so you're saying dennis isn't one of the ADHD kids. this is in contrast, right. he's not bouncing around like the rest of the gang. he's been doing it long enough by this point to know everyone's orders.
one thing, you say. like a... special interest, perhaps.
f!reader x Tashi Duncan x Art Donaldson x Patrick Zweig
Cinnamonacid on AO3
warnings- age gap, inaccurate tennis stuff, performance anxiety, etc.
You have an audience at the final match.
Song inspo: Yeah x10 - Challengers soundtrack
𝙽𝙲𝙰𝙰 𝚆𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚗'𝚜 𝚃𝚎𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚜 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚙 𝙵𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚜
𝙵𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝙼𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑
You took a deep breath, preparing to enter the court. This was it. The final match of the NCAA tournament and your chance to win it all.
Your opponent was a senior from Stanford who had won the championship last year. She had much more experience and talent. Everyone’s expecting her to win. For some reason, that made you a lot less nervous. All the pressure was on her, after all. And you’ve always liked being the underdog.
Your coach patted your back, murmuring words of encouragement to you. The next thing you knew, you were walking onto the court, hearing your name announced.
There were so many people there, it was overwhelming. You let your eyes fall to the crowd, plastering on a smile despite how your heart was racing, and your chest felt all tight, like you couldn’t breathe. Tashi was watching. She had to be.
You put your racket bag down, zipping it open and taking a deep breath. She won’t be watching you. She won’t be rooting for you. No one expects you to win this. They don’t matter.
There’s only two people you’re winning this match for. Your mother who worked constantly not only to get by, but to provide for you and scrape together enough to pay for your lessons. Who stood by you and did everything she could for you. While she wasn’t watching in the crowd, you knew she was watching on TV. You made sure to wave to the camera, making a little heart with your hands.
You sauntered onto the court, stretching your legs, and getting into position. You took a deep breath, feeling your trembling hands clench the racket.
Breathe..Just breathe. You reminded yourself, letting your eyes fall to the most important person there. Annalise. She’s your motivation, your will, your everything. You weren’t able to win doubles with her, so you at least owe her this much.
She smiled at you, giving you a thumbs up. You grinned back. I’ll win for you, sweet girl.
–
You were reminding Tashi of Patrick with how much you were grinning. You were practically beaming with every serve you returned, every point you scored, and every hit against the ball. It made sense. You had nothing to lose. No one expected you to get this far. Not after that injury or the low tier school you were playing for. All the pressure was on her. You knew that, and you were using it against her.
It was brilliant. Brilliant, beautiful, and bright, just like you. Just like the match that was being played out before her. It had been so long since Tashi had seen such fire and ambition in anyone. Not only were you pushing yourself, but you were pushing your opponent, making her compete and forcing her hand. You were showing her that she was no longer on top, that she had to fight tooth and nail if she wanted to win. And if you were going to go down, you’d go down swinging.
Tashi moved her head back and forth, her eyes following the ball. She watched as you sprinted, jumped and even slid on the court to keep the ball in, she listened to your pretty little grunts and groans, studying your hits. Your fronthand, your backhand, analyzing everything she could. She could feel her heart racing, adrenaline and dopamine rushing through her. She could see herself in you, and for a moment, just a moment, it felt like she was playing again.
–
𝙼𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝙿𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚝
Sweat trickled down your nose. You were soaked. Not only from the California heat, but from how hard you’ve pushed yourself. Your arms were aching, your fingers stung from how hard you gripped the racket, and your knees were skinned from the few times you slid to save the ball. But that didn’t matter. What mattered was that you were about to win. It had been close all game, with the both of you neck and neck in winning points and sets, but you had finally scored the match point, and it was your serve.
You ran your tongue over your teeth, bouncing the ball as you debated on where to hit it. You smiled at your opponent one last time, before you threw the ball in the air and raised your racket in the air, hitting the ball as hard as you could. You readied yourself, watching as the girl chased after the ball, before it changed direction and bounced past her.
You paused in shock, realizing that you had actually won. Then, for the first time in the tournament, you let yourself find her in the crowd. There she was, the one and only Tashi Duncan, sitting at the center of the row at the edge of her seat, her sunglasses slightly falling down her nose. You couldn’t help but smile.
The eye contact you two made only lasted for a moment, because the next thing you knew, your teammates had jumped over the stands and were now rushing over to you. Annaliese was the first, throwing her arms around you, the rest of them following suit.
Holy shit. You did it. You actually won.
–
Art agreed with Tashi. You were very talented. He also agreed with Patrick that you were a pretty thing, running around in that too tight tennis skirt, but there was something about being here that made him feel bad. Maybe it was because the last time he had watched a women’s tennis match here, it ended with Tashi on the ground, sobbing and clutching her knee. Maybe it was the guilt he felt.
But why was he guilty? He didn’t know. It could be because he wasn’t as enthusiastic to be here, after swearing off tennis years ago, and no matter how intriguing or tempting you may be, he refused to let himself get drawn in. Or it could be how he had given up all his morals and previous views on marriage and family to finally accept the truth. Was this another truth he was refusing to accept? That he wanted this young woman he hardly knew?
No. He couldn’t. He shouldn’t. But as you scored that final point, he looked over at the two sitting beside him, and he knew he was fucked. Tashi was on the edge of her seat, digging her nails into the arms of her chair, lips parted, chest heaving, a hungry look in her eyes, and Patrick was slumped back, thighs spread, undoubtedly hard.
Art felt his heart racing, a tent growing in his pants as well. Fuck.
–
It wasn’t until half the stands were cleared and you were escorted away that Tashi moved, getting to her feet and grabbing her bag. Art straightened up, gazing over at her. “Where are you going?”
Mags can I say something SO unhinged to you? I think you'll Get It
this song is so your specific interpretation of the Batfam to me. Batfam through the lens of Christ and salvation and hope. please I hope you understand
THE HOPELESS HAVE FOUND A HOPE THE ORPHANS HAVE FOUND A HOME. FOR ALL YOU HAVE DONE WE WILL POUR OUT OUR LOVE
/ ʊ @inmontana _ restlessness vibrates in the sinew of her muscles, an energy she covets like gold coursing through her veins as she kicked off her heels at the threshold of their bedroom and dropped her bag on the floor beside them. god, she felt fucking great. a high like this unmatched by any drug. fucking someone over and coming out on top has never failed to get her all kinds of giddy. WOUND UP, carter’d called her- she’d heard him faintly as she’d climbed the stairs with a little eager bounce to her step. yeah, wound up is right.
blouse unbuttons quickly, sleeves peeled from her arms and untucked from her skirt. she tosses that aside too as she delves into her closet, foraging through every dress she owns until she finds the one she had in mind … pulling it out, a small smirk formed on her mouth while she carried it back out into the bedroom as the door opens, and beth didn’t even bother looking up before she started talking. only rip’d walk in without knocking first. “see baby told ya i had the right dress.”
it’s a pretty thing. slinky and tight and fucking perfect, feminine in every sense of the word but the cut’s a WARNING SIGN in baby pink. standing by the side of their bed in her skirt and bra, her party dress held in the palms of her hands, beth’s eyes meet rip’s and she grins. her left foot lifts upward onto her toes, knee bending and heel brushing along her right calf, while her lips parted an inch and her tongue poked lightly at the inside of her cheek. “… denim jacket or leather?”
