Patrick Zweig X Reader - Tumblr Posts

i am so in NEED of a MAN that idk if i want patrick or art from challengers (or both) OR hugh jackman

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

being best friends with both patrick and art means that patrick constantly refers to you as "our girl" when talking to art bc it always flusters art just enough for patrick to notice

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 agree that Art and Patrick need each other.

How do you think their dynamic would change (if at all) if they were in a throuple with someone?

I want to know your Challengers opinions on EVERYTHING but I suck at coming up with things to ask

this is such a fun ask!

sorry if i'm all over the place, i just had so many thoughts :)

disclaimer: this is based on my interpretation of the plot and characters, so it's very opinion based,, and if you see them differently that's totally okay bc room for interpretation and analysis is what makes an artistic work art :)

okay so i think some of the dynamic changes would depend on the personality of the third person, if that person is similar to tashi (and they actually managed to get into an official relationship) i think everyone would be happy but still a little toxic

this isn't me fully blaming tashi for all their issues btw!! i think fully assigning blame to one individual ruins the point of the movie and oversimplifies their relationships, but i digress

i think part of the reason that the plot of the movie worked out the way it did is bc tashi helped bring out the "hubris" of both art and patrick--patrick's pride and art's ability to trap himself in his head

to me, these are the main traits capable of ruining their relationship

wanting someone like tashi drove patrick's desire to be the "best", i see him as someone with a slightly obsessive personality,, and having someone so desirable, strong willed, and talented kind of becomes an ego thing

however, wanting someone like tashi works the opposite way for someone like art,, he wants to prove himself "worthy" so bad it traps him in his head and actually makes him more insecure

so with patrick constantly working to maintain his improved ego and art struggling to keep up the way he sees himself, ofc things get a little toxic bc even though they care about each other, it's more about their headspace than actually wanting to compete with each other

also i think tashi wanted to want art more than she wanted patrick, but she just wasn't there, which brings me to the dynamic i think would work best

patrick cares about art sm, idc argue with me if u want but i will never be convinced that patrick wasn't in love with art that the entire movie would have been maybe 20 minutes long if art said he wanted to fix their friendship/relationship

this isn't to say that art doesn't love patrick, i just think that they express love in different ways

patrick is so open in his affectionateness, and that's ideal for keeping art from getting stuck in his head, and art loves in a way that emphasizes consistency, which is ideal for someone like patrick, who places sm emphasis on external factors when it comes to his self worth

bc of this i think that the ideal third person for them would be someone that prioritizes art a little more,, i'm not saying someone that would love art more, but someone that'd take care to focus on art's feelings to make sure that art feels like he exists at the center of things

that might sound like a reach, but if you think of the moments in which tashi and patrick connected most, i think it makes sense, for example:

in the dorm room scene when tashi and patrick are about to hook up, they're literally talking about and complimenting art, when tashi and patrick hook up in atlanta it's after finding out about tashi's engagement to art (which 'proves' that tashi loves art), and they hook up in the car after tashi explains why she'd want patrick to throw the match, which implies she still cares about him

also the conversation in which patrick accuses tashi of hating art is arguably one of their least connected moments, even if he's flirting a little, that moment kind of felt like patrick was probing, trying to see where tashi was at

if they were in a throuple, i think they'd be happy, especially with someone that balanced out their pride and insecurities

patrick would become even more affectionate, he's definitely the type to pull in a s/o and kiss them mid sentence and then say he just couldn't help it

art would be even more open about his feelings, he's the type to mention how much he loves his s/o so casually it actually knocks the wind out of you

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?"

I just realized that art and Patrick are now the equivalent of both Coriolanus and Sejanus and Oliver and Felix

I just wanna see tashi, art and Patrick when their younger, pretty and rich girlfriend is sleepy

Sleepy Baby Vibes:

▪︎Rubbing their eyes

▪︎yawning a lot

▪︎nodding off but fighting to stay awake

▪︎cuddle into whatever is around them

▪︎mumble mumbles, sighs, or hmph

▪︎closed fists

▪︎kinda curled up into a ball

▪︎spaced out

▪︎can be nonverbal

I'm in love with 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 :)

BIG ANNOUNCEMENT! :3

So, with me coming back from hiatus I have decided to expand fandoms I write for! :D

Drum roll, please?~

I WILL NOW BE WRITING FOR CHALLENGERS! (Art Donaldson and Patrick Zweig x Fem or GN Reader)

ANNND...

