over how long the meat should be cooked. “i’m the man here tashi i think know how to cook meat.” tashi gave him the look specially reserved for when men annoyed her. “why is it burning then?” she walked off after that leaving patrick to try and save his burning steak.

the four of you ate outside on the backyard patio. laughter filled the air and it got a little chilly as the sky got darker. patrick refilled his third glass of wine when he realized you hadn’t even had your first. “what’s up with you why aren’t you drinking?” you got quite and tashi cleared her throat. the two of you looked at each other silently asking each other who was gonna address it first. “thats has to do with the reason we asked you guys here on such short notice.” tashi said setting her wine glass down. “we’re trying for a baby and would like to know if art would wanna be our donor.” you blurted out not being able to take the suspension. art let out a sound of surprise before looking over at patrick the two of them now having their own silent conversation. it’s time like these where you wish you could read minds. “you can of course say no.” you added softly playing with the ends of the blanket hanging over your shoulders while tashi’s own hand squeezes your thigh. art downed the rest of his wine signaling for patrick to refill it. “first off congratulations you guys will be great mothers.” you and tashi give him small smiles. “i’m surprised you would even consider me for something thing like this but i’d be honored to be your donor.” you don’t know when tear stated forming in your eyes but they finally fall and tashi is pulling you into her arms pressing kisses on the side of your face. “we’re gonna be uncles!” patrick beats his hands rhythmically one the table and you can’t contain the happy sobs that break through.

after art was cleared with your doctor his sperm count being high and health all he had to do was jizz in a cup, a process patrick was more than happy to help with. you had to wait for yours and tashi’s cycles to sync before the transfer could happen and when it did the days after that felt like everything was moving in slow motion. “we’ll take the test tonight, i’ll bring home two.” tashi said standing next to her car. she was on her way to practice. “ok” you whispered. tashi kissed you wanting to take all your worry away. “everything’s gonna be ok.” she rested her forehead against yours. you nodded giving her one last kiss before letting her drive away.

getting work done that day was nearly impossible all day long you constantly watch the clock waiting till tashi gets back with the pregnancy test. you were standing in front of the mirror hands moving over your flat stomach when you heard the front door open. tashi appeared in the bathroom door way a plastic bag in hand drink in the other. “ready to drink your weight in sunny d?” you couldn’t help but giggle at the reference. you and tashi sat with your backs against the tub staring at the two test on the counter. the loud ringing from your phones timer rips through the room. two minutes was up. “do you wanna flip it or should i?” and for the first time since starting this process you heard the nervousness laced in tashi’s voice. “you can.” you whispered back. tashi took a deep breath before turning over the test. you couldn’t see anything so the gasp tashi let out could be either good or bad. “oh my god.” her voice was breathy. “what tashi? what is it, what does say.” your heartbeat picking up. then tashi turned around showing you the test and right there big and bold was the word PREGNANT. “we’re gonna be mommies!” tashi grabbed your face kissing you but you were still in a daze not believing you were actually pregnant like a baby was growing inside you at that very moment. “we’re gonna be mommies.” you whispered eyes welling up. “we’re having a baby and we’re gonna be mommies.” you said louder jumping up and down smiling as happy tears slipped down yours and tashi’s face. tashi’s laughs mix perfectly with yours as you guys dance around in the bathroom. “you know i love you so much.” you threw your arms around tashi. “i think i already beat you too that.” she kisses your nose.

the two of you decided to wait till you were out of the first trimester to tell people. you told both your parents first then art and patrick. you were mentally prepared for the morning sickness and sore boobs that came with pregnancy but what caught you off guard was how horny you got. “come on tashi please we can be quick.” kissing under her jaw. “we have an appointment love. can’t you wait til after.” you really really couldn’t. “need you now.” your pout and puppy eyes and the whiney please you gave tashi had her on her knees face in between your legs.

“ready to find out the sex?” the doctor looks over to you and tashi. there was an on going bet about wether it was gonna be a boy or girl everyone was convinced it’d be a boy. “it’s a girl.” the doctor announced. you laugh “i knew it.” you stare at the screen the showed the baby inside you moving around.

the rest of your pregnancy was smooth, tashi absolutely doted on you, messaging your feet, bringing you whatever late night craving you got but the closer you got to your due the more she stuck to your side. “i just wanna be there when your water breaks.” but she wasn’t there. she had left you at your parents house to go on a grocery store run when it broke. “uh, mom i think my water just broke.” the look on your mothers face would have made you laugh but the contractions were causing you to wince in pain. the whole ride to the hospital was filled with your mom yelling at your dad to drive faster.

it felt like you were in the hospital room for hours. your voice turning raw from screaming, tashi’s hand slowly losing feeling from how hard you were squeezing it but still she made sure to tell you how good you were doing. after a few really good pushed a loud high pitched cry could be heard throughout the room. you daughter was finally born. you strained your neck trying get a look at her while the nurses cleaned her up. “congratulations she’s beautiful.” a tiny baby girl was placed in your arms. happy tears fell from yours and tashi’s eyes. “she’s so small.” tashi whispered her finger lightly stroking your daughters red cheek. “hi lily.” you greeted her when she opened her eyes for the first time, her big brown eyes catching yours.

(cheesed so much while writing this.)

[ch4rryc0smos]

⊹ eighteen — a. donaldson.

synopsis — marion misses him dearly. how she always does, but she doesn't expect to see him, until he decides to reach out first, and who is she to deny? one thing lead to another, and eighteen is happening all over again, but this time, he promises to be hers.

genres — friends to strangers to lovers, tension, mutual pining, requited yearning, admiring, best friend's (ex-)husband, domestic angst & fluff, unrequited to requited love, hurt/comfort.

pairing — art donaldson x friend!self insert, art donaldson x mutual friend!self insert.

warnings — mentions of medication, and insomnia, that's about it.

word count — 2.7k.

author's note — hurt/comfort now. my friend wanted me to, plus i needed some happiness sprinkled in here, so i'm doing exactly that. i'm pretty stressed, so i reckon i need something nice, i hope everyone's well out there!

masterlist.

Nerves consume her body. Her movements are jittery, the pills making no difference. Her hand on the steering wheel is white-knuckled, shaky. Marion hasn’t bothered checking her phone today. She doesn’t want to. Even if there might be any messages from her manager, she’ll get to work in a few minutes. A few minutes of scolding won’t take her already non-existent morale down that much anyway. Music blares in her ears, the radio is off, but she has her headphones on. When she arrives, she’s quick to lock her car and start walking speedily towards her building. People brush her shoulders, she ignores some whistles. Are any of these people from her past? Are these any of the students she might’ve passed at her campus over a decade ago? It would’ve been wild if they were. 

But she doesn’t figure that out. She watches the glass doors leading into her workplace slide open, her reflection greeting her like a phantom, a rather unappealing one. She blinks the thought away, trudges forward. Some people chirp hellos at her, she smiles at them, holding her head low as she continues to her office. On the way, she runs into her manager.

He glances at her, and when she looks up at him, he stops mid-sentence. She doesn’t like that.

