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Riff x artist!reader

Notes: hey yo Friends, i m back. Took me Long enough. Here you have a ff that nobody asked for. Lol. This is just the First Part of a series. Hopefully i can finish it this time. Also pls don’t be angry Riff isnt really in this Part but he for sure will be in the second Part of this Story, so this is more like a prologue. Kinda. I take requests. And you cure my depression ( at least a tiny bit ) if you text me something nice. Hope you like it. Love, Mai 🍄

Warnings: none, capitalism?!, not perfect english

Summary: Reader likes to draw buildings and her ever changing neighbourhood. After she meets a certain Gang leader, she now really wants to draw the mysterious guy with the beautiful eyes.

The warm afternoon sun was shining on my skin as I walked through the streets of New York's West Side. A thick sheet of paper in one hand, my watercolor box in the other. I ran excitedly to the next street corner, trying to avoid the shadows of the buildings. It was the beginning of spring, so it was only really pleasant in the sun. In the shade, however, I felt like I was freezing to death in my thin dress. I had begged my overprotective brother not to have to wear the thick winter clothes. He had first been of the opinion that I would catch cold in this weather, but then had agreed after he saw the first rays of sunlight shining through the large window onto the fire escape. After that my face was radiateing like the sun, „it is almost a competition“he said, whereupon he could only say yes to me wearing my favorite dress.

It was Sunday and I had gotten up early to set up my drawing supplies in front of a nearby church in the neighborhood and then to be able to paint when everyone would go to mass. I had only started a few weeks ago with the painting of people. I had seen a young man in the subway. He had the most beautiful blue eyes. I had wished very much that I could have drawn him right at that moment. But as soon as he got off the train and jogged down the stairs of the station, I had forgotten his face.

With a building this would never have happened to me. Ever since I was little, I had memorized the windows, towers and facades of the buildings around me. They were burned into my brain. So it was easier for me to later bring the straight lines and dark colors perfectly on paper. Since I had seen the young man, there was a new need in me. I wanted to paint something that was not rigid and straight like the skyscrapers of the West side.

That's exactly why I had tried to draw the people going to church that morning. But somehow I didn't quite succeed. I was dissatisfied with my painting. Nothing looked the way I wanted it to. The happy faces of the young girls in their pretty Sunday dresses looked lifeless and gray. The old people leaning on each other to climb the stairs of the church together did not look lovingly and kind but rather as if they were arguing in front of the house of God.

My newest plan was to draw the small Irish pub on the next street corner. My brother went there often with his friends. He had told that even in the afternoon the small tables already were filled with empty beer bottles and some drunkard even spend sunday not leaving his seat.

I set my things down next to me while I studied the building opposite me carefully. I had no problem drawing the masonry in a few strokes. As I was about to start detailing the dark green front door with the blurry windows, I was disturbed by an unwelcome shouting. A group of young men had gotten into a fight with the owner of the pub. Something in me felt the need to draw the event in front of me. But before I could think about whether it would be morally compatible to draw a possibly escalating fight, I felt a hand on my shoulder.

"Y/N? What are you doing here. Come on, we shouldn't be around when the jets are doing something illegal," the voice said, matching the hand on my shoulder. It was Tommy, my brother John's best friend. If Tommy was here, my brother couldn't be far either. I didn't like it when the two of them came together. I always have the feeling that my brother wants to bring me and Tommy together. I'm surprised because John still doesn't accept that I've been a grown woman for a while now. He always sees me only as his little sister who definitely should not waste any thoughts on boys and relationships. But with Tommy he was different. Tommy was the only son of a rich merchant from Manhattan. He and John knew each other from college. John probably wanted me to marry him so that I would have a secure life. Definitely not the plan I had for myself. It's not that I didn't like Tommy, he was usually friendly and always had a compliment for me. But he was a coward. The only conversations I had with him were about the fear that someone might steal his expensive new watch or about how his favorite topic in the world was finance.

Not really what I was interested in. He probably thought he could impress me with his father's money. But what I would have been really happy about would have been a few words about my paintings or if he admired New York at sunrise as much as I did. But he had not answered either one and had returned his attention to the fortune on his wrist.

He also wore the watch today, it was cold on my shoulder. I was still thinking about what to answer when John also entered my field of vision.

"If it isn`t my baby sister. How many times have I told you not to go down this street. It's not for young ladies like you. And look at you. Your hands are full of charcoal and paint. What will people think? Come on, let's go, see you tomorrow Tommy" instantly he had pulled me up from my seat and ran with me in the opposite direction of the pub. I quickly grabbed my art supplies. "Walk faster Y/N , dad will be upset if he sees you like this so you better hurry so we get home on time.

I know my brother was only strict with me because he was afraid something could happen to me. Our father had taught him to be strict. After our mother passed away, there wasn't much warmth in our family. And John was always under observation. Father was almost never at home because of his job and sometimes I didn't see him for several days. John, on the other hand, was always there for me. When we were alone he was very caring and loving to me, but as soon as other people were around he showed his strength and severity. Too big was the fear that someone could confess to my father how soft and loving he had been.

When I arrived at our apartment, I immediately ran to the bathroom and began to wash the stains off my hands. The paint came off easily, but the charcoal stains on the back of my hands just wouldn't come off. Only now I noticed that there was also a small spot of blue paint on my light dress. I mentally cursed myself. Why hadn't I been more careful? For me, but also for John. I couldn't imagine what his punishment would be if father found out that I had been hanging around painting all day instead of sitting at the sewing machine or standing behind the stove. He had very old-fashioned views about the place of a woman. But still I could not be angry with him, he was my father after all and only thanks to him I could have the money to paint and the beautiful clothes I loved to wear.

But although me and John waited all evening long for our father to return, he did not come back to the apartment that night. And even though I had struggled all evening, I decided to paint again the next morning while lying between my silk sheets and slowly falling asleep.

Riff x artist!reader Chapter 2

Notes: hey Part twoooo is here! 🍄

Warnings: just bad writing, swearing

The morning sun was shining through my room as I packed my bag. John had told me in the evening to not draw again today. But he certainly couldn`t say anything against the fact that I wanted to go and buy things we needed. So I hid paintbrushes and pencils between the shopping list and money in my bag. My plan was to run as fast as possible to docs, then I had about ten minutes for a small sketch, After that I could do the errands and paint a little in the store while I talked to Valentina. After all, my brother could hardly object if I talked to another woman and was therefore a little late. Convinced of my plan, I ran to the apartment door and quickly said goodbye to my brother. I almost jumped down the stairs to the next floor. Hopefully the neighbor Mrs Murphy wouldn't stop me. She was always interested in the latest gossip from the block. Several times she had asked me if Tommy and I were going to get married soon. Why did everyone think I wanted to?

It wasn`t a long way to docs. I had been going there since I was a little girl, most times to look at the colorful candy. Once or twice valetina had given me a little chocolate. I had been overjoyed. Since her husband had died a while ago, I went at least once a week. Even if I had nothing to get from the shop. I just loved the little store and its cheerful owner. But my father had forbidden me to visit the store that often. "Too many bad young guys are going there " he had said. So i didnt visit Valentina regularly and if i was then only in the mornings. My father had said that it was the only time I should be out and about in the neighborhood, since the Jets were probably not up at that time of day yet.

I only had a few minutes to unpack my things. I sat down on a bench across from docs and started drawing. Quick strokes on the bright paper. It took only a few moments for the outline of the building. Then I got down to the details. The windows, the small display and the sign that hung above the door. The next time I looked up, I saw him. I thought I was dreaming, but in front of the store stood the young man from the subway train. He argued with Valentina.

"Hey, come on, just two minutes. I really need to talk to Tony.“

Could it really be him? And what was he doing here? Why was he arguing with Valentina?

Too many thoughts were in my head at once. I needed to draw. This time I was not interrupted. I couldn't help it and started sketching what was in front of me. More importantly I started to sketch him. His lean body, his paint-stained hands, his long fingers holding a cigarette. The brown tousled hair, the cheeky grin and those beautiful eyes. Everything was suddenly in front of me on the paper. Too big was the fear to forget him again.

"Fuck come on. I swear I won't steal anything."

"Well, maybe not this time. You've always stolen from me boy, don't think I'll let a criminal like you in my store again." Valentina's voice grew louder. It seemed to be very important to her, she was not someone who just raised her voice. But instead of worrying about Valentina, my thoughts were only filled with the man in front of me. She knew him, and that must mean she probably knew a name to that face. How much I would like to know his name. How much I would like to look at him from up close.

„Y/N "All at once I was torn from my thoughts. I had forgotten what my real goal was. I was running out of time.

"Y/N, sweetheart how nice to see you. Come on in. You don't have to be afraid of him anymore, I successfully chased him away. Come here and sit with me." she pointed at the chair by the window. "I haven't seen you for so long. How can I help you?

I gave her my list. She went right out and started looking on the shelves.