NEWSIES x READER!! :D (any except les and katherine I'm so sorry *side note, they are all aged up to 18 obviously*)

profile has been updated to accommodate thees guys! :3

Drug dealer!Patrick Zweig x Fem reader <3

tw: mentions of drugs, no smut this time folks! (slightly incoherent, not proofread)

Patrick Zweig, who couldn't scrounge up enough money using challengers and tournaments this month- so he gets his weed dealer to help him out. he works for him for a bit before making enough money to actually sell his own product, he's never had so much money in these past few years! who cares where he gets it? it's not like he's using the hard stuff anyway. sure enough, one of his regulars show up with a innocent little friend, you. you barely look 21, compared to Patrick's 30 years of age. your friend was apparently a regular here, which didn't suprise you all that much. he explains that you had been looking to try out some drugs, live life not like the usual goody two shoes you are.

Patrick Zweig, being the dirty man he is; gives the pair a discount- but only if he can watch this cute thing get her first high.

they arrive at a secluded spot by a lake, and Patrick watches with eager eyes as you gulp down a pill of ecstasy. he's practically forgotten your name, all he can think about is how you makes his dick twitch..

After a few moments, you're completely out of it, struggling to walk and drooling all over yourself as you giggles out insincere apologies to your poor friend. Patrick is rock hard by this point, he keeps adjusting himself in his ever tightly growing jeans.

You look beautiful like this. lips parted, drooling, stumbling, tripping over your own words, being needy, clingy, and so fucking dazed. like some ditz.

he offers to take you home, be a gentleman. he'l take out a pen, writing his number on the pulse of your neck in red ink while you arent paying any attention.

Call me if you wanna feel even better, sugar

he whispers sweet nothings into your ear while he walks you home, Patrick cant help but imagine what you'd look like drooling over his cock, instead of some measly drug. "What's your name, sweetheart?"

"yeah? that's your name, eh? pretty name for a pretty lady."

"god, you are just so fucking pretty when you're so drugged out like this. not a single thought in your brain, ah? no? good."

good

"that's how it should be, pretty"

Patrick uncaps the marker again, writing all over the your body, not like toid be able to do anything. poor you. hearts on your boobs, stars on your thighs, and his name everywhere.

"Alright, this is your house? m'kay sug' be safe. sleep well, my cute little ditz. drugged out so perfect f'me..." the door soon closes, and you babble an incoherent goodbye.

next time, Patrick isnt gonna be a gentleman. he'll fuck you up, in every possible sense <3

(guys I hope this is coherent or atleast any good. luv yall!)

-xoxo Ari <3

I just saw that you're working in a Artrick fic with fluff, can you tag me when you finish it? 🙂‍↕️

OFC OFC <33

I'LL TRY AND FINISH IT BY TODAY BUT NO PROMISES :(

guys I decided to make the Artrick x reader oneshot a two-part thing bc I have many thoughts but I also dont want it to he a long read m soryrysusun :(

Prizes <3

(Artrick x reader fluff) [Warnings: No use of y/n, fem reader, pre-established relationship, not proofread, typos mayhaps, maybe ooc? word count = 1,950]

~

A dim light shines through your cracked open window, you can't help but let out a sigh of exhaustion as you try (and fail) untangle yourself from your two sleepy boyfriends. rubbing your eyes from grogginess, your gaze falls on Art and Patrick, both boys holding onto you with a death grip. Patrick’s hands are tangled under your back with one hand on your thighs, squeezing them every so often. Art grips your waist, his leg wrapped around yours.

Both boys are making it increasingly difficult to get out of bed.

“Get off…” you groan, albeit reluctantly. as much as you love them, you want to get out of bed and shower, preferably without them clinging to you believe it or not.