“Take care,” is all he says, and he suddenly leaves. Departs. Doesn’t even bother to look back. 

By the time Marion can find the energy to ask him to finish his actual point, he’s left and she’s reached the door into her office. So, she doesn’t bother. She walks in, closes the door behind her and sighs. Another gruelling day of losing her fight to the scoliosis she probably has now, and to capitalism. She already wants to slump her back against the wall, and stay there.

She doesn’t though, she finds her seat at her desk, starts going through her heaps of emails and paperwork. Nothing is there to disturb her for some reason, but she supposes it might be for the better. It seems to be, until she hears a ping. She turns towards her phone, expects a message from just about a few people, but none of them are who she thought they’d be.

She stops breathing when she reads the name, it’s not Tashi. Not any coworker who’s too scared to talk to her in person. It reads Art Donaldson. Well, not quite. She hasn’t changed the way his name appears on her phone since the time she’d first met him. It’s still Artie, with a smiley face next to it. Whatever eighteen year old Marion was going through, thirty one year old Marion still hasn’t moved on from. But that doesn’t matter, because she hasn’t messaged him since the time of Tashi’s injury. At the start, they’d just do whatever they had to in person, then it turned into Art dedicating most if not all of his time to Tashi, and then everything stopped.

The first few years, it hurt, it really did. He’d become such a staple in her life, so when she had to go through the turmoil of her twenties, and when she thought he’d be there but wasn’t, it truly did hurt. 

But just when she thinks she can finally do it, go through her dreadful life, he walks back in? He walks back in, and he just expects to be accepted? (He will be accepted, even if Marion says she can’t). Even if her mind tells her to not tap on the message, she does. She reads it over, thinks it might’ve been sent to the wrong person. Why would Art Donaldson send her a text going ‘hey, are you free tonight?’.

She stares at the words, they start turning into things they aren’t. She’s waiting for them to disappear, but they don’t. By now, she’s completely out of it, doesn’t care what influx of emails are left, her phone is the centre of attention. 

What should she do? What should she—What is she—Panicking isn’t going to change it. Her immediate instinct is to type a yes. It’s true, she’s pathetic, she’s always free after work. She doesn’t even bother going on Tinder, doesn’t bother trying to get someone. They deserve someone who actually wants to love them, but she’s stuck. A few minutes pass as she sits still as a statue. And then her hands shake as she types yes. She’s free. She asks why. She expects at least a few minutes of silence, thinks she can try to calm herself down in the few minutes it might take for a response to come in. But it takes just a few seconds, and something about it makes her feel a type of giddiness that she can only identify as what she felt back in college. 

‘just want to talk’ reads the message. And then a location pops up. 

Marion smiles.

She asks him when he’d like to meet up. She knows this most probably won’t go well. He could just be drunk—But no, he wouldn’t. He’s got training, surely. He’s got work. It’s literally just scraping the horizons of the afternoon. It doesn’t matter what he’s doing though, because he says seven in the evening. 

Marion agrees. It feels great. It does for the first few minutes. Because first, she’s somehow managed to have a conversation with the man that she’s loved for over a decade, and second, she’ll see him in person, for the first time in a while. Honestly, that one was on her, she’d avoid him like the plague, even though she could’ve seen him at least a few times a year. She just decided not to. For a while, it kept her peace intact, so she couldn’t complain, but at some point, the yearning did win over. It sure did. She’d then spend nights awake, thinking the weight of her sheets are him. 

Which was stupid.

It doesn’t matter, though. She’ll meet him in a few hours time. 

And she can tell him how much she’s missed him. Their friendship. Everything they could’ve been were. 

Her issue is that she doesn’t realise how fast the hours pass when she’s busy drowning in work. When she says it’ll be a few more reports, it can’t take that long, but it does. It takes her well over five hours. But by that point, she’s already meant to clock out. 

When she stands up, she’s sure she’s aged a few decades. She can’t care less though, she switches off her desktop and makes her way to the door. She cracks it open an inch, glancing out and glad to notice that no one is there to question her. She steps out. She can hear distant chatter, but it doesn’t seem to be approaching her. Her bag swinging at her side, she weaves her way through the winding building. 

Surprisingly, it’s rather devoid of life. Usually, it’s not this quiet when she’s clocking out. When she’s at the lobby, she meets at least five people, but there’s not one. That unnerves her. She can hear her own breathing and tries to brush it off as she finally steps out onto the pavement. 

Then her eyes catch on the black jeep in front of her. Waiting, on the pavement. It could be just any jeep, of course, but it isn’t. It has that one specific scratch that Art mentioned but couldn’t afford to get fixed. While she’s eyeing it and getting ambushed by a tide pool of memories, the window rolls down. Neat strawberry blond hair is peeking out. Her muscles tense under her shirt. It feels tight, it probably looks horribly wrinkled.

He smiles and her heart can’t help but skip a beat. He places his arm out, glances at both sides, and beckons her closer. Marion watches him silently as he unlocks his door and steps out. His smile widens. She doesn’t want to wait. She doesn’t wait. With a few quick steps, she’s only a foot away from him.

“Hey,” he starts.

He doesn’t get to say anything, she reaches a hand forward, out of instinct, to brush his shoulder. But then she stops herself. This isn’t college. This isn’t the night after the parties. She can’t do that. If he intended to say anything, he doesn’t. He stops, frowns softly. 

Shit, she hates that she wants to wipe it off his face. 

“Art,” she breathes his name. His eyes flicker up to meet hers and they stare there, for just a second before he’s scanning the entirety of her face, drinking in every detail. Like he might commit it to memory. As if he already hasn’t. His hand reaches for her. When their fingers touch, her hand almost jerks back, but she doesn’t let it. She lets his hesitance wash over, lets him intertwine their fingers, press his palm into hers.

It feels wrong, but so right. She knows he’s married, but this is what she’s wanted for way too long. He tugs her closer, almost has her stumble into his chest, into his warmth, but then he leads her to the passenger seat, opens the door for her. 

“My personal Uber?” She grins. Even if it’s been a few years, she’ll always take the chance to tease him, to joke. That is one thing that’ll always feel natural with him. He seems to melt into her words, he nods, smiling all lopsided, but still appearing as charming as ever.

“As always,” he says, holding the door open and waiting until she’s situated so he can close the door and find his place in the driver’s seat. When he sits down, and shifts the gear, Marion can’t help but stare at his hands, at the veins that seem to be ever more visible now. Her face grows warmer, and she looks away.

“Hey, don’t do that,” he whispers. He doesn’t have to be quiet, but of course he is. That does something to her. She can’t help but turn to look at him, he’s smiling softly, like she can fix all his issues. “I miss you,” he says.

Not I missed you. I miss you. He’s missing her, even though she’s right here. She wants to hold his face, but she doesn’t. 

“I miss you too, I missed you,” she replies. Her voice shakes. This reminds her awfully of when they were eighteen, and couldn’t see each other for a few days. She remembers the way they clung onto each other the next time they saw each other. Whispering ‘I missed you’ and refusing to let go. They rocked back and forth, paying no mind to the outside world. This feels oddly like that. 