I chewed on my lower lip. Should I ask her? But she shouldn't think i was interested at all, otherwise it could lead to big problems. Besides, she had called him a criminal. That wasn't exactly a positive description.

"Who was that?"

"What do you mean, child?"

" the young gentleman you had a fight with? What did he want?"

Before she could answer, I heard footsteps and then the door to the basement open. Tony was standing there. I didn't really know him, we had only spoken once or twice. He worked and lived with Valentina. I think she saw him kinda as a son. He was tall and muscular. Most of the time he helped her with the heavy boxes from the warehouse or climbed up the ladders when something was needed from on top of the cupboards. Most of the time he looked a bit sad but still smiled friendly when he saw me in the store.

"Hey, what's this about? Who were you fighting with Valentina?" he looked worried at the woman in front of him, before giving her a kiss on the cheek to continue carrying boxes.

" your annoying friend was here again, asking for you"

"You mean Riff? I'm sorry he was here again. I told him you didn't want him here."

"If only he would listen. That boy is nothing but trouble."

Attentively I stood there and listened to the conversation. Riff? What kind of name was that? Somehow I had the feeling that I had heard this name before.

I looked at the clock above the door. It was already 10 minutes past the scheduled time. So I had only about 3 minutes to get back to the apartment in time. I had just spent too much time in front of the store. I paid and took the bag with my purchases from Valentina's hand. "Thank you very much. See you soon. I have to hurry or I'll be late. It gushed out of me before I heard the door close behind me. I ran to the next street corner and then started walking regularly. No one should notice that I had run all the way. That wouldn’t have been really ladylike. And Mrs Murphy would certainly ask me about it later or would gossip with the other neighbors. They definitely shouldn’t know I was that excited about a boy.

Fortunately John was in a good mood. He didn't say anything else about me being late, even though I got a slightly annoyed look when I stumbled through the door. But thanks to the good weather, he seemed to forgive me.

In my room I had the first chance to remember what I had experienced. And quickly I disappeared into a daydream about the mysterious man to whom I finally had a name. I thought about how it would be to run through his hair or touch his hand. He had had paint on his hand. Maybe he liked to paint too, I thought dreamily.

Wait. Paint. Painting…Painting ! "Crap" more swear words wanted to burst out of me but I thankfully remembered that my brother was sitting in the room next to me.

I couldn't see my drawing anywhere. I started to panic. Maybe I had lost it while running home. Or even worse, maybe I had left it with Valentina. I could not believe it. This could be horrible. If someone saw it… I wouldn’t know what to do.

I had to think of something as soon as possible, so that I could return to doc's store. And hopefully find my drawing before it might fall into someone’s hands.

Riff x artist!Reader Chapter 3

Notes: sorry guys.😭 I wasnt feeling that great in the last weeks, thats why it took me so long to write a new Chapter. I m trying my best, Friends.✨Hope you like it. Stay Hydrated, love Mai💗

Warnings: bad grammar

Desperate about what had happend to my painting, I sat on the fire escape and pondered. I had to find a plan as quickly as possible. Preferably one that could still work out today. It was already in the afternoon. The sun was shining between the skyscrapers of the city. I saw mrs Murphy lugging her groceries across the street, talking to the janitor of the building across the street. She was probably spreading the latest gossip she had heard at the market. I found myself thinking about Riff again. I had heard his name before - I was convinced of it by now. Maybe mrs Murphy had talked about him once. I thought about how she would spread gossip about me and Riff. I would much rather have that, than stories about me and Tommy of whether or not we were engaged.

Only now the stories about me and Riff were not even that unrealistic. I thought with horror that Mrs Murphy could have found my drawings. If that had happened, then I was as good as dead. My father would probably lock me up in our apartment for months and John would lock up my stuff, or worse, throw it away.

John couldn't stand it if I had feelings for a jet. Or any gang member. He's dreamed of seeing me and Tommy together for too long. Nothing could stop him. Sometimes I think about what I would do if women had the same rights as men. I wouldn't be here anymore. Maybe I would travel around the world, or wear pants. But these kind of thoughts were pointless.

I thought I had reached a new low point of the day, when suddenly I had an idea.

John really wanted me and Tommy to get together. That was for sure. So what if I just played along.

"Brother, I have a question. I know I've already been to docs once today. But is there any way I can go there again real quick? I'll be back in 15 minutes I promise."

" I don't think so. I don't like you spending so much time there. Those gang boys hang out there a lot. That's no place for a young lady like you."

" I know, I know John. But you know I've been thinking about it and...I'd like to ask Tommy out.“ i tried to sound as honest as possible. „ And he's coming to see you tonight. So I thought it would be nice if I got him his favorite chocolate from Valentina. He really likes it and I would love to have a present for him. He is always so generous to me. Please John."

"If that's the case, then thats fine with me. I'm glad you finally fancy him. I've always said you'd make a beautiful couple. But be back in time."

I really hoped he didnt notice my fake smile. The idea of me and Tommy as a couple was too horrible. Nevertheless, I could not help but rejoice. If I was lucky, the painting was still where I had lost it.

I walked through the noisy streets of new york. Past the paperboys on the street corner. A confident look on my face. A bag in one hand. The other one was nervously playing with the hem of my skirt. A habit since childhood. Father had always hated it. He said that my insecurity could be seen from miles away. Besides fidgeting was nothing what a young woman in my social rank did.

Fortunately for me, Valentina had not yet closed. Without thinking further, I went into the store. At first glance it was dark and no one was to be seen. But I heard voices coming from the basement. It had to be Tony and Valentina.

"They will be with me soon," I thought. I was overwhelmed that I was so lucky again. There was no one in the store, which meant I could search intensively for my picture. Without having to find a stupid excuse like "I dropped my pearl earrings" . This thought made me smile.

I went to the table where I had been sitting in the morning. This was the last time i Hand Seen my painting. But instead of my drawing, there was only a pack of cigarettes. The box was almost empty. Only one cigarette was still in it. Dark blue paint was stuck to the side of the box. I took it in my hand to have a better look. Even though my brother and father had the habit of smoking, I had never held such a pack in my hand before. My brother said it was not something suited for me. Just like alcohol.

I had always kept to the rules of the two men, but in this moment the feeling of curiosity overcame me for the first time. What would happen if I would not keep to these rules. But before I should continue to think about whether I should dare to smoke a cigarette or drink a sip from the gin bottle that stood on the top shelf of the kitchen, the door opened behind me. Without giving it much thought, I put the pack of cigarettes in my pocket.

Standing in front of me were Tony and...

Not Valentina. It was Tony and Riff. The two were still engaged in their conversation. Neither had noticed me.

"Come on Tony, it will be fun for you to dance again. And please let me know if you find out anything."

Nervously I started playing with the hem of my skirt again. I wanted to stare at the floor but instead I looked at him again. As if we were the only two people on this planet. He had a beautiful laugh. One of those laughs you always want to hear. His whole face was beaming.

He turned his head a little to the side. With his left hand, unnoticed by Tony, he reached into the bowl next to him.

"Would he look at me? Would he know it was me who had drawn him like a madwoman in front of the store. Maybe he'd say something to me..."

The thoughts just bubbled in my head. I had the feeling of completely losing my mind. I didn't even know this young man! What was i thinking?!

„Yeah, we'll see. And hey, Riff! Don't steal milkyways again." Tony tried to take the candy out of Riff's hand. But Riff was faster, he turned around and ran past me without giving me a glance. I didn't realize what had happened until the door had closed behind him and Tony had said my name out loud several times.

The rest of the day felt numb. I bought the chocolate for Tommy and asked Tony as uninterested and normal as I could about the drawing. But Tony just gave me a knowing look and told me to ask Valentina about the drawing. Tony definitely knew more than he wanted to say. He had probably found the drawing himself. Normally I would be freaking out now. Or start asking Tony about every detail he knew. But the disappointment that Riff hadn't even noticed me, had already triggered a different feeling.

Lost in my thoughts, I walked home. I hadn't been feeling this low in a long time. Now I had to go on this stupid date with Tommy. And my excuse was pointless. With my head down I walked along the street. Not knowing that on the other side, across from docs, an excited young man was walking up and down the road. In the small pocket of his ripped shirt, was a carefully folded sheet of paper.

a/n challengers changed me, so have this drabble <3

----

the soft sound of rubber soles making their way across the court startles you more than it should. it's bad enough that you're running so late you had to change in the library bathroom and that you're still putting on your tennis shoes. you don't need anything else making you seem un-together.

"you know..." patrick's closer than you thought he'd be, his racket dangling by his side, just barely scraping the ground you're sitting on. you let your fingers rest between your ankle and the back of your shoe as you look up at him. "you took so long we started to think you were standing us up."

the sentence feels lighthearted, but that doesn't keep unease from prodding at you. your friendship with patrick and art is still new enough that the wrongness of being late feels sharper.