“mm-mm…”

“noo… ”

After much struggle, you finally got out of bed, freshly cleaned and sipping coffee in your living room. Art sips on a smoothie, flicking through his phone. Patrick just plops down on the couch, peering at what Art is looking at with zero subtlety.

“ya know, there’s a fair in town happening today. we should all go, could be fun.” he mumbles, chewing on his nails with his spare hand as he looks through social media. his nail biting earning a slap on the wrist from Patrick to get him to stop. which he does, thankfully.

“Sounds cool to me, I don't have any plans this summer besides training and hanging out with you two.” Patrick snickers, wrapping his arms around Art and snatching his phone from his palms. the blonde glares back at Patrick, and they look just ready to fight before your voice interrupts.

“Sounds fun, we should go.” you chuckle, followed by a warning glance at your rowdy boyfriends. you swear they act like feral animals at any given opportunity.

Your boys eventually stop their death glares and nonverbal threats, visibly relaxing and smiling brightly at you. Art nuzzles his fluffy blonde hair into Patrick’s shoulder, his back pressed against the brunette’s chest, and resting his legs on your lap.

After much needed cuddles, you three eventually start to get ready. you prance off to your closet, throwing loose clothes and combinations of clothes everywhere. half land on Patrick, and the other half land on the bed. the soft sprinkle of Art taking a shower and humming is faintly heard; even from your shared bedroom. Patrick can't help but let out a bark of laughter.

“As much as I love your panties, babe, I’d prefer you don't throw them at me. what’s got you so indecisive anyway?” he hums, peeling a bra of yours off his face and placing it in his lap.

“Dunno, just don't have any clothes that scream ”summer fair“ ya know?”

“what the fuck does that even mean?”

“..nevermind.”

After many tortuous hours of you asking what Patrick thought of each outfit while Art quickly picked an outfit and got dressed in half the time it took you. You ended up with a tan crop top with red accents and cherry on the chest of the tee, paired with tattered jean shorts and red and white sneakers with white crew cut socks. you slung a messenger bag over your shoulder and hopped on the backseat of Art’s clean car, the exact opposite of Patrick’s.

Art brushed dust off his pink button up shirt and light blue jeans. He swung the driver’s car door open and plopped inside, rolling his sleeves up to his forearms and putting the car into drive. “Hurry up Pat, we’ll leave without you!” Art cocked his head to the side, flashing a cheeky grin at Patrick rushing into the passenger seat of the car with a petulant demeanor.

Patrick shifted in his blue polo and tan cargo shorts, buckling his seatbelt in with a click. “I was pissing, god damn Art- have patience!”

“Well piss faster!” Art sneers, giving Patrick a death glare

“I’ll piss in the fuckin car next time then, smartass!” Patrick huffs, rolling his eyes.

“fuck you!” Art groans

“no, fuck you!” Patrick scoffs, tapping his leg on the floor of the car while pouting.

“can you both just shut up and drive?!” you interrupt

“…yes ma'am” they both bristle through gritted teeth, but Art does pull out of the driveway well Patrick sets up the GPS on his phone, you connect your phone to the car and just sit pretty and play songs the three of you all love and enjoy on the car ride. The ride isn't too long, but it’s enough to calm both Art and Patrick down from their rowdiness, while you and Patrick belt out songs in the car. Art focuses on the road, trying not to facepalm as he glances at the GPS every so often.

The car eventually skids to a stop infront of a big and cleared out park with different stands and attractions you can faintly make out. something about going to a fair with your two immature boyfriends does seem childish in nature, yes. but you cant help but be excited, and you feel the huge giddy grin spread on your face as you step out the car and squint your eyes to see what's to come.

"you look excited." Patrick chuckles, blatantly stating the obvious yet again as he steps out and leans on the car, his forearms snug on the roof of the car to support his weight. Art squints, hopping out the car and putting a hand above the sun to cover the reflection. "how the hell are you guys even seeing that far?"

"do you need glasses, Art? it's literally right infront of you!"