But Marion doesn’t mind that, she likes the feeling of nostalgia that washes over her. 

“I know I’m a bit early for seven.” Art laughs, scratching the back of his neck as he’s driving through the city. “But I just couldn’t wait.”

Friends don’t say that kind of shit about each other. Marion blushes anyway.

“Of course not,” she says.

He pouts at her. “You aren’t excited to see me?” he asks.

She laughs, “of course I am, dumbass.”

His face breaks into a smile. Most of the ride is spent in silence. He hums under his breath and Marion stares out the window, drinking in the sights she just never had the time for, and didn’t want to see previously. At some point, Art’s hand finds its way onto her thigh. She feels the guilt immediately.

She lets a few minutes pass. “What about Tashi?” she asks then. Her voice is shaking far too much for her liking, but she can’t stop it. Art squeezes her thigh. He’d always do it when he knew she was nervous. How has he not forgotten?

“We’re…” he starts, stops to inhale, and looks down, they’re parked on some backroad. Marion looks at him, tilts her head to the side. He shakes his head, laughs sadly. “Getting a divorce.”

Marion gasps. “No…” she says, not able to believe it. 

“Yes,” Art affirms, turning to face her, his lips trembling.

Oh. Marion doesn’t care anymore, she reaches out, cups his face, and shifts so she’s closer to him. He melts into her hands. She rubs her thumbs over his cheeks. “I’m so sorry, I’m so… sorry,” she repeats the apologies. As if this was caused by her. 

“It’s okay. It wasn’t working out, anyway. She’s goal oriented and she’s here to do things, to achieve heights. I’m past my prime. I just want my family… and to retire.”

Marion smiles, even if her heart breaks a little.

“Oh, Art,” she says, presses her forehead onto his.

“Missed you so bad,” he whispers. Her heart skips a beat.

She nods. “I missed you too.”

“You know,” he starts… His hand finding the nape of her neck. Her eyes are caught on his. She stares into the endless pits of cerulean. Oceans that swirl wildly, that glisten under the warm glow of the sun. She nods, asking him to continue. “I miss eighteen. I miss us, what we were. Then.” He breathes, inhaling deeply. 

His warm breath brushes against her face. She feels the gooseflesh erupt all over her skin.

“We’re not that young anymore, Art,” she says. Both of them know this very well, but they don’t care. It’s like when he mentioned that he’s getting a divorce, whatever restraint either of them were holding fell apart. They look like they’re two seconds away from kissing each other, relearning each other’s taste after over a decade of nothing even close to touch. 

“I know, but I want us back.” His fingertips are warm, they weave their way into her hair, letting her horribly loose bun fall apart. He cards his fingers through, detangling every knot gently. Just how he used to, when they were eighteen.

It’s like they’re messy teens all over again, sitting in this very same jeep, giggling in the middle of the night after he almost dropped his ice cream all over him. Marion leans closer.

Art doesn’t move back. He smiles. His eyes drop to her lips. And she has to gulp to stop herself from inhaling sharply. His smile widens.

“God, I love you so much,” he whispers, grazing his lips over hers for a moment. He shifts in his seat, getting even closer. It’s a miracle they aren’t kissing already. But Marion doesn’t waste any more seconds. She’s so sick of all these years she spent away from him. 

She presses her lips onto his, the warmth making her feel all dizzy. His lips are soft, they’re warm, they kiss her just the same, just a bit more urgently now. “I love you, I love you too.”

“I…” he pulls away for a second, smiles at her while their foreheads are still pressed against each other. His hair, despite being short, is still tickling her forehead. She giggles softly. “I was such a fool for waiting, for not taking the chance at eighteen.” 

“You were.” Marion smiles. If she’d been feeling any bitter feelings, they’re pushed to the back of her mind. Right now, she just needs to bask in his warmth, in the fact that he wants her again. At how right this feels to her heart. She can think about anything else later.

“I promise I won’t do that, ever again,” he whispers against her lips, diving in for another kiss, another peck to the lips. “I’ll give you everything I could’ve at eighteen.”

“Will you?” she asks. She knows he can, and that he will, but she still asks. The fear that flickers in her eyes for just a split second makes him frown. He kisses her again, finding that it’s just as addicting as it used to be. 

“I promise. On everything.”

Marion smiles. “I better get what I’ve been waiting for the past thirteen years.”

“You will.” 

Art is holding her so tenderly, he’s holding her like he just wants to make up for everything. For not choosing her when he should’ve. He kisses her like he’s going to show her that he’s learnt. That he’s better. He kisses her like she’s the oxygen he’s been deprived of for so long. But, he kisses her just how he used to. He’s just her Art. 

He always will be. At eighteen, and at thirty one. That’s a fact that won’t change. He won’t let it. And Marion doesn’t want it to, either.

ch4rryc0smos © 2024 … do not repost, alter, translate, or steal my work.

[thursdaygrl]

i'm gonna bury my head in drafts immediately after posting this but here's a muse specific wishlist / starter call. like and i'll come to you for a bit of plotting but optionally we can just jump in. i'll cross out anything that gets taken that i don't wanna double up on.

alina — honestly someone to match her freak. someone to see her as she is and recognise that they like it. or maybe they hate it but they're obsessed with her. could be human or a ghost even.

ciro — soulmates au but wtf why is my soulmate this sweet, innocent human??? / on and off love with someone he turned early in his vampirism, can they ever make it work?

cricket — rivals or enemies to lovers / the sneaky journalist being played by someone who is secretly writing a story about her/her family while getting close to her and the fallout of what happens when she finds out.

dawson — figure skater/hockey player im BEGGING you. / accidental pregnancy also.

freya — this and i could see her on either side of it. / something lisa frankenstein inspired. i think freya accidentally bringing her soulmate to life is hilarious and i'd also be down to play it as modern day rather than in a fantasy verse like i usually would.

jeremy — the sunshine to his grumpy, preferably someone who takes what he's researching seriously which takes him aback.

kellan — exes to lovers, someone from the peak of his criminal days who he loved so dearly but now they're both trying to be 'reformed' and should probably stay away.

letha — a little nathan/haley from one tree hill inspired thing, pls.

luther — weird strangers meeting on the road and there’s a sudden spark, would absolutely prefer if she was a little crazy cause he’d be into that. could be just intense or a murder, we don’t mind

mason — give this man a wife to worship. would love to explore the criminal stuff with his family and the angst of keeping their family safe. also would love there to be babies.

moira — a journalist or detective she comes across working the same case in a small town, they clash and also probably bang cause that’s fun.

molly — gay sad normal people inspired plot pls.

oscar — let me do the damn sugar daddy plot. let me do it. smutty and angsty pls.

quinn — fake dating pls or best friends to lovers.

revan — princess and the scoundrel, i'm sorry it slaps every time. something tangled inspired would make me so happy.

river — something jess and rory inspired cause i’m a sucker for that and i want river against someone bookish and cute.

ronan — basic and boring but i need enemies to lovers. would actually die for a sherry-lee watson fc and i'll speed up working on gifs for both if you give me it.

rory — i really want a girl who thinks she’s straight to discover otherwise through rory mostly bc i think it’ll be funny.

slater — ok so this as inspo. someone worse than slater, who makes slater worse and it's such a doomed ship bc they're both terrible but they're so drawn to each other.

sosie — i’d like to play her against someone who works for or with her father, e.g. campaign advisor, fellow politician, bodyguard etc, ya girl loves something forbidden. / cappie and rebecca from greek inspired.

vienna — art & tashi from challengers inspired please. i need a failmarriage for her real bad but also would take patrick and tashi inspired cause i would love her to be challenged. either. both. / also this because she definitely could go full gone girl on someone.

yessica — age gap thing with her hot neighbour that is totally inappropriate but she has too much fun flirting to stop. probably goes further than she actually ever thought it would.