"oh, no," you shake your head slightly in an attempt to emphasize your point. you straighten an arm to rest it on your bent knee. "no, i--the lunch with my sponsors ran long, and i had to change and--" patrick lets you ramble as he bends a knee, slowly moving to sit across from you. he sets down his racket with all the patience in the world, watching you with a lightness behind his eyes that radiates good humor. "and you were joking."

he leans back on one arm before lifting a shoulder in a halfhearted shrug. "a little, but that sponsorship thing..." patrick angles his head to one side in what feels like mock contemplation. "that sounds important, we should consider ourselves lucky that we made it onto your schedule."

his tone leaves your face feeling a little warmer. you let your attention fall back to your shoe. "no, not like that at all."

"well, i feel lucky," he says, "art, do you feel lucky?"

you turn your neck to look back at art. he's closer than you remember, the toe of his shoe so close to your leg that you'd only have to stretch a little to reach him. he lets out soft sigh before sitting next to patrick. "extremely."

the word borders on flat, a pinch of something you can't quite interpret bleeding into the syllables. his attention shifts away from you and towards patrick. maybe you weren't meant to fully understand. after all, they're life long best friends. and while normally encroaching on that kind of dynamic makes you feel like an intruder, with them, everything's always been comfortable.

"don't." you refocus on your shoes, pulling the laces taut between your fingers. "i'm the lucky one, you guys are great."

"and you're amazing." art breathes out the compliment in a way that feels concrete. real. the words don't feel like a necessary step in a polite exchange, they feel genuine. it's the kind of unabashed praise that's hard not to fluster at. "seriously--your backhand, i've never seen anything like it."

you let yourself smile, ignoring the warmth crawling up your chest. "thanks."

before you can dwell on the exchange, patrick leans forward. his fingers carefully bend around your ankle. patrick watches you expectantly as he extends a leg. you release your laces, letting him lift your foot onto his lower thigh.

"patrick."

"what?" patrick's gaze briefly flickers towards art as he crosses your shoe laces. "i'm helping out our girl." he tugs on your laces, neatly looping them. "ignore him, he's jealous."

you squint at him curiously, feeling like you're missing out on some kind of joke. "really? you think he wants to tie my other shoe?"

"i think," patrick secures a snug knot into place, "he wants to do whatever you want him to."

patrick settles a hand over your ankle. you let out a sound that's more a puff of air than a true laugh. "shut up." you lift your foot in a pretend kick. patrick makes a show of releasing your leg, holding up his hand as if to convey innocence. you pull your leg back. "don't make him sound so lame."

"yeah," art echoes, leaning towards patrick, "don't make me sound so lame."

patrick grins as he shoves art's shoulder. he pushes himself to stand with no warning. "c'mon, let's play."

you reach over for your other shoe before bending your leg. it takes no time for you to pull on but before you can adjust the laces, art's by your side. he pulls on your laces until your shoe feels secure. "too tight?"

with the way he's studying you, it takes you a moment too long to react. you shake your head once. "n-no, that's good."

he angles his head downwards, attention returning to your laces. "good."

art smiles as he squeezes your upper calf in an almost startling display of affection. he pushes himself to stand before offering you his hand.

——

lmk if you liked this, i have so many thoughts about them

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)

----

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 :)

I keep thinking about your style of writing the reader in the movie challengers and my girl would NOT have a good time 💀

She would see this trio being lovey dovey with her and she would be so shy she would have a heart attack... She just wants to organize her sticky notes in alphabetic order leave her be.

Now if she was already in the friend group, she would totaly just get up and go to bed:

Trio: *on the verge of hooking up*

Reader: *yawns* would you look at that, well bye!

Trio: its not even midnight.

Reader: well, beauty sleep yk?

Trio:😔

ART:🥺

But also:

Art: we will be in eachothers life forever right?

Reader:duh! Your my friend 😀

Art: 🥺🥺

anon i can literally feel you understanding my writing, omg, we are so connected

however the trio is so hot and charming and good at flirting i fear it'd take an unnatural level of self control to not accidentally hook up with them

i agree that this scenario is definitely influenced by wether or not reader is already friends with them, so let's take a second to talk about both:

if reader wasn't really friends with them first, i can see her going to tashi's party. she starts talking to tashi to congratulate her, and then patrick and art invite both of them over.

tashi and her joke about it, but when tashi says she wants to go, reader's already regretting her life choices. she's finally making a (very pretty, very intimidating) tennis friend, she can't back out.

it'd start off so calm, everyone passing around a beer, and reader feeling like drinking during a tournament is already rebellious of her. maybe patrick hands her his cigarette and she takes a drag bc she's convinced she can pass off being this chill person.

she's even fine when art rests his hand on her knee for a little. everything feels light, friendly. and then patrick tells that story about teaching art how to jerk off, and reader's still not overly affected bc she's not directly involved. for a beat, she even thinks it's kind of cute that art's flustered.

and then tashi gets on the bed and there's an immediate switch in energy. reader immediately knows the window to leave without being labeled 'weird' or a 'mood killer' is slowly closing. so she mentions the time, and when anyone tries to get her to stay, art is for sure the one that helps her out. he's a sweetheart like that <3

art agrees that it's late, and would probably even offer to walk her back to her room. or, if things didn't feel too tense, he might ask her if she wants to go with him to get some ice and stay for one more beer. a subtle reset to help protect reader's boundaries. he's so bf material, i'm sorry.

----

now, if reader was already friends with them:

i feel like if patrick and art had a close girl friend, hotel room would not be the first time they came close to hooking up 😭. even though reader is still shy, there's a familiarity between them that has her feeling secure.

bc she knows them, she can tell when they're in a bit of a flirtier mood. patrick's hand is on her knee and art rests his chin on her shoulder, all while they're giggling and kicking their feet at everything tashi says. reader's spider senses start tingling. thirsty bitches.

her first thought is: 'i didn't hook up with you guys at my high school graduation, and i'm not hooking up with you guys now.'

i think the main difference if she's already friends with them is that reader feels a little more comfortable slipping out. there's a bit less social pressure bc they're already friends, so there's less pretending.

patrick would probably be more comfortable teasing her if they were already friends. he'd be touchier, asking reader if she'd sit with him for a few more minutes, and then he'd walk her back to her room. scout's honor.

art's quicker to pick up on reader being uncomfortable if they're already friends. he's going out with her to get ice and asking her if she's feeling okay. if she seems extra shy or like she feels bad for not being super okay with everything, art will probably stay out with her a bit. he'll talk to her about stuff she likes and then walk back to her room.

i love your side note about art and reader's dynamic, he'd find everything so endearing. like, yes, reader is the one making promises to be in art's life forever without a second thought. that is his very necessary second emotional support best friend that he pines after.

he's making sure everyone leaves her to her color coded sticky notes and tennis practice if that's what she wants!

post match

----

the edge of your thumb brushes against the bottom of your racket. again and again, a much more docile back and forth than the game of tennis you just finished.

"now that was a...game." the breathy quality bleeding into patrick's voice implies a tiredness that serves as a point of pride. you're a fan of keeping friendly games friendly, but after playing with a talented duo that understands each other as well as patrick and art do, it's nice to know that you held your own.

your knees bend slightly, arm reaching downwards to grab the gym bag that you abandoned on the sidelines. "yeah," you hum earnestly, "you guys were great."

art tilts his head upwards, the corner of his mouth tugging itself upwards as he reaches for his own bag. "please," he mumbles as he unzips his bag, "even when you were on the singles side you had us fighting for our lives."

the warmth of art's words makes it hard to focus on rearranging the contents of your duffle bag. "you're exaggerating." you push the sandals you were wearing earlier, a spare pair of socks, and a set of tennis balls to one end of your bag. "but i appreciate it."

you're a little more careful when it comes to moving your t-shirt and denim shorts, taking the time to keep the clothes folded as you move them further into your bag. as you retract your hand, the side of your palm brushes against something cool. your water bottle.

how did you forget about that? you pull out the metal container, tucking it between your chest and forearm as you adjust your hold on your gym bag. finally, you shove the head of your racket into the newly available space.

your eyes shift upwards as you tug on you bag's zipper. patrick and art are standing close together in a way that highlights their familiarity. you've always felt the way that they understand each other on the court, but you're just starting to get the way that their closeness translates itself into life outside of the game.

"you guys are really good together." the suddenness of your own words surprises you. "anticipating moves, knowing when to let who go for it..." your explanation borders on awkward for some reason you don't exactly get.

there's a beat of silence, and the two of them exchange a look. you don't fully understand that either, but the corner of patrick's mouth shifts into a smile. he leans towards art, extending an arm to pull it around art's shoulder. "we're the team."

art works at remaining stiff, shaking his head slightly as patrick makes a show of squeezing his arm. "yeah, because he needs me to-"

"need?" patrick tugs on art's arm. "really? i need you?"

art lets out a partial laugh, shaking his head once as he halfheartedly tries to pull away. "no, no--you cut me off."

patrick looks over at you, eyes narrowing skeptically. "i don't believe him."

you twist the cap off your water bottle. "i'm neutral."