"no-! 'm fine! it's just the sun."

you giggle at the thought of Art with glasses, or maybe even colored contacts. "you would look so fucking adorable with glasses~" you tease, Patrick following suit "oh hell yeah, adorable is an understatement, you'd look cute as hell, Artie~" he snickers, slapping a blushing Art on the back "well, let's not waste any time, I wanna play the shitty rigged games!" Patrick grins boyishly, turning heel and walking towards the ticket booth with a quickened pace. You and Art follow suit, having to jog to catch up to him.

Art snorts, skidding next to Patrick excitedly buying three tickets (definitely not with Art's card) "fuck, I havent seen you this excited in a while. you wanna ride the teacups too, Pat?" he muses playfully, nudging him on the shoulder.

Patrick rolls his eyes, snatching the tickets with his hand and practically crumpling them on the spot. "i would, but you'd probably puke if we did since you're such a little bitch-"

"I am not! and no I wouldnt!!"

you ignore the bickering momentarily admiring the beautiful sights of the bright and flashy fair. a big ferris wheel on the middle of it all, stands and booths with different and very rigged games, vendors with novelties, food trucks, the works. Your feet move before your brain does, taking you to the purple booth with plushies strung up on fishing string, below the booth us a table with glass bottles, a box of rings to the right of them. of course, one of the most rigged and aneurysm-inducing games has the cutest of stuffies on the shelves. it's unfair, really.

Art jogs up to you, Patrick in hand. the grin boyishly, eyes sparkling at this given opportunity to show off and impress you. they may have both won you over, but they're still going to bicker and compete for your affections. of course they are.

"which one ya want, baby?"

"psh- I can win all of em for you, doll."

"no you cannot."

Patrick pouts, glaring at Art with no real bite. stepping up to the booth with overflowing confidence, slamming a few bills on the table and receiving 5 red rings he twirls around his finger. Patrick flashed a charming smile at you and Art, "which one do you both want? I'll win two." he boasts, his confidence is admirable, but his ego Iis 100% gonna take a hit after this.

"I want the bunny.." you coo, looking up at a black and white stuffed bunny dangling above your head.

"I dunno, guess I'll take the little dog over there." Art chuckles under his breath, stuffing one hand in his pocket and another pointing at a stuffed tan dog stuffie flopped on the shelf, it almost reminds you of him.

Patrick scoffs, "lightwork." he beams. tossing one ring out only for it to hit the floor. another, and another, and another, and another. all fail. "...fuck." he grits his teeth, running a hand up and down his face and messing up his curly brunette hair even more than it already was. he slams 5 more dollars on the table, reciving 5 rings again.

"hold on, I got this guys-! that-that was just a warm up, ya know!?"

"fuck."

"ugh.."

"okay, well that- that was atleast somewhat close-!"

"..."

"one more t-try..?"

Patrick has lost you all way too much money, Art is facepalming- but you can't help but feel atleast a little bit bad for him. it is a tad bit funny, though.

"Pat, people are waiting in line. just- let it go, honey." Art groans, taking away Patrick's money privilege and grabbing his shoulders, pulling him away from the line of little kids and other couples.

"But I almost had it-! what'a 'bout your plushies..?" he sounds like a kicked puppy, adorably pathetic and sad. you chuckle softly sitting him on a bench and peppering his face with kisses "it's fine..you can try later, my love." Art pats Patrick's head "I'll get us some ice cream, wanna come with?" he turns to you, holding out his hand. you accept, grabbing it and kissing Patrick on the cheek and ordering him to stay put.

You and Art step backwards, the bench where Patrick sat was empty! where the hell did your boyfriend go?! you place the two icecream cups you hold in your hand (chocolate for Patrick, vanilla for yourself.) on the table, looking around to see if you can spot the ruffled and messy brunette you adore, but no luck.

"where the fuck did he go..?" Art huffs, licking a strawberry icecream cone as he squints and circles around the bench for any signs of him, he doesnt seem to be doing a much better job than you are though..

Not even a second later, and there's a tap and you and Art's shoulders at the same time. so sudden it has you jolting upright and whirling your head around- Art's reaction is pretty much the same, whipping his head back and almost dropping his icecream.