[apolloscastellan]

Who's gonna stop us from walking back into rekindled flames? | loss of my life chapter one

Pairing: Art Donaldson x Tashi Duncan x Patrick Zweig x FemaleTennisPlayer!reader

Summary: Your life had always been divided in two: before you met Tashi and after you met Tashi. The second you had laid eyes on her for the first time you knew you had been changed. You were soulmates, meant for each other Nothing could ever tear you two apart, or so you had thought. You could've pinpointed the junior U.S. Open as the night that changed everything. Now you have to juggle your hate-love relationship with tennis with your love-love relationship with Tashi and the two guys who you can't seem to stay away from. Tennis, after all, was only one of the most fucked up relationships of your life.

Warnings: challengers spoiler, challengers content warnings, super minor character death, terrible mother figure, use of y/n, polyamory, reader has a dress and long hair.

Word count: 7.4K

A/N: This is my first time writing anything Challengers-related, hope you like it!

series masterlist | next

New Rochelle, New York. August 4, 2019:

You think there must be someone up there who hates you. It’s the only explanation you have for any of this. You bet it’s your mum, although you are not sure she is up there at all. You walk towards the seat beside Tashi quietly, you can’t believe that’s the place they have reserved for you. You guess it makes sense, seeing they are the two best seats to watch the final, still you wish someone had thought about how terrible an idea it was to seat you next to your ex best friend. 

“Good morning,” you say, trying to be normal and polite, trying to act as if you’re not at all affected by her presence.

She turns to look at you, almost shocked. The expression is barely there, but you know her too well to miss it. She tilts her head forward to look at you, the glasses she’s wearing slip slightly down her nose. You smile, sitting down beside her, grabbing your purse with both hands to stop them from shaking.

“Good morning,” she says, before she turns back to look at the court.

You hope that’s the last you both interact with each other for the rest of the match. It’s enough that you have to sit next to her to watch Patrick play Art for the first time in 13 years. You feel like you’re having a deja vu.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the umpire’s voice comes through the speaker, you sit straight up in your chair, “this final round match will be the best of three tie break sets. To the right of my chair we have Patrick Zweig.”

You cringe at the terrible pronunciation of this last name as the crowd claps politely. He has no reaction as he stretches, way more used to it than you will ever be. It infuriates you, that people can’t be bothered to learn his name, your name now, too.

“To the left of my chair, Art Donaldson,” the umpire continues, the crowd roars, unaware of your inner turmoil as you look at the guy you once knew like the palm of your hand. You can’t begin to imagine how Patrick must be feeling. “Donaldson won the toss and has elected to serve.”

Patrick smiles at you as he takes his place on the court, he kisses the ring on his left hand, your heart swells. You smile back, trying to swallow back the bile trying to make its way up your throat. It’s too late for the nausea to come from anything other than the unease you feel. You pretend to be ok, your hands coming up to give him a ridiculous double thumbs up that makes him bite back his laughter. Your smile drops as soon as he turns around. The guilt that has been clawing at your heart for the past week more present than ever. You don’t care about the result, so you can just hope for it to go as smoothly and quickly as possible.

“First set,” the umpire calls. “Donaldson to serve.”

Art calls for a ball to the ball boy. He goes through his serving ritual, and you realize it’s not too different from the one he had when he played in Stanford

“Ready. Play.”

With a whip of his racket he sends the ball soaring over the net. Patrick hits it back, full force. They go back and forth a couple times until Patrick sends the ball out.

“Fifteen, Love”

You hear Tashi clap beside you and you do the same politely. The two men keep playing in front of you and you are both on autopilot and so invested you could swear you are down on the court playing with them. Art misses a serve, Patrick scores a point, and before you know it Patrick is closing his fist in celebration.

“Let’s go!” He turns to look at you, but he is not smiling as he usually is when he celebrates with you.

“Fifteen, thirty.” His gaze shifts to the woman next to you and you have to use all of your willpower to not turn to look at her too.

Instead, you look at her husband, who looks far more upset than he should at having lost the point. He is already looking at you. You hold each other's eyes for a second before he, too, shifts to look at his wife. You shake your head as they nod to each other. Some things never change

Madrid, Spain. 3 months earlier, May 12, 2019:

“It’s fractured,” the doctor says.

Patrick groans, his head falling backwards and hitting the wall with a soft thud. You rub your face with both your hands. It’s not his fault, he had stepped on his foot the wrong way and God knows you are grateful it’s not as bad as you had originally imagined. Still, this couldn’t have come at a worst time.

“You have to be out for at least six weeks plus two more of recovery and PT before playing full out again,” the important looking man continues.

He looks back at you, his face pained, guilty. You step closer to him grabbing one of his hands in both your own.

“I’m sorry” he whispers.

“It was an accident. It happens. Does it hurt?”

“Not as much now that I’m high,” he is referring to his pain medication, you roll your eyes anyways.

You pull your phone out of your pocket to start making plans. Scrolling through calendars and texting coaches and physical therapists to set up meetings and planning schedules.

“We’ll be out of Roland Garros and Wimbledon but we can make it to the U.S Open which is the one we’re trying to win anyways” he nods his head along to your words. “You’ll need some real, low stakes matches before that…”

“We can get me in some unknown tournaments, right? Something that won’t have a lot of competition, or attention, just enough to get me going? Maybe some challengers?”

“Yes, that’s perfect” you sigh, grabbing his face with both your hands. “It’s gonna be ok, ok? We’re gonna make it work, and we’ll get that fucking career grand slam if it’s the last thing we do.”

When he smiles up at you, his grin almost splits his face in two.

“I love you.”

“I know,” he groans and you laugh, kissing him before continuing. “I love you too.”       

Miami, Florida. May 14, 2019:

Patrick is posted on the bed, and has been for the past couple days for his three-day-absolutely-no-movement period of recovery. You are scavenging through the house in search of that recipe book that has the soup that always makes him feel better. You haven’t needed it since you moved at the start of the year, and quite honestly most of what Patrick and you had done to organize your new house was shove things into closets. You finally find an unmarked box at the bottom of one of the closes. You think you’ve finally hit the jackpot, but you realize as soon as you open it that it was definitely not what you were looking for. Instead of a million recipe books you never use anyways, stuffed inside the box are letters. Letters you recognize all too well, all in multi colored envelopes, all sent to the same address. Against your better judgment you pick the one at the top of the pile.