"neutral?" patrick repeats, letting his arm fall off of art's shoulder. he takes a small step in your direction. "really?"

you nod once before lifting your water bottle to your lips. before you can actually take a sip, the bottle is pulled out of your hand. you recognize patrick's smug smile before you've fully processed the fact that he's now holding your water bottle.

you cross your arms in front of your chest, lifting your chin slightly in an attempt to seem firm. "patrick."

"what?" his grin broadens as he bends his arm, holding the water close to his chest and out of easy reach.

you let your arms fall to your side in an attempt to seem nonconfrontational. patrick watches you, eyebrows raised and smile still glued into place. you take one step forward, and then another, again and again until patrick's within reach.

he watches you with an openness that's almost hard to take in all at once. you hold his gaze for what might be a second or a minute--you can't quite tell--and then you lift your arm as quickly as you can manage.

patrick's not thrown by the suddenness of your movement, taking a step back with an ease that's honestly a little irritating. he lets out a slight laugh as his arm bumps into art's.

art places a hand on patrick's shoulder in an attempt to keep him steady. you reach forward without thinking, your hand finding the skin beneath his wrist.

his grin broadens. patrick moves at a snail's pace. your fingers bend around his forearm. to your surprise, he doesn't move away again. he extends his arm carefully until the water bottle is just shy of your lips.

sometimes patrick's full attention feels so intentional, you feel like you should be able to pinpoint why he's looking at you so distinctively. if you dwell on it for long enough, you start feeling like you're missing something.

this time, though, there seems to be a silent question behind his gaze. you let your chin dip downwards in a cautious nod.

patrick tilts the container, the edge of it pressing against your bottom lip as water spills forward. you take two sips before patrick's straightening his wrist. he pulls the water bottle back enough to offer it to you. you take the bottle back out of instinct.

the confidence his smile radiates implies a smugness that digs at your skin. if he was anyone else, you're not sure you'd be able to stand him. "come on." patrick slings his tennis bag around his shoulder. "we need to hurry if we're going to make that movie you want to see."

patrick turns on his heels, walking forward without another word. it's instinct to want to follow along. patrick's a touchy person, and if no one else is going to consider what just happened weird, you won't either.

art's still, tennis bag sitting on his shoulder. you can't get yourself to take more than a step forward without seeing him move. "art?"

his gaze shifts from something just past your shoulder and onto you. the weight of art's full attention settles on you differently than patrick's. when art watches you, it's consuming in a way that's patient. there's a steadiness to any underlying intensity, like a minute could pass or an hour or an eternity and it wouldn't make a difference. he'll see whatever he needs to all the same.

art turns to face you fully before taking a step forward. he continues to walk towards you until he's so close you can see the faint array of freckles scattered across his skin. there's a particularly dark one near his chin.

he lifts an arm slowly. you don't move, not even when you can feel the tips of his fingers near the side of your cheek. art studies you for a second longer before letting his thumb brush against the edge of your bottom lip. the side of his thumb briefly presses into your skin, just enough to get your lips to part.

art pulls his hand back carefully, letting his palm linger against your skin as he moves back. "there was water on your..." his eyes briefly dip downwards before finding your own again. "patrick's messy."

"oh," you say, because you need to say something, "yeah."

the corner of his mouth pulls itself into a partial smile. he turns before you have to say anything else. "come on." art throws an arm around your shoulder. "we're gonna miss the movie."

you smile, a part of you glad that neither of them are looking at you right. "yeah, let's go." it takes a conscious effort to keep in pace with his long strides, but you don't mind it. "i don't want to miss the previews."

art's eyebrows draw together as he turns his head. "no one likes the previews."

you force a glare, tilting your chin downwards in an attempt to seem more intimidating. "i like the previews."

he squeezes your shoulder warmly. "you're so weird."

you let out a mock gasp. "really? i'm the weird one?"

teehee i feel so special 🥰

i'm no longer withholding writing a cute fluff piece based on this post i made a half hour ago, nor am i withholding writing mike pieces any longer because we all deserve it, whether we believe so or not. anyway, darling @ysuftmikey this is for you. and this would take place when he gets back to the hotel after this

May 16, 2024 Cannes, France

“It’s going to be nice,” you remark, tracing your finger over the rim of your wine glass. “I know you need it.” You push back against the headboard to extend your legs outward, watching the man in front of you begin to unbutton his dress shirt. “Just relax, do nothing. Day drink.” You pause as you watch him shrug off his shirt and lay it over the edge of the bed. “Fuck.”

He bites the inside of his cheek to stifle a smile, but you see his eyebrow raise at the word. “Is that all you have on our agenda?”

“What more could you want?”

“We could do that at home.” The sound of the metal of his belt reverberates against the walls, and you watch from your placement on the bed as his eyes stare directly into yours.

“Yeah, but not with a view of the French Riviera…”

“Can always close our eyes and imagine.”

“It’s not the same, babe.” You lift your glass to your lips to take a sip. He’s already slipped out of his dress pants and laid them neatly over the armrest of the chaise lounge. “How about I run us a bath?”

You watch as he methodically climbs over your limbs, almost tragically laying on your claw clip, before he relaxes his body between your legs, his head resting on your stomach. “Let’s just lay here for a bit…please.”

You can feel his hand rubbing circles on the exposed side on your waist, and his breath slow and drown out, close to sleep. You run your fingers through his hair, pushing little pieces out from his forehead, before finally resting on his cheek.

“I’m proud of you, you know? I’m excited for tomorrow.”

You feel his breath hitch in his throat, and he lightly adjusts his position above you. “Nervous… Hate speeches.”

“Don’t think too much about it. We can write something for you – at least have something to go off of.”

“I’m glad you’ll be there. Wouldn’t be able to handle it if you weren’t.” You can’t see his expression, but you can feel he’s softened. The creases between his brows having mellowed. “I love you.”

“I love you too…” You can feel him tracing invisible patterns on your exposed skin. “I wouldn’t miss it for anything. I don’t care what’s going on… I’d drop anything for you.” He gently moves, and you feel him place a singular kiss on your stomach, nuzzling his nose deeper up your chest. “You deserve a holiday. You’ve worked hard this year, and I know you didn’t want to do the press tour, but it’s over. The worst is over. Just need to get through this weekend.”

He finally lifts his head up, his eyes piercing blue, save for that splash of brown. “Still want that bath?”

You smirk, reaching over to set your wine glass down on your bedside table without jostling your partner too much. He pushes himself from the bed, still laying between your legs. “I got bath salts, rose petals, candles… The whole nine yards.”

“Are you trying to seduce me?” He quips, roaming a single finger up and down your thigh.

“I mean…yeah. Duh.” You give him a look that says, “I wouldn’t be doing all of this for nothing.”

“We can skip all of that…save the middle man and just skip—”

“Michael, I fucking swear… Let me be romantic.”

“You’re always romantic.” He’s leaning forward, his chest stark with yours. You feel his lips begin to craze light pecks across your jaw, and down your neck.

“And you best believe it.”

any more thoughts on puppy art.. please. only if u want to though haha !! (please?)

ohh u guys love your darling little lapdog huh?

LAPDOG ART DONALDSON! fem!reader

▸ a drooler. nosing his head between your legs n he's already salivating. he's so cute like that. face smushed between your thighs, panting as spit pools in his mouth, nose twitching like a cute little bunny at the scent of your arousal. taking the trim of your panties between his teeth, dragging it down inch by inch. quivering because he just wants to rip them off but the last time he did that he tore your nice lacy lingerie and u didnt touch him for a week. when he eats you out he laps at your cunt like an eager puppy. comes away absolutely glistening. dripping, even. your juices n his saliva smearing his cheeks, his nose, dribbling down his chin.

▸ bigggg on humping. obviously. when you're too busy to give him attention he'll just shuffle over onto your lap and just start rubbing up against you. he's ridden out the best orgasms that way; creaming in his already-sodden boxers as slick gets all over ur thigh. he likes to do it when you're working or when you're on a call (you always punish him best that way). oftentimes you'll wake up at night to slick sheets—finding him grindin up against you, moaning and whimpering. a sleepy, boneless mess on your knee. he'll already have gotten himself off thrice before he tries to wakes you, just to be safe (you might take it away from him, after all). ▸ teething.... grown ass man teething... gnawing on your shoulder to stop himself from crying out when you let him fuck you.. nibbling your bottom lip red n raw when you kiss.. slobbering all over your mouth. during sex if you tease him he'll start to chew anxiously at the end of ur bra strap, the hem of your shorts, your panties if you keep him waiting too long. sometimes randomly takes your hand by the wrist and takes a fake chomp out of it (affectionate).