Patrick stands in between you both with a big boyish grin on his face, an empty wallet, and a black and white bunny plushie in his right hand, a fluffy and tan puppy stuffie in his left. sure he lost loads of money, but seeing you two beam and hug him, squeezing him so tight her gasps for air? that's all he really needs. and you two both know it well enough. you gasp, the shock and adrenaline soothing as you feel the plushie in between your fingers, the fabric soft and the material plush. Art hugs both Patrick and his new stuffed animal at the same time, it's kinda childish, but you're all smiling wildly. Patrick is an idiot, he blew all his money but god. its impossible to stay mad at him when he has the stupid grin on his face that you just wanna kiss off. you love them both so much, really. its unbelievable. this fair is going to be one hell of a ride...

-xoxo, Ari <3

(soft patrick my beloved. boyish Artrick my beloved. ohmygosh this tool way too long with my unmotivated adhd ass I hope you enjoy anyway, lots on smoochies MWAH mwah mwah. tags: @swetearss)

i had a revelation yesterday

patrick x art x reader but it has to do with the song second boys will be first choice by the brobecks

smutty and ANGSTY please please PLEASE ⭐️

i would write this but i’m not confident in my own writing idk maybe one day…

patrick with reader who seems like she’s super innocent and shy but in reality is actually the freakiest girl ever. like matches him PERFECTLY.

(18+ suggestive content ahead!!)

imagining college!art and patrick + reader. reader met art at stanford and became pretty close friends with him and she’d see patrick whenever he’d visit.

obviously reader finds both of them VERY attractive especially patrick sorry a little self indulgent there

patrick, being the slut that he is, would totally hook up with reader. he’d be the one to very obviously flirt with reader and make her extremely flustered. reader doesn’t believe patrick would actually make a move since they’re friends.

art on the other hand is too shy and afraid of ruining a perfectly good friendship with reader. i mean him and patrick have already experimented in the past so he’s not afraid there. he doesn’t want to fuck up and lose his best friend at college… and the girl he’s secretly, deeply in love with.

one day in between semesters, patrick is visiting art and reader during break. he starts to experiment getting a little handsy with reader. she gets all flustered and doesn’t know how to react but really wants him. art is in the other room and she’s afraid of him catching them getting so close together.

little does she know, patrick and art talked the other day and planned a little bit of fun time between the three of them…

patrick with a plus size reader he would not be able to keep his hands off you aaaaaaa he’d be so obsessed with just holding your hips and thighs and waist and everything.

i feel like patrick would always feel the need to have a hand on reader at all times. not in a possessive way maybe, maybe not, but just because he loves how soft n lovable you are.

reader gets very insecure sometimes especially in the tennis scene surrounded by all those perfect looking girls and all the girls absolute fawning over patrick. but he always makes sure to let you know that he does not care about those girls At All and will always be with you xoxo

no girl could take patrick away from you he is just so in love with everything about you!! he’s completely whipped!!

ok ok ok but like… imagine older!patrick meets reader out at some random dive bar in the middle of the city

super shitty little place, it’s rare to see a girl like you there, but you’re having the time of your life with friends!!

pat is at the bar by himself, maybe he’ll pick up a girl tonight who knows, girls practically throw themselves at him. except he’s so zoned in on you up on the stage doing karaoke.

he notices you look like you’re in your early 20s, definitely not looking for someone like him. but he can’t keep his eyes off of you!! you’re in your own little world, a little tipsy, just belting the lyrics to a mid 2000s pop punk song with your friends.

he is so set on talking to you now even though he knows he really shouldn’t. he’s in his late 30’s approaching 40, people would look at him weirdly if he had a pretty, probably in her final year of college, girl cheering him on from the stands at his games. but does he care? no! he’s patrick fuckin zweig!

you finish up your karaoke and go over to the bar for another drink. patrick comes up to you and goes to hit you with the “what’s a girl like you doin’ here?”. you blush, caught of guard. he’s cute… you think. why does he want anything to do with me?

you just look so… perfect. he doesn’t know how to describe it.

you give him a shy smile. you could totally see yourself with him. you offer to buy him a drink and you sit around and stay for a while.

patrick thinks he just fell even more in love.

pt 2 anyone??? i could def elaborate on this more if ppl want <3