“Dear Y/n,

I am so excited to see you. Less than a week now. By the time you get this it’ll probably be a couple of days. I am so nervous to play you, with all the work you’ve been doing it’s going to be even harder to beat you(but don’t think I won’t). I can’t wait to have a worthy opponent for once. I am thinking of going pro next year. I can’t see myself doing anything else, no matter how much I enjoy some of the classes I’m taking. I don’t know why I would delay it anymore. Plus, Adidas keeps contacting me, trying to get me to sign a brand deal. So, I’m thinking if we win the Championship this year, I’ll go pro. I think it is a good launch, it’ll give me a bit of a name for those who have already forgotten about us. What are your plans? Are you thinking of going back next year? Could I convince you to travel with me? Maybe we could do some doubles tournaments every once in a while, for old times sake. I’ve been talking to a couple of potential coaches, maybe I could give you their numbers. Oh, by the way, I will probably already have told you this by the time this letter gets there, but Pattrick will be visiting the weekend you are here, so it’ll be the four of us again. Which is great because then I can get you to myself without you feeling bad for Art. They can suck each other’s faces off while you and I hang out. And then all four of us can hang out some other time. I know I already said it, but I can’t wait! It’s gonna be the best weekend ever!

See you soon pretty girl,

Loves you, 

Tashi.”

You shove the letter back into the envelope, then back into the box. You don’t want your stupid tears to ruin it. You know you should probably just throw all the letters away, but you can’t. You just can’t do it. You think back through the letter, sobbing, the soup all but forgotten. If only Tashi knew how wrong she was.

New Rochelle, New York.  July 27, 2019 :

The plastic test barely makes a sound as it falls from your hands onto the bathroom mat on the floor. You drop onto the toilet, paralyzed with shock. You hear a knock on the door, Patrick’s voice comes softly from the other side.

“Baby, are you ok? I need to go sign in, do you wanna come?”

“Yes! Yes, I’ll be out in a second. Let me wash my hands.” 

You hear him linger for another second, probably doubting whether he should press for a better answer. He decides against it and you stand back up as you hear him walk away, probably to grab his bags. You pick up the white test from the floor and turn it around to look at the result one more time. Two lines. You’re pregnant. You knew what the result was going to be and still you feel as if your entire world was just tilted off its axis. You shove it into the most concealed pocket of your purse and open the tap. You wash your hands, practicing the breathing exercises you used to do with your dad before games when you were a kid. You wet the back of your neck, you make sure you and your make up look like nothing has happened and as Patrick is getting ready to knock again, you open the door to the bathroom, smiling widely at him.

“Ready to go?” you ask nonchalantly.

“Yes… Did you throw up again? You should have woken me up. We should probably get you to a doctor, it’s what? The third day in a row?”

“I didn’t throw up,” you say interrupting his concerned rant, your fake smile melts into the kind of fondness reserved only for him. “It was probably just a stomach bug, something I ate. We need to go now, you still need to clear the floor of the Phil’s Tire Town Challenger.”

He smiles at you, but you know he hasn’t fully let go of the idea of taking you to the doctor. You know he is nervous and trying to find other things to worry over. He hasn’t played a singles match in years. You feel a little bit more confident than him, but then again, you have always had more faith in Patrick than anyone else.

––––––––––––––––

You are guided to a shop-looking cabin in the middle of the country club. They have a table set up inside, but there is no one there when you walk in. You are about to give up and leave to try to find someone after looking around for a couple minutes when a woman comes in from the back door.

“Can I help you?” She asks, looking between you and Patrick.

“I'm a tennis player.”

“He’s playing the challenger,” you explain for him smiling at the woman as she sits down and looks through the stack of papers on her table.

“Name?”

“Patrick Zweig.”

“Wow, that’s right, you are.” Recognition flashes through her face as she turns to look at you. “And you are Y/n Y/l/n!”

“It’s Zweig now.” Your correction makes Patrick rub his nose, to conceal the wide grin spreading through his face.

“Oh, right. Congratulations!”

“Thank you” you both say at the same time.

“You guys probably don’t remember this, but I was one of the line judges for the junior U.S. Open, back in ‘06.”

“Huh, wow. That’s a throwback!” You raise your eyebrows at Patrick and he chuckles softly, repeating the gesture back at you.

“Well we’re happy to have you here. Your first match is against Grassou this afternoon. It should be a nice tournament, ‘supposed to get a little windy midweek but hopefully it’ll clear before the final. Fingers crossed,” you nod at the woman, smiling politely as Patrick looks around the room, too jumpy to fake politeness. “Oh, you know what rumor has been going around? Apparently, we had a last minute wildcard, wanna guess who it is?”

“Who?” you ask, feigning an interest you do not feel.

The woman stands up, walking towards a stand where they have several tennis rackets displayed, for sale. She picks a green, blue and black one, on the top of the rack. You only realize what she is trying to show you as she brings the racket closer to your face. There, in his sponsored UNIQLO tracksuit, a stern expression on his face, is Art Donaldson. The smile drops off your face, you can feel Patrick tense up beside you. You look at him but he doesn’t move his gaze from the racket. He sighs, you fo too. Somehow, you manage to put your fake polite smile back on your face as you say goodbye the woman and pull him out the door.

“Well, fuck me” you say, and he nods, fully agreeing with your sentiment.

New Rochelle, New York. August 4, 2019:

Art Donaldson: 1-40

Patrick Zweig: 2-40 

Your leg bounces up and down. Years of training, coaching and yelling from your mother had never quite made that particular anxious habit go away. You know Tashi has noticed that it’s probably driving her up a wall the same way it did when you were friends. Your right hand shoots to play with the ring on your left one. The unfamiliar shape of the new ring is still kind of weird. You don’t know what else to do to calm down, so you focus on the court and you will your anxiety to stop. Patrick and Art hit the ball back and forth, until Patrick can’t return one of the very well placed hits Art sends his way. You recognize Tashi’s coaching in his playing style. You see her movements shining through him the same way they did through you whenever she would correct you. Patrick looks frustrated with himself as he gets ready to serve and you can tell before the ball even leaves his hand that he is too in his head to serve properly. The ball goes out as you predicted and he sets up to serve again. This time, Art hits it back, straight into the net.

“Fuck!” The scream from Art’s mouth has you gasping with everyone else in the crowd.

Everyone knows that Art Donaldson waiss a perfectly polished player. He never loses his temper, he never curses, much like you had been at the start of your career. You wonder how much of that is him and how much is beautifully curated PR.

“Code violation,” the umpire says, “audible obscenity. Warning, Donaldson. Deuce.”

You see your husband smirk, more satisfied at having made Art lose his temper than winning a point. Then, while scratching his arm, he looks back in your direction. You don’t know if he’s looking at you or Tashi. You don’t know if you want the answer. He serves again, they hit it a couple times before Art fumbles what should have been an easy backhand. He brings his racket down, as if to hit it against the court, but stops himself just in time. You frown, right now he looks like a completely different person from the collected, perfectly polite guy you knew. The other man is openly grinning, as acutely aware as you are that Art is stuck in his own head now, and Patrick has this point in his pocket.