▸ not beyond jus being your lil stress relief toy. coming back home and he's been so good for you. he won his match. he's cooked dinner. but you don't have time for any of that. "oh, baby, don't give me that look. cock out, now." and he makes a little mewling noise and immediately his shorts are a crumpled puddle on the floor—raging boner popping out, all swollen n red n leaking bc hes been waiting for you for hours. ▸ sighing, telling him to sit and so he does. legs spreading wide on the couch, blinking up at u in earnest neediness. and when you sink onto his cock he makes this insane, visceral whining noise—back arcing off the seat. ▸ cockwarmer? more like cuntwarmer. you tell him don't move and don't cum. an impossible ask. he's pawing at your back, whimpering when your only response is to lean back heavier, sinking your full weight down on his poor, poor cock. n it feels soso good but he only lasts two minutes on a good day! let alone when you're switching the tv on and settling back into him like he's part of the couch. occasionally your hips jump, walls pulsing tight, choking his sensitive dick. you're grinding down into his lap and he's twitching inside of u and hot tears are prickling his eyes—fingers digging into your thighs, trembling.

▸ time ticking on.. the coil of heat in his gut winding tighter n tighter.. art's cheeks are flushed and hes wetting the back of your shirt with his silent tears. he persists, though, because he's good. he's gonna be a good boy for you. and it works! for a time, when you seem like you've almost forgotten your pussy is strangling his cock and you're only rolling your hips occasionally, sending warm thrums of pleasure through him. lulling him into a false sense of security.

▸ until all of a sudden you decide to be mean and for whatever reason you lift your hips before slamming them back down again, and his sharp gasp and slurred mewls perfectly cue the geyser that erupts from his slit.

▸ not even letting him cum inside you.. sliding off his spurting cock thats blowing cum like a volcano. hot, sticky strings arcing in the air and splattering all over the carpet, the couch cushions. his eyes glazing over, all glassy n sparkly as he crumples back in the couch, blubbering tearful apologies as his cock leaks like a faucet, staining the poor, new pillows.

▸ adores aftercare. or just your comfort in general. please rest your hand against his cheek and let him sigh and melt and nuzzle into the palm of your hand like you're taking the weight of the world off his shoulders. tug gently on his hair. scratch his scalp. let him curl up on your lap and pat him and coo sweet nothings in his ear. simple things, like "sweet baby, did so good today." or "tired puppy. took mommy so well."

▸ "fuck— m'sorry. m'sorry, m'sorry—" "hey, shh, darling. aw, don't cry. mommy's got you. how bout you curl up on momma's lap, kay?" "..mkay."

please please please I need someone to write some fluff for Art Donaldson x reader, if I read another smut I'll have to jump in a pool of holy water-

「bites and 'I love you's」 Art Donaldson x F!reader

you can read the other parts here!

━━━•❃°•°❀°•°❃•━━━

Art loves to bite you. 

It's something you found out pretty quickly in your relationship, but no matter how many times it happens it still surprises you. 

The first time it happened you were dating for 2 weeks, you were laying on his bed, belly down while reading a book to entertain yourself until Art's arrival from practice.

When the door opened you were too immersed in your book to notice and Art closed the door quietly behind him after stepping in the room, the tennis sack dropped on the floor next to the desk as he walked towards you on the bed. 

He sat down and you finally noticed his presence "hey baby how was pract- OW" you yelped as his teeth sank on your shoulder, not in a painful way but the surprise was still there. 

"What the hell was that for Art?!" you laughed and turned your head around to look at him, Art still sat on the edge with his arms resting on your sides.

"I'm sorry you just looked so bitable" he said and kissed the spot where the bite mark is, Art wrapped his right arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him and rested his head on your shoulder, a devious glint in his eyes as with the free hand he closed the book in your hands. 

You turned around on your back "how was practice?" you repeated and kissed his lips to greet him.

He returned your kiss and smiled gently, moving to lay down next to you. He was clearly tired, practice went long today, and laying down on the bed next to you, wrapping both arms around you to pull you close to him seemed to relax him enough to finally close his eyes "I'm tired and I stink" he said softly, burying his face against the crook of your neck.

"I can tell" he pinched your waist at that and you whined "keep your teeth and fingers away from me!". 

He laughed softly with that, shifting and laying fully on top of you. His head on your chest, his right hand moving up and under your shirt, resting against the skin of your side while the fingers of his other hand traced little patterns on your stomach "but you're so fun to bite and pinch" he teased, lightly biting your chest, just above your breast.

"no, no I have to go, I planned a dinner with Tashi tonight" you pushed him off of you until he is kneeled between your legs.

"Nooo, c'mon, can't you cancel your plans and stay with me for a bit? I wanna spend some time with you before I go shower" he whined and grabbed your arms, trying to pull you against him again.

"I can't, I haven't seen Tashi outside a tennis camp for what it feels like years". 

"Now you're overreacting, maybe a few weeks". 

"Exactly almost years" he laughed and pulled again your arms to make you sit in front of him. 

"Can't you spend an hour or two with me before seeing her?" he asked and you looked at the clock and sighed. 

"I really can't, but I can come here after dinner and sleep here tonight" you proposed with an encouraging smile on the lips making him hum thoughtfully, clearly not fully satisfied with that proposal, but the offer for you to stay the night was enough of a win for him.

"Promise you're coming later? And not going back to your dorm" he mumbled against your neck before he suddenly but very lightly bit your earlobe.

"pinky promise" you kissed his lips once more before standing up "but I expect you to be clean and scented when I come back, or you'll sleep on the floor" he laughed, sitting up properly on the bed.

"Of course baby, I'll shower and be all clean for you" he said with a smile on his lips "now go, get out of here before I change my mind" he teased, smacking your ass lightly.

you laughed "see you later, bye!".

"have fun baby". 

Another time it happened you were trying on some clothes in your dorm room, Art sat on the edge of your bed while looking at you in the dress you just bought, it was beautiful, you were beautiful, "what do you think?" you asked twirling around in front of him.

"you look stunning baby" his arms and legs opened for you to get between them, his hands immediately went to rest on your hips while his gaze moved over your body, taking in the way the dress hugged your curves and accentuated all the right places.

"you could wear this to meet my parents" he mumbled with a smirk on his lips, his eyes met yours.

You laughed at that "yes, if I want them to look forward to you breaking up with me" he looked at you confused and you simply turned around to make him look at the back better. 

He hummed "yeah, definitely too short for that" he pulled the fabric as down as possible "but you look amazing".

He moved his hands up and down your legs, admiring the view from behind while the dress rode up, going up your thighs until most of your legs were exposed, you smiled "thank you baby, but I could wear this for a date" you looked at the mirror, too focused on thinking for something to pair it with. 

"love the idea".

"I could pair this with the black heel- ART" you felt a sting on your left butt cheek and you quickly left his arms, your hand going to cover the sore spot, he laughed when your turned to look at him, face shocked.  

"it looks way too good in that dress, I couldn't help myself" he said in between laughs.

"Stop biting me Donaldson! I mean it" you said but there isn't real bite in your tone.

He stood up to walk towards you "what? Maybe you simply should stop looking so pretty" he teased you.

Your hand in front of you stopped him "no, no stay back you're scaring me" you said between laughters "you're sleeping on the floor tonight" he grabbed your hand swiftly and bit your wrist as softly as possible. Then, he made you turn around, back pressed against his chest and arms wrapped around your waist, his eyes looking at yours in the mirror. 

"Will you let me sleep with you again if I promise not to bite you while you sleep?" he asked and you pouted a bit, pretending to think about his offer for a moment before nodding reluctantly.

"I guess so, as long as you keep your promise to not attack me at night like some feral animal" you said with a fake pout.

He huffed and mumbled a small 'fine' against your neck and you patted his biciep around your waist "now, let me try the other two dresse- ART!" he smiled sheepishly after releasing your shoulder "you never said anything about not biting you outside the bed" he winked. 

"Art. Don't be ridiculous. I said 'I love you first'" 

The two of you are laying in your new bed, naked skin pressed together as the early evening sunlight streams in through the gap in the curtains. The air around you feels warm, the room is filled with the sound of light-hearted bickering.

"and I told you it's not true, I did!" he exclaims and you pull away from his arms to turn and look him in the eyes. The sheets around you ruffles at your movements and Art gets more comfortable against the mattress, the sheets are covering his lower parts of him and leaving his chest naked, one hand on his stomach while the other is still under your head, his fingers lazily playing with your hair as he lays on his back now.

"why are you lying? it was our four months anniversary and I told you I loved you during the picnic at the beach!" he just shakes his head, his eyes stared lovingly at you. 

"that was the first time you said it to me, I told you waaaay before that" you raise your eyebrows in disbelief, a mix of irritation and curiosity in your expression.

"Okay, fine. If you're so sure you told me first, then when exactly did you say it? Surely you can remember the circumstances of such a monumental moment" you shoot back.

He ignores the irritation in your voice and begins to talk "we were in my dorm room, you were reading a book in my bed and I had just returned from my training... you looked so beautiful and I couldn't help it, we were together for two weeks" you frown and lift your bust to rest on your elbows, eyes looking at the wall in front of you like it can help you remember that moment.