“Advantage, Zweig.”

You sense Tashi lean back on her chair and breathe deeply twice. You are far more aware of her every move than you would like to be. You hope your carefully perfected facade is working and she does not notice how focused you are on her. If she remembers how she knew you half as well as you remember her, you doubt she hasn’t realized by now. Still, you keep your little act up, more for your sake than hers.

Junior U.S Open, Girls Doubles final, New York. Thirteen years earlier, 2006:

Your leg bounces up and down as you press your hand on your head to stretch your neck. You can see Tashi get increasingly frustrated with you but you can’t help it. This is important, you both have been crushing opponents left and right both individually and as doubles partners this season, but this is next level competition. This can propel your careers, it will prove you are a force to be reckoned with, or it will show everyone that you are irrelevant tennis child stars, meant to be washed away with time. You both had already agreed you were going to college for at least a year before going pro. Tashi is going to accept Stanford’s offer to play on their tennis team, and you are off to Berkley to do the same. It will be the first time you are not on a team together, and this is one of the last tournaments you are going to play together, you want it to go well.

Tashi stands in front of where you’re sitting down. She smiles as she stretches her hand towards you. You grab her outstretched hand and she pulls you to your feet. You are both wearing identical outfits, white Adidas tennis dresses and white shoes. You had also braided each other’s ponytails. The only difference in your outfits is the white tennis cap on your head.

“Ready to clean the floor with those little bitches?” she asks, her face impossibly close to yours.

“Born ready.” 

You can feel the tension roll off your body as you prepare to walk on the court. Tashi’s fingers still intertwined with yours. She is the only one that can always calm you down. You know as long as you have her, everything will be okay.

Art has always enjoyed watching tennis, which is why he’s letting Patrick drag him to the girl’s doubles final without a fight. They both grab snacks before getting there, because they have just finished playing and they won, so they deserve it. 

“Can you do me a favor?” he asks, as they walk towards the designated court. “Can you not demolish me tomorrow?”

“Shut the fuck up,” his best friend retorts, almost automatically.

“Listen, I’m at peace with the fact that you’re going to win.”

“It’s not a fact…”

“Just saying, throw me a couple of games, maybe a set.”

“If it matters to you so much, I can just give it to you,” the way Patrick speaks, with his mouth full, should be gross to Art, but he has spent too much time with him to care.

“Really?”

“Yeah”

“Wow, thanks!”

“I mean every once in a while a kid who wins juniors turns out to be an actually good player, most of them end up in like the top 300. It’s a curse.”

“You said… Well you seemed pretty excited to win the doubles tournament.” Art wishes he wasn’t as confused as he is.

“That was different. That was just you and me. It was just really fun.”

“Huh. Alright, but you have to actually play, you know, you can’t just retire,” he barely blinks as Patrick grabs his food from him. “I need it to look like I actually beat you.”

“Do you have money on this or something?”

“No, my grandma… She’s gonna be watching with her nursing home. She keeps calling me, telling me how proud she is.”

“Don’t guilt me with your dying grandma.” They both laugh openly.

When they finally get to the right court, they climb the steps two at a time. Searching for two seats. It is far more crowded than any other match they have seen in the tournament so far.

“Did Mark tell you about the party in Long Island?” Patrick asks him as they finally sit down, feigning nonchalance.

“The Adidas thing?”

“Yeah” Patrick confirms.

Art nods, humming affirmatively.

“I’m not going.”

“What? Why not?

“We have a final tomorrow,” he says, as if it's obvious, because it is, he can’t go out to party when they have an important match the next day, and Patrick shouldn’t either.

“I just told you I’d let you win”

“Mhm”

Patrick looks flabbergasted and betrayed at the same time. As if Art had just asked him for his firstborn child.

“You don’t want to meet Tashi Duncan and Y/n Y/ln?” Art burps in his face, unimpressed. “You don’t get it man, you’ve never seen them in person. They’re in another league.”

“You mean their game?”

“No, I mean they’re the hottest women I’ve ever seen.”

Art doesn’t like the way his stomach churns as his best friend's words. He rolls his eyes, tries to pretend he doesn’t care. Before he can think of something to say, the umpire’s voice forces both of their attentions into the court.

“...Who have been completely undefeated this year, Y/n Y/ln and Tashi Duncan!”

You hold Tashi’s hand as you walk into the court, the other in your tennis bag. You both go through your pre-game ritual: waving at the crowd, pushing against each other to stretch your legs and jumping on the balls of your feet to get your blood pumping. You try to ignore your mother’s hard stare as you and Tashi pull out your rackets and clink them against each other, for good luck.

It is almost comical the way Art can feel his jaw drop. He hates to admit it, but Patrick is right, he doesn’t think he has ever seen anyone as pretty as you and Tashi. He doesn’t even know where to look. Patrick looks back at him, a cheeky smile on his face. Art can’t even bring himself to be embarrassed at being caught.

Tashi has her game face on, but you smile. This is where you feel most comfortable, on the court, next to Tashi. Away from your mum’s reproaches and, ironically, away from the pressure to be the best. Once you start playing tennis, everything else seems to fade away.

Tashi serves first, and just like that, it’s like there’s no one in the world but you two. There is nowhere else you’d rather be. It is barely a fight. The two other girls are scampering across the court, trying, and failing, to keep up with you and Tashi’s game. They are being smoked, made to look like toddlers, and it is not even their fault. 

“Come on!” Tashi screams, as you score the winning point.

You jump into each other’s arms, immediately, celebrating in a much more put together manner than Patrick and Art, but not any less euphoric. On the other side of the court, the two Russian girls are having a meltdown, screaming and cursing at each other in their native language. Between the two of them, they have broken three rackets, and you have to wait for a solid minute on the net before they come over to shake your hands.

The boys, who had been unable to close their mouths for the duration of the match, shift awkwardly, trying to hide the bonners they’re sporting without drawing any attention to them.

“So when did you say the party was?” Art asks.

Patrick laughs, throwing an arm around his shoulders.

“I told you.”

––––––––––––––––

The party is in full swing by the time Art and Patrick get there, fashionably late, but they can’t see you anywhere. The closest thing they can spot are two big posters with your and Thashi’s picture with Adidas logos all over it. Patrick turns around, speaking up as he scans his eyes through the crowd for you.

“They’re gonna turn their families into millionaires. They’re gonna have fashion lines, nutritional supplements, foundations… The Tasi Duncan Center For Girls: Taking girls off the streets and on the courts. Or, or… The Y/n Y/l/n Scholarship: for underprivileged girls with a passion.” He can’t help but giggle at his own antics.

“Don’t make fun, man, they’re remarkable young women.” 

Patrick stands behind Art now, looking over his shoulder at one of the posters. It shows you, crouched down, holding your racket in both your hands, in front of Tashi, who has her arm up, preparing to swing. 

“I know. They are pillars of the community,” he glances upwards once more, a cheeky grin spreading through his face. “I’d let them fuck me with their rackets.”

The blond shakes his head trying, and failing, not to smile. He turns around, grimacing when Patrick points out the two Russian girls you had beaten earlier today, crying over their second place plates. They finally spot you in the dance floor, the dark haired boy pushing Art along to get closer to where Tashi and you are dancing, impossibly close to each other, your back against her chest, wide smiles on both your faces. You are wearing a skin tight, pink, silky dress with spaghetti straps while Tashi is wearing a strapless blue dress with a flowy skirt. You look like you are having a lot of fun. It is both incredibly erotic and endearing in a way the boys cannot process.

“Oh my God,” they both mutter at the same time.

You can feel Tashi’s hands on your hips as you sway to the music. They are almost burning through your clothes. You recognize the songs as something that one of your coaches plays during warm up all the time. Tashi must do too, because you can hear her whispering the words in your ear. You try to play it cool, act as if you are completely unaffected. You thank how much practice you’ve had by being friends with her. You throw your head back laughing when she starts making silly voices, your head landing on her shoulder while she giggles. Art and Patrick are completely enthralled.

“I’m getting thirsty,” she says as you pull away. “Wanna get drinks?”

You nod, letting her pull you towards the bar by your hand. You let her order your drinks for you. She hands you something fruity that has no alcohol in it, and you sip at it, content. You see the two boys walking towards you before Tashi does and you knock her hip with yours to get her attention. She turns to look at you, her eyebrows raised, you nod your head at the boys and a sly smile spreads through her face.

“Hey, I’m Patrick Zweig,” the dark haired boy says as he reaches you.

“Art Donaldson.”

“We know who you are,” an amused smile spreads through your face.

“You’re fire and ice right?” Tashi finishes your thought.

“Oh my god”

“In the flesh”

Tashi shoots a look at you before sitting down, you imitate her without a second thought. Your eyes shift from between the boys in front of you. Their eager attitude is adorable, and by the smirk in her face, you know your best friend feels the same.

“Which one’s which?” it's you who asks, not willing to let the conversation die just yet.

“Who do you think?” Patrick teases, raising an eyebrow.

“You guys were fucking incredible.” Art’s compliment spills from his mouth almost as an accident.

“Thank you,” you both say, at the same time.

“No, really, I mean it wasn’t even like tennis. It was an entirely different game. I felt bad for those russian girls” 

“Oh, don’t, they are sore losers” your friend starts.

“And racist bitches!” you finish, raising your glass to clink it against Tashi’s in an agreement toast. “They’ll be okay.”

You continue sipping your drink, waiting for whatever Tashi’s plan is to come into fruition. You know she has a plan, she always does.

“You’re going to Stanford, right?” she asks, the blonde guy seems almost shocked.

“Yeah, how do you know that?” 

You see Patrick’s smile drop off his face, but you don’t say anything. There is something about him that makes you feel like you know him.

“Uhm… I just accepted my offer and they mentioned you.”

“Really? Huh,” the look of shock has not yet left his face.

“You’re not going pro?” the other boy asks.

“No, neither of us are yet” you nod your head in agreement, you’re thankful no one has asked where you are going yet.

“Why waste your time playing college tennis?”

Before either of you can respond, you see your mum walking towards you. Your back stiffens, posture fixing itself almost instantly. The smile on your face becomes forced and Tashi’s hand is on your thigh as soon as she notices it.

“Baby, I hate to steal you away, but I need to talk to you,” her tone is saccharine sweet, you stand up without a second thought. “Oh, and Tashi, come with, won’t you? We wanna take pictures with the trophy.”

“It was nice meeting you both!” you say, trying to be polite.

“I’ll see you at Stanford” Tashi says to Art as a goodbye and you smile at them before walking away.

As soon as you are far enough from them not to see or hear you, your mum pulls you close to her. Walking a couple of steps ahead of Tashi, who knows to make herself invisible.

“How many times have I told you to stay away from boys, huh? You know they are just distractions and you can’t afford that. Maybe if you weren’t so preoccupied with things other than tennis you would have gotten into the best program in the country, like Tashi.”

It takes all your strength not to talk back. Tell her they were the ones who approached you, and Tashi the one doing most of the talking. Tell her that maybe you just aren’t good enough for Stanford, and no amount of yelling from her is going to change that, even if it isn’t true. But you know better, you know that nothing you say is going to change her mind, or the way she treats you. Nothing you ever do is going to be enough for her. You would know, you have been trying to please her since you were born. So you stay quiet, thinking about how when August comes, you won’t have to deal with her anymore. Your full ride scholarship will save you from ever having to interact with her again, at least you hope so, it is the reason your mum thinks you were not accepted in Stanford after all. You nod and you smile when she makes you pose in front of your trophies, arms around your best friend, head tilted to the side. You do a couple more poses, backs to each other, kissing the trophies… It’s only after Tashi asks if you guys can go to the beach that your mum finally lets you go.

You have your arms wrapped around each other as your feet thread through the sand. You are content in each other’s presence, feeling better without having to say anything. You hear your names being called as she tangles her hand on yours. You turn to look at Patrick and Art, seating in two beach chairs next to each other. Tashi sees the involuntary smile creeping on your face and forces you to walk in their direction, trying to make you feel at least a little bit better.

“You guys are still here,” she teases.

“Great party!” you giggle at their attempt to seem casual.

“Thank you,” you can tell she is having fun with this, and honestly, so are you. “Don’t you guys have a final that you should be preparing for?”

“So do you! And it’s just the juniors” Art calls both of you out before pretending he doesn’t care.

“Yeah we both know how it's gonna go, so…” you snort at Patrick’s comment, the betrayed look in his friend’s face making everything funnier.

“Well, me and Tashi were on our way to our room to get ready before you interrupted us, so…”

“I actually wanted to ask you about that point…”

“Do you smoke?” Both boys speak at the same time, desperately trying to get you to stay.

“Cigarettes?” your friend asks.

“Yeah”

“Hell no!” you answered for her. “We take care of our bodies. Do you?”

“Yeah,” he said, while Art nodded, you raised your eyebrows at him, he didn’t seem like the type, then again, you didn’t know either of them at all. “Do you wanna sit down?” he wondered, pointing at the chairs in front of him.

You looked at Tashi, who shrugged her shoulders, then nodded. You both sat in the same chair, it was wide enough for both of you to sit but you were pressed against each other nonetheless. It was good protection from the cool wind that had started to pick up in the last hour.

“This house is ridiculous, isn’t it?” Patrick asked, looking around.

“What do you mean? It's nice!” your best friend argued back, it was nice to see her be herself around somebody that wasn’t you.

“It’s like… A castle. Like they wanna be feudal lords or something.”

“Oh, and what does your parents' place look like?” you ask this time, teasing tone slipping easily into your voice. “Exactly”

“Not like this…”

“No, it’s bigger.”

“Well, yeah, technically it is bigger.”

You smile openly at Art’s teasing, glad to see him get more comfortable. Patrick rolls his eyes before pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket. He gives one to Art before putting one in between his own teeth. It’s Art who lights both of them up. Patrick takes a hit, looking between you and Tashi and Art before fixing his eyes on you 

“So, I need to ask you about the college thing.”