"Wait, I think I remember that day" you say, your eyes still fixed on the wall in a thoughtful gaze "I do remember that I was in your bed, reading a book and that you had just gotten back from practice... but I don't remember you saying anything"

"well, technically I didn't say it... I bit you" you blink at him.

 "you bit me" he nodded proudly. 

"how was I even supposed to understand that was an 'I love you'?!" you are flabbergasted. 

"I do it all the time!".

 "yes but it doesn't mean 'I love you'" you laugh incredulous. 

"for me it does!"

"for normal people it doesn't!" you can't believe what he is saying. He seriously thinks that biting equals an "I love you".

"Okay, hold on. So, you're telling me that every time you bite me, you're actually telling me that you love me? I thought you're just being playful..."

He shakes his head, a smirk playing on his lips. He clearly thinks that it's a reasonable assumption "when I first wanted to tell you... I felt like it was too soon and I didn't want to scare you away so I sticked to bites" he explains. 

You can't help but roll your eyes at his logic. It's silly but also kind of sweet. 

"So instead of just telling me you love me like a normal person, you thought resorting to biting me was a more reasonable approach?" you ask, trying not to laugh but failing miserably. He looks at you obviously proud of himself and you shake your head in disbelief at that, god how you love him. 

You hide your head in his neck, arms wrapped around him and his around you, his naked skin against yours comforting. You can feel his heartbeat close to your ear, steady and strong. He sighs contentedly and rests his chin on the top of your head, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on your back.

Suddenly, he feels your teeth sinking softly in his neck before nibbling it over and over again, his smile grows wider and his heart explodes of joy. 

His lips moves closer to your ear, his breath warm against your skin as he whispers softly in it...

 "I love you too". 

Art loves to love you. 

━━━•❃°•°❀°•°❃•━━━

Do not copy or repost.

Cheer Up

Art Donaldson x reader

Warnings - 18+, smut, fingering, dirty talk, orgasm denial

Word count - 1135

a/n - I watched Challengers a couple days ago, and it's safe to say I’m a mike faist supporter lol. Also I kind of just skimmed through this so ignore the errors. I hope you enjoy :)

You haven’t been having the best week, and losing a match today to an opponent who you clearly should’ve beat didn’t help at all. Your irritation didn’t go unnoticed by Art either, but he decided to leave you alone in hopes you would calm down.

Art could see the anger radiating off of you from his seat in the stands as you walked off the court after the game. You were pretty much silent for the ride back to the hotel and still once you got into the room. You took a shower in hopes that it would ease the tension in your body, and it did, but not enough. 

Sitting on the couch in front of the tv, you opened your laptop to watch the playback of today's game. This is something you did after every match to help you become a better player, but if you were to ask Art, he would just say that you were torturing yourself.

You were so into the video playing on your laptop that you didn’t notice Art entering the room until you felt him sit down next to you, resting an arm on top of the couch behind him.

“You’ve been sitting here watching yourself for hours, don’t you think it would be better to just close this and relax,” Art says as he dips his head down to try to get you to look at him, but you ignore him and keep your eyes on the screen.

“This is me relaxing,” you tell him.

“You know what I mean,” he says.

“Well this is what I want to do, so if you could leave me alone that would be great,” you turn to give Art a sarcastic smile before looking back at the laptop. He rolls his eyes at your attitude.

“How long are you going to be in this bitchy mood?” he asks, and you just shrug in response. Luckily for you, he knows just how to

You thought he would just leave you given the fact that you clearly don’t want to talk, but he stays in his spot next to you. Suddenly you feel Art grab the laptop from your lap and lean forward to place it on the coffee table in front of you, causing your eyebrows to furrow.

“What are you doing?” you ask, watching him.

“Helping you relax,” he says as he turns his attention back to you and dips his head down to start placing kisses on the side of your neck and up to your ear. 

“Art-,” you begin, but you cut yourself off when you feel a moan rising in your throat. Once you feel like you’ve composed yourself you say, “I’m busy.”

“Then tell me to stop,” he whispers in your ear before attaching his lips back to your neck, causing a shiver to run down your spine. 

He places his hand on your thigh and trails it up until he reaches the fabric of your panties. Lucky for him you just like to sleep in underwear and a shirt. He begins to lightly rub you through your panties, not adding any pressure on purpose. Your eyes drift to your laptop on the table that’s still open and playing.

“This isn’t the time,” you say breathlessly as you naturally buck your hips.

He hums in response, waiting for you to tell him to stop, but it doesn’t come. He dips his hand into your panties and runs his finger up and down your slit through the arousal that has started to leak out of you, circling your entrance before moving up to your clit, and this time adding pressure.

“You’ve had this little attitude all week, and I think it’s time that it goes away,” he says in your ear, then leans back to get a look at your face as he pushes a finger into you. “What do you think?”

Your mouth falls slightly ajar as you let out a small moan, but no answer. The video may be playing, but the screen has turned into a blur.

“What, nothing to say? You sure did have something to say these past couple of days,” Art fake pouts with a tilt of his head. “If this is what you needed all along, why didn’t you just say something?”

He then inserts another finger and watches as you fall apart as he curls his fingers inside of you. You move one of your hands up to grip the armrest as your eyes close and your body leans back against the couch.

“I mean this is what you wanted, right? For me to fill you up and make all your worries just disappear?” he questions with a smirk. 

Art feels your walls clench around him at his words as he continues his measured pace with his fingers.

“An answer would be nice,” he states, his tone a little more firm. You shake your head no, but that isn’t enough for art. “No, say it out loud.”

“No,” you manage with a whine.

“No? Are you sure because the way you just gave in so easily tells me otherwise,” Art fake pouts. “It’s not like I have a problem with it, though. After all, I get to be inside you,” he smirks at you.

All you can do is moan as he increases the speed of his fingers. Your legs start to involuntarily close, but you hear him tell you no, so you listen and force them back open. You feel yourself coming closer and closer to your orgasm with each thrust of his fingers, and Art notices too by the way your whimpers and whines become more consistent. 

Right when you feel yourself about to tumble over the edge, Art quickly pulls his fingers out of you and out of your panties, causing you to gasp and your walls to clench around nothing. You finally open your eyes and look at Art, who still has the stupid smirk on his face.

“What are you doing?” you ask in confusion and irritation, and he just laughs at you.

“You were the one that said this wasn’t the time,” he tells you as he licks the fingers that were inside you only a moment ago.

“Are you fucking serious right now?” 

“Are you fucking serious right now?” he repeats with his eyebrows raised. Art begins to stand up, leaving you more tense than before. He motions to your laptop still playing the video from your tennis match and says, “I don’t want to bother you, so I’ll let you go back to what you were doing. Come find me when you’re done.”

You watch with an open mouth as Art walks out of the room with a smile and heads into the bedroom, not giving you a second look.

Part 2 out now!

「 ✦Masterlist ✦ 」

Welcome, stay a while :) ~~ * smut ~~

Austin Butler

Like a Snake - Feyd Rautha *

Only Pleasure Remains - Feyd Rautha *

Unconventional Confessions *

Little Do You Know

Bloodlust - Feyd Rautha*

Consequences *

Unwanted Help - Feyd Rautha

Snap Out of It

Seduction by Deception - Feyd Rautha*

No I'm Not *

What Were You Thinking

The Lucky One - Benny Cross

An Honorary Member - Benny Cross

Rainbow vs. Leather - Benny Cross

Dangerously yours - Benny Cross *

Excuse Me? - Benny Cross

Whatever It Takes - Benny Cross*

A House to a Home New! - 9/11

Callum Turner

Whiskey - Major John Egan

Modern Loneliness - Major John Egan

Cillian Murphy

Moving to Los Alamos - Oppenheimer - my 1st post

Farleigh Start

There We Go *

Untitled *

Just One More *

Mike Faist

Cheer Up * - Art Donaldson

Necessary Revenge* - Art Donaldson

Timothee Chalamet

Don't Mind Me *

I Told You So

Glen Powell

Chasing Feelings - Tyler Owens

(Each section is oldest to newest)

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❀•°❀°•❀ ❀•°❀°•❀ ❀•°❀°•❀ ❀•°❀°•❀ ❀•°❀°•❀ ❀•

Hey babe, idk if anyone told you but you cant just write the most gut wrenching, hottest art fic ever and then not do a part 2!

Hope this helps <3 !

Ngl you had me nervous in the first half oml💀 glad you enjoyed it tho and appreciate all the love from everyone else lol

Should I actually make a part 2 tho bc I have other ideas for art imagines🤔

yes make a part 2!!

Bet, part 2 to cheer up coming soon ;)

Also just wanted to thank everyone for all the love on my art donaldson imagine, I really appreciate it💕

Read part 2 here!

Necessary Revenge

Art Donaldson x reader

Warnings - 18+, smut, sub!art, dirty talk, handjob, overstimulation

Word count - 2111

a/n - yeah this is definitely on the list of the dirtiest things i've written. by popular request, here's part 2 to Cheer Up, but it can also be read by itself. Also tysm for all the love on Cheer Up. Sorry this took so long, and I hope you enjoy :)

You hated it when Art teased you, which is exactly why he does it. All you want is a loving boyfriend who listens to you and does what you say, is that too much to ask? Apparently so.

Obviously, the only reasonable solution is to seek revenge. Unfortunately for Art, after being denied an orgasm earlier after a rough day, that’s exactly what you plan to do. Well, maybe not unfortunate since this is most likely what he wants. 

You were trying to study and watch playbacks of matches on your laptop to better your skills, but since you’re no longer in the mood, you decide you might as well close it.

After cleaning up your area, you head into the bedroom to see Art leaning against the headboard on his phone, his back propped by pillows. The television is on but on low volume, he always needed some type of background noise. Art glances up from his phone once he notices you walk in and can’t help the smirk that grows on his face. As soon as he looks back down, you shoot him a glare.

“Back for more?” Art asks.

Just you wait.

“Not exactly,” you tell him as you climb next to him on the bed, using the sweetest tone possible. You get yourself situated against the headboard with him, making sure you’re comfortable – you plan on being here a while. “What are you doing?” 

“Just texting Patrick, he’s complaining about the match he just lost and how he needs to find a way to improve.”

“Well, he always was a sore loser,” you say. Art hums and nods in agreement as he continues to text his best friend. He doesn’t make a move to continue the conversation, so you decide to begin your revenge plan.

You turn your attention to the tv hanging on the wall as you place your hand on Art’s thigh. He must be too into his phone since he doesn’t notice, so you continue to raise your hand higher along the fabric of his sweatpants.

Art’s body tenses as he feels your hand move up his body, his fingers frozen above the keyboard on his phone. You notice the questioning glance he gives you from the corner of your eye, but you continue to play innocent as you keep your attention forward.

You wait for Art’s focus to go back to his phone before drifting your hand even higher and stopping right over his crotch. You don’t hide the smile that starts to grow on your face as you feel his cock slowly starting to harden over your touch. Art’s breathing begins to shallow out as he tries to maintain his focus and keep his mind straight. Well, that is until you give his crotch a firm squeeze causing him to let out a small moan and his eyes to flutter.

“What are you doing?” he asks you, his voice low.

“What do you mean? I just want to spend some time with you,” you answer in a casual tone, but Art can see right through your facade. He can feel his heartbeat getting faster. You finally turn your head towards him to notice his blue eyes not slightly widened as he stares back at you. You notice the way his chest slowly rises and falls in anticipation as his grip tightens around his phone. “Is something wrong?”

He gulps. “N-No, just a question.”

“I’m pretty sure Patrick is waiting for you to text him back,” you say, nodding towards his screen. 

Art continues to stare for a few more seconds before nodding and looking back at his phone, but you don’t take your eyes off of him. You let your hand hover above him as you wait for him to send a few more messages out before beginning to palm him through his sweatpants.

Art bites his lip as he lets a whimper. His cock is at full attention now as your hand continues to move. The grip he has on his phone is faltering, his hands starting to tremble and his face completely flushed. When his hands fall into his lap along with his phone, you stop and raise your eyebrows.

“Pick it back up and continue texting him,” you command, your tone firm. His phone is vibrating non-stop from Patrick’s pettiness.

“Baby-.”

“I said continue,” you tell him. 

A look of desperation flashes across his face before he lifts his phone back up and responds to the messages. Your hand starts back up again, and Art lets out a noise, sounding like he wants to start crying. 

He’s falling apart with just a touch of your hand.

Art is starting to get annoyed at Patrick’s texts and wishes they would just stop so he could enjoy himself. He knows you’re not too pleased right now, but he doesn’t care. It just feels too good.

You lean your head into his neck for you to kiss just below his ear, his favorite spot and his weakness. “What’s wrong? You were so cocky earlier, where’s that same energy?”

A shiver runs through Art’s body at the feeling of your breath on his neck. He lets out another whine as he closes his eyes for a second before opening them back up. He’s looking at his phone, but given the fact that his head is starting to feel empty, he can’t really make out the words on the screen.

“You don’t have anything to say for yourself?” you taunt as you press down harder on Art’s crotch, causing him to buck up into your hand. 

You pull away from his neck to get a good look at his face, which now has a distant look on it. His mouth is ajar as he looks back at you. You tilt your head, waiting for him to respond to you, but all he does is whimper and pant. He’s a complete mess.

You bring him into a kiss by grabbing the back of his neck, which he happily gives in to. The kiss is filled with nothing but need – more on his end than yours. Art drops his phone on the bed next to him so he can grab your waist, pulling you even closer to him. He whimpers into your mouth as you give his hair a quick put firm tug.

He plunges his tongue into your mouth, needing even more from you. You allow it for a moment before pulling back just a little to wrap your lips around his tongue. Art lets his eyes roll into his head at the feeling of you sucking his tongue. He feels his climax coming quickly from the combined pleasure, and you can tell by the fact of him squirming under your touch more and more.

“You’re not going to cum without my permission are you?” you ask after pulling away from his mouth.

Art feels his eyes become heavy as his forehead pressed against yours. “No.”

“Good boy,” you smile, and that brings Art even closer to the edge. He removes his hand from your waist to grab a hold of the cover beneath him.

“Can I cum?” he pleads as he throws his head back against the headboard, your hand still on the back of his neck.

“Not yet.”

“Baby please,”he pleads again, his breathing speeding up.

“No,” you tell him, wanting to torture him.

“Baby I can’t. I-I can’t,” he stutters, his eyes squeezed shut and his brows furrowed.

“That’s too bad,” you tell him. You feel his hips stutter under your touch making it known that he’s about to cum anyways. You already knew he wouldn’t be able to hold back for much longer. 

Art lets out a cry as his orgasm floods through his body and shoots out of him. A wet patch begins to appear through his sweatpants as you keep on pressing against him. He continues to roll his hips into your hand as he rides his orgasm out, a string of gasps falling out of his mouth.

“Oh no,” you fake pout, “Looks like you didn’t make it.”

“I’m sorry, I tried,” he pants as he opens, looking down at the stain on his pants before making eye contact with you. A look of embarrassment falls on his face.

He’s so cute.

You move your hand away from him. “What a shame,” you shake your head in fake disappointment. There’s a moment of silence before you say, “pull your pants down.”

“What?” Art asks, confused. He thought you were done, but he was so wrong.

“You heard me,” you say in a plain tone. 

Art hesitates before shimmying his pants down his legs to his knees, along with his underwear. You look down to see a mess of his cum covering his shaft, and as you take a look at his underwear, you see some sticking to the fabric. His cock is red and starting to soften, but that’s going to change.

Art gives you a look of realization as he lifts his head from the headboard once it registers in his mind what you’re about to do. “Please don’t.”

You ignore his request as you wrap your hand around his shaft. He jumps at the feeling of your cold hand around him, still sensitive from his orgasm. You stare into his eyes as you begin moving your hand up and down. Art lets out a pathetic whine as his body jerks, trying to escape your touch, but it doesn’t work.

“You know, you’re just so easy,” you tease.

“Baby, please-,” Art cuts himself off with a whimper, his hips starting to writhe against the cover.

“Please what? You should be thankful that I’m doing this, unlike how you denied me my orgasm earlier,” you tell him. “I’m letting you cum as many times as you want.”

“Oh my god,” he says as he drops his head. His voice strangled as his second orgasm unexpectedly arrives. You watch as his cum lands on your hands and the bottom of his white shirt. 

A sticky and wet sound echoes through the room as your hand speeds up around him. Art’s mouth falls open as his breathing picks up once again. He looks at you, silently begging, but you ignore him once again. You remove the hand from behind his neck and place it on one of his legs to help keep his body still.

“Say you’re sorry,” you tell him as you run your thumb over his tip a few times..

“I’m sorry,” he gasps, his grip on the cover tightening. He feels like his hands might be stuck in fists by the time this is over.

You pretend to think in your head before saying, “I don’t think you mean it.”

His voice is high and whiny as he throws his head back once again and says, “I am. I promise.”

“Hmm, I don’t know,” you shrug. “Make me believe it.”

Art begins to rethink his choices and starts to regret messing with you. “I’m so, so, so sorry, baby. I swear. It was wrong of me to do that to you.”

“Hmm.”

“Baby.”

You smirk at his desperation. “I forgive you.”

“Oh, no, I think I’m going to cum again,” he cries, his eyes rolling back once again as his body tenses.

“Go ahead,” you tell him.

Art’s third orgasm hits him harder than his previous two. He trembles as his back arches away from the headboard while watered down cum spurts out of him. Drool spills out the side of his mouth as you continue the motions of your hand.

He uses a hand and reaches down to pull yours away from his cock, but you slap it away. Art gasps as he continues to twitch in your hand, feeling like he can’t stop as cum flows out of him. You finally move your hand away, but his cock continues to spasm with your touch.