“Okay” Tashi says, cautious, after sharing a look with you.

“What’s the angle? Why do you wanna go beat up on a bunch of girls who are the best players of their high school?”

From the corner of your eye you can see Art roll his eyes and shake his head. Interesting, you think, before your attention gets pulled back to the conversation in front of you. You let Tashi take the question, too caught up in the possibilities of the dynamic between the boys in front of you to come up with a smart answer.

“You know they offer classes in college? Maybe we don’t want our only skill in life to be to hit a ball with a racket.”

“I get it, you’re making us wait for you. The 18 year old tennis phenomenons who care about their education.”

“Is that why you came to our party?”

You shift to look at Art who is resting back on his chair, already looking at you. You can’t help but feel like the two of you are interrupting something. Which is ridiculous, given that they are partly talking about you. You hate it, hate feeling like you’re intruding, and hate knowing you can’t just leave.

“It’s brilliant, seriously. I can already see the Adidas campaign.”

“When are you going pro?” you ask, instead of going crazy.

It’s like something snapped, Patrick looks back at you, then at Art, as if he just remembered there were more people there than just Tashi and him. You can’t blame him, it is exactly how you feel whenever the girl next to you walks into a room.

“Soon as I can. Hitting a ball with a racket is a great way to avoid having a job.”

From the corner of your eye you can see Art shake his head again. As if he was tired of this conversation. You can tell it is not the first time they’ve had it.

“Well, that’s also your problem” your friend says, and it almost sounds mean. “You think that tennis is about expressing yourself, doing your thing. That’s why you still have that serve.”

You hope nobody notices your googly eyes as you turn to look at her. You love listening to her talk about tennis. Her passion and drive are so present in her words.

“It works.”

“Yeah, but you're not a tennis player. You don’t know what tennis is.”

“What is it?”

“A relationship” you say before you can stop yourself.

You have heard her reasoning a million times over. You can practically recite it from memory. You love it every single time. You curse yourself, afraid to seem too eager, too in love, but Tashi just beams at you, happy that you get her.

“Exactly!”

“It’s that what you and those Russian girls had today?”

“It’s what me and Y/n have everytime we play together. It’s what we’ll have when we play against each other tomorrow. For the time we’re on the court, when we are actually playing tennis, we understand each other completely. And so does everyone watching. It’s like we’re in love” you try and fail to tell your heart to not beat faster at her words, you know it’s only part of her metaphor, “or like we don’t exist. We go somewhere truly beautiful together.”

“You screamed, when she hit the winner. Never heard anything like it before, you seemed more excited than her.” He points to you with his head, but his eyes stay on Tashi.

“I was,” she says simply. “Real friends are always more excited about your accomplishments than their own. And she’s too humble to celebrate without me.”

You smile at her, nodding, when your phone starts to ring. You pick it up only to groan when you notice who’s calling. It’s your mum.

“I have to go, she probably wants to go over the match,” you say to Tashi, standing up.

“Your coach?” Art asks, confused, there’s nothing to go over, you guys played perfectly.

“No, my mum,” you say before you turn to look at your friend, who is now also standing up. “But you can stay. You don’t have to come with me, she’s gonna kick you out anyways.”

You can tell in her eyes she is not done with the two boys, and you could bet they are not done with her either. Although painfully for you, you kind of hope your removal might speed up whatever move they’re trying to make on her. Or on each other, if the looks Patrick has been giving Art the entire night are anything to go by.

“Nonsense, I’m not letting you walk alone. Plus, I was going to ask you to leave anyways. We have a final tomorrow, remember?” you can tell she is lying, but you are too selfish to say anything.

She links your arms together before turning to look at the boys. They appear to be having a silent conversation. They oddly remind you of yourself and Tashi, it’s cute.

“Well, it was lovely to meet you,” you say, waving your hand as you start to walk away.

“Do you guys have Facebook?” Patrick asks, all of a sudden.

“Huh?” you don’t know if Tashi hasn’t heard him or if she doesn’t understand.

“He’s asking for your numbers, and so am I.”

You smile at their words until you realize what they said. Your numbers, plural. Where they asking for your number too? Why? It made no sense.

“You both want both of our numbers?” she grins, you can see her brain working a million miles an hour, you wonder if this is part of the plan she had all along.

“Very much so, yeah.”

“Yeah”

It is almost endearing, how they trip over themselves to make their intentions clear. It’s refreshing, something you’re not really used to. You almost feel bad for how you’re sure Tashi is about to play them. If you weren’t so in love with her, you’d feel worse.

“Well we’re not homewreckers.”

“We don’t live together” Art assures quickly. 

You can see Patrick’s smile falter for a second but he recovers quickly:

“It’s an open relationship.”

“Also, Patrick has a girlfriend”

Oh, so he can be a snake. You wonder if the innocent thing he’s had going on this far was simply an act.

“I do not. Hey, come hang out with us later,” he is so smooth you’re almost jealous. “They put you in the hotel in Flushing, right? We’re in room 206.”

“You want us to come tuck you in?” you say, as you feel your phone start to vibrate again, you start pulling Tashi with you, reminding her that you have to go.

“We can just keep talking about tennis.”

You both laugh as you start to walk away.

“Goodnight!” you call behind you, wishing, not for the first time that your mum would just leave you alone.

“We have beer!” he calls back, bordering on desperate, his laughter follows you to your mother waiting for you at the door.

She spends the entire ride back berating you about your game, and your attitude, and your lack of interaction with the multiple potential sponsors at the party. She continues in her hotel room, playing your game back to you and pointing out every mistake. Then, she goes over everything you need to do to prepare for tomorrow, and how you must win, second place is not, and will never be, enough. You are exhausted and emotionally drained by the time you make it into your and Tashi’s room. She smiles pitifully at you before she hugs you. You can tell by the tension in her arms that she is angry, as she always is at your mother, but she doesn’t say anything. She knows you hate talking about it, even if it is probably not healthy. You change your clothes on autopilot, your best friend laying down on the bed. It is obvious there is something in her mind. She speaks as soon as your back touches the mattress.

“So… Do you wanna go tuck them in?”

“Patrick and Art?” you ask, as if it wasn’t obvious, she nods. “Don’t you wanna get some rest before the match tomorrow?”

“We don’t have to stay for long. Plus, we play in the afternoon”

You are convinced before she finishes speaking. You loved her too much to ever say no. Plus, you couldn’t deny you were curious about the boys. They seemed like open books in a lot of what they did, but you still couldn’t really read what they wanted out of the two of you. Plus, it wasn’t like you cared that much about the result of your match the next day. Your mum was going to yell at you regardless, and if you didn’t win, Tashi would, which was almost more exciting.

“Are you into them or something?”

“I don’t know, they’re definitely into us,” she shrugged her shoulders. “I just think it would be fun, plus you need something to take your mind off your mother.”

“Whatever, let’s do it” you finally conceded.

The smile on her face gave you butterflies, knowing you were the one that put it there made it all worth it. You didn’t know what she had planned, but one thing was for sure: it was going to be a night you would remember forever.