Wanting to torture him one last time, you lean down to wrap your mouth him, sucking and cleaning. Art’s body jerks as he curls forward and grabs your head. You laugh as you pull away.

You lean back against the headboard, pulling his head into the side of your neck to help him calm down. His breath tickles you as he tries to slow his heart down. You glance down at his spent cock with a smile as you gently rub his back.

After a long moment of silence, Art’s phone vibrates from its place on the bed beside him.

You shake your head as you ask, “Are you going to answer that?”

“Patrick can fucking wait,” he breathes out.

like what you see? check out my masterlist :)

Unironiclly if someone made this 4 me I think I would actually fudging crumble. 🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🖤💋💋💋

Ur sparkle jump rope queen 👑

Sooooo????? This is not a drill!!!!!!!!! My bsf asked me something like "What music are you listening to except that depressed girl ???" And the thing is she KNOWS that I listen to my babygirl Elizabeth Grant with my ears& soul more than anyone ever could do I was like "Oh...Nirvana's great (greatest of all time)" And she sent me a voicemail sayin "Why TF didn't u tell bout em earlier. I loveeee thiss" WITH "That's what makes u beautiful or how tf it's called".......................................

........................,............................................................................................................. I'm done y'all 🎀

He's soooooo bbg🎀🍒😍🌹😫😫😫 I be drinkin his cum like... ANYWAYS. If u feel lonely hmu.

𝐀𝐧𝐝…𝐒𝐞𝐭

Pairing- Art Donaldson x !female reader

Summary: Art's determination to win collides with his distant connection with Tashi. You always knew it was a problem, but one incident snapped your band of patience and found the urge to address it. (I suck at writing summaries forgive me!<3)

Warnings- Cursing, fluff, small angst but with happy ending

Word Count- 1.4k

Authors note: Hii! Soo this is my third post and I really hope this one's good in your opinion. I feel like this coudve been written better but I wanted to post something since it has been a minute. Also, I didn't watch Challengers so this might not be as accurate just FYI!! Also againn, this does have a spicy version sitting in my drafts so if this gets enough recognition and you guys want it then I'd be more than happy to post it. Enjoy!

“Art, baby-” You uttered softly while he grabbed his tennis racket from one of the many benches surrounding the tennis court. Sweat covered his forehead and shirt from the summer heat, eyebrows were furrowed in concentration, hands red and irritated from the firm grip he had on the racket when swinging, and Tashi’s stare from the sidelines, right beside where you were, only encouraged it.

  “Don’t ‘baby’ him, you know it'll only distract him from what he needs,” Tashi replied, black sunglasses-covered eyes still set on Art, now beginning his stance as the trainer began to set the ball once more. 

You understood where the woman came from...to a short extent. She’d been your friend since college, both having dreams about becoming the best. But ever since her injury and your lack of motivation, you both stopped doing what you loved. You accepted that. Tashi couldn't.

“What he needs is a break, Tashi, a real one.” She only rolled her eyes in return, not caring if you saw it or not. You wanted to say something, demand something, but you knew how important this was to Art. Knew that if you tried to take the sliver of hope he had at ameliorating his already perfect skills of what he’s trying to love away, then he’d never forgive you.

With a huff of annoyance, you opened your mouth to say anything reasonable that could go through your old friend’s thick skull but was interrupted by a yelp, followed by a tennis racket hitting the ground, the noise echoing throughout the court. Your chest tightened, and a sharp breath caught in your throat as you saw Art lying on the ground, face grimacing in utter pain while hunched over and clutching his right ankle. 

“Art!” You ran to him, not noticing Tashi behind your trail. You knew this would happen; You knew Tashi would push him too far. You knew Art wouldn’t be able to just listen to you-

“Get a fucking medic already!” Tashi exclaimed to the shocked trainer watching over the situation. They stood for a second more before rushing to get help. 

You knelt to Art’s level, cradling his face in your hands. The small movements of your thumbs drew circles against his temple. You hoped, no, prayed, it did him any good. 

“Just breathe, love, you’re okay.” The reassurance in your smile and the soft gaze in your eyes relaxed Art into a consistent breathing pattern. His hand wrapped around your wrist for support as he shook his head in dismissal. You noticed Tashi, kneeling beside him on the other side, looking at him with the same, if not more, deeper concern than you. Her hands shook lightly in her lap as she observed the two of you and if you weren’t mistaken, she wanted to reach out to him herself.

“I-It’s fine. I’m good for another hit.” Art muttered in what tried to be confidence, but the shakiness in his voice said otherwise. His heavy eyes fixated on Tashi when saying ‘another hit’ almost like he needed her confirmation to let him continue practicing. 

“What?” you exclaimed. Tashi’s eyes widened when she noticed Art’s gaze on her. “Art, no. Help me take him to the car.” Thankfully, you majored in specialized healthcare and knew the basics of treating a sprained ankle so taking him home wasn’t a big deal.

“What about the medic-” Tashi began.

“Fuck the medic!” You cut off, mumbling “They’re taking too long” in the process. You hooked your arms around him as Tashi did the same to his right. 

The drive home was silent except for the light grunts Art made with every slight bump in the road. You tried to make him comfortable as much as you could; resting your hand on his knee, reassuring him everything was okay and well, kissing his reddened knuckles once or twice with sympathy. 

You managed to get Art out of the car without struggle and rest him on one of the couches that accompanied your shared living room. Wrapping his foot was the easy part, but convincing him to rest and take it easy was a whole different story. 

“Art, Angel, please just lay down. The court isn’t going to grow legs and leave.” You joked as you knelt before him, one hand clutching his own. He sighed while tilting his head back in final defeat, nodding in understanding.

“I know baby, I get it. It’s just- if I’m going to compete for this season then it’s whatever it takes. Tashi…” He paused.

“‘Tashi’ what?” You deadpanned with a little more forceness than intended. Given his situation, you knew he couldn’t help how he felt about his (toxic) ex and coach. He loved you with all of his fiber and being, no doubt, but Art never could understand that his vulnerability, trust, attachment,  poured out of him without even knowing. You felt the need to close your eyes and take a deep breath. Exhaling all the creeping stress that was about to shoot out your body and attack Art without fault. “Art. listen to me, please, I know you want her to coach you, I know that, and I’ve been trying to let you get to where you want to go with your career. I understand. But do I really have to list everything she’s done to you without an ounce of sympathy? Before and after you married her.”

Art’s eyes averted from yours, finding the couch more interesting than the needed conversation. 

“That’s not fair.” He muttered. You scoffed.

“No, what’s not fair is the constant stress she used to put you in. What’s not fair is the fact that I had to watch you work your ass off and be rewarded with a fucking cuss-out from her because she thought you still weren't good enough…a wife doesn’t do that to her husband.”

Art’s head finally turns to you. The whites of his eyes were red, eye bags more prominent than ever. Blush stained his cheeks, neck, and pouty lips. He looked exhausted. 

“I just wanted her to accept me…I still w-want her to accept me.” his mouth contorted into disgust as if what he said was the most controversial thing in the world. He reached for the bottom of your top and tugged, encouraging you to rest your body on top of his, and you hesitantly obliged. “And I swear to you it’s not because I still love her, you know that. I guess…” He paused. You reached your hand to glide your fingers through the blonde hair that lay on the nape of his neck, looking at him with soft, understanding eyes, encouraging him to use his words. To finally release his true feelings about something hidden for way too long. “I guess it’s partly because of pity? Y’know with her injury and everything. When we were…something, I saw the look of pure agony and anger on her face when she found out she wouldn’t be able to play anymore, and I felt horrible. Just imagining not doing the one thing you’ve worked so hard for kills me.”

“You felt as though you needed to continue her dream through you,” You summarized but shortly chuckled before straddling Art’s waist. “Art you’re too vulnerable for your own damn good.” He sheepishly smiles while shrugging.

“Just say I have attachment issues, I can take it.” Snickering, you playfully rolled your eyes. At least he wasn’t completely clueless, you thought. 

“I would never make you do anything against your will, but I feel like after the world champs you should take a good break for a while and maybe separate yourself from Tashi,” You said, the statement sounding more like a question. “Just to see if she might be the one holding you down.”

His head tilted to the side in peak curiosity, eyes squinted and tense before they relaxed into soft irises. You knew he knew the answer, but what worried you was the sincerity behind it. He would do anything and everything to please you; it was his perfect flaw, but sometimes that flaw overtook him. Trapped him. You just hoped his answer would hold sureness in it. 

“Okay.” 

“Okay?” He nodded, a lazy smile, that replicated yours, plastered on his face.

“Yes, baby. I love you. I want to make you my wife. I’m going to make you my wife. Why would I fuck that up?” Silence engulfed you as your stomach began to turn. The love you had for him outweighed the stars, fuck, it outweighed the whole universe. And as he looked up to you tired eyes glistening, perfect lips smiling, amazing hands caressing, you knew. You knew he could listen and cherish and understand anything you brought to him; whether it’d be small or big, annoying or reasonable. You knew he would still be